Hello, all. Hope you are doing fine as you read this. Thank you so much for waiting. I know I took a long time with this. I apologise. Had RL stuff to deal with and I was working on my Fallout Big Bang entry as well. Thank you for reading. I truly appreciate it. :)

Echo

Chapter 13

3 minutes 48 seconds more before his shift ended. His cigarette was almost down to the butt. Harkness wasn't sure if he had been smoking or merely letting it burn out between his lips. Taking it out, Harkness dropped it over the railing and into the water far below. Above, the sky had darkened. He watched now as firelight from his lighter flickered on his skin while he lit up another cigarette.

He had spent most of the day out here on the bridge, leaning on the railing, staring out at the Wastes, looking at absolutely nothing. Everything was just so... stagnant. There was this heaviness that weighed down on everything in him and... He could feel the ache spread again across his chest. He quelled it. Swallowed the uneasiness. Took the thoughts away from his head. They wouldn't help. Wouldn't change anything.

19:29. The door behind him swung open.

Lana stepped out of the city to relieve him of duty and Harkness dropped the cigarette into the water. When he turned to face her, she gave him a small smile. She didn't say anything but took his shoulder in her hand, just offering a piece of comfort. That brush of warmth made him inhale a deep breath of air uncontaminated by smoke. It made him feel...a little better. A little worse. She knew that he wasn't here where his body was. He was faraway, across from them at the bow. This was her telling him it was alright as she cupped his shoulder. It was going to be alright. He nodded at her and glanced at the space where her chain was hidden underneath her clothes. When she let him go, Harkness went off-duty. He didn't step inside Rivet City.

He walked the 65 steps across the bridge. Trekked 537 steps down the stairs, over the road, past the memorial bathed in its light. On the last 70 steps that led to the broken bow, the sound of his footsteps accompanied him. Every step that brought him closer to his destination felt simultaneously heavier and lighter.

Harkness turned the handle of the hatch. It was unlocked. The door hadn't been locked since... since. He pushed it open. Inside, the room was dim. Empty. The ache threatened to spread again. Harkness squeezed his forearm to distract himself. On the table where Butch used to prop his legs up, the Grognak the Barbarian comic, Bryan Wilks' comic, was still there. Untouched. Harkness caressed the cover, trailing his hand off the page and onto the thin, random grooves in the tabletop; the marks had been done by a switchblade some time ago. Scanning the room one more time, Harkness went around the stairwell and through the corridor. He paused in front of Butch's room. He stood there for a second, just listening, trying to find out if...

No. No sounds. Nothing. He felt something dip low in his stomach as he took a last glance at the door and continued his journey. Nothing had changed.

The kitchen was bright. There was a small pot on the stove, covered partly with a lid. Steam rose from a crack where the pot wasn't covered. He recalled that the only times he saw food in the kitchen was when Butch cooked them. Once, he remembered being offered something called a 'Snake Stew' with no snakes inside it; Butch had told him that it was something for hangovers and he'd done it often in the vault. It was his mother's recipe.

Harkness opened the door. He entered the lab. The privacy screens were still in place. And the image of Butch cooking faded away from his vision. Through the screen, Butch's silhouette was still lying down. He'd been lying down for days. 5 days 20 hours 13 minutes 43 seconds.

"Horace, this is incredible work," Preston's awed voice flitted down from the second floor to where Harkness was standing. "Perhaps you could -"

"No," was Pinkerton's short reply but there was no unkindness in that. No rudeness.

"And why not? It certainly would help with the purifier."

Harkness closed the door behind him. Upstairs, he heard Pinkerton and Preston pause their conversation. Butch's silhouette still didn't move. The doctor and the scientist looked over the railing at him. Preston greeted him with a "Good evening, Chief Harkness." Pinkerton greeted him with a nod. Then, they returned to their discussion. They talked about the past. About Dr Li. About science and life. About water and the purifier. He had no idea that they had gotten along once. They got along well now.

Harkness tuned out their conversation. Walking around the screens, Harkness was met with the sight of Butch. Still asleep. Hands by his sides. Not moving. Breathing slow. The heart monitor beeped regularly, displaying jagged lines that showed the beats of his heart. Steady. Rhythmic. The mask that had covered his mouth and nose was gone now and Harkness could see how pale Butch was. He let his eyes rest on the bruises that had decreased in size but still had a sickly yellowish, purplish tint. Preston had said they would take some time to heal. The same went for the fracture. Raised on a stack of books, Butch's ankle remained wrapped up. Preston had done everything he could. All that was left, was for Butch to recuperate. Harkness understood all that. It just...

It just wasn't easy looking at him like this. Settling by the cot, Harkness watched him. Waited for him. Just like the day before. The day before that. Everyday. It was all he could do. He placed his hands on the edge of the mattress, feeling the faint warmth that radiated to him from Butch's body. The ache was back, swirling up his arms. He had wanted to... touch him. But he wasn't sure how that would do anything.

Footsteps moved towards him.

Glancing to his side, he saw Pinkerton picking up a book from his desk, probably to show off to his new best friend. When he turned, he saw Harkness looking at him. The scientist neared, stopping next to the cot as well. He looked down at Butch. Then, he looked up at Harkness.

"You've never done this before, have you?" Pinkerton asked him with his usual drawl. There was this look on the scientist's face that was curious. Harkness didn't answer. Lifting Butch's right hand, Pinkerton gently rested it atop Harkness' on the cot. The touch was... Butch's hand was warm over his. "That's how you wait for someone," the scientist explained to him. "Harkness," he added. It had always been 'android' or 'A3-21'. Without another word, Pinkerton marched away.

He had no idea how long he stood there looking at their hands. He was mesmerised by the contrast of their skin tones. The fine hairs on the back of Butch's arm. It was bare. No pip-boy here. No notes and messages. No summonses. Just scars on the map of their skin. Finally, Harkness turned his wrist and made their palms meet. It was warmer like this. Better. Soothed a little of the ache he felt in his chest. The pulse on Butch's wrist fluttered. He raised his head to look at the heart monitor -

And Butch's eyes were wide open.

"Butch?" The eyes fell on him at the sound of his voice. The last time Harkness had seen them, Butch's eyes were clouded over with confusion and pain. Fear. This time, all he could see was something like... clarity. There was something there that recognised him. Something unguarded. Soft. Vulnerable. Harkness felt buzzes stirring up inside him. Butch's lips parted.

"...Tin man?" he called. His voice was soft, barely a whisper. The blue gaze roamed over his face and his breathing hitched. His lips moved like he was mouthing words. No sound came out. Then, he took a deep breath. "Am I... home?" Something clenched in Harkness' chest at the question.

"You're not in the vault," he told Butch. "You're in Rivet City."

Butch didn't respond. He just stared at Harkness. Stared at him and held him like that with his gaze. Like he was categorising every part of Harkness' face. Harkness felt him shift. Felt his fingers twitch around his. He'd forgotten that he was holding Butch like this, but he didn't take his eyes off the blue ones looking at him. He couldn't. He'd waited for this... For... Butch sighed, sinking into the cot.

"Good," he said. And Harkness watched as he shut his eyes once more and returned to sleep. His fingers tightened around Harkness'. Harkness didn't let go.