- VIII -

(May 2277)

Part 1

"How the hell did this go again? Over, around, under… no. Around, over, under—argh, fuck it," Butch growled, yanking the satin tie from around his neck and chucking it behind him. "Ain't my style, anyway."

He undid the top buttons of his white dress shirt and pulled it apart, smoothing down the open collar as the silver chain of the serpent necklace came into view and glimmered in the fluorescent light of his room. The black slacks were snug around his quads since his leg muscles were bigger than his father's had been, but the waistband fit fine enough for him to wear a silver belt comfortably. His attire wouldn't match this year's motif for the spring formal, but he hadn't been impressed with the theme, anyway.

Hail the Reserves.

In reference to military history from before the Great War, there had been supposed units of reservists in the armed forces. Some families in the Vault who claimed to be descended from those military members spent weeks pitching the idea to create and wear apparel in the likeness of the original uniforms. With the Overseer's approval, the theme had been accepted.

Butch, unable to fathom this aspiration, opted out of the archaic-dress bandwagon. He stood in front of the mirror and checked himself out at all angles until satisfied with his appearance. Then, giving his own reflection a self-assured smirk, he stepped into the black oxfords he'd spent the previous night spit-shining.

A sudden spell of dizziness overtook him, and he braced himself on his dresser, waiting for it to abate. His occasional lethargy and lack of coordination had increased in frequency in the past month, but he chalked it up to recurring stress and not enough sleep. Working, running the gang, and looking after Ivy were all taking their toll, and he hoped tonight would help him unwind enough to avoid a visit to the clinic. Once the vertigo passed, he released the edge of the dresser and resumed getting ready.

"Oh my God," Ellen piped up from his doorway, more sober than he'd seen her in days. "You're the spitting image of your father, Butchie. Especially with your hair parted to the side like that."

"For real?" he asked in dismay. This variation to his regular hairstyle lent him a neater and more refined look, but he immediately grabbed his comb and returned to the mirror, poised to change it.

"No, leave it like that. I meant that it makes you look very handsome," his mother said, giving him a sad smile as she crossed her arms and leaned on his doorframe. "You'd never have guessed it, but your father was a charmer back in his prime."

"Yeah, well he was still a worthless piece of shit by the time of his death," Butch grumbled as he set the comb down after some deliberation. He could deal with being a Hank clone for one night if it meant he'd appear classier. Ironically enough. "And anyway, I thought you hated that I take after him more and more every day, Mom."

Ellen waved that off. "It's the alcohol talking when I go on those tirades. Hank gave me one good thing during our years together, and that was you, honey."

Butch wrinkled his nose at her while picking up his black suit jacket from the bed and brushing off the lint. "Okay, you're not drunk, so are you high on somethin'? This mushy crap is grossin' me out."

"Hey, I can be in a mushy mood once in a while. Especially when my only child is going to his first formal event."

"For Christ's sake, Mom, I'm turnin' twenty this year," he said in exasperation, hanging the jacket over his desk chair. "At least reign in the weepy-proud-mother act in front of my date, huh?"

He realized his mistake in revealing that bit of information when Ellen perked up.

"What? I didn't know you were going with a date! Who is it?" she demanded as a mischievous smile—which he himself had inherited—spread over her face.

A knock at the front door interrupted them. Butch's gaze clashed with his mother's for a brief moment before they both dashed to answer it. For a slender woman with no physical fitness to speak of, Ellen managed to bump her son hard enough with her hip so that he crashed sideways into the console table in the cluttered living room. He swore profusely and lagged behind while she opened the door, preparing to embarrass him in front of the lucky girl he'd managed to lasso as his date.

However, she was greeted not by a girl in formalwear, but by two security officers in full uniform.

One of whom was Stevie Mack.

Butch tensed as Stevie lifted the visor of his helmet, the older man's impassive expression belying the sinister glint in his eye. A sinking feeling settled in Butch's gut when a slip of white paper appeared in one gloved hand. His mind went to the box of blackmail material he had successfully stolen from Stevie's room three months ago, which he'd thrown into the Vault incinerator at the first opportunity. Both officers stepped inside the apartment without invitation, and he rushed forward to confront them.

Ellen glanced sharply at her son. "Butchie. Two men? You couldn't get a girl to be your date?" she whined, sounding disappointed and betrayed.

"Mom, not now," he warned and placed himself in front of her. Glaring at Stevie, he spat, "Whaddya want, Mack?"

"Watch that temper, 'Butchie,' and get out of the way. The adults are speaking," Stevie replied, walking around him to address Ellen. "Mrs. DeLoria, we have a warrant from the Overseer to search this apartment for some electronic equipment that was reported stolen."

Ellen's eyebrows drew together in perplexity as she took the paper he handed to her and read through it. "I don't understand… you're saying we're suspects in a robbery?"

Butch snatched the warrant and ripped it to shreds. "With all due respect, officers, you and your shit-for-brains superiors have got the wrong people, so get the fuck out."

Stevie stepped up to him, getting in his face. "You will cooperate, or we will arrest you. Simple as that," he hissed in a low, dangerous voice. Without waiting for Butch to answer, he turned to his partner and ordered, "Check the living room and kitchen. I'll take the bedrooms."

Ellen threw her hands up as she trailed after the second officer, wailing, "Watch what you touch! There's a specific structure and order to this mess, you know…"

Stevie wasted no time heading for the first bedroom, which happened to be Butch's. The Tunnel Snake leader almost wished he was wearing his jumpsuit and trademark jacket so the bloodstains wouldn't ruin his nice dress clothes while he laid into Stevie with his fists, but at this point, he wasn't picky. He sprinted after him, ready to deliver the pounding he'd been wanting to do, but Stevie whirled around and caught him by the neck once they crossed into the room. Butch threw a punch that the other man blocked with ease, and he choked for breath as Stevie squeezed his windpipe before shoving him to the floor.

Butch landed on his back, coughing and sputtering as Stevie hit the button to close the door. His hand went to the baton at his belt, and he gripped the handle as he came over and pressed the sole of his boot onto Butch's chest. The serpent pendant dug into the latter's sternum, bruising the skin.

"I'll make this easy so even a moron like you can understand," Stevie declared, grinding his foot hard enough so that the spines of the pendant drew blood. "You have one chance to hand over everything you took from me. That includes the videos, pictures, data chips… and Ivy."

Damn it. Of course he knows it was me.

"Fuck you," Butch rasped as he brought up his hands to try and push Stevie's boot off. "Ivy ain't an object to just pass around, and you're a goddamn rapist and chem junkie playin' dress-up in a security uniform."

The weight did leave his chest in that instant, but the motion was followed by a swift kick to his ribs. Pain erupted over his torso as he snarled incoherently through bared teeth and clutched the area of impact. Stevie smirked and proceeded to tear his room apart, pulling all the dresser drawers open and dumping out their contents in his search for the material.

"That's fucking hilarious, DeLoria," Stevie jeered as he left the dresser and yanked the mattress from the bed, heaving it against the wall. "Acting like you're some kind of hero, when you were the one who said, and I quote, 'As long as the bitch pays.' Ring a bell?"

Butch's vision had blurred, but he glowered in the security officer's general direction as he struggled to sit up. "I know what I said, and I've been makin' up for it since I had no clue what a total psycho you were. Question is, do you know what you've done?"

The baton went flying at his head, striking him squarely in the nose and mouth. He grunted and clamped his palms over his nostrils when the first drops of blood poured out.

"I've got almost a decade on you, kid, so don't even try talking down to me," Stevie barked, throwing open the closet door and rummaging through the interior. "So you think you know the whole story? Like you got my relationship with Ivy all figured out?"

Butch glared up at him from his hunched position on the floor, red leaking through his fingers. It's not a fuckin' relationship when you're manipulating someone into being with you.

"Did she tell you that I was the one she always ran to whenever you harassed her while you guys were growing up? That it was my shoulder she cried on?" Stevie paused in his rifling to sneer at the other man. "That we dated on and off for years?"

The news struck Butch like a sledgehammer to the abdomen. No way…

"Then one day she just broke it off for good. Said something about starting to like the dickhead who used to bully her," Stevie continued, tossing articles of clothing behind him. "I was supposed to just lose her to the likes of you? When early on, she'd been begging me for sex."

Butch gawked at him, adding it all up in his head. "You fuckin' sicko, she was a kid, you were a grownup!"

"Lapse in judgment on my part when a cute teenage girl was all over my dick, but I don't regret a thing," Stevie responded simply, much to Butch's disgust. "And after she'd decided it was over, her crush showed up and gave me that footage of her illegal target shooting. Irony, man. You know the rest."

He did know the rest, but his mind was reeling from the overload of new information. Ivy had been involved consensually with Stevie in the past? How old was she at the time? Fourteen? Fifteen? The thought sickened him, made him ill. Although that detail might have been irrelevant in light of Stevie's recent transgressions toward her, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been deceived.

"And now you've changed your tune, roping her into your band of delinquents and using the excuse that you can protect her just to glue her to your side. Am I right?" Stevie taunted as he slammed the closet door shut.

Butch narrowed his eyes at him. That last part wasn't true, but it was close enough. Recruiting Ivy into the Tunnel Snakes had been the only solution he could think of to separate her from Stevie since she'd had nowhere else to turn, and it had the convenient side effect of keeping her around. However, monopolizing her wasn't what he'd been after, even if he did admit to a developing attachment to her presence.

Stevie surveyed the ransacked room before marching over to pick up the baton. "I'm not the only bad guy here, DeLoria. You're no better than I am."

"Go fuck yourself," Butch managed to growl from behind his hands before another torrent of blood gushed forth from his nose. Don't even put me on your level, ya son of a bitch.

The front of his dress shirt was stained with crimson, and he resorted to using his sleeve as a tissue to stave off the bleeding. Stevie nudged him in the forehead with the end of the baton, features twisted with malevolence.

"Last time I'm making myself clear. Give it all up, now, and I'll let you walk away from this scot-free. If you don't, you're going to be sorry you ever interfered. That's a fucking promise."

If he wasn't seeing double at the moment, Butch would have jumped him and returned the favor of a busted face. "You know what, Mack? Kiss my ass."

Stevie actually laughed at that and swung the baton to give him a final whack across the temple. "Your funeral, DeLoria. Have fun tonight all bashed up like that. Hail the Reserves," he mocked, reciting the theme of the spring formal.

The door slid open a second later, revealing the other security officer and a very cross Ellen, whose expression melted to one of shock when she saw the devastation in the room and Butch injured on the carpet.

"What the hell! What happened here?" she demanded, scowling at Stevie.

"Just teaching your son a lesson for the obstruction of justice, ma'am," he answered coolly. To his partner, he asked, "Anything?"

"Nope. Searched the living room, kitchen, and the other bedroom for you. No sign of the stolen items," the second officer told him.

Stevie frowned and snapped his visor back into place, nodding. "All right. Let's go file our reports. Mrs. DeLoria, you have a good day. As for you…" he said, shooting Butch a parting glare. "Better watch yourself."

The two officers left the apartment without another word. Ellen rushed to her son's side as he groaned and batted away her attempts to help him up. A million drifting thoughts swam through his brain amidst the mounting headache, leaving him disoriented and a little queasy. As he tuned out his mother's angry comments on her intention to file a complaint about what had happened, he touched his temple gingerly with the pads of his fingers and felt a bump. Fantastic. In this state, he wasn't sure if he was in any condition to attend the formal after all.

Ellen continued to fuss over him without actually helping, and he had just finished barking at her to grab an ice pack for him when another knock sounded at the door. She leapt up to answer it, snarling something about giving Officer Mack a piece of her mind. Butch stayed where he was, too consumed by fury and physical pain to join her. He took his sleeve from his nose just as he heard a verbal exchange that made him freeze with consternation.

"Ivy?" His mother's voice echoed with clear surprise.

"Hi, Mrs. DeLoria," came Ivy's response. "Um… is Butch ready?"

"You're… oh! I see," Ellen exclaimed, her tone turning gleeful. "We had a bit of a hold up, but he's in his room. Past the kitchen, first door on the right."

Mom, you are such a bitch sometimes, he seethed, hurrying to rise to his feet.

The momentum coupled with the returning dizziness resulted in him toppling over himself and crumpling back to the floor. He muttered an oath as Ivy's footsteps came closer, and in his sour mood he prepared to call off their attendance to the formal. Snapping his gaze to the doorway, he opened his mouth… only for the words to die in his throat when she appeared.

A very different version of Ivy stood there, one clad in a light blue sleeveless dress and white heels. Her hair had been swept to the side and secured with a rhinestone barrette, a few auburn tendrils falling over her left eye. She still wore no makeup, but the longer he stared at her with his mouth hanging open, the more he grew blind to her physical imperfections. The full effect of her beauty struck him when the burning intensity of her eyes flared as they settled on his battered state.

"Oh God, what happened?"

He forced himself to stop gaping and sat on his hindquarters, turning his head to the side. "Stevie happened. With a search warrant. He was lookin' for the stuff I took. Good thing we got rid of it, right?"

Ivy came forward, gait slightly wobbly in her heels, and knelt down beside him. The scent of vanilla wafted toward him as she reached out and took his jaw in her hands, brow furrowed with worry as she inspected his injuries. "He did this to you?"

Butch jerked away, shame bringing a flush to his cheeks. "Only reason the fucker handed me my ass was 'cause I haven't been at a hundred percent health. Been kinda under the weather and all."

"Do you still want to go to the formal?"

He glanced at her, taking in her appearance and imagining the effort she'd gone through for it. Thrusting his reservations aside, he exhaled and nodded. "Yeah. Wouldn't want you to have gotten dressed up for nothin'. That's a good look for ya, by the way, Poindexter."

"You think so? I didn't have any clothes for this type of occasion, so Jonas pointed me to his mom to borrow these."

Butch tried not to leer at the way the fabric clung to her curves. "Definitely a good call. Me, I need to get another shirt, but we can still make it."

She brushed a gentle thumb over the bump on his temple, looking stricken. "Okay. Here, I can help."

He smiled wryly at her concern. "You gonna help me get dressed, girl?"

Ivy's gaze softened as she wiped the blood from his face with her fingers. "Dress your wounds, more like. You're looking worse for wear," she said, her lips tilting upward, "nosebleed."

Nearly an hour later, they entered the darkened atrium and were greeted by the pounding beat of ambient lounge music reverberating off the walls. Colored floor lights set up along the perimeter and center provided the main luminescence, lending the room an unrecognizable, trendy atmosphere. A giant projector screen hung at the far end, displaying old images of the pre-war world and several known reservists from the time. Near the left wall sat a table of refreshments and hors d'oeuvres prepared from the standard food rations. Over half the Vault citizens were packed inside, most of whom wore their uniform replicas and mingled around the floor.

Butch unconsciously wrapped an arm around Ivy's waist as they navigated through the crowded premises. She allowed the contact and even leaned into him when several stares gravitated her way. In an obvious attempt to ignore them, she shifted her attention to the right side of the room, where a familiar face worked the twin turntables that provided the booming music.

"Hey, guys!" Freddie called when he spotted them, waving with one hand as the other scratched a vinyl record back and forth on one turntable. "Check it out, they let me be the disc jockey tonight!"

Butch snorted and grinned as Ivy waved back. At least Freddie seemed to be having a lot of fun. The place was alive with chatter and dancing, promising an evening less tedious than Butch had originally thought. He led his date past several of their peers, who did double-takes at the sight of them both. While Ivy was an unexpected gem all dolled up, he sensed people gawking at him even harder. He had cleaned up, donned a new dress shirt, and completed the outfit with his sharp suit jacket. Even Edwin Brotch, who had been their teacher during their teen years, had to squint as they walked by.

Wally and Paul were loitering off to the side near the tables, wearing standard formal attire. Paul's eyes bugged out when he saw his romantic interest on Butch's arm, and Wally cast a sharp look in their direction before turning away. Butch frowned but kept moving, resolving to seek him out for a chat later. Ivy clasped her hands in front of her, seemingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny as she continued to turn people's heads. Suddenly, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward a side room used for storage.

"Hey, where're we—" Butch started, but cut himself off when he saw how ashen her face had gotten. Oh, shit. A panic attack.

He followed her inside, the door shutting behind them and sealing them in darkness. Activating the light on his Pip-Boy, he shined it toward her as she struggled to take deep breaths. His palms went to her trembling shoulders, feeling the drop in her temperature.

"You're okay. You'll get through it," he reassured her, running his hands over her arms in an attempt to warm her up. "Not big on crowds, huh?"

She didn't answer, still focused on her breathing. Small, shaking fingers clutched at his suit jacket, locking him in place.

"Don't sweat it. I ain't goin' anywhere," Butch declared. "But you got this; you're a tough girl. Patched me up earlier without battin' an eyelash, remember?"

Ivy closed her eyes as she nodded, working through the attack.

"For what it's worth, thanks for comin' with me to this formal thing. Didn't know it would trigger this reaction, though. Next time I ask you to be my date, we'll make it a one-on-one deal."

She managed a short, breathless laugh as she began to calm down. For several minutes, the only sounds in the small space were her intakes of air and the muffled rhythm of the music outside. His hands had settled on the junction of her shoulders and neck, and he remained silent as he studied her. Stevie's words about their past relationship still bothered him, but he shoved it down, buried it in the recesses of his mind to prevent it from ruining their night.

Ivy had lowered her head, and in the dimness he saw a tear trickle down from beneath her lashes. Butch could only imagine the burden and ache she carried with her, trapped in her own nightmares whether she was awake or asleep. Robbed of normalcy and peace, she had trouble lowering her guard and letting others in. The fact that he, her former bully and adversary, had become the person closest to her was the work of irony coming full circle. The bond had always been there, perpetually adjusting itself, linking them in whatever relationship they had, antagonistic or otherwise.

But as he brushed the dampness from her cheek, he decided he was no longer satisfied with merely being her rival, companion, or even her friend.

Her eyes opened when he lifted her chin, and he saw his own desire reflected in the glistening pools of hazel as he slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

She hesitated at first, uncertain and shy, as he held her face in his hands to pull her closer. Then, when she relaxed and tentatively reciprocated, he lost himself at once in her sweetness. She was soft against him, her lips softer still, and even as he deepened the kiss he wanted to feel more of her. One arm snaked around her waist as he backed her into the wall, never breaking their contact. His other hand moved to cradle the back of her head, holding her as his tongue darted out, probed and teased until she granted him access. He lapped at her mouth, memorizing the taste of her, groaning as her tongue ran against his.

Mind in turmoil, he tried to reign himself in as he thought of what he'd been missing all these years. He never would have guessed, never would have known, what it'd be like to touch her. She fit perfectly in his arms, spurring in him urges of this magnitude he hadn't known existed. And now that he was here with her, he was quickly losing control.

She broke the kiss to gasp for air, and he took the opportunity to trail his mouth over the hot skin of her neck. Heat collected in his groin when she moaned softly, and his fingers fisted in her hair to tug her head back, exposing more of her to him. He kissed along her jaw, her throat, pushed the straps of her dress down over her shoulders as he made his way south. She whimpered his name as her hands curled into his collar to hold him against her, an action that told him she was willing.

He didn't feel his injuries or headache anymore, only the sensation of her quivering form as he licked her collarbone, nipping gently as he released her waist to cup one breast through the material of her dress. Her breathing had gone ragged, and he straightened as he kneaded her flesh, bringing his lips to her ear.

"Ivy…" he murmured, the single word requesting permission. He ground himself against her so she could feel his hardening need.

She paused, only for a moment, and then her fingers were on his belt buckle so quickly that he faltered in mild surprise. He watched her, noting her flushed and eager expression, the quiet trust in her eyes. His pulse picked up speed, and he reached for her, concluding that she needed this as much as he did.

The door flew open in that instant, pouring thrumming music and light into the room. Butch and Ivy jolted, and he jumped at least three feet from her, hastily refastening his pants. She fixed the straps of her dress as he glowered at the intruder, pure wrath and frustration aflame in his veins.

Freddie looked just as embarrassed as they felt. "Oh… I thought I saw you two come in here. Didn't know you were, uh, getting busy, though."

"What the fuck do you want, you bastard?" Butch fairly roared, adjusting his clothing to better conceal the softening bulge in his pants.

"I'm just letting you know that we're about to start some kind of special presentation," Freddie replied, his enthusiasm returning even though his gang leader was pinning him with a murderous glare. "I'm handling the projector along with the music, so I was given this thing to show on the screen." He held up a small data chip.

"You barged in here to tell us that?" Butch demanded in outrage.

"Oh, and also to pass along a message," Freddie said. "For some reason, Stevie Mack told me to tell you, 'Hail the Reserves.' Like you didn't already know the slogan of the formal. I don't get it." He shrugged. "Well, we're starting in a minute as soon as I load it up, so… uh, if you're gonna have a quickie—"

"Freddie. Go. Just go," Butch ordered, voice shaking with animosity.

Freddie did so, chuckling as he disappeared. Butch sighed, exasperated, and turned to Ivy, who had gone beet red. She was glancing at everything but him until he strode back to her and straightened her hair barrette, which had been knocked askew.

"Sorry," he muttered, flushing a bit himself.

She smiled weakly. "It's okay."

"So… about your 'passing crush' on me…"

Her cheeks glowed an even deeper shade of scarlet as she gave his chest a light shove. "Shut up."

He was about to crack another joke when the full impact of Freddie's words hit him. Stevie was here? And that data chip…

The blood promptly drained from Butch's face. It couldn't be. Ivy had been so thorough; he had been so careful. Stevie's room had been cleaned of all the media she had described. They couldn't have missed anything. Unless there was more material they hadn't known about.

Hail the Reserves.

Reserve copies.

From inside the storage room, Butch saw the projector screen go blank as Freddie loaded the data chip. Without taking the time to give Ivy an explanation, he bolted out through the door.

"Freddie, no!"

x-x-x-x-x

A/N: Whew, another long chapter, and it's only the first part of the spring formal sequence. Lots of content packed in and I'll have to look over the flow again, but I wanted to get this up today. Thanks for reading, and if you have any feedback, critiques, or reactions to this chapter, I'd love to hear it!