"You're staring again," Liz said as she scowled up at Butch. She sat on the floor in front of the coffee table opposite the couch while he continued his sewing project. He had asked her once why she sat on the floor to work instead of at the dining table. She told him it was more comfortable her way. He thought she was crazy, but there were bigger indicators of that fact.

"Your hair is a mess," he said, and he was right. It was greasy, and had more dirt than he would ever be comfortable with. It wasn't overly tangled, thank god, but it was still bad. As much as he hated the Vault, he had to admit that they had done a damn good job at training him for his assigned work, and being good at that job meant knowing when someone was in desperate need of some hair care.

"... Are you really hung up on my hair ?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah. It could pass for a molerat's nest if you were a giant," he said.

"It's not that bad."

"Yeah, it is."

"Whatever, I'm sorry I'm not as vain as you," she rolled her eyes, and went back to working on her rifle.

"Let me take care of it," he blurted out before he could stop himself. He doubted she would take him up on his offer. She had stopped getting her hair done when she had learned of is G.O.A.T. test results. Sure, they were closer now, and he had said his apologies without making excuses, but that didn't mean she trusted him completely.

"What?" she asked.

"Let me take care of it," he repeated in a softer voice, "I've been scavenging for hair stuff, and I've even bought nicer products off of Moira. It may be rare out her, but I know that even I'm not going to be able to use it all myself."

"Oh look at you. Butch DeLoria, sharing? Never would have thought that possible," she teased, but there was still an uneasy edge to her voice.

"Can it, Pipsqueak. This is more for my benefit than yours. It would be an offense against all of humanity to keep letting you walking around like that, and like you said, I'm not evil."

He half expected her to groan in response, but when she spoke in a meek voice he was completely caught off guard. She glanced away, "You promise not to fuck up my hair?"
"It's one thing I take seriously, baby."

That earned him a groan, and he rolled her eyes, "Fine, but if you do, I am not forgiving you, and I mean it, Butch."

"Noted. I'm going to go get the soap and stuff, you fill a pail up with water."

"We're doing it in here?"

"You have a better idea?"
She grimaced, "No. I don't trust people to not bother you while you work."

"Then stop complaining," he said as he set his work aside. She grumbled under her breath just enough for him to not be able to hear her as she picked up her own things. He hid his slightly shaking hands by shoving them into his pockets as he headed up stairs. He hadn't really expected her to agree when he had blurted the suggestion out. He wasn't entirely sure why he had said it in the first place if he was honest. He knew damn well that this was a step in… some kind of direction. One that made him a little nervous. He pulled out a briefcase from under his bed when he got to his bed. There was a comb, several bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and a tiny pair of scissors. It was nothing compared to what he used to have, but it was better than just a bucket of water.

He grabbed what he needed, and headed back down stairs to where Liz had filled the biggest bucket they had with water. She had also grabbed a few towels as well. She was tapping her hands on her thighs as she waited. It was a nervous tick that she had had for as far back as he could remember.

"Is there anything you can stack under that bucket?" he asked as he walked down the stairs.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm going to grab that office chair you have in your room for you to sit in, so I can bend you back over the bucket."

"Oh, that actually makes sense. I'll grab some stuff."

He hummed in response, and set his supplies down on the crowded coffee table. He ran back up the stairs to grab the chair. He had to resist the urge to snoop her things as he opened the door to her room. She would know if he did, and he wasn't going to abuse that shaky trust. Especially, when there were pranks that would be so much better than satiating his curiosity. When he came back out she was stacking old books, and sturdy wooden boxes so the bucket could be at the right height. He set the office chair down next to Liz, before disappearing into the makeshift cupboard.

When he returned with a cup, she gave him a confused look, "What's that for?"

"To rinse your hair."

"Smart," she hummed in response. He had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning too much. Compliments from Liz about anything other than his sewing work were rare. Compliments from Liz about his intelligence were practically non-existent.

Butch rolled the chair over to where the bucket, and it's tower had been set up. He folded one of the towels up, and put it on the back of the chair where she would bend over it for some extra padding. He was about to motion for her to sit down, but he realized she was still wearing his old jacket.

"You should take that off first," he said, gesturing to the jacket.

She grabbed it defensively. It was a look of uncomfortable worry that he was a little too familiar with, but before he could say anything, she took it off. It was the first time he had seen her without it since leaving the Vault with the exception of when she went to bathe despite the heat of summer. Her arms were noticeably paler than her neck, face, and hands. He wondered just how long she had been wearing that jacket. He almost asked, but she sat in the chair.

"Go ahead, and bend backwards. It's going to be uncomfortable, but there's no other option," he said.

She nodded, and proceeded to bend backwards over the back of the chair. He watched the chair closely, making sure that it wasn't going to break. Once her long blonde hair was dangling into the bucket, and he was sure the chair was stable, he moved to her side. He dipped the cup he had grabbed into the water, and began to pour it over her hair. He used his other hand to sweep the few strands that didn't fall into the water back into the bucket. Just as a flush started to appear on her cheeks, she closed her eyes. He was grateful for that, as now he didn't have to fight to not stare at her bright eyes. Once he was sure that her hair was properly soaked, he set the cup aside and began detangling her hair with his fingers. He did his best to be gentle, and every time she winced he did too.

"I'm going to start using the shampoo now," he said to give her some time estimate on how much longer she had to sit like that.

He grabbed the shampoo he had chosen. It was supposed to smell like some kind of flower, lavender it said, and he hoped she liked the scent. He poured a quarter sized amount into his palm, and began massaging it into her scalp. She flinched away from his touch at first, but slowly warmed up to his fingers. He had to look away when her face started looking a little too pleased with his scalp massage, and his pants started to feel a little tighter. He tried to convince himself that it was just a natural reaction, and not something more. He moved on from her scalp, and started dragging the suds through the rest of her hair, working out the grime. Once her hair was fully suds up, he poured the water over her hair again. He repeated the whole process over again and again until the suds were only white.

"I'm done with the shampoo, and I'm going to have you sit up for the conditioner so it can sit for a minute," he said.

He could see her tense as she attempted to sit up, but she didn't. She opened her eyes, "Do… do you mind helping me? I don't trust this chair."

"What do you need me to do?"
"Just put your hand on the back of the chair."

He did as told, and she slowly sat up to make sure the chair didn't break. He then handed her a towel to drape over her shoulders to keep her shirt from getting wet as he grabbed the conditioner bottle. He squirted out a smaller amount than the shampoo before he began working the conditioner into her hair.

"Smells nice," she said as she waited for it to soak in.

"Compared to some of the literal shit we've come across, I'm not surprised. Now, lean back for me."
She snorted as she did as she was told, and he proceeded to rinse the conditioner out of her hair. He helped her sit back up, and grabbed the comb. He ran it through her hair until all of the tangles were finally gone. Her hair was still a little darker than normal thanks to it being wet, but it was already starting to look a hundred times better. When he was pleased with how neat her hair was, he grabbed the scissors and another towel. He dropped the towel on the ground to catch the ends of her hair. The sound of the scissors snipping through her hair was all that filled the air as he worked. Her hair was in a surprisingly good state under all the dirt, grease, and tangles. He still had to cut off a considerable amount, but not nearly as much as he had expected. When he was done cutting, her lower back length hair fell to where the band of her bra likely was.

"I'm going to braid your hair now," he said, wiping off his scissors.

"Why?" she asked, sounding amused.

"It'll protect your hair. Keep it from becoming a natural disaster again."

"It wasn't that bad," she scoffed.

"Tell that to the bucket," he said as he grabbed her old hair tie. He turned back to her, and started braiding her hair. He had the hair tie in his mouth as he separated her hair into three separate parts.

A few minutes passed, and Liz spoke quietly when he was halfway done, "You're humming."

"Hm?"
"You're humming," she repeated. Her voice sounded rather fond, but he tried to convince himself it was just his imagination.

"That a problem?" he asked with the hair tie still in between his teeth.

"No, just… surprising."

He wasn't entirely convinced that surprising was the word she really wanted to use, but he wasn't going to push it. A few more minutes passed, and he secured the braid with the hair tie. It was tight, and neat, and he was proud of his work.

He took the towels away, "Done."

She reached behind her to touch the braid, and a small smile appeared on her lips, "Thank you."

He grinned, "What?"
"Butch."

"What? I didn't hear you."

She turned to look at him, and spoke more firmly, "Thank you."
"Just doing my part for humanity."

She rolled her eyes, "Whatever. Way to ruin the moment."

He raised an eyebrow, "We were having a moment?"

She blushed, but she tried to hide it with a scowl, "You know what I meant."

"I'm not sure I do, Pipsqueak," he said leaning forward. He wasn't sure if he hoped she thought he was flirting or trying to get on her nerves.

"Stop calling me that."

"It's not Nosebleed."

"It's just as annoying."

"Fine, Sunshine," he said, testing that name again. She didn't argue this time. Instead, she rolled her eyes. He grinned, and kept the tone going, "You should dump out that bucket by the way."

She rolled her eyes once again, and he was starting to worry she was going to strain something. She stood up from the chair, and pushed past him to grab the bucket. The contact felt warmer than it should have. He attempted to push those feelings out of his head again, but that warmth was getting harder and harder to ignore. He tried to ignore the feeling that something was inevitably going to give too. Finally, he wondered if Liz was dealing with something similar.

When he came back down from putting away the hair care stuff, he saw her sitting down in front of the coffee table once more. The old jacket was back on her shoulders, a focused smile on her face, and blonde hair in a neat braid. For the first time he felt… domestic. At home.