#the implication that butch has been wanting to propose for 20 months makes me feel things

[potatocrab]

the right way

It’s New Years Eve, 2279. Butch finally thinks it’s time to pop the big question. 

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2810 words | [read on Ao3]

Butch couldn’t sleep. Not for the lack of trying, especially after an eventful night ringing in the New Year—heck, a new decade. It was well past midnight now, which meant he and everybody else in the Capital Wasteland was well on their way into 2280 and whatever it had to offer. Terrifying and exhilarating when he really thought about it, which was probably why he couldn’t settle down for the night.

Or maybe he was still too tipsy from the champagne Gob had served from the private reserves, mind heavy and clouded with a flurry of thoughts. No—if that were the case, he’d be blissfully passed out and curled around a pillow just as Rosie was, all giddy and giggly from one glass that she only agreed to because it was a special occasion.

They’d barely shared their midnight kiss beneath the fireworks display before she was teetering in his arms, flashing a lopsided grin and whispering about creating a show of their own. And a show it was—Rosie crawling into their bed after discarding her dress—only to fall asleep with her slip, tights and shoes still on. Butch wasn’t put out—quite the contrary—she was too damn adorable to be upset with.

He wasn’t about to disrupt her by leaving, risk the creaking metal floors of their Megaton homestead to find something to keep his mind occupied. Instead, he stayed right where he was, situating himself so he could watch her as she slept. It was something he found himself doing more of as of late, when she wasn’t snuggled up against his chest or curled against his body as the perfect little spoon. He couldn’t help but feel pensive, every stray thought focused on the future he was building with the woman beside him.

Now that their lives had slowed down—as much as it could, with Rosie being the Savior of the Wasteland—Butch had returned to thinking about settling down for real, more so than he used to in previous years. He’d thought about asking Rosie about ‘circlin’ up’ (as Moira put it) the previous year—had almost blurted out what he wanted on his birthday before realizing maybe he needed to tell her he loved her first. Plus, even skirting the topic seemed to send Rosie into a panic—he was sure a real proposal could result in a stroke—or broken nose number four.

Their relationship progressed—strengthened through the destruction of the Enclave, the activation of Project Purity, and the takeover of Adams Air Force Base. They said I love you more often than not, had regular date-nights, and were equally insatiable when it came to sex (Butch always knew it was the quiet ones). Even so, he spent nearly all of 2279 swimming in self-doubt, feeling not unlike how he did years ago when they were first starting out—back when he’d first kissed her in Rivet City.

Simpler times.

Instead of stressing about if she’d be journaling about his prowess at making-out, or if she liked him—liked him, he was tugging his hair out and pacing the town’s walkways, worrying about if she’d agree to marry him if he dared to ask. Butch had plans to pop the question at Christmas—but had chickened out when everything he’d meticulously set up suddenly felt overdone and too cheesy—even for him. New Year’s Eve seemed like the perfect opportunity, and he even thought about proposing right in the middle of Gob’s Saloon, deciding at the last possible second that Rosie wouldn’t want a public display. He thought the ring might burn a hole through his jacket pocket, but it was still there when he took it off at the end of the night, now slung over the back of the nearby chair.

One day, he sighed to himself, reaching over to tug the covers over Rosie’s exposed shoulder as she shifted. He trailed his fingers up, softly combing through her dark hair before resting his hand as gently as he could against her cheek. A tiny smile pulled at her lips, the smallest hum echoing from her throat as she titled her chin against his touch.

“Can’t sleep?” she mumbled, startling him slightly. He hadn’t meant to wake her up.

One, groggy, blue eye peeked open at him before she blinked the sleep from her vision, yawning in the cute little way she always did—curling up into a shell before stretching out like those cats they saw in the Commonwealth. After all this time, it still easily riled him up. It was oh so tempting to snatch her up in his arms, straddle her body and pepper her face and neck with kisses. But his brain froze, words stuck on his tongue as he continued to stare at her, Rosie looking back at him with the sweetest expression. That was the face he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life until he got old and died.

“Hey,” he finally said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, down towards her mouth.

She went still, scooting herself closer as her eyes slowly closed shut. Butch kissed her, slowly and gingerly, wanting to savor the moment in case his next move blew up in his face. When he pulled away, Rosie floated back with him, a little pout on her lips as if she was anticipating more.

He couldn’t help but smirk. “Stay put, gorgeous.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, the flattery doing nothing to subside her tendency to fret. Rosie always was one for paranoia. Butch affectionately stroked his fingers through her hair, kissing the corner of her mouth, her nose and the worrying crease in her forehead before pulling away.

“Lemme’ grab somethin’”

“You don’t need a—”

Butch cut her off with another kiss, wanting to laugh at where her mind was in comparison to his. How the tables had turned. Yeah, he didn’t need to be reminded about the birth control implant Doctor Li had helped her obtain. Goodbye, Vault-Tech condoms—questionably effective anyways, with how old they were and…he was getting off track. Focus, man, focus—hard to do when Rosie was pulling him back, drifting hands touching him in places he desperately wanted to be touched.

He pulled away from her with a sharp inhale, surprising her. “Woman, you are makin’ this way harder than I want it to be.”

Rosie scrunched up her face, utterly confused. “I—isn’t that the point of an erection?”

Butch blanched at her terminology, unable to find humor in the situation while it was at his expense. He groaned, turning his head into the pillow to avoid her curious stare. He couldn’t be mad at her, but damn if he didn’t feel like he’d just lost another opportunity—it almost felt on the verge of being perfect. Well, as perfect as a Wasteland proposal could get, especially coming from someone like him. He knew Rosie was the woman of his dreams, but he had a hard time believing she felt the same, even after all this time, even as she reached out to him to hold him in that moment.  

“Butch?” her lips were soft as she kissed his cheek. She hooked an arm around his waist, feet cold through her tights as they slid through to tangle with his legs. “What is it?”

“Nothin’” he answered, voice muffled into the pillow.

“Not nothin’” she mimicked his tone, coaxing him to look at her. Even in the twilight of their room, the brightness of her eyes were easy to see, slowly relaxing him and reminding him of his earlier decision. Rosie’s lips curled up into a small, encouraging smile. “Are you going to tell me?”

Butch gulped down the bundle of anxiety fluttering in his chest and stomach. “Sure ya’ wanna know?”

She nodded, excitement flashing across her features. He hoped that would still be there in a few minutes. Slowly, he detangled from her, silently reassuring her as he’d done before. “Be right back.”

Maybe it was a good thing that without her glasses, Rosie couldn’t see what he was doing. Even so, Butch made sure to hide the ring in his palm, ensuring the silver band and stones in the cutout didn’t gleam in the moonlight. His heart was in his throat, but there wasn’t a good enough lie he could come up with on the spot to get out of what he’d set himself up to do. It was now or never.

“What is it?” Rosie asked again, squinting up at him as he re-approached, her curiosity rising as she glanced down to his fisted hand. There was a subtle, barely-there shift in her expression that made it obvious she had finally clued onto his intentions and moved to sit up, clutching the sheets to her chest as she stared at him with wide, bright blue eyes.  

Butch hesitantly sat down on the edge of the mattress, scooting himself closer to her when she didn’t flinch away. He reached out for her left hand, letting out the breath he’d been holding when she let him take it, brushing over her knuckles with his thumb. He took another steadying breath, swallowing down the bunch of nerves in his throat—no doubt she could hear how loud his heart was pounding in his chest. Okay, even the voice in his head struggled to give him a proper pep-talk. Just…open your hand and—

“I was thinkin’…” he twisted his lips to the side—that’s not how he wanted to start. Marriage proposals were supposed to be romantic, grand gestures with dramatic declarations of love. Right? Right. Better place to start. “Ya’ know I love you, right, Rosie baby?”

“Y—yes,” she nodded, trembling slightly in his grasp. It did nothing to calm him down, wondering if all he was doing was scaring her. As if she noticed his apprehension, she clutched tighter to his hand, silently encouraging him to continue—so he did.

Slowly he revealed the treasured item resting in his palm, raising it up near her face so it was easier for her to see. Almost immediately there were tears in her eyes, and she sharply inhaled with a gasp that turned into a sob. Even if she might have guessed, the reality of the situation still stunned her senseless. Butch quickly reached up to wipe at the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Rosie seemed alarmed by her own reaction, lips trembling as she tried to say something.

“Hey, hey, I—I’m sorry Rosie,” he pleaded, holding onto the ring as he brought her into a hug, tucking her close to his chest. “I shouldn’t’ve done somethin’ stupid like that, huh?”

She sniffled into the crook of his neck, shaking her head as her hands bunched into the fabric of his shirt. “N—no.”

Butch’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach—why’d he think this would be a good idea? Fuck. What a great way to start the new year—decade. He really was a chump—Rosie didn’t deserve him—clearly didn’t want to be with him forever like he wanted. He tried to pull away, but she kept him planted firmly where he sat. When he glanced down, she was titling her head back to stare up at him, nervously biting her bottom lip.

“I mean—” she paused, pulling away a little more so she could look at him more easily. “I mean, it’s okay.”

What? Butch closed his eyes for a few seconds to reset his brain. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He felt her hand, soft as ever, press against his cheek—fingers threading through the hair at the base of his neck. A simple touch—but it was just what he needed to calm his nerves. He fluttered open his eyes, darting his gaze from her face to his hands where he held the ring in his fingers. Rosie looked too, the glimmer in her eyes something he’d never seen before.

“Where did you…” she whispered. “How long have you…?” she breathed out a short, nervous laugh, smiling as her hand slid from his face to press against his chest. With his free hand he kept it there, if only so she could feel the rhythm of his erratically beating heart.

Butch mirrored her lopsided grin. “’Nother keepsake from the vault,” he explained, noting her surprise. “My ma’ gave it to me years ago, in one of her rare moments of clarity.”

“Told me to save it, not give it away to any floozy,” he continued, earning a wider smile from Rosie even as he felt a flush creep up his neck and cheeks. “Had it all this time, ya’ know? Always meant to give it to my best gal, when I found her.”

He pulled her hand away from his chest and brought the ring closer, poised to place it where it belonged if she said yes. God he hoped she said yes. Otherwise—well, Butch figured he might as well drown in the radiated waters surrounding the Megaton bomb. Better than heartbreak, right?

“Always thought maybe she’d be happy I was givin’ it to you,” he gave a little shrug, meeting her eyes. He felt brave enough to say the rest. “Your old man too.”

Rosie’s eyes were glossed over with tears again, and for a moment, he panicked. “I—I mean, I ain’t assumin’,” he gulped, shaking his head. “Only if you want—”

Butch groaned, pulling his hand away to drag down in face in agony. “Damnit, I’m not doin’ this right at all.”

“Is there a right way?” she questioned, pulling at his fingers as she scooted closer. “You haven’t asked.”

Duh. Of course. He peeked open his eyes, finding her looking at him with an expectant expression. Maybe he needed to start from the top—again.

“I love you Rosie,” he smiled at how freeing it was to admit, and how it made his heart warm each time he spoke the words like it was the first time. “I’ve been wantin’ to do this for a long time but the timin’ never seemed right, ya’ know? I wanna be with you, wherever you are, whatever you’re doin’.”

He held her hand tightly again, as if to ground himself to the mattress and give himself the strength to keep speaking. “I wanna be your husband, be a family—”

There were those tears again, rolling down her cheeks—confusing when paired with the bright smile pulling at her lips. Butch furrowed his brows, tilting his head to the side. “Did I—say something wrong again because--”

She let out a soft laugh before interrupting him with a kiss. So he didn’t say something wrong—maybe. This was officially the most confused Butch had ever felt in his entire life. Rosie pulled away, using one of her hands to wipe at her face as she half-laughed, half-cried, shaking her head the entire time.

“You—you still haven’t asked,” she said.

All that, and he hadn’t managed the most important part. Butch ignored the urge to mentally berate himself for his stupidity or to launch himself from the bed and give himself a concussion, nearly blurting, “Marry me?”

Rosie was kissing him again before the full question was out in the open, grinning against his mouth as she embraced him. Butch nearly dropped the ring into the tangle of sheets, nearly got swept up in the thrill of what it was to be kissing the woman he loved.

“’Preciate the enthusiasm, babe,” he mumbled, barely managing to break away. “Would like it—love it—more with an answer.”

Rosie was practically glowing, like a beam of energy had been directly injected into her soul. True to her nature, she had a very simple answer, “yes.”

Butch didn’t waste any time in sliding the silver band onto her left ring finger, brushing his thumb over the stone—it was finally where it belonged. Rosie shuffled even closer into his lap, sniffling away the last of her tears.  

“Why all the cryin’, Rosie baby?” he quietly chuckled, pressing kisses across her cheeks and nose.

Rosie laughed, her arms around his neck tightening to keep him close. “I was—am—overwhelmed with emotion. You’re lucky I didn’t faint from shock.”

“The night isn’t over,” he retorted, smirking as he heard her tiny, delighted gasp. “Got some celebrating to do, don’t ya’ think?”

“I’d say so,” she answered with a bashful smile. “Future husband.”

Butch hadn’t expected the word to have such an effect on him, but all he wanted was to hear her repeat the term over and over again until it was burned into his brain. Rosie’s husband. He grinned, kissing her greedily.  

“Future wife.”