- VI -
(November 2276)
Dr. Ashburn gathered the papers into the medical file and nodded to the patient awaiting further instructions. "That concludes your annual physical, Mr. DeLoria. You may go."
Butch zipped up his jumpsuit and slid off the examination table, mouth set in a straight line as he studied the physician's haggard features and graying hair. The toll of the past few months had manifested in a gruffer demeanor and snappier attitude, characteristics that threw off the other residents enough to instigate whispered rumors throughout the Vault. James Ashburn, much like his daughter, had become someone almost unrecognizable. And other than the individuals directly involved, only Butch knew the true reason for the change.
As pangs of guilt hammered at his conscience, he asked a question he already knew the answer to. "So, Doc… how's Ivy doing these days?"
Suspicion clouded Dr. Ashburn's face at once, and he swung his gaze to the younger man, a hard edge in his voice. "Interesting that you should inquire about Ivy, Butch. If I recall, you and my daughter have always had an antagonistic relationship. She's going through a rough time with her health right now, so unless you have something to tell me regarding her condition, I would appreciate it if you left her alone."
Okay, so I had that coming. "Yes, sir," Butch replied, looking away. "You and Ivy won't be gettin' no trouble from me, honest."
"I'm glad to hear that," Dr. Ashburn declared. "Especially since that necklace you're wearing is hers."
Butch's hand closed briefly around the serpent pendant beneath his clothing, but he didn't offer an explanation as he grabbed his jacket and exited the clinic in long strides, unable to stand up to a grieving father's animosity. That short exchange did tell him one thing, though. Dr. Ashburn still didn't know who had gotten Ivy pregnant. All remaining resentment toward the Ashburns that Butch held onto for Hank's sake had been eclipsed by the revelation that he'd had a hand in Ivy's ordeal. One careless action two years prior had set off the chain of events leading to the very thing he'd wanted in the first place: the destruction of the Ashburns' idyllic family life.
But ironically, he was now the one doing everything he could to repair it.
The cafeteria was packed when he walked in, and had it not been out of necessity, he wouldn't have bothered stopping by during lunch hour. Freddie waved to him from one of the booths, a greeting he returned before maneuvering around several people to stand in line for the food dispenser. He adjusted his jacket while waiting impatiently, enduring the constant stream of bodies that bumped into him from both sides in the disorder. The volume of chatter and noise had reached intolerable levels, but he kept himself in check until it came his turn to make his selection for a quick meal. He swiped a protein shake and a pastry and wove his way back outside, checking the time on his Pip-Boy.
The voice that flagged him down had him bristling with agitation.
"Hey, Butch," Wally called, strolling up from his left. "I got what you asked for and dropped it off at your place. Your mom wasn't home, but the door was unlocked so I left it in the living room."
Butch nodded, making a mental note to remind Ellen to lock the front door whenever she ventured out for coffee. "All right, cool. Thanks, man."
"What do you need it for, anyway?"
"Uh… y'know, just in case we do some restructuring in the gang down the road. Oh, will ya look at the time," Butch remarked as he made a big show of glancing down at his Pip-Boy. "Wish I could stay and chat, but I gotta go—"
"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that." Wally moved to block his path, frowning. "Where've you been lately? We barely see you anymore and whenever we do, you're always running off somewhere like you're chasing down the goddamn Holy Grail."
Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Butch answered, "I'm just busy with setting up the barber shop and everything."
Wally fixed him with a disbelieving stare, but the opportunity to say anything else passed when Butch stepped around him and proceeded down the hall. The Tunnel Snakes' misgivings about his unknown activities were both understandable and troublesome; and if left unaddressed, potentially problematic. He knew he needed to concoct a more feasible explanation for his frequent absences, but at this moment, his priorities lay elsewhere.
He broke into a jog once he rounded the corner, boots leaving black marks on the newly waxed floor as he flew past the exasperated custodian still lugging around an armful of cleaning equipment. The automated door to the apartments swished open for him, and he continued forward through the main residential corridor without slowing down. A quick survey of the area confirmed it was vacant, which meant being discreet wasn't as crucial today.
The stairs leading to the upper apartments loomed ahead of him, and he gripped the food items in the crook of his right arm as he came to a stop at the base. Out of breath, he leaned against the railing and listened for any approaching footsteps. Half a minute later, a disheveled figure appeared at the top.
Ivy sighed the instant he entered her field of vision, her shoulders slumping as she trudged down each step. "You again?"
Butch straightened and glared up at her. "Don't know why you're still so surprised. We've been at this every day for two months straight," he snapped, noticing her unsteady descent. "I even memorized your damn schedule."
"And here I was hoping to evade you this time."
"Yeah, yeah, you and your wishful thinking," he said irritably and took her elbow with his free hand. "Come on. I got somethin' to talk to you about."
"Whatever it is, I'm sure I won't want to hear it," she retorted just as she stumbled over her own feet and nearly fell.
Butch held her up and then hauled her toward him, grasping her chin with his thumb and index finger. "Jesus," he murmured, gazing into her dilated pupils. "You're on Jet again?"
She shushed him and peered around the empty corridor in alarm. "We're not discussing this out here. He's upstairs and could come down any minute."
"Goddammit. Can't fucking believe you're still meeting up with that bastard."
Ivy's eyes bore into his, the condemnation written all over her face. "Well, I still don't have a choice, do I?"
Butch muttered a stream of profanity and placed his palm on the small of her back to propel her forward. "Let's go. We're heading to my place."
She shuffled along with deep reluctance, shooting him the occasional vexed look as he steered her down the adjacent hallway leading to his residence. A few of his neighbors observed them with evident curiosity, but he ignored the scrutiny and ushered her inside. As the door slid shut behind them, he grimaced at the sight of the empty liquor bottles scattered all over the floor, coffee table, and couch. The strong smell of alcohol permeated the air, something he never paid much attention to until now, when Ivy stood frozen next to him before the sea of decay known as his living room.
He switched on the lights that had forfeited their automatic capabilities years ago, and even then only half of them flickered to life. Marching ahead of Ivy, he glanced at the article of clothing draped over the sofa chair while kicking a clear path toward the kitchen. She trailed after him when he directed her to the relatively uncluttered dining room table and sat down as he set the protein shake and pastry in front of her.
"Lunch. Eat it," he ordered, taking the seat across from her.
Ivy scowled, but accepted the food at his stern glower. The crinkling sound of the pastry wrapper cut through the awkward silence, and she blinked down at it once the white icing came into view. "A sweetroll?"
Butch busied himself with brushing the dust off the table. "It ain't homemade like the one I took on your tenth birthday, but I figured I owed you one or whatever."
Her features softened a little. "I'm honestly surprised you remembered that."
He shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "Doesn't mean nothin'. Just eat it."
She did so, looking less grudging. As she took a bite of the sweetroll, his eyes roved over her tangled hair and the outlines of bones still protruding through her skin. His diligence in bringing her meals and ensuring she consumed them had started her body on the road to recovery, but despite his efforts, her frame remained scrawny and frail. And if she was back on chems, her health would be compromised even further.
Something in his chest tightened when she wrapped clumsy fingers around the protein shake bottle and tried to pry the cap off. He reached for it and wordlessly opened it for her, his restlessness growing as she took a long gulp. Watching her here in his apartment was so surreal that he wondered if he'd wake up from this dream at any second. He kept his poker face on as a flurry of unidentified emotions fought for dominance inside him, kindled by a few mannerisms of the old Ivy showing through.
The crumbs on the corner of her mouth, the way her tongue darted out to lap up the icing on her thumb—both images conjured memories of better days long past. Though stormy in nature, it had been a simpler time. His belligerence back then seemed so trivial whenever he reminisced, yet even now he still had difficulty coming to terms with his own remorse.
Once Ivy finished her lunch, her penetrating stare pierced through him. "So tell me again why you're even doing all this for me?"
Butch's spine stiffened at the unexpected inquiry. "Well, who else is gonna look after you and make sure you don't do something stupid?"
"That's exactly it… why are you looking after me?" she demanded. "You've been riding my heels since September."
His hands fidgeted in his jacket pockets, and the seconds ticked by as he searched for an adequate response. "Last I heard, you and your old man still haven't patched things up. Saw him earlier when I got my physical done. With things the way they are, I'm guessin' you don't got anyone else to make sure you get better and stuff."
"I'm not your problem, Butch."
He frowned at her. "As long as Stevie's in the picture, yeah you are."
Ivy scoffed, a harsh smile stretching over her lips. "Okay, I get it. You want to ease your own conscience that badly?"
The tension immediately thickened between them. He rose from his chair and grasped the edges of the table, his blood burning with rage at the verbal jab. Although her expression didn't change as he loomed over her, he saw the reflexive fear flash across her eyes.
"I'm owning up to my mistakes," he growled, the worn wood cracking beneath his fingertips. "I'm tryin' to fix them. The blackmail, the drugs, the pregnancy, none of this shit was supposed to happen when I gave that fucker the footage of the shooting sessions."
Ivy returned his fierce gaze, seeming to suppress her anxiety. "Yeah, but isn't this what you always wanted? My life in ruins? For a dumbass, you managed to get everything to play out perfectly. What was it you said back when we first met in the classroom? I'm 'done for.'"
"Don't even fuckin' go there," Butch snarled as he pushed himself from the table. The heavy kick of his boot sent his chair crashing into a nearby wall. "I'm tryin' to do right by you now that all this shit is for real. At least give me some goddamn credit."
"Oh, you already have a lot of credit in this mess," Ivy snapped, voice rising to a volume he hadn't heard from her in a long time. "Fixing your mistakes? Those are some pretty words, considering that nothing has changed and I still have to spread my legs for Stevie Mack."
He braced himself on one of the counters, muscles taut underneath his jacket. "I said a month ago that I'd break into his apartment and steal back the recordings, so why'd you stop me?"
"Even if you did that and tore down the shooting range, those aren't the only things he has on me anymore," she shot back. "He took a page from your book and recorded me doing his chems, among other things, and that alone is enough to discredit my dad."
Butch cursed viciously as she crushed the empty bottle with her fist and continued talking.
"If I had just 'checked out' like I wanted to, he'd have no reason to hold anything over my dad and I wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore." The venom poured from her mouth in unrelenting waves. "But even that choice was taken from me."
A noise of frustration rumbled from his throat, and he mussed up his hair to restrain himself from punching the cupboards in. For someone who wasn't accustomed to taking responsibility for his actions in the first place, having to deal with the endless torrent of blame was downright agonizing. The worst part was the truth in each bitter statement she threw his way, and he almost wished he hadn't bothered with repentance if this was how it was going to be.
At the same time, however, he couldn't protest the treatment. Compared to what Ivy had gone through, he had it easy. She was still under suicide watch, though he liked to think he had helped her off the brink through his presence and anecdotal accounts of his mother's own struggles with wanting to kill herself. Survival was something he could sell, and he needed Ivy to buy into it. The fact that she was still here accepting his company instead of getting carted off to the incinerator convinced him that he might be doing something right.
He glimpsed her in his peripherals as she curled up in her chair and faced away from him. Small victories aside, he couldn't help feeling that she was a ticking clock. They were on a time limit, and the countdown slowed whenever he offered his assistance, but sped during every minute she spent in Stevie's clutches. The constant tug-of-war tested him in every aspect of his mental ability, and it was one challenge he intended to win.
As much as he and Ivy detested each other sometimes, he couldn't handle the thought of her slipping away.
"Look," Butch began, willing himself to calm down. "The thing I wanted to talk to you about. What if I had a way for you to get out from Stevie's hold?"
Ivy turned back to him, appearing skeptical. "But the blackmail material—"
"He won't play all his cards if he thinks he still has a shot of getting you back. It's all about leverage and control with that guy. We'll figure out a way to take all the stuff he has on you, but I thought of something that'll keep you out of his reach and give us time to come up with a plan."
He strode to the living room and picked up the jacket Wally had dropped off on the sofa chair. Ivy peered at him, glancing between him and the piece of clothing as he walked back to her.
"I had Wally commission this earlier. Everyone in the Vault might think we're a bunch of worthless assholes, but we follow a code, and we take care of our own." Butch held up the new jacket, identical to his, but smaller in size. The iconic green serpent on the back contrasted brightly against the black leather. "I'm askin' you to join the Tunnel Snakes."
Ivy's head tilted in surprise, her fingers reaching out to touch the emblem before she caught herself and drew back. "You're kidding. One, you vowed for years that I'd never be welcome in your gang. Two, how are the Tunnel Snakes supposed to keep Stevie away from me?"
Butch fought to keep his temper down. "Forget what I said back when we were kids. This is fuckin' serious. You become a Tunnel Snake, Stevie will think twice about tryin' to get past all of us to get to you. His brother's in our ranks, and you know how headstrong the Macks are with each other. What I'm sayin' is we'll protect you."
"But why do I have to join to get your support?" she asked. "Couldn't I be… I don't know, an unofficial Tunnel Snake charge or something?"
"Like I said, Stevie's all about control," Butch replied, hands constricting slightly on the jacket. "My dad was the same way. Isolate a girl, you have full power over her. If Stevie thinks you got all of us as friends, he'll have to back off and cook up a new way to get you by yourself again. But you won't be alone. Not with us."
Ivy still looked doubtful, but her expression told him she was wavering. She ran her knuckles over the embroidered green snake just as something else caught her attention. Eyes widening, her hand suddenly went to his collar, and he jerked at the contact of her nails grazing his skin. He was about to ask her what she was doing when she hooked a finger under the repaired chain around his neck and pulled out the necklace from under his jumpsuit.
The serpent pendant thumped against his chest, and her touch burned through his attire as she held it in her palm.
"This… I had wondered where it went," she breathed, lips parted in shock. "I thought you didn't want it…"
Butch cleared his throat to make sure his voice didn't crack as he muttered, "So I changed my mind. So what?"
"And I thought your Tunnel Snake design looked familiar," she went on. "You kept the pendant all these years?"
He started to sweat, from her questions or her proximity he wasn't sure. All he knew was that she was close enough for him to smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, and the reminder of that incident outside the atrium two years back had his heart beating hard against his ribcage. He tried to retreat a few steps, hoping she wouldn't feel the telltale rhythm, but she gripped the pendant and locked him in place.
Mild panic swept across his stomach. Trying to disguise his flustered state, he stammered, "So, uh, I'll say again… this is your formal invitation to join the Tunnel Snakes."
Deep within the hazel irises, a familiar brightness flared to life. She released him and seized the jacket from his hands. "Done."
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A/N: Thanks to the regular readers for their patience on this chapter, and if you're a new reader, thanks for checking out this story! As always, I would love any feedback!