- XVI -

(October 2277)

Part 4

A long time ago, a girl fell before him and bloodied her nose on the floor.

She'd meant less than nothing, a grating eyesore in an equally grating Vault. The crossing of their paths cemented the mutual contempt for years to come, tying them together in a whirlwind of resentment and rivalry. He'd hated her with every fiber of his being, wishing her misfortune and disaster at every opportunity, be it the destruction of her family or the cost of her life. But when the gears switched and altered the nature of their connection, neither had predicted the changes within themselves and in each other.

The desire for sabotage and harm transformed into the willingness to protect and sacrifice for one another. On a foundation of past antagonism, they built something pure and solid, a restructured bond that entwined and sealed them as one. Yet, in a belated and cruel twist of fate, some higher power saw fit to grant both of his original wishes.

A few seconds ago, that same girl fell against him and bloodied his hands with her skull.

Only now, she meant everything.

In that moment, Butch forgot how to breathe as he clutched Ivy's limp body to his chest, gawking in horror at the red staining her auburn hair. Every thought, every feeling, vanished from his senses, leaving only the awareness that the last vestiges of his self-control lived in the slowing beat of her pulse. A winding tension tightened inside him as his legs slowly gave, and he sank with her to the floor in a haze too terrible, too surreal to be true. Crouching now on one knee, he hugged her close and tried to latch onto her warmth, his nails curling into her rough armor as his cheek pressed against hers.

No, no, no… God, no.

His throat closed up and attempted to suppress all vocal grief, leaving him shaking with volatile fury. He'd known this entire mission was risky, but she wasn't supposed to be the one to go down. Not like this. Not robbed of her rightful retribution by the exact target of her revenge. The injustice was outrageous, unbelievable in its result. His vision grew blurry, and hot drops spilled from his eyes as he squinted them shut, burying his face into the wavy hair untouched by blood. She smelled of the Wasteland, gun oil, and sweat, but beneath it all he detected the familiar floral scent he knew well.

"Ivy, wake up. Come on," he murmured in a broken voice next to her ear. "You can't die now, girl. We were so close, Ivy, this close to setting things right. You were kickin' ass all over the damn place, showin' everyone who's boss. Don't let this stop ya, this ain't the way it's supposed to be. I bet you survived worse than this, you just gotta… just gotta get back up. Like you always do when you're knocked down. Just… fuck, why?!"

He held her tighter as his shoulders trembled, crying—actually crying—for the first time since he could remember. It was so unfair, taking everything away from her. Taking her away from him. An ever-shifting force had seen fit to throw them together through thick and thin, only to rip them apart when they found what they needed in each other. And Ivy, a victim in so many ways, should've been given release from her misery; some sort of compensation for all she'd endured. Instead, here she lay, bleeding out with no satisfactory conclusion, having lost the chance for closure, peace, and a better future.

The world was sick.

"Jesus," Wally shrieked from somewhere to the left. "Fuck all this. You're on your own. I'm outta here."

Butch heard his footsteps run past to hurry toward the direction of the vent. He collected himself and wiped the dampness from his face with the back of one hand, stiffening when the click of an empty gun interrupted his mourning. Gaze brimming with hellfire, he saw Stevie tsk and toss the pistol away after attempting to fire a second shot, this time at Butch. The audacity evoked a surge of homicidal intent in the man holding the fallen woman. With deliberate movements, he gently set her down and rose to his feet, all traces of impeding emotion buried deep in his soul.

The remaining individuals regarded each other with unconcealed hostility. They waited, watched, analyzed. A tangible finality hung in the air amidst the perpetual racket outside the door. Two left standing, but only one would walk away. This fight promised to be nothing like the one in the interrogation room all those months ago. Ivy's demise came at a cost to them both, and neither would rest until the other paid the price.

Because for want of a woman, the woman was lost.

Stevie stole a brief glance at her, a strange look crossing his features in a manner that almost humanized him. Butch filtered out the image with scorn, not daring to believe it was sorrow. The lights flickered then, commanding their attention. The assault rifle sat at an approximate equal distance between them while Ivy's shotgun lay closer to Butch. Their eyes locked, flared, exchanged the silent challenge to draw.

And thus it began.

Butch leaped forward as Stevie raced to the side. His fingers clamped around the shotgun, and, snapping it up, Butch aimed and fired at once. The older man barrel-rolled to dodge the shells, seizing the rifle along the way. When he swung his weapon around to return fire, Butch sprinted off and slid behind a line of consoles. Perspiration moistened his hair under the helmet as an unrelenting barrage of rounds struck metal, raining sparks over him. His heart pumped with adrenaline, and he checked the shotgun chamber to count five more shells. Insufficient.

He listened for Stevie's location when the bullets stopped, hearing the other man reloading several meters away at his five o'clock. Taking the opportunity, Butch popped up and looked down his barrel to scan the floor, but realized Stevie had taken cover somewhere in the mass of electronic structures. He steadied the stock against his shoulder and awaited the sound of the magazine clicking into place. Then, as soon as he spotted an arm come into view, he shot it.

Stevie swore when the slug exploded on his appendage, though the sturdy sleeves of his second-layer armor soaked up most of the damage. Butch ducked back down and gritted his teeth, deciding he'd need either a plan or more ammo if he wanted to break through Stevie's gear. He hated the idea of going through Ivy's pack like a scavenger, but the thought crossed his mind when a new wave of bullets hit the fixtures shielding him. For all he knew, Stevie could have rounds strapped all over his body.

Butch surveyed the area, searching for a possible vantage point that would benefit his short range weapon. He settled on another group of fixed consoles that flanked Stevie's position. As soon as the other man paused to reload again, Butch snuck along the perimeter of the filter and kneeled in the new spot. This brought him back around near Ivy's location, and he quickly drafted a possible route to her pack in case the situation went sideways enough to call for it.

Security had stopped pounding on the door to shout muffled instructions to each other, so he strained to detect Stevie's movements. With luck, Stevie would advance to his previous position, granting Butch the chance to blindside him. However, he jolted when a rookie mistake gave him away.

"Butch! Are you guys okay? Butch, come in," Amata's infuriating voice hollered from his Pip-Boy radio.

Fuck!

The assault rifle immediately spat bullets in his direction, and he growled out a string of obscenities as he slammed his fist into the mute button. Running footfalls told him Stevie was switching to another location, and once he heard a break in the rapid fire, he jumped up and sent two consecutive blasts at the other man's figure. One managed to embed pellets into a weak point on the side of the vest, which he memorized as Stevie yelled out in pain. Butch crouched to avoid the next set of rounds, but experienced a mild bout of panic at the realization they were coming closer.

Scrambling to his feet, he dashed for the structures nearby and grunted when a few bullets hit his own vest near his spine. Now fully on the defense, he threw himself behind a piece of machinery twice his size, panting from the exertion. Blood roared in his ears as his breaths fogged up the glass of his visor again. Stevie was somewhere to his rear, silent and hidden. Butch lifted the visor and wiped the sweat off his brow, forcing the encroaching fatigue back as his brain lapsed into survival mode and sharpened all five senses.

A scuffling noise about a dozen yards behind alerted him to Stevie's current position. He prepared to swivel around the right side of the metal structure and bait Stevie into coming out in the open, but another volley of bullets to his left took him by surprise. Cursing, he moved to the next available cover, the last two shells in the shotgun heavy on his mind. He was unsure what Stevie hoped to accomplish by playing this cat and mouse game with him, but he had a feeling the older man had expected him to be dead by now.

Butch pressed his back against a set of steel crates and heard Stevie darting in a perpendicular direction. The move confused him, as Stevie could have easily come around to his left again. Instead, the loading sound of the rifle came from the right. He shifted to that side and peered around one crate. When the metal helmet rose from behind one console, Butch anticipated Stevie's face following and shot at it without thinking.

He kicked himself for the stupid impulse when he realized Stevie had been the one to bait him by lifting the helmet with the barrel of the rifle. Oldest trick in the book, and he fell for it when he really couldn't afford to. And to his further rage, Stevie's smug laughter drifted toward him and filled the space.

Motherfucker. You'll get yours.

Maybe. One shell left. He thumped the back of his head against the crate, thinking hard on the statistics of him making it out of this. Not that he possessed any mathematical aptitude whatsoever, but at this moment, he figured the numbers were probably along the lines of start praying. He took into account that Stevie was wounded while he wasn't, but once he spent this last slug, all he had left were melee weapons.

The loud stomps of the other man's boots preceded yet another bombardment of advancing bullets. Butch tightened his grip on the shotgun and came to a decision. Readying himself, he waited until Stevie was almost around the corner, still shooting away. Then, taking his chances, he pivoted to the side, aimed, and fired.

CLANG.

He hit Stevie's helmet again, but this time with a slug that burst into pellets. An earsplitting scream ripped across the room when several lodged into Stevie's left eye, blinding it in a spurt of blood and a jelly-like substance. Butch would have followed it up with a swing of the shotgun to take him down, but the continued wild firing of the assault rifle convinced him to dodge and run for new cover.

He dropped the shotgun, now deadweight, and went for the only clear path—which led to a dead end out in the open. After a moment's hesitation, Butch yelped and clutched his thigh, a bullet having caught one of his unprotected areas. The sharp pain worsened with each passing second, but through the stinging haze and Stevie's shrill cries he noticed that the rifle had been thrown aside. Too late, Butch understood Stevie's odd pattern of pursuit.

Not only did he herd Butch into a dead end and far away from Ivy's pack, he also must have anticipated that he himself would soon run out of rounds. Although it obviously didn't come out quite as planned, the tactical maneuver was something Butch hadn't seen coming. This area of the room left only one choice for the two adversaries: close quarters combat.

Both injured and out of ammo, they faced each other with more enmity than ever. Butch's chest heaved with labored breathing as he bent over his leg, willing himself to ignore the crippling burn as Stevie straightened and bared his teeth, blood and gunk flowing from his ruined eye socket. How he still appeared good to go, Butch had no clue, but Stevie curled a fist around his baton and stalked closer, murder written all over his features.

The superhuman endurance would have intimidated anyone else, but all Butch saw replaying in his mind over and over was Ivy's stunned expression as one bullet claimed her life. The tautness that had wound inside him finally snapped, bestowing his second wind in a surge of wrath. He snatched his own baton and shifted his stance to welcome the fight.

Stevie charged him head on, rushing forward in a crazed flurry of preemptive strikes. Butch kept his weight on his good leg as he braced himself and met the clash with a clean parry and sidestep. His concentration funneled into a narrow focus, reading Stevie's attacks while compensating for his limited mobility. The batons crashed against each other in a series of resounding claps, and Butch ducked after each block to evade the successive punches. Stevie had worked up to a mad frenzy, relying on brawn and desperation as he threw lumbering, half-blind blows. Butch matched his speed, noting the weaknesses in the other's armor as he waited for an opening.

There.

A clumsy swipe left Stevie's side unguarded, and Butch jabbed his baton into the pellet wounds near his ribs. With a roar, Stevie abandoned all strategy and, quick as a flash, grabbed Butch's baton to yank him over. Before Butch knew what was happening, he found himself barreling forward, disarmed and suffering a new bolt of pain as both batons returned the favor by smashing into his bleeding thigh. A strangled sound escaped his throat as he landed on the floor, and Stevie was instantly upon him, yanking the security helmet from his head. He struggled to buck the lunatic off, overtaken by revulsion at the gory mess dripping over him.

Then, from out of nowhere, eight shots hit Stevie from the back.

A few managed to lodge into his exposed skin, but instead of keeling over, he jumped to his feet and whirled around to identify the new shooter. Butch hurried to sit up, though the excruciating throb in his leg prevented him from standing. Their gazes traveled across the room to take in an impossible sight.

Ivy stood hunched over, features dark and malevolent as she flung down the pistol Wally had discarded. And then in another astonishing move, she brought up two stimpack syringes in her hands, used her teeth to pry the caps off, and jammed them simultaneously into the back of her neck. Butch gaped while she administered the medicine into herself, and even Stevie failed to react right away, mesmerized by the dead woman who had come back to life.

"Ivy?!" Butch cried in utter disbelief. "What…"

She paid him no heed for the moment, fixing her black stare firmly on the bane of her existence. "Still standing, Stevie? You and your goddamn Buffout."

"How are you standing?" Stevie thundered, though his timbre shook with unease and wonder.

"Simple. If I'm going to die, it won't be by your hand."

And with that proclamation, Ivy whipped out what looked like a standard combat knife and took the offense. For someone who had received a shot to the cranium not too long ago, she carried herself rather well. Stevie flew into motion and attempted to tackle her when she drew near, but she darted away at the last second and countered with a slash toward his face. It grazed his cheek and inflicted a shallow scratch, enough to enrage him further. He swung a hook toward her, which she evaded, and even he seemed taken aback by her unexpected agility.

Butch watched them from his prone position, wanting to assist her, but unable to move without sending waves of agony over his leg. Fear wrenched his abdomen, and as Stevie appeared to gain the upper hand, he doubted he could handle seeing her go down again. The fast-paced brawl continued for minutes with Ivy running circles around her large opponent, cutting and stabbing at his armor to find the weakest points. She managed to knock the metal helmet away, and if he'd only had a loaded gun nearby, Butch would have taken the shot.

Fed up, Stevie grabbed a chunk of bloody auburn hair, eliciting a cry from Ivy's mouth as he caught the wrist wielding the knife and twisted until she dropped it. He tossed her at his feet like a rag doll and bent down to seize her weapon. However, instead of using it himself, he reared back and pitched it to the far end of the room. A sneer twisted over his lips as he turned back with the apparent intent of choking her. But suddenly, he stopped. Growling something incoherent, he staggered back a few steps as he smacked his palm against the scratch on his cheek. Ivy cradled her head and glowered up at him.

"That knife you just chucked across the floor was the Ant's Sting. Its blade is poisoned," she declared. "That should help negate whatever enhancement drugs you're taking."

Stevie snarled and leaped on her when she flipped over onto her hands and knees in an attempt to scramble away. He grasped her waist and pulled her back toward him, blocking her kicks with his elbow as he once again curled a fist into her hair. Butch's heart raced faster when Stevie's fingers found their way around her throat, and in an instant he remembered the last hope they had of winning this.

Digging his Toothpick out of his back pocket, he and Ivy instinctively locked eyes as Stevie began to strangle her. Butch jerked his head to indicate the side of the other man's vest and slid the switchblade over to her before Stevie noticed. As soon as it reached her hand, she flicked it open, estimated the target distance behind her, and plunged the blade into Stevie's ribs.

The ruthless digits over her neck loosened at once, and Ivy kept the Toothpick in place as she turned to lie on her back, coming face to face with the man who'd tormented her for far too long. Stevie had finally succumbed to his injuries, and this stab seemed to snap him out of the madness that had consumed him. His features fell into a solemn expression as he gazed down at the object of his obsession, truly seeing her for the first time.

"Ivy…"

With malice and spite, she twisted the blade and hissed, "Shut the hell up and ride me like it's your last fuck, baby."

Butch swallowed at the familiar words, realizing they were the same ones Stevie had used on her that first night he'd witnessed their secret relations from up in the vent. She claimed the dominant role now, a vengeful force returning to reap what he'd sown. Prying out the Toothpick with a rough hand, she ended it all there by slashing a deep gash across his throat.

He stayed still for it almost obediently, as if the remnants of his humanity accepted the deserved punishment. Blood from both his eye socket and his neck drizzled onto her armor, and he gurgled words Butch couldn't hear while Ivy took his jaw in her hands and shoved him away before he could collapse on her. She vaulted up and straddled him, refusing to make the same mistake twice. The Toothpick made several more entries into Stevie's neck, administered with increasing violence and accompanied by her anguished cries. Butch looked on until Ivy sniffled and ceased, satisfied and wearing liquid crimson.

She sat there perched atop her latest kill, breathing hard and wiping her eyes on her shoulder. He saw both the fulfillment and sorrow in her demeanor, the way she seemed to bid good bye to the Stevie she'd known before he transitioned into a monster. She could deny it all she wanted, but Butch sensed the meaning in her sobs. A long time ago, she and Stevie had something special together. It provided the basis for his desire to be with her even after he'd descended into fanatical love. But he distorted what they had, broke and squandered it.

Not so different from what Butch had done when he'd sent her off to the Wasteland by herself.

Despite the noises of a drill rumbling from outside the door, a calm atmosphere descended over them. Butch released an exhausted sigh and flopped back on the cold floor, his head swimming. He heard her rise and trudge over to him, and she sank to her knees at his side. They peered at each other in unspoken respite and understanding, and he reached up to run his thumb over her grimy cheekbone, just glad she was alive.

"How did you…" he started, not sure how to word it. Come back? Not die?

"Survive that shot?" she finished for him. At his nod, she rapped her knuckles against her skull. "Adamantium skeleton."

Butch blinked, and she offered a small smile at his blank stare.

"I've… gone through a lot in the Wasteland. Long story short, a surgeon I helped out offered to upgrade me with adamantium implants over my skeletal structure," Ivy explained. "Prior to this, I had an incident that resulted in regenerative effects on my body when I get radiation poisoning. So a month ago, I got the procedure done and healed up quick by getting irradiated. The process sucked, but the outcome was worth it."

"Damn. No kidding," was all Butch could reply as he wiped at the red trickling from her nose. "I thought you really were done for back there, nosebleed."

A musical laugh he never thought he'd hear again rang out around them. "Well, I'm not completely home-free. My head is going to need stitches, and I think I feel a concussion."

He now understood the reason why she'd been adamant about him wearing the riot helmet and why she weighed twice as much as she had before. A gloomy quality took over her eyes as she studied Stevie's corpse, but despite her battered state all covered in blood, she captivated Butch in that moment more than ever before. It would take a long time to heal the scars that ran deep beneath her skin, but the tortured quality in her face had vanished. Before they could say anything else, the flashing light of his Pip-Boy radio drew her attention.

"Hey, is Amata trying to contact us?" she asked.

Butch groaned as he turned up the volume. "Yeah, that annoying harpy…"

"Oh my God! Finally! What's going on?" Amata's voice demanded. "Butch, Ivy, is anyone hurt?"

"We both are, but we'll live. Not Stevie, though. He's kind of… dead," Butch answered flatly.

"Wally's here, and he said he bailed after Stevie shot Ivy."

"I'm okay. It was my skull against his bullet, and I won out."

Amata's tone was far from amused. "…Your skull? I hope you're joking. In any case, I'm glad you're both all right. If you can't move, I'll send a couple people down there with a stretcher."

"Uh…" Butch said as the drilling noise outside persisted. "There may be a problem with that."

"Why? Oh, security? Hang on, give me a minute."

The frequency cut off, leaving Butch and Ivy exchanging a glance. But sure enough, a minute later, the intercom system throughout the Vault blared to life.

"Attention, Vault 101 security. In light of Overseer Allen Mack's death, Security Chief Stevie Mack's death, and the refusal of both Wally and Susie Mack to take on their father's mantle, all previous orders of hostile arrest are hereby voided. This message is brought to you by me, Amata Almodovar, the new Overseer of Vault 101."

x-x-x-x-x

Butch ceased flicking the cleaned Toothpick open and closed as he glanced down the dark corridor. His thigh still throbbed, but Old Lady Palmer had done a competent stitching job on it, and now that he was back to wearing his standard Tunnel Snake attire, he felt more comfortable than he had in over a day. Figuring he still had a few minutes to decide, he limped his way to the level on which the incinerator was located. The new stillness throughout the Vault was almost unnerving, but he welcomed the quiet after what he'd just been through.

Ivy's offer circulated around his mind as he progressed further down the stairs.

"Amata has asked me to leave—probably permanently—because people are up in arms over my history with the pictures at the spring formal and my dad's unintentional upheaval of the Vault. And even though he's gone, I'm picking up where he left off in his work, Project Purity. I know you want to leave this place, too, Butch. And I'm asking you again to come with me. I've met surgeons, researchers, doctors… brilliant people who will help me develop a cure for Wilson's once my dad's project has been fulfilled. I'd like you to be there with me."

Butch frowned, initially refusing because he hadn't wanted it to look like he was crawling after her. But in truth, a degree of shame held him back. He hadn't done anything to deserve her regard or concern, especially when things between them hadn't completely recovered. And especially when he'd barely been of much help while she singlehandedly saved the Vault. Sure, he'd kept Stevie occupied by using himself as a moving target while she shot herself up with stimpacks, but that hardly counted. And now, faced with a decision like this on such short notice, and a limited time to boot, he didn't know what to do.

Once he entered the area containing the incinerator, he bypassed the large heated structure to head toward an adjoining room. Flicking on the lights, he strode up to the Tunnel Snake jacket he'd hung on the far wall. Sloppily crafted paper flowers decorated the floor below it, and he spared a glance at the other makeshift shrines before crouching down and gazing at the photo next to the Captain Cosmos comic book.

"Hey, Paul," he greeted softly. "It's all finally over, man. The Macks are taken care of, Amata's the new Overseer and opening the Vault, and we'll be able to look around the outside world. Wish you could be here to see it."

Paul's smiling face beamed up at him from the picture.

"Ivy, she… she's a hell of a lot scarier, I'll tell ya that," Butch continued with a chuckle. "Girl's turned into a badass who holds her own. I'm proud of her. You would be, too. I kinda feel like shit for sweepin' her off when you were goin' after her, but she always said you were one of her best friends."

A grim pause filled the space, and he pushed back the emotion that welled up as a lump formed in his throat.

"We almost lost her today. Turns out she got metal surgery to make her head even harder than it was, but it was a damn close call," he muttered, wishing he could erase that image from his memory. "We already lost you, buddy. The Tunnel Snakes haven't been the same since everything went to hell. Freddie will be here to look after ya, dust off your jacket once in a while and stuff, but me… I'm thinkin' of heading out and takin' the Wasteland by storm with a new generation of Tunnel Snakes. Whaddya think?"

"I think it's a stupid, immature idea," someone responded from behind him.

Butch scowled, but didn't bother turning around. "Get lost, Wally. I'm havin' a moment here with a real Tunnel Snake."

The other man didn't budge. "Well, can you come out for a minute? I want a word with you."

Butch exhaled and straightened, spinning around. "You can't be fuckin' serious. There ain't nothin' else for us to say to each other, man."

"There is, actually." Wally beckoned and disappeared from the doorway.

Butch stalked after him, wondering what he was planning. This is the punk who ran like a little bitch earlier. If he thinks he's gonna shank me now…

But when he exited the room, he found Wally loitering in front of the incinerator, a full box of items in his arms. Butch raised an eyebrow as he wandered over and came to stand opposite from him, digging his hands into his pockets and gripping the Toothpick just in case.

"The hell is that?"

Wally's stony mask cracked a bit as regret weaved its way across his expression. "Before Stevie asked me to go with him to the filter room, I found these." He raised the box, showing Butch stacks of data chips, holodisks, a camcorder, and other media storage. "All the blackmail material on Ivy. The copies and reserves."

Butch's jaw tightened. "All of it? So you…"

Wally tore his gaze away. "Yeah. It all checked out. You and Ivy were right all along."

"Well, hallelujah. Mack has seen the light," Butch jeered, still very much pissed off. "That why you couldn't stab me in the back again during the big showdown earlier? You were getting so good at that, too."

The other man's silence was his answer. Guilt plagued his features, and after a brief hesitation, he kicked the door of the incinerator open and threw the entire box and its contents inside. Slamming it shut again, he refused to look Butch in the eye as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Look, man. Why are you even still here? Ivy's heading out of the Vault as we speak," Wally stated.

Butch shrugged, figuring that this would be as close to an apology as he'd get. "So what? Not like we're dating or nothin'."

"Yeah, but after everything you did for her even when almost the entire Vault was against you, I thought you guys had something real going on. Not to mention you ended up putting down my dad and brother through it all."

"You fuckin' asshole, you know those two crazy sons of bitches were going to screw over the Vault—"

"I'm not saying that to blame you, I was just stating a fact," Wally interrupted. "What I'm getting at is, your motivations all point to solid feelings for Ivy, so why are you letting her walk out without you again?"

Butch paused at that. Because he was worried about whether she actually wanted him or not? Because he didn't know if he could deal with being seen as her subordinate? Because he was just scared?

Nah, not that last part. The Butch-man doesn't get scared. At all. Not even a little bit. Nope. Crying when she got shot totally didn't count.

"Let's face it, Butch. Neither one of you belongs here anymore. But that's probably because you're supposed to be together."

He'd already been teetering on the edge of indecision, but hearing that from his observant former friend convinced him. Nodding shortly, he stepped forward and thumped Wally on the shoulder in a gesture of truce. The single motion held enough familiarity for both of them to understand its implication. Wally returned it and met his eyes, putting their feud to rest. Without saying anything more, Butch hurried out and made for the Vault entrance.

He didn't bother saying good bye to his mother or anyone else. Freddie would understand, and while he might possibly miss the rest of the people he'd gotten to know during his stint with the rebels, there was really only one person he needed to catch before she walked out of his life for good. And it would, of course, be his own fault again. He trekked the corridors and halls of the upper level, hobbling along while checking the elapsed time on his Pip-Boy. By now, she could be halfway to the next town.

Butch reached the atrium and ignored the pain in his leg as he jogged across the floor past the empty makeshift barracks. He hadn't taken this route last time, but the linear path led him to the same underground passageway that opened to the Vault entrance. Panting, he heard the zinc tablets bouncing around the bottle in his jacket pocket as he sped toward the figure that had reached the outer door. Just in time.

"Ivy!"

She stopped as soon as she opened the wooden door, pouring unfiltered sunlight in and nearly blinding him. He squinted against the brightness as he slowed and came to a halt in front of her, already tired and out of breath. Bracing his palms on his knees, he took in the bandage wrapped around her head. She had changed into one of her old jumpsuits, but it was the Tunnel Snake jacket she wore that had him staring in surprise.

"So you're coming with me this time?" she inquired, evidently peeved that he had waited till the last minute to make up his mind.

"Sorry. Had to get my head out of my ass first," he quipped, straightening as his eyes adjusted to the radiance.

"Well, I actually have some companions who have been waiting outside while I dealt with the Vault's issues, so if you're ready to go…"

Butch opened his mouth to ask about them, but a ray of light hit the chain around her neck and caught his eye. "Yeah, but hey… I think you're wearin' something that belongs to me."

Ivy glanced down and took out the serpent pendant, examining the jewelry as it hung over her chest. "Oh? Didn't you give this back to me? Twice, in fact? If I recall correctly, you once threw it down when it was my first Christmas present to you. Then you returned it again when we were standing in this very spot—"

He cut her off by reaching out to grab and tug it toward him, yanking her along. His lips crashed over hers in a kiss long overdue, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek as she made a sound of indignation. But then her arms were wrapping around his neck, and she pressed herself flush against him, returning the kiss passionately. Everything clicked into place at that moment, confirming that fate wasn't so cruel after all. They belonged at each other's side, braving the world together no matter where they went. It felt right, it felt true, and most of all, it felt amazing.

Ivy broke their contact to gasp for air, just as she had during their first kiss in the storage room. They'd come a long way since that initial meeting in the classroom. Butch had never imagined they'd go through everything they did and end up like this, but despite the hardships, it all worked out.

He still wasn't a fan of the lip piercings, though. "Y'know, once we get some downtime, those have gotta go, girl."

Even with the scratches and scars on her face, she positively glowed as she gazed up at him. "I really missed you," she murmured, allowing him to remove the chain from around her neck so he could return it to his.

He shifted and cleared his throat. "Ivy, I… um. I, you know… I—"

She laughed that sweet laugh he remembered, and in that instant, she was the same Ivy she ever was. "It's okay. I know what you're trying to say."

Good, 'cause I'm not sure I do.

But he grew somber as he gently brushed the bandage over her forehead. "Seriously, Ivy. You don't know how much it messed me up when I thought I'd lost you in the filter room."

She took his hand and laced her callused fingers through his, her features going tender. "Sorry, I should have told you about the adamantium. Though you should've told me the real reason why you stayed back the last time I left the Vault. Amata said you did it to keep tabs on the Macks and prevent them from pursuing me."

"Oh. Yeah, 'cause, you know… I, uh… well…"

"I love you."

The declaration filled him with more happiness than he'd thought possible. Still, he fumbled over his words until she chuckled, and he gave up saying it back for the time being. He'd work on it.

Flushing, he tried to keep the goofy grin from spreading over his mouth as he pulled at the collar of her jacket. "So, uh… where'd this come from?"

Ivy ran her fingertips over it. "I had it in my pack. Figured I'd bring it with me for luck when I heard Amata's distress call."

"Once a Tunnel Snake always a Tunnel Snake, huh?"

She smiled softly. "That's right. Shall we show the Wasteland what we can do?"

As he followed her through the door, taking his first step outside the Vault, he revised his earlier musings.

Butch DeLoria answered to no one… even Ivy Ashburn.

But when it came to Ivy Ashburn, Butch DeLoria would do anything and everything for her, move sun, moon, stars, and all that romantic poetry shit to keep her safe, help fulfill her dreams, and make her happy.

And as he walked with her toward two silhouettes in the distance, he noticed something about the serpent pendant for the first time. He wasn't sure if it was the natural sunlight or what, but he found he could suddenly read the illegible writing that had always been there on the side. Grasping it in his palm, he lifted it closer, almost laughing when he realized how fitting it was.

RULE.

Rule your actions. Own them.

Rule your mistakes. Learn from them.

Rule your person. You define who you are.

That was why Tunnel Snakes ruled.

They lived by the Serpent Code.

x-x-x-x-x

A/N: And it's finished! This marks the first multi-chapter fic I've ever completed, my longest-running kink meme fill, and the first time I've ever hit 100 reviews. You guys are amazing!

For those who've asked, I do plan on writing more Fallout fics. While I probably won't write a direct sequel to Butch and Ivy's story, I may post some one-shots that offer a glimpse into their future. Also, I've been debating writing a companion piece that delves into Stevie's perspective and explains his fixation on Ivy. All the stories connected to the Serpent Code series will be listed on my profile.

Thank you to everyone who has read this, including the regular reviewers, the followers, and the silent readers. There were some bumps with writer's block and conflicts with my disobedient (and unfaithful and all-around sadistic) muse along the way, but you guys all fueled my drive to stay with this project to its completion. So thank you for your devotion and interest in this rollercoaster of a story. It's been a hell of a ride, and I enjoyed every minute of it!