It had been two weeks since Amata sent out the radio broadcast. Over four months since he had left the vault. They weren't sure if it would reach him, out there on the other side of the door. Weren't sure he was even alive. But Amata has been so resolute in her belief that if only he heard it, he would come. Come home, to them. Tate.

Her belief was so strong, Butch couldn't help but start believing too.

During the day he would sit at the doctor's old desk and bat at the bobble head. He'd read everyone's medical records from before the doc went and fucked up everyone's lives. Before he had opened up the possibility of life outside the vault. Butch didn't know how much he ached for it before then.

The password Tate's dad had set on the terminal had been absolute shit. Broke it in thirty-two seconds flat.

During the night he would crawl into bed with Amata, even though she'd make a token protest. Never said no, though. He'd argue that they were already in enough trouble as it was. She would sigh and give in, but only if they could both stay quiet.

Butch started getting accustomed to the smell of her hair and how she would curl against him as they slept.

Seventeen days elapsed between that first looping broadcast and the vault door sliding open. There was no question in anybody's mind who it was at the door. Still, they hung back in the medical offices they had been contained in. Wasn't safe for any of the rebels to move about.

Tate breezed into their makeshift stronghold, eyes darting back and forth, looking for something or someone. Looked desperate and kind of frazzled. Looked like Nosebleed.

Otherwise he appeared fine, better than Butch expected. Actually, it was just liked he expected, the Wasteland outside wasn't that dangerous and the Overseer was a lying sack of shit. If Tate could handle himself out there, most of the vault residents probably could. Wasn't like Tate was any kind of special snowflake or anything. His hair was too long though, and he had done a shoddy job of trying to dye it, or had been stupid enough to get someone else to bleach it poorly. Lucky all his hair hadn't fallen out.

"Amata!" Dropping his pack on the doorway, he reached for Amata, pulling her into a tight hug against his chest, her head resting just below his chin. "I came as soon as I heard. What's happening?"

"You heard the broadcast, Nosebleed." Butch put his cigarette out and drew attention to himself in the corner of the room. Amata had been on his case about stopping, he wasn't interested though. "Overseer's gone mad with power, the whole vault is in permanent lockdown."

"Butch." Tate released Amata and took a step towards Butch. Butch stepped back. Not here, not in front of her. Not now. The look in Tate's eyes about killed him though, something sad and distant. Maybe he wasn't as fine as Butch initially thought.

Taking Tate's wrists in her hands, Amata described in excruciatingly boring detail just how her dad lost his shit, killed a bunch of them, and confined the rest of them to the clinic. Butch had lived through it, so instead he sat at Dr. Zhang's desk and pulled up old patient records on the terminal he had already read a dozen times through.

There were a few he had read more often than others. Then there was Tate's. A mixture of distant, professional statistics and checkboxes, and private notes of a father's concern, concern no one had ever really shown for Butch.

"...it's not like we want to abandon..."

Speak for yourself, Amata. He hadn't meant to snicker out loud, but neither Amata nor Tate seemed to pay him much mind.

Patient record: Tate Zhang...male...D.O.B. July 13, 2258...5'9"...170 pounds...good health, excellent fitness. Strong agility and endurance scores, sexually active, the checkbox next to 'men' is checked, the one next to 'women' is empty, Help me, but I worry about him so much, doesn't show an interest in his assigned vault occupation...

Butch didn't even have to look at the screen, he got the whole thing memorized. Every cut or scrape and the time he broke Tate's nose and the time he honestly just fell down the stairs because they were a little drunk on pilfered beers and a little drunk on each other. All of this theoretically added up to Tate, but it was a pale imitation of his friend clutching Amata's hands and nodding with that stupid fucked up bleach job.

"Your dad didn't kill Jonas..."

Butch shut off the terminal and lit another cigarette. The minutes stretched by.

"I swear, I'll stop your father and his guards. Just watch."

Amata threw her arms around Tate's shoulders, hugging him, she hadn't looked so happy since...well, Butch didn't really know since when. A long time. Hadn't paid much attention to Amata until recently.

"You will? Thank goodness for that. No matter what I say, he just doesn't listen. He just spends all day up in his office." The concern she had for her father, even now, was apparent. She and Tate had that in common. Assholes for fathers, but fathers all the same.

"Going now, Nosebleed?"

The jerk of Tate's head was a reminder that Butch had just sort of faded into the background. It was alright though, Amata was the type to monopolize time. Besides, Butch was committed to opening the vault just as well as she was.

"In the morning, if that's alright, Amata? I need to figure out a plan."

"Of course," her hand trailed down Tate's arm until she held his hand. "Let me go get a bed ready for you. You must be tired."

Releasing his hand, Amata stepped from the office into the sickbay. Butch knew from experience that the glass muffled voices pretty well. Tate knew that too.

"Butch," he recognized that voice. Kind of demanding and kind of needy and kind of like Tate was about to get his own way. He had a way of convincing people that he was always making the best offer. The hairs on the back of Butch's neck stood up when he heard that voice.

"Not here, she'll see." Without a cigarette between his fingers, Butch started fidgeting with his Toothpick.

Tate nodded and stuck his head into the other room, saying something to Amata. Through the glass, Butch could see her smile and nod. Tate picked up his pack on the way out the door. Butch had a pretty good idea where he went.

While they were technically confined, they did have access to a couple of storage rooms down the hallway adjacent to the clinic. Little by little they were losing ground, but they would fight tooth and nail to keep what they could. One day the whole world would be open.

The door was left slightly ajar, like Butch needed a reminder.

Tate had a fucking smug as shit look on his face, like he fucking knew all along that he could call and Butch would follow.

"Your hair looks like shit."

Damn if that wasn't a nice smile on Tate's lips though. Great lips.

Butch repaid him for everything by punching him square in the jaw. Not too hard though. Hard enough that he'd think twice before running off again.

Tate had thrown on Butch's old Tunnel Snake jacket somewhere between the clinic and the supply room. Seemed kind of a waste since they would probably end up shedding at least some of their clothes anyway. Then again, he looked pretty hot. His lip was swelling up from the impact of Butchs fist and the leather collar popped up framed his face real nice.

"Fuck I missed you, Butch."

They started knocking over things almost immediately. Various odds and ends tossed into unsorted boxes over the last 200 years rattled around as Tate pushed Butch around the room, shoving him in the chest then pulling him close by the front of his jacket. Repeating the process. Butch gave as good as he got, pushing Tate against a shelving unit while pulling down his zipper. Their mouths lost and found each other as their positions permitted.

Suddenly it didn't seem so important that Amata was just yards away, worried and defiant against the Overseer and having Butch's kid in six or seven months or something like that. Didn't bother him much because fucking Tate and his fucking charming mouth, whether he was running it or using it for other functions. If he had never fucking left this wouldn't have happened.

And it was kind of like it hadn't happened because Tate finished pulling down his own zipper when Butch had abruptly stopped. Then there were those hands on Butch's shoulders pressing him down and onto his knees. Tate always got his first. Butch would lose interest after he got off, so this was the compromise. Everything was moving as if nothing had changed. Like they weren't different people even though before they had been dumb kids and now they were dumb kids accustomed to the smell of gunpowder and dead bodies. Maybe Tate had it worse. Butch had no way of knowing. Not yet.

Tate knew better than to mess with the top of Butch's hair, but the short strands at the back had always been fair game. Fingers that were definitely rougher than before danced at the back of his neck as he took Tate into his mouth. The Wastes couldn't be that bad because Tate tasted distinctly like himself and a bit like soap. He purred just the same as he did before and kept his hips still until he was just at his edge. Only then would he jerk forward, short little movements in rapid succession, before he spilled into Butch's mouth. Most of it he swallowed down, but he left enough behind that Tate would taste it.

"Mmm," Tate moaned into his mouth. "You're so good to me." Always a talker. Liked hearing Butch's voice too.

Tate curled his lip and started at Butch's zippers, first his jacket, followed by his suit. His hands slipped under the stiff fabric and across the plane of Butch's abs. "Get on your knees, Nosebleed."

They liked similar things, but not the same. Pushes and punches for one and words...yeah and punches maybe too for the other too. Fuck, maybe they were the same.

"Yeah, Butch."

At first Butch didn't look down at the blond head that perched below him. It might have been too much all at once. Amata didn't do this. Fuck, that was probably part of the current problem they faced.

Butch could feel the heat of Tate's breath, just inches from his cock, rising and falling, breathing, alive.

"Suck."

Didn't have to be told twice, but liked to be told once. Tate's mouth was hot and wet. His tongue moved more frantically than it had before, desperate. Fuck it was good. Still not looking down, Butch's hands drifted into Tate's stupid hair and he grabbed hold of the top of it, pulling him down around him until he choked, just a little, then releasing.

"Fuck, Tate, fuck."

He was already close and he should have been ashamed for it. It wasn't like he wasn't getting off every other night, but this was different and he knew it. But shit like that didn't really matter between him and Tate, never really had. Butch knew why, but he wouldn't admit to it. This was still the shithead who had fucked everything up when he left Butch behind.

Butch started out coming down the back of Tate's throat, and only then did he look down. The blond's head started pulling away until his mouth was available for other uses.

"Yeah, Butch." From the looks of it, Tate had gotten hard again and one hand was working on bringing himself off a second time. "Cum on me."

Well, that wasn't really a request he was in any position to deny since Tate was still pumping him with a closed fist through his orgasm, splashing semen across his nose and lips. By the time Tate was finished with him, Butch was a bit of a mess too, his knees weak and his heart pounding. He collapsed to the floor in slow motion, sitting in front of Tate, who was still working himself. His rumpled vault suit had slid off his shoulders but was stopped by the bulk of his triceps. Tate would want him to talk, but the words were dry in his mouth.

"You look like a slut, Nosebleed."

"Fuck!" Tate shuddered and came in his hand, but from the looks of it, there wasn't much in terms of mess. He wiped his hand against the side of his vault suit, like he didn't have cum running down his face too. Trying to wipe it away, Butch idly wondered if it was weird to be so affectionate.

"Leave it," Tate spoke halfway through the process of getting him cleaned up. A sheer layer still hung from his swollen lip, down the side of his chin. Not totally noticeable unless you were looking closely, unless the light caught it just right.

"You're a pervert."

"You like it." Tate hopped to his feet and gave Butch a hand up. While they zipped up their suits and jackets Tate talked about some fucking mundane shit, like that it was warm outside and that he had seen stars and how he was a much better fighter than basically everyone he had come across, so Butch wouldn't have any trouble either. Even Amata would be fine, she was a real scrappy fighter when she needed to be. Hell on two legs with a 10mm too, better shot than either of them.

"You'll want to pack tonight, I guess. Don't think tomorrow will take too long."

Yes, all along Tate was planning to take Butch with him.

No, Amata.

"I can't get to my room, you'll have to talk to the Overseer first." They were taking too much time. Butch couldn't imagine the excuse that Tate had given to Amata, but whatever it was, it wouldn't account for this much time. "Do you really think you can convince him to open the vault?"

"If I can't, I'll find another way."

Even though they had finished dressing, they lingered.

Tate kissed the corner of Butch's mouth before slipping out the door.

That night, Butch slept upright in Dr. Zhang's office chair.

Tate left the clinic before Butch woke up. There was nothing to do but sit and wait. Amata came and sat half in his lap, ran her delicate fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, asked Butch if he thought everything would be okay. Any answer he could have given would be a lie.

He didn't like her, not really, only he had grown accustomed.

There was only one conflict in Butch's mind, and that was his promise to himself to be a better man than his father was. Only, that meant there was no yardstick by which to judge. For all he knew, it had been a blessing that his dad had fucked right off. With dads like the Overseer and Dr. Zhang, maybe Butch had been the lucky one.

Over the course of the morning, he worked his way through half a pack of cigarettes, they kept Amata away.

When Tate came back, he smelled faintly of gunpowder and Butch knew right then. He gestured towards the sick bay where Amata had gone to lie down. Tate kissed him and touched the side of his face.

Maybe there was a way to do both. Go with Tate and be a good father.

"Tate, you gotta convince Amata to stay in the vault, never leave."

"What? I thought I did this shit to get you guys out?"

"She can open the vault, other people can do whatever the fuck they want. But it's dangerous out there right?"

Tate nodded.

"So this is about her, convince her to stay in the vault. Make some sort of deal with her, okay?"

"Butch...If it's important." Tate looked confused and a little bit flustered.

"It's important. She's gotta be safe."

Not sticking around to hear the impending fight, Butch walked the corridors to his room. He threw things he thought he would need onto the center of his bed, including the materials to dye Tate's hair proper. When he was satisfied with what he had chosen, he pulled up the bed sheet into a makeshift pack. It wasn't much.

Tate would know where to find him, so he sat with his face in his hands on the naked mattress until the blond came for him.

"Let's go." Tate's jaw was firmly set. It looked like maybe Amata had slapped him on the same side that Butch had hit him the night before.

They didn't look at each other as they made their way directly for the exit.

"You could have told me, Butch." There was no mistaking it, Tate was angry. He had every right to be. They could all be angry. They were the ones paying for the sins of their fathers, and their fathers, and theirs...

"Would it have changed anything?" Nervously, Butch played with Toothpick in his pocket. There was still time for Tate to send him away.

"No, I guess it wouldn't have."

Tate fished around in his pack and pulled out a set of glasses with dark lenses. After putting them on his face, he grabbed Butch's hand, lacing their fingers together as the vault door slid open.