- VII -

(January 2277)

The flashy jukebox belted out a playlist of pre-war rock 'n' roll tunes that filled the bustling rec room and accompanied the beat of Butch's winning pool shot. Freddie groaned as he watched the last ball fall into the corner pocket along with a third of his most recent paycheck.

Butch grinned in satisfaction and twirled his pool cue with one hand. "Pay up, Freddie-boy. That fat wallet was just beggin' to be thinned out."

"Aw, man. Best two out of three?" Freddie asked, although he was already counting out the bills.

"Nope," the Tunnel Snake leader said and snatched up the money. "You know what they say. 'It ain't about winning or playing the game, but about how you handle losing.'"

"Um… I'm no brainiac or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's not how the quote goes."

Butch scratched his head as he went to replace his cue on the rack. "Yeah, probably not, but I like my version better."

He led the way to the bar next to the billiards area and ordered two sodas from Andy, hastily declining when the friendly but inept robot offered to open both bottles with its buzz saw. After sliding one to Freddie, he leaned back against the counter and twisted off the cap to take a swig of the cool beverage. This day off had been exactly what he needed. Between running the barber shop and taking care of more personal matters, Butch had almost forgotten what having fun felt like. He half-listened to Freddie's remarks about work and life in general as he stared at the activity around the room, basking in the relaxing atmosphere.

A holotape of an old film played on the large television set at the opposite wall, and several people occupied the surrounding lounge chairs, viewing and commenting on it. Closer to the entrance on the left side, an intense game of poker between some of the older men encouraged everyone else to give that particular table a wide berth. Adjacent to them sat a few desks intended for students during study hours, but Christine Kendall and several other giggling girls had claimed that section as their chat corner for the day, where they gossiped and discussed the upcoming Vault-wide spring formal.

When Susie Mack glanced up from Christine's side and noticed Butch looking her way, her eyes drifted longingly to the other young man beside him. He couldn't help his wry chuckle at his subordinate's baffling popularity with the ladies, and even more amusing was Freddie's continued obliviousness to it. Butch shook his head when Freddie paused in his monologue to ask him what was so funny, but his humor died down when the entrance door slid open.

Ivy strode in with Wally and Paul close behind, the black shine of their Tunnel Snake jackets catching the light. Hers was zipped almost all the way up, and Butch was once again of the opinion that she pulled off leather like nobody's business. His gaze traveled over the returning curves of her hips below the hem of the jacket, the way she hooked her thumbs into her pockets, and the delicate slope of her neck above the collar. He didn't plan on recruiting more girls anytime soon, but as the very first female Tunnel Snake to represent the gang, Ivy looked damn good in their colors.

She wore a messy ponytail and a troubled frown, surveying the room until her eyes locked with his. He motioned her over and waited as she and her two escorts made their way to the bar counter. Paul chattered animatedly at her ear while they walked, but the heavy scowl that weighed down Wally's mouth told Butch that his second-in-command still took issue with Ivy's membership in their circle.

Suck it up, Mack. Your brother's the main reason we had to resort to this.

"Yo," Butch greeted out loud when Ivy sat on the bar stool next to him. "How's it hangin'?"

"Fine," she replied, reaching for the drink in his hand. When he relinquished it to her, she downed half the bottle. "Just feeling a bit overheated."

"Yeah? Why's that?" he questioned and swiped the soda back.

"We're here, too, you know," Wally cut in, his voice taking on a sharp inflection.

Butch exhaled in annoyance. "Yeah, hi, Wally. What do ya want, a welcome wagon?"

Declining to dignify that with a response, Wally addressed the Mister Handy robot behind them and ordered a drink. Paul and Freddie, meanwhile, glanced between Butch and Ivy, their expressions inquisitive. The casual way in which he had shared his soda with her hadn't gone unnoticed. She seemed to realize this and quickly changed the subject, bringing up the stakes for their planned pool competition. Freddie immediately volunteered to sit on the sides, citing his tragic monetary loss during the pre-game match.

"This guy will rob you blind," he lamented. "Made me think I had a shot when we placed the bets, but he totally played me."

Butch buffed his nails on his jacket, smirking. "What can I say? When you go up against the Butch-man—"

"The 'Butch-man' should probably stop talking big until he beats me in a game," Wally interrupted, bringing his glass of iced tea to his lips.

Teeth grinding together, Butch held back the snappy comeback that would likely result in a fistfight.

"How about Ivy and I play first?" Paul suggested. He smiled at her, practically wearing his heart on his sleeve. "I'm just an average player, but I can show you the ropes and get you started on the game mechanics and stuff."

Butch was about to object when she agreed with a nonchalant shrug, evidently missing Paul's clear infatuation with her. Wally snorted when Paul brightened even more and rushed toward the pool table to set it up. Between Ivy and Freddie, their trail of broken (and ignored) hearts would reach at least a mile in length.

The Tunnel Snakes began to migrate to the billiards area, but Butch caught Ivy's arm when she hopped off the bar stool.

"Hey," he whispered. "You sure you're okay?"

She still seemed anxious about something, but her gaze warmed at his concern. "Yeah. It's just…"

The door opened again at that moment, and her face grew grim as Amata appeared and took notice of her. The Overseer's daughter shot her a look of disgust before making a beeline for Christine's clique still gossiping across the room. Butch tensed when the girls all turned to stare at Ivy, and he automatically stepped in front of her, shielding her from view.

She sighed. "It's fine. I ran into Amata earlier and she's not impressed with my 'new choice of friends' now that I'm back in the public eye," she told him, fingers raised in air quotes.

"I don't get what the big deal is. Hell, Susie's related to one of us—" He cut himself short when he saw Wally and his sister flipping each other off from opposite ends of the floor. "Right. Bad example."

Ivy shook her head and patted his shoulder. "Thanks, but I just want to take my mind off everything today."

He watched her as she headed for the pool table, noting that she had at least regained more healthy weight. She also appeared more stable and no longer at high risk for self-harm. He and the other Tunnel Snakes had seen to that. Her uneven hair still bothered him, though. As a barber, he claimed no expertise on women's hairstyles, but he did intend on fixing that auburn mane in the very near future.

The game opened with Paul's excruciating, in-depth explanation of the rules, which prompted a preemptive yawn from Freddie. Butch left his empty soda bottle on the counter and turned back around to join them, but Wally broke away from the group and came up to intercept him.

"Got a second?"

Butch eyed his friend warily, but nodded. "Let's take this outside."

If anyone else noticed them stepping out, they didn't say anything. The corridor was empty and quiet, though it wouldn't remain so for long.

Wally rounded on him the instant the door closed. "So what the hell has all this been about? Making yourself scarce, bringing Ivy Ashburn into the gang, asking the rest of us to accompany her to each of her destinations… I thought you two had hated each other's guts since kinder."

"Things change. Now she's a… friend," Butch returned, having trouble working his mouth around the word. Was she a friend? He hadn't really thought of labeling his relationship with her by this point.

"Where did this even come from? Is that why you've been acting weird since last July?" Wally demanded. "Paul and Freddie might be completely clueless, but I'm not. You banging her now or something?"

"Fuck off. It ain't like that," Butch denied at once. Collecting himself before the aggression took over his better judgment, he said, "Come on, you saw how skinny and sick she was a few months back. She had a bunch of health problems. Plus, Amata turned all the girls against her."

"From what Susie told me, it was Ivy who broke ties with them when we were still in school."

Butch rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I don't got time for details on girl drama. What I'm getting at is, she was alone when some shit hit the fan. I found her at her lowest point and called a truce so I could help her out."

Wally scoffed. "So you're supposed to be her knight in shining armor?"

The characteristic anger that would have flared at that comment didn't come. Instead, Butch averted his gaze and shifted from one foot to the other. "Hey, that ain't cool, man. When I saw Ivy that night, it reminded me of my mom back when my dad was still alive."

He remembered the hopeless states and vacant stares. They had been mere shells of the people they once were, the humanity beaten out of them by men without souls. Ellen's major depression had been painful enough to witness while he was growing up. And with Ivy, his instinct wasn't to deal with it, but to do something about it.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to bring up bad memories," Wally muttered. "But there's something you're not telling me."

Butch swallowed. Many things had changed over the years, but others had stayed the same. He sometimes still regretted befriending the smart, headstrong Mack boy, who was too perceptive for his own good.

"Stevie's been asking about Ivy for a while now. Started around the same time she joined the Tunnel Snakes." Wally stepped closer, pinning the other man with a suspicious glare. "And I don't think it's a coincidence. What's going on with the three of you?"

Butch had been dreading this type of confrontation, especially this soon. He hadn't counted on Stevie making his interest in Ivy so blatant, and he wasn't prepared to tackle the questions fired his way. While he knew Wally wouldn't rest until he solved the mysterious connection between all of them, divulging Ivy's secret wasn't an option. So he did the only thing he could in that situation. He lied his ass off.

"Don't know what your brother's deal is 'cause I never talk to the guy," Butch stated, deadpan expression in place. "Maybe you should ask him why he's so focused on Ivy. I can tell you one thing, though; he ain't her type."

Wally, of course, didn't accept that response. "You're hiding something, and it's really starting to make me question our friendship," he rumbled. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, whether you fess up or not. And you'd better hope it doesn't end up pitting us against each other."

Butch fumed as Wally disappeared back into the rec room. Yeah, and you'd better watch that attitude, pal. I've been itchin' for a Mack beatdown lately, and that can be arranged for more than one.

He cracked his knuckles and rotated his neck, relieving some of the tension before he walked back inside. Playing it cool, he ambled back over to the billiards, where Ivy stood triumphantly at one side of the cleared pool table. Paul babbled across from her in disbelief while Freddie laughed from his spot on the sidelines, yanking on Wally's sleeve and pointing at the table. Butch pushed his apprehension to the back of his mind as he quirked an eyebrow at each of them.

"Oh, boy… Ivy is more of a hustler than you are, Butch," Freddie remarked. "Turns out she's probably as good a billiard player as Wally."

"I was annihilated," Paul moaned, clapping a hand over his forehead. "And here I was talking about the basics…"

The traces of a smile ghosted over Ivy's lips as she set down the pool cue. "My dad used to take me here to practice. I got kind of good."

"Well, your 'kind of good' skills totally cost Paul his date to the spring formal in less than ten minutes," Freddie chortled. At Butch's questioning look, he elaborated, "Instead of money, they decided to wager their availability for the formal."

Paul let out a long-suffering sigh. "Now I have to go alone. You know, Ivy, I think I preferred your blunt rejection when I asked you to that last school dance a few years ago. At least I didn't get my hopes up too high back then."

A strange noise suddenly emitted from her throat. It took Butch a few seconds to realize it was the ringing sound of her soft laughter.

"I'm sorry. I've never been much for these social functions," Ivy explained. "Thanks for the game, though. It was fun."

As Paul attempted to talk her into another match, Butch and Wally both glanced toward the door, which had opened yet again. A surge of hostility flared up in his core when Stevie Mack sauntered in, followed by a few of his friends from work. They all still wore their security uniforms, and as soon as Stevie removed his helmet, his icy eyes zeroed in on Ivy right away.

She must have sensed his presence somehow because she rotated while Paul was still yammering and froze when she spotted him at the doorway. Butch saw the terror growing on her face, and he hurried to block her from Stevie's sight, ignoring Wally's alert stare.

"Guys, me and Ivy are gonna head out for a bit," Butch declared, thinking quickly. "I just remembered that I need to give her a new haircut in case she changes her mind about that formal or whatever coming up."

He didn't even care how ridiculous and abrupt it sounded; he needed to get her out of here. Fast.

Paul's face fell. "Can't you do it later—"

"Gotta get it done now before I forget again." Butch grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the exit. "So we'll see ya later."

Stevie and his buddies had taken up the bar, and he glowered at the two people crossing the room with urgent strides. Ivy kept her head down as Butch tugged her along, and it wasn't until they'd made it outside that she began breathing normally again. She kept her hand clamped onto his even as they turned the corner and walked side by side.

"Thanks," she whispered, the color returning to her cheeks.

"Yeah," was his only answer as he thanked the Almighty that she wasn't having another panic attack.

Butch frowned at the new host of problems that had escalated in the past half hour alone. Wally's acuity had become an issue, and if Stevie hadn't already figured out that Butch was aware of his abusive relations toward Ivy, he was likely close to coming to that conclusion. It was now essential that they finalized their plans for the collection of all the blackmail material.

They ended up in front of the barber shop, and Butch fumbled a few times with the passcode to unlock the door. Once it slid open and the lights blinked on, he pointed Ivy to one of the chairs and programmed the door to shut behind them. Unlike his apartment, the small shop was sparkling clean. He stripped off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the entrance, sweating from the pressure of the day's events. Ivy followed suit, unzipping and removing hers with trembling fingers to pass to him. He placed it on another rung and then ran his hands over the sides of his head, careful not to mess up his hair even as exhaustion set in.

Ivy appeared even more jaded, resting her temple on the headrest of the chair as she zoned out. The stillness drew on as they lost themselves in their thoughts, interrupted only by the whir of the air conditioner blowing through the vent. Butch squinted up at it, his jaw clenching. Finally, he spoke.

"I'll do it this week," he announced. "Break in and swipe Stevie's videos and pictures, I mean."

Ivy didn't move from her position. "How are you going to get inside the Macks' apartment?"

Same way I got in last time. "Don't worry, I got this. You said he keeps all the blackmail footage in a box in his stash drawer?"

She raised her head, features alight with a ray of hope. "Yes. It's the top drawer of the dresser across from his bed. You'll see all the Jet inhalers. He records everything using a camcorder that should be in the same location, so please check it and grab any data chips still stored inside."

Butch nodded, encouraged by the trust she placed in him. "No problem. We'll end this soon."

She took a steadying breath and relaxed a little. "Thank you. I haven't been the most receptive or grateful person, but you should know that I appreciate all your help."

"Least I can do, considering I got you in this mess in the first place," he told her, fidgeting uneasily.

They lapsed into another awkward silence, staring off in different directions as they contemplated what to do next. The plan that day had been to hang out with the gang, but they couldn't very well go back while Stevie was still in the rec room and Ivy hadn't gotten the haircut Butch had used as their excuse to leave. She at least seemed calmer now, though a bit uncomfortable in her seat.

From where he stood, Butch examined the unruly auburn hair, which had spilled halfway out of its hair tie. The luster was long gone, and there were flyaways everywhere. When his barber senses could no longer take it, he strode to the counter and seized the black cloth folded next to the styling gadgets.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Ivy inquired shrilly as he wrapped the cloth around her and secured it at the base of her neck.

"Since we're here, we might as well take care of that hairstyle," he replied, pulling up his sleeves and heading to the sink to wash his hands.

"I thought you were kidding about that."

"Nope. Been wantin' to fix that disaster of a hack job ya did on yourself since last year."

She pursed her lips unhappily, but refrained from protesting further. He freed her hair from its ponytail and ran a comb carefully through the knots and tangles. His fingers remembered the feel of the strands from when he used to yank them during their childhood, but this time his ministrations were gentle and professional. The length had grown to reach her chest, and with the number of split ends, he would have to cut it short to her chin. She jolted when he picked up the spray bottle and sprayed water on her head, and the peeved accusation in her glare was so reminiscent of the looks she always gave him when they were kids that he couldn't help the laughter that burst from his mouth.

"You did that on purpose," she complained, swiveling around.

He tried to keep a straight face as he rotated her head back to the front. "It's part of the haircut process, but that glare you just shot me was funny as hell. Reminded me of the time I ate that chocolate bar right out of your hand in Brotch's class."

She settled down and gave an uncharacteristic snicker. "I remember that. You were such a little shit before."

"Before? Still don't think I am?" Butch quipped, trimming off the first tendrils of auburn.

"You seem to have grown out of it. A little," Ivy conceded. She waited until he finished cutting her bangs before asking, "So, are you really going to make me look formal-worthy, or is this another scheme to sabotage me?"

He stiffened, hands and scissors going still. The atmosphere grew heavy as he searched for an answer, but nothing—snarky, livid, or contrite—came to mind. She glimpsed his reflection in the mirror, panicking when she saw his dour expression.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," she backpedaled hastily. "I wasn't talking about the hidden cam and shooting range footage. I meant some of the pranks we used to pull on each other—"

"Yeah, I see what you're sayin' now. Relax," Butch assured her, resuming his work.

Take it easy, he told himself. No good being all touchy over this subject.

Ivy had gone quiet, cheeks flushed as she kept her sight fixed on the floor. He distracted himself with the task at hand, paying close attention to the natural wavy texture of her hair. The only sounds in the shop for a while were the snip, snip of the scissors as he progressed through the thick mane, smoothing out each section and dropping the damaged ends. As the minutes passed, he felt an admitted intimacy in the handling of her tresses. Besides his own, he'd never been inclined on touching any head of hair other than for work. And even though hers was a travesty in the process of being remedied, he found the touch of it pleasing, tangles and all.

"'Sides," Butch went on, as if there hadn't been a twenty-minute break in conversation, "weren't you the one who sabotaged me when I was tryin' to ask Susie to that one school dance?"

Ivy's gaze snapped up. "Oh. Right."

"That was really uncool, Poindexter," he chastised, the corner of his mouth lifting to show her he no longer held any hard feelings. "Snuffin' out my chances like that…"

She was peering to the side again. "I, um, wasn't expecting you to ask Susie when you walked over to us that day."

He combed out the shortened length of her hair and added the finishing touches, glancing inquiringly at her in the mirror.

"I lashed out when you went to her because I had a crush on you."

The scissors clattered to the floor, and Butch coughed out something about butterfingers as he bent to retrieve them. His stomach had taken on an odd fluttering sensation at her confession, but at the same time, his chest constricted painfully. If it was true, and the only reason she had disparaged him in front of Susie was that she'd been jealous, then his decision to sell her out to Stevie was even more contemptible than he'd imagined. Although he couldn't have known back then, he still loathed himself for it now.

"I… damn. I didn't see that comin'," Butch stammered, tossing the scissors into the sink.

Ivy allowed him to remove the black cloth from her, and she absently brushed her fingers through her new short haircut as she stated, "I know. Typical sixteen-year-old, couldn't be upfront about how I felt. Don't worry, it was a silly, passing crush. You won't have to deal with it at this point."

For some reason, hearing that displeased him.

He cleaned off the tools and returned them to their places as she watched, her gaze probing his face for something. Needing a drink, he opened the cabinet next to the counter and produced the flask of vodka hidden inside. Leave it to Ivy to drive him to liquor this early in the evening. He got as far as unscrewing the cap when she jumped up from the chair and launched herself at him, trying to grab the flask.

"What the fuck?" he yelped.

"Don't," Ivy exclaimed, alarm etched across her features.

"Okay, jeez, you can have some, too—"

"No, just don't drink. Ever." She successfully pried the flask from his hand and held it away from him.

He gaped at her as if she'd lost her mind. "You know both my parents were alcoholics, right? Not sayin' I'll turn out the same way, but alcohol is kinda in my blood."

She wore the same expression of trepidation from earlier as she gripped the flask behind her and stared at him almost desperately. Although she offered no explanation, he realized at that moment that she hadn't been worried about her quarrel with Amata or even Stevie's appearance when she'd been anxious and withdrawn in the rec room. There was something else.

"All right, spit it out. What aren't you tellin' me?" Butch demanded, advancing on her.

She stood her ground when he invaded her personal space, but she sighed while placing the vodka on the counter. "I just don't want you to end up like your dad."

"Bullshit. I know you. You don't just freak out like that over something that might or might not happen."

Ivy studied him for a minute. Then, to his surprise, she reached out to touch his cheekbone with her thumb. "Have your blue eyes always had that ring of copper on the irises?"

Butch blinked in confusion. He wasn't sure if it was possible, but her sanity and a few brain cells might have been lost with her haircut. "Uh, I dunno?"

She looked torn, but eventually lowered her arm and nudged the flask back toward him. "Just… take it easy on the liquor, okay?"

He gazed down at her, wondering if he'd ever figure out the enigma that was Ivy Ashburn. During her recovery process, she had become unpredictable. He was uncertain whether it was better to try to understand her or to simply accept her as she was. A lot had happened on this eventful day off, and he was still taking all of it in. But as he observed her desolate, thousand-yard stare, he decided he wanted the afternoon to end on a good note. Stevie, Amata, the Tunnel Snakes, and every other problem could go fuck off for now.

"Say, about that time you ruined my chances with Susie," Butch began, stifling a chuckle when Ivy's shoulders went rigid.

"Yeah, sorry…" she mumbled, but trailed off when he raised his hand to stop her.

"You still haven't made it up to me, you know." He leaned on his elbow against the counter, shooting her a cocky grin that he hoped would lighten the mood. "So, how 'bout you be my date to this spring formal and we'll call it even?"

x-x-x-x-x

A/N: Wow, this was a really long chapter with a lot packed in, but I'm so excited that we're this far in the story. I had to lasso my muse a few times because she kept trying to escape to other fics, but my investment in this is solid. Thank you for reading to this point! Next chapter is the start of the climax!