'Being forced to live with the same people all your life is the very definition of hell. You think you know what shit is, just try living a big metal box with a bunch of people you know you have some reason to hate. Sure, there are a lot of places to hide and you can ignore them for the most part but there's no way you can escape. It's like some fucked up experiment. The thought eats away at you until your trigger finger itches to just shoot them in their fucking mouth. Or just shoot yourself. But you know what? You ain't got a gun. So, yeah, there's only one thing you can do.'

02

The Vault's diner was full of its residents chatting away and picking at their rations. Mr. and Mrs. Mack were seated in the one the red booths with Wally and Susie. Mrs. Hannon and her son Paul shared the other booth with Mrs. Gomez and her son Freddie; both fathers were likely to join in later after their security duties. The Kendall family took up the stools at the bar, wary of Andy floating around behind it even though Stanley was there to watch him. Mr. Brotch and a few other recognizable faces were sitting at the tables that lined the walls. Most notably absent from the special event were the Overseer, the Overseer's daughter, Fox's father, and also, Ellen DeLoria.

Butch DeLoria sat by himself on one of the stools lining the window, one plate in front of him and another in front of the empty seat beside him. The leader of the Tunnel Snakes would normally be accompanied by his fellow gang members but Paul and Wally were busy at dinner with their mothers. Butch's own mother was probably drunk and forgot all about where she was supposed to be. That or she was passed out on the floor of the DeLoria apartment, as was her state fifty percent of the time. It really was a shame.

Fox spotted him almost immediately when he walked through the door and B-lined toward him. The greaser was too busy staring out the window into the empty metal hall to notice someone sit down next to him. It was very uncharacteristic of him to appear so deep in thought. Not wanting to ruin it, Fox remained quiet. That was, of course, up until he started to make quite a bit of noise with the utensils and the plate in front of him. Butch whirled his head around to catch Fox stuffing a full fork into his mouth.
"What's buzzin, cuzzin?" he smiled, mouth half-full of food.
"What the hell do you think you're doin'?"
"Sittin'. Eatin'."
"That plate's for…" the older male paused and then shook his head, "Ah, who am I kiddin', she ain't comin'."
"My dad ain't either," Fox swallowed and nudged Butch's arm with his elbow, "And only nerds sit alone, right?"
The other couldn't help bit smile a little. "Yeah, well… whatever. Nice haircut."
"Better than yours, jackass."
"Oi, fuck you."
"Fuck you too."

Butch hadn't really touched his food until Fox showed up. He had seemed to be contemplating something big. Most of the other residents of Vault-101 assumed the gang-leader was some troubled ne'er-do-well without a single thought in his head except delinquency. Fox knew better. Butch DeLoria was a troubled ne'er-do-well with lots of thoughts in his head, they were just angry thoughts and the only way he knew how to express them was through his fists. That was why the two young men had a system.

Fox knew Butch had problems, and while they probably weren't as bad, Butch knew Fox had problems too. Both started out as difficult little kids. You put two kids like that together in an enclosed environment and something's bound to happen. Without anyone to stop them, something did. They were willing participants in the fights they had. Whoever threw a punch or an insult, the other was expected to throw one back twice as hard. They worked their anger out any chance they got. If anyone had been paying attention over the years they would have seen how progressively less hostile both of them had become, at least with each other. They'd become the best of enemies.

As was their custom, they pushed their food around in relative silence. They weren't the most talkative types, other than foul language and slander. After some time, everyone else had finished their meals and the activities for the night were winding down. Fox had lost his appetite much earlier than that. He had moved his plate and laid his head in his arms on the counter in front of him. The headache from earlier had lessened considerably but what little he'd consumed wasn't settling very well in his stomach. He'd been listening to the steady stream of voices grow quieter and quieter until they were only a few murmurs in the background, his mind half-dazed.

"Hey," someone said to him, very close, and he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Unsure how much time had passed, Fox assumed it was his father. Not wanting to move much, he only maneuvered his hand to place it atop the one resting on him.

The other hand quickly jerked away, "Hey, asshole. Don't be getting fresh with me."
Fox regretfully pushed himself into a sitting position. Butch was standing near, leaning his elbow on the counter, one of those wily smirks on his face.
"Oh, sorry," Fox faked a pleasant yawn, "I was just having a nice dream about your mother."
Before he could even think about regretting what he'd said, Fox felt a grip on the back of his jumpsuit. He was pulled down backwards off of the stool, onto the floor, head hitting first. Butch stood over him, fists at his sides.
"Thanks for giving me my headache back, you lousy fuck!"
Butch growled, "Stand up and I'll give you more than that."
"Wouldn't you rather come down here and give it to me, Butch?" he winked.
"You bet!"

Fox rolled onto his chest, narrowly missing the boot aiming for his ribs. He sprang up as fast as he could, stomach lurching in pain as he did. The rush to his head had blinded him and all he saw and felt was a blurry hand ram into his chest. Loosing balance, vision still spotty, he grasped at the counter. A plate fell to the floor and shattered. He managed to steady himself, taking a stance and putting his fists up. Despite the throbbing in his head and the ache in his stomach, the biggest grin was suddenly plastered on his face. Butch snarled and closed the distance between them, arm pulled back to fire a punch.

"Both of you stop it!" someone shouted, and there Officer Gomez came running over and wedged in between them. Butch tried to throw a punch, failing when the security officer forcefully pushed the two boys apart. One slammed up against the jukebox and the other fell against one of the stools, feet slipping wildly on the ceramic shards littering the floor before he could get a grip. There were few people left in the diner but those that were there couldn't help but gawk. Fox took one panoramic look at the assembly around them before his eyes landed solely on the young man who'd almost kicked his ass. His expression could only be described as the most ridiculous pout. Fox couldn't help but smile at him, which in turn made Butch flip him the bird.

"Uh, now listen you two," Officer Gomez hesitated, "I don't want to have to lock you boys up again, so, why don't you just both go home and calm down? OK?"
Butch scoffed and fixed his hair, "I'm always calm."
When Gomez turned to Fox, he merely straightened up and nodded. At that, the small crowd that had gathered dispersed. Paul and Wally went to go congratulate their leader on an impressive show but were intercepted by their fathers, who had arrived with Gomez, and were forcefully escorted out of the diner. They weren't allowed to see Butch until morning.

Things quieted down. No longer perceiving the boys as a threat to each other, Officer Gomez left with his family. Everyone else followed. Andy was the last to go after he'd dealt with the broken plate and food on the floor. Soon the diner was empty except for the two young men smothered in silence. When Fox could no longer hear the metal clanging footfalls of the other residents, he groaned and collapsed in a stool, arms spread out behind him on the counter.
"You could've at least given me a warning first, mother fucker!" he barked and the other moved to stand by him.
Butch tilted his head up with all the bravado he could muster and looked down the bridge of his nose as he firmly stated, "You know better than to mess with a Tunnel Snake."

Fox's lips started to twitch and he held his breath as long as he could, but couldn't for the life of him hold it back. He exploded with laughter. Butch's face bloomed red and he looked like he was about to start another fight. The other noticed and tried to restrain himself.
"Oi, you better shut it before I pound you into the fuckin' ground."
Fox had finally dissolved into a light chuckle. Then, he couldn't help but purr, "You know I like it when you talk dirty."
Butch snorted. "Whatever, fag."
"Hey!" he snapped back, "You're the one who seems t'get off when I make you angry."

Right after the words left his mouth, Butch's expression became very dark. He seemed unnaturally lost again in contemplation, until he unexpectedly spoke, voice tired and gruff.
"Not when you fuckin joke around about my mother, alright? You can't-," he hesitated, then shook his head and made way for the door, "No, you know what? I ain't explainin nothin' to you."
"Yeah, whatever. G'night, Butch," Fox sighed, exhausted, "Go drink your sorrows away like that bitch."
The other halted in the doorway, his next words whispered with venom, "At least I have a mother."
Fox stood up and snarled. "Fuck. You."
"Fuck you too," the other mumbled. He then disappeared, footfalls dying away like all the other's.

Fox sat there for what seemed like hours, glaring angrily at the spot where Butch's words still hung. A cloud of tension had formed over him; knots everywhere aching, body twitching, head pounding, stomach churning. This time he couldn't bury it all and he couldn't stretch away. Then, there were footsteps. Not sure whose they were, not wanting anyone to see him like he was, he bolted. His Pip-Boy showed him it was time for bed. The day needed to be over; he needed sleep and then he could wake up and forget everything like it never happened. The dresser called to him and he yanked out the bottom drawer, emptying its contents onto the floor. He'd been searching through it for a few minutes before he realized there was nothing there. He remembered he couldn't find any in the clinic or his father's office. He started to sweat.

Without the Med-X, that night was going to be hell.