I apologise for the delay. Thank you very much for reading! (Edited! just grammar, spelling, tense, etc. y'know, minor stuff)

Trouble
Chapter 14

Lana called for him as she sprinted down the hall. He felt dread sink low in his navel. Because knowing Lana, she only called him when she couldn't stop certain bullshit. She flew down the halls to him; her blonde hair had gone loose. He took 1 second later than he should to drop his razor onto the sink and grab his shirt. Could've done it much faster. What the hell was wrong with him? 'Butch' she said. And it confirmed what he'd already suspected. That there was trouble. And Butch was involved. He felt the sting of panic across his back. But didn't indulge in it. Didn't want to. Shouldn't. The tension expressed itself in the rough way he yanked his shirt over his head. And he was already running with her. No time for precise neatness. He wiped his jaw with his hands and smeared the synthetic sliding down his chin. He ran. She ran.

Knowing Butch… Tunnel Snake wouldn't know he was bleeding till he stopped.

Bullshit.

Troublesome bastard. Didn't he say to leave it alone?

I ain't one of your guards, Chief.

Bullshit.

He jumped over the stairs. Lana had fallen behind. He was guided by the sounds of fighting now. Getting louder. Getting closer. Why the hell was he moving so slowly? He banged the stairwell door open. Slipped past his guards, five of them. He saw them straighten their backs. Saw the bruises on their faces. Bullshit. Was Butch hitting his guards too? Their hands gripped their batons. But no one was using them. They followed him. Ahead, the sounds continued. No one was talking. No insults. No goading. Just crashes. Louder. Clearer.

In the room, Sister had Butch in a stranglehold.

They were both bleeding. Locked on each other. Trying to twist the other to pieces.

He watched Butch crash into the locker in the corner where Sister threw him. Butch barely let the pain settle before he was launching himself on Sister again. He just got pushed back again. Easier this time.

And then Harkness was elbowing Sister's chin. Shoving him against the wall. Sister stumbled backwards. Cursed when he banged against the wall and crumpled to the ground. Instead of fighting, Sister put his head in his hands. He let loose a low moan. Didn't even try to get up. Harkness turned to Butch only to see him lunge at Sister. He grabbed the snake and hauled him back. The jacket slipped off a shoulder. Butch struggled against his grip. Demanded him to let go in a series of angry hisses. He wrenched the barber to him. And slammed him into the locker. Harkness kept his grip on him as he looked over his shoulder to see Lana direct guards to Sister. Sister still wasn't moving to get up. And Butch still thrashed against him, trying to get at Sister. Calm down. Harkness pressed Butch to the locker. Calm the fuck down. And saw how injured he was. Saw the blood on his swollen lips. Dribbling down his jaw. Blood on his brow. Cut across his left cheek. Open wound on his right temple. Bruise on the left side of his nose. Butch. His eyes, wild and flickering finally focused on his. And Butch coughed. Then he winced.

Only then did Harkness realised he was pinning Butch to the locker with more strength than he should. Fluctuations around 80% of full strength. How the hell had it escalated to that? How much strength did he use on Sister? Sister still wasn't getting up; the hands holding his head were shaking.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He relaxed his grip on Butch. Pulled back. Slightly. Just enough that the wince reduced. He checked that he hadn't broken in Butch's ribs. Checked that none of his injuries were fatal.

He slipped the forearm holding Butch off him. Took a step back to just… calm down. To at least, stop the painful thudding echoing somewhere in his chest. To swallow the nothing that was choking his throat. Butch widened his eyes when he pulled back and then grabbed him. Fisted his shirt and tugged him close. He could smell the sharp tang of rust on him. Blood.

"Chief." He was slurring like he was drunk. "Don't go near the fucker." By reflex, Harkness shrugged off the grip. But Butch instantly clamped a hand on his arm, digging fingers into the flesh. Tugged him close again. His eyes pleaded, darting past him to Sister. "He's gonna kill you."

Right.

"I want to kill you right now," Harkness blurted. He swatted Butch's hands away. They immediately tightened around his other arm.

"Shit. I ain't joking."

"Neither am I." Butch's eyes, still wide, now narrowed as he leaned his head against the locker behind him. His lips pulled into his usual smirk. Bloodier than usual.

"Nah. You'll miss me too much." What the hell? This was hardly the time to be playing around.

And Sister wasn't to be played around with. Butch knew this. What the hell was he thinking picking stupid fights with trigger-happy fuckers? And didn't they discuss this? That they weren't going to pursue the Eulogy Jones – Zimmer conspiracy on the ship? Butch's problem was that he couldn't keep away from causing trouble. That he didn't like 'waitin' around for stuff to happen'. Whatever it was, did it justify trying to get himself killed? No. Hell, no. Jumping into fights like it was important. Getting beat up like it was worth anything. Bullshit. What was all this for? What if he was injured worse than this? He didn't want to see the barber ripped apart and bleeding all over the floor. Didn't want to see even a mere hint of that. No. Hell, no.

That thought made his fingers twitch. He felt his pulse jump. He didn't even want to be near Butch right now because he felt unhinged. Uncontrolled. He wanted to pound some sense into Butch's non-sense.

Barber had him feeling violently tense.

He turned to move to Sister but the grip on his arm was still there. Distracting. It tightened when he tried budging it off. Barber wouldn't let go of him. Like he had him on a leash of some sort. It was cutting off circulation in his arm. He wanted to tell Butch to knock it off but the look on his face had darkened into an expression he couldn't figure out. That look and the cuts on his face... They just… fucked with his system. Harkness simply wasn't programmed to deal with this. Deal with such… strong emotions. He took in a breath and gave in. Let himself be pulled. That seemed to calm Butch down and the tight grip loosened. Just a little.

"Sister?" Lana was asking. Gentle but firm. Sister didn't answer. Just shook his head. Honestly, Sister looked more messed up than Butch. He was still clutching his head and his face had turned pale. He mumbled something which made Lana lean closer. Whatever she heard made her give Harkness a worried look.

12 minutes, 35 seconds, later, Lana and the guards were escorting Sister to the bridge tower. And Butch was in Preston's office getting patched up. It would take more than 1 measly Stimpak to heal him. And Harkness didn't have a Stimpak right now because he wasn't dressed for duty. He wasn't dressed for anything. There was a hole in his shirt and bloody fingerprints on his sleeve and on the hem of his shirt and pretty much on odd places. Red on gray. It was like Butch had been clawing him and leaving prints on him. The marks were… awkward. Especially the ones on his forearm. Not that nothing else was awkward. Butch whining to Preston about everything was awkward too. Come on, man. Be gentle. I need my face after this y'know. He had stubbornly refused to take off the jacket and his jumpsuit, only unzipped them. The white shirt underneath those two garments, he had pulled up its hem to expose his torso. There were purple bruises along his ribs and thin faint scars on his stomach. The scars were old but the bruises were not. Watching Butch in this state caused a strange uncomfortable constant metallic humming in his body; he couldn't pinpoint its source. Distracting. He turned to the holotape he was given.

According to Lana, Butch had been searching through Sister's footlocker and found something incriminating. It was a holotape. It had Sister's name scrawled on it. Now, the holotape was in his pocket. Next to Preston's tape. Butch had passed it to Lana to pass to Harkness before he went looking for Sister. In the other pocket was Butch's switchblade. Must be luck that Sister didn't find it on the floor. Reckless barber left his shit lying everywhere.

"Chief?" Butch called from his place on the cot. "You still wanna kill me?" Equal parts yes and no. Harkness decided not to reply that. Just stared back at him. "Fine. But…uh… y'know you got my blood on your jaw?" He had forgotten about that. Not that he could forget. Just that he hadn't been consciously thinking about it. He walked over to Preston's desk where the basin of water was. The water had turned reddish. Butch's blood. He picked up the soaked towel and wiped his chin with it.

"Not your blood. I cut myself shaving this morning." He fingered the small groove in his skin.

"You bleed?" Butch blurted. Harkness didn't want to answer that question either. It was a good thing Preston didn't seem to find that question odd; he just continued his work on Butch's bruises. Probably used to idiocy. "You cut yourself shaving? That's…" Butch's voice trailed off as he frowned at Harkness. He imagined that Butch wanted to say something insulting. For someone who had just got beaten up, his mouth didn't seem to lack energy. His frown deepened like he was thinking hard. Then it faded. Changed into a determined expression. And that was the best time to interrupt his thoughts.

"Explain," Harkness demanded. "What the hell were you doing?" That wasn't a fruitful question. How had it slipped past his lips? Just important facts needed. "The holotape you found. What about it?" Butch didn't want to answer him. His face shifted into the passive mask he used when he didn't want to relay information.

"Chief Harkness, you can use my player if you want," Preston offered. The doctor straightened up and took off his right glove to tinker with the player on his desk.

Harkness looked over at Butch who trained him with a hard, open stare as Preston slotted the holotape into the player. He seemed to have something to say but wasn't saying it.

The tape crackled. And someone cleared their throat.

"We've a little assignment from the Commonwealth. A very important slave escaped into the Wasteland. Well, it's not exactly a slave. It's what they call an android. A kind of synthetic man. The important thing isn't what this guy is. The important thing is the job pays more than you can imagine. If you want a cut, then get a move on."

The tape crackled again. The tape ended.

"The android wasn't a hoax?" Preston wondered aloud.

"No shit," Butch replied. He brushed his fingers over the cut on Harkness' chin. "He's an asshole too."