Walking into their suite, Connie dare not say a word. Usually when they fought, Connie was the one to make up. But this time? Anything she did until Butch was ready to talk was going to make it worse.
She moved silently, glancing at him as she passed. He was sitting on the side of the bed, already nursing a bottle of scotch, something he did when he was sitting on that slow-burning, quiet anger. It was rare for her to see him like that, but it was when she knew he was really upset with something. Deciding that she was as good as defeated tonight, she took off her jacket, throwing it across the room before lifting her singlet over her head. 'This is decidedly fucked,' she thought as she entered the bathroom, a trail of her clothes behind her by the time she turned on the water. Clean water. That's what dragged them into this mess. It's what dragged them into every mess.
She toyed with the idea of really indulging her misery with a bottle of something and some cigarettes, but she was already naked, and she didn't really want to go back into that suite as long as she could help it. Dipping her toes in at first, eventually she slipped herself beneath the water, feeling a pang of extra guilt as she did so. Back in DC, people were still struggling for so much as a jug of this stuff. And here she was – using perfectly good, drinking-grade water to wash in while she felt sorry for herself.
Connie laid back, reaching to her Pipboy and turning on the radio. Everything about the Mojave was different, even the music. Not that she minded it – it suited the place, really. Everything here was so vain, so about appearances and reputation. In DC it was all about surviving. Connie couldn't help but wonder if Joan had ever gone through what she'd had to; eating garbage she found left behind by caravans, drinking out of toilets, taking psycho just to stay away so the slavers couldn't sneak up on you. Watching her father die in front of her. Did Joan even have family? Did Joan leave anything behind to get where she was? Had anyone even asked her? Connie closed her eyes, trying to imagine her life if things had been different. Maybe she'd be like Joan. Maybe she'd still be in the Vault.
After a while, Butch finally joined her in the bathroom, sitting on the tiled floor by the side of the bathtub. "We gonna have to talk about it eventually," he sighed, taking another swig of his scotch. "Might as well do it now. Get it over with."
"Yeah," she agreed. "I guess so." She didn't even want to look at him. She was so beside herself with guilt about this. "I didn't think you'd find out like this."
"I don't think that you thought I'd find out at all," he replied, causing Connie to wince. "That's the part that gets me the most. I thought we was closer than that. Thought you told me everything you did topside." He paused. "When were you at Point Lookout?"
Connie took a deep breath. This was getting worse, not better. "After Amata kicked me back out of the Vault. Before I found you at the Muddy Rudder."
Butch squeezed his eyes shut, balling his free hand into a fist and audibly hissing. "Seriously, Connie?!" He asked. "After that? You still fucked the zombie even though you knew?"
"Don't call him-" she stopped herself. "...I don't like that word. You know that." She reached back, running her hand through her hair, wetting it in the process. "I thought it was over. I thought that was it, that you'd stay in the Vault and... I mean, fuck, Butch. I went from you telling me you loved me to thinking I'd never get to see you again. I was pretty raw."
"That ain't no excuse."
"It isn't. I'm not making an excuse," she explained. "I was hurt and angry and all of a sudden I hear I can get a boat to Point Lookout and get away from DC entirely? I needed to clear my head. Seemed perfect. Then I get there and Point Lookout is just as bad as DC, and then I meet Desmond and he's an asshole but he was paying attention to me and... it just happened. I just needed someone. I'm sorry." There was a silence after this, Connie reaching out to ask for the bottle. Butch obliged.
"I ain't mad about that," he said as she took a swig. "I mean, ok, I'm mad about that, but it wasn't like we was an item or nothin'. I just... why didn't ya' tell me?" He asked. "I thought we didn't have no secrets."
"We don't," Connie handed the bottle back. "I just... felt bad about that one. Maybe I wouldn't have, but then I walked into the Muddy Rudder and I found out you'd nearly died trying to find me and... I don't know. I guess I realised you meant what you said in the Vault, and I think I figured out I felt the same."
"Did he talk to you like that when you..." Butch asked after another pause. Connie replied with a silent nod. "...I'm gonna punch his lights out," he announced, moving to stand before Connie put her arm out to stop him.
"Butch," for the first time, she looked at him, seeing exactly what she hadn't wanted to see. His eyes were red. He was already drunk, no doubt, but he'd been crying too. Not that she'd ever say anything about that. Butch had an ego as delicate as wet paper. "Get in the bath."
He opened his mouth to argue, but after a moment gave a nod, shrugging off his jacket. It wasn't the way he usually undressed, the quick, desperate way the situation between them often warranted. It was clumsy, casual. Once he was ready, he climbed in to the bath, Connie shifting back so he could sit in front of her and between her legs, his back to her so she could press up against him and rest her chin on his shoulder. "Do you think things would have been different if Dad hadn't left?" She asked, bringing her arms under his arms and around his torso.
"Course they would," he replied, relaxing a little bit in response to her touch. "DC wouldn't have nothin', for one. Enclave'd still be ruining the party for everyone. Amata's dad would still be in charge. ...We'd still be together, though."
"Really?" Connie laughed. "Amata's dad wouldn't have a bar of that, you know that."
He shrugged. "Yeah. You probly woulda' married Freddy." He paused to give a grin, that one she loved so much, the smug one that would either enrage her or make her melt depending on the moment. "But we still woulda' found a way. We found a way to spend prom night together, we would have found a way to spend the rest of our lives together. I mean, it woulda' taken me a while to figure out I liked ya' that much, and then I woulda' had to like, you know, man up and say somethin' like I did when you came back to the Vault..."
Connie turned her head, kissing him on the cheek. "You're an idiot, but you're my idiot."
"Yeah, well, careful there, nerd," he jokingly warned, progressively turning himself to face her. "You might be the hero of the wastes now, but I can still give ya' a swirly." He gently manoeuvred her onto his lap, making it perfectly clear where this was going, eliciting a laugh from her.
"So we're cool?" She asked, only just managing to finish speaking before he trapped her lips with his. He tasted like scotch, which was admittedly something she'd become fond of.
"The coolest," he mumbled as they melted in to each other, her face flushing as it happened, which was easily one of his favourite things to see. She was the strongest person he knew, but she'd crumble just for him. "But I'm still gonna beat the crap outta that ghoul for talkin' to ya like that."
"You're ruining it," she sighed, and with a roll of her hips, they suddenly forgot what they were talking about in the first place.
