Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Everyone will be split into pairs for this project. I don't care if one person decides to do the essay, and the other does the visual presentation, or if each person does half of each, or if one person does the research and outlines while the other pulls everything together, just make sure you're working together. Now, here's who will be grouped together..."

The future Lone Wanderer thumbs through the book, enjoying the brief breeze and smell of pages it brings along with it as her mind begins to work out possibilities for the project. She glances to the row across the classroom and gives an encouraging smile to Amata, who smiles in turn, then she turns her attention to Mr. Brotch when he calls off her name.

"- you'll be paired with Butch," the smile falls right off her face, " and you two will be covering the main theme of the novel."

"Teach, you gotta be jokin'!" Butch nearly yells.

Mr. Brotch looks at Butch testily from over the piece of paper in his hands.

"This isn't a punishment, Mr. DeLoria, in fact if you had any sense at all you'd know I was doing you a favor; your grade has been suffering as of late, working with-"

"I don't wanna work with her."

"I didn't ask, Mr. DeLoria."

Butch groans as he slides forward until his arms are hanging off the front of his desk, mumbling unintelligibly into the faux wood desktop.

"Now that that's over, Amata, you'll be working with Paul..."

The young Lone Wanderer slouches down in her chair, not looking forward to this any more than Butch is.

This is the first big project of their new grading year, and Butch and his gang have had little interaction with her, something she's taken to enjoying. Butch even quit sitting behind her like he used to do, instead he and his gang sit in the back of class as if it somehow makes them less likely to get caught by Mr. Brotch. It hasn't been working.

She sighs to herself as everyone begins switching seats.

"Why do I gotta move?" Butch asks incredulously and louder than necessary.

"Cause she ain't comin' back here." Wally retorts.

"And Christine can?"

"Christine ain't a square!"

"Come on Butch, don't be so overdramatic." Christine says as she places her books on his desk and glances at him while quietly waiting for him to move.

"Yeah, quit bein' a pansy, Paul went to go sit by Miss Priss without yappin'."

Butch rolls his eyes, slides his stuff off the desk, drops it into his new desk and all but throws himself into the chair.

"Whatchya lookin' at Nosebleed?"

She quickly drops her eyes, sinks a little further in her chair. She watches her hands which are folded in her lap intently, she can still feel the warmth on her face, embarassment from the conversation she couldn't help but overhear.

"Kay dorkward, the hell are we doin'?"

"Butch." Mr. Brotch warns, somehow able to pick the swear up amongst the chatter of the classroom.

Butch turns to face Mr. Brotch, throws his arms out at his sides, as if daring the teacher to come at him. The Lone Wanderer frowns, Butch has become more aggressive as of late.

"Get to work." Mr. Brotch says, before returning his attention to the assignments that need to be graded on his desk.

"Punk." Butch mumbles, begins flipping through his journal before realizing he has no idea what he's searching for.

"Hey, you're awfully quiet."

At a loss for words, she shrugs, feeling awkward and suddenly put on the spot.

"Mind explainin' what we're supposed to be doin'?"

"Um, well," she clears her throat, "it depends, really. I mean, it's up to us. It's whatever."

He gives her an odd look.

She tries to shrink down further, it feels like she's trying to fold her body inwards in the hopes of collapsing in on herself and ceasing to exist. She doesn't know what's gotten into her, it's not as if she's afraid of Butch; she's just wanting to avoid causing an outburst. She's been enjoying the last few weeks of peace, and wants to continue to do so for as long as possible.

Not another word is spoken between them for the remainder of class, and when they return after the lunch break, everyone goes back to their original seats and they move on to algebra, but it does little to ease her mind.

She fears the next couple of weeks are going to be hell.

~*~

"Okay sir, if you could just fill out this form and sign here, my father will be with you shortly."

The man glances over the paperwork before taking the clipboard, silently mumbling to himself. The Lone Wanderer begins looking through the filing cabinet for the man's chart to place it with the steadily growing stack on the desk.

"Yo Nosebleed, what's with all the hub bub, this place is freakin' Antsville."

"Oh, um, it's free vaccine day. For radiation." She says, surprised to see Butch.

"Radiation vaccine? Ain't you supposed to get that as a kid?"

"Yes, but it doesn't hurt to get it again every so often."

"Huh..."

"Well, since you're not here for the shot... What exactly are you here for?" She asks, though she has a sneaking suspicion, even if it seems unlikely.

"None of the guys are 'round, they're all busy workin' on the project or whatever."

"Oh," she hadn't expected that; she can't see Freddie or Wally willingly working on anything school related, "well, just go sit in the waiting room and I'll hand these to Dad and see if Jonas will take over for me. Things are slowing down so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Whatever you say, girlie."

She joins him a few mintues later, takes the seat beside him. She glances over, he's sitting with his legs pulled up in the chair with him, journal resting just below his knees as he doodles on the back of a math page that was due last week.

"You haven't done that yet?" She asks, if only for conversation's sake.

"Been busy." He says and she leans in closer to see what he's doing. He smells like leather and pomade, with a hint of cigarette.

Apparently he's been too busy sneaking down the back halls and smoking to pay attention to homework, she thinks.

And drawing.

"Woah," she says, unable to keep the surprise and impressed tone from her voice as she looks at the pin-up girl, "did you draw that?"

His hand pauses as he turns to look at her.

"No." He deadpans, then returns to darkening the outline.

"She looks amazing Butch."

"Thanks." He mumbles, seems to be hardly paying the conversation any attention.

"So, um, did you come here to work on the project together?"

"If by 'together' you mean, 'you' then yeah."

"Butch..." she half groans, half scolds, she'd be more than happy to take on the workload by herself, she doesn't really trust Butch to do any part of the work anyways, if she wants a passing grade, she'll have to do it herself, except, "Mr. Brotch said we have to each do something. It's like the one rule he gave."

"I'm here for moral support then."

She frowns, though the idea sounds tempting, she doubts it'll fly pass Mr. Brotch.

"I don't like it either."

"I still don't even know what we're supposed to be doin'."

She rolls her eyes.

"How? He went over it in class, weren't you paying attention?"

"No?"

"Ugh, okay, we're supposed to do a presentation over the book we read. You... did read the book, right?"

"Why the hell would I do that? Readin's for nerds."

She groans, feels hopeless. How is he supposed to work on anything if he doesn't even know what it is they're working from?

"Well, I guess for tonight you should go home and read the book."

"Can't, dunno where it is."

"What?"

"Ma went on a cleanin' spree last weekend. She does it every now and then when she decides she's gonna turn her life 'round and quit drinkin'."

"Oh. Good for her then."

He snorts.

"She got plastered last night."

"But today's-"

"Yeah, I know. She never lasts long."

She pauses, considers.

"We can go to my place and you can borrow my book?"

He sighs.

"Do I gotta?"

"Butch, you need to do something."

"Alright, alright. We'll go to your place. I better not catch anythin' like nerd cooties or somethin'."

She rolls her eyes, he's always got to get his insults in where he can.

~*~

She stares at all the supplies spread out on the table, all blank, all mocking her. She sighs as she chances a glance to the living room, feels frustration well up in her chest as Butch sits on the couch, busy working on his sketch while her book lays forgotten on the coffee table.

"How's the reading going Butch?"

"Good, interestin' stuff."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, 'specially chapter three."

She stands from her chair and walks until she's behind the couch, then leans forward until her elbows rest on the tops of the cushions.

"You sure have a funny way of reading."

He looks up from his drawing to give her an unamused glare.

"Buuutch." She groans as she comes around to the front of the couch. She picks up the book and he moves his feet to the floor for her to sit.

"What's your aversion to books and reading?"

"It's borin'."

"How do you know? Have you ever even read a book?"

He shrugs.

"I read the textbook in class sometimes."

"To be fair those are boring. This book is different. It's got plot and character development and romance."

"I just see a buncha words on a page."

She sighs, he's hopeless.

"Well I'm at a loss as to what to do on my end of the project."

Butch says nothing as he keeps drawing and she thumbs through the pages.

"Hey, what if I... what if I read it to you? You know, out loud?"

He stops to give her another glare.

"It'll help me too. I could use a refreshening."

"Whatever you say, Nosebleed."

She flips to the beginning of the book and starts reading. Halfway through the first chapter, she gets up to grab a bottled water, by the end of the third chapter, Butch has started drawing on a new page.

She slots her finger between the pages and closes the book, then stares at Butch. A few minutes pass by before he says, "why'd you stop?"

"Are you even paying attention?"

“Yeah, I’m-”

She reaches over and snatches the paper from him.

“Hey, give that-”

“Oh!”

It’s not a pin-up girl, greaser or hot rod he’s sketching, but an elegant looking woman, with curly locks that cascade down her bare shoulders and a dress that flows around her ankles.

“You drew the Queen?”

“Umm.... yeah.”

“Butch, this is great!”

“It’s just a sketch, but thanks.”

Looking at the drawing gives her an idea.

“Wait Butch, what if you do the visual piece of the project?”

“Drawin’s one thing, but that-”

“No, that can be the visual presentation, silly! You can draw scenes out from the book!”

He frowns, carefully mulls it over, and she looks so excited, is looking at him so earnestly and he does like drawing, it would beat the heck out of having to write the essay.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

She smiles at him and Butch quickly drops his gaze. She blushes, suddenly remembers who she’s dealing with and glances at the drawing before shyly handing it back.

“Sorry, I got a bit carried away.” She says, more somber now. Butch says nothing as he takes his paper back.

“So, uh, I don’t think Mr. Brotch would like our presentation to consist of unfinished homework assignments, you should probably draw on something else. Do you want to draw on the posterboard itself? Or would you rather draw on individual sheets of paper then we can glue the drawings to the posterboard?”

“Posterboard.”

As the knot between her shoulders begins to relax, she realizes how tense she was, but now she feels lighter, like a weight has been lifted. She feels giddy even.

"Well, um, we can stop here for tonight, if you'd like."

"You're the boss." He says as he gets to his feet.

She frowns, somehow she feels that's more an insult then a compliment.

Butch tucks his drawing away in his journal, and she walks with him to the door.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow Butch."

"Yeah." He says simply, before making his way down the hall.

She closes the door behind him. She feels pleased with herself, not only was the evening not a disater, they figured out their plan for the assigment. Perhaps this whole thing won't be a complete failure after all.

~*~

The students pair up after roll call, and Butch makes no protests this time.

"So, uh, got a few more sketches done."

"Really?" She asks, unable to contain her excitement and the way her face lights up makes his fingers fumble with the pages of his journal.

He tells himself she's just happy that he's not blowing this for her, except her expression becomes soft with awe and wonder once he lays the sketches out for her to see. She picks each one up individually to see it closer, and gasps and marvels at the details.

"Butch, these are wonderful!"

He's not sure what to make of it.

He's never had someone compliment his artwork before. Of course the Overseer and residents are hardly appreciative of his snake graffiti plastered on the walls of the vault, but that he understands, he did that to piss people off. His drawings are another story. Mr. Brotch is always telling him if he spent more time taking notes and less time doodling, he'd have a much better grade in his class. And of course his mother thinks it's a waste of time, always goes on about how useless it is, how drawing will get him nowhere in the vault, he needs to learn a real skill.

"Seriously Butch these are so great!"

"They're just sketches." He mumbles, tries to downplay it. Somehow it backfires.

"I know! I can't wait to see how good they'll look when finished!"

He sinks down a little, curls in on himself a fraction.

"Could ya keep it down a little, loud mouth?"

She looks up over one of his drawings with a grin.

"What? Is drawing not a tough enough hobby for the Serpent King?"

"No, I just-" He fidgets with the cuffs of his leather jacket. Damn, he could really use a cigarette right now.

She watches him and her grin grows into a bright smile.

"Don't tell me Mr. Arrogance is shy about getting compliments!"

There's a giggle at the end of her sentence and she's smiling at him and her nose is crinkling and his stomach is twisting in knots and he wants to die.

"I mean... it's just... It's personal."

She finally drops her gaze as she returns the sketch she's holding with the others on the table. Her eyes move from one to the other to the next as she chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"So," she asks as she tucks her hand under her chin and leans forward, "what kind of compliments are you comfortable with?"

It'd be so easy to play this game with her, to flirt with her, to follow the urge to indulge this. But he knows better. She's just being nice, she doesn't realize what she's doing or what she's tempting. She's just trying to make conversation with him, he reminds himself. He bullies her for fun, she's trying to make sure she stays on his good side. He inwardly sighs. He's brought this on himself, then. Karma, for all the years he's been an ass to her.

The smile slowly slips from the future Lone Wanderer's face. She forgot again. This is Butch DeLoria she's talking to. Her enemy, not a friend. They're partners on a project, forced to work together because of Mr. Brotch. It's not like he chose her. It's not like he wanted to work with her. It's not like he's enjoying this or even wants to be here, she can tell that much by the look on his face.

"Sorry," she says, voice small, "I got carried away again." She gathers up the papers and slides them over to Butch. He waits until she's retreated her hand before taking them.

"You're a weird kid, if working on a project makes you act this giddy."

His words hurt, but at the same time it brings a since of relief, if only to have the dynamic back in place. She deserves it, she thinks. What exactly did she think would happen, trying to act like Butch is her buddy?

Silence befalls the pair and neither dares break it. Instead, Butch sets to working on the sketches, filling in detail and shading, and the future Lone Wanderer watches. With the other pairs talking, laughing and working together, she can't help but feel the rift between them like a giant gaping hole. Maybe it's just always meant to be there, and the closest they'll ever be is standing at its edges, shouting across it to one another.

Class ticks on slowly and she can't help but bare the burden that this is somehow all her fault. If she would've just kept her big mouth shut and stayed on topic, things wouldn't have gotten weird and things wouldn't feel awkward now. Why does she always have to ruin it? Why does she always have to push too far? She knows where the boundaries are, why must she test them? Is she really so embarrassingly naive?

"Hey, is it okay if I'm a little late gettin' to your place tonight?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure."

He quirks an eyebrow.

"You don't sound sure..."

"It's just, I told my father about the project, but I'll probably have to remind him about it. Jonas won't mind covering for me."

"You and the damn clinic."

She feels her face grow hot.

She's feeling more and more like she jumped the gun with her optimism last night.

~*~

"What's wrong honey?" James asks after his daughter enters his office with a heavy sigh before tossing her bag into a chair and falling heavily into the one beside it.

"Nothing. Gotta work on the project with Butch tonight."

"Oh? You don't seem too pleased by this."

"He's not too jazzed about it either."

"Has he been bothering you?"

"No. But working with him... it's confusing."

James looks at his daughter critically, then sighs deeply through his nose. He sets his paperwork aside and turns his attention, as well as his chair, fully to her. He knew this time would come eventually. It's in moments like these he finds himself missing Catherine the most.

"How is it confusing?"

"I just... I don't know. He's a jerk, but he can be civil. And I don't understand why he has to be a jerk when he can just be civil."

"Ah, I see. So... have you been enjoying working on this project with Butch?"

"Not really. But it has only been two days. See? I keep doing that. I keep giving him the benefit of the doubt, hoping something will change, that things will get better."

"What is it you're hoping will change, exactly?

"That... he'll stop being a jerk."

"Didn't you say he hasn't been bothering you though?"

"Well... no. He hasn't."

James thoughtfully strokes his beard.

"So, what you're saying is, Butch hasn't been a jerk to you lately and you're worried once the project ends, that he'll go back to being a jerk to you."

"Yeah, well... no. Kinda. It is that, but also..." she moves her hands around, as if to catch the words she's looking for from the air, "cause he's not being a jerk, I forget he actually is a jerk... until I'm reminded he is in fact a jerk."

"Oh." He says simply, and he finds himself relaxing. Another red herring, it seems. Maybe he reads more into the kids' dynamic than what there really is.

"I just want to work on the project, and not have to worry about tiptoeing around him or setting him off."

"That's understandable. You've always given your tasks 110%. And maybe you should just do that here. Don't let him be a distraction. If you're too busy focusing on the project, there's no way you could possibly offend him, right?"

She thinks of this morning, about her 'compliments' question, how she'd strayed off topic trying to be friendly with him, and how that ended.

"Right. Just focus on the project."

"There's my girl." James says with a smile, and she smiles in turn.

"Thanks Dad. I should really get going."

"No problem, honey. I'll see you later tonight."

She gives her father a quick hug before leaving.

~*~

The future Lone Wanderer pauses in her pacing to look at the clock. It's been thirty-five minutes and Butch still hasn't shown up.

What if he doesn't come, she worries, what if he's decided to leave her with all the work after all? She groans, begins the large figure eight she's been walking, stopping to fix a pillow on the couch or to slide the bowl of candies on the coffee table to the left an inch.

She's definitely fidgety.

'Think of the project.' She reminds herself.

There's a knock on the door. She feels her heart jump into her throat.

'Think of the project.'

"Coming!"

Her hand trembles as she reaches for the door.

'Think of the project.'

She has no idea what awaits her on the other side of the door.

'Think of the project.'

Since when did she care about offending him anyways?

"Hey Butch."

He says nothing as he pushes past her. Her faces scrunches as he does so- he reeks of cigarettes.

"Butch you really shouldn't be smoking." She scolds, closing the door behind him.

"Save it for someone who cares."

She sighs as she turns around, surprised to find him already plopped down on the couch.

"It's not good for you, you know."

"Helps me think." He says, hoping it'll shut her up if it pertains to the project somehow. Truth is, he needed something to help him unwind before coming over, he was anxious about working with her this evening- he's still hung up about her smiling at him.

She says nothing more about it as she snatches the book off the coffee table and sits down with him. She thumbs through the book to find her place, if only to have the smell of musky pages temporarily break up the smell of nicotine that hangs around Butch. She can feel an oncoming headache from breathing it in, she hopes it isn't an omen.

Once she finds where they left off, she settles more comfortably into the couch and begins reading.

He looses himself to her voice, to the smile that tugs on her lips when they're at a part she likes. He watches the way her eyes flit across the pages, notes and memorizes the little changes in her expressions- it's as though she's reading this for the first time. Becoming entranced by her and her little nuances, it brings the story to life. He understands why the servant falls for the Queen and her beauty, and why he's willing to do her bidding even if he'll be beheaded by the King if he finds out.

When a knight of the court, the king's most loyal and trusted, catches on to what's going on, Butch is reminded it's dangerous what he's allowing himself to fall into. But it's just so easy to pretend this is more than what it is. When they're casually hanging out like this, sitting on the couch with their knees brushing like this, so close the air between them smells like perfume, pomade and nicotine, it's easy to pretend that boundary isn't there, that their past isn't there, that they're not actually mortal enemies, that maybe they're something more if they could just let their gaurd down and allow it.

"Butch?"

He blinks.

"You haven't drawn anything."

Blank pieces of paper sit atop his journal in his lap. His pencil lays forgotten beside him.

"Thought it'd be easier to get through the book, then go back and draw."

"Oh." She says simply.

Maybe drawing's a good idea, he thinks, at least it'll keep him preoccupied.

"Could ya go back and read the part where the Queen and the servant meet for the first time again?"

"Yeah sure."

His hand glides across the page as she speaks. From her lips the words flow into his ears and from his hands they're translated to strokes of his pencil. Together they work to bring the story to life, to give it their meaning, their interpretation.

No, he thinks as he turns the page sideways with more force than necessary.

He needs to stop thinking that way. She's Nosebleed, the Doc's Kid, Miss Goody-Two Shoes. He's the Serpent King, leader of the Tunnel Snakes, the vault's juvenile delinquent, disturber of the peace. They go together like night and day, or the sun and moon- both fixed upon the earth but never together, never touching, never intercepting. He just needs to get over this.

He pencil lead snaps and rolls away.

The future Lone Wanderer's voice falters then fades away. She gives a cautious glance his way, notes his white knuckled grip on his pencil.

"Are.... I-Is everything okay?" She squeaks.

He lets out an angry huff, and shoves the journal off his lap.

Her heart leaps into her throat as she watches the papers scatter across the floor beneath them.

"I hate this stupid fuckin' project."

She watches as he crosses his arms over his chest and tucks his balled up fists against his sides, watches as he stretches his legs out and places his boots on the coffee table and an alarm goes off in her head 'dad will be mad', but she can't bring herself to speak around the lump in her throat, doesn't feel anymore at ease once Butch tilts his head back into the couch and closes his eyes, letting out a slow even breath.

The immediate threat of danger may be gone, but she knows better than anyone that once Butch is in a bad mood, there's no lifting it. That's it then, she thinks, she's fucked.

So much for focusing on the project and not offending Butch.

She has no idea what to do. She wants to say something, but has no idea what. She's never understood how he works, he always seemed to be backwards from everyone else.

She made efforts as a child, oh how she tried! But any act of kindness only seemed to piss him off.

"Think you're some kind of super hero, Miss Goody-Two Shoes?", he'd say, "I ain't no charity." Or, "Think you can just use me to try and feel better about yourself, Nosebleed? Fuck off."

Eventually she learned it was better not to try.

Except that won't work now. Even if she decided to let the project go, because honestly a zero won't completely kill her grade, they're still here, on her couch, in her living room, in her families' quarters. What is she supposed to do? Just get up and go to her room? What if he decides to start breaking things? But she's not sure what to say to him, not sure what to do or how to react. Is that why he and Wally hang out, she wonders. Because instead of offering a helping hand, Wally punches Butch in the shoulder and tells him 'to quit being a pussy and get the fuck over it'? She leans forward, sets the book down on the coffee table then settles back into the couch, all the while keeping her gaze forward. Her thinking it too linear. There's more options than 'run and hide' or 'stay and get hit'.

He didn't storm out of here, which has to mean something, right? If he were truly done with her or the project, he'd have no problem walking out, that she knows for sure.

Maybe it's the drawing then.

"I don't know about you," she says standing from the couch, "but I could really use a break."

She returns from the kitchen with two Fancy Lad packs and bottles of water. She places one of each on the couch by Butch before sitting back down and opening her own snack.

He doesn't understand. He saw the fear in her eyes. Saw the way she froze up when he started to loose his temper.

What is she doing?

Why?

'It's for the project', he tells himself, 'she's just being nice, like always, Miss Goody-Toe Shoes'.

'She doesn't want me fucking this project up.'

It's like a mantra in his head, one he's trying to rationalize as logic even if the fluttering in his chest is trying to say otherwise. He tries to shut it out, he's no time to indulge whimsical fantasies. They have a project to do, he can't waste his time daydreaming.

"What do you think of the book so far?"

He shrugs as he tears open the package of the snack cakes.

" 's alright, I guess."

She turns to look at him with a small smirk playing at her lips.

"Oh, come one. It's better than the text book at least, right?"

He mulls it over, decides it's only fair to let her have this one.

"Yeah, it's better than the text books."

She doesn't say anything, but the words 'I told you so' are written across her face, with her eyes glowing in victory and her smug smile that makes her nose crinkle.

"Could do with out the mushy stuff."

That earns him an eyeroll.

"I thought that'd be your favorite part, Mr. 'I Like the Biology Text Book'," she says as she reaches over and gives his shoulder a playful push.

She forgot again.

They're not friends.

She knows this.

Why does she keep forgetting?

Is she really so desperate to keep things calm and casual? To get him to approve of her so she can stay on his good side?

All she wants is for them to get along. It's all she's ever wanted; to not have to walk the halls with fear, to have to worry about his moods or that she might be the one tripped in the hall or that she sat in her chair to find he poured Nuka-Cola on it, making the seat of her vault-suit wet and sticky.

But that doesn't explain why she touched him. It's not like she's like that with her father, or Amata. It's not like they hug everytime they see each other, or play with each other's hair- in fact they've always mocked Susie and Christine for doing those things. She's just trying to keep herself safe, she decides, she's just overdoing it. Like petting a lion, or in this case, a snake.

All these thoughts racing through her head quickly vanish as a corner of his mouth pulls upward into his trademark smirk.

Realizing they won't have a repeat of this morning, she relaxes.

"Romance and sex are two different things, Nosebleed." He says, and she can feel her face heating up as she watches his smirk turn into a sneer.

He's teasing her, like always, and it makes her face redder.

She really should've seen that coming.

"Well, aren't you just a regular Prince Charming."

He's not sure if he should be offended; he knows she's being sarcastic, but it sounds like she's mocking him even though it feels like flirting.

He says nothing and the two sit in silence, save for the sound of plastic wrappers crinkling and soft chewing.

All too soon their little snack break is over. The future Lone Wanderer makes no move to pick up the book and Butch leaves his papers on the floor.

"It does suck." She says at last, echoing his earlier sentiment. "Mr. Brotch can be unfair. I don't know why he does the things he does, you'd think a teacher would be sweet and kind. Sometimes I think he does stuff just to watch us suffer."

She pauses a moment to collect her words.

"So, we can either give in and act like the petulant children he thinks we are, or we can prove him wrong by not only doing this stupid assignment, but passing it."

With that, she reaches down to pick up his journal, only to have his foot come down on the scattered stack.

'Petultant child it is, then.'

"Butch, what are you doing?"

"What do you think you're doin'?"

"We can't just leave this mess on the floor."

"So they're a mess now?"

"As long as they're on the floor like this, yes."

They stare each other down.

"If I can't pick it up, then can you?"

"What's the point? A mess is a mess, no matter which way you put it."

"Is this about the drawing?" She asks, and she's looking at him, really looking at him, like she's searching for something. It's as if she's just realized he's wearing a mask, and she's trying to see what's on the other side. Unable to bear the feeling of vulnerability beneath her gaze, he picks his foot up.

"You're not going to stomp on my hand if I reach for the paper, are you?"

He rolls his eyes, pulls the disregarded sketch from the pile and thrusts it at her. She takes it with a frown and furrowed brows.

"Butch, I don't see anything wrong with this."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"Or maybe you're just being too critical of yourself."

"Or maybe it's shit and you just can't handle the fact that not everthin' is rainbows and butterflies and... and fairy tales."

She smiles.

"You really can't take a compliment."

He sighs heavily as he runs a hand through his hair; this circular conversation is giving him a headache.

"Guess not."

She looks at the page more critically, turns it this way and that way with her lips pursed into a thin line. She really has no words of advice. It looks fine, aside from the part where the line gets heavy before the lead had snapped, and of course the unfinished part. But that's all that's wrong that she can see, that it's unfinished.

"Could you.... like start over?"

"So I can fuck it up again?"

"No... like, not draw the same thing all over again, but, ... I don't know. Maybe draw a different version of it?"

He makes no response, shows no sign that he's even listening to her. She sighs, carefully sets the paper back down on the mess on the floor, then sits back into the couch.
More linear thinking. There's got to be a way to fix this. She just needs to step away for a moment, catch her breath.

"Do you... should we... Would you like to walk down to the clinic? A change of scenery might be nice, and walking is supposed to be good for when you're in a creative slump."

"Nah, go on without me."

She frowns, somehow that doesn't sound like a very good idea. Then again, a few minutes without Butch might be nice. It could help her reset.

"Will you be okay by yourself?"

He gives her a hard glare.

"I'm not ten."

She nods.

"Right. Okay... uh, be back soon."

She takes her time walking down the hall, leisurely enjoying each step and the feeling of her leg muscles unwinding as she walks. This is exactly what she needed.

She stops just outside the clinic and peers in, decides they look too busy and that her father and Jonas are better off without the distraction. So she takes a detour, wanders around a few of the back halls, makes sure to pass the cafeteria, if only to be nosey. Once she feels she's wasted enough time, she makes her way back to her personal quarters...

... to find Butch laid out on the couch, with one boot propped on an arm rest, and the other on his knee with a half smoked cigarette dangling between his lips.

"Butch!" She shouts. All he moves is his eyes, to gaze nonchalantly at her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He plucks the cigarette from his lips and exhales the smoke.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? Are you trying to get me into trouble? You can't smoke in here!"

"Can't smoke out there, I'll get in trouble."

"Butch!"

"Hey, girl, chill. It's not like your ol' man's gonna think you were the one smokin', right?"

"Well, no, but..."

She sighs. Why does he have to be such a rule breaker?

"I think I have an idea for the new drawing." He says, as he moves to a sitting position. She perks up a bit, though she's reluctant to join him on the couch- she doesn't want to breath in his secondhand smoke. She's pleasantly surprised to find he's cleaned up the papers, even if they're in a haphazard stack on the coffee table.

She watches as his hand glides over the paper.

"Thinkin' of doin' a new angle." He explains around the cigarette.

She watches him work for a few minutes before he speaks.

"Can you read the part where they meet again?"

"Yeah, sure."

She grabs the book, flips to the spot and begins reading.

"No, no. The part where they're in the dining hall."

She quirks an eyebrow but turns a few pages over before picking up again. Near the end of the chapter, he sets his pencil down, leans back into the couch and smiles down at his work.

"It looks nice Butch, but I still don't know what was wrong with the last one."

He rolls his eyes, finishes off his cigarette then puts the bud out on the sole of his boot.

"You're a terrible critic." He says, placing what's left of the cigarette in the empty water bottle.

"Or maybe I'm just a positive one."

"Some people need to be knocked down a notch or two."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Keeps 'em humble."

She smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Can you read the part where the knight catches them?"

She flips through the pages and he picks up his pencil.

~*~

It's Friday evening, the week has gone well, and the future Lone Wanderer is in rare form. She feels too well to stay couped up in her quarters reading a book, so she decides to head out for once. She makes her way through the halls with a spring in her step. While trying to decide between visiting Amata or visiting the cafeteria, she notices Butch and his gang of snakes lounging around in one of the halls.

"So then he says-" Paul falters the moment his eyes land on her. In the sudden silence, the other three boys turn to follow his line of sight. As soon as Butch sees her, he turns right back around, the line of his shoulders immediately becomes stiff and he fishes through his pockets for a light and a cigarette.

"Hey," she says politely, though unsure.

"Nosebleed." Butch replies stiffly, still turned the other way, and Wally is grinning at her like she and him are in on something.

"Fancy meeting you here." She says as she begins to fidget with her hands, suddenly realizing how out of place she feels.

"Is it?" He asks just as stiffly.

She continues to stare at the back of his head.

What was she thinking? Why does she continue to act this way? They're not friends! They never will be! Civility during group projects is the closest they'll ever be. Just because he's been in her complex and sat on her couch doesn't mean they're close. They're not even buddies.

So why does she keep trying? Cause he's not punching her anymore? Has her bar really been set that low?

Then again, Wally, Freddie and Paul are all looking at her, and she's not paying them any mind. For some reason, all she can focus on is Butch near completly ignoring her and there's a feeling in her chest that stings with each breath she takes.

"I think it's fancy seein' you here." Wally says with a sneer. "Thought you'd be at home countin' the ceilin' tiles... or whatever it is you do in your free time."

She feels anger heat her face. Of everyone of the Snakes, no, the vault, she cares the least for Wally Mack.

"That's just silly." She says, refusing to break eye contact, refusing to back down, and she means to follow her thought with something else but no more words come to her.

Wally makes a sound like a snort and rolls his eyes; it makes her feel like she's being patronized.

"So," Wally says, expression one of mock interest, "what exactly are you doin' here?"

She bristles, crosses her arms over her chest.

"I wasn't coming here, I'm on my way to the cafeteria... to see if Amata is there." She explains indignantly and Butch feels like he's watching a disaster in slow motion. Wally nods thoughtfully, and Butch is boring holes into him with his gaze, he doesn't know what Wally is up to, but he knows it can't be good.

"You know, honey, if you want Butch for the evening, all you gotta do is ask."

Nothing about his face or posture seems particularly threatening, and even the words are harmless, but there's something about the way he says them, his tone borderline lewd and the future Lone Wanderer gets the impression that he's not referring to the project they've been working on.

Butch's expression becomes murderous and Wally merely sneers at him in turn. He suddenly decides he's done ignoring her as he turns around and grabs her roughly by the arm.

"Get the fuck outta here." He commands, and for a moment she thinks they're leaving together as he leads her along, then he stops and gives her a shove further down the hall.

"You can't just-"

"Amata ain't in the fuckin' cafeteria. Leave."

She wants to argue, wants to stand up for herself, wants to say she can go wherever she pleases, but she suddenly feels like going home, like crawling into bed and not getting up until Monday morning.

There's something about Butch specifically, she thinks as she begins walking away. Something that has always drawn her to him, even during his most violent of phases. Maybe it's because of his upbringing. Of the bruises. Of the rumors. Of whispers about traded food rations for alcohol rations. Maybe it's her tendency to help people. Maybe she thought Butch needed her help the most. Maybe it's because he always fought her help, discouraged it, decried it. Maybe some part of her became intrigued, maybe even obsessed with his behavior, the way he acts so differently than everyone else around them. Maybe he's some puzzle she has to solve, to understand, to help.

But that doesn't explain why it hurts. It's not like he's throwing insults. He's just warm one moment and then... cold the next. Why be comfortable with her if he doesn't mean it?

What does it say about her, when she tries to be comfortable with him? Does she mean it?

Maybe he doesn't want her to mean it... maybe he's trying to get her to stop. Like he always has, always fighting her.

Boundaries, she reminds herself. This has been nothing other than boundaries. And she reminded herself from the beginning not to let herself think of anything other than the project.

As she steps into her quarters as the door slides shut behind her she wonders, why does she want those boundaries to come down anyways? Hasn't she got what she wanted? She was worried the project would make Butch agitated towards her again, that things would slip back. And while Butch has become frustrated a few times, he didn't have an outburst like he used to. So the project didn't ignite the old violence, and Butch has maybe matured a bit in the lat year.

So maybe, she considers, it was never Butch she was worried about with this project...

Maybe she was worried about herself. She's the one crossing all these lines, right?

What does she think she could see, wants to see, in Butch? What could she possibly be looking for?

And why?

The young Lone Wanderer kicks off her boots, slides off her vault suit, then gets comfortable in her bed.

This is all Butch's fault, she decides. If he hadn't suddenly shown this other side of himself last semester when he borrowed her notes, then she wouldn't be curious to learn which side of him is the 'real' Butch. Things were better when she thought he was nothing more than a heartless bully who didn't know any better. And then he... and then he...

What had he done, exactly?

She closes her eyes, pulls the sheets over her head, rolls over, and wonders if she'll ever stop being confused about Butch DeLoria.

~*~

Monday morning comes quicker than she's ready for, and all too soon she finds herself sitting in class, staring at her desktop as roll call is over and everyone begins to move.
She hears the slap of a journal against the faux wood, then the creak of metal as Butch takes the seat across from her, followed by him awkwardly clearing his throat.

"I, uh... I got the sketches done."

She's looking up at him before she even has a chance to hide the surprise from her face.

"Freddie let me borrow his book, and I got 'em done." He gives her a smile then, one that looks almost amused. "You shoulda seen the look on Ma's face when I told her I was doin' schoolwork. Thought I was gonna have to call your pops."

She shares a smile of her own with him.

"That's great, Butch. I... I got the essay done as well. Ran out of ceiling tiles to count."

The amusement falls from his face, his expression changes to something pained.

"Look, about Friday-"

"Do you have the sketches?"

He looks taken aback, almost seems stunned, then he's fingering through the pages of his journal.

"Uh, yeah, but-"

She watches as he slides the pages out one by one into a haphazard stack on his desk.

"I got a little... carried away? I dunno. There's a few-" He stops to slide a page over to her desk. "I drew a few versions of a couple of 'em, and-" he slides another to her, "- thought maybe you could pick your favorites, since you're the critic 'n all."

On her desk are three loose stacks: one contains four variants of the Queen, one has two versions of the fight between the knight and the king, and the final stack is three different versions of the throne room. On his desk are five sketches which she can only assume he's happy enough to not need her input.

As the pair get set to work, the future Lone Wanderer finds herself more enthralled with watching Butch work then looking through his sketches. He's redrawing his sketches from the paper on to the poster board. He looks intent, with a slight furrow between his brows as his eyes constantly move back and forth from page to board and back again, and there's a fascination in watching the way his hand moves in broad and short strokes to bring life to nothingness. What once was a large empty space is slowly being filled with movement, and character and story. But what draws her in the most is the way he does all this with a sort of tender care- one she never dreamed he was capable of. If he notices her gaze on him, he doesn't show it, working diligently until there's five minutes before lunch.

"You figure it out yet?" He asks, looking up from his work and catching her off guard.

"Oh, um, yes." She says, sliding her choices over to his desk.

Butch slides his papers all together before stuffing them into his journal as Mr. Brotch dismisses the class for break.

~*~

"She's totally into you, you know." Wally announces after class, when he notices Butch is paying the Doc's Kid more attention than the card game, despite his cigarettes being on the line.

"Whatever." Butch says, bringing his attention back to his cards.

"I didn't think so at first, 'specially after what happen between you two-" Butch glares but Wally ignores him, "- a few months back but, after that shit Friday? She's totally into you."

"For what it's worth, I think he's right," Susie chimes in, looking up from her math homework to join in on the conversation. "I think there's definitely something there, but she's confused about it. She's totally attracted to you though, I just don't think she knows how to express it."

"See!" Wally says around a toothpick. "It ain't just me."

"I'm not in the habit of takin' advice from a pair of knuckleheads." Butch counters.

"I agree." Paul adds, and Butch rolls his eyes. "She's not rebellious like Christine. She likes following the rules. I think she's holding herself back."

Butch tosses his cards to the table, has half a mind to get up and leave.

"I think you're all forgetting one small detail... I already tried."

"Yeah, you tried on the assumption that she knew what was goin' on. You can't do that with her. This isn't you testin' the waters, this is you tryin' to convince her to jump in." Wally argues.

"Yeah, well, she's already decided she don't wanna 'jump in'." Butch says, taking his cigarettes from the betting pool at the center of the table.

"Hey, where you goin'?" Wally calls after him, as he exits the cafeteria.

"Maybe Nosebleed isn't the only one holding themself back..." Paul says, as he watches Butch's figure retreat down the hall.

~*~

The poster board rests atop four desks that have been pushed together. Papers, including Butch's sketches and the requirements for the project, are strewn across the poster, and Butch stands over it, with a pencil tucked behind his ear and he looks at the space critically. She never knows what he's searching for, when he looks at the poster like that. Maybe it's the answers to whatever questions are bouncing around in his head. Or maybe he sees the drawing, even before he puts his lead to the paper. Or maybe he's just sizing it up, trying to see where everything could fit, like a puzzle.

"Yo Nosebleed, you mind handin' me the sketch of the Queen and the knight in the throne room."

"Sure." She says as she stands, then hesitates as she glances around the immediate area. Butch's working space has oozed out to nearby empty desks as well. She personally doesn't understand how he can work with such chaos, but if that's what it takes for him to get the job done, then she won't complain. Marvel, yes, but won't complain.
She spots his journal on the desk where she'd placed her own books. She thumbs through the pages the way she's seen Butch do countless times now and quickly learns there's more than just sketches stuffed between the papers in the notebook, but homework, notes, graded tests and even report cards hidden away without any sense of organization from what she can tell.

No wonder Butch didn't want to find it for himself. His journal is used as a catch-all.

She glances over her shoulder to see Butch isn't waiting on her, but bent over the project, pencil gliding effortlessly and she decides to let her curiosity get the better of her. She flips through a few pages, is surprised to learn Butch does take occasional, though sporadic, notes. She isn't surprised by the doodles that take up most of the room between jotted notes. She flips and peeks only to see more of the same, until she finally stumbles across what she's looking for. As she removes the sketch from its place, however, it brigs with it several more pages that go spilling out into the floor. She blushes, quickly crouches down to gather them up when one catches her eye...

Butch, noticing his partner struggling with the basic task, sets his pencil down and walks over. As he approaches her from behind, he plans on giving her a hard time for taking so long but just as he opens his mouth to speak, he sees the sketch at the top of the stack of papers she's placing back on the desk. He heart stops, his blood runs cold, and there's a fire ignited somewhere in his stomach.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'." He growls out lowly, trying not to draw anymore attention to himself as he slams his hand down on the stack of papers and hastily shoves them back into his journal. He's hoping that somehow, she didn't see. Maybe she didn't notice, except now she's looking at him with a blank sort of dumbfounded expression and he doesn't understand of all his drawings, why did she have to see the he'd done of her?

"I was getting the drawing you'd asked for." She says sheepishly.

He snatches the sketch from the corner of the desk where she had placed it in order to clean up her mess.

"You mean this drawing?" He asks, words like venom, and she doesn't understand where his anger is coming from.

"Well obviously I found it." She says, getting defenisve as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"And then some." He counters, still keeping his voice low.

Her brows pull together in confusion and frustration.

"What are you so mad about?"

"I asked you to get somethin'. That wasn't an invitation to go through my shit."

Her mouth drops open.

"I wasn't 'going through' anything! Your journal is a mess and I'm not exactly a psychic! Not that that matters, I don't think you know where you keep anything anyways."

"That's my shit, Nosebleed. Mine. You have no right lookin' through it."

"Well if you're so worried about someone going through your stuff, maybe you should put it somewhere private." She says as she follows him back to the desks.

He gives her a long, hard stare as he sits down and she hates the way she notices how tired he looks.

"I'm not wrong." She says with conviction as she takes a seat across from him. Though he's looking at the poster board, she still catches his eye roll.

"Of course not. You never do anything wrong, you're Miss Goody Two-Shoes,and I'm the fuck-up."

She lets the conversation go, though she doesn't understand what he's taunting her for. He's irrationally angry, she thinks, but she wouldn't go as far as to call him a fuck-up.

He's just throwing a tantrum, she tells herself, like he always does. And if wants to be angry, then he can be angry. She feels certain she won't be able to talk him down once he's mind up his mind.

The silence stretches on. She thought she'd feel calmed down by now, but as the minutes tick by she finds she feels more and more upset by the whole ordeal, but she can't really place why. She knows Butch is enthralled in his work, but it feels different this time, like he's intentionally ignoring her. And she finds it hard to watch him this time around. There's no magic in his pencil stroke, no awe in his facial expression. All she can think when she watches him is 'why'. Why the mood swings. Why the confusion. Why, why, whywhywhy.

She stands from her seat, almost tells him she's going to the bathroom then thinks better of it, it's not like he cares anyways, and she exits without a word or glance.

In the sudden stillness of privacy, the tears catch her off guard.

This isn't the first time Butch has made her cry. It's not even the tenth. Maybe the hundredth. It is the second time in a six month span she's cried because she doesn't understand. She's a logic driven person. She has to understand. But unlike last time, it's not just Butch she's confused about, but herself.

She's not upset about what transpired in the classroom, not really, but it does highlight everything that's been going on.

Why can't she just let things be?

In all her attempts to make sure things don't go back to the way they were, they have done exactly that. And looking back, maybe she can see why.

If she really wanted Butch to continue to leave her alone, wouldn't it have made the most sense for her to do the same, to interact with him as little as possible, only enough to get the project done? Instead it's like she's trying to get to know him better, get closer to him almost. It's like she can't get enough of him.

It's almost like-

No.

She does not have feelings for Butch DeLoria.

She's just surprised. Surprised at his emotional depth. Surprised that his eyes can be so warm, and his smile so gentle. Surprised he can express vulnerability, even if he can turn around and shut them all off again. But he does have the capacity for it.

That's it. That's all it is.

Sure, she sat on the couch where the smell of nicotine still clung to the fabric while she wrote her essay, and okay, so she reread the parts in the book that Butch had decided to draw and she spent hours wondering what about those scenes connected with him, but it's not like she has feelings for him. She just gets warmth from the thought of him because she learned the Grinch has a heart. And she wants to see that nurtured in him. And... maybe she wants to be the one to help him. Maybe she's curious to know what he could offer her too.

Okay. So maybe it stings every time she's reminded that she'll never know...

... but it's not like...

She stares at her reflection in the mirror, long a hard, past the tears, past the fear of the huge, unopened question, and she looks deep within herself.

... could she?

As she stands in the silence awaiting her answer, her heart begins to race.

She's just stressed, she decides, as she turns on one of the sinks and splashes her face with cold water. She takes a few deep breaths, splashes her face again, the dries off with a hand cloth.

She feels calmer, but she's not ready to go back, and she's certainly not ready to decipher what her hesitancy means. Instead, she leans against the counter and pulls up one of the games on her Pip-Boy. After three levels of mind-numbing fun, the door swings open, and Christine joins her at the sinks. Neither girl speaks as the future Lone Wanderer continues her game and Christine opens her make-up bag. She begins reapplying her make-up. First her eyeliner, then mascara. Once she removes her lipstick, she speaks.

"He's not that good at expressing himself."

No.

This can't be happening.

Christine Kendall isn't giving her some girly heart-to-heart in the bathroom over make-up.

"Who?" She asks, sounding as disinterested as humanly possible.

She can feel the look Christine gives her.

"Butch."

"I don't care how good or bad he is at 'expressing' himself he is, as long as the project gets done."

Christine hums in amusement as she rubs her bright red lips together before making a popping noise with her mouth.

"I know you and Amata act real hard like you're high above us, but just remember those boundaries are nothing more than self-imposed constructs."

The young Lone Wanderer frowns as her games signals her little pixelated character's death.

"What are you getting at, Christine?" She asks, tired of all these games and cryptic messages and trying to figure nonsense out.

Christine gives her another long, hard look.

What is she supposed to say? That her and Butch broke up because of her? So Butch could persue her to see what feelings he may have for her? Only for her to shut it down, and now Butch doesn't want Christine back because he's hung up on her? And maybe Christine is still hung up on Butch and she doesn't understand why everyone's lives have to come to a screeching halt just because the Doc's Kid is too dense to notice Butch is wasting away for her, despite the looks he's always giving her, looks Christine wish she could be on the receiving end of?

But Christine has grown tired of waiting around for Butch waiting around for his answer.

Sure, they get lonely and hook-up again every once in a while, but ti always ends the same- with Christine remembering she'll never be his, no in the way she wants to be.

She has more options than 'Butch' or 'wait'. There all other boys in the vault, after all.

"I can't believe you're both really this dense." She says as she packs her make-up away.

The young Lone Wanderer says nothing as Christine walks to the door, however, and before she exists, Christine says, "Don't worry, I'm the only one who noticed your little fight, and B is still working on the project. Everything's still perfect in your little paradise."

She has no idea if Christine's words are meant sarcastically or not.

~*~

"Hey, I've been thinking-" Butch stops to drag a desk besides hers, "- that we could put some quotes for your essay on the poster, to tie it all in together."

She decides the only way she'll stop being surprised with Butch's behavior is if she just got rid of all her expectations. She thought for sure today would be filled with more awkward silence, but he's here, eager to work.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. You're done with the poster?"

"Not yet. He confesses sheepishly. "Gotta finish linin' a few things, then I can put the color on. But I can do that while you do the quotes."

There she goes, being surprised again.

"You want me? To do the quotes?"

He looks at her like she's asked the most ridiculous question.

"You write better than me."

Thanks to her stunt yesterday, she knows that much is true.

"Yeah, okay. I'll uh, I'll read through it and see what I can pick out."

"Okay... write it in pencil first, then go over it with marker when you're done."

She frowns at this. She may not know how to draw, but she understands taking precautions to not write a mistake in permanent marker.

Once they start working, the awkwardness sets in. There's no fluidity or confidence in their movements. Both seem to be thinking too hard about not brushing or bumping into one another as they try to navigate the poster board that there's a lot of pausing and mumbled apologies. It feels like the complete opposite of when this all started with both of them on the couch, uncaring that their legs touched, peaceful sharing each other's space as she read and he drew. Things were simpler then... no, easier.

Effortless.

They just meshed, seemed to fall in sync with one another.

What had happened?

She reaches for her essay at the same time he's grabbing for one of his coloring pencils, and their hands collide into one another.

"Oh", she says just as he says, "um". They both look to one another to find the other blushing.

"Shit." Butch says with an uneasy sounding laugh, like he's actually unnerved by all this. "This stupid project really has us bent outta shape, huh?"

There's something about Butch calling the two of them 'we' and 'us' that makes her heart flutter.

"Yeah." She says, with a nervous laugh of her own. The project.

It's just the project.

"The deadline is tomorrow. We're feeling the tension."

"Tension." Butch repeats, and she thinks she could get lost in his eyes, so intense and blue.

"We'll feel better once it's over."

This seems to somber him, and he drops his gaze. Biting his lip, he takes the pencil he'd been reaching for earlier, then picks up the essay to hand it to her. She looks at it, reaches higher than she needs to, allows their fingers to brush as he passes it off to her.

"Thanks." She says.

"Don't mention it." He replies.

It's shy, at first, then gets easier to move not around but with one another. Apologies are replaced with requests for one drawing utensil or another. Hesitant bumps turn to lingering touches. Together they work, and the project is nearly finished by the time Mr. Brock dismisses them.

"I can do the rest." Butch offers, and the future Lone Wanderer entertains the thought of offering to help, of chasing this feeling, but thinks better of it.

"Okay." She says instead.

~*~

She glances impatiently at her Pip-Boy; Susie and Freddie have been doing their presentation for twenty-minutes now. She wants them to finish up, so Mr. Brock can give all the groups their grades, and she can finally be at peace.

She feels fairly confident about her and Butch's presentation. She read off her essay without a problem, and Butch even explained the sketches he'd chosen to do. Each one was a key point to the plot that revolved around the book's main theme, which they had both decided was love. There was the love shared between the Queen and the knight, and the love the King had for the Queen, though that was more akin to loving a possession than being in love, and Butch had even rationalized that the King felt betrayed by the knight because he had loved him, though not necessarily in a romantic way. As he explained all this, she watched him in quiet awe, and the two of them even shared a little smile at the end of their presentation.

All-in-all, she can't help feeling anxious about the grade, as she always does, like she isn't a straight A student, like it migt be different this time, except it is because there's someone else's grade on the line.

"Thank you Miss Mack and Mr. Gomez, thank you for your presentation. Class, take five, and then I'll give you your grades."

The Snkaes leave the classroom almost immediately, and the future Lone Wanderer watches as her classmates mill about and chit chat. Her Pip-Bpy screen lights up, and an icon indicates she's gotten a meesage. It's from Amata.

"U did great!"

"Thnx, u 2!" She replies back.

"Miss Stevenson and Miss Rodriguez, if you'd come up here please."

At this, she perks up.

"Mr. DeLoria and Miss-"

She's on her feet before Mr. Brock can finish speaking, and apparently the bad boys of Vault 101 are hanging out just outside the door, because Butch is right behind her.

"A fantastic presentation, a well-thought out essay and a beautiful visual piece if I do say so myself... 105."

She accepts the news with a gracious smile while Butch looks like he's about to fall over.

"Mr. Walters and Miss Adams, you're up next."

~*~

She gathers her thigs together at the end of class that day, steps out into the hall, and takes no more than two steps before Butch is lightly grabbing her arm.

"Hey." He says, like they ran into each other and this is all happenstance.

"Hey." She says back anyways.

"I just... thanks. You know... thanks."

She smiles, shrugs.

"It's no problem." She says shyly.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"That's not true."

She bites her bottom lip.

"It had its ups and downs, but..."

'I'd do it again in a heartbeat' is how she wants to finish that sentence, but she lets the thought go unsaid.

"Would you like to take it home? You know, like a trophy?" She asks, with a smile on her lips.

"Nah, it's safer with you." He says with a tender smile of his own.

They stand there in the hall, looking at one another, and he fights down the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

"I'll see you tomorrow Butch."

"Yeah."

He watches her go, and stands there long after her silhouette has faded down the hallway and he wonders why it feels like he's mourning.