Hello, you. Here's a new chapter. More plot ahead. And it's going to be increasing as we go along. Dun dun dunnnn! Hope you enjoy it.

But uh... So, I need some help. As you know, I'm still in the process of writing this fic. (Still have a lot to go. This is starting to be quite long, really.) I just have some things I am unsure about. Well, just one thing at the moment. And it bugs me to no end. I keep picturing the scene I'm writing, and I keep getting stuck on that one little itty bitty thing which becomes a huge, major problem. It just kills the mood, y'know.

Question: Can you take off a pip-boy? The Fallout wiki says it can't be taken off and it's sealed with some biometric seal. So, if you can't take a pip-boy off, then how do Vault kids change their clothes? Or shower, even? Hmmmm...?

If anyone can answer me I'll be totally grateful to you.
That said... Thank you! Stay awesome, all! Onwards!

Trouble
Chapter 11

"Food. Now." Lana was probably the only person who could threaten anyone with breakfast. She dragged him down to the marketplace with the strict pull of her gaze. He wasn't affected by it; he followed because it was amusing to see her like that. Puzzled. Uncertain. She wasn't usually like that when she was trying to confront him. At the moment, it was like she wasn't even sure if she was supposed to be confronting him. She was. She stabbed at the noodles and lifted a forkful to her lips to shove into her mouth. She pointed at him with the sharp points of a rusty fork; her gaze on him was just as sharp. That and the soft bulge of food in her mouth made the scene more intimidating. After a deep swallow, she accused him. "You and Butchie are scheming."

Right.

There were so many things, three things, wrong with that statement. Firstly, there was no 'Harkness and Butch' in any collective form whatsoever. Secondly, he wasn't the scheming type. The barber was, probably. But not Harkness. Thirdly, logic didn't allow it. If Lana had thought a little deeper, she would realise that if they had been scheming, it would entail Butch planning to get punched by Toby. And that wasn't likely. Butch didn't seem like that much of an idiot, no matter how happily he jumped into fights. Also, Harkness wouldn't let any of his guards resort to violence. A bit hypocritical of him when he had just beaten up the same barber a couple of nights back. But nobody should get beaten up multiple times within 24 hours, no matter how much they deserved it. And well… To be beat up by the likes of Toby would add insult to injury. Across the table, Lana chewed on her noodles, still suspicious.

"No," he answered simply. Lana raised an eyebrow at the non-confession.

"But you made me take over Toby's duties," she whined except with a growl.

"You didn't do said duties." She didn't. His second-in-command didn't take over Toby's duties like he commanded. He had found the other guard that Toby was usually assigned with, Grant Peters, 19 years old, doing his rounds alone. So, actually, she didn't have a right to question him because she was the one who had been missing in action for a good part of yesterday. Approximately 10 hours unaccounted for.

"Come on, Hark. The ship's safe from trouble." He scoffed. No, Lana. It wasn't. Lana gave him a glare and stuffed another forkful of noodles into her mouth. How she could make that move look like it was a threat was amazing. After that mouthful was finished, she finally explained why Toby had punched Butch. This conversation with Lana was personal, of course. Not authorised information. Nothing to do with the ship and duties and regulations. Lana was speaking to him as a confidant. It wasn't a complicated story. Apparently, Toby had overheard Vera and her talking about the barber's skills; she didn't elaborate what and he didn't want to know. She added that she had been 'just teasing' the confused bastard. Right. Confused or not, the bastard had punched Butch because of that 'teasing'. A weak ass punch was still a punch. Both Toby and Lana had talked about their relationship instead of doing their duties.

"Toby asked if I was happier, asked if Butchie was a better lover." Right. What part of his overall appearance urged Lana to tell him this? She could tell him anything and he'd listen. But Harkness wasn't really programmed to deal with matters like this. He didn't really want to know. She eyed him intently, expecting him to react but he barely squirmed. Not that androids could squirm. "He said he'll fight for me."

"Barber would tear him apart." A slow, amused, triumphant smile spread across her face.

"So, you and Butchie are scheming…"

"No." He felt the tape in his pocket. "We aren't." 'We' wasn't a collective term.

Even after this conversation, he had no idea what it was Lana was doing with the barber or with Toby. And he didn't really want to know.

He just hoped for Toby's sake, he'd never try hitting Butch again.

Because Harkness probably wouldn't stop Butch next time.

He blamed this on a bottle of Nuka-Cola.

On the way to Vera's, he passed Sister in the hallway. Reaching above him to change a lightbulb, Sister hadn't even bothered to switch off the lights, causing sparks to hiss at him as soon as he unscrewed the faulty bulb. Reckless. Dangerous. Harkness nodded in greeting, pausing beside the stepladder to hand him the new bulb sitting in a box on the lower rungs of the ladder. Sister grunted something he assumed was a 'thanks' and screwed this new bulb into the empty socket, the light shining his face almost instantly as the electricity made contact. He squinted into the light. Harkness resumed his journey.

He found Seagrave, as usual, attempting to woo Vera, saying 'I know I'm not a sophisticated man, but I'm still a man.' Right. So was Ted. Vera, as usual, was politely declining his advances.

He also found the barber unexpectedly awake. Not at the marketplace. Not at the Muddy Rudder. But here. At Vera's hotel lobby in the upper deck, his fingers curled in Vera's hair. Butch had a pair of scissors in his grip, trimming strands of Vera's hair from the left side of her scalp. The sight of the barber actually working stopped Harkness from entering the lobby.

Cause trouble didn't usually hold a sharp object and not try to cut someone.

He stood there for some time, 8 seconds, and was about to leave and come back later when Vera noticed him and called his name in the slow, seductive way she said anyone's name. She liked to roll her 'r's when she said 'Harkness', the word sounding like a soft purr in her mouth.

"You look as lovely as ever, Vera," he complimented. Because she was. Because she expected it. Because as soon as he stepped into the lobby, Seagrave had fixed him with a semi-territorial stare. He felt it skimming along his skin. Attempting to cut into him. He could see how that irked Seagrave but what could he do? Not that he would do anything to remedy Seagrave's jealousy. Or wanted to. The barber glanced at him then, a short, secretive smirk tugging his lips, before focusing his attention on Vera again. The smirk stayed on his face as he worked. Vera beamed at Harkness. Cooed at him. Invited him to join her for a drink. It was a cover, of course. She might seem to be flirting with him, and she openly was, but past that sweet smile, her invitation to tea was an invitation for a gossip session. Despite being welcomed and beckoned by Vera, he stood just at the entrance to the lobby, watching this scene.

There was only one reason why he was here. It was the same reason he came here every month for five months so far.

"What shall we do with Zimmer's belongings, Harkness?" Vera asked.

He didn't know.

Hadn't had an answer since the day he entered the Science Lab and found two piles of ash. One was Zimmer. The other was Armitage. Piles of disintegrated wires, circuits and the filth that was Zimmer. Disintegrated by his trusted plasma rifle in the hands of the other Vault kid. He had examined the piles, empty, and then told Young to clear them up. It was such a serene picture, of ash floating on the water; he almost forgot that the ash belonged to a sick bastard. Good fucking riddance.

"Who's Zimmer?" Seagrave asked, his tone sounding disinterested, but Harkness could see that Butch definitely was interested. He had stopped in the middle of a snip and turned to face him. It was strange that Butch didn't recognise that name, seeing as he knew what Harkness was. Seemed like the other Vault kid didn't mention Zimmer to him. That was interesting. Just how much did Butch actually know about his condition? In the few seconds he pondered the question, he saw Butch eye him, following the line of his form to his face. He realised that he was tense and he shifted slightly. Was it obvious that this topic affected him?

In truth, he wanted to examine the old fucker's belongings. To see if there were traces of him in there. Traces of A3-21. Zimmer had been a sneaky fucker. Intelligent. And a coward. He needed bodyguards. Needed to make sure that someone would always know where to find him. Including his old android, A3-21. There was this nagging feeling in Harkness that the coward might plant one of his awful contraptions within that room. Just for him to find. He didn't know what kind of contraption. Would he be erased? Reset? He had seen the tests of it back in the Institute, of something that could harm his circuits and do worse to a human. What if a human encountered Zimmer's traps?

"No one knows for sure, hun," Vera answered Seagrave when Harkness didn't. "Mister Zimmer said he was searching for his lost property. An android." Butch flicked a questioning gaze at Harkness. He caught Butch's gaze. The intense, open one that fixed on some part of his face. Then it moved to somewhere on his torso and stayed there until the next snip of the scissors. He recognised that look on the face as curiosity. He didn't know what was going through Butch's head, but he had an idea. And that wasn't good.

"Give me the key, Vera," Harkness said. She nodded. Mr Buckingham handed him the key to Zimmer's door. From one machine to another. He saw Butch watch the exchange before he returned to his work, his face set in a determined expression. Butch ran his fingers through Vera's blonde waves. Snipped a lock. The cut hair landed on the floor. He combed the hair. Snipped another lock. Ran his fingers through her hair. Combed. Snipped. Parted the locks. Combed. Snipped. It was routine. Like clockwork.

Harkness wasn't really sure how long he stood there watching Butch work, 19 minutes 15 seconds, before the barber decided he was done and Vera paid him caps for 'being so sweet'. He had to admit that Butch did a good job. He was genuinely talented. Vera smiled at him. Seagrave scowled.

As soon as Butch brushed past him out of the hotel lobby, Harkness followed the snake on his back.

"What? You gonna escort me again?" he demanded. Butch's hands automatically flew out of his pockets where Harkness could see them. Giving him a sidelong glance, Butch walked beside him. "I didn't do shit." Not yet.

"You want to break into the room." He knew that since the moment Butch's curious gaze fell on him. Butch slowed down his steps. He parted his lips to speak, to deny probably. Harkness cut him off. "Don't."

"The fuck?" Butch stopped then and turned to face him. Harkness stopped as well, waiting for the barber to speak. Barber didn't.

"You don't know what's in there."

"Sure. But I'm gonna find out." Bullshit. Why was he doing this? What was the point in him doing this? Butch smirked. The cocky smirk. But Harkness wasn't backing down.

"Zimmer was a sick bastard." Butch held his gaze. "So, don't go in there," he pressed. He watched the stare intensify as they both stood silently in the empty hallway, neither wanting to back off.

"I ain't one of your guards, Chief." Right. Butch didn't want to listen. He watched the way Butch's smirk curled into an obstinate sneer.

"Stay out of the room," he warned again. Then, noting the barber's still determined expression, he added a firm "Butch."

And that made the barber falter. The sneer fell as he raised an eyebrow at Harkness. There were minute changes in that face. Less defiant. Some emotion flickered across his face and disappeared. It was… intriguing.

"Fine." Butch gave in. He took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Eyeing Harkness again, he added "But what am I supposed to do tonight?" What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before he could suggest that Butch take a rest from all that trouble-making, Butch straightened up again, eyes glinting. "You're gonna be on the bridge right?"

Bullshit.

"You want to come to the bridge?" Harkness asked, incredulous.

"Sure, Chief," Butch answered. The smirk softened its edginess. Warmed a little. More playful. More relaxed. "If you want me to." It didn't make any sense why Butch was doing this but Harkness didn't ask further.

Being clueless about Butch was starting to become routine as well.