"This is crazy," Butch yelled, over the gunfire. "How in the hell did you manage to live for a month out here?!"

Clara shrugged and leapt out of cover again, swinging her sledgehammer at the nearest raider. They'd stumbled onto a whole group of them out in the wastes, in a house that was falling apart. Clara smashed her way through the remaining two while Butch shot at them from his rock cover.

She thought it was kind of funny that he wasn't very good at being tough, at least not when it came to fighting off various things in the wastes. She rummaged through the raider's clothes for ammo and chems.

"Yes!" she said, when her fingers closed around a psycho injector. She wasn't feeling all that great about having to kill the raiders. But the mentats she'd managed to scrounge up were helpful in keeping her sane. With the psycho... she smiled in relief. She'd do a hell of a lot better, now that she had that.

"Where do you wanna go now?" she asked Butch, as the psycho injected into her system. She breathed out slowly and tossed the injector away.

"The hell was that?"

Clara shrugged. "Helps," she said. "You want a drink? This one has some whiskey."

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, and walked off to the ruined house, looking up at it.

Clara checked her Pip-Boy and coughed, the swirling dust of the encounter rising up to her face. "Butch?" she asked, glancing at him over a shoulder. "You okay?"

"Don't know, nosebleed," he said. She could barely hear him.

He was unhappy. She knew he was unhappy the minute she asked him to tell her what to do; he'd sworn and stopped talking to her for a long time. It made Clara unhappy to see him so down. She finished stripping the bodies on their stuff and walked over to stand beside him.

"This shit's all fucked up, innit?" he muttered.

"You get used to it, after a while," she said. "You want to camp here tonight?"

"I'd probably die out here if you didn't watch out for me," he replied. "Whatever, nosebleed."

"Don't call me that," she said. "I'm not nosebleed. I'm Clara."

He pushed aside a bit of wood and climbed into the ruined house, looking around. "You're damn lucky your name don't rhyme with bitch."

Clara scoffed in disbelief. "Who called you that?"

Butch looked around for a moment longer and went upstairs without answering. She sighed. So far, this wasn't as nice as she had anticipated. Butch had something on his mind, something big, and she didn't know what it could be, but she didn't like him acting so depressed.

She was trying so hard herself, to get over the pain of the deaths... to get over the pain of existing in the wastes. Of not being allowed to stay in the Vault, of having to go outside and use chems and kill to survive―she shook her head, willing the bad thoughts away. The high of the psycho made her feel more confident.

"Butch?" she called as she walked up the ramp to the upper floor. "What's the matter?"

He'd sat down against a "window" and was looking out, playing with his switchblade. "You fuckin' told," he muttered.

"What?"

"You told Amata what I did―" he snapped the blade closed and ran a hand through his hair. "You told her I messed around with you." His hands were shaking. She didn't know why.

"I didn't," she said, and tears sprang to her eyes. "I didn't, Butch, I swear!"

"Pssh." He didn't make eye contact. "She knew. She kicked me out! I―look, I wanted to leave the Vault, but not like that―"

Clara dropped her sack of goods and went to his side, throwing her arms around his waist because he twisted away from her at the last moment. "I didn't want to leave, either," she said, pressing her face into his shoulder blade. "I'm glad you came with me, though."

"Shit," Butch grumbled, turned back to her, and laid a hand across her shoulder.

"I could make you happy," Clara murmured, looking up at him. "If you want. You don't seem very happy right now."

Butch made a bad face. "Man, is that all you ever think about?"

She looked down and let him go, moving away. "I'm good at it," she muttered to herself, frustrated. It was the only thing she was good at. Mister Burke had always said she was good at it―Clara sighed and looked through her sack for some food, and passed Butch some beans. It was gonna be a long night, her stuck with her own thoughts. At least she had the chems to keep her happy. She didn't know how to help Butch.

Time passed slowly as they ate, and Clara watched the sun setting, thinking about her first night out in the wastes. She hadn't known as much then as she did now. Butch must be feeling the same way, lost and confused. She felt bad for him. Her first couple of days, alone... she'd wanted to cry every minute of it. But Butch wouldn't cry. He was a boy.

The silence was broken, after a time, by Butch. "Guess you ain't a virgin no more, huh?" he asked.

Clara nearly choked on her food, and spat up old beans onto the metal floor. She stared at him, in the closing darkness. "What?" she asked.

"Guy was taking care of you," he said, staring at his can. "Guess you know what it's all about, now."

Clara flushed. "I―" she stopped herself and sputtered out a breath. "...I'm not." She had a thought then, and her face drained of blood. Was she supposed to―was she supposed to save herself for him? "I―I'm sorry, Butch―I didn't think―"

"I'm not gonna hit you," Butch said, quietly. He tossed the can out into the wastes and leaned back on the metal floor, laying himself out. He was silent for a moment, before he said, "I shouldn't have hit you, before."

"You didn't treat me bad," she said, a little relieved that she wasn't going to get hit. The bruises―Amata had given her med-x to help with the pain, so she'd been a little out of it before they'd left the Vault. The bruises were pretty terrible, she knew. But she... she'd deserved her punishment. Hadn't she?

"Mister Burke hit me pretty hard," she muttered to herself.

"He beat the shit out of you," Butch replied, angrily. "Flat-out attacked you. Wasn't right of him."

"I shouldn't have bugged him." Clara felt the mentats fizzing through her brain, telling her that what he'd done was wrong. She didn't want to think that she'd been attacked. Mister Burke had... he'd made things alright for her, for a while. "I know he―he loved me, in his own way."

Butch snorted. "You sound like my mom," he groaned. "Always making excuses. The asshole didn't deserve you." He turned his head away and Clara put her food down, moving across the floor to sit beside him as he lay on the floor.

"He's dead," she whispered. "I don't―I don't want to think badly of him―" Even when he'd made her blow up Megaton. Even when he'd tied her down and gone over every inch of her privates with a belt. Even when he'd... even when he'd made her have sex with him after, promising more punishment if she didn't. It had hurt even more as he grabbed at her bruised hips―she'd known at the time she'd deserved it. Even though he'd done bad things... she still―

Butch and Amata thought she was being hurt. ...Amata was very smart, but Clara didn't think she was as smart as Mister Burke. And Butch... Clara laid herself down beside him and curled up close. Butch wasn't smart compared to Amata. He definitely wasn't smart compared to Mister Burke.

But Clara trusted Butch. She'd known him her whole life. If he thought what Mister Burke had done was wrong, then it must have been. Which meant him being dead was... a good thing? She wasn't sure. It felt wrong to want someone to be dead because they were a bad person.

Butch ran a hand down her shoulder and pulled her close to him, her back against his chest. He felt comfortable. Like her teddy bear. Shoot, she'd left it behind again! She made a frustrated noise and felt Butch's chest moving against her back.

"Clara," he said, his voice strained.

"What?" she asked.

"I..." He sighed. The rush of hot air down the back of her neck made her shiver. "I promise I won't hurt you like that, ever."

"Why?" She turned her head and stared at him through the corner of her eyes. Why would he need to make a promise like that―

Butch's jaw clenched. "...You're too damn dumb to know better," he muttered. "But... I like you all the same."

Clara shook her head. "I know I'm... dumb," she said, slowly. She smiled tiredly, and turned around to face him. She ran her hands up and down his jacket, feeling the leather. "I like you, too," she added. "Even when we were kids and we beat each other up."

"You ain't gonna get me killed, right?" he asked, running a hand along her cheek.

"I won't try to," she said, pouting. He was being rude. Same as always.

Butch chuckled softly. "Alright. I guess that's the best I get." He tousled her hair and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. "Let's get some sleep, I'm tired as all hell."

"Me, too," she murmured, and yawned.

"Good night, nosebleed."

"Good night, Butch."

Clara took Butch along the water's edge the next day, as close in to the D.C. ruins as she dared. Butch hadn't ever seen any of the monsters that roamed the water, the centaurs, the Mirelurks, the Super Mutants. The raiders were the most trouble. Butch got shot a couple times and Clara's stimpaks were dwindling a little too fast for comfort.

She chewed on her thumbnail and tried not to think about what would happen if she ran out completely before they made it to Rivet City. Especially because they had to go near the purifier and the Enclave―and they couldn't afford to go through the Metros with all the raiders and ghouls.

Butch almost screamed when he saws his first ghoul. Clara was a little confused. He couldn't tell that they had been people, at first, and had unloaded a whole clip into the first one they'd found wandering around. The anger he had―she wondered if he was scared of them?

She put the thought out of her head as they made their way around the Anchorage Memorial. With a small yelp, she pulled Butch back against the brick base at the top, hiding under the statue. Talon Company was all over the place. Why were they wandering around so much? She wasn't afraid of them, but there were just so many of them―

"What's this?" she heard a voice say. "...Hot damn!"

Three Talon Company men came 'round the corner and confronted her and Butch. Butch held up his gun, but Clara put her hand out to stop him. "If they haven't shot us yet, they won't," she muttered. That much she remembered the mercenaries saying, before.

"Ah! The girl! Been looking for you!" the leader said, and grinned. "That bonus is ours, boys!"

A short cheer rose. "What do you mean?' Clara asked, confused. Why would they be looking for her?

"You're worth a nice bit of caps," the leader said. "Now, you gonna come with us, or is this gonna have to be the hard way?"

Clara stood a little straighter. "Who's looking for me?" she asked, angrily.

The leader grinned and raised his eyebrows. Clara's blood ran cold as he told her, "Mister Burke, of course, sweet cheeks!"

She opened her mouth and closed it and then felt all the blood draining from her face. "He's―but he's dead!"

"Not dead enough!" The leader laughed. The other mercs started laughing too, and Clara felt faint again.

"What's going on, Clara?" Butch asked her, in a low tone.

She remembered when Dukov had tried to touch her. She knew what would happen if Mister Burke found out Butch had even tried to hug her, or had spent the night sleeping beside her―or that she'd let him kiss her, even on the forehead―

"Run, Butch," she whispered hoarsely, and raised her sledgehammer up.

"Just... run!"