#jericho fo3

Butch:

He’d flirted with them before… only, even he hadn’t really known that that’s what it was. His mom often said he liked them, and other adults commented similarly when Lone and him were kids, but he’d always made disgusted faces, retching noises or flipped the people off that tried to tell him he liked Lone. Of all people, Lone?! No, not Butch. He bullied them, he disliked them, if anything. 

At least, then, that’s what he believed. Now though, Butch knew the truth, and he couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been all along. He plans to make up for lost time, to correct those little errors of his from the past. Butch has a short lifetime of flirting under his belt, and he means to put all that experience to good use. 

Just need to find the right time. Can’t do it out of the blue, not with Lone, can’t risk something like that. Has to be all romantic an’ shit…

–

“See anything you like?” Butch wiggled his eyebrows as Lone’s blurry form swam into focus. “You’re… awfully close to me, baby.” 

“Butch?” They mumbled, and he noticed that their eyes were closed. He’d thought they’d been staring at him, but their eyes were closed.

Just my luck…

“Butch, you’re awake?” Lone nearly jumped out of their seat as their blinking eyes widened in shock. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel great, baby. How’re you?” 

Their brows furrowed quickly, confusion warping their concerned features. 

“You were hurt, Butch. A car, some raiders… It exploded and you passed out, lost some blood, you… I wasn’t sure when you were going to wake up. The doctor said you might not.” 

Butch’s foggy mind began to clear, a headache began to form at the front of his skull, and the aches in his body became more and more pronounced with each word that left his companion's mouth. 

…I what? 

“Lone, only blood I loss was because you pierced my heart.” 

That one sounded good, right? That one should really drop the hint to ‘em. 

Butch grinned at the thought. 

“Oh, Butch…” They reached out a hand, tentatively reaching for his forehead and brushing away a few strands of hair. “You’re still coming out of it, huh? Just rest, okay?”

A new determination burned through his aching joints, his battered body. At the feel of Lone’s tender touch, at the realization of their obliviousness to his, frankly obvious, feelings, Butch tried again. 

“Can’t rest. Not now baby. Not ‘till you’re mine. Not ‘till you see it… See the way I feel.”

He tried to get up, to emphasize his point, but his arms could hardly move. The blanket that was stretched over his half-bare body felt like sandpaper over his burned and blistered flesh, and his muscles roared in painful protest at every movement. 

A groan left him at the sudden pain of it. 

“Butch, no, easy.” Lone’s hands gently encouraged him to stay down, and their eyes shone with sympathy that made his chest ache from more than his wounds. “You must be half delirious to be saying all this, but… don’t try to get up, okay? Just try and rest.” 

He wanted to listen to them, wanted to do what his partner asked, wanted to please them that way, but he needed Lone to know. 

It’s been too long. Maybe this deliriousness is what I needed. 

Shoulda tried this earlier.

“Lone, no. You gotta understand-”

“Butch, shh.” They laid a finger over his lips as their other hand stroked over his shoulder. “There’s time. You can tell me everything soon. I want to hear it, okay? Trust me, I do. But now, please… just rest for me. Work on healing, just for a little while. Then you can tell me how you feel.”

Butch’s eyes closed without his permission, their sweet words lulling him back to blissful unconsciousness as their hand continued it’s soothing stroking over a bit of unmarred skin on his arm.   

“And then,” He heard, just as he felt sleep wrapping him in its embrace, “Then I can tell you how I feel, too.” 

The last thing he could recall was a simple touch. In reality, it was faint, but to Butch, their lips upon his forehead felt like a heavy crash, an avalanche of weight poured over him that left nothing in its wake but the possibilities. For his future, and for theirs. 

Charon:

“Wait.” A large, calloused hand grasped at Lone’s shoulder as they made a move to step out from behind the pillar. “I’ll go first.” Charon’s rough voice sounded close to their ear as his hand stayed firmly on them, encouraging their form to move back behind cover once more.

“Why? Did you hear something?”

Charon paused at his companion’s inquiry. Did they think it was odd that he took precautions? That was his job, wasn’t it? It was in his contract...

But we both know I don’t always follow every little rule the paper alludes to in the finer print.

The ghoul cleared his throat, retracting his hand from Lone’s shoulder as he moved to step in front of them, pointedly avoiding their gaze as he thought through what he should say.

Charon didn’t ever recall being so concerned for his employer’s safety before. In fact, it was more likely he would do the bare minimum that was required to keep them from being blown to bits or falling off a cliff than it was for him to go out of his way to ensure their safety of his own accord. He had to follow orders, had to step in harm’s way, should it suddenly become clear to him that they would be injured or killed if he didn’t do so, and… That was it. The contract never mentioned the careful thought process he now went through each time the pair entered into a potentially dangerous situation. Nowhere in the paper did it say that his heart would need to flutter with anxiety when his companion was in danger, or that his body should flush with the heat of anger when a bullet did happen to graze them. The contract never told him to remain up all through the night, poised and ready for an unexpected attack, or lie awake in Lone’s dim room, his mind fraught with worry for the next day.

Yet, here he was. Doing all of that. When the hell had all this happened?

Charon tried to convince himself that it was only due to Lone’s kindness, to their low-maintenance in comparison to the likes of his previous employers. He tried to tell himself that the only reason he didn’t want them dead was because then he’d be saddled with some other asshole he had to answer to, but Charon knew deep down that that was bullshit. Even when his employers had been bearable, he’d never felt this strongly for them.

A moment of silence passed before Charon finally fixed his companion with his intense, icy gaze.

“No.” He said simply, “I didn’t hear anything.”

Their eyebrows scrunched together and Charon saw the question forming in their mind. Before they could even voice it, he replied.

“I just want to keep you safe.”

Clover:

“Sugar, you know I mean it when I tell you you look good, right?”

Clover always flirted, it was more of a personality trait than a conscious action at this point. It was just the way she was, the way she had been told to be, made to be for so many years that it just became a part of her. Now was different though, she always flirted without realizing it, but now… Well, she actively wanted to, and of course, of course Lone would be impervious to it. Did they really not notice? They almost seemed to ignore her little compliments, her teasing words and forward touches, and Clover does not like being ignored under any circumstance.

Finally, one day, she'd been driven to confront her companion about it.

“What’s your problem, huh? What’ve you got against me?” Clover finally burst out after the umpteenth time she’d said something sickly sweet that they’d just completely brushed off like a dead leaf on their jacket.

Look, she’d tried being subtle, she’d tried being low-key as much as the ex-slave could be, then she’d gotten more aggressive with her verbal affections, she’d gotten more direct with her lingering touches and her suggestive comments, but Sole seemed to just laugh off all of it, or worse, they’d pretend as if she didn’t do anything at all.

Clover was over it.

“Is it the way I look, huh?" She held her arms out wide, and Lone shrank back in response. "Is it cuz of my past, then? What, I been with too many folks for you to handle? What?”

“Clove,” Lone looked down at the floor in… what, embarrassment? Shame? It was hard to tell. “I didn’t realize–” 

“No, you look at me, sweetheart. Look me in the eye as you tell me what I don’t wanna hear.” 

“I didn’t want to take advantage of you, is all” Their gaze was sympathetic as it met her sizzling expression. 

“What?” 

“It’s like you said, about your past… I wasn’t sure if you, well, how you felt about me at all. Not when, your whole life, you’ve been forced to try and attract everyone around you, to be suggestive and touchy and I didn’t just want to be another asshole that only sees you as a piece of meat.” 

They wrung their hands with their confession, but their eyes stayed locked to hers, just like she'd asked. 

“Because I don’t. I… I like you, Clove.”

“You… Honest? You really do?” She took a step closer, her expression vastly changed from the flared nostrils and low brows she’d had before. Elation hung behind a thin curtain of disbelief. 

“Well, yeah. I just… Didn’t want you to think that’s why I bought your– well, you."

The word sounded so hollow, and Clover felt it like a pang in her chest. It wasn't often that she let her past hurt her this way. That wasn't a trend she could afford to start, but seeing the way it pained Lone to speak about...

"You don’t owe me anything." They continued somberly, "It’s as I said before, you’re free to go, if that’s what you want–”

“It’s not, sugar.” Clover shook her head as a poorly contained smile tugged at her full lips, as her hands went to either side of Lone's face, her thumbs brushing over their cheeks. “As I’ve been tryin’ to tell ya all this time… I want you.” 

She couldn't help all the flirting she did, both before, and after their conversation. Her past also made it hard for her to know which feelings of hers were truly real, as opposed to ones put in place in order to defend herself. Clover's still working all of that out, but just knowing... Understanding Lone's point of view, and hearing the genuine words leave them... It made the process of falling for someone easier than it's ever been before.

Cross:

“A very good shot. You must have exemplary eyesight, ma’am/sir.”

The action of flirting never came naturally to the Paladin. Obviously it wasn't high on her priority list when it came to skills she sought to perfect. If it were, her proficiency in other areas, with focuses on survival and combat prowess, surely would've suffered. But at this rate, she wished she could've had at least some form of training in the subtle art of wooing someone. Not just any someone, but Lone. Her companion, her friend, someone not in the Brotherhood, someone who wouldn't cause her to break decorum if she were to be with them.

It was a strange sensation, knowing that she had feelings for Lone. She was rarely certain about these things, and she almost never caught feelings for anyone. Maintaining distance from those around you, remaining indifferent to people you spend inordinate amounts of time with, it's a burden every soldier had to bear if they hope to defend their hearts and minds from the brutality of sudden and bitter loss. And yet, here she was, catching feelings for a civilian.

Perfect.

Cross tried to ignore it for ages, but it only seemed to become more obvious the more she attempted to conceal it. She would stumble over her words, blush more, become embarrassed about certain uncivilized things soldiers shouldn't think twice about. Why did she have such a hard time asking Lone to halt when she has to… relieve herself? She's a damn Star Paladin for Christ's sake, taking a ten-one shouldn't effect her in such a way.

In the end, she would find herself utterly unable to keep from at least complimenting her companion on their combat skills, their abilities as a diplomat that she so admired, their compassion towards others, and even their athletic physique. Is it really flirting? Hopefully Lone thinks so, because this as much as the Paladin can seem to muster in the ways of wooing.

Fawkes:

“You are a good companion, and an even better friend. I am beyond fortunate to have you in my life, and if ever there is anything you need, I will be here.”

Fawkes isn't quite sure what all of these feelings mean. The way his stomach tingles, a smile involuntarily crinkles his eyes, how he feels so warm inside when he looks at his companion. Is it friendship? Friendship is strong, and he felt strongly towards Lone, that, he knew.

When it comes down to it, Fawkes has no idea what he's doing as he relentlessly compliments this incredible person beside him. He's simply honest with his companion. Fawkes thinks they're the bravest person he's met, they have a good sense of humor, a kind heart, and they gave him a chance when no one else would even think to. He's proud to call Lone his friend, and he doesn't hesitate to let everyone know.

The day he finds out that it's more than friendship that he feels for his companion, Fawkes becomes, well... quite shy. Though, he'd never want to waver in his compliments, as he believes in being genuine and would never feel embarrassed about telling Lone the truth, he'd be more careful with his word choice, and the comments would be less frequent. As he continues his assault of kind words, praise, and appreciation for his companion; he would be planning his confession to them. Lone deserved to know the way he felt, even if they didn't feel the same. He just had to tell them, because, if they did feel the same? It would change his whole world for the better.

Jericho:

"Fuck, kid. You're crazier than I am, heh."

No form of praise is light praise, when it comes to Jericho. The ex-raider has a sorta allergy to compliments, especially the genuine kind, but Lone, he likes.

So what if he tells 'em that they're nuts enough to run with him? He can eye them up when they make a great shot, or tell them they're a badass when they make some shit explode, check out their ass in those tight road leathers they like to wear. That doesn't mean nothing.

He's too old for any of that shit, anyway. No, Jericho outgrew the ability to have feelings for anyone when he was about 10 years old. An' his conquests back in his raider days had left him full enough for two lifetimes in terms of companionship.

Nah, Lone was just... They were alright. The first 'alright' vault dweller he's ever met, and the first person in ages that didn't make him wanna set off that bomb in Megaton's center and give them all a little peace.

It wasn't 'till his actions started reflecting those little glimpses of... whatever the fuck was going on with Lone, that he even realized he was acting out of character.

Sure, sharing ammunition and helping 'em scavenge enough scraps to fix up their armor, sewing up a wound while they gritted their teeth, and swapping food stores wasn't anything groundbreaking, but... Well, he's never done any of that shit with past traveling companions. Hell, he more so wished his past companions’ armor would fail so he could loot their corpse when they dropped, that they wouldn't notice the ammo he swiped from their pack at night, that their wound would fester and he could have a few more caps in his pocket when they didn't wake up from fevered sleep.

With Lone though... it went even further. Giving them first dibs on loot, offering to carry more of their shit, so they could have a lighter load, sharing a fucking cigarette with 'em. That shit was strange.

Cigs are like straight fucking gold to the ex-raider, and yet...

Shit...