Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   My ferryman waits for me upon the shore,

   I call to him, ‘A coin, I have’, and nothing more,

   His eyes glow like coals as he takes my hand,

He says, ‘Come with me, to this strange new land’

   It was wading in a river; death. There wasn’t a single step to be taken, for the water rose ever so slightly higher, higher, it was at his knees, to his waist, and finally up to his chest. It was cold, and the blood on his skin was hot, almost scalding, and there’s nothing else to feel. Nothing else to see. It is so very dark, this place, and then it isn’t. He had come back, and she had been at his side, and he wasn’t alone anymore. 

   That’s how he knew he wasn’t dying, for this time, he was still very much warm, and he felt her hand in his, and he heard her voice lightly murmur beside his ear, and yet he still couldn’t help but think—

   That’s too bad. 

   He would have been okay with it, if it had been this way. It was the best he could have asked for, and nothing he could have ever deserved. His body began to tingle with the anchors weighed around his limbs slowly lifting, and the peculiar smell of her body odor wafting straight to his brain. Charon struggled to open his eyes, but then she stroked her fingers along his ruined scalp through his streaks of mangy hair, and he was soothed. It felt nice. He would allow it…just this once. 

   Whether it had been minutes, or maybe even hours, Charon did not count the seconds that passed by. There was a relaxed wave still ebbing through his rigid muscles as he lay there, focusing on her feather-light touches drifting across the lines of his forehead to the broken cliffside that was once his nose, her palm cupping his jaw and her thumb caressing the side of his face. 

   “So what was a nice girl like you having business with a ghoul like this Ahzrukhal?” 

   The smoothskin. He could be heard clear across the room.

   Evelyn’s breath was felt on the side of his cheek, blooming like a silken sheet across the leathered wrinkles and exposed muscle. 

   “It’s a long story…but Charon saved my life, and I wanted to save his.”

   The minefield. He remembered. He had believed she was destined to die then; just another down-on-their-luck wastelander with half a brain and dogshit survival instincts. A sharpened spoon carved through the cavity of his chest as he imagined her still lurking in that room, decomposing and forgotten, her blue eyes gone and jaw removed, her body whittling away as the molerats nested inside her ribcage. He was now glad he had acted when he did. 

   “Don’t hear of too many ghouls and gals like yourselves wandering the wastes…of course, I haven’t left this place in who knows how long.”

   She laughed, as softly as the bloom of rose petals in the spring. “I like to think it adds to our charm.”

   “Charming definitely wasn’t my first thought.”

   “We tend to grow on people."

   “I'm sure, just like a radioactive tumor. You won’t be sticking around much longer for any of that.” Some banging on a piece of metal took place. “But while you’re here, I might as well ask where it is the hell you came from.”

   He felt Evelyn curl a strand of hair on his scalp. It must look stupid. 

   “I’m actually from a vault,” she told him. “Vault 101. I’ve been out for months, though.”

   “A vault, huh? Explains the foolhardy optimism. How was the food? Lab-grown bioengineered indulgences, or processed two-hundred-year-old crap delights?”

   Another laugh, this one vibrating his skull. “The latter. It wasn’t too bad, though, compared to out here. Charon is a terrible cook.”

   …

   “Go easy on him, he’s a ghoul. Can’t imagine he has very many taste buds to spare.”

   Evelyn complained, “It’s horrible. I feel like he’s going to kill me someday with the things he comes up with.”

   ……

   “Have you told him?”

   “I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

   ………

   The smoothskin grunted, “By the look of him, I don’t think that’s an easy thing to do.”

   Charon would agree, vehemently. He did not have ‘feelings’ to be considerate of. She did not like his cooking…he could accept that…she declared it horrible…it was of no matter. He would stop…she did not like it…she did not like it—

   He did not care.

   Not in the slightest. 

   (None. At. All)

   Evelyn grazed his temple with her thumb. “It’s something he enjoys doing, so I’ll just pray he actually doesn’t kill me.”

   —hedidnotcarehedidnotcareitdidnotmatteritdidnotmatter—

   There was a dull thud of something being set down. “What’d you leave the vault for? Can’t imagine it was to see the sights…”

   Charon would’ve thrown a fist through the gap in the smoothskin’s teeth for asking such a question, and he imagined it splattering his brains everywhere as Evelyn’s voice became terribly melancholy. 

   “My father, James…he’s the reason.” The delicate touches from her fingers had paused. (The smashing of the scientist’s skull continued—SMASHSMASHSMASH). She said sadly, “He had left me behind for a project he had been working on—Project Purity. The overseer didn’t take too well to him leaving the vault, and so he forced me out, too.”

   "Project Purity? That's where I remember that name from. James is your father?"

   "You knew him?" she sounded mildly surprised. 

   "Only briefly. I didn't hang around much, what with that bitch Dr. Li and their 'world-changing ideals'. Bunch of crap. But yeah, I've met your dad. Your mother, too."

   "...Dr. Li told me a little about her. She died giving birth to me."

   The smoothskin at once mellowed. "I'm sorry," he said. "She was a nice woman, from what I remember. It's been a long time... Your dad, however, sounds like a real Father of the Year Award right there.”

   Charon cooled, slightly. The crackpot and himself could see eye-to-eye on something, at least. Pinkerton was spared from complete obliteration and given a concussion, instead. 

   Evelyn sighed, “He’s not a bad person, he’s just… I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

   A high-pitched whine replaced the banging for a few seconds before dissolving into total silence. “So your dad abandons you, and somehow you're now stuck wandering the wasteland with a giant killer-ghoul in tow. I'm guessing the vault wouldn't be so considerate of your new friend, so where does that put you? Hopefully not in Rivet City...bunch of fucking morons.”

   Evelyn intertwined her fingers through his, speeding the beating drum of his heart to an uncomfortable rhythm. She squeezed his palm, and for a split second, he tried to return it. She answered, “I don’t know, to be honest. I have a house in Megaton. It’s okay, and I have friends there. I guess it’s home.”

   Her home. The little dingy shack on the side of the hill that he was reasonably certain a light sprinkle of rain would wash straight down. A four-wall, shoddily roofed, cantankerous eyesore that sweltered in the summer heat and froze in the dip of night. It was cluttered, dusted with the miscellaneous things she kept, and nothing worth gracing the front cover of a Pre-War Better Lifestyles magazine. An insignificant dot on the map of shit and worse-shit and worser-shit that he somehow looked forward coming to when the day was done, to retire his boots and hang up his gun and soak his tense muscles in a nice, hot, drawn-out bath. He liked his makeshift workshop of a room, the spartan kitchen (that he would no longer be dwelling in), and the springy couch that made sitting on the stinger of a radscorpion sound more pleasant. 

   “Take it from me when I say this, girl,” the smoothskin drawled, “but having a home in the wasteland is a rare commodity. You make with what you have. We all do. No exceptions.”

   “I’d say I’m the year-end award winner for that." Charon could hear the teasing smile lifting up her voice. “Have you met my two companions?” 

   “Replace the mutt with a handgun and I’d say you’re good to go.”

   “Hey! That 'mutt' is the best dog this side of the Capital Wasteland!” 

   Charon had some serious doubts about that. The drooling lobotomized specimen of a canine did nothing but give him an empty stare whenever it stopped to hunch over and take a shit, and he was tired of finding fucking hair everywhere. He already knew the thing to be nestled in the heart of her bed when they would return to the ship, and he, for once, felt jealous of its place. 

   “Megaton, huh?” the smoothskin mused, and there was the sound of footsteps clanging until he was suddenly heard overhead. “Is that Irish arsehole still around? Colin Moriarty?”

   “No.” Evelyn tightened her fingers around his own. “Fell off a loose railing and went splat.”

   “Darn…guy owed me some caps.”

   The bar owner, just another Ahzrukhal under a different name, living under a different roof and wearing a different skin. Charon would have gladly taken out the trash for her if she had so asked. The once irritating notion of her aversion to violence had begun to eat itself like a snake with its tail. He didn’t want to see her hands sullied anymore. There was no reason to keep his clean, for they never would be. He would do anything for her.

   He realized that now. 

   From having puke on his shoes, to disobeying orders for a bottle of high-end liquor, to saving her skin (multiple times), and gifting her his knife, and shaking down information from incompetent radio hosts, to waiting out the storm, and taking a belly full of biting lead, to picking flowers and bargaining his life for a Pip-Boy… How dangerous, it all was, carrying the title of The Boyfriend, but he would do it all again if it stayed his contract in her hand. 

   She could not have him without it...and he could not have her.

   An ever-so-familiar clinking of caps began to trickle. The smoothskin said, “Speaking of caps, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone come up with this much over something for someone else. Pretty unheard of…unless you’re a walking toaster.”

   “A toaster?”

   “Railroad joke. I don’t expect you to get it and no, I’m not going to bother explaining it. Just don’t forget the other two thousand when you swing back around…if it’s still worth it.”

   The growl hissed from her lips was akin to an arched cat. “It is. I told you, Charon means everything to me.”

   “Hrmph.” The downpour of caps was sloshed into a metal bin. “Pretty sure they call that ‘love’.”

   Love. Charon had heard that word more in the past few days than in the last couple of centuries. 

   There was a pause before she spoke, her voice too low and soft to be heard by anyone other than him. “Yeah…I guess you could call it that.” She then whispered, “You hear that, you big idiot?”

   Yes. Yes he did.

   The scientist’s voice was somewhat closer. “Still not awake yet, huh?”

   She scoffed, “Enough to down a brahmin, remember?”

   Charon snorted…wait a second—

   The ghoul suddenly shot upright as though electrified, honing his ugly glare straight across the room to the smoothskin working at his computer. Charon pointed a finger at his face. “You shot me.”

   “Drugged, actually.”

   “Shut up,” Charon snarled. He swung his legs over the side of the gurney and slammed his boots to the floor, standing as tall as he could manage with a deep draw of air into his chest.

   The scientist raised his hands like a preacher hailing the choir. “Hey now, just take it nice, and easy—”

   Charon took the first step and then fell face forward to slam straight to the floor. 

   “Charon!” Evelyn was on her knees at his side, her hand gingerly shaking his shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?!”

   A guttural groan gave her his answer. 

   The scientist said from above, “I told him.”

   “We’ll leave when you’re ready,” she said gently, and Charon grunted. “There’s no rush.”

   Charon swiveled his head around with a bone-crunching crhk! Evelyn made a surprised noise in the back of her throat and startled back as he glared at her from a nearly 180-degree angle. He garbled, “My…contract.” 

   She dug around in the breast pocket of her leather jacket. “I have it.” The folded, crinkled paper became translucent under the grungy fluorescent lights. 

   He rasped, unsure and cautiously, “You still desire my services?”

   Hesitation. Charon narrowed his eyes at the face she made, but she only said, “Yeah, big guy…I do.”

   All at once, he felt complete ease. She was still his employer, he was still the employee; all was well that ended well. His mouth twitched, his earlier maniacal grinning having made the muscles sore. He rasped, “Very well.”

   Pinkerton walked over and crossed his arms. "Hey, now that you're awake and talking, would you mind getting the hell off my floor? I got work to do...and so do you."

Chapter Text

   Something was wrong with him...very wrong. Was it too many spins under the machine? Maybe he hit his head a little too hard, or perhaps the drug was still producing side effects inside his system…

   For the life of her, Evelyn could not understand just what the fuck happened to her grumpy ass ghoul. They had left for the ship and to their room, and he hadn’t brought up a single thing about their previous shouting-fest. She had expected questions, demands, snarky comments, and snarling reproaches…but he instead just stared at her, totally at ease and without a single care in the world. There was no scowl, visible boredom, or even a general dubious look that seemed to be questioning his life choices...but there was a certain softness to his eyes that made her heart skip six beats and palms sweat and cheeks flush. 

   Was he broken? Did the implant malfunction in some way? 

   Great.

   “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” she asked. 

   He nodded. 

   “Okay… We haven’t eaten since this morning,” she reminded him. “I can bring something back from the market, if you would like.”

   “I will join you.”

   She dumbly pointed to his headgear. “But you won’t be able to take off your mask.”

   “I am aware.”

   She twiddled her hair around a finger. He was still with the same tender stare, as though she was some fragile creature that the slightest slant of the eyes would instantly incinerate. The proximity of him beside her was closer than normal, and she caught his hand twitching more than once. Something was wrong. “Did you want to go now or—?”

   Charon donned his mask, his raspy voice muffled. “Now is good.”

   The big guy's hand took hers before she even opened the door. Dogmeat loped on ahead, making a hole for them to dive through as they came to the bustling sounds and mingling scents the market had to offer. Evelyn pretended to guide him to a table and chair while Dogmeat plopped on the floor beside them gnawing on his stolen treat, drooling all over the phalanges with delighted growls.

   The same server girl from before came to wait on them. “Oh. You’re back. It’s easy to remember you…well, him, really. Your boyfriend, right?”

   Evelyn colored a dark rust, stammering, “O-oh, we-we-well, uh, I mean, it’s—”

   Charon placed his arm on the table, reaching his fingers across to intertwine them through hers. He squeezed her palm with a gentle sort of urgency, and she felt her heart shoot out of her chest straight to the moon. 

   Evelyn gushed, unable to hide the sappy smile that rotted her teeth with all of its sugar, “He is.”

   The woman sighed. “I wish I had that.”

   Three plates were brought out and set down. Dogmeat inhaled his portion before the ceramic had had a chance to leave her hand, and Evelyn politely waited for her to depart before she made sure no one in the vicinity was listening.

   “Do you want me to pack them up?” she whispered like a conspirator. 

   A shake of his head. He instead reached his free hand up and popped the clasp on the sides, pulling the chinstrap away ever so carefully before grabbing a mirelurk cake and shoving it to disappear inside, bits of crumbs sprinkling the table as he chewed. His grasp on her hand never loosened or fell away as they ate in comfortable silence, and with every soft stroke of his gloved thumb over her skin she felt her insides tingle and melt. They finished and made their way back to their room, her heart singing high amongst the clouds as she came to open the door wide.

   A trembling, skinless man, dripping black tar and foaming at the mouth, was standing with his face in the corner. Jericho turned, and his spine cracked as his head flipped upside down to grin at her. "Evelyn, Evelyn," he breathed, his lungs crackling like dry tinder, "You're not getting away this time." He began to take hurried steps towards her. "YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY!"

   The door was slammed shut.

   Charon rasped at her unexplained reluctance, “What is it?” 

   She licked her lips, her voice so faint she barely heard herself. “Nothing.”

   Charon pulled her eyes up towards his. She caught sight of her reflection in his lenses, that small, fragile creature. His thick fingers felt the wild race of her pulse bounding away. “It is something.”

   “J-Jericho,” she whispered, and she altogether felt stupid and terribly frightened at having said his name in the open air. 

   He squinted under his mask. “Jericho?”

   She confessed, “I see him every night, ever since he died…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

   Charon looked at the door. “He is in there?”

   “I-I should probably speak to someone, I thought he would just go away…”

   Charon seemed to mull over his thoughts before giving a nod of his head and swinging open the hatch. “Where is he?"

   Jericho was back in the corner as before, as though he had never moved. She shakily pointed a finger at him just as he turned again. "There."

   Charon said flatly, "Wait here, please.”

   The ghoul dipped inside, and she only had caught a glimpse of bared teeth and leering, soulless eyes before he shut her out. Dogmeat whined at her side, bumping her with his slimy nose, and she stroked his soft ears to soothe herself. 

    BANG BANG

    Both girl and dog nearly clonked their skulls on the ceiling from how high they had jumped, and she rushed in with a panicked scream in her throat that died at the sight. Charon had his shotgun aimed at the corner, the bulletholes and smoke having replaced her waking eldritch nightmare of a man. He dropped his aim.

   “Is he still there?” he asked with all the professional seriousness of a contracted combatant.

   Surprisingly, he wasn’t. 

   “No,” she said as she rushed to close the door, now mindful of anyone who may have heard the gunshots coming by to investigate.

   Charon set his shotgun to the side, beginning to unclip his satchels full of ammo and grenades. “He will not be coming back.”

   She believed him. “Thank you.”

   “It is my duty,” he rasped automatically. Her heart somewhat sank at the response, but then he removed his mask and locked eyes with her. “As The Boyfriend.” 

   His face was speckled with mirelurk cake crumbs, and she awkwardly informed him, “You…uh…have something on your face.”

   He lifted a brow and rasped with nonchalance, “It is my face.” 

   “What?! No! That wasn’t what I—here.” She stepped over and reached up, swiping at the bits of food that Dogmeat hoovered before they hit the deck. “From earlier. Must be the mask.”

   His fingertips came to press where hers had just been. Someone knocked at the door, and she opened it with the barest of cracks to hide away the seven-foot-tall ghoul. It was the security chief. 

   “Chief Harkness,” she coolly addressed.

   He didn’t seem fancied with the introduction as he tried to peek around her inside. “We had a report of shots being fired. Was there an incident?”

   “Grog accidentally hit the trigger of his gun while setting it down. Sorry. No one was hurt.” The lie was as smooth as buttercream frosting, and he ate it right out of her hand. 

   “Gotcha…you know, you shouldn’t give someone with his conditions any sort of weapon. That’s just asking for trouble.”

   “Thanks,” she said with minor sarcasm, “I’d be sure and tell him, but he wouldn’t be able to hear it.”

   “Right.” Harkness motioned to go. “You all take care now, and no more accidents.” 

   She swung it shut and breathed out a sigh of relief. Charon was still touching his face, his eyes observing how the dog snarfed at the sides of his boots for any hitchhiking morsels. 

   “I need a shower. Do you?” she asked.

   He raised his eyes and shook his head, his hand falling away slowly.

   She grabbed a few things from her pack and bundled them in her arms. No one intercepted her steps as she made her way to the facilities. The space was small with a single shower head, leaky and crusted with sediment that hung over a drain in the floor. The shower pole had been robbed of its curtain, and the white tiles covering the walls were caulked with grime. She was careful not to touch anything as she stripped her leather armor and turned the water to full hot. 

   She scrubbed until her skin tinged an angry pink, her fingers coming to some sort of compromise with the mats and tangles in her hair. The burn scarring her left arm was no less hideous than before, the flaws of once perfect skin reminding her of just how weak she was, how ugly. She pinched and scratched and picked at a recurring scab to unveil the puckered flesh underneath, and she frowned. Amata had been so pristine with her looks, so self-conscious. Evelyn never gave much thought to her own, for why would she have, when everyone her age reminded her there was no need to... It only made her secretly critique and reprimand herself. 

   You're not good enough. Everyone can see that. 

   Charon didn't seem to mind her lack of beauty (then again, she didn't know if he really counted), but she liked the way he now looked at her, and so she made sure to unwrap the sleeve of her utility jumper so that the disfigurement was as concealed as could be. She returned to their room and tossed the key aside to find her companion flatly laid out on her cot, his size three times too big as his legs were bent at the knees with his feet flat on the floor. He was stripped down to his usual attire: boots, belt, and noticeable bulge. His eyes blankly stared at the ceiling. 

   “Umm,” she began, “I can get another room, if you—”

   “I wish to lay with you,” he said, strictly monotone. His eyes roved over to where she was standing, his face so serious they could have been mistaken for conducting a battle plan.

   “Oh…” she said quietly. “But it’s too small. I won’t fit.”

   Charon moved over half an inch, looking at her again. His words were clipped. “Is this sufficient?”

   Not in the slightest—she was going to be sleeping more on him than the actual mat itself. With visible hesitation, she wedged herself between the cold steel of the bulkhead and the rigidity of his body, their heat marrying together in unpleasant harmony as she was careful not to overlay as much as possible with her back flush against him. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, and they both stared at their respective spaces in suffocating silence.

   Dogmeat circled the floor, huffing aloud as he was left uninvited. 

   Evelyn turned her head. He was still looking up at the ceiling. “Are you comfortable?”

   Charon shifted his weight, the leather of his pants squeaking as he plainly answered, “No.”

   “Do you want your own room?”

   Another, “No.”

   The seconds ticked on, and she jolted as something rugged and heavy began to comb over her scalp. Big guy was knotting his meaty fingers through her hair, pulling on the strands and nearly ripping them from their roots as he harshly petted her like some damp cat. The finer lengths got caught in the cracked calluses of his remaining skin and the creases of his gloves, and she winced as he was left ignorant of the pain he caused.

   “Do you enjoy it?” he muttered lowly as she rolled over to face him. 

   She said as politely as she could manage (withholding the tears in her eyes), “I’d be lying if I said yes. You’re just a little too rough, big guy."

   He retracted his hand away completely, stiffening like a slatted corpse beside her. “I see.”

   “Here,” she said a little more gently, gingerly stroking her fingers through what little hair remained on his. “Like this.”

   His eyes closed and his breathing became deep and slow, and she almost believed for a solid minute he had truly fallen asleep until she carefully pulled away and he fully opened one eye to stare at her. 

   He questioned, “Why did you stop?” 

   “Sorry.” She resumed her fondling, occasionally curling a strand of hair when there was a healthy enough bunch of it. 

   He again became relaxed, and she continued to dance her fingertips across the ruined flesh and hard-scabbed chunks until she felt her own eyes grow heavy enough to close. 

   Charon watched her sleep until she eventually awoke. He had already climbed out without disturbing her and took to cleaning her leathers as best he could, waiting out her rest as he sat in the chair in the corner and smoked. And smoked. And smoked. And—

   Damn. Carton was empty. 

   The lingering haze that began to cloud the room pitched her into a coughing fit, and she waved her hand around to dispel the aftermath of his restless cigarette binge.

   “Jesus,” she groggily croaked. “What the fuck?”

   He stated while he stood to holster his gun, “I cannot go outside.”

   “I thought you didn’t like smoking,” she grumbled, sneezing from the dense stench lingering everywhere. She got dressed, taking notice of the way her armor had been wiped down. “Did you do this?”

   He inclined his head. 

   “Thank you,” she shyly said. The way her eyes regarded him made his chest flutter with the beating of butterfly wings. “Did you…um, relax, okay?”

   “No.” He was honest. It had been very uncomfortable. He then added by the crestfallen look on her face, “But I…enjoyed it.”

   “You did?” 

   “Yes.”

   The wavy locks of her hair hid her beaming smile, and he felt a temptation twitch his hand at parting it back to see. She strapped her Pip-Boy in place and began to tap at the screen. 

   “We’re going to find my father. Pinkerton gave me the coordinates for the vault.” 

   Her father? So the scientist had known his whereabouts... Charon carefully chose his next words. “As you wish.”

   She seemed unhappy with his response. “That’s it?”

   “I assume there is a reason.”

   She watched him like prey does a predator. Unblinking. Rigid. “You’re not even going to ask what that is? After everything you've said about him before?”

   “No.”

   “…why?”

   This time, he sighed, but it was bubbling with hot vinegar and scalded his tongue as he growled, “Because it is what you will do. It is what you always do. If you wish to find your father, then I will have no choice but to oblige.”

   She said, looking him dead in the eye, “I’m trying to give you one.”

   He snorted. If she wasn’t so stupid, he might have chuckled at the notion, but she was stubborn, a stain that wouldn't wash out, and she would drag him across the entire wasteland following her little wisps of disillusionments and fantasies, and he would have to follow...but this time, he had decided he wanted to.

   That was a choice…was it not? (He didn’t really know, and he decided to not care).

   “We shall find your father,” he finally rasped with assurance. 

   The steps toward him and the grab for his hands were very much surprising but not unwanted, and he looked down at her as she gave him nothing but grateful wonder. 

   “Thank you, Charon,” she said sincerely. “I mean it…it’ll be worth it. I promise.”

   A promise, something that was as quickly snuffed out as a meager flame in the wind. He only nodded and donned his mask. She upheld her previous one to the boy and bade their farewells before they departed, and the child clung to his legs in a tight hug. 

   “Goodbye, Mister Scary Guy,” he whispered so as not to be overheard. 

   Charon raised one leg and shook him clean off. 

   A powerful peal of thunder clapped overhead as they made for the other side of the bridge, and she timidly held out her hand with a question in the crook of her smile. He eyed her palm before going to take it. So very warm amidst the cold. A boom of his own heart beat inside the cage that was his ribs, his nerves electrified and blood tingling. It was a silent walk to their predetermined campsite for that evening, and after they had tucked themselves away to weather the building crescendo in the distance, she sat down beside the great big dog, one hand mindlessly petting its fur while she watched him secure the exit. 

   He turned to her. She was visibly expecting something. He rasped, “Yes?”

   “Are you not cooking tonight?”

   He considered her earlier statements about his culinary skills. “No,” he said flatly. 

   “Why not?”

   The venom in his voice was much more potent than he meant it to be, and it clearly stung. “You appear to not like it.” 

   “What?!” she guffawed. “Of course I do! Why would you think that?!”

   He opened his mouth to nastily divulge her little rattling skeleton, but he instead slowly closed it and narrowed his eyes to mere slits. If she would not be honest and just tell him…then he would make her. 

   “Very well."

   Charon made extra sure to add things he had not considered before, straying from his usual path to concoct something of true disgust and repulsion. He handed her a bowl and sat back and watched with satisfaction as she began to slurp spoonfuls of his vindictive retaliation. 

   Her eyes grew wide, and she plopped her utensil in its dish. “Oh my God,” she breathed, and then she gave him the biggest ear-to-ear smile he had ever seen. “This is amazing!”

   He squinted. She was good…he gave her credit for that. She must truly care for these ‘feelings’ he did not possess. The entire bowl was licked clean by the time he had served the dog and himself. His mouth curled into a grimace at the initial taste…it was foul enough for even him to try and stomach down, and yet she eyed the remainder with hopeful intentions. He grunted and gave a curt jut of his chin to it.

   “You may have it,” was all he said. 

   The shack grew quiet and peaceful as she laid beside him, belly full and the dog snuggled at her feet, and he tentatively laid a hand on her hair, just keeping it there, afraid to move the slightest lest he wake her up.

Chapter Text

   The chill dampness in the air kissed her cheeks with cold teeth and a seeking hunger for warmth. She hid her face as far away as she could, running from that rude awakening of the breeze slipping through the crack in the door until she could only smell that tang of a man’s sweat and the stale stench of cigarettes. She opened her eyes to the defined, worn-out creases of Charon’s leather pant leg. She rolled over, finding him still seated on the floor beside her, his arms crossed and legs spread wide, a surly look on his face as he stared down at her. 

   The walk of her palm brushed up, around, and down towards his inner thigh, releasing a grunt from his mouth that she was sure he hadn’t meant to give. It pooled a craving on her tongue as she squeezed the meaty muscle trapped away under his zipper, and his fingers were already stroking through her hair, now pulling at it in the best possible way as he slowly tilted her head back with her throat exposed. 

   He closed his eyes. She didn’t. She made the climb into his lap, holding on to the straps of his armor over the front of his chest for balance as she swung a leg over and tipped her mouth to his for a kiss. The collide of tongues went well with the bulge of his cock against her cunt as she grinded their hips together to rub her clit. Charon growled and grabbed a fistful of her jacket, and she panicked. 

   He can’t see her, not like this.

   “Hold on,” she breathed, and he at once released her. She adjusted her top and subtly made sure the sleeves were down before she climbed off. “Sorry. It’s just a little cold.”

   “We have not been having sex,” he bluntly observed, and she awkwardly sat on the floor beside him as he sourly grumbled and crossed his arms. He wasn’t wrong. It had been a stalemate ever since Grayditch. “Is there something wrong?”

   She pondered for a moment. Does she try and explain this newfound fear? Would he ridicule her? Mock her for such a thing?

   Everyone else had, back in the vault. 

   Check out the nosebleed! Hey, nosebleed! What’s that all over your face?! Gross! Maybe we should call you roadbump from now on!

   No. Anything from Charon was a death sentence. She instead looked around the room to avoid his questioning, now noticing the absence of their furry canine.

   “Where’s Dogmeat?” she asked. 

   He was still grumpy as he growled, “Outside.”

   “In this weather?”

   He shrugged, giving his attention to the storm that was beginning to batter at the frame. “He will come back.”

   Her eyes then slowly journeyed back to him, and he returned her stare with a slow raise of his brow to the sky. 

   "Is it..." He hesitantly waved a hand before his face. "This?"

   "No!" she gasped. "It's...it's just—"

   Two great, powerful paws burst the door wide open from the outside (that clonked the ghoul right in the skull). Evelyn went to reach a hand up to check for injury when he only grabbed the frame and threw enough force behind it to slam it back shut against the howling wind, nearly crumbling the entire shack like a house made of cards. 

   “Are you okay?!” 

   “I am fine,” he scowled, rubbing at the site with a turn of his head. "Please do not touch me."

   She withdrew her fingers promptly to her lap. "Sorry."

   "We should go," he said glumly, going to stand and grimacing as the dog shook wet, stinky fur over them both. "It will get worse.”

   “Another radstorm? Shouldn’t we stay here?”

   “It is not, but it will be unpleasant.”

   Together, they ate a breakfast of Dandy Boy Apples in stifled silence before packing up and hitting the off-beaten path. Evelyn kept in close step beside the ghoul as he aggressively took the lead and never lowered his guard for even a moment. She would turn her head to stare at him, and he would catch her looking and suddenly turn his head away as though he were hiding something.  The clouds darkened and the wind became frigid. Her skull chattered as her teeth tickled, and she cursed herself for not having that damn Tunnel Snakes jacket like she had said she would have. 

   She attempted to try and smooth over her feelings from that morning with a hold of his hand just as Charon threw her into the dirt, knocking the breath out of her lungs and filling her lower lip with graveled sand. Dogmeat hackled and stood over her protectively, baring his large teeth in a snarl as gunshots began to pepper the air. Evelyn raised her eyes to see silhouettes of people jumping and sprinting amidst the ever-growing darkness—raiders. 

   “Do not move!” Charon instructed, and then she was left to her own devices as he dashed away, the blast of his shotgun echoing throughout the vastness of the ruins. 

   Not even a minute had passed before he yanked her to her feet and shoved her in another direction, urging her onward like a steed in battle. 

   “Go!” he barked, panicked and looking back over his shoulder. “Go!”  

   She caught a glimpse of it as a bolt of lightning pierced the blackened sky. 

   A tall, scaled creature—a horned dragon with no wings. It was as towering as a super mutant, but nowhere near as sluggish and slow. The creature rushed the first raider closest, extending long limbs with sharp talons and slicing the man into fleshy ribbons all before she could blink. A powerful tail folded another raider in half with a snap of their spine and a crunch of their bones. A third was caught between its giant claws, and as it lifted the shrieking, struggling woman in the air, it slowly opened its maw wide, wide, wide, as wide as it could go, nearly unhinging its jaw like a snake feasting on an egg. There were strings of decayed ligaments and long ropes of saliva swinging from its rows of teeth in the wind, and suddenly the raider was being shoved inside, her screams muffled and legs furiously kicking. It crunched down with a single bite, ripping flesh, bone, and muscle, all away. The legs ceased, her boots erratically twitching against its hide as blood cascaded down its chin.

   It then turned to look at them.

   Evelyn never felt her feet leave the ground so quickly. Dogmeat was a blur at her side, his ears flattened and nose pointed to the west as Charon kept just a few paces behind to ensure their cover. They had to forego their usual route and were left running into God’s breath of the storm—the cold wind whipped her face and the rain began to hail, but she didn’t dare look back until Charon told her it was safe to do so. 

   And he didn’t. 

   The soles of their boots hit pavement, indicating they had come to some sort of Pre-War road that would lead them who knew where, but it was their safest bet as the ghoul continuously kept a look over one shoulder before he finally eased his stride and pulled her along at the elbow. He gave her a look and nodded.

   “What the fuck was that thing?!” she shouted, panting hard over the cry of the gale singing in their ears.

   He didn’t answer as he took in their surroundings, the frown on his face telling her that they were plenty far from their route back home. Dogmeat shook himself repeatedly as she struggled to see through the downpour and haze. 

   Charon tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to a hill. “There.”

   In the distance, she could make out the outline of houses. Shelter. It would do until the weather lightened. With what little breath still left in her lungs, she forced herself through the burning in her muscles up the rest of the way to the house, opening the door to allow themselves sanctuary inside. Charon closed it behind them, and they all stood in the empty foyer, the deafening sounds of thunder and hail suddenly muffled. 

   The lights were on. Somebody was home. 

   A man loaded with a pistol rounded the entryway from the kitchen, his face met with just as much surprise as theirs was.   

   “Oh,” he said politely. “Well now, you damn near gave my wife a heart attack! We aren’t used to people inviting themselves inside, no sir, but with the storm going on, well, I can’t just about blame you!”

   Evelyn licked the water that pooled at the corner of her lips, her leathers soaked and boots squishing. “Um, I’m—we’re so sorry, we didn’t think anyone actually lived here, and—”

   “Where, here in Andale?” he laughed, shaking his head and lowering his gun. “Why, this is the number one voted town in all of Virginia, you best believe it! Of course we live here! Great place to raise the family!”

   “Jack, honey, who is it?” A woman rounded from inside the next room, wearing an apron over a tattered dress with her hair swept into a tight up-do. She smiled at their company. “It’s not very often we get guests, and in such miserable conditions! Here! Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll bring some refreshments along.” She beamed them a warm smile. “It’s going to be a long night!”

   “Good idea, dear,” Jack mused. “Something strong to stave off the chill. I might just go next door and see if the Wilson’s would be fancied for joining us for dinner with our new guests.” He held up a hand as Evelyn opened her mouth to speak. “Now, now, we wouldn’t have been voted as best HOA in the neighboring tri-county area if we were rude to visitors, would we? Please, sit down and have my wife Linda take care of things…she makes a damn fine roast.”

   Big guy and herself were soon seated on the couch in the living room, each with a drink in their hands while Dogmeat lay at her feet, the entire air smelling of wet fur and…something she couldn't quite put her nose to. Their sodden clothes soaked the fabric of their seats, and she could hear a faint drip drip of water bead down from the tip of Charon’s shotgun.

   Evelyn stared at the beverage, whispering to Charon seated close beside her, “What the fuck just happened?”  

   He said just as lowly in return, “I do not know.”

   “What was that thing we saw out there?”

   His eyes glowed as he turned his head to look at her. “Deathclaw.”

   “Deathclaw…” She looked down at the cocktail she had been served. “Fitting.” 

   The glass was raised to her lips, but he stopped her before she could take a swig. The woman, Linda, bustled out from the kitchen where they had heard the clinking of knives and the soft play of the radio. 

   “How are we doing on those drinks?” she asked with a jovial smile, but then it tightened when she noticed they hadn’t been touched. “Oh. Is there something wrong?”

   “Uh,” Evelyn started, looking down at her cup and then stammering out, “I-It’s just, Charon doesn’t drink, it’s a ghoul thing, and, uh…” Her mind pinged around for some sort of logical reasoning as the immense pressure began to build. “I get gas.”

   Charon turned his head to raise his brow at her while the woman held a hand to her mouth. 

   “Really bad,” Evelyn squeaked. Somehow, the deathclaw suddenly sounded much more preferable. 

   “Oh, well, I’m so sorry, I had no idea. How rude of me!” Linda reached down to take their glasses away. “I don’t want to spoil your appetites, or anything else, for that matter! Here, I’ll just go ahead and take these away then, shall I? The Wilson's should be over soon, and dinner will follow shortly!”

   They relinquished their cups to be taken back to the kitchen and heard a pounding of feet come down the stairs. A boy, perhaps near the age of Bryan, stood still and grew wide-eyed at their presence. 

   “Whoa, people!” he exclaimed. “Mom, we have people in the house!”

   “Don’t be a pest, Junior!” Linda called from around the corner. “Be a dear and a good boy and come help me set the table for dinner. We’re having the Wilson’s over tonight!”

   “Aw man,” he muttered under his breath, his excitement at once turning sour. “Then I’ll have to talk to stupid Jenny.” He gave them a shy nod of his head as he passed. “Hopefully we can play before you go.”

   He did as he was told, and Evelyn leaned closer to the ghoul, her voice a mere ghost. “This is so fucking weird.”

   Charon looked at the door. “Shall we leave?”

   A blast of thunder nearly shook the very foundations of the house down, and Dogmeat whined. She reached down to calm him with a scratch behind the ears. “No. Hopefully the storm will pass soon. I just didn’t know there were friendly wastelanders like these out here…”

   Charon grunted, “There isn’t.”

   The door then opened, inviting Jack and the only neighbors (and a bit of the storm) along behind it. Another child, a little girl, stared around the safety of her mother’s skirt as the adults took to the kitchen. 

   “Mommy, there’s a monster over there!” she loudly whispered.

   Linda’s heels clacked the floor as she came out to smile at them. “Dinner is ready!”

   “Um, we didn’t want to really intrude,” Evelyn began, but she was hushed before they could excuse themselves. 

   “What sort of neighbors would we be if we didn’t have you for dinner, now? Certainly not worthy of Best Town in America!” Linda beamed her a smile. “Come and sit while it’s still fresh!” 

   The chairs were scooted. The table slightly wobbled. The sound of plates and forks and glasses clinking made the tiny dining area that much smaller. Evelyn was seated between Charon and the boy, with the little girl gawking at the ghoul from across and the adults chattering amongst themselves. 

   “Certainly nice weather we’re having.”

   “Oh, stop it Bill! You’re such a ham!”

   “I wonder if I’d taste as good as the one on my plate!”

   They all laughed, utterly jovial. Evelyn stared at them as they all seemed to look at her at the same time, and she couldn’t help but notice the finer points to their teeth as they smiled. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

   Jack clapped his hands together, and they all swiveled to him. “Let’s not let everything go cold! Everyone dig in!”

   Evelyn looked down at their plates. Meat. Boiled, roasted, fried, and…raw. She picked up her fork, watching with unease brewing in her gut as the two families ravenously began to chew, tear, and slurp their servings down. A splatter of blood trickled down Linda’s chin, and she bashfully dabbed it away with a tea towel. 

   “Careful honey, don’t want to scare away our guests,” Jack chided with a wink. 

   “Sorry, I do apologize for my lack of manners,” she said with a duck of her head. 

   “So,” Bill interceded as he crunched down on a piece of…something. “Where you coming from, stranger?” 

   Evelyn played with her food, noticing how the children somewhat did the same. Jenny caught her eyes and hid behind her mother. 

   “Rivet City,” Evelyn replied. “Have you…ever been?”

   “Nope! You two live there? Any family?”

   “Uh, no. We were actually going to find my father, James, but we got caught in the storm.”

   “Find your father, oh my, is he lost?" Linda asked, sympathetic.

   "You could call it that," Evelyn said rather stiffly, plunking her chin in her hand as she very quickly became disinterested with the rest of the conversation.

   "What a swell daughter you are," Jack said, either not noticing her glare or ignoring it. "Family is everything, and I do mean, everything. We do what we can for each other out here, just as every red-blooded American should."

   Evelyn prodded her portion...Charon hadn’t started eating yet, either. She looked down. Dogmeat left his completely untouched. 

   “Um,” she piped up, and she internally flinched at how they snapped their heads around to her, their pupils strangely large in the dim lighting. They seemed to swallow her whole. “What sort of game is this, anyway…?”

   “The good kind,” Bill said. “Go on, give it a try. It’s an acquired taste.”

   She held up her fork with a slab dangling off the tines. Well, she’s had worse…

   Charon stopped her before she could bring the piece to her mouth, growling, “Do not eat that.”

   The room at once became quiet. The adults still chewed, eyeing him shrewdly as they wiped their lips and set down their forks and knives.

   “Is there something wrong?” Linda asked sweetly, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

   Charon stood from his chair. “We are leaving.”

   “No!” Jack jumped, startling Evelyn with how panicked he became. He only kept his eyes on her. “Stay. Stay. We really enjoy your company—”

   Charon unholstered his side pistol and aimed the muzzle directly over Evelyn’s head at the little boy’s face. Junior blanched, and his mother swore while Evelyn dropped her fork and Dogmeat snapped at Bill who went for his gun. 

   The little girl began to cry. 

   “M-Mom?” Junior sobbed quietly, his eyes glassy with tears. “Mommy?”

   “If you move, I will kill him,” Charon said, clear and cold. The dead serious expression on his face didn’t waver the slightest as the child trembled in his chair. “Evelyn. Get up.”

   She shakily stood, careful not to move too quickly to set the big guy off. “Charon—”

   “They are cannibals,” he said bluntly. 

   The room began to swim. A tidal wave swirled her vision as she looked around the room, gripping the backside of her chair for balance as she mentally took pictures of blood in the sink, hacked bones in a pot, holy fuck was that a finger—? 

   “Oh my God.” She clamped a hand to her mouth. She didn’t know if she wasn't going to hurl.

   “Mommy!” the little girl wailed. “What is happening?!”

   Jack slowly held his hands up. “Look, we’ll let you go, okay? Don’t hurt my son—"

   “How many?” Evelyn whirled on him, and when he refused to answer, she slammed a fist on the table, clattering the dinner spread everywhere. “How fucking many?!”

   Linda went for a butcher knife, and Charon redirected his aim for the side of her skull. It blew her brains out and flooded blood straight out of her nose, drenching the front of her dress as she slumped to the floor. 

   “MOM!”

   Charon pinned the boy by the neck to the table and calmly placed his gun back on him. 

   Jack screamed, his panic filling the room and their ears. “They’re in the basement and the shed outside, okay?! Jesus Christ, don’t shoot my son!”

   Evelyn turned for the door. 

   The basement. 

   “…open it.”

   Carefully, slowly, Jack rose from his chair with his hands held high above him, producing a key that he inserted in the slot and turned. The door opened to a set of stairs disappearing into a wall of black. Evelyn stood at the top, her hand on the railing and her Pip-Boy light flicked on. She gave Charon a single look, and he nodded.

   It was damp. There was that smell again…that rot. She tried to breathe through her mouth, tried to settle the erratic shaking of her hands as she roved the light around, the greenish hue washing over the outlines of…so many bodies. 

   Naked. Headless. Some big. Some small. Limbs missing. A few hanging from meat hooks. 

   …one too tiny to be held. 

   She turned to the side, and threw up. 

   Charon callled from above, “Are you alright?”

   Evelyn came back up the stairs, heaving, sick…angry. They stared at her, pleading, silently begging for their lives to be spared. Don’t kill us. We’re just trying to survive. It’s the wasteland.

   It’s the wasteland.

   It’s the wasteland.

   Evelyn, it’s the wasteland. 

   “Charon,” she said. He stiffened. She didn’t recognize her own voice, that couldn’t be her, could it? So cold. Indifferent. “Give me the kids, and take care of the rest.”

   Their eyes met, and he understood.

   Do what you do best.

   Charon picked up the boy from his seat and shoved him toward her, the child’s chair and pants wet from fright. 

   “M-Mommy?” The little girl held on as Evelyn pulled her away. “No, Mom—!”

   “Go, Jenny, it’s okay!” Mary tried to soothe her, but Evelyn was already dragging them along behind. “Listen to the lady—!”

   “Get out of here Junior,” Jack garbled. “Go take care of Jenny, you hear me?”

   Evelyn closed the door. 

   The two children stared up at her, so terribly scared, and she softened and gently brought them over to the couch and sat them down. There was a snarl from Dogmeat inside the kitchen, and then there was a scream. 

   Evelyn grabbed their faces and forced them forward. “Put your hands over your ears.”

   Jenny sniffled as she started to weep all over again, but Junior guided her hands up to her face. 

   “Come on,” he said thickly. “Put your hands over them.”

   She did, mimicking the boy, and Evelyn sat between them and held them close to her sides, her hands cupped over their own as the screaming began to grow, began to beg, began to plead and promise and please no more just kill me already just kill me—  

   The door opened. It was eerily silent.

   Dogmeat was the first to come out, his once beautiful ebony and ivory coat stained a dark ruby red. He licked his chops, scratched his ear. The eyes of a complete killer were trained on his master, waiting for the order, ready for the execution. 

   “Good boy,” she whispered, and his eyes became unfocused and grew lazy. 

   Heavy boots came to the front. The children stiffened and clung to her as the ghoul appeared from the shadows, his knife in hand and being wiped down with a clean tea towel, the amount of sprayed blood on his blackened leather glistening like drops of rain. 

   He sheathed his weapon and nodded. “It is done.”

   She went to untangle the children and go to stand, but he halted her with a raise of his hand. 

   “It is not something you wish to see,” he said gravely. 

   The weight of her insides iced over. Violence was to be expected, gore and slaughter were something she’d already witnessed, countless times, enough that it almost didn’t seem real anymore, just props on a stage, something to look over and have the tiny voice in her mind go wow, sucks to be that guy.

   But if Charon were telling her so, then she would take his word for it. 

   “Is Mommy okay?” Jenny asked in a small voice. 

   Evelyn didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. 

   “They’re dead, Jenny,” Junior beside her said with a stony face. 

   “I’m sorry,” Evelyn managed to get out, but the boy then stood and whirled on her, his tears fat and dripping off his chin.

   “I was going to work with my dad!” he sobbed. “You killed our parents! Are you going to kill us too?!”

   Jenny gasped, “Please don’t kill us!”

   Before Evelyn could attempt to calm them down, the boy grabbed Jenny’s hand and dashed out into the storm.

   “Hey, hold on—!” Evelyn called out, but her voice was drowned in the swirling rain and howling wind. She squinted to watch them disappear into a smaller house across the street, the glowing windows telling her someone else also resided here. 

   Charon grabbed her before she could give chase. "No! We do not know who else may be here. We should leave, now."

   "We can't just leave them here! They didn't know!"

   He searched her face and decided to not argue his case, but rather gathered their things to prepare for their next house visit. Charon took the first step, shielding the rain from his eyes with his gun as she took cover behind his bulk, when a pant-shitting roar sounded off just to their right. 

   The deathclaw had strode into town.

Chapter Text

   The lightning illuminated everything for a moment, and some time ago, down in the depths of the vault records, she remembered reading that one could tell the distance of the storm by how many seconds they could count between the blinding flash and the beating drums. 

   One—

   The deathclaw roared, and in her mind she knew the storm was far from over, despite the later call booming across the sky. 

   A voice then cried out, and she didn’t recognize it, but she was at once familiar with the urgency riding on the tailcoat of terror. “Hurry! This way!”

   Charon gave her a more than encouraging shove from behind with a heavy, “Go.”

   Girl, ghoul, and dog sprinted for the open door and beckoning old man with Hell just nipping at their heels and shrieking in their ears. The deathclaw’s footsteps were big, and she fought the sob clawing its way up her throat as it sounded incredibly close, before the wind and rain and monster were left behind the close of a door. Charon heaved all of his weight into the frame as it nearly bounced off its hinges, and the old man snapped at her as she just stood there as a stiff, lifeless doll while the huddled children cried in the corner. 

   “Help me with this, girl!” 

   Evelyn jolted, bounding into action as she came beside him to drag a rather heavy bookcase in front of the frame, with Charon finishing the job as they drew close.

   The banging continued on the other side, seemingly shaking the entire house, followed by another roar that split the hairs on her head.

   Evelyn breathed, “Holy fu—”

   The door lurched once more, and then a sudden crack of splintering wood sprinkled over the three of them as the claws of the Devil himself shot through to grab the giant ghoul by the arm, sending him flying off his feet to slam into the bookcase as it tried to rip him straight through. 

   “Charon!”  

   Charon snarled, struggling with all his powerful might in an attempt to free himself, but then a faint, pained gasp left his mouth as there was a snap of a bone in his right arm. His shotgun was knocked from its holster just as his lighter tinkled out of its pocket, and he scrabbled for the knife at his waist and wasted no time in carving a few slabs of scaly hide to his feet whilst Evelyn whipped her head around for something of use.

   Dogmeat launched himself at the elbow of the creature, sinking his sharp teeth in deep and being shaken like a stuffed animal as he held on with a slobbery growl.

   Another crack of lightning, as bright as the bulb above her head. 

   The ghoul didn’t notice her scoop up the flip lighter, too preoccupied playing tug-o-war for his limb as she took off through the back door. The rain was blinding, and the wind was biting, and the beat of her heart choked the breath in her chest. 

   Her soggy boots slapped the pavement as she sprinted back for the original house, and with a fierce raise of her head and a squaring of her shoulders, she shouted across the way with a challenge, “HEY! YOU UGLY PIECE OF SHIT LIZARD, OVER HERE!”

   All at once, the beast stiffened and turned, meeting her challenge with a pure straightening of its ridged spine to its full height, the steam from its nostrils spraying water everywhere as it blew.

   She waved a hand, taunting it to stroll on over and disembowel her. “COME ON!”

   It then did something entirely unexpected—going down on all fours and loping towards her, covering the distance between them in merely three strides. 

   With a squeal of surprise, she bolted inside the house and to the kitchen, her asshole puckering at the rush of air and the stench of rot just over her shoulder. The catch of something extremely sharp pinched her thigh, and she would later come to realize she had very narrowly avoided being cleaved in half. She slipped, gliding like a monkey on skates across the tiles for a brief moment before she lost balance and smacked her skull into the corner of the counter, distorting her entire world with bright shooting stars. 

    Shit, shit! No! Get up! Go!  

    With a strangled gasp, she scrabbled away from the blur struggling to get through the narrow doorway and blinked at the first thing to come into focus—Jack, his eyes plucked from his skull and a trail of his intestines crammed down his throat past a dislocated jaw. There was no time to survey the others with as much morbid scrutiny as the deathclaw sounded off after dipping sideways to enter, the bones beneath her warm, thick flesh vibrating from its loud call. She crawled for the open door to the basement, tumbling about halfway down the steps to roll through the darkness and carcasses just as the deathclaw forced its way through and snapped at the air where her boot had just been. 

   Everything suddenly became quiet.

   Evelyn felt every breath to be as loud as the crack of a gunshot, and as she slowly peered from behind a table and between a dangling of limbs on a hook, she saw the most captivating, and yet frightening thing of her entire life.

   Two yellow, hot pools of glowing fire, suspended in that pitch of black, well above any normal height for a man and seemingly staring straight at her despite the lack of pupils they held. 

   They disappeared.

   Evelyn stretched her fingers across the cold concrete of the basement floor, her entire body trembling and teeth chattering as a cold sweat broke out, soaking her hair and moistening the skin of her face and neck. She slowly crawled, hands and knees, around the other side where that demonic presence had just been, praying to God I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready—

   The faint light from upstairs shined, a lighthouse beckoning her to calmer waters and the safety of shore as she navigated the perilous dark seas back for the kitchen. 

   A loud scraaaaaaape of what sounded like nails scratching a chalkboard tickled electricity down her spine as she went a little faster, and then she felt a plume of hot air waft down her neck just as she began to climb the steps.

   A shadow from the topside overtook them both, and a blast of fur flew over her head.

   “Evelyn!” Charon barked for her at the landing, and she stampeded up the stairs back into the safety of his presence as a howl and a snarl and a sudden yelp called from behind. 

   She took his outstretched hand and turned to that wall of black, screaming, “Dogmeat!”

   The dog appeared from seemingly nowhere, tossed upwards to crash into the overturned table and plates and leftover spread. Charon fired off two shots down below before slamming the door shut and turning around to find her switching all the knobs to the stove on, the smell of gas at once permeating.

   She held up his lighter, and he understood.

   Charon snatched the lighter back for himself as his other hand snagged at the bottle of brandy in the cupboard. He crammed a tea towel down the neck just as they reached the front door, and they heard the deathclaw burst through the basement door just as he had lit the Molotov cocktail and tossed it. 

   The ghoul snagged both girl and dog under an arm each, sprinting much faster than they were capable of as the explosion hit their backs with a waft of heat. A blood-curdling howl echoed from within the flaming nest of smoke and sizzling steam, the deathclaw’s cries terrifying…and yet, disturbingly sad. 

   Charon didn’t bother looking back as they came around to the other house again. He stood in the kitchen, all three streaming water all over the floor, with both packages still held tightly under his arms.

   He then dropped them simultaneously, each hitting the floor with a thud.

   “Did you manage to kill it?” the old man from before peered away from the tattered curtains at his window, overlooking the rising fire from within the Smith’s residence. The children were cowered at his side, each clinging to the other with the frightful eyes of mice.

   The ghoul said nothing but picked Evelyn up by the elbow before she could stand, hoisting her to her feet with one strong tug. She prepared herself for his curt reprimand, her chin already stubbornly jutting out with a sharp bite on the tip of her tongue, but he only stole the air from her lungs as he embraced her in a tight hug—if only for but a moment. She was thrust away before she could register just what it was he was doing, and his eyes darted to and fro over every inch of her for any sign of injury. His eyes landed on the red, broken skin of her forehead where she had tumbled.

   “Are you hurt?” he rasped. 

   A shake of her head. “I’m alright. Nothing hurts.” Her hands came up to rest on his forearms, the beads of rain on her lips licked away. “Are you?”

   He bluntly grunted, “My arm is broken.”

   Almost immediately, her brows shot up and her words were prepared to be less than patient, but he smothered them with another surprising gesture in which he held the sides of her face to shush her with a kiss.

   They broke away with a faintly audible smack, and he procured a Stimpak from a satchel and began to examine his arm off to the side without another look at her. 

   A rare heat blossomed from her chest, warming her cold skin with a dazzling display of fireworks in the pit of her belly, and she glanced over to the onlookers off to the side, now feeling rather shy from the light exchange.  

   The old man was having none of it as he once again asked in a no-nonsense sort of tone, “So? Is it dead?”

   Charon flexed his hand and curled his bicep after the initial injection, replying just as plainly, “I do not know.”

   The little girl began to cry, and the boy roughly rubbed an arm across his face as he struggled to contain his sobs while Jenny keened, “It’s going to eat us!”

   Evelyn crouched beside the dog, inspecting him as she lifted his paws and ran her hands through his blood-clotted fur. With a pat on his slobbery snout, she turned to them and said, “No, it won’t eat you. I promise.”

   “Why do you care?!” the boy shouted, the tears and snot dripping off his chin. “You killed our parents!”

   “Junior that’s enough of that!” the old man snapped. The children shrank away, and he finally sighed with a nod of his head. “You kids go on and get to bed—you’ll be in my room tonight. Go on, get going, and close the door.”

   Junior eyed the woman and ghoul with strong distrust. “But Grandpa—"

   “I said to get going, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

   The children pattered to the room, their hands held tightly together as the boy gave one last look to Evelyn before closing them out. 

   The old man sat on a well-worn cushion of a chair in the corner, all of his years suddenly meeting him at the finish line as he tiredly waved a bony and wrinkled hand. 

   “You’re welcome to wait out the storm…and I’ll answer any questions you may have.”

   Charon barricaded both doors while Evelyn took a seat on the couch, watching this strange old man in his tired chair and how the lightning played eerie shadows across his lined face. 

   A crack of thunder—the storm was rolling on.

   “What is this place?” she asked, and was at once received with the history of Andale and its cannibalistic community and the generations of incest shared between the families.

   “I’m not proud of what we did,” Old Man Harris said quietly, his voice full of shame and his eyes heavy with regret. “But it was normal to us, you see…but once I had left it, now, looking back…I wish I had ended it sooner when I had the chance.”

   Charon remained at the window, staring past the curtains to the house completely engulfed in flames, the steady downpour of rain their only assurance it wouldn’t spread. 

   Evelyn saw a small bundle in her lap, and she said hoarsely, “The children didn’t know, did they?”

   “No. No, they weren’t old enough yet, but they would have, when the time came. We’re not going to live that life anymore, and when they get older to understand things a little better, I’m sure they’ll be grateful for it.”

   “…will you be okay out here, by yourselves? Megaton is—"

   “I appreciate it, but Andale is still our home, and we’ll be just fine.” Old Man Harris winced as he shifted his weight, a hand going for his lower back. “I’ll have to teach Junior how to track molerats and flush them from their dens, but we’ll manage.”

   She stared at the floor, each in their own thoughts as she then said, “I can have traders from Canterbury Commons pass through, if that would help, now that it’s safe.”

   He gave her a look like she’d gone mental. “You’d do that? For us? Why, we’ve only tried to have you for dinner.”

   “It’s nothing, really. I’m sure you could use the extra supplies.”

   He considered it for a minute before finally nodding his head and leaning back further in his seat. “That’d be mighty fine of you, girl. It would make this old man rest a little easier knowing we had some visitors now and then in case I kick the bucket too soon.”

   The night waned on. 

   The old man fell asleep in his chair, snoring loud enough to stir the Devil as Evelyn tossed and turned on the couch, unable to close her eyes for more than a few seconds before she saw those tiny hands and feet.

   Charon watched her restlessness from his post at the window, his eyes never straying too long and too far in the event the scaly phoenix rose from the ashes. He said nothing until she turned to him, blinking at his large figure under the dim lighting. 

   “Did you see them?” she whispered, and she didn't have to elaborate as to what it was haunting her mind’s eye. 

   He nodded, once. “I did.”

   She said thickly, “How could someone do something like that?”

   The ghoul then looked at her, his eyes the same burning yellow as the deathclaw’s had been. “It is the wasteland.”

   She rolled her back to him, and dreamed of swaying from meat hooks in a fire while the deathclaw devoured her, from her tiny feet to her missing eyes.

   The storm purged the flames long before the rising of the sun, and Charon carefully inspected the pulpy ash and charred boards with his hound of a gun, the muzzle sniffing out the remains of the deathclaw that had been trapped under the rubble. Its bloated tongue lolled out from the side of its maw, the mandible having been blown off in the explosion. 

   He holstered his weapon and nodded to Evelyn, who was standing well away as per his request. “It is dead.”

   She turned and spoke with the elderly smoothskin, and he requested of them to dispose of the small shed behind the other house. 

   “It’ll be good to be rid of it, and thank you for what you’ve done…you’ve made Andale a better place.” 

   Charon kicked down the shed door and stepped inside with a can of gasoline, dousing the empty stares of the decapitated heads all piled in a plastic bin before he trailed it outside. He flipped his lighter and lit a scrap of paper before dropping it at his feet, and they watched the meat shack soon become engulfed in flames before they finally made their way to leave. 

   There was a colorful bruise on her face, but she spoke nothing of it, and so he left it. She said it didn’t hurt.

   Charon studied the route on her Pip-Boy back for Megaton as he took the lead, avoiding the outskirts of Fairfax ruins as he spied piked heads and heard the faint fanfare of gunfire coming from within. Evelyn seemed to pay no mind to his steps, and she remained as silent as a ghost as she followed him with the mutt loyally at her side. 

   The rising blight of Megaton was, for once, easy on the eyes. Charon was unsurprised, but positively annoyed, that Evelyn’s first manner of business was to speak with the caravan traders just outside the gates, and he stood there with a cross of his arms and a grumble on his lips as he carefully watched the trader watching her. 

   “Anyone else, and I would have called them a fool,” Crow told her. “I’ll be sure and spread the word and mark it on my future trails. You never fail to surprise me, Lone Wanderer.”

   Evelyn rolled her eyes at the title and gave him a wave of her hand as she met Charon back at the top of the hill. “I’m not alone!”

   “No…” Crow looked over to Charon, and their eyes held. “You most certainly aren’t.”

   The Mister Handy was greeted by a stomping of their muddy boots, disheveled fur, and overall sour smell. The robot nearly collapsed at the sight of the three of them coming through the front door and stripping their gear and emptying their pockets and making a general mess of things, and then the big ghoul simply watched her climb the steps to her room and shut the door behind her. 

   Dogmeat whined and scratched after having been left out. 

   Charon went to the fridge, his begging stomach reminding him of their lack of dinner, breakfast, and lunch. It was empty. 

   He knocked on her door, looking down at the dog looking up at him with its thoughtless eyes. “I shall return…are you alright?”

   There was a creak as he heard her shift around in her bed, her voice tired and muffled behind the frame. “I think I just need some sleep.”

   He left for the saloon, not bothering to bathe or wipe the blood from his uniform, his thoughts less than pleasant and his odor worser still. It would appear Andale had troubled her in some way, and he would have to think on it and what to do to make it better. The door to Gob’s opened, and the packed-to-the-brim barhouse fell deathly silent as he strode inside. He ignored them all, and the chatter crescendoed again after he merely took a seat on a stool at the end.

   The bartending ghoul came close, his face crinkled in what would appear to be disgust. 

   “Finally back, huh?” he rasped. “What happened to you? You look like you’ve been through Hell…kind of smell like it, too.”

   Charon kept his voice low, and Gob came closer still at how his rasp was hesitant. “…I require a favor.” 

   Gob not-so-subtly looked around the room. 

   “O-oh, like, as in…?” Gob drew a thumb across his neck, and Charon would have outright laughed at his face for such a bizarre assumption. Gob, take care of his enemies? 

   He doubted the bartender could handle the sopping end of a mop without a fight. 

   “No,” he said flatly instead, and then he leaned a little forward, and Gob met him there, their foreheads nearly touching as he almost whispered, “I need…to look pretty.”

   Gob jerked back, and then bellowed. 

   The entire bar placed their private lives on pause to swivel their heads around and record theirs. Charon snapped his neck a million ways at the curious eyes taking in the scene of this normally timid ghoul barking enough air to whip up a sandstorm. 

   Charon growled and shot a hand up to snatch the ghoul by the collar, making him yelp as he smacked him back down to the counter. 

   “Enough!” Charon snarled.

   The ex-prostitute called over, “Hey, you boys better play nice.”

   Gob waved a hand and wheezed, “We’re good, Nova, everything’s fin—urgck!” 

   Charon had twisted just a little harder, his rasp deathly serious. “Make. Me. Pretty.”

   Gob swiveled an eye to him, gargling, “I-I don’t know what you mea—eck! Stop choking me!”

   Charon released him, and the ghoul nearly fell on his ass as he saw every star in the night sky under his lids. The bigger ghoul waited for him to regain his breath, growling at anyone who ventured close in hopes of a refill for their empty glass. They would all wait, for nothing was more important than this.

   Gob smacked an arm on the counter to hoist himself partway up, his eyes blinking stupidly at the face that would never, in a million fucking years, ever be considered worthy of being…pretty.

   Charon flexed his fingers, curling them into fists as he took a deep inhale through his nostrils and then said, “She does not like it. I need it fixed. I need you to help me.”

   Gob still just stared, and Charon irritably sighed as he motioned to his face. 

   “Evelyn does not like this,” he spat. “Fix it.”

   “Wha-what?” Gob dumbly said. “She told you she doesn’t like you as a ghoul?” Gob couldn’t understand the logic—he was utterly flabbergasted. 

   Charon deflated, and he simmered in a pout to the side. Gob had never seen the man so fucking sad…if ever. He didn’t even think the bouncer was capable of anything beyond anger. 

   “No,” Charon bitterly admitted. “But I know this. We have not been having sex.”

   “Have you asked her why?”

   “Yes…and she would not discuss it.” He raised his eyes once more. “…I did not know who else to turn to.”

   Gob awkwardly rubbed at his head, looking over this giant ghoul and considering the impossible. “I’m not sure I’m the one to turn to, either…but I think I know someone you could.”

Chapter Text

   A light curl of steam wafted from the tub that Charon eased himself into. He scrubbed at his arms and splashed water on his face, removing all evidence of guts, grime, and grotesque smell from his person after Gob had made note of it.

   No offense, but you smell like a bunch of ferals getting it on in a Pulowski Preservation shelter on a hot day. Come meet me back up here after you get cleaned up and we’ll…uhh…see what we can do.

   The water browned fairly quickly, and he pulled the plug and walked up the stairs, naked and dripping, for his extra clothes. 

   Evelyn still had not left her room. He hesitated in peeking inside after her standing order for him not to enter…but, technically, he wouldn’t be. He quickly popped the door open—she was sound asleep, and at some point she must have let the dog in, for he was curled at her feet.

   Charon carefully left her to her dreams, and he began the walk back to the saloon wearing some fresh clothes and a strange feeling in his gut. He nearly dug in his heels the moment Gob began to make their way to Craterside Supply. 

   “No,” Charon growled, and his scathing glare peeled the remaining skin from Gob’s face. 

   Gob held on, wincing through the ire he was given. (He was used to it).

   “L-Look, Moira’s already agreed to help, so let’s just see what—” the ghoul started a bit uneasily, feeling incredibly smaller still as Charon towered over him with his burning eyes. 

   Charon cut him off, rasping matter-of-factly, “She is insane.”

   Gob laughed, agreeing, “I know.”

   The bigger ghoul narrowed his eyes at the sign of Megaton’s department store ever-so mocking him, and then he looked down at his large hands, turning them slowly to inspect every flaw, scar, and exposed vein he had to them. The tips of his fingers came up to lightly touch his face. Never before had his ghoulish deformities bothered him—it did not impair his duties to his employer, and therefore it was merely an unfortunate circumstance of having survived a nuclear holocaust. Now, after seeing her hesitation…

   Charon curled his palms into fists, his brows steep like jagged cliffs as he glared at the side of Evelyn’s ramshackle house on the hill.  

   Perhaps insane was what he needed.

   Charon stomped past, rattling the entire catwalk with his sulk as he gnashed through his clenched teeth, “Let us get it over with.”

   They opened the door to the sight of Moira hovering over a petri dish, a pair of goggles snugged around her eyes and the tip of her tongue sticking out the side as she carefully pinched a dropper of some black liquid into it. It immediately burst into flames, and the panic was evident on her face as she snapped the goggles to her forehead in search of something to put them out. 

   “Oops! That must have been the secretion of the bloatfly glands,” she muttered to herself as she busied around the store, and then she flitted her eyes up to the town’s only ghouls, beaming them a wide smile and hitching a thumb back to the whirling inferno at her work station. “Just in time! It’s almost ready!”

   Charon immediately pivoted a 180 as Gob shut the door before he could escape, rasping loudly enough to be heard, “Uh, thanks for doing this.”

   Moira rummaged through a few things under her counter before lugging over a giant pot to clap down around the dish, snuffing the fire out instantly. She blew a whew! The pot was lifted away, and the critical study of her eye leaned over the tarry substance that had turned a pasty white, making her crow, “Perfect!”

   Charon almost broke out in a sweat, and Gob muttered something along the lines of, can see you got this covered, and went to vacate the premises before Charon clamped a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stay with a friendly squeeze.

   “G-guess I’ll just stand over here,” Gob gasped after Charon had released him.

   “Alright, big guy!” Moira clapped her hands together and rubbed them excitedly as she motioned to his attire. “Go ahead and dress down so we can fit you in some new clothes!”

   Charon gave Gob one final look, and the smaller ghoul just answered him with a faint nod. (Go on). With a mumble under his breath, he unbuckled his pants and began to strip…with nothing underneath.

   “O-oh, there’s a, um, curtain…” Moira began, but then she trailed off as both she and Gob just blinked at the sudden nudity, their heads tilting opposite ways as they simply stared. She then said, as though stating a very simple fact, “You are very…proportionate.”

   Moira’s man slowly poked his head from around the corner of the shelf he was leaning against, eyeing Charon’s goods with a blank face before he slightly pulled away his waistband and peered down at his own with a frown.

   Charon scratched at his nuts, grousing, “May we continue?” 

   Moira was still gawking, and Gob cleared his throat and elbowed her in the side, croaking, “Moira!”

   “Huh? Oh, right!” she nervously laughed, doing her best to avert her eyes as she grabbed a handful of mismatched pieces of clothing for him to catch. “Go ahead and put these on! It was the biggest size Crow had.”

   Charon grumbled as he began the task of shoving himself into trousers that were uncomfortably tight around the groin and showed a much-too-perfect outline of his cock as the bottom hems hugged his calves. He shook his head and moved on to the button-up shirt, only managing up to the third button from his neckline before he shrugged himself into the jacket. The shoes were mismatched, and one had a hole where his big toe wiggled through. 

   He turned to them, and Gob only smacked a hand to his forehead while Moira clapped with excitement. Charon grunted, slightly flexing, and he popped a button while ripping the seams of his coat. (At least now he could stand a little straighter).

   “As they say, the clothes ate the man! Or, something like that…” Moira pointed to a chair for him to sit in. “Go ahead and just relax.”

   Charon sat down, squinting at the brush she dipped inside the experimental white paste. 

   She held it up for him to see. “It’s my very own recipe, pretty neat, huh? Now—if at any point you start to exhibit signs of boils or your face begins to feel completely numb, don’t worry too much, as it’s only temporary side-effects until—”

   Charon faced forward, his hands tightening into fists. “Just do it.”

   “Well, o-kay!”

   The paste was thick, but he remained still as she slathered him like a drunken painter globbing colors on their canvas. He stared at Gob standing across, the bartender’s eyes heavy with worry and brows ripe with concern. 

   “Now for the final touch!” 

   Moira placed something over his head, wiggling it into place as he brought up a few fingers to inspect what it was. A few thick curls of golden hair were sifted through.

   “There! All done!” Moira beamed as she finished with the wig on his head. She handed him a small, cracked mirror. “Take a look and tell me what you think! Pretty good, huh?”

   Charon blinked at his poor reflection. The blonde wig was long, almost to his shoulders, and it was too small for his rather large head and was sparse around his scalp, appearing stringy and disheveled. The strange powder she had caked on his face covered nearly every inch of skin—a stark contrast to the ghoulish remainder that was still exposed on his chest, hands, and legs. The dark, unsymmetrical eyebrows she had lined above his eyes were thick and stern.

   “So?!” she asked at his elbow. 

   “She will like this?” Charon questioned. 

   “Of course she will! You look spectacular!” Moira beamed, and then she stood back to study him for a minute before she added, “Maybe try smiling, a bit more.”

   Charon stared at her.

   Moira put her index fingers in the pits of her lips, shoving them up. “See, like this!” 

   His mouth twitched, and then he cracked his stern mouth into the tiniest hint of a smile. Gob recoiled in his peripherals…but he may have imagined it, for Moira only clapped her hands again and motioned to the door.

   “Gosh, be careful on the way back down! We just might have every woman in Megaton looking to jump those—erm—proportional bones!”

   Charon didn’t care for the other women…but as for Evelyn—

   “You can assure me this?” he asked with the utmost seriousness. 

   She grinned. “I guarantee it!” 

   Gob didn’t say anything as he suddenly fell into a coughing fit, and Moira’s mercenary merely stared at him with wide eyes as he left through the door.

   Charon felt every eye of every person as he passed, and they did not look away even as he returned their stare as they normally would have. It made him feel…good, and he inwardly put a pep in his step as he returned to her house. 

   All of the smoothskin women gasped as he came close, their hands flying to their chests and their eyes immediately glancing down…and then they could only stand there in utter shock, turning their heads with him as he kept forward. A couple of settlers were tending to a lame brahmin, and they all looked up at his passing, falling completely silent. Charon turned his head and gave a small smile, (for practice), and one man fell backward in a dead faint. (He may have just been dead; he wasn’t too sure).

   Charon entered the house. The robot short-circuited in a pile of mechanical limbs on the floor after turning its three optics on him, and Evelyn turned from the empty fridge to see what the commotion was about.

   She fell on her ass at first sight of him, her eyeballs bulging. “Holy shit… CHARON?!”

   He nodded. She was impressed.

   He smiled.

   It must have charmed her, for she slapped a hand to her mouth and trembled, her skin blanching. He deduced she must not be able to contain her excitement at the sight. The sound of her stomach growling reminded him of their lack of food.

   “Shall we go to Gob’s?” he rasped.

   He did feel good.

   There was only a nervous thought in her head, giggling to herself, what the fuck?!

   Evelyn patted her damp (but clean) skin with her towel, slowly looking up from the starchy fabric (which scratched more than it did dry) at the open doorway of her room where Charon was quietly standing. Dogmeat wouldn’t stop sniffing the ghoul’s butt, cock his head, give a whine, and then resume sniffing him some more as though he couldn’t differentiate whether he was a friend…or some terrifying foe.

   Her voice came out weak and fluttery. “Um, may I please get dressed?”

   Charon nodded, spinning on his heel and proceeding down the stairs. She stared at the newly formed rip stretching up the ass of his pants. 

   The tips of her fingers rubbed stars inside her eyes as she mentally groaned and wondered just what the fuck had decided to zip itself up inside Charon’s body and wear him around like a nightmarish freakshow from a horror comic. 

   After stepping into her simple green jumpsuit and lacing up her boots, she met the ghoul at the bottom landing, who was still waiting on her to present him to the general public…assuming he already hadn’t made a spectacle of himself. She briefly wondered how it was he hadn’t been simply shot.

   “...um, ready,” she said in a small voice.

   The ghoul’s mouth painstakingly curled into a smile—if she could define it as smiling, for it was more akin to the edges of a dead leaf withering up, and she would have thought him to be constipated. Charon held over his hand for her to take, and she blinked, her heart skipping every beat as she felt her soul leave her body and then rush back down her throat before she could permanently expire from this plane of existence. 

   Oh God, he’s waiting on you—just take his hand, just do it—do it!

   With all the past courage from facing down a deathclaw under a cannibal’s roof, she took a deep breath and intertwined their fingers together, both ghoul and girl (and dog) trudging up the hillside for the bar. Everyone stared, too stupified to say anything…which would have been for the best, for Charon still had his knife at his belt. She glanced up at him, surprised to see him utterly at ease and, dare she might assume, happy.

   They entered the saloon, which was thankfully empty of patrons for a late afternoon. The pair took ownership of their usual stools in the corner, and she met the eyes of the bartending ghoul (who so indiscreetly avoided them like the plague). Gob and Nova left for the back room, and Evelyn rose from her seat.

   She turned to address Charon’s raised painted brow. (It wasn’t even aligned with the other one!)

   “I have to ask Nova something. I’ll be right back, okay?”

   He nodded, and then he watched her with his unblinking stare as she disappeared to the back room with the others.

   Evelyn intruded on their space and hissed under her breath, “Was this your idea?!”

   Gob rasped, “No! It was all his. He said he was worried that you, erm, didn’t like him as a ghoul, anymore.”

   “What?! Why would he think that?! I never said that!”

   “Yeah, I figured as much, smoothskin. I know you ain’t a bigot.”

   “I mean now look at him. He’s horrifying!”

   Gob grunted, crossing his arms in pensive thought. “I think Moira went a little too heavy with the brushes…”

   “You think?!”

   Nova shook her head and went to light a cigarette. “Big dick, alright.”

   “Nova!”

   The three of them peered around the corner to look over at the lonesome abomination waiting patiently in his seat. Charon felt their eyes and whipped his head around to catch their staring, his wig getting left behind in a few places. It covered his right eye, and he brought a finger up to part it to look at them unobstructed. 

   Evelyn’s stomach growled loudly enough to be mistaken for an atomic bomb. 

   Gob rubbed his hands rather uneasily and motioned to her place back at the end of the bar. “It’ll be on the house, smoothskin.”

   Evelyn sat beside the big ghoul, her eyes at her feet as she busily wracked her brain for any mention she gave that would make Charon feel this sort of way…wait, was that his toe—?

   “Do you like it?” Charon asked, reeling her back from her memory files. 

   Evelyn glanced up, afraid. He smiled again, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “U-um…well…”

   “Here we go!” Gob rasped extra loudly, spinning two plates of something hot their way. “Drink?”

   Charon shook his head as Evelyn blurted, “A shot—tequila!”

   Charon blinked at the enthusiasm as she tilted the rim of her shot glass back and took it all in one go, and he shifted his weight as he turned to the other ghoul and suddenly rasped, “I will have one, as well.”

   Evelyn gaped at him. Charon—drinking?!  

   Before the big guy could expect the answer to his question, she dove in her fixings and shoved her mouth full, her eyes continuously straying to the outline of his massive cock in his pants—it was as though someone had put a python in a vacuum sealed bag. Charon took his shot, not betraying any reaction to the alcohol, and he swiftly turned in his seat (with his wig flying around his shoulders) to face her, and he again…smiled. 

   Both Gob and herself winced. 

   Charon deadpanned, “Do you wish to jump my proportional bones?”

   Her second shot was spat with all the force of a fire hose on the counter. When she merely wiped at her lips and shared a look with Gob, an idea popped into her head, and she shyly put her hands in her lap and meekly said, “Do you want a bath?”

   Charon gave her a weird look, rasping, “I already have.”

   She leaned forward, saying in a lower voice that only he could hear, “Not to bathe.”

   The ghoul looked over her head as he processed her words, and then he sprang so sharply from his seat that the remaining buttons of his shirt were flung at her face and neck. He turned to Gob and rasped with plain conviction, “Tell Moira she has my thanks.”

   Gob dumbly waved them goodbye as he wiped down her mess with a rag, calling at their backs, “Uh…sure.”

   Dogmeat barked at their heels, feeling the buzz of excitement in the air that seemed to vibrate around the big guy as he marched them straight to the house and slammed the door shut with the bolts in place. He then whirled around, and they both just stood there, neither of them undressing first before the other. 

   “Shall I remain dressed?” Charon rasped, and she felt her heart break at how sincere he was.

   Evelyn rubbed at her scarred arm while he just scratched his fingers through the wig on his scalp, and they both looked to the tub with doubtful resignations. 

   “You know, Charon,” she began with hesitance, and she felt her knees shake at the way he keyed in every single syllable leaving her lips. “I like you…as a ghoul.”

   He stared at her. 

   She tried again, her cheeks warm and belly tight. “I like you, as you.”

   He blinked. “I do not understand.”

   Evelyn unzipped her jumpsuit and began to shrug out of the sleeves, holding up her left arm for him to take notice of. “I haven’t been avoiding sex because of you. I’ve been avoiding it because of this.”

   He squinted at it. “Are you in pain?”

   “No!” she rushed. “I-I’ve been embarrassed of it…cause, it’s, um…it’s ugly.”

   He repeated with a flat tone, a statement more than a question, “It is ugly?”

   “Well, yeah.” She turned her head to the side, now feeling silly and stupid. “I didn’t want you to find me ugly for it.”

   She fiddled with the ring on her finger whilst Charon just stood there, digesting this information she had given him. 

   He finally rasped, “That is proof you have survived.”

   Evelyn raised her head, too stunned to speak.

   Charon unshouldered his jacket and ripped away the remainder of his buttonless blouse, pressing two fingers to a jagged scar at his abdomen—the scar he had given himself when he had dug out the bullet from within. 

   “You either survive, or you don’t,” he said firmly. He then gave her a look. “That is not ugly.”

   Evelyn gave a wobbly smile, and then she continued to strip as he did the same. The white paste was washed away, with the wig tossed to the high banister up above, and she felt every doubt melt through her lips as he pressed his own against them.

Chapter Text

   There was that first breath of sanctity—a token of absolute trust and an understanding the situation needed to evolve into something beyond a few slow kisses and the light touch of fingertips across skin. She broke away first, taking his hand and shyly leading him up the stairs to her room, when he paused and hesitated just outside her door. 

   She asked, “What’s wrong?” 

   He looked at her with a dead-set expression, annoyed she had even asked. “You have ordered me not to enter.”

   The expression on her face must have betrayed her forgetfulness, for his frown deepened and he let go of her hand to cross his arms, the mood all at once vanishing between them. 

   “Um.” She fiddled with a strand of hair around a finger, inwardly angry at herself for making such a foolish request to begin with…and the can of worms it opened deep inside her brain. She apologized, “You're more than welcome inside my room…our room…if you want.”

   Charon lowered his arms, the tension in his broad shoulders sloping as he relaxed. He then gave her nudity a full once-over with a smolder that burned as much as it did tease, and they suddenly got straight to nasty business after he closed the dog out and gave her a courtesy grab-of-ass before he spread her apart and made up for lost time.

   His cock only got five strokes deep before the entire bed frame snapped and they ended up in a piled heap on the floor, his dick still shoved up her cunt with the tip kissing her sweet spot. He pulled off as she rolled over, and together they surveyed the damage. 

   “Shall we continue downstairs?” Charon rasped.

   She laughed, inspecting the warped metal. “I think we should pay Moira’s a visit before she closes shop.”

   Charon grumbled and rolled his eyes. “I will fix it.”

   “You can?”

   He leaned over, scrutinizing the frame more closely before committing to his oath, and after a few minutes he begrudgingly admitted, “It will need to be replaced.”

    She teased the tip of his wet dick with a swirl of her thumb down the slit. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can—”

   There was no time for her to finish her sentence as he quickly left to gather his things. She soon followed to retrieve her discarded jumpsuit, looking on in horror as he fought his size into his ridiculously small suit. She glanced over to Wadsworth’s laundry bin—it was still overflowing with both of their gear from the night prior.

   “What happened to your other clothes?” she dumbly inquired.

   Charon didn’t look her way as he attempted to zip his dick in his trousers. “Moira’s.”

   “Guess it’s a good thing we’re going then,” she muttered.

   They left the house with Charon leading the charge, his long, eager strides leaving her in the dust as she jogged to catch up. A couple of women were crowded together at the railing as they passed, and they both turned around to face the ghoul, one giggling behind a hand while the other bashfully waved at him. Charon either ignored or did not notice the unexpected attention, for he merely kept his steady pace and eyes trained on Moira’s storefront. Evelyn was duly ignored the moment he was out of view, and the women turned their backs and began to whisper excitedly to each other as though she were completely invisible. 

   Charon was already hauling a new frame over one shoulder with his extra uniform under the other, bypassing her just as she reached the top of the hill. She sighed and turned around. The pair of onlookers ogled him again, and Evelyn stomped her boots loudly on the catwalk to ensure she was noticed this time. They did, and she only heard a faint mutter at her back.

   “Vault dwellers always think they’re someone special.”

   You think cause you’re the doctor’s daughter you’re someone special, nosebleed? 

   Evelyn ground her teeth together and clenched her fists as she walked down a tunneled road with blinders on, missing the interaction of Dogmeat making a quick whizz call at the women's rail post (something they were soon squawking over).

   Charon had replaced the tired frame, discarded his ridiculous outfit, and was already lying in bed with his cock pointing at the ceiling by the time she had climbed the stairs to their room. The jealous bug that had bitten her was squashed by the look he met her eyes with and the sharp beckoning of his two fingers. 

   Come here.

   Oh, she came, alright.

   It was a surprise that the frame didn’t buckle a second time as he rolled her underneath him and parted her legs, telling her without words how he had been feeling those past few days by the sharp snap of his hips into hers. A whimper choked her throat as he leaned over and held her down by the shoulders, bucking away and rattling the bed and scratching the floor as he heavily breathed over her face. She closed her eyes and gave a soft oh as she reached down and touched herself, her entire body quivering and toes curling. The fluttery moan was enough for him—he jarringly bottomed out, not so much as giving her a grunt of satisfaction as he merely ducked his head and sighed. 

   They then sat at the table, with her disappearing under the folds of his shirt while he returned to the comfort of his own pants. An ice-cold Nuka-Cola was sipped as she began to fiddle with her Pip-Boy, but she forewent the map to Vault 112 as she instead peered over to the brick wall of muscle casually seated across, a lit cigarette perched between his fingers and his hooded eyes simply staring at her contentedly. She swallowed and looked back down at her screen. 

   “I made a route from here to Vault 112. Did you want to look at it?” 

   A stream of smoke was exhaled through his nostrils as he nodded and took a deep drag while she handed the Pip-Boy over. He turned it around and scrolled the map for a few minutes, occasionally ashing his smoke in the tray at his elbow.

   “This will not work,” he replied flatly after setting it down.

   She furrowed her brows as he didn’t extrapolate. “What? Why?” 

   He slid it back to her and tapped a nailless finger to a vague, empty space between Megaton and the dot Pinkerton had pinned. “That area is not safe,” was all he simply said, leaning back in his seat and stubbing the butt of his cigarette out. 

   She squirreled around the map. “Okay…then how do we get there?”

   He again tapped the screen on Megaton’s marker before tracing down to Tenpenny Tower. 

   “We will go south and follow the eastern side,” he swiped up, "before going north.” 

   She squinted. “That’s so far though. We won’t be there for days.”

   “It is better,” he said wisely. 

   With a sigh, she input the new route he proposed before noting, “I’ll spend tomorrow getting supplies. Maybe we can stop by Tenpenny Tower for the second night?”

   Charon grunted, but elected to say nothing. 

   When she had finished her mapping and tilted the rest of her bottle for the remainder of some sparkly fizz, she yawned into her hand and felt his fingertips slowly creeping up her leg. 

   “I wish to join you,” he murmured. 

   With the tips of her ears burning hotly enough to light her hair on fire, she climbed the steps and dipped onto the mattress with his heavy weight sinking just beside her, and she felt the edges of his shirt lifted above her head and the kiss of his tongue between her thighs. Charon seemed to have found a new nocturnal hobby, which was both a blessing and a curse.

   The rattling once again came to a halt, and she rolled over to swipe at a half-empty bottle of water to chug as he reached for his packet of smokes. She soothed her parched tongue and turned to watch him. Never before had she seen the ghoul so at ease—there was that completely different air about him, as there had been back on the grounded aircraft carrier. His scowl wasn’t so harsh, and the light of his eyes burned mellow and soft rather than a roaring flame. He lit his smoke and set it to his lips before turning his head to meet her stare. His hand rested on her thigh before sliding between them. 

   With a weary laugh she shook her head, saying, “I’m exhausted. Aren’t you?” 

   He shrugged but withdrew, and although she expected him to leave, he didn’t.  

   It felt nice.

   It felt…right.

   Evelyn flopped down beside him and tried to picture the stars just overhead. 

   It was everything she had imagined a boyfriend to be.

   The night soon bled into day, and he was still there when she had awoken, greeting her with a stiff cock and a greedy taste of her mouth. 

   She attempted to be subtle around town, but even a blind man could see the wince with every step and the awkward limp she carried. Charon burdened her metal crate around Moira’s shop as she filled it with essentials for their trip, and it was the weirdest sense of normalcy she had had ever since she had left the vault…aside from advertising her sore pussy like a flashing neon sign. 

   Moira dipped something in their crate just as Evelyn drew the drawstrings of her (extremely) light sack of caps closed tight.

   Evelyn protested, “But I didn’t—"

   Moira gave an over-the-top wink. “Just a little something to help out with Mr. Proportionate Bones over here!”

   Evelyn ducked her head and awkwardly waved her hand as she limped away, not noticing the dramatic thumbs-up Moira gave the ghoul…or Charon’s tiny one in return. They rounded back to the house when she loudly groaned and turned to his questioning look. 

   “I totally fucking forgot those pair of new boots,” she bellyached. 

   Charon dropped the crate inside before going back up the hill alone. 

   Evelyn stretched along the railing, her brow humid from the discomfort she felt, and she merely watched the ghoul climb the catwalks—but then he stopped as he was approached by one of the two women from yesterday, and Evelyn leaned over the railing and risked falling to a snapped neck and broken back by how much she strained to see. The woman was clearly suggesting something, going so far as to—

   Charon simply interrupted the rest of whatever it was she was saying, and the woman stood there, shell-shocked that something like him could be so brash to someone like her. The ghoul was still a total asshole…but at least he was her total asshole. 

   He returned with the boots she had left behind, and she curiously inquired as he placed them with the rest of their things, “What did she want?”

   Charon took a seat at the table, beginning the process of undoing his laces as he rasped, “It was unimportant.” He removed his boots and began to shrug out of his pants, and her eyes widened slightly as he reached inside the bin to toss her the mysterious salve Moira had gifted her.

   She missed the catch and squeaked, “I’m a cripple over here, give me some more time!” 

   He scowled, seriously confounded at her request. “How much?”

   She only burst out laughing, and the rest of the day was spent inventorying their supplies. She moseyed around the house in search of her vault suit, unable to find where Wadsworth had stashed it, when she knocked on Charon’s door. 

   The ghoul answered, slathered in grease and oil with an assortment of weaponry on his table, and she politely asked, “Have you seen my vault suit? I can’t find it anywhere.”

   He nodded, turning to the side and opening a locker to reveal it neatly hung up. The suit was spotless, with every hole and tear so very meticulously sewn that it was faintly noticeable, and she looked with intrigue over the modification that had been made to the right forearm. He handed it to her, and she looked up at him in wonderment.

   "I designed it for your power fist," he rumbled, awkwardly pointing to the reinforced bracer. "For when you should come to use it."

   She held it close to her chest, lowering her head slightly. "Wadsworth wasn’t the one making repairs to my suit, was he?”

   Charon blinked, as though it were obvious. “No.”

   “You’ve been doing it this entire time?”

   “Yes.”

   “…but, why?”

   Here Charon didn’t have an answer, for he seemed to be unsure himself, and so he turned back to his work with a shrug. 

   “Thank you,” she said softly. 

   He only nodded, and she would have sworn he was flustered, but she wasn’t too sure the ghoul was capable of it. She stepped inside her room, and for once, she couldn’t stop smiling. 

   They did not leave that next day. 

   Nor the one after that.

   …or the one after that.

   “Fuck!” she cried, and he saw the way her eyes looked right through him when she came.

   He kept going, the squeaking of her bed threatening once and for all to permanently retire after a mere few days of being subjected to constant stress. He grabbed her by the waist and slammed himself to the breaking point, his breathing ragged and eyes far too heavy to see as he finally released her. 

   They would not be leaving anytime soon after that, either. 

   "Okay, okay," she gasped as she rolled over and smushed her face in her pillow, her sides laboring and skin prickled with sweat like morning dew. "Time out."

   Much to his surprise, she didn't really seem to mind the lackadaisical passage of time. After their initial plans for Vault 112, she never again spoke of it, and he was more than content not to ask. A part of him hoped she had decided not to pursue another dead-end of a lead on her father...but he knew better; it was only a matter of when. 

   Charon reached over to hand her the little tin from Moira. He popped the lid off and merely watched her swipe a few fingers through the gelatinous ointment to administer down where his cock had just been ravaging her, and she breathed a sigh of pure relief. 

   "I'm starving." She smiled at him. "Gob's?"

   He nodded. "Gob's."

   They stayed for three more days, and it was beginning to fester an itch that he dared not scratch. They had plenty of sex, lounged at the saloon, and indulged themselves in being utterly lazy. She had sold every bottle of booze she had collected to restock the bar's shelves in trade for hot meals, and the old smoothskin from the water processing plant would occasionally come knocking at her door with a request for a repair job. 
   
   The eyes he felt were ignored. She held his hand and babbled nonstop wherever they went, and he could only dumbly stare down at her, too muddled by this overwhelming feeling electrifying everything it touched, but he listened and tightened his fingers all the same. 

   Their lips were somehow more together than they were apart—she would be rounding the landing of the stairs up to her (...their) room and bend over the railing so he could tilt his head for a kiss. He would be seated on the end of the couch with her head in his lap and a book in her hands, the pages collecting dust as she continuously lowered it to share a smooch. The tub was always filled to overcapacity, their legs tangled and their eyes closed and her chest on his as they exchanged long, drawn-out caresses until the water grew cold. She had attempted cooking, and he had given her an honest opinion on her lack of culinary skills. She became offended and flung a lob of freshly churned brahmin butter at his face, and she then shrieked and giggled as he chased her up the stairs and to the bed, the frame wearily sighing at the antics to come. Charon laid in bed every single one of those nights, listening to her gentle breathing and the echo of the lonely wind, and he decided that he was happy. 

   This was happiness.

   He wanted to be happy forever. 

   "Charon." 

   But he knew that was but a simple dream. 

   She had dressed in her vault suit, with the Pip-Boy strapped snug and her pack set to go. 

   "Are you ready?" she asked. 

   He nodded. His gear had been stowed in its proper place in his workshop, his guns and knife and ammo ready to be awakened from their soft lulling spell, much as his had been. It only took a few minutes to equip himself, the armor and straps and satchels somehow feeling slightly foreign. 

   Evelyn had opened the door and called for the dog, but he did not show. It must have taken off again. She chewed her lip in worry, ready to embark on a lone search-and-rescue effort when Charon stopped her before she could sprint out the door. 

   “I will find him,” he assured her. “He always comes back.”

   “Simms said they found yao guai tracks around the eastern side the other day,” she reminded him, her hands becoming a tangled mess. “What if—”

   “I will find him,” he repeated, leaning down for a brief kiss. 

   Charon looked out over the expanse of the wasteland just beyond Megaton’s front gates. He gave a sharp whistle, calling, “Dog!”

   He circled around to the back, eyeing the tracks the sheriff had mentioned. They were large, with one paw missing several toes. It would eventually become a problem. Charon climbed a small hill, venturing a little ways from the settlement as he finally heard some yips and yaps, and he again whistled. Dogmeat popped his head up from behind a rocky outcropping of boulders, scrabbling over the edge to sprint across the hot sand to him. 

   “What are you doing?” the ghoul rasped as the dog came close and shook itself into a blur. 

   He looked back up, suddenly finding multiple pairs of tiny eyes and wet snouts and little paws. Another large dog, splashed white and the auburn color of fall, eyed him with much more curious intent. Dogmeat barked, and the ghoul shook his head, turning back for home. One mutt was plenty.

   They left before the full cover of night, making base camp in the abandoned trailer and sharing a meager meal together before the temperature dipped well enough to leave her shaking in the sleeping bag she had had the extra caps to buy. Charon grumbled but started a fire, risking visibility over comfort. It wasn’t his style, and it wasn’t necessarily smart…but she was delighted for it, and he would ensure one every night from then on.

   “Didn’t know it could get so cold out here,” she chattered, snuggling the mutt close.

   He listened to the dog’s snores and her occasional breathing as they slumbered on. He looked up at all of the stars, his gun held close and eyes watchful for any threat bigger than him. The happiness he felt was still there, and it kept him warmer than any fire could have. A shooting star raced overhead.

   He secretly hoped she'd never find her father.

Chapter Text

   Do you ever think about leaving? 

   Amata looks up from the reading assignment on her Pip-Boy—a brief recount of some American History. World War II. Axis and Allies. The Good versus The Bad. So very black and white. Amata crosses her brows and stares at her as though she had just begun speaking some foreign language.

   What?

   She drops her voice so as not to be overheard, even though they're the only ones in the cafeteria. 

   The vault.

   God, no, are you out of your mind? Amata scrolls a few pages before looking around to ensure they really are alone, and then asks back, have...you?

   She lowers her eyes to her reading. It's due tomorrow. Pop quiz. Twenty random questions all pulled from this giant block of text. 

   No. 

   She's lying, but Amata falls for it, visibly relieved for her friend as she outreaches a hand to squeeze over her own. 

   For a second there, you kind of scared me. No one leaves the vault, right?

   She only hums in agreeance, taking in the words but not quite digesting the information. Japan had forfeited surrender. Do or die. They had chosen death, and the bombs were dropped.

   The temperature rose with the coming of the sun over the horizon, and she crawled into his lap and washed her hot breath over his tongue. He mounted her from behind, with their knees dug in the sand and her suit tucked past her thighs as he slipped his cock inside her hot cunt for a Good Morning all of its own. 

   The walk to Tenpenny Tower fortunately lacked deathclaws, raiders, and unforeseen cannibalistic communities. Rather, it was filled with her chatterbox running so fast a fuse should’ve shorted out, and her life down in Vault 101 was given without his consent to listen to. They walked side-by-side, with his stride shortened to keep her in pace as he kept his shotgun propped over one shoulder while his free hand was being held by hers. Charon didn’t say much (or anything at all, for that matter), but he would sometimes grunt or nod to whatever she spoke of; his sharp eyes kept on the wastes. Dogmeat sprinted and rolled and attempted to dig to China along their journey, his putrid farts blessedly released far downwind.

   “That’s when I found out you could trick the dispenser into rationing two snack cakes. I don’t think Stanley ever caught on, but he wasn’t very bright to begin with…”

   The gift of gab was used and thoroughly abused by the time they had reached the outer perimeter of the tower’s gate, and Charon dropped her hand to realign his shotgun at his chest.

   “What?” She shaded the sun from her eyes, catching sight of a newly spray-painted sign.

   NO SMOOTHSKINS ALLOWED!

   Charon rasped as he tugged at her elbow, “We should—”

   But she pulled away from him and marched straight to the intercom to hold down the button with a shouted, “I demand to speak with Roy Phillips!”

   The gate opened, and a few ghoulified sentries met them with their muzzles lowered. 

   “Hey, you're that vault kid.” The closest one indicated to her suit. “Mister Phillips has told us about you two. He said you’re free to come and go, just be on your best behavior. You'll find him on the top floor.” He squinted at Charon standing beside her. “Normally, we just shoot any smoothskin that gets too close.”

   They then parted to allow them entry, and Evelyn shared a look with her companion as he went to open the double doors. 

   “Be careful,” was all Charon told her, and she nodded as he ushered them in.   

   They stood in the lobby, the leather of his glove brushing the skin of her palm as everything became quiet except for a faint, crystal rendition of a song from ages past. Her feet felt glued to the pristine flooring, and Charon was suddenly guiding her forward by the hand, his size alone parting the sea of ghouls crowded before them. 

   It was as though she had stepped inside an upside-down Underworld. They all lacked noses and wore fine jewelry. They had missing teeth and were adorned with stiff wigs. The ironed suits and dashing gowns had flecks of blood that were too stubborn to be scrubbed out. They whispered with their hoarse voices, their cataract eyes watching their every step. 

   “So that’s the vault dweller everyone keeps talking about? Doesn’t look like much…”

   “Another ‘ghoul manservant’, eh? How barbaric.”

   “Smoothskins always think they’re better than the rest of us…”

   There was fresh paint rolled in some places, a shade too dark to blend in, and the columns had chips that had been hastily sanded down. Evelyn pressed the button for the top floor, noticing a bloodied fingerprint still stamped over it. When the elevator opened, they stepped in and turned to stare at all of them, and when the doors closed, she looked up.

   “They’re all dead, aren’t they?” she asked softly.

   Ding!

   A waft of cigar smoke and upbeat laughter rolled out the red carpet upon their arrival. Evelyn went to move aside as a drunken resident stumbled towards them with a ghoul woman under his arm, their garbled laughter a harsh contrast to the sweet jazz music drifting through the corridor. 

   “C’mon, baby! Let’s go—(erp!)—get a real party going!” he rasped, nearly colliding into the wall. The woman (wearing too short of a sequin party dress) lost a high-heeled shoe, but she didn’t care to notice as she erupted in a fit of giggles. The ghoul raised his head just in time to notice them after they had exited, and he threw Evelyn a dirty wink. “Room 211, see ya there, toots!”

   The elevator whirred as it began its descent. Evelyn turned to approach Tenpenny’s former suite, halted by a table of four armed sentries playing cards and smoking cigarettes.

   They all looked at them, and one grunted as he tossed a few caps in the growing pile, “Mister Phillips isn’t taking visitors at the moment…not even for you, smoothskin.”

   Evelyn stamped a foot forward and jabbed a fingertip at the closed door. “You better tell Roy I want to talk to him, and I want to talk with him now.”

   “Oh, yeah?” They eyed the big ghoul that easily stood a foot over them all, their hands resting politely over their guns. “Or what?”

   A rush of air interrupted the standoff as the only ghoul she recognized thus far belted out a raspy, “Well, well, well, finally decided to come visit, smoothskin?” Roy Phillips adjusted the belt of his posh velvet robe, his hand raised as the sentries went to stand. “Easy, boys. This here’s the guest of honor—so you’ll show her a bit of respect.”

   They nodded, all rasping some form of, “Yessir, Mister Phillips.”

   Roy left the door wide open and beckoned them with a few waves of his hand. “Come on in, smoothskin, and close the door behind you.” He blinked at the dog on their heels. “Huh…nice mutt.”

   The trio followed him around the foyer. The flowers had all wilted in their unkempt garden bed, with only weeds left to thrive. She coughed into her elbow at the astounding cloud of smoke they walked through, her tongue laying a carpet of Ultra Jet fumes and the smell of something…musky. 

   Bessie stood from her fainting chair at the sight of her walking in. “Hello, dearie, it is so good to see you!” She strode over to clasp her hands before turning to the drink cart. “Care for a drink? Water? Liquor? Wine? We have everything here.” 

   “No.” Evelyn cleared her throat (mostly due to the haze) and gave Roy a hard look as he only sat in a big chair and lit a cigar. “What the fuck happened with the other residents?”

   There was a clatter as Bessie dropped a crystal stopper on the tray, muttering under her breath, “Woops…clumsy me.”  

   Roy pulled his eyes away from his woman and sneered at Evelyn, “You got a problem, smoothskin?”

   Evelyn came closer. “Where the fuck is everyone else?!”

   Bessie plastered on a fake smile despite the fear spoiling her eyes, and poured a glass that she attempted to hand over to soothe Evelyn’s prickled nerves. 

   “Here, have this, you’ll feel better,” she rasped, but Evelyn took the drink and threw it at the wall. 

   The sharp sound of crystal shattering placed everyone’s neck at the edge of a knife, the wasted alcohol staining the faded wallpaper. 

   Roy sat straight and warned her, “Just remember whose glass house you’re throwing stones in, smoothskin.”

   Evelyn barked a hollow laugh. “Oh, really, me?! I trusted you! I convinced all of those people to let you in, and you just fucking murdered them!”

   “And they would’ve done the same to us, if they’d had their way,” he rasped, pointing a finger at her face. “That’s what you came to us for, wasn’t it?” 

   Bessie suddenly spoke up from the side, her voice quiet and eyes solemn. “You don’t know what it’s like, being one of us. You wouldn’t understand.”

   “I understand plenty,” Evelyn scathed venomously. “Tenpenny was right…you’re nothing but a bunch of fucking monsters.”

   Bessie sincerely gasped as Roy stood from his chair to encroach upon her, halting before he came too close as the shadow behind her grew. 

   He gave her a full once-over, his growl nasty and deep. “We do what we have to to survive out here, and Tenpenny and all those other fucking bastards were no different. You’re no different. You may not be one of us on the outside, smoothskin, but I can tell just by the look in your eyes that you’re the same as me.” 

   “I’m nothing like you,” she snarled. 

   He grinned, his smile too wide to be friendly, the visible muscle making his face more gaunt and hollow. “We all end up as monsters out here, whether you like it, or not.” He gave a curt jut of his chin to Charon. “That’s what you got him for, ain’t it? Trading smoothskin pussy for protection? You got your ways, and I got mine.” 

   She spat at his face, and he took a step back to wipe at the smear of saliva she had landed in his right eye. 

   The ghoul chuckled, but it was empty and sent a chill through her bones. “We’ll see just how long you can hold out for, smoothskin…but remember, you’ll do what it takes to make it up here.” He called out, “Simmons!”

   A thundering of boots arrived at their backs. Dogmeat growled as one came too close.

   Roy instructed, “Take them outside. Shoot the smoothskin if she tries to come back. She’s outstayed her welcome.” He looked over her to Charon. “You, on the other hand, will always have a place to call home here. I don’t go back on one of our own, even if she does have you wrapped around her little finger. When this bitch is drier than a sandbox, you know where you can come back to, but for now, get the fuck out. You’ve pissed me off enough.”

   Evelyn glanced over to Bessie and the necklace she had proudly hung around her neck—the same necklace Margaret Primrose had been wearing when she had served her mirelurk cakes in the cafe.

   “Rot in Hell,” was all Evelyn said, and she turned on her heel to march out under the watchful eyes of the ghoul brigade. 

   “Keep walking, smoothskin,” the guard at her back warned as they stepped inside the elevator, and the three of them were escorted through the lobby, surrounded by the glowing eyes of everyone who stood around to watch. 

   “Good riddance.”

   “The only good smoothskin is a dead smoothskin, as I’ve always said.”

   “This is our home…it’s not like she could ever understand.”

   The gate clanged shut behind them, and she craned her head back to peer at Roy on the edge of the balcony. He lobbed a glob of nasty spit in their direction, flipped her a giant bird, and disappeared back within the safety of Tenpenny Tower.

   “Let’s go,” she muttered, stomping her feet the entire way to Lucky’s Grocer by Warrington Station. 

   As soon as Lucky raised a hand in formal greeting, Evelyn burst into tears. 

   “Hey there, uh—” Lucky said with a scratch at his scalp under his ball cap, confused by the sudden intrusion of sobbing. “Again.”

   Evelyn whirled around to her companion as Dogmeat sniffed around the store. 

   “What fucking assholes!” she cried. “We-we worked so hard for them, and for what?! Everyone is dead, and it’s all my fault!”

   Lucky sighed from his corner, stirring something in a pot over a small burner. “Can see you guys have been to the tower.”

   Evelyn wiped at her face and turned to the trader. “When did this happen?! Do you know?”

   “Roy had cleaned the others out just a few days after you two had parted ways,” Lucky drawled, tapping his long spoon over the brim. “Some of them came by to trade some things, and I got to hear the whole story…guess they decided to spare me since they still need occasional supplies.”

   “That fucking bastard!” she screamed, kicking at a tin can to send it flying across the room. Dogmeat sped off in chase, never looking to waste a chance at playing fetch. “There were some good people in there! They didn’t deserve any of this!”

   Lucky just shrugged and pulled out a few bowls, seemingly unperturbed by the Tenpenny Massacre of 2277. “It is what it is.”

   It’s the wasteland, you silly little goose. Did you forget already?

   A piping hot portion of soup was handed over to them. “Here. Try not to let it get to you. Otherwise, it’ll drive you crazy…ask me how I know.”

   Evelyn mumbled a thanks and sniffled as she looked down at her bowl, eventually taking a seat on her sprawled-out bedroll as they made camp alongside the trader. She took a few bites, watching Charon sit across from her, and she realized he hadn’t spoken a single word of the entire ordeal. 

   “What’re you thinking?” she asked. 

   A few lanterns illuminated the store as the trader began to prepare for the coming evening, and she stared at a flickering flame from a candle he had lit on a windowsill. Charon only raised his eyes briefly to hers before he set aside his empty bowl, not caring to answer her question.

   She played with her food—her appetite suddenly nonexistent. She said quietly, “My dad always did the right thing.”

   Here the ghoul looked at her, his face dancing in dark shadows.

   “It will get you killed,” he rumbled.

   Her eyes softened. “It got me you.”

   Charon didn’t have a response to that, and when she had finally finished her food and went to remove her boots to crawl inside her sleeping bag, he rasped, “I wish to speak with him.”

   Evelyn paused with unbraiding her hair, not understanding for a few moments before she confirmed, “Roy?”

   He nodded. “Yes.”

   “Why?”

   He only flexed his hands.

   Evelyn dropped her eyes and felt everything in her entire world flash black and white. “Oh…I mean…you don’t have to ask.”

   “Very well,” he said, and he stood and turned to Dogmeat lying at her side. “Keep her safe.”

   She watched him walk to the door and exchange some words with the trader, and then he was gone. 

   Charon punched the intercom with the side of his fist, rasping, “Let me in.”

   The gate once again opened, and he was once again allowed to stroll inside, only this time, the murmured voices narrating his passing were singing a completely different tune. A few waved their hands in friendly greeting, while others eyed him from the balustrades and giggled behind mottled hands adorned with glistening rings. He stepped inside the elevator, ignoring them all.

   The sentries posted outside, however, eyed him with suspicion. 

   “Leave your weapons on the table,” one of them rasped. 

   Charon did as he was asked, laying down his shotgun, pistol, and knife for them all to see before one knocked on the door.

   “Mister Phillips, the big one is back!”

   It opened, and the ghoul to answer was the smaller woman, Bessie.

   “Oh, hello there,” she said a little demurely, inviting him in. “Roy and I were, um, well, just having a bit of some fun. Please, come inside.”

   He shadowed her back to the lounging room where Roy was finishing adjusting his robe. 

   “I knew you’d come,” he rasped, sinking his weight in his chair. “Bessie, get him something to drink.”

   Charon said, “That is not necessary.”

   He then snaked an arm around Bessie’s neck, snapping the bones like twigs and crushing a faint gasp from her throat. She dropped in a slump at his feet, and Roy’s eyes widened in horror at his dead woman crumpled before him. 

   “Bessie!” he shouted, and before he could even stand, Charon had reached down to pull the extra knife he had hidden in the slit of his boot and threw it at his shoulder. It sunk through the bone and muscle and immobilized the ghoul in place, and Roy snarled as he scrabbled for the handle and heaved in trying to rip it out. “You fucking bastard! I’ll kill you!”

   The door rushed open, and through it, the four guards that had heard the distress. Charon reached down and propelled Bessie’s limp body at the first two that had come inside with their guns raised, stumbling them backward while he then leaped forward with the decanter of brandy in one hand, smashing the third in the face with it. The fourth aimed his gun, but Charon intercepted it into his larger palm and squeezed. The bones all popped, and the ghoul shrieked in agony as Charon snapped his arm backward and snugged the pistol inside his mouth, pulling the trigger. He then redirected it to the other three, their brains all spraying in different directions around the room. 

   Roy belted curses at the top of his lungs while Charon calmly walked outside to reacquire his gear, his large boots creaking with every step he took. 

   “Y-you’ll pay for this! You fucking bastard, I swear, you’ll—!” 

   Charon returned, leaning forward to grab the handle of his knife and yanking it free. 

   Roy writhed in his seat, foaming at the mouth as he went to retaliate with a scratch at the ghoul’s eyes, but Charon merely took ahold of his wrist and slammed it down on the arm of the chair, flipping his knife by the handle before driving it straight down through Roy’s hand. 

   “GAHHH!” Roy screamed, and he could only watch in horror as Charon manhandled his other wrist into place, taking the second knife and holding it perfectly centered above his palm. “No, NO, NO NO NO—!”

   Charon speared it straight down, pinning the ghoul like a pincushion and looking him dead in the eye as he rasped but a single word. 

   “Stay.” 

   Charon exited the suite and nonchalantly pressed the button for the elevator. He cracked his neck side to side and rolled his shoulders, listening to the lulling music drifting through the lobby as he watched the light overhead blink. The doors opened to a startle of gasps from a few ghouls already inside, and one frantically began to smash the down button as the others smooshed into one another from the sight of blood splattered on his uniform. 

   The doors went to close, but he halted them with one hand and invited himself inside. 

   Ding!  

   The elevator opened. 

   Charon stepped out, his boots leaving bloodied prints on the immaculate marble flooring, and he paused to look around. A couple who hadn’t taken notice of him yet were casually chattering to the side. 

   “How on earth did you find a recording of this? I haven’t heard it since before the war,” the woman rasped, bringing a glass of chilled wine to her lips.

   The man chuckled and fiddled with the watch on his wrist. “It was in that one kooky smoothskin’s room—Dashwood’s.”

   “Herbert Dashwood?”

   “Yeah. Guy had a lot of neat stuff…say, if you aren’t busy tonight, how would you like to—”

   Charon listened to the melody softly playing from the speakers. He then raised his gun, and fired. 

   “Ave Maria,"

   Ghouls scattered and hid and ran as Charon fired away, shell after shell after shell clinking to the floor as he kept steady aim and a steadier trigger finger. Blood sprayed the walls, dripped from the balustrades, and streaked across the flooring as ghouls slipped and slid in the carnage in their attempt to flee. 

   “Gratia plena,”

   The remaining security force outside answered the call of the helpless residents as they rushed through the front doors, providing cover fire for a few to escape back out into the wastes until Charon lobbed a couple of grenades and blew their limbs in a giant clusterfuck around the place. 

   “Maria, gratia plena,”

   Charon went room by room, floor by floor.

   “Maria, gratia plena,”  

   He put a boot into the frame of room 211, interrupting the lively party and blasting without mercy or bias. Downy feathers fluttered the air, a string of pearls broke and bounced across the floor, and an arm jangling with golden bracelets flopped into the hallway as he made his way to the next.

   "Ave, ave dominus,"

   No one made it past him.

   "Dominus tecum..."

   Charon stood alone in the lifeless lobby, taking a look around at the corpses hanging over the railings, slumped against the walls, and in pitiful heaps on the floor. He reloaded his gun, fastened it in its leather holster on his back, and rode the elevator back up to the top. 

   Roy snapped him an evil glare, his eyes bulging with unbridled hatred and teeth like knives as he spat out insults whilst Charon ripped a silken bedsheet down the middle. 

   “That little cunt made you do this, didn’t she?!” Roy barked, thrashing in his seat in spite of the pain it shot up his arms. “That fucking smoothskin bitch! I’ll kill her! I’ll kill you! You tell that little whore of yours that I’ll—!”

   Charon came close and looped the makeshift noose around his neck, securing it tightly before ripping out both knives from his hands. Roy stiffly arched his back and roared at the ceiling, his eyes unseeing and limbs quaking with rage as he was dragged outside to the balcony, the endless night sky blending with the infinite expanse of the wastes. Charon tied the other end off the railing and looked down at the ghoul he held by the nape. 

   “This was my choice,” was all he simply said.

   When he had returned to the store, he found Evelyn thumbing a perforated edge in her journal where he had ripped the page out, her eyes heavy with sleep and worry. 

   She turned to look at him, eagerly sitting upright and closing the journal away. “How did it go?”

   Charon began to shrug out of his armor. When it became apparent he wouldn’t say anything, she stared at him with a peculiar expression before noticing his damp clothes. 

   “What happened?”

   He paused in removing his jacket, rasping, “It needed to be washed.”

   “Oh.” She fiddled with a thread on her suit as he finally sat beside her. She gave him a slight smile. “Is everything okay?”

   Charon crooked an index finger and placed it underneath her chin, gently tilting her head up to share a kiss. “It is.”

   She held on to his forearm before he completely pulled away, and she confessed in a low voice, “Am I a terrible person for not wanting to do the right thing sometimes?”

   Charon met her troubled eyes, so large and so frightened of the thoughts that dwelled behind them. He glanced down at his hands, hands that were stained beyond redemption and so very undeserving of the woman he now held. He knew the answer to her question…but he didn’t have one for her.

   She lay in his lap, saying softly, “...I’ll never be like him.”

   Charon did not know whom she referred to, and he did not ask. 

Chapter Text

   The birds circled like flies over spoiled meat. Evelyn stared at the tiny black cloud swarming the tower and heard their distant caws celebrating the most splendid of rotten occasions. 

   “What happened?” she questioned as Charon stepped up beside her. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

   He glanced down to the satchel on his waist, adjusting the security of its strap. His eyes then sidled over to stare at her, but she didn’t notice. The ghoul eventually said nothing, turning to the northwest and continuing along their way. She swiveled her head around and noticed the distance he had put between them, a little bounce in her step as she quickly hastened to catch up. The smooth motion of her palm sliding into his was relaxed and natural, and she stumbled a little after stepping over a patch of unnaturally fine sand. 

   “So, anyways…uh…what were we talking about?” she asked (with a sort of sweet innocence).

   Charon swiveled his head to something far out in the distance—a couple of radscorpions quarreling over territory.

   “The snack dispenser,” he grumbled.

   “Oh! Right!”

   The story quickly picked up and fluttered page after page after page after page after—

   “Just hold that thought,” she suddenly announced as she let go of his hand. She began to hop and skip backward to a thick, tangled bushel of dried brush. “I need to pee!” 

   When she was out of earshot, Charon heavily sighed and stretched his spine in place, grumbling under his breath as he scanned for hostiles, “…there is no rush.”

   She was no sooner standing straight and zipping up her suit than he was preparing to sit down on the backend of a rusted car frame, her words already drifting to his tired ears. 

   “And then there was the whole ‘Missing Projector’ incident…” She slowly trailed off, catching his eyes as she looked at him. “Am I talking too much?”

   He raised a brow muscle, but said nothing. If he were to be honest with her, he didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone talk more in their entire fucking life. 

   She faltered with a lick of her lips and lightly hugged herself. “Amata sometimes told me I talked too much and that it was pretty annoying, and, well, I just want to be sure I’m not boring you to tears, or anything. I can stop.”

   Charon clenched his jaw—too subtle for her to notice—and looked out into the distance. Great.

   “You do not talk much,” he said.

   “Are you sure?” 

   He deadpanned, “Yes.”

   “…well, tell me when you’ve had enough, I guess.” 

   Evelyn then dove deep into the lore of her life underground, ignorant to the continual twitch of his eye or the gnashing of his teeth whenever she spun around to look at something. When the sun was high noon in the sky, she paused to retrieve three bottles of purified water: one for her, one for him, and one poured into a shallow dish for the panting dog. Dogmeat lapped at the bowl, developing a frothy muzzle in the process. Evelyn drained hers in one go, her cheeks bursting like an overfilled dam. 

   Charon lowered the rim from his lips. There was a new name punched in his card alongside her father’s. He said, “Who is Amata?”

   She blinked, surprised at the interest. “She’s, um, well, she was my best friend. I don’t know if she is anymore, since I got kicked out and all…”

   “She is your friend?” he asked, the doubt creeping in.

   Another blink with a cock of her head. He must have offended her. “Best, but, yeah.”

   Charon crushed his emptied bottle in one hand before tossing it over his shoulder. “She did not come with you.”

   Evelyn had a warm rush of tears prick her eyes, and she turned away from him before he could witness her crying. She said thickly, “Why would she? The wasteland fucking sucks…I don’t blame her. She’s safe down there.”

   Charon’s heavy footsteps drew close, and she sniffled and rubbed at her wettened cheeks before he drew her around by the chin. He looked down at her, the fire of his eyes hot enough to temper steel.

   “I would have come with you.”

   Evelyn wiggled her toes, as though ensuring they were still on solid ground. 

   “I know you would, big guy.” She then smiled bright enough to cast a shadow on the sun. “Umm, where was I, again…?”

   The flames extinguished as pitifully as a burning candlewick being smothered as he rasped, completely monotone, “The time Butch failed his algebra exam.”

   “Oh yeah! Anyways, Mr. Brotch found out he didn’t just fail, but he had cheated off stupid-ass Freddie Gomez, who had then cheated off of…”

   Charon’s entire left side of his face began to erratically twitch.

   She is the employer. I am the employee. She is the employer. I am the employee. 

   The ghoul had experienced worse than this—he had survived Ahzrukhal’s self-inflating soliloquies, drunken garbled stories from patrons drowning in their glasses. He had survived literal torture at the hands of raiders after an ambush with a past employer…but this…

   “And then I told him—!”

   …this was somehow far worse.

   “—and Dad got mad at me since I broke his nose—"

   He would endure. It made her happy. He was resilient.

   “—but then I just snuck out of my room like I always did when he grounded me—"

   He was going to lose his fucking mind. 

   A band of feral dogs besieged them from over a ridgeline—her fucking mouth just kept running as he blasted them into stew-sized chunks. He helped her climb over steep terrain; she thanked him with another distant memory that wasn’t distant enough to be forgotten about altogether. She blabbered and jibber-jabbered and sat on her ass to keep that fucking mouth moving while he turned a couple of bumfuck-nowhere-wandering fiends into fodder, and he finally faced his building frustration by the head and whipped out his dick for her lips to take a ride on. He hadn't realized how grateful he was for silence…until he came, and she rebooted back to where she had exactly left off after wiping her mouth and zipping him back away with a little pat of her hand. 

   She is the employer. I am the employee. She is the employer. I am the employee. She is the—  

   And then, the most wonderful sound pierced their ears.

   “Help!” The sound of someone in distress. “Somebody help me!”

   Perhaps there was a God.

   Charon immediately halted his steps, banding an arm out before Evelyn could take another. 

   “Wait here,” he instructed, and then he climbed the hill alone to carefully scope the situation below.

   A smoothskin woman and a man, both fighting for their lives with a giant radscorpion. The man seemed to fare decent enough, in that he was still standing with the tire iron he wielded. The woman, however, was deemed useless, wildly waving her arms around and screaming, and would more than likely succumb to a painful demise.

   Evelyn ignored his warning and skidded through the dirt after coming in hot. She looked on with that ever-growing panic on her face that foretold her wishes for them to intervene, and he sighed as he slid down the ravine before she could attempt to assist them herself. 

   “Over here!” he rasped loudly enough to be heard, and the giant mutated creature skittered in his direction, aligning itself perfectly down the sight of his barrel. 

   It took two shots straight down the gullet, sprinkling enough blue shell and bits of meat around to fertilize a large enough garden bed to keep all of Megaton fed. He kept a steady hand on the trigger of his gun, giving the smoothskin pair a watchful eye as he heard Evelyn come rolling in behind him. She stumbled and bumped into his back, rubbing at her nose with a mumbled ow before stepping around him to wave a friendly greeting.

   “Are you two okay?” She sneezed. 

   They looked at each other. The man lowered his weapon. 

   “Guess we are,” he relented. “And who might you be?”

   “Evelyn, Charon, Dogmeat.” She pointed to each of them respectively, and then smiled as the couple offered them a hot meal in thanks for saving their lives. 

   Charon grumbled under his breath as he followed in step behind. They were led to a small shack and forced to listen to the couple ranting about the Enclave and President Eden.

   Charon had been deceived.

   God was dead.

   If he thought Evelyn’s anecdotes were annoying, this paranoia couple took the whole fucking cake and shoved it so far up his ass he could taste it in his mouth. Evelyn seemed to have enough of it herself, for she repeatedly pointed to her Pip-Boy and motioned for the door. 

   “Thanks so much for the, uh, soup, but we really have to be on our way.” 

   Thank fucking Christ. 

   “Jesus,” Evelyn mumbled to him as she waved them a farewell at the top of the next hill, “I thought they would never fucking shut up.”

   His neck cracked as it slowly swiveled to stare at her.

   They were soon met with another ‘friendly’ smoothskin, not even a mere ten minutes after the last. 

   “Hey now, just what is a beautiful young lady such as yourself doing around here, huh?” he drawled after each side had lowered their guns. “Look, gorgeous, you can call me Ronald, and if you need—”

   Before Evelyn was given an opportunity to make heads or tails of this dirtbag’s intentions, Charon had lunged for the collar of his jacket and spun him upside down, dangling him cleanly off the ground by one foot. 

   (He would kill him) 

   The slimeball squawked, “Hey, hey, what the hell?!” 

   Evelyn placed a hand on his arm, but Charon growled and shook the man vigorously enough to rattle his teeth in his skull.

   “Charon!” she gasped. “Put him down!”

   He gave her a look before relenting and dropping him face-first in the dirt. The smoothskin coughed after inhaling some in his lungs, spitting to the side and groaning. Charon placed a boot over his chest, slowly applying pressure until the smoothskin began to turn bright red with buggy eyes that threatened to pop out.

   “What in the world is the matter with you?!” Evelyn attempted to pull him off, but he held his ground…and the smoothskin’s, too.

   “I do not like what he said to you,” Charon growled.

   “Huh?!” 

   Charon glared evilly at the man struggling to maintain consciousness. “He does not call you that.”

   “…sorry…” the prick spluttered on a whisper of a breath.

   “Oh my God, you’re so dramatic!” Evelyn rolled her eyes and tugged at his arm again. “Let him go!”

   Charon lifted his solid weight, and the smoothskin gave a mighty inhale. 

   Evelyn got down to one knee and held the map of her Pip-Boy over his face. “Sorry about that…do you by chance know how much farther Vault 112 is?” She pointed at the marker with her finger.

   The smoothskin only stared at her with an unblinking gaze. 

   Charon said dryly, “He is unconscious.” 

   She sighed and stood upright, looking down at the pathetic sack of meat Charon could easily dice up into tiny pieces and toss as birdseed for the local wildlife. 

   “…we probably shouldn’t leave him out here like this. Can you help me move him?” 

   Charon picked him up with one hand and tossed him in the nearest bush (with the thorniest brambles). Good enough. Evelyn was staring at him when he turned around, her face pinched and disapproving of his mannerisms. 

   He rolled his eyes. They continued. 

   She paused at the top of a rocky outcropping, overlooking the wastes below and the only notable structure for miles around. She held up her arm, showing him the location of Vault 112.

   “That building is right where the vault is supposed to be…do you think there’s some mistake?” 

   Her voice was so desperate and worried he couldn’t help but study the marker in relation to the Red Rocket Gas Station out in the distance. Her father had said on his holotape that it was located inside a garage…

   But he did not have to volunteer that information.

   “Shall we continue?” he asked anyway, hopeful she would see it to be pointless and lead them back to Megaton. To her house, to a bath, and to the bed—

   She clicked the screen off and nodded. “Yeah, let’s just be sure.” 

   Dogmeat loped ahead, scouting the area and perimeter inside before them, and Evelyn gasped in shock at the bloodied state they came to discover him in upon entering. The fresh corpses of radroaches and molerats eased her worried mind, and Charon conducted his own sweep of the garage before allowing her entrance.

   It was empty. God truly existed.

   Evelyn slowly walked around the place, her fingertip lightly dusting a countertop. “…I don’t understand,” was all she said, and her voice was so fucking sad he placed a hand on her shoulder.

   “It is not your fault,” was what he told her.

   She moved away. His hand came down to his side. The straps of her pack slid off, her voice more tired than he had ever heard it before.

   “I want to stay here for the night. It’s safe, and we can dig around to see if there’s anything useful to take back home.”

   He nodded, setting right to work. She rummaged through a first aid kit on the wall while he managed to pry open a gun cabinet and pluck some boxes of ammo that had been left to lie, and he heard her muttering to herself as she tripped over a rusted aluminum can. 

   “It’s so fucking dark in here,” she said sourly, and he turned his head in time to see her flipping an electrical switch on the wall. 

   The floor just to her side made her bolt like a frightened horse as it opened, revealing a passageway down into the depths of the earth. 

   “Dad…” she breathed, and then the light of her Pip-Boy was flicked on as she descended below. 

   More molerats, more living chew toys for the wolf-hound that ripped them to shreds. Evelyn didn’t look back, not even once, as she pushed on ahead, leaving him a few steps behind while the light of her Pip-Boy guided them underground. 

   “Be cautious,” Charon reminded her, but she didn’t seem to hear him as she blindly turned corners and opened service doors until they both turned to a narrow tunnel with a single door at its end.

   Vault 112

   “It was really here…” she whispered, striding forward with the pin from her Pop-Boy already extended in hand. “Granted, it’s different from my vault, but, I don’t believe it, there it is!”

   She went to insert the node into a panel, startled from her thoughts when Charon held her back by the wrist. 

   “Are you sure this is what you want?” he rasped firmly. 

   She gave him a strange look, and her voice grew soft. He was suddenly in her world, once more.

   “It is,” she said.

   He let her go, and she opened the door with the press of a button.

   An alarm blared; a light began to rotate. The giant vault door shuddered as something from the other side settled in its thick core, and then a horrible squealing sound that made her tightly cover her ears echoed down the hallway. The entire tunnel gave a light shake with the ground rumbling beneath their feet, and she coughed as a cloud of dust was disturbed and wafted in their faces. 

   Charon stepped ahead. “I will take lead.”

   He did not remember the last time he had entered a vault…it must have been long enough ago. Their boots clanged down the hallway, the bright fluorescents harsh on his eyes and the hum of the pipes unsettling to his ears. The door on the opposite end opened before they had even reached it, a lone Robobrain on the other side. Evelyn had kept his shells at bay with a raise of her hand as she listened intently to what the thing had to say, and then it handed them each a vault suit to wear. 

   “Excuse me, do you know my Dad?” she asked the thing as it began to roll away. “Hey! James, my father, is he—?”

   It wheeled around to her, its mechanical limbs awkwardly waving around. “Please redress in your Vault-Tec issued suit and proceed to your assigned Tranquility lounger.” 

   “But—"

   “Please redress in your—"

   Evelyn turned away as it repeated itself, holding up the cleaner suit to her chest. “Okay, fine! Just give us a second.”

   Charon said sternly as she handed him his own, “I am not wearing that.”

   “Please, big guy,” she begged with that sorrowful gleam in her eye (that’d make him eat his own shit if she asked him to). “Just until we find my dad.”

   Charon held up the suit. It was going to be a tight fit.

   They dressed in the corner and shoved their things in a few lockers, and he scowled as he attempted to stretch without ripping it straight down the seams, but it proved more durable than he would have initially thought. He turned to her as her eyes traveled down south, her lips drawn in a thin line. 

   “Um…I think that’s the biggest size they have,” she said a little sheepishly. 

   He groused as he motioned for her to continue, “I wish to leave this place.”

   She held over her hand for him to take, her smile just for him. “We will soon. I promise. Thank you, Charon.”

   He took it. It was warm.

   She navigated the halls with ease, something of no great surprise to him. When they reached the lower floor she stopped, and he took in the sight of a large machine stationed in the middle of the atrium, branching from the floor to the ceiling and surrounded by egg-like pods.

   “What the fuck?” she said, her fingers tightening. “This…this isn’t like my vault at all.”

   He suddenly wished he had kept his gun. 

   “Shall we leave?” he stupidly asked.

   Her head shook. “Not without my dad…come on.”

   The ghoul followed her to the base level, carefully navigating around the machines as she peered inside them, one by one. The husks within appeared to be human (at one point in their lives) but were mostly indistinguishable if not for the vaguely humanoid shape. 

   “What is this place?” Evelyn came around to another pod, staring at the near-dead occupant. “What the fuck is happening to these people?”

   Charon grunted as he directed her attention to the next one—the only one distinguishable from the rest.

   “Dad!”

   Evelyn dashed forward and beat her hands on the glass, shouting at the blinking smoothskin that wholly ignored them.

   “Dad!” she tried again. “Dad, it’s me! It’s Evelyn! Wake up! Dad!”

   The smoothskin didn’t acknowledge them; he couldn’t hear or see anything beyond the screen.

   Evelyn stomped over to the nearest Robobrain and pointed to her father’s pod. She ordered, “I need you to wake up my dad, right now!”

   The Robobrain computed her request and replied, “Please proceed to your assigned Tranquility lounger.” 

   Evelyn let out a frustrated snarl as she beat on the glass again.

   “Wake up, wake the fuck up!” Her voice became angry, like a current of black water in stormy seas. She screamed, “Wake the fuck up, you fucking asshole! How could you fucking leave me down there you piece of shit?! Wake up, wake up, WAKE THE FUCK UP! ”

   “Evelyn,” Charon urged her to the side before she could break her fist. “Calm down.”

   She had a twin stream of snot and tears running down her face. “He fucking left me down there! He left me for this!”

   “You do not know that,” he rasped. If he were honest with himself, neither did he, but a panicked employer was a dead employer. He gently held her by the shoulders and said, “Perhaps there is a way to wake him.”

   And if they couldn’t find one…he would make one.

   She settled, his cool demeanor chasing her high back down. She finally nodded and wiped her forearm across her snotty face. “Yeah, okay, you’re right…I’m sorry.”

   Charon eyed the Robobrain as she set to work with her investigative skills when the machine rolled to them once more, this time indicating to an empty pod.

   “Please proceed to your assigned Tranquility lounger.” 

   Evelyn only had to turn her head to give him a single look, and he snarled, “No.”

   “It might be the only way to reach my dad!” she exasperated as she immediately stepped over to it, pressing a button that lifted the dome.

   “You do not know that,” Charon rasped as he pulled her by the hand before she could hop inside. “Evelyn, it could be dangerous.”

   “I don’t know what else to do!” 

   “Then I shall shoot it.”

   “No! That could kill him!” She spun around, beginning to climb inside before he snagged an arm around her waist and hoisted her over one shoulder in preparation to make way for the exit. “Charon?! Put me down! Now!”

   He complied, dropping her without care. She winced, and he felt a light warning of the contract in his skull, but it soothed once she stood and snapped at him.

   “Look, I don’t like it any more than you do—"

   “Then let us leave.”

   “—but I’m not going anywhere without my dad, whether you like it or not!”

   Charon took a step back and eyed her critically. “You would stay for him, even though he had left you?”

   The words smacked her cleanly across the face as all of her anger fell into a puddle of tears for him to cup in his hands. 

   “Yes…” she said thickly, her words drowning with grief. “I have to.”

   “You do not.”

   Evelyn straightened her spine, and quite suddenly, she became collected with some form of resolve she had found. He did not know why she held it so tightly, but she refused to let it go as she said, “We’re not leaving here without him. I need him.”

   Charon stared at her. She stared at him. He broke off first and looked around the room, uncomfortable with the inevitable that was to come. He only looked back when he saw her climb inside the pod, and he quickly strode over to place a hand on her arm. 

   “If you are to do this…you should prepare, first.” 

   He didn’t think she would take the advice until she faintly nodded and climbed back down, her gaze to the far wall. 

   “You’re right…” she said, still avoiding him. “I’ll need to discuss your contract should I not wake—"

   He growled. 

   She ignored his sentiments on the matter and continued, “And I should eat something. I feel a little shaky. I also need to use the bathroom, so, feel free to wait here, I guess.”

   Both ghoul and dog watched her march off in search of the facilities when Charon turned to the mutt (that had decided to pass toxic gas).

   “Keep her safe,” he rasped. 

   Charon then climbed into the pod, shifted his overly large frame in the seat, and flexed his hands. The dome of the machine hissed as it closed, sealing him within and concealing everything around, and a screen blinked to life before his face.

   …

   …

   …

      Please Stand By

Chapter Text

   It was unlike her own, but it wasn’t all that different, either. A brief moment was given to simply stand there in that empty hallway under those buzzing fluorescents, the pasty glow now unsettling after the bright kiss of the sun. Her fingertips brushed down the metal walls, the cold steel withdrawing her warm touch. It had been months since she had left her home for the absolute shithole that was the wasteland above…but she could not find it within herself to reminisce for it, any longer.

   She thought she’d cry—maybe puke—but she had surprised her own self by placing one foot in front of the other, daring on ahead through those cold hallways like the intestines of some metal monster. She can now see herself down on her knees, sobbing and begging for mercy from a wavering Officer Gomez, the butt-end of his baton just shaking in the air above her skull as she pleads forgiveness for a crime she had not committed. 

   Please don’t kill me! I didn’t do anything! I don’t want to leave! 

   The door had been opened, and she had passed through. She had thought she had wanted to find her father, but the moment she had, sitting there so still and blank in that pod, she realized she didn’t even want to be here, but she had to…for him.

   “Please proceed to your assigned Tranquility lounger.” 

   Evelyn looked up from the ruddy face of bubbling snot and ugly eyes to the Robobrain, and she exhaled a sigh as she wiped her damp hands down the thighs of her suit. “Yeah, I know.”

   The ghoul that had kept her sanity stitched together (whilst simultaneously tearing it apart with his teeth) was missing upon her return to the main atrium. She tripped over her foot at the sight of the closed pod, stumbling forward a few feet before she finally crashed on her hands and knees.

   “Charon!” she squawked, scrabbling close to smush her face and palms to the glass. 

   The ghoul was motionless aside from the repeated curling of his hands into loose fists, his eyes blinking and breathing slow. She banged on the pod, but it elicited no reaction from him. 

   “Charon!” she repeated, and then snapped her head to the dog. “How could you let him do this?!”

   Dogmeat cocked his ears to the side and whined.

   “I can’t fucking believe you!” she growled, stomping over to the terminal to overlook his vitals. 

   Charon may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed at times, but he was certainly the most dangerous. A man of his nature, braving a threat she had no face to, and somewhere along the lines encountering her father…  

   Charon would have come with her from 101, so now, she would follow him all the way inside 112.

   There was another empty pod, but the dome wouldn’t release after it buzzed angrily at her attempts. 

   She snapped a finger at the nearest Robobrain and ordered, “Fix this. I need to get inside!”

   It stopped and waved a mechanical claw around. “Please proceed to your assigned—” 

   “Ugh!” she shouted with a throw of her hands in the air, stomping off to retrieve her gear. “Fine! I’ll fix it myself!”

   Twenty minutes in and she was knelt beside the malfunctioning pod, her tongue out to the side as she continued troubleshooting the problem. Dogmeat whined, and she glanced up to blow a stray hair from her face.

   “If I can disable an atomic bomb, I’m sure I can fix this,” she confidently assured the mutt(herself). “I mean, how hard can it really be?”

   The world was as it was before…when…(he couldn’t remember). Everything was lost of its color. A small, cookie-cutter suburb. White picket fences, lush trees, trimmed grass, and neat pavement—a perfect reminiscence of Pre-War times.

   He was aware that he was seated on a bench, and he looked down at himself after feeling a hint of a breeze between his thighs. A monochrome dress with frills. Black buckle shoes and white knee-high socks. Charon stood and turned to catch sight of himself from a window, his fingers coming up to his patchy head to investigate the tiny butterfly clips on some wisps of hair. 

   He was dressed like a little girl. 

   “Hey there, sport.” A man wearing clean, ironed clothes approached him down the sidewalk. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

   The smoothskin wasn’t screaming, or at the very least repulsed by his presence. It was as though he saw him as a child, but it made no difference as he got straight to business. “Where is James?”

   “James? Why, don’t think I’ve heard of him!” The smoothskin waved him off with a cheery smile. “You go run along and play now!”

   Charon narrowed his eyes slightly before looking around at the others milling about and marched off to the next person closest—a young boy manning a lemonade stand.

   “James,” Charon rasped, hard. “Where?”

   The boy just smiled and held over a cup. “Want some lemonade? Maybe we can play together!”

   Charon’s mouth downturned into a deeper-than-usual frown. Was Evelyn’s father perhaps in a different simulation than his own? The ghoul made the rounds, questioning each and every person, and he was met with the same answer each time. 

    James? Never heard of him, but don’t worry, he's probably around here somewhere! 

   The ghoul grumbled sourly to himself as he turned his attention to the middle of the cul-de-sac and the remaining person he had yet to speak with. He passed a large dog that came a bit too close for his liking, and he growled with a warning of, “Stay away from me.” 

   The little girl in the center turned to him as he stepped up, and before he could ask her the only question that mattered, she impeded with, “Oh! Someone new to play with!” She squinted her eyes and thinned her lips. “Strange. It appears your unit is faulty.”

   Charon crossed his arms in his trademark intimidating stance—a slight widening of the legs with their stockings, a stiffening of the spine that overly stretched the dress, and a murderous glare on his nightmare of a face…with a butterfly clip drooping slightly to the side.

   “James,” he rasped with finality. “Where is he?”

   “James,” she repeated with a little lilt to her voice, a strange light brightening her eyes. “You’re here for him? Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!”

   Charon growled, “Tell me, now.”

   “Yeah, or what?” she smirked. Charon raised a fist, but the little girl chided with a waggle of her finger, “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Do that, and I may be tempted to keep James… Forever.”

   Charon’s fist slowly lowered, and the petulant brat’s smile grew. He did not know where James was, and risking him would make Evelyn gravely upset. He had to be patient…for now.

   “It seems at least some of the program is still intact, oh, how marvelous this will be!” she giggled, pointing to the first child he had spoken with earlier. “Make Timmy Neusbaum cry.” 

   Charon raised a brow muscle, but relented with a gravelly sigh as he spun on his heel and marched straight to the boy, who graced him with a shy smile and another offering of some lemonade.

   “Here! Are you ready to play now?” he jovially asked.

   Charon smacked the cup out of his hand, splashing lemonade all over the sidewalk. The boy gasped and looked at him as though he could finally see the monster beneath the delicate lace...no tears, though. He’d have to take it another step further…

   (What made Evelyn cry?)

   “Your father hates you,” he bluntly rasped. 

   The boy was stunned, but he could see the quiver of his lower lip. “…what?” 

   Charon continued, firing off like a cannonball, “He wishes you were dead.”

   “No!” the child sobbed, dashing from his stall. “Mommy! Dad!”

   (Good enough)

   He returned to the little girl. She was highly amused with that stupid smile on her face, and she clapped her hands. Her voice then suddenly took a completely fucking 180, and Charon’s brows shot up and disappeared under the folds of his wrinkly forehead as an older man with a German accent used the girl’s skin suit like a medium. 

   “That was, rudimentary, at best,” the little girl (man?) congratulated. She crossed her arms. “I shall let you answer one question, so think carefully.”

   “James,” Charon growled, his hands curling into fists. “Where?” 

   “James, James, James,” the (whatever the fuck he was) sighed a bored lament. “I suppose that was predictable. He is here, and he is safe. Now, as for the next game…”

   “I don’t care for your stupid fucking games,” the big fucking ghoul snarled as he took a threatening step forward. 

   “If you wish to see James, then you most certainly will,” the little girl chimed again, her voice back to its original state. She picked up a watering can at her side, dousing a pair of tulips at her feet. “Break the Rockwell’s marriage apart, without killing them.” 

   Charon burned his best glare at the girl, hoping it would incinerate her to straight ash as he stalked off.

   “Oh, Roger and Janet? Yes, sweetie, they live just over there,” a woman answered after he had demanded their whereabouts. 

   Charon invited himself into their home, taking a moment to look around the house and its pristine state. Evelyn would have liked it.

   A woman came over at the sound of his entrance through the front door. “Why, hello there. Are you lost, dearie?” 

   Charon looked away from a table lamp, thinking hard for a few seconds about what to say.

   “End your marriage,” he demanded.

   “Oh, now why on earth would you suggest such a thing?” the woman laughed, albeit without any humor. “My, my…”

   Charon trudged back to the park, unsuccessful with his strategy. 

   The child was regarding him with curious intent upon his arrival. “I don’t hear any happy marriages falling apart yet…”

   The ghoul said plainly, “I have tried.” 

   She giggled and shook her head. “How boring! You’re going to have to think of something!”

   The ghoul dumbly stood in the middle of the road, eyeing the residents who meandered around without a single fucking care in the world while the cogs in his brain were shifting and grinding ever-so-slowly until a little girl ran up to him with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip.

   “Oh my God, Charon,” her little voice said.

   He cocked his head to the side. “You know me?” he rasped, somewhat surprised. 

   The little girl hid her widening smile behind one hand—unsuccessfully—before she burst into side-splitting laughter. “You look ridiculous!” she wheezed.

   Charon raised a hand to pelt the brat in the face when she immediately flew her hands up and wildly waved them around. 

   “It's me, big guy, it's Evelyn!” she squeaked. 

   “Evelyn…” he repeated slowly, and then he snarled, “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

   “I could say the same thing to you, you big idiot!” she snapped with her comically small voice. She crossed her arms over the identical dress he wore, tapping her shiny little black shoes. “I got the other pod working and came after you!”

   He blinked. Her resourcefulness was troubling, at best, during the worst of times.

   Tiny Evelyn was looking around, apparently already satisfied with their conversation. “Where's my...?”

   “I do not know,” he said, not bothering to hide his grumpiness. “I have been searching.”

   Her eyes rounded back on him. “Why are you wearing that?”

   He crossed his arms. “I did not have a choice. Why are you a child?”

   “I didn't have one either.” She shrugged. 

   Charon grunted and pulled her around by the wrist to the back of a house, granting them some semblance of privacy from the perverted girl-man-child and her beady little eyes.

   “Are you safe?” he asked straightforwardly. When she only glanced down at herself with a frown, he irritably sighed, “Outside.”

   “Oh, yeah. I gave Dogmeat directions just in case neither of us woke up from this thing after three days.”

   He looked at her skeptically, his tone flatter than the wasteland Midwestern plains. “The dog?”

   “Well, you fucking left me before forming any sort of plan, so I worked with what I had!” she snapped, her voice shrill. “I told him to bring Moira a letter I wrote that explains everything. She'll know what to do...I hope.”

   Charon pinched what remained of the bridge of his nose. They had to find James, and quickly...or risk eternity in this state. 

   Child-Evelyn was fascinated with the bark on a tree, attempting to peel the thing clean off while he crossed his arms and tapped his finger on his bicep. 

   “The child at the playground is not what she appears to be,” he rasped, watching her crouch down to pull at some grass. “It has been toying with me and avoiding my questions pertaining to your father.”

   His pint-sized employer inspected a pinecone she had picked up. “Betty? Some of the adults kept telling me she wanted to play.” Evelyn looked back up to him. “What does she want?”

   Charon quickly explained his fruitless endeavors, and she tossed the pinecone over her shoulder before waving at him to follow. 

   “Let’s go back to Betty.”

   The girl kept her back turned, continually whistling a tune until Evelyn stopped a few feet away and loudly cleared her throat. 

   “Okay, Betty,” she huffed, her thin arms crossed to mirror his stance behind her. “No more games. You know why we’re here, and we’re not leaving until you give me my dad.”

   The devil prodigy was only staring at him with a tilt of her head and a curious quirk on her lips. It ignored Evelyn like a mule would a gnat. “My earlier assumption was incorrect,” the German accent returned with keen interest. “You are the one who is faulty.”

   Evelyn stamped her foot. “Look pal—”   

   “I had only heard rumors of the initial testing during my time spent on the G.E.C.K., but, I did not think it had been finished. It is truly a wonder any of you had survived the war…”

   Evelyn was now staring at him, too. 

   “Curious," the child mused. "Is she the reason you are here?”

   Charon said nothing; Evelyn just looked at him with innocently wide eyes, black where there used to be blue. 

   The child’s smile grew to a frightening degree. “If I were to kill her, what do you imagine it would do?”

   The BOMB 

   There's a whistle. First, it is quiet, fading in from the reaches beyond his consciousness, but then it begins to grow louder, and louder, and it grows to be so loud he tries to clamp his hands over his ears, and suddenly, a light, so bright that he rapidly blinks, trying to make sense of it all. The gates of Hell open in the sky—there is no sound. Not the wind passing by, the chirp of the birds, or even the beat of his own heart in his chest. He stares on, too afraid to watch, and yet even more afraid to turn away.  It looms over all of creation as it blots out the sun, and there is no escape from the pale horse that rears its head.

   There Is Only DEATH

   The rush of that scalding wind flays the flesh from his body and sucks the air from his lungs, bubbles and boils and he tries to stop it as he rips the skin from his face as it melts from his hands and he shrieks, squishes it beneath his feet as he tries to hide from the pain, to run away from everyone as they hold onto him as he passes but he cannot get away, for they have his arms, his legs, and his neck, and they pull him down, drowning under the black rain that falls from the sky to smite them. He is blind, He is deaf, He is mute. Nothing is to last and everything is to blame, and he is here, sobbing in his hands despite no tears to stain them. It consumes everything, and yet will never be sated.

There’s No Discharge In The WAR

   On the first day, God gives him sight. He wants to pluck his own eyes out, but he can’t, and he can only watch what they do to each other—what he does to them. Then, on the second day, God gives him sound. The wails of the dead that had not yet passed over echo in his brain, and his fingers are bloody and raw from clawing at his head to make them stop. By the third day, God gives him touch. He screams until his voice is gone, but his mouth is open wide, and he lays in the dirt for the worms to crawl inside and eat their fill. He does not know the passing of days, or weeks, or months, or years. He knows the dark, the rain, and the flames. But on the fourth day, God grants him mercy. 

The CONTRACT 

   The words are jumbled and far and just behind his eyes, but slowly, piece by piece, they form together until he is reciting them in prayer, head bowed and hands shackled as it raises him from his grave to the salvation of Deliverance. He speaks the words onto the parchment like a commandment from God, for it was given to him, and it is his burden to carry. There is no thirst, there is no hunger, there is no weariness, there is the contract, there is himself, and there is the One whom he is meant to follow. Their pilgrimage is his own, and his boots boots boots go marching along.

For On The Fifth DAY

   Everything is white…and then it isn’t. He is seated on the bench again, and he is alone. He frowned as he stood, no longer wearing that silly dress and shiny shoes and droopy butterfly clips.

   “Evelyn!” he barked out, marching off towards the playground. There is no Evelyn, or Betty, or even the dog.  

   “Evelyn!” he called again, and he looked up to the sun. Charon goes house to house, room to room, shouting as he frantically searched, “Evelyn!”

   The knob for the last house was turned, and he stepped inside, finding the little girl softly crying to herself in the corner. “Make them stop,” she sobbed quietly. “Mein Gott. Es tut mir leid…”

   Charon growled as he came close, “Where is Evelyn?”

   The little girl clamped her hands over her ears, shaking her head and rocking herself like a babe in a cradle. “Es tut mir leid, es tut mir leid, es tut—!”

   Charon grabbed the child by the shoulder and pulled her up to look at him, a nasty snarl ready to lunge for her throat as he roared, “GIVE HER TO ME!”

   She attempted to scrabble away. “No more! No more!” Charon dropped a frail, old man to crawl away on his hands and knees as he only repeated, “Es tut mir leid, es tut mir leid, es tut mir—!”  

   A door shimmered from thin air, and He walked through.

God Gave Him The Greatest Gift Of ALL

Chapter Text

   There had been a flash of white—her eyes continuously rolled in their sockets before there was nothing but black—before they were somewhere deep below ground, damp and chill, and then a warmth pressed to her skin, tender, and full of love, ebbing that darkness away.

   “Are you alright?” His voice, as hot and gritty as the baked stones under the wasteland sun. 

   Her eyes fluttered open, and she weakly nodded, feeling a press of something firm against her soft lips, and she brought her hands up to hold on to the face that granted her wildest dreams, whilst bringing alive men's worst nightmares. They broke apart, his saliva on her tongue, before Charon lifted her from the pod and helped her regain balance and a sense of reality.

   “Evelyn?” Another voice, but this one was smooth like the cool river’s water over sand, and there was nothing to follow it—no sweetheart, no darling, no child. Not as a daughter, but as Evelyn.

   Just...Evelyn.

   “What are you doing here?” James asked. 

   Evelyn stiffened her spine and looked him straight in the eye. Was it the lighting, or did her father appear older than she remembered? His beard was rugged and cheaply shorn, his skin wrinkled and burnt, and his eyes…they were the eyes of a man she did not recognize. 

   “We need to talk,” was all she offered him, her voice hard and words final. 

   “We most certainly do,” he chided. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes (Evelyn, how many times do I have to tell you?) as he waved his hand around like he was merely lecturing her for skipping class. “What had compelled you to leave the vault!? Do you realize what that—?”

   Evelyn snapped back at him like a jungle cat, teeth bared and claws sharp, “You don’t get a single say in what I can and can’t do with my life! I’m an adult now, remember?!”

   James was a little taken back by the hostility, but he double downed with, “You are still my daughter, and as your father—!”

   She slapped a boot to the floor with her hands balled at her sides. “You lost all privilege of being my father the moment you fucking left me down there!” A fat wad of emotion balled up in her throat, and she sobbed as she screwed her eyes shut and rubbed at them with her fists. “You have no idea how selfish you’ve been! They were going to kill me! I-I thought I was going to die!”

   Charon blocked her from view as James took a step forward, a deep growl resonating in the ghoul’s chest. 

   Her father faltered, but he finally relented in a softer tone, “Evelyn…I cannot begin to say how sorry I am for all that has happened since I left. Let us take a moment to talk, properly, alright?”

   Charon kept her close as he lowly rasped just for her to hear, “Shall we leave?”

   She sniffled, the skin of her eyes puffy and chaffed. “No. I need to do this. We came this far, and I can’t turn back on it now. Can you give us a few minutes, maybe bring me my things so I can change?”

   He eyed her before roughly wiping at her wet cheek with the rugged pad of his thumb. “Very well.”

   They both watched the big ghoul leave the room, and her father took the first plunge into the icy waters that had drifted between them. 

   “In spite of the circumstances, I’m glad you’re here.” There was no smile on his face, but she could hear it in his heart.

   She crossed her arms. “It wasn’t easy…”

   “No. I suspect it wasn’t.” There was an awkward silence overhanging them, and James looked down at the dog sniffing his boots. “Why, hello there. Who is this?”

   “Dogmeat,” she succinctly answered.

   The lack of breathing room made her father sigh as he reached down to rub the mutt between the ears. “You have every right to feel as you do, but, understand I left for a very good reason—” 

   “I can give a shit less why you chose to abandon me,” Evelyn snarked. “Unlike yourself, I actually care about the ones I love—”

   “Love?” he questioned, but she ignored him as she continued.

   “—and the only reason I’m here is for your help. I need you to come back to Rivet City with us for something important, and then you can go off and do whatever it was you deemed more important than me.”

   James said nothing but stared at her with great sadness, and she swallowed the shame that rose from it, tears smarting her eyes again from the struggle. 

   “…I see,” he finally said.

   The creaking of heavy boots announced Charon’s return, and she drifted away to take her pack. “There’s a bathroom upstairs,” she told the ghoul, and he followed her lead while swiveling his head around to throw a nasty glare over his shoulder.

   The taps were spun, and some cold water was splashed on her face. She looked in the mirror at the person she’d hardly come to recognize as herself.

   “You are not happy,” that gravelly voice behind her stated matter-of-factly.

   She ducked her head a little, watching the water swirl down the drain. Much like her entire life. “No…I guess not.” 

   The ghoul fidgeted, which she now realized he only came to do when he was unsure of something. He said, “You have found your father, just as you had wanted.”

   Evelyn turned, a drop of water rolling off her chin. “What is it you’re trying to say?” she asked softly.

   The tone of his voice became sharp, as though he had not a single doubt in his mind. “You had promised it ‘would be worth it’. I do not see how it was.”   

   The little tab of her zipper came between her fingers, slowly drawn down the length of her skin. He stared at every inch given to him, his right hand's index and middle finger twitching against his thigh. 

   “Did you forget what I told you in that lab?” When he didn’t answer with anything but a stern crease of his brows, she unshouldered her suit and pulled the sleeves away. “I want you for you, Charon. Contract…or not.”

   “There is always a contract,” he reminded her robotically. She began to unlace her boots, and he added, “If you would like, I will shoot him.”

   The laugh startled herself as it bounced off her lips and around the metal walls, harsh on her ears from how hollow it sounded. “No, that’s okay, big guy,” she said, still giggling aloud. “We actually want to keep my dad alive, so, no ‘unfortunate accidents’.”

   “It does not have to be,” he muttered as she stepped out of her boots, her naked toes wiggling against the steel floor. “I do not like him.”

   That earned a tight smile on her face as she held up her original suit, shaking the life back into it. “I don’t think you like anyone.” She then winked with a teasing, “Besides me.” She tipped up as he bent down to meet their lips for a kiss. “Let’s just try to get back to Rivet City in one piece, alright?” 

   Nothing more was said between them as they finished preparing for the journey back into the wastes, her knife at her belt with his shotgun on his back, their gear tightened down and boots laced up as they reconvened with her father in the main atrium. 

   James had been studying the screen of a terminal, his expression grim. “It appears whatever failsafe had been activated had killed the rest of the occupants…not a very pleasant way to go, but at least they’re finally at peace from Braun’s nightmare. It is strange. I only remember you appearing in the park before waking back up here...” He turned to them, picking up his bag from the floor. “I can see now that it appears I’ve been gone for months. I did not realize how much time had passed while I had been trapped in there, and I could have very well been stuck forever, so, thank you.”

   A hand was held over for her to take—an olive branch that she doused in flames as she remained by Charon's side. 

   “We have a route that’s safe to backtrack to Megaton. I have a house there and we can resupply before the final leg to the city.” She raised her eyes while his hand slowly fell back to his side. “No offense Dad, but you kind of look like shit. I’m guessing being a wastelander isn’t exactly your day job? Not that I would know. Charon, on the other hand, is pretty damn good at what he does. He’s saved my ass more times than I can count. I wouldn’t be alive to speak to you now if it weren’t for him.”

   Her father folded his arms with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, taking in the big ghoul that hovered a little too closely for his liking beside her. “I suppose I also owe him a great thank you, then, for keeping safe care of my daughter.”

   “Sure,” was all she said, cut and dry as she spun on her heel to march for the exit. “Come on, boy.”

   Dogmeat lazily trotted off to join her, leaving the two men a few paces behind as James stepped in Charon’s path to offer him the respect one man does to another. 

   “Charon, is it? I guess there’s no better time for introductions. I’m James, Evelyn’s father.”

   Charon stared down at the hand before taking it with his own and giving a firm shake. He ignored the pained gasp that left the smoothskin’s throat.

   “I am the boyfriend.” 

   James began to violently cough, doubling over on his knees as the small party left him behind for the surface.

   Evelyn turned after having ascended the stairs for the garage, raising a brow as she peered back down the shaft into the gloom. “Where’s my dad?”

   Charon shrugged. 

   She cupped a hand around her mouth and called out, “Dad?” James appeared moments later, his skin unusually pale and eyes rimmed white as though he had seen her mother's ghost. She asked with concern, “What happened? Are you okay?”

   James pointed a shaking finger at the ghoul who just nonchalantly hung at her back, Charon’s expression completely aloof. “You-you cannot be serious! I must have unfortunately misheard him when he told me that, that, oh dear God! You are not honestly—”

   Charon bluntly interrupted, “We have sex.” 

   Evelyn’s jaw dropped to the floor as she whirled on the ghoul, absolutely mortified. “Charon!”

   He growled, slightly annoyed at the theatrics. “It is the truth, is it not?”

   “Well, yes, but—!”

   “Then what is the problem?”

   She squeaked with a flail of her hands, “I don’t want my dad to know about that! It’s none of his business!”

   He crossed his arms, one hundred percent serious. “It is everyone’s business.” He then gave her a once-over. “You are loud.”

   “CHARON!”

   He nodded. “Like that.” The ghoul had to throw an arm around her as she nearly fainted. 

   James, however, fell on his face to the floor.

   Evelyn struggled from the ghoul’s arms, crying out, “Dad!” She went down to her knees at his side, checking his pulse when her own was ready to leap out of her throat. She shooed the dog away as its tongue began to noodle inside her father’s ear for a taste of his brain. “Jesus, he's out fucking cold.” She stood over his limp body, giving her partner a scowl. "I guess we're staying here."

   They set up a small camp within the garage, comfortable around a fire as Evelyn laid her thin blanket over James’ body. The duo sat beside each other, silent, as they both stared into the flames and found words difficult to speak. 

   Evelyn attempted first, her hands wringing together. "I'm not trying to keep us a secret, or anything, but...it's embarrassing for my father to know that sort of stuff."

   "I do not see how."

   "Cause he's my dad."

   "I can still shoot him."

   "Ugh!" She flopped into his lap, hiding her face behind her hands. "I'm pretty sure he's going to die from what you say alone."

   A sudden gasp broke out as James straightened himself into a seated position. “I had the strangest dream I was back to being a dog...” he muttered, but then the life in his eyes died as they came to rest on the ghoul staring back at him with a look that could commit its own murder...and at the head seated comfortably between his legs.

   James immediately stumbled to his feet, and for the exit. 

   Evelyn jumped after him, wholly confused. “Where are you going?! Dad! It’s not safe at night!”

   James halted in the open doorway, the full moon bleeding a pale light over him. He kept his eyes on the horizon, his steady demeanor for once uncertain. “I…I need some time to think. I will rejoin you in Megaton. I promise.” 

   And with that, the door closed, and her father was gone once more. 

   The door to the saloon opened, and Gob turned from stocking the liquor shelf to the ambling smoothskin that had wandered inside. “Welcome to Gob’s, what can I—?”

   The bartender paused, instead eyeing this newcomer who plunked on a stool at the bar and wearily waved a hand, his shoulders heavy with some invisible burden.

   “Bourbon, scotch, whiskey—anything,” the smoothskin coughed out. “And a glass of water…please.”

   Gob didn’t promptly attend to his request, his rasp full of doubt and yet sure-as-all-hell. “You’re Evelyn’s father, right? I remember you, somewhat.”

   The smoothskin (what was his name?) raised his head and blinked a few times. “Yes, I am…and, you are…?”

   “Gob. I’m the, uh, owner of the saloon. Moriarty’s dead—if you care. I know your daughter. She lives here. She’s been looking for you.”

   “And she found me,” the smoothskin said with a tired sigh. 

   Gob studied this man as he pulled down a bottle of amber liquid with a glass to marry it. “Here.” The smoothskin (James!) gave a nod of his head in thanks and immediately began to pour, and the ghoul watched with some unease as he kicked it right back. “Is…is Evelyn, okay?”

   James stared through the bottom of his cup, looking for something that all of the knowledge in the world couldn’t tell him. “I don’t know the answer to that question, right now.”

   Gob felt a stone drop in his gut, and he licked his mouth as he warbled, “O-oh, she didn’t, uh, I mean…I didn’t think that—”

   James slammed his glass down after kicking another round back. “Oh, no, she’s…she’s safe.”

   The relief was immediate and euphoric, and the ghoul happily rasped as he wiped down the counter, “That’s good—phew—for a second there, I was afraid something had happened.”

   “Rest be assured, something indeed has,” he replied almost bitterly. 

   Gob quirked a brow muscle but continued with his duties, the heightened curiosity in the smoothskin eating away at him as he wished to ask a multitude of questions, but had no ambition to interrupt whatever sort of mood Evelyn’s father seemed to be stewing in. 

   “Do you know anything about the ghoul she travels with?” James suddenly spoke up. The glass of water at his elbow was ignored as he downed yet another knuckle’s worth of booze. 

   “Charon? Yeah. He’s her, um…bodyguard.” Gob scratched at his elbow, unsure of how much information to give a man like this about a situation…like that. 

   James cut between his teeth, “He had implied they were a bit more than that.” 

   “Oh.” Gob poked a finger in his earhole, wiggling it around some. “I’m not sure I’m the person to be asking about it.” He flicked what he had pulled out. “They didn't come back with you?”

   James poured a little more in his cup before nursing it to his chest. “No. I needed some time alone…which I would like now, thank you.”

   Gob just mumbled something unintelligible, leaving the smoothskin to his battered and broken resolve as he went about the flow of his usual day-to-day routine. Count the drawer. Wipe the tables. Mop the floors. Take a piss. He had his elbows deep in sudsy Abraxo water, cleaning glasses before hanging them to dry when James sloppily waved at him. 

   He dried his mottled and ruined skin on a towel as he came on over, garbling, “Yeah? You look done, smoothskin.”

   James had that shine to his eyes that spoke of too much liquor and not enough sleep, but the man just shook his head and spoke with such slurred speech Gob was amazed he hadn’t fallen off his stool yet. 

   “Y-yeh jus, dun unnnersan.” He wavered like a buoy in choppy waters. “Clean watah.”

   Gob stared. “Huh?”

   “Clean watah!” James cried, slamming a fist on the counter. 

   The ghoul shook his head. He’d have to get this smoothskin to a room, and soon, before he decided to pass out and take residence on his floor. “Look, er, smoothskin, you should—”

   James grabbed at his glass of water that was still full to the brim, sloshing it around as he raised it in a toast. “Fer the wasslan!”

   Gob threw a towel down to soak up the sinking ship, turning his head as the door opened again to Nova returning from her day of shopping. She blinked at the man that had passed out with his head on the counter. 

   “What happened here? Should I get Simms?” she mused, coming around the side to get a better view of him. “Well, what do you know. I’d recognize that handsome mug anywhere. What was his name again?”

   “James,” Gob sighed, taking the towel to wring out in the sink before laying it down again. “Guess Evelyn found him…and he found out about, you know, Charon.”

   Nova breathily laughed. “Guess Daddy didn’t take too well to learning his sweet little girl is getting dicked down by three feet of ghoul cock every night.”

   Gob gasped, “N-Nova!”

   “What? He’s totally out, he can’t hear me.” She lifted one of his arms, letting it drop like dead weight back to the counter. “What’ll we do with him?”

   The ghoul rubbed at his face and shrugged. “I guess we can leave him, let him sleep it off…hopefully Evelyn comes back soon.”

   At first, she had been distant, and he had begun to worry with nary a betrayal of emotion on his face that perhaps he had angered her in some way, that he had ruined whatever it was she had come to find, but then she had stripped her suit and pulled his belt from their loops, her eyes hot and lips curled in a snarl. 

   “Don’t hold back.”

   That’s what she had told him, and he hadn’t, as he slammed her with everything he had and held on to the skin of her throat with his teeth and kept her pinned to the ground like some savage animal, burying her away from the eyes of the world. She whimpered and cried out and begged him, over and over and over, and he gave her everything she asked of him. 

   He received no more stories of her life down in the vault as they traveled back to Megaton, and when he had asked her, she only turned to look at him with that same fire he felt burning through his veins. 

   “That isn’t my life anymore—it’s dead.” 

   And he didn’t ask her again. 

   They came to pass Tenpenny tower, and she once more stared at the flock of crows that circled its skies, and as they went on ahead around its outskirts, she caught a glimpse of the open gates and the lumps of bloated bodies the wildlife was beginning to pick through. 

   “Did you kill them? All of them?” she asked.

   He gave her a sidelong glance. “Yes.”

   “Why? I thought…I thought maybe you wanted to join them.”

   Charon snorted. “They were a threat.”

   Her feet stopped. “Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

   His did, too. He looked out over the wastes, unable to meet her eyes. “...I do not know.”

   Their last campsite before reaching Megaton's frontier was painfully quiet. No giggles, no hushed whispers of something she couldn't tell fast enough—not even the simple smack of their lips or the slap of his bare skin on hers. He did not like the silence that now crept between them. He blamed her father for whatever it was she was feeling, and he made a vow to have him fix it, and soon. They sat on opposite ends of the fire, the dog at her back while the cold air brushed his. 

   "He left you again," he rasped without thinking, for it was a simple truth, but judging by the look in her eyes, it must have been the wrong thing to say. He fumbled with his thoughts, and just instead growled at himself as he folded his arms and tensed his shoulders. He repeated, "I do not like him."

   "I'm sure the feeling is mutual."

   He snarled, "I am a ghoul. You are not. It is to be expected."

   "My father might be a lot of things, but he isn't a bigot," she said just as tersely, mulishly crossing her arms to copy him. Their eyes held one another's over the fire, each reflecting the same hot anger. "I never...had anyone, before you. He's just shocked, is all."

   That should have cooled him, but it didn't. He supposed he just really did not like James...but he did not like a lot of people, or any, aside from his smoothskin. That much she was correct about.

   "Do you wish for him to like me?" he asked, a little quietly. 

   She blinked, her arms slowly relaxing back to her lap. "No. I don't need Dad's approval, and I wouldn't care if he never does, anyway." She stood and came around the fire to sit next to him, their knees touching and her shoulder leaning into his. His eyes softened as she looked up at him and said, "I like you. That's all that matters."

   "You will always like me?" he rasped, unsurely. 

   She smiled, but it was sad. "I will, big guy. I'm not going anywhere if you don't."

   He nodded. He did not believe in promises, but somehow, she always seemed to keep hers. 

   Megaton welcomed them with open arms and a laundry list of things to do, but Evelyn just waved them off and returned to her home, finding only the robot there to greet them.

   She dumped her gear on the table. “Dad must be at the saloon or the common house…if he made it all.”

   She spun the taps to the bath as he unshouldered his bag and rotated his shoulder—it was stiff.

   "You do not wish to look for him?" he inquired. He was mildly surprised—but then again, perhaps he wasn't. Their relationship appeared to be quite complicated, and he didn't care what it particularly was so long as she was happy. “Shall I bring him here?”

   “No,” she said before stripping naked. "Care to join?" 

   He stayed in to soak after she departed, easing his tired muscles and closing his eyes as she prepared a hot meal he knew he'd find distasteful (but scarf anyway) and tended to the mutt. She leisurely went about organizing her bag and brushing her wild hair while he watched from the bed, dressed in only his pants and fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket.

   She set the comb down. "Okay. Let's go."

   Charon dressed and followed, the sun well below and the moon completely gone. He barely halted himself in time from bumping into her as she abruptly paused in the middle of the walkway up the ramp. He looked around, thinking she had caught a glimpse of her father, but he found her head tilted upwards. 

   “I never knew there were so many stars in the sky,” she said a little softly. 

   He, too, looked up at them all. If he could pull one down for her, he would try. 

   “The Bible says that’s where Heaven is.” He could see it in her eyes as she continued to wonder. “I don’t really believe in it anymore, but it would be nice, if it was.”

   Charon didn’t believe in anything…but if she were to go there, then he would like to, too.

   They entered the saloon—James was there. He was seated on Evelyn’s usual chair, a slouch to his shoulders and a half-empty bottle at his elbow. 

   “Dad?” Evelyn came to his side, laying a hand gently on his back. “Are you alright? You don’t drink.” Her eyes went wide as she turned to the ghoul. “He’s totally passed out!”

   “Oh, smoothskin, thank God you’re finally back,” Gob rasped as he came forward, taking the bottle safely away. “I was worried something had happened to you two.”

   “Why? Did he say anything? How much did he drink?” She picked up an arm to throw over one shoulder. “He’s going to need a room.”

   Charon took her burden. “I will take him.”

   Evelyn narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re not going to throw him off the balcony, are you?”

   He snorted, in good humor despite his rasp being dry. “It is a thought.”

   “And that’s all it’ll be,” she bantered in return as she watched him effortlessly lift the man from his seat and begin to half-drag him along. “Thank you, Charon.” 

   He grunted as she turned to then converse with the bartender and glean the details of her father’s mishaps while he lugged James up the stairs and to his room for the rest of the evening. He turned the knob and threw it open, the slamming of the frame against the wall rousing the drunken smoothskin from his stupor.

   “What…where?” James drawled as he was roughly set on the thin mattress. 

   Charon turned for the door, but the smoothskin called out at his back.

   “Catherine.”

   The ghoul didn’t know why he stayed, or what sort of force made him turn around to face the man who had given the woman he loved so much heartache and grief, but he did it all the same, and James looked up at him with awe.

   “I did not believe my eyes when I saw her,” he said quietly. “Our little girl, all grown up, right there before me…a woman, so fierce and strong and yet still as stubborn as ever.”

   He laughed.

   “Oh, how far she's come from when I first held her in my arms with her mother’s blood still on her brow. I…I thought she was you, for a moment, my love…she looked just like you. Everyone says she takes after her father, but oh no, if only they knew…she’s so beautiful. My Evelyn. She looked at him the way you looked at me, but he doesn’t deserve her, doesn’t she see that? How could she not? None of them did—none of them do!”

   James closed his eyes.

   “She will do great things in this life—I know she will—she’ll go farther than either of us ever have before… I love her so much, Catherine…”

   His voice began the journey to the realm of sleep, soft and drifting.

   "She’s everything you told me she would be."

   The minutes passed, and Charon heard the rhythmic draw of his deep breathing. He left the room with the door closed behind him, making his way back down the steps to her. Evelyn had been waiting on the stool where her father had previously sat, giving him a curious look.

   “That took awhile,” she noted, adding with a little sarcasm, “Is he alive?”

   He nodded. “He will be fine.”

   They went home to bed, their clothes on the floor as tangled as their limbs, and he looked up at a hole that had formed in her roof, getting a glimpse of all those stars, and he realized he already had one, just there in the palm of his hands. 

Chapter Text

   The warmer season was beginning to descend upon the Capital Wasteland, and with it, the rolling radstorms. Charon felt the faint vibration in his bones and teeth as it brewed miles off the coast—he was unsure if it was a particular ghoul sense to be had, or if he was just unnaturally perceptive—but it made him step outside to gauge the severity of it. The clouds were so dark one could mistake the early morning for the hours of late, and he witnessed the other settlers beginning preparations for a stormy day tucked inside—preferably with some RadAway. 

   The ghoul climbed the roof, feeling the wind curl around him like the coils of a giant snake, and sealed away his view of Heaven. He then came back in and heard her rustling out of bed as he rummaged through her medical supplies on the second floor.

   “Charon?” her sleepy voice called out (with one of his ridiculously large shirts drawn down to her knees). She rubbed at her eyes. “What time is it? What are you doing?”

   He set a bag of RadAway to the side. “There is a radstorm coming. I am preparing.” 

   “Oh.” She folded her arms and made a face at the needle he held up next. “Maybe just some Rad-X would be enough…?”

   “I do not think so.”

   A knock at the door made them peer over the railing. 

   “That’s more than likely my dad,” she said behind a yawn. “Do you mind, while I change?”

   He very much did…but he wasn’t about to tell her that. 

   Charon opened the door just as a great big BOOM sounded off in the sky. James was indeed there, at their front step, staring up at him with a clearing of his throat. 

   “Hello again, Charon,” he said stiffly, but he at least gave him the decency of looking him in the eye as he spoke. “I was told Evelyn lives here?”

   “She is upstairs,” the ghoul coolly replied. He didn’t say anything more, or even move the slightest inch out of the doorway. When it was plain that the smoothskin wasn’t about to be spooked off so easily, he rasped through clenched teeth, “Yes?”

   “I would like to speak with her.”

   Charon leaned down to impart some not-so-friendly wisdom when she poked out from underneath his arm. 

   “Hi, Dad. Come in.”

   She retreated, and the ghoul begrudgingly took a step to the side, his head slowly following the man as he walked past. Charon closed the door and proceeded back up the stairs as they took to awkwardly standing around in her tiny living area. 

   “It’s quite cozy,” he said.

   “It’s home,” she said.

   “It suits you,” he said.

   “Better than the vault,” she said.

   Stifled silence. 

   Charon brought out his gear to the small table on the upper landing, keeping them in plain view down below as he began to perform his daily ritual. 

   Evelyn pointed to the couch. “Do you want…something? Water? Milk? We have this thing that’s apparently ‘coffee’...”

   James sat, politely folding his hands and sitting as straight as a board. “Is it as bad as the vault’s?”

   “Worse.”

   There was a strange lilt to his voice. “Then I would be delighted to have some.”

   That made her smile. A little. 

   James looked around while she prepared the stone-age percolator, his eyes landing on the snoozing mutt under the table. “I came by to see if you needed anything prior to the storm. I remember those days, and it seems they haven’t gotten any less severe since my—well, our—time underground.”

   Charon couldn’t see her from his spot, but he could hear her going through the usual motions of their morning routine: closing the drawer with the spoon, opening the cabinet for the coffee, and pulling down clean mugs.

   “We’re fine.” Her voice was hard, but not completely hostile. “Charon already checked.”

   The smoothskin glanced up. The only things for him to see were glowing eyes and a knife being sharpened by large hands. James just as quickly looked away. 

   “I see.”

   “Where are you planning on staying?”

   James shifted, uncomfortable with the unblinking orbs just lingering above him. “If you would like, I can stay here until it passes. I would feel better knowing I was close in the event you need me.” 

   Nothing was said for a period of time before she called up from the kitchen, “Charon?”

   He stood to lean over. “Yes?”

   “Will you come with me to Gob’s? We’re low on food.”

   Charon left his things in their place and watched her gift a steaming mug to her father before she went for the door. 

   “I’ll be right back,” was all she said before he followed her out. 

   The air was heavy, and there was a tingling buzz he was sure she could feel. A flash of bright green lit up the entire world for a moment, halting everyone and everything in their tracks as they glanced upward, before color flooded back again, and they carried on. 

   “I could have come,” he told her as they rounded the barhouse. “You should be inside.”

   The saloon was empty. Gob gave them a small wave of his hand as he turned from crates of supplies on the counter.

   “It's always nasty weather this time of year. We’re lucky we got the last shipment in time,” he rasped. “Needin’ something, smoothskin? You shouldn’t be outdoors. You’ll get sick.”

   “Just the usual list,” she said. 

   After Gob turned to fill a sack with boxed goods, she pulled him aside by the hand. She looked down at his palm, rubbing the smooth leather of his glove with her thumb. 

   “I want you to stay here, for a little while,” she said softly. She wouldn’t raise her eyes, but he didn’t take his hand away as he normally would have. If she was asking him of this, then she must have had a reason…he realized that of her, now.

   “Very well.”

   Her face shot up, her brows troubled and lip pouty. “You’re not mad? Or going to ask why?”

   He shook his head. “He is your father. You will be safe, with him.”

   “I mean, it’s not forever, or anything,” she began to blabber, her fingers nervously worming through his own. “It’s just, you know, he’s been gone for months now and there’s a lot to talk about and—”

   Charon shushed her by bringing his mouth to hers, parting with a light smack. “I will be here. If you require something of me, I ask you to send the dog, or your father.”

   She nodded, tipping up for another kiss that he more than happily obliged. “Okay,” she breathed over him. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

   He let her go, reluctantly, watching her take the bag and disappear back out the door. He came to take his seat at the bar and rapped his knuckles on the wood—the sole patron on an irradiated stormy afternoon. 

   Gob came down the side, a towel thrown over one shoulder as he rasped, “Well, friend, what can I get you?”

   Charon paused his tapping and looked at the selection on the shelves for a moment. Ahzrukhal had sometimes taunted him with a lick of fine brandy or spiced whiskey, only to hold the shot in front of his face and slowly pour it on his feet. Charon finally pointed a finger high up.

   The downpour was immediate, and loud. 

   “Might bring the whole roof down,” Gob muttered as he placed another bucket in the middle of the room to catch a dripping leak.

   Charon twirled the alcohol around in his glass. He’d lost count of how many he’d had now…four, five? He drained it, slammed it down with a grunt, and refilled it from the bottle at his disposal. He couldn't recall when he’d had the luxury of…this.

   “You sure you don’t want to slow down?” Gob rasped as he came around. 

   Charon peered down the neck of the bottle, then to his cup, then shrugged as he slid it over. 

   “Oh, uh, I got more things I should—”

   “Drink,” Charon demanded. 

   The smaller ghoul took it and made a face, setting it back down. Charon raised the empty glass to eye level, squinting.

   Gob said, “How many is that now? You want something to take the edge off? Water? Beer? Maybe some food?”

   “No.” Charon slid the glass away and reached for the bottle instead. Strange. He felt…strange. “I’m fine.” He took a swig straight from the source, blinking a few times as he sternly repeated, “I’m fine.”

   “Are you sure?” Gob looked him up and down. “You don’t really look it.”

   Charon growled, handing the liquor over, “Drink.”

   Another handful of swigs were shared, and the bartender laid his head on the counter as Charon readied to flick his knife across the room, aiming for the sloppily drawn circle he had made on a post. 

   “You’re afraid,” Gob guttered out, his hazy eyes watching the big guy’s every move…or, attempting to. 

   Charon took a misstep and threw the knife straight down at the bar counter, sinking it halfway through. He spun around, wavering a few steps, before catching himself on the edge of a table.

   “What?” he sharply asked.

   Gob lifted himself partway up, repeating more loudly, “I said, YOU’RE AFRAID.” His skull thunked back down.

   “I’m not!” Charon snapped, twisting in a circle as he forced himself to stand straight. He then looked at his hands, stupidly blinked, and looked back up. “What of?”

   A hiccup. “Her father.”

   Charon scoffed, shook his head, and cleanly pulled his knife free. “No. I can kill him.”

   Gob just waved him off and turned the other way, muttering, “You’re afraid.”

   The rain continued to thrum overhead, the occasional great green burst of light seeping through the cracks and snuggling a pleasing buzz through his warm bones. Charon tipped the bottle upwards, catching not even a single drop, and he held it before him with a puzzled frown. 

   “It’s empty,” he simply rasped. 

   There was no agreement with his statement, and he repeatedly blinked at the three Gobs loudly snoring over the counter. Charon snarled and slammed the bottle down, waking the other ghouls with a loud snort!

   “It’s—” Charon warbled, stumbling back a few steps, and then a few more before hitting the wall. A mounted brahmin head fell off its placard and thumped over his own. Charon blindly waved a hand around, his snarls muffled and confused. “Why did you turn the lights off?!”

   “Oh, for the love of… That damn brahmin got loose again!” Gob exclaimed, tripping to the side. The tip of a broom handle repeatedly poked the big guy in the chest. “Come on, girls,” Gob drunkenly sighed. “Back out with ya.”

   Charon grabbed the broom and yanked it from Gob’s hands, propelling the smaller ghoul off his feet to crash into him. They tumbled to the floor in a tangle, and Gob groaned as he was rolled on his back while Charon removed the trophy head from his shoulders. 

   “I love Evelyn,” he announced to the empty room, his words sloppy. He turned his head to the snoring ghoul at his side and smacked his leg. “I love her.”

   Gob awoke with another loud snort! “Huh, what? You love a brahmin?”

   “No! Don’t be stupid!” Charon growled, tossing the trophy head out of sight. “Evelyn! Evelyn! I…I love her.”

   “Oh…yeah.” Gob closed his eyes. “I know.”

   Charon shook his head, crashing to the floor beside him. He stared at the ceiling swimming above them. It must be raining hard. “You don’t.”

   “I do.”

   “You don’t.”

   “Okay.”

   “...what do I tell her?”

   “I love you.”

   Charon furrowed his brows, deep in thoughts clouded with cotton. “It’s that easy?”

   “Well…I think so.”

   “I need you to be sure.”

   “Okay.” Gob was suddenly shaken, his brain getting sloshed around. “W-W-What?!”

   “Did you hear that?” Charon deliriously rasped. 

   “...no?”

   The ghoul sighed, as though everyone’s problems had suddenly become his own, but he lifted his head with the strength of a thousand men and mildly ordered, “Listen.”

   Gob did, but he only heard the pounding migraine in his skull. “What am I listening for?”

   “For her.”

   “Oh…why?”

   Charon answered as though the ghoul he held were stupid, “She may need me.”

   “Oh…for what?” When there was nothing given, Gob plainly said, “She’s like your whole world, huh? Aside from the whole…contract, thing.”

   “My world?” Charon questioned. 

   “Yeah. Your everything. Was Ahzrukhal your everything?”

   The word was spat out with great vehemence, “No.” Charon dropped the ghoul from his hands, ignoring the grunt of pain as Gob hit the deck. “I hated him. He was nothing like Evelyn…she…she is…”

   “Your world?”

   “Yes.” Charon licked his mouth, and said like it was a dream, “My world.”

   “You should tell her.”

   “I should?”

   Gob nodded, grateful to close his eyes again. “Go get her.”

   Charon rasped with panic, “I don’t have the flowers.”

   “Don’t need them.”

   “But they’re pretty.”

   Gob groaned as he sat upright, planting his hands on Charon’s shoulders and attempting to throttle the soaked log of a ghoul. “Listen to me, listen to me, okay? You love her. She’s your world. She’s nothing like Ahzrukhal, okay? You listening?”

   Charon nodded, swallowing. “I am.”

   “Good…now, go get her.”

   Evelyn brought her own mug of don’t-question-it to her lips and took a few sips, her father doing much the same. After she set it on her lap, she glanced at him, and he smiled. 

   “I assume Charon has gone home?” 

   “No. He’s at the saloon.”

   “Oh, I see.” They took another drink before he painfully asked, as tactful as a brick to the face, “Where does he live?”

   “Jesus, Dad,” she muttered. “Here, obviously.”

   More silence, so thick a bite could be taken out of it, and then, “...you have your own rooms?”

   Evelyn stomped around with a hand raised in the air, completely exasperated. “I’m not a child! No, Dad, Charon lives here, with me, in our room. Okay?!” 

   She stood sourly off to the side as James cleared his throat (more times than was necessary) before he dropped another atomic bomb on her head. “You are careful?”

   She whirled her head around, her eyes lethal and skin bright red. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

   “He is a ghoul,” James stated factually, his professional side at once trumping his fatherly one. “And some ghouls are prone to releasing radiation during—”

   Her skin kicked up another hundred degrees, and she hastily averted her eyes, snapping, “He’s fine…it’s never been a problem.”

   James visibly looked relieved at that. “Oh, well, that is good to hear. That was all.” She slowly sat back down as he turned more in his seat to face her. “I do not believe the storm will lighten up anytime soon, so you must tell me everything that has happened.”

   Her face darkened, and she fiddled with her ring. “When you left the vault, just know…I didn’t want to leave, at all. Alphonse made me, or he would’ve killed me. They killed Jonas, Dad…he’s dead.”

   James reached a hand over to gently take her own. “I am so sorry. Nothing was supposed to happen the way that it did. I...I did not think Alphonse would have gone mad. I should have been there, for you.”

   “It’s okay,” she mumbled quietly (and she found herself meaning it). “I heard you’re busy saving the world.”

   “Evelyn, I did not abandon you...but yes, the world is in desperate need of it.” Somehow, his answer made her feel a stab of betrayal, and he must have seen the look on her face, for he followed with, “Understand, that I have given you everything I thought you would need in preparation for that day. I didn’t know—”

   “That I could have died?”

   He stared at her. “...I would be very lost without you, if that had happened. I am so grateful you’re safe.”

   She sniffled, wiping at her nose as she began to look around her little house. “Jonas deserved better.”

   “Yes, he most certainly did. I regret a few things in this life, and he is one of them.”

   She met his eyes. "Do you regret...me? For what I did to your work, to...for what I did to Mom?"

   "Oh, my child," James said with great sadness. "I—"

   KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

   The knob was turned, snapped, and the door flew open, inviting a seven-foot-tall drenched ghoul and a whirl of the cold rain along with him. He took a few unsteady steps, standing in place with his head facing the floor as Evelyn rushed around to close the door. It wouldn’t stay shut, and so she scooted a side table in front of it. 

   “What is it? What’s wrong?!” she worriedly asked, placing a hand on his arm. 

   Charon crashed to his knees, eliciting a light gasp from her. He then wiped the rain from his face as he looked up at her and wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her close. “You mean…nothing, to me,” he garbled. 

   Another gasp, this one louder and much more sharp, and he shook his head with a growl. 

   “No! No! I mean…Ahzrukhal….means…the world, to me,” he tried again, desperate and hopeful. 

   Evelyn threw his hands off and scowled down at him. “I have no idea what the fuck it is you’re trying to tell me right now, Charon.” She sniffed the air, her eyes wide. “Have you been drinking?!”

   “Y-You're...” He gave her a serious look, bluntly rasping, “I love—a star!”

   The ghoul then fell flat to the floor, his lungs deflating as he lay there on his face. Evelyn just stared at him. 

   James interrupted her thoughts with, “Let’s get him somewhere more comfortable.”

   “The couch should do,” she agreed. 

   Together, they laid him down, and Evelyn took to removing his sodden boots whilst the ghoul remained completely immobile, his mouth wide open and one arm across his face. 

   “Does he do this often?” James asked, mildly concerned. 

   “No, never. I’m sure he’ll tell me when he eventually wakes up.” She glanced at her broken door…a habit of his she most definitely had not missed. 

   “...I can see he means a great deal to you.”

   Evelyn looked up, finding nothing but sincerity on her father’s face, and she couldn’t help but smile, a warm sunshine breaking through the dark clouds. "He's the world to me."

Chapter Text

   Charon found himself to be very small. So small, in fact, that he was an ant. He looked at himself, then everywhere. It was all black, a great, big, giant…nothing. A void. And he walked around, and up, and down, and nowhere and everywhere all at once. 

   Then, something, out in the distance. . . . . . 

   It came closer, and closer, and so close he almost fell over, and he stared up at this great big thing that had great big eyes and a wet snout and lolling tongue, and he realized—

   When did Dogmeat only have a head?

   “Oh, Charon,” Dogmeat said, but his voice wasn’t right, for it was Ahzrukhal, speaking to him through this great floating dog head. “Tsk tsk. Look at you. Afraid.”

   Charon shook his head. “No…no! I’m not!”

   He ran. He ran as far as his legs would take him, but then they were shrinking, and he was shrinking, and soon he was the size of a child, running through the darkness away from that giant head of Dogmeat, those stupid eyes staring on after him. 

   The saloon. It was there, just in the distance, and it grew bigger, and bigger, and soon he was on the tips of his toes to turn the handle and dash inside, shutting the door against the storm that was now howling at his back. 

   Charon let out a breath, relieved. 

   The bar. It was empty, but the radio was playing, and the lights were mellow, and he went to his stool and climbed aboard as a captain would their ship, sitting at the helm with a deep exhale and brief close of his eyes. 

   “Hey, friend,” Gob called over.

   Charon opened them, but no one was there. He looked around—he was the only one. Had he heard that right?

   “Down here.”

   He glanced over the counter. Gob…but it was just his head, on the body of the dog. 

   “Sorry, it’s always nasty weather this time of year,” he rasped, jumping on his two hind legs and plopping the front ones before him. His tail was wagging. “Drink?”

   “I could not tell her,” Charon confessed, his voice low and full of shame. 

   “Oh…”

   “What do I do?”

   “Hmmm.” The ghouldog waddled away to grab at a glass. It tipped over to hit the deck with a crash! “Woops. No thumbs.”

   “I am not afraid,” Charon continued, and the look in his eyes was that of someone insane, for he was nothing less…for he was in love. “I wish to tell her.”

   “Tell her what?”

   He slammed his tiny fist down. “That I love her!”

   “Do you have the flowers?”

   Charon uncurled his fist, dejected. “...I do not.”

   “What else does she like?”

   “She…she likes…” He thought, hard, the hardest he’s ever had to think in his entire life. Obeying orders was simple. Killing things was breakfast. Being a completely numb, walking gun was his day-to-day life for over a century…

   But, this. 

   Love. 

   That was hard. 

   “She likes me.” 

   Gobmeat snorted, his tail going swish swish. “That’s too easy. Of course she likes you, she said she would, so long as she doesn’t go anywhere…”

   Charon’s eyes grew wide, and he was suddenly staring at himself, and they were in the Ninth Circle, and his other self was wearing Ahzrukhal’s suit and tie and fiddling with his tarnished cuff links. 

   “The contract,” his other said, his rasp cool and detached. “It keeps you to her.”

   That was true. It was all he had to her…it was all she had to him. 

   “She could get rid of it. Get rid of you.” The other Charon pulled down a bottle, top shelf, and turned to pour him a shot. “James was right.” The glass was held up above his little head, and trickled over him. “You don’t deserve her.”

   Charon fell from his seat to the floor, lapping up the liquor like a thirsty mutt, trying to quench that never-ending pit deep in his belly that he knew would never be sated. 

   BANG!

   He stood, staring at the man who had just been killed—himself. Unrecognizable, like beef beaten with a mallet, bleeding out and twitching. The suit. It was ruined. 

   “Let’s go.” 

   Evelyn. She was there, holding his contract, folding it where the creases told her to and tucking it away nice and safe and in the soft spot just above her left breast. Right by her heart. 

   He ran to her, as fast as his smaller legs would carry him, to the door and wait it was already closing wait Evelyn I’m going as fast as I can and don’t leave me behind you said you would like me always—!

   He puts a hand through, just before it closes, and he looks up at her, but she’s cold and not the woman he loves, and all of the stars in her eyes are gone. 

   “You can’t come,” is all she said, and he’s left alone as she shuts the door.

   He’s always alone. 

   It is always the same.

   …always.

Chapter Text

   BOOM!

   The ghoul rose like a reanimated corpse from the grave. Charon looked around, finding himself on the couch and Evelyn on the floor at his side, curled into a tight ball and unbothered by the booming thunder in her sleep. Her father was absent, but there was an empty bag of RadAway on the table. The storm continued to claw and hail and burst enough rain to wash the town away, although the radiation had noticeably dissipated. 

   He reached down to shake her shoulder. “Evelyn.”

   She mumbled something, her eyelids heavy, and stilled. He leaned over to flip the screen of her Pip-Boy to life, monitoring her rad-free vitals and the time. He had been out for hours, and she had chosen to remain at his side...she had even given him the blanket. Charon carefully scooped her up in his arms to tuck her into bed while he sat on the far edge with his somber thoughts and stern brow. 

   It had all been a dream—just a simple dream. 

   The rest of his clothes were removed before he climbed in beside her, staring at the peaceful beauty she held and taking a strand of her hair between his fingers. He listened to the thrum of the rain on the roof as he watched the soft rise and fall of her chest. There wasn’t any other place he’d rather be, and now with the reunion of her father, he was more than looking forward to resuming their simple life here in her tiny stilted house on the hill. 

   Dogmeat brought tidings in the form of a low growl.

   “If I let you out, you will not be welcome back in,” Charon forewarned the mutt. Wet dog was a smell that was near impossible to air out. The dog barked, softly, and he rolled his eyes as he was summoned back downstairs. He immediately noticed the busted handle on the front door (he'd have to ask her about it) as he let the dog free to wander. “Go sleep at the bar.”

   He scratched at his bare ass, going to climb the steps to her warm bed when a scrawled note on the table caught his eye—a shopping list. It would seem they would be leaving on another trip…he lowered the note as the Mister Handy held up his pants. The ghoul soon sent himself out into the cold, trudging up the muddy hillside and squinting past the fierce howling rain until he entered the shop with a shake of himself. 

   “Oh, hello there!” Moira greeted after he came forward. “It’s been a while.”

   Charon retrieved Evelyn’s written list (with his additions) from within the safety of his pocket, laying it out for Moira to tend to. As she left him to drip water all over the floor, he perused through her newest inventory for anything Evelyn might have found ‘nice’. 

   The shopkeeper came back around with a full crate. “Here we are!” 

   Charon didn’t bother double-checking the stock; she had never given him a reason to. He counted caps from his ‘personal’ purse, paying for the wares when a bulb dimly lit above his head. Moira had helped him with his prior problem…

   He placed an arm on the counter and leaned forward, his rasp low and discreet. “I require your assistance.” 

   “Really?!” Moira whispered excitedly. “I do love a good assist!”

   Charon licked his mouth and bent his head a smidge further. “I need to tell Evelyn that…I love her.”

   Moira stared at him, those unnaturally large eyes and smile waiting. 

   He growled and scratched at his scalp, his nerves itching. “I do not know how.”

   “Oh, that’s easy!” She suddenly disappeared as she rummaged for something underneath, and he curiously peered over after she seemed to have gotten lost in her own clutter. When she popped back up he snapped back. “Here!”

   A small, dusty, and faded book was given to him. He raised a brow. “What is it?”

   “Poetry!”

   “Poetry,” he deadpanned, the lightbulb cracking as it burnt out.   

   She tapped at the cover. “Of course, silly. It’s the language of romance!”

   Charon stared at her. “And this will help me tell her?”

   “Sure it will! Just give it a good read, take a few notes, and soon you’ll be writing her a poem that tells her how you really feel.” She smiled that insane smile, and he looked back down at the book in his hand, trying to will it to spill forth its secrets.

   He finally relented, “I will…try.”

   “That’s the spirit! Good luck!”

   Charon returned for home, plunked the crate down on the table, fixed the doorknob, removed his muddy boots (as the robot threw a silent conniption), took a seat on the couch, and held the language of romance in his hands. 

   He flipped to a random page, reading aloud in monotone, “Never seek to tell thy love, love that never told can be, for the gentle wind does move, silently, invisibly...” He sat there, digesting the words, then bluntly grunted, “What the fuck does that mean?”

   “Charon?”

   The book flew from his hands as though it had burst into flames, and he kicked it underneath the couch as he hastily stood to turn around.

   “What are you doing?” she asked, faintly amused from her place at the top of the landing. “I heard you talking to yourself.”

   He rumbled his throat and pointed at the crate, awkwardly bobbing his head. “I retrieved the items you required. Where is it we are going?”

   “Rivet City, and you know you didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

   “I wanted to.”

   “Trying to make up for this morning?” she teased, descending the steps. “So, what exactly had that been all about?” 

   The ghoul left the question unanswered as he glanced down. A corner edge of the Book of Nonsense was winking out, and he tactfully toed it from sight. “Your father is gone.”

   “Yeah, I told him to go back to the saloon so you could sleep.”

   His eyes traveled up to her face. “You told him to leave for me?”

   “Of course.” She gave him a funny look, as though the question were absurd. “I know you don’t sleep, but I thought that you should get some rest.” 

   “You had wished to speak with him.”

   With a shrug of her shoulders, she walked around to stand before him. “Pretty sure I got all the time in the world for that.” She lightly pushed him back in his seat, coyly biting her lower lip as she got to her knees between his legs. "And now we have some time to ourselves."

   He swallowed, but not for the blowjob to come. If she sat back on her heels, which she was apt to do, then she would have a direct line of sight of his language of romance just inches from herself. He stood and grabbed at her hands before she could bob on his knob. 

   "I wish to go upstairs," he said thickly. 

   There was a fleeting pout on her face. "Aw, okay. I was kind of looking forward to you bending me over the couch..."

   His stiff cock burst free, absolutely throbbing and hot and dripping for her to take, and she did—an entire mouthful. The sudden euphoric bliss made him stumble back and knock into the frame with enough force it scooted a few inches. The book was there, completely exposed and laughing at him as she would only need to catch it in her peripherals to discover his secret—!

   "No," he grunted, and she immediately pulled off with a slurp!

   She wiped at the saliva on her lips, her eyes wide and full of shame. "Oh, shit, um, I-I'm sorry, I didn't—"

   Before she could drop her head, he grabbed a hold of her chin to keep their eyes locked, his rasp husky and brain short-circuiting. "Do not stop."

   "...but, you just said—"

   "I meant...no, do not stop," he growled, his eyes briefly glaring at the book. 

   She shifted, her knee about to brush its spine when he hoisted her straight from the floor and tossed her on the couch, ripping away at her jumpsuit before she could wiggle free. He bent her over and spread her legs, keeping her head down over the side as he aligned his cock and thrust deep into her cunt. A wonderful sound left her mouth, and he gave a few slaps of his balls to her pussy before he adjusted his stance, accidentally stubbing the book with his foot and sliding it across the floor...just on the side she was staring over. His fingers wrapped through her hair and snapped her neck back, his tempo increasing as he kept those moans and whimpers coming as his dick repeatedly filled her.

   With all the combined powers of the universe, he worked two heads at once, plowing her to the next fields over as he wracked his brain for how to retrieve the book without her taking notice. 

   “Holy fuck, your cock feels amazing,” she breathed, so sugary and delicious that all higher cognitive function snapped as he railed away at her. She cried out as his other hand reached around to play with her clit, “Oh, fuck, I’m—!”

   Her pussy milked him for everything he was worth, releasing a shuddering breath that he exhaled from his nose as he briefly closed his eyes while his cock blew nice and deep. He released her to sink back into the cushions, her eyes distant and legs trembling as she stared at the wall. He left her there, a dazed mess, as he went to retrieve something to clean up with. He looked up as he wiped his slobbery tip at the robot floating down the stairs and reaching a claw for the book still on the floor. Without a second's hesitation (or a single thought) he threw the towel at the Mister Handy's optic, blinding one eye. 
 
   Evelyn turned her head, blinking slowly, as the robot's boosters kicked into overdrive and sent it flying backward at Mach speed to crash into the wall. She then turned her head the other way, still riding that blissful high with her pupils blown and smile loopy. "I'll have Moira fix him," she said moonily, and she laid down to drift off to sleep once more.

   Charon covered her with the blanket, their roles now reversed, as he recovered his sacred scroll and took to his perch on the upper floor, his weaponry and loyal shotgun still lying in wait for him on the table, but now replaced by the words of love in his hands. 

   The ghoul was in a particularly fine mood that evening, for he had eaten the dinner she had made and didn't give so much as a grumbled complaint. 

   “You liked it?” she asked with a bright smile.

   He only shrugged, going to light up a cigarette as she took their plates to the sink.

   “Well, that cookbook Moira had was apparently an old caravaneer's recipe collection, and I was excited since the ingredients it used were…” she blathered on and on and on, and he didn’t grunt, or roll his eyes, or even just leave the room. He sat there and listened, occasionally ashing his smoke in the tray, his eyes soft as he watched her bustle about.

   They inventoried their gear and packed for the road ahead. She held the power fist and studied the alterations the ghoul had made specifically for her size, and he had come around to take it from her hands with a quirked brow muscle. 

   “Shall I show you how to use it?” he asked.

   “I mean, how practical is it, in a fight?”

   “It isn’t,” he simply replied, setting it back down. “You are inexperienced, and if your enemy has a ranged weapon, then it is suicide.”

   “Oh… Why did you work on it if I'm not even going to get to use it, then?”

   He blinked. “You like it.”

   “I honestly should learn how to use something,” she muttered, her fingers brushing down the length of her knife. 

   Charon put his large hand on her shoulder. “I will protect you, so long as I am alive, and that you have my contract.”

   She said nothing but popped a locker to retrieve the duffel bag of two thousand caps she owed Pinkerton, ready to kiss her frugal savings down the drain…again. Charon held a question in his eyes, but remained silent as she set it down beside her pack. 

   “Okay, I think that’s everything.” She clapped her hands together and sighed. “All that’s left is to talk with Dad.”

   Dogmeat greeted them after they swung open the door to the rowdy bar, his damp fur brushing against her thighs as he dived between her legs and licked her exposed hands. 

   “There you are, you smelly, stinky dog-butt!” She scratched his ears, making her way to her father seated at the far end. She paused as Charon unexpectedly diverted from her side. 

   The ghoul scratched at his head, uncertain. “I wish to speak with Gob. It is…important.”

   “Sure. You don’t have to explain.” She smiled, and they went their separate ways. 

   James stepped off his stool to embrace her in a hug before they took their respective seats. “You survived the storm.”

   “I was lucky to have the best doctor in the wasteland tending to me.”

   “Ah, I see, you're being sincere and not just trying to butter up your old man?” he quipped in return, giving her an easy flash of white teeth, and that was all it took.   

   The room was quiet aside from the hum of the air recirculation fans. There was a well-preserved copy of D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine at his elbow, the page bookmarked with a pencil for later reviewing. A cup of cold coffee, ever-present and in seemingly limitless supply, was in his hand. A rerun of a Pre-War holovid was playing in the background—she had lost count of how many times she had seen it. It was just another day of appointments with patients and time spent learning her future duties as the vault’s Garbage Burner (when she wasn’t sneaking off being ‘sick’ in her room). It was Dad’s turn for dishes that evening. She’d made dinner from the box full of pre-made, preserved ingredients—Pasta e Fagioli: A Recipe for the Whole Family to Enjoy! (Now with 200% more sodium). Everything was simple, everyone was safe…

   She turned her head. 

   The saloon was packed with everyone having to pay their late dues after the passing of the radstorm, catching up on missed conversation and a game of cards, the beer on tap flowing with no end in sight. Charon was across the room, given the wide berth his size and nature cautioned. She watched him for a few minutes as Gob gave him a few sheets of paper, and how the bigger ghoul began to furiously draft something. She tilted her head. What in the world was he—?

   “So, what is it that you need my help for?” James cut through, and she gave her attention back to him. 

   “Um, I don’t think this is the place to discuss it,” she said, keeping her voice quiet as she glanced back at the big guy. He was scowling, crumpling his writings into a ball. She explained, “It’s…complicated.”

   James followed her stare. “Does it have something to do with your…erm…friend, by chance?”

   She gave him a look with a slanted brow. “I promise saying ‘boyfriend’ won’t kill you, Dad.”

   “As your father, I am going to tell you that you really should be careful.” James leaned in with a hushed voice. “I am not trying to be unsupportive, but if you have not already learned, not everyone in the wasteland takes to ghouls kindly…much less what you and Charon are. There are those who are too blinded by prejudice that allow anger and hate to fuel their actions...usually fatal ones.”

   “I know.” She looked back at Charon, who snapped his pencil in half with his thumb. "It doesn't change the way I feel for him."

   James stared at her as she watched the ghoul. “Am I going to hear of how you two met? I am most curious.”  

   “It’s a long story.”

   His eyes twinkled as he smiled when she turned around. “The best ones usually are.”

   Charon threw another wasted sheet of paper over his shoulder for the dog to catch and chew apart, his growling soon becoming snarls as he rewrote poem after poem and still had not been satisfied with a single line of his own work. 

   Gob checked on his progress after serving a poker table a round of drinks. “How’s it going?”

   Charon gave him a glower. “This is stupid.”

   “Hmm...maybe you’re overthinking it?”

   In that Gob was correct—Charon’s brain was cooked. The bigger ghoul stole a glance at Evelyn on the other side of the saloon. She was laughing and smiling widely as she used her hands to tell her father some sort of story. 

   The blackened lightbulb flickered. Charon bent his head down to his last piece and began to write. 

   After some time, there was movement—he spied them standing and sharing a brief hug, her father kissing the top of her head as she was sent on her way back to him. He quickly crumpled the page under one hand to shove inside his jacket, barely put out of sight before she approached him. 

   “I’m heading home. Are you staying?” she asked. Her eyes drifted to the shreds of paper all over the floor, the dog hacking some up from his lungs. “What were you writing?”

   His heart ceased its beating. His mouth went dry. He stammered, “I-I cannot write.” 

   Strike one!

   She raised her eyes to him, confused. “What? But I just saw you writing, right now.”

   “...I have forgotten.” 

   Strike two!

   She squinted. “Wait, really?”

   He nodded, vigorously. "I am...stupid."

   Strike three! You’re out!

   Gob had drifted close to overhear their disaster of a conversation, and Charon desperately looked over for any sort of assistance. The bartender mouthed dramatically—tell her!

   Charon rasped, pointing stiffly to the door, “May we leave?”

   “Uh, yeah…sure.” She patted her thigh to summon the mutt to her side while he held the door open for them to exit. Her eyes flew up. “Oh, wow! Look at the sky, it’s so clear! Must be after all that rain.”

   They stood there, all three gazing upon the stars in quiet contemplation (the dog's eyes simply went cross).

   "Why are we going to Rivet City?" he asked.

   “For my dad.”

   Charon looked away. The muscles in his shoulders stiffened as he felt trepidation worming in his brain.

   “I will take him,” he told her, at once serious and downright stern. His expression was as heavy as the one that weighed down hers. “You may wait for my return.”

   He would be home before dinner. He would lie and tell her her cooking was good. He would sit on the couch with her head in his lap and listen to her tell him a story from one of her many books. They would fix that sprung leak on the upper west pipe. He would finally relent and let her scavenge around the sewer waystation— 

   Evelyn linked their arms and fingers and leaned into his side. “It’s not that simple…I don’t know how to explain it, right now.”

   “I would like you to try.”

   She pursed her lips. He squeezed her hand. 

   “Please,” he gently rasped.

   Her eyes looked up, her voice small and afraid. “I just need you to trust me.”

   Trust was about as scarce as love was, in his book of life…and she somehow had managed to dig a well deep enough for him to have both. 

   “I will trust you,” he promised, and for the first time in his life, he meant every word.

   His eyes returned to the night sky, and he felt as though he could reach a hand up to sift the entire galaxy through his fingers, but he found them instead pulling out that wrinkled piece of paper. 

   “E-Evelyn,” he said, his voice more hoarse than usual. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, and he kept his eyes on the words he had written to tell her how he really felt. “I need to tell you something…it is important.”

   She warmly smiled; the door forever held open for him. He took a deep breath, a step back, and gave her a fleeting look. His rasp came out unsure and riddled with nerves.

   “I like the way you are, for..for you are a star,” he began, quickly glancing up to gauge her reaction before he brought the paper closer to his face. “A deathclaw cannot compare, because you have hair...and it does not.” Another look over, and just as quickly back down. “I do not like the food you make, it is terrible, but you are not, so do not stop.” He thrust it down to stare deeply into her eyes. “I like you…a lot.”

   There was nothing said for a few moments, and he felt his knees begin to quake until she closed the small space left between them. 

   “Did you write that, for me?” she asked with wonder.

   He gave a single nod. He felt lightheaded. “Yes.” 

   “Charon...it’s beautiful.” 

   She closed her eyes and went to tip up for a kiss, but he smushed a finger to her lips and halted her advancement. “It is meant to tell you something,” he explained, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

   Her brows crossed, and she pulled away.

   (…maybe if he read it twice?)

   With an annoyed sigh, he took to holding the piece of paper before him again, but she gently put her hand on his and brought the poem back down. She looked at him, just as she had in his dream, and yet she smiled with the entire Milky Way for him to stargaze upon, and he felt that warm tingle inside that told him he was happy. 

   "I love you, big guy."

   His tongue flopped around in knots, but he managed to weakly say, "...I love you, too."

   And he openly kissed her under that beautiful sky for the entire world to see.

Chapter Text

   “Wait here.”

   All three crouched behind some cover as the ghoul took it upon himself to clear the area.

   “And he does not require any help?” James doubted with a frown, his pistol cold in his hands.

   Evelyn cleaned out some dirt from under a nail. “No. You’ll only get in his way.”

   A few shouts from chem-addled fiends echoed around the bend, followed by a thundering blam blam blam!  

   Evelyn raised her head after Dogmeat gave an awoo. “See?”

   James looked over, studying the blood splattered on the ghoul’s leather uniform. “Do you require any aid? I am a doctor.”

   Charon just gave him a mean look before he came to Evelyn’s side, holding up a dismembered arm for her to look at. 

   James frowned, repulsed. “I cannot begin to imagine what that is for.”

   “Do you like it?” Charon asked, ignoring him completely.

   Evelyn studied the ring still on the finger—it’d have to be sawn off—before she held hers up to the light. It was in much better condition than her own.

   “I like the one you bought for me,” she said, but she unstrapped her pack from her shoulders. “We can still sell that one, though.”

   Charon gave a nod, and James turned his head with disgust as the ghoul bit the finger clean off to pull the piece of jewelry free. After she had tucked it safely away, he tossed the limb for the dog to play with. 

   “The area is clear. Let us continue.”

   James was impressed by the ghoul’s sharp perception, as it kept them well clear of dangers unseen by the normal human eye. He seemed particularly attentive to Evelyn’s every move, and while she was at total ease with his constant attention, it made James wary. Evelyn had grown to be a beautiful woman, and it was expected that she would attract the eyes of men (the ghoul was no surprising exception, but he was most definitely a surprise) but it was nearly borderline obsession from his outsider's view.

   James held his tongue and curbed his fatherly concerns for the time to be right, but he wondered if it was what she had requested his help for. Was she perhaps, afraid, of Charon? It was logical…but he knew it deep in his heart to be false. He only had to take one look at them together, their eyes locked and hands held, and he knew the ghoul would forfeit his life for her…and she, for him.

   Grandchildren were permanently off the table.

   The scientist pored over the notes and files on his Pip-Boy at their first outpost, half-listening to the hushed voices and rustling of pages as Evelyn flipped through a magazine. He would glance up every so often to them across the fire, his daughter leaning into the ghoul’s side and wearing a smile that he had only ever seen on her mother. Although the giant ghoul unnerved him, he couldn’t think of a better candidate to protect the light of his life. He supposed he should find their happiness a blessing. Evelyn was an adult, and he was no longer in control of her choices...and he had to make peace with that. 

   “So, Charon,” James started after he stowed his research for a later time. “Evelyn told me you had worked as a bouncer at a bar, in Underworld?”

   The pages of Evelyn’s magazine nudged down a tad, her eyes looking across the fire at him for a brief moment before being fully hidden away behind the cover of Live & Love. Charon cracked his neck with a tilt to the side, the sound sharp and unsettling. 

   “Yes,” was all the ghoul deadpanned. 

   James continued, succumbing to being the catalyst of the conversation, “I was curious as to perhaps how long you had been in Underworld. I must say, I have never visited, myself.”

   The ghoul replied, just as dully, “Years.”

   “...I see.” He cleared his throat and tried again, this time aiming for more reciprocation from his daughter. “And you had met Charon in a metro station, just north of Megaton?”

   She flipped a page, adjusting her weight into Charon’s side. “I puked on him.” She then lowered her magazine and cheekily smiled at the ghoul. “What were you thinking when that happened?”

   Charon crossed his arms, his expression dour. “That I would shoot you.”

   She gasped, “Wait…really?”

   He nodded.

   The magazine was set aside as she removed herself from him. “You were just going to shoot somebody over a little vomit?”

   He shrugged his shoulders, apparently nonchalant over the entire ordeal. 

   She scoffed, matching his glower with her own, “Then what stopped you?”

   He stared at her. “You had brought the water.”

   “I was just going to run back to Megaton…”

   He rasped dryly, “You would not have gotten far.” 

   “Ugh!”

   James interceded with a nervous chuckle, “You two seem to have quite the history.”

   Evelyn crossed her arms and whipped her head away with a loud hmphf! “At least I didn’t break your nose…if you had one!”

   Charon growled, “You had said north.”

   “You’re still mad over that?!”

   “Why don’t we turn in for the night?” James piped up with a clap of his hands…but the two were now lunging for each other's throats with words sharp enough to draw blood.

   “You had lied to me,” the ghoul snarled.

   “I had gone north!” she snapped. “I already told you that!”

   The statement came out as an accusation. “Your things were in his room.”

   “Cause Winthrop was fixing my binoculars!” she exasperated. 

   Charon sullenly turned away from her, grumbling just loud enough for them to catch, “...I should have cracked them completely.”

   Evelyn’s jaw dropped, her voice so enraged she squeaked, “You broke them?!”

   “Oh, dear,” James muttered under his breath. 

   “He wanted to have sex with you,” Charon gruffly defended. 

   “Yeah, no shit! I’m not stupid! But I already liked you!” she retorted. 

   James cut in, rather pathetically, “Who is Winthrop?”

   The ghoul side-eyed her. “You had liked me?”

   She admitted, her bristles softening, “I was crazy about you. Why do you think I invited you back to my house, that first time?”

   Charon made a strange hum in the back of his throat. “...I had wished to see you again.”

   “Well, you did,” she laughed. “Now you’re sort of stuck with me.”

   He held her face between his hands and drew her in for a deep kiss. “That makes me happy.”

   “I love you, too.” She smiled, going for another share of lips.

   James awkwardly stood, pointing to the entrance. “I just need to make a trip to the men’s room…” They didn’t break apart, and he sighed as he turned away. “...better than arguing, I suppose.”

   He soon found them absent aside from the dog and a small note—on patrol, be back in twenty! James found himself unable to sleep as he laid there on the hard ground, worried for her safety until she had returned. They eventually did, well over the given time, and he quickly sat up when they came close enough to be illuminated by the fire’s light. 

   “Thank goodness, you’re alright,” James breathed with pure relief, and then a bolt of worry gut-punched him as he took notice of her unruly hair and the faint bruise on her neck. “What happened?”

   Evelyn grew stock stiff, her face hidden away as she turned to unfurl her sleeping roll. “Nothing! Nothing! It was just…uh…”

   Charon gave the man a certain look, and then reached down to pull up his fly with an audible zip!  

   James blanked from mind, body, and soul, and said as neutrally as humanly possible, “Goodnight, honey.”

   “Night, Dad,” she said just as plainly, her back to him as she used the dog as a live stuffy (he believed it even squeaked).

   “...and to you as well, Charon.” 

   Charon simply stared, and soon the fire grew faint, licking what it could to survive, but it died out all the same in the end, those two glowing eyes burning into him, instead. Come morning, a smell most absolutely wonderful, and another terribly dreadful, wafted over James as he yawned aloud and inwardly groaned at the stiff muscles of his older age. 

   “Good morning, Dad,” Evelyn said with old-fashioned cheer. He could’ve mistaken them for being back in the vault, except he was in the sewers, and there was a seven-foot-tall man with charred flesh for skin and meathooks for fingers serving him breakfast…at least, he assumed it was. She then had a frown on her face as she watched the ghoul hand him his bowl and give her something else entirely. 

   “Thank you,” James said with a deep itch in his throat, and he coughed into an elbow while he properly sat upright. “Charon cooks?”

   “Yeah.” Evelyn blinked down at her serving, playing with the green sludge on her spoon. “He wanted to make us something this morning.”

   James took a bite of his much more appetizing-looking meal, surprised at the excellent savory taste melting on his tongue. “He is quite the chef! It is delicious.”

   For a moment, he believed the ghoul had glared at him (he must have been mistaken). Evelyn said nothing but forcibly swallowed her own mouthful, a visible shudder running down her spine. 

   “You do like it?” Charon asked her, his eyes intense as he studied her for something. 

   “Love it,” she croaked, taking another bite.

   The day continued, and the two men had a slight disagreement on which route to continue along.

   “I have made this journey many times in my youth,” James insisted as he enlarged the map on his Pip-Boy for the ghoul to consider. “It is direct, and will save us time from the long way of going around.”

   Charon studied the roads for a minute before he snorted and shook his head. “No.”

   “Care to elaborate?” James said.

   “If Charon says no, then he has a good reason, Dad,” Evelyn chimed in after the ghoul had curled his hands into fists. “That might have been a safe route twenty years ago, but things have changed. I trust Charon with my life, and he has never put me in any danger. I say we continue his way…we’ve already walked it a few times, before.”

   James frowned as he looked back down at his map. It had been months since he had last used the leg to get to Rivet City, and it had been rather dangerous… He flipped the knob of his screen off as the couple already continued ahead—Evleyn swung their hands together, her smile infectiously wide.  

   The second night gave witness to the two defying any semblance of personal space. They were heavily leaning into each other, her hands holding one of his palms in her lap as his other arm curled around her waist. James saw the ghost of himself and his wife, both sharing a bottle of gin and overly ambitious dreams as they drank and laughed and refused to believe anything but their higher ideals for the world.

   James interrupted the silence with, “I never told you the story of when you had disappeared, from the vault.”

   Evelyn shifted herself to look at him. “I don’t remember that.”

   “I would think not. You were only three,” James said, amused. “Mrs. Palmer had been in charge of watching you little ones so the parents could tend to their vault duties, and you had been a consistent troublemaker, even then. You had always managed to somehow find a way to escape and wander off on your own…and, one day, we simply couldn’t find you.”

   “Where’d I go?”

   “Well, after the entire vault had been turned upside down, with every single resident looking for you, Alphonse and I had returned to the Overseer’s office to discuss further protocol when we discovered the stairway to the vault door had been opened.”

   Her eyes widened. “I had done that?”

   James nodded, chuckling. “Indeed, you had. You were very curious and got into everything, including a password-protected computer...which I'm still not sure exactly how. When you have your mind set on something, you seem to always find a way. Anyways, I had never been so scared in my entire life as I raced down there, thinking of the dangers you could have been in…”

   “And?”

   “And—” James blew out a breath. “—you were there, sitting by the vault door with a radroach on a string. You had named it Roachy and wanted to bring it home as a pet.”

   She laughed. “You’re lying! I hate radroaches.”

   “Believe me, you were fearless as a child. Alphonse, needless to say, was not as amused—or even relieved—as I was. Roachy had to stay behind—and be properly disposed of—and we had to ensure you never left Mrs. Palmer’s sight again.”

   “Had I been crying?”

   “Not at first, no, you were most perfectly happy with your new friend, and had wanted to see what was behind the ‘big door’.”

   Evelyn giggled, “I guess I got my wish.” 

   James watched her turn her head away to look up at the ghoul. Yes, my child, you most certainly did.  

   Rivet City came into view that following day, as did the Jefferson Memorial—where his life’s work continued its nearly twenty-year slumber.

   “Super mutants overran the place,” Evelyn informed him as they overlooked the water. “Sorry, Dad.”

   He put on a brave face, undeterred. “No small matter, but not one to give up on. There is so much work to be done, my child… I wish you could see it, the vision your mother and I shared. Clean water, for all.”

   “Maybe we can convince the super mutants they’d benefit from a bath.”

   James chuckled, putting an arm around her. “I hope you’ll see it, in your lifetime.”

   “And yours,” she added dryly. “You’re not that old.”

   “Now you’re flattering me.” They turned to the ghoul equipping a gas mask and wrapping away the exposed muscle and flesh of his arms. “Ah, I had forgotten their 'no ghoul' policy.”

   “He goes by Grog here—he’s also mute, deaf, and blind.” She playfully elbowed him. “I told you we’re careful.”

   The bridge was extended to the city, and the security chief bid them entrance. “I’m not going to be expecting any incidents this time, am I?” Harkness said, his tone and expression downright stern. 

   “Nope, not a single one,” Evelyn answered sweetly, and they continued past. 

   James followed them through the main bulkhead, the curiosity on the tip of his tongue never sated as she halted him by the ladder well. 

   “Do you mind just waiting here? I’m going to get us a room at the hotel and then come back.” 

   James’ eyes were on the sign pointed to the science lab. “I’ll be right here, sweetie. Promise.”

   Charon followed her like a lost puppy, taking well to his role as a blind-mute-deaf man as he was simply tugged along. James watched, half-amused and half-enraged, at the lengths they had to go to hide away their true natures so as not to be ostracized. Megaton was far from a perfect utopia, but he had to give credit to the settlers for at least keeping their sneers at their backs and pitchforks stowed away. 

   Perhaps, with time, they could be the two that would bring about true change for others to have the courage to follow.

   “Dad?” A blur of motion. He blinked and looked at Evelyn waving her hand before his face. “You were in super deep scientist mode.”

   Charon was absent; the dog as well. 

   “Apologies, I was just thinking, is all.” He motioned to the hatch. “Now, what are we—?”

   “We’re going to see Pinkerton,” she explained, already stepping out the door with a duffel bag over one shoulder. “He’s expecting us.”

   “Horace?” James asked, his brows furrowing. They walked back across the bridge, down the ramp, and to the broken bow of the ship. He glanced at the memorial as they passed along its outer perimeter—a few super mutants were on the catwalks. 

   Pinkerton turned his head as they opened the door to his lab, a clipboard in one hand and a poised pen in the other. He set them both down. 

   “Well, well, well, you came back after all—I see you found him,” Pinkerton dryly greeted them. “To be honest, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again…where’s your ghoul?”

   Evelyn tossed the duffel bag on the counter, its contents clinking. “Charon is back on the ship. And here’s the rest of that payment, now, get to work.”

   Pinkerton unzipped it, more caps than James had ever seen at once pouring out like a silver waterfall. He chuckled. “Your daughter is one stubborn brat…must get it from you.”

   “Her mother, actually,” James said with some amusement, crossing his arms as Evelyn went to close the door and seal them off. “Now, am I actually going to hear what it is we’re here for?”

   Pinkerton threw her a look. “You didn’t tell him.”

   “Never had a chance to, with Charon around,” she sighed. “Plus, you have all the scans.”

   “Right.” Pinkerton waved at him to ascend the top floor. “Your daughter came to me with a request—no, a demand—in helping that giant lug of burnt flesh with what I believe is a Pre-War device inside his brain.”

   James crossed his arms as they stood before a machine, a series of images suddenly displayed. 

   “Charon didn’t leave the bar for me, Dad,” Evelyn said on his other side, pulling something out of her vault suit for him to take. “He left because of me.”

   “I suppose there is more to this story than I was originally told?” he asked as he tried to read the letter she had given him. It was practically illegible. 

   She nodded. “A lot more.”

   James listened to her entire story of Charon’s contract up to their initial visit with Pinkerton, where the older scientist then chimed in and swiped through the negatives on the screen. 

   “Can you help him, Dad?” 

   James looked down—Evelyn was a child, three years old, with that piece of string held tightly in her little fist. He already knew the answer to her question…and it broke his heart all the same. 

   “Oh, my dear, sweet girl,” he said gently. He took her tiny hands in his, those big blue eyes so desperately looking up at him. He heard her goading to the other children—Daddy saves people, Daddy can save the world! “A surgery like this would be fatal, Evelyn. I'm a doctor, but not a brain surgeon… I cannot help him. I am so sorry.”

   She blinked, once, twice, and then a few tears began to fall, her high-pitched voice breaking. “...what?” The string was looked down at, and she rubbed her little grimy fist into her eyes. “But…why not?”

   “Horace is right…this is something far out of our league. I could remove it, but it would more than likely kill him.”

   The radroach wiggled its antenna, and she hugged the creature tight. 

   “You-you-you promised you would help!” she bawled, smooshing it close before they could take it away. “You can save him, Daddy! You can save anything!”

   Stay with me, Catherine! Stay with me! No, don’t go, love…don’t leave us…

   “Please!” she begged. “I won’t ask for anything ever again! I-I’ll do anything! Just help him, help him! It’s all I want!” 

   Don’t cry, little one, it’s not very far, now… Daddy will keep you safe, Daddy is here for you, always… Daddy will give you everything...

   James pulled her into a tight hug, the string falling to the ground. Roachy was carried off, and there was a crack of a baton and a pitiful squeak, and Evelyn cried and cried and cried. 

   “I’m sorry,” he repeated thickly, stroking her hair and closing his eyes. 

   She pushed him, running for the door and away, and he watched her go...as a father was always meant to do.

Chapter Text

   Charon sat on the cot.

   Dogmeat panted, his head on the floor and tongue waggling.

   Charon stood and paced.

   Dogmeat watched, his eyeballs following his every step.

   Charon looked down at the mutt.

   Dogmeat sneezed with his eyes open.

   Charon growled, “Stop staring at me.” 

   The dog’s eyes went to the opposite sides of its head.

   The hatch began to open, and Evelyn stepped through, her face ruddy. He quickly came to her side before she could even close the door and gently held her chin, tilting it before she could hide.

   “What happened?” He rasped, deathly serious, “I will hurt them.”

   “It’s nothing…” She lowered his hand and shut the door. “I brought us some dinner.”

   They ate, the mirelurk cake crumbs vaporized from existence before they had a chance to hit the floor. He kept his eyes on her, having learned Sad Evelyn required some space, but wanted Happy Evelyn to smile again.

   She unstrapped her Pip-Boy and removed her boots as she sat on the cot, looking up at him after the first one hit the deck. “Did you hate me when I gave your contract to Gob?”

   Worry faintly crept into his tone. “No…”

   The other shoe dropped. “And if something were to happen to me, he’d be your employer again, right?”

   Charon slanted his eyes at her passiveness. He disliked it when she beat around the bush. “I would return to my previous employer in the event of your death…why are you asking me this?”

   “And what happens if Gob dies? Ahzrukhal is already dead. How far back do you go?”

   He tensed, sitting back in his chair and studying her. “I have killed many of my past employers…the contract would simply be handed to the first person in passing.”

   Charon had had many employers—some kind, but most were not. He had done unspeakable things that he would carry to his grave, for not even she could pull them from his tongue…he left those memories locked away, forever to rot like the bodies of those who had forced his hand.

   When she spoke nothing more of the subject, he felt a stab of anxiety pounding in his chest. He should have let that sleeping dog lie, for she was his employer, and it was not of his choice whose hands held his contract…but…

   “Evelyn,” he rasped, unable to constrict the apprehension building in his throat. “Are you considering relinquishing my contract?”

   “Never.” She stood and shimmied her vault suit to the floor, lithely stepping out of it. With a few steps, she undid her bra and said goodbye to her underwear before she knelt at his feet, offering nothing but her naked skin and those big, blue, sad eyes. “But I had to be sure. I mean, was Gob…okay?”

   He cupped the side of her face with one hand, nearly engulfing it by his sheer size. The wasteland was a fickle and cruel mistress, something he had come to learn and respect very early on after the war, and yet here was this young vault dweller, so inexperienced and foolishly optimistic, being the rational one while he felt his heart seizing inside its cage of ribs.

   “He is not Ahzrukhal,” he told her.

   “You’d be happy, with him?”

   “No,” he said, honestly. “You, make me happy.”

   Whether or not it was the answer she wanted to hear, he wasn’t too sure, for her eyes became hard like stone and her spine grew rigid as she held her hand over his own. “Would you care if I were a ghoul?”

   His hand slowly fell away. “Are you showing signs?”

   “No, but if I were to become a ghoul, we could be together…forever.”

   The notion was nice. He would selfishly love to have her forever…but not at the cost of what she would pay for it. 

   There was no one way—everyone seemed to experience the process differently. Sometimes, it was as simple as the hair falling in clumps, easily pulled by the tooth of a comb, maybe taking entire portions of the scalp along with it. Others, the nose would slowly decompose, for weeks, maybe years, before being pulled away with stretches of the entire skin on their face. If they were lucky, they would keep their ears. Some had a chance of becoming completely blind. And those were the lucky ones...

   He had seen the others, the unfortunate souls whose entire bodies would itch and burn and rot and they would scream and cry as they could not put the flames out, driven to insanity and begging God as their bloodied nails were ripped from their beds as they clawed apart what was once their humanity. Put it out, put it out—please help me, help me!

   And then there was the inevitable—when they eventually became distant, with that look in their eyes that told the others it was their time, and they would be escorted away, forever entombed in the dark amongst the hissing and decay.

   “You do not want that,” he stonily rasped as he stared right through her.

   “But I want you." She licked her lips, her words feverish and infective. "And you wouldn’t have to worry about your contract, or Gob, or another employer, or—!”

   Charon steadied her trembling hands between his. “Being a ghoul is not something you want, or something that is guaranteed. It is rare, Evelyn, and you could die a horribly slow death.”

   Her eyes grew glossy, a few tears falling onto his lap. “But we could be together, and—!”

   He combed a few fingers through her beautiful brown hair, tucking a strand behind an ear. “I do not wish it for someone like you.” The crying came full force, and he lightly stroked a thumb tip over her lower lip. “I wish to see you live and die at an old age.”

   She sobbed as she held onto him, “But then I’ll have to leave!”

   “Yes, because all of us will die, someday.”

   Her eyes raised up, two pools of melancholy. 

   “Your father will die,” he continued gently. “The dog will die. You will die. And I, too, will someday die. That is life, Evelyn.” She melted into his chest, and he held her close, his rasp growing soft. “I have lived many years, and I wish to see you live all of yours.” 

   Evelyn would age…he would not. She would change before his very eyes until she grew too frail to walk, and too weak to speak, and he would remain by her side and hold her hand as he told her, I love you, Evelyn, goodbye. She would go on without him up to that place as he remained down here, waiting for the day to join her once again. He would have new employers, for however many years he breathed, and he would think about every moment they had shared.

   Evelyn was his little star—so bright in this dark world, and so fleeting. It would light up his entire sky before it burned too bright...and then simply fade away. 

   Clip-Clop Clip-Clop Clip-Clop

   Whoa, Horsey! She digs her heels in the floor and settles her gentle steed. You there! Peasant! Which way is Princess Amata’s castle?

   Her father spins in his chair away from his terminal. Now, just who am I having the pleasure of speaking with?

   Silence! I have not bid you right to speaketh to me, worm! Now, which way? Her steed fidgets, and she runs her fingers through his mane. Easy, now, easy, Horsey.

   Will Stanley be looking for that missing mop, by chance? 

   Sir Stanley is dead. 

   Oh…how unfortunate. Plague?

   No. I killed him.

   …I see.

   He spoke out of turn. 

   James hides his laugh away behind a hand. Forgive me, my…?

   Knight Evelyn.

   Knight Evelyn, for not knowing the whereabouts of the castle. I bid you best of luck and good fortune in your search. 

   Knight Evelyn squints her small eyes but reigns her horse around, galloping from the peasant’s quarters and down the road through the dark forest, before she hears a cry for help. Princess Amata!

   Princess, Princess, hath no fear, for Knight Evelyn, draws near! She blows a snort from her lips as Horsey rears high enough to touch the sky, and she bolts down the stairs across the Lands of the Dead and passes the Cave of Misfortune before she comes to a sliding stop at Princess Amata’s castle.

   Oh, Knight Evelyn, you have come for me!

   Knight Evelyn dismounts her loyal steed and looks up from the base of the stairs to Princess Amata waving her handkerchief. 

   Princess, I shall—!

   Something hits the back of Evelyn’s head, and she mutters an ow as she turns. Hey!

   Go away Butch! We’re playing! 

   The goblins walk forth, sniggering as they surround them. 

   Look what we have here: one nosebleed and Overseer’s tattletale playing games for babies! 

   Leave us alone. We got here first. 

   Princess Amata descends the castle steps, braving herself in the fight alongside her Knight. 

   My dad will be so mad if I tell him what you did, say you’re sorry!

   Go ahead, tell the Overseer, that’s all you ever do! Tattletale!

   Evelyn misses the ambush from behind as they grab her steed away, taunting her. Give Horsey back! He’s mine!

   Horsey? That’s a dumb name…for a dumb girl! 

   They tear his mane and he screams, and Evelyn cries as she goes to save him from the vicious little hands plucking out his eyes and ripping apart his beautiful coat. Evelyn is on the ground, the sobs loud as she tries to put him back together. 

   You jerks! I’m telling! 

   Butch pushes her down. Oh yeah? Tell your dad and I’ll beat you up!

   Evelyn holds the end of the mop in one hand, then both, then raises it above her head like a sword casting judgment, smiting down the evil foe. The scream is loud, and it is frightening, and the others run away as she keeps hitting him to ensure he won’t be hurting anyone, ever again. 

   Knight Evelyn is then cast away to the darkest dungeon, and she sits there, secretly wishing to be a princess instead, and waits for her shining knight to come to her rescue and take her away from this horrible place…but he never does.

   There was no word from her father the following morning. She had snuck the ghoul to share a shower (earned a sore jaw and throat), wandered to Gary's Galley for a late breakfast (where she winced with every chew), and proceeded to the flight deck for a breath of fresh air (that she inhaled through her nose). Charon helped her up and inside the cockpit of a better-faring aircraft, and she played with the controls and tried to decipher the function of the inoperative gauges. 

   "Evelyn," Charon rasped.

   She fiddled with the aileron trim. I'm taking enemy fire! Don't know if I can shake 'em!

   "Evelyn," he repeated with stressed patience.

   A button was smashed after she put the bogey in her crosshairs. Pew pew pew! He's hit! He's going down! Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir!

   The ghoul growled and climbed the wing, shaking the entire airframe. He removed his mask and reached over to stop her hands from moving the flight controls. "What are you not telling me?"

   She feigned ignorance with a shrug and tapped at the spinning gyro. (What a curious thing!) She said, "I don't know what you mean. Have you ever flown one of these?" 

   "No." He forced her to look at him, his eyes somehow bright even in the midday sun. "There is something upsetting you. What is it?"

   "Nothing," she lied, a mere whisper. 

   "You are a terrible liar."

   She sat there, the tightness in her throat blurring her eyes. She rubbed at her hazy vision with an arm—she wouldn't be able to spot enemy fighters in this condition. 

   "Did your father upset you in some way?"

   The big red button for the ejection seat was pushed. Nothing happened. "...you really wouldn't want me as a ghoul?"

   Charon slightly leaned away, studying her for a minute before he made her look at him one more time. "No."

   A tiny bubble of snot popped from her nose, and she smeared the goop across her salty cheeks as she began to climb out. He halted her before he was forced to reequip his headgear, his rasp a low murmur as he cleaned her face with a lick of his thumbs. 

   "I do not like to see you unhappy. What is it I can do?"

   She shook her head and bit her tongue. "I'll be okay. Don't worry about it." 

   Charon glanced down at the dog, gave a deep sigh, and said so monotonously that she imagined him handing her that note from Ahzrukhal, "Would you like to see the dog sit in the pilot's seat?"

   A sparkle burst inside her eyes, and he took it as an answer. He lifted Dogmeat with one hand like he was a weightless prop and plopped him inside. Evelyn snugged the aviator's cap over his head and set the headset gently over his ears. 

   She held an invisible mic to her mouth, clicking on the receiver. "Dogbutt-One, Dogbutt-One, this is base, do you copy? Over."

   Dogmeat sneezed. 

   "I repeat, Dogbutt-One, there are hostiles in your area, do you copy?!"

   A squeaky fart. 

   Evelyn gagged and waved a hand in front of her face. "I think he's down."

   They disappeared back inside the bowels of the ship, making way to the Capitol Preservation Society when they came to an open room milling with a few people. An elderly man greeting guests in the hallway beckoned her as they went to pass. 

   "Are you here for my sermon?" he politely inquired. "I'm Father Clifford, a preacher for Saint Monica. All are welcome to partake in the Church."

   Evelyn glanced inside. "I don't mean to offend, but I don't really believe in God..."

   "You don't have to be a believer to attend." He looked down at her with kind eyes. "Sometimes, it's just nice to be surrounded by others who share faith, even if not all of those faiths are the same."

   "I don't even have a faith," she lamely said.

   "How about a home? Surely you have one of those? Every Church is a house of God's, and since we are all His children, then it is just as much as your home, as it is mine." He gestured to the pews. "You don't even have to listen to the sermon—just a quiet reflection seems to be enough for some." 

   They took a seat in the back, with the dog lying at her side in the aisleway and Charon fidgeting in his spot before she put her hand comfortingly on his thigh. Father Clifford came to the podium, and she had a wash of warm nostalgia from her younger years when her father would read her stories from the Great Big Book. She listened to the creaky ship, the rustle of bodies in their seats, and the sermon Father Clifford shared of a woman, a miracle conceived by ghouls and bound as a slave, only to later bear the burden of losing her only son to those who shackled her in chains. 

   "But she did not give up hope!" Father Clifford rejoiced. "She prayed to God, and He would deliver miracles to her, every night!"

   Saint Monica was reunited with her child, but discovered he had become the very monster he had been taken by, and yet, she continued to pray.

   "For she believed!" Father Clifford gave a dramatic pause, and then met Evelyn's eyes across the room. "And God would answer."

   "...Evelyn?" A light shake of her shoulder, a hushed rasp at her side. "Evelyn."

   She blinked—the sermon was long over, and the others had already left, just leaving the three of them in that empty chapel. How long had she been lost? She glanced down at the giant hand, swathed in bandages, held by hers. Too long, she decided. She had lost count of the days, weeks, months she had been at this man's side, and how he was chained to her...and how she had done nothing to break them. 

   She closed her eyes and lowered her head—and she prayed. 

   Charon bent closer to discreetly speak with her. "Are you alright?"

   "I'm fine," she whispered in return, closing her mental prayer book away. "What did you think of it?"

   "Nonsense," was his predictable reply. "Shall we leave?"

   A figure walked quickly past the open doorway, and then just as hastily entered before she could even stand from her seat.

   “Evelyn, I've been searching the entire ship for you," James said, a little out of breath. He waved at them, his tone urgent. "I need you to come with me. It is important.” He looked around to ensure no one else was in the vicinity before he looked at Charon. “I would perhaps suggest you to wait back at the hotel. I'll be on the bridge, Evelyn, when you are ready."

   Charon dutifully let himself be walked back to their room, but before she could shut the door between them, he put a hand through the crack. "You will return?" he asked. 

   She sneaked her head through to catch his lips for a kiss, and smiled. “Always.”

   James was waiting for her on the bridge, and she followed in her father's footsteps as he took them to the bow of the ship. She kept her lips zipped until they stepped through the hatch for Pinkerton’s lab, a hot rush of blood nearly bursting her heart from excitement. “Did you figure something out?!”

   “Not me, but Horace has, and we thought it best for you to speak with her.”

   “Her?”

   The lab was empty, but a drift of voices coming from the upper level led them to Pinkerton’s personal quarters—an old man’s bachelor pad if she ever saw one. Both father and daughter invited themselves between a murmured conversation between two people: Pinkerton seated in a chair, and a woman on the couch. She glanced up to Evelyn, her face thoughtful while Pinkerton took a drag from a cigarette between his fingers. 

   “You’re not going to have any more waterworks while you’re here, are you, kid? I don’t want my equipment to get wet,” Pinkerton drawled with stale humor. 

   “What’s going on? Is this about Charon?”

   “Hello, Evelyn,” the woman introduced as she stood, “my name is Victoria Watts. I’m a friend of Pinkerton’s—”

   “Associate, more like,” the old man gruffed. 

   “—and he asked me for my help with your plight. I have heard a lot about you, you know. You’ve helped a lot of people.”

   Confusion dusted her lashes as Evelyn blinked. “...I’m not sure I follow. Are you a surgeon?”

   “No, I’m not.” Victoria patted the seat beside her on the couch. “Please, sit down.”

   She did, slowly, looking around the room with an odd anxiety pumping through her blood. Fight or flight. “What is this?”

   “After you stormed out of here last night, I had an idea,” Pinkerton said, taking an inhale on his smoke. “Victoria here lives on the ship, and is a contact of mine that occasionally brings me people—I use that term loosely—for their ‘freedom’. That holotape you didn’t give two rats' asses about? The man who left it behind wasn’t a man at all…but a machine.”

   Evelyn fidgeted, her heart beating way too fast. “...okay.”

   “He’s a synthetic human—an android, and I work for an organization that calls themselves The Railroad, and our sole mission is to help people like him. Help them be free.” Victoria gave her an easy smile. “Your father and Pinkerton told me about Charon, what he is.”

   “And Charon isn’t a machine; he’s a ghoul.” Evelyn uneasily looked to her father. “Dad?”

   “Victoria’s organization has contacts in a place called the Commonwealth,” James told her gently. “They have a specialist—a neurobiologist, someone who works specifically on the brain.”

   “Dr. Amari is amazing at what she does,” Victoria assured her. “And we believe she could be the best chance Charon has at having this implant removed, or at least, deactivated in some way.”

   Evelyn curled her hands into tight fists over her knees. “Where is the Commonwealth, exactly?”

   “Boston,” her father answered. 

   “Boston,” Evelyn repeated weakly, her brain pulling up a Pre-War map in Mr. Brotch’s classroom. “That’s pretty far.”

   “It’s weeks of travel, and very dangerous,” Victoria agreed. 

   Evelyn blew out a small breath, and looked the woman in the eye. “When do we leave?”

   All three older adults looked at each other. Evelyn felt ready to jump out of her skin. 

   “What?” she panicked. “What’s wrong?”

   “I would like to speak with her, alone,” Victoria said quietly, and both men left the room, closing the two women together inside. She turned to Evelyn, her eyes soft. “Your dad told me you’re in love with Charon.”

   “More than anything.”

   “And that he also loves you…despite what you are, to each other.”

   “I didn’t force him!” Evelyn growled, stamping to her feet. “I would never do that to him!”

   Victoria remained calm in the face of the storm. “When I had first heard about you, on the radio, I was in awe. A woman, facing down the wasteland and bringing justice to those who had been wronged by it. Real fairy-tale stuff. I imagined a woman: strong, brave, and the bearer of hope. And when you walked through that door just now…you were nothing like I had imagined you to be.”

   Evelyn rolled her eyes, fighting back a hard lump in her throat. 

   Victoria leaned toward her on her knees. “But then, when you had just looked at me with that fire in your eyes…I knew you were her.” She patted the cushion again. “Please, Evelyn, sit down.”

   She didn’t, and the woman sighed as she leaned back. 

   “I’m not trying to be cruel,” she said. “I just want you to understand that all of this is being done in Charon’s best interests. His.”

   “You’re not taking him away from me,” Evelyn warned with a flaming sword in her hand. “I’m coming with you.”

   “You would throw away this chance for him, to live a normal life and have his own free will, over your love?” 

   Evelyn faltered, her sword dropping to her feet. “No.”  

   “I want to tell you a story.” Victoria clasped her hands, her voice far away. “When I had first started working for the Railroad, I met this man, named Jes. He was handsome, and kind…and he was a synth. An artificial human, looking for his freedom.”

   Evelyn retook her seat. 

   “Needless to say, we fell in love. It was hard not to, and we had to keep it a secret. It’s discouraged from having close relations with those we help.”

   “But…why?” Evelyn whispered. 

   “Because in order to help them, we have to erase their memories.” Victoria looked down at her dark hands. “We give them a clean slate—a new face, a new mind, a new day. Freedom. That’s our purpose…and that’s what Jes had come to us for, and in order to escape those who had enslaved him, he had to forget and begin again.”

   Evelyn licked her lips. They were salty. “Couldn’t you just…run away?”

   “No. They find them, they always do…but we had made a vow, that because our love was so strong we wouldn’t forget it, and that he would come back to me like he had promised, and we would leave to live the lives we had always dreamed about.”

   “What happened?”

   “I took Jes to Dr. Amari, and when he walked out of there…” Victoria wiped at a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “He walked right past me.” 

   Evelyn cried, “But you can’t erase Charon's memories! He wouldn’t want that! He—!”

   “Charon is bound to be a slave so long as he remembers the conditioning of it,” Victoria interrupted with a firm hand. “He is extremely complicated, and I’m not exactly sure how Dr. Amari is going to handle the implant, but just know…when it’s all said and done, he’ll have new memories, a new life…and he can live as he was always meant to.”

   Evelyn bawled into her hands, her shoulders trembling and nose runny. “But why can’t he love me again?!”

   “Sometimes older, powerful core memories can regress the patient. We’ve seen it happen…and it was never a success. He’d remember who he was, and what he was…it’s not the risk we can take with someone like him.” Victoria stood, resting a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder as she loudly wailed. “Do you want to know what happened to Jes?”

   She said nothing, but let her heart break in her lap, her face the epitome of grief. 

   “He met a beautiful woman, who had two kids of her own, and together, they’re raising the perfect family we had always talked about having ourselves…" She gently squeezed her. "And he’s the happiest he's ever been.” 

   A familiar, warm presence sat by her side, pulling her into his arms and softly petting her hair. “There, there, sweetheart… I’m here for you.”

   “Dad,” Evelyn sobbed. “What do I do?”

   James looked at her, his eyes gray rather than blue. “You do the right thing, honey, despite it being the hardest.” 

   “Evelyn,” Victoria called to her from the doorway. “Meet us at the base of the bridge. Some of the other agents and I will be leaving in an hour—that should give you the time to say goodbye.”

   Evelyn shook her head, her voice hollow and scratched. “He won’t want to leave. You don’t know Charon, he—”

   “If you love him, like you say you do,” Victoria met her eyes one last time, “then you’ll make sure he does.”

Chapter Text

   Remember, and remember it well, my dear Charon…there is no one to blame for this, but yourself.

   His newest employer, this Ahzrukhal, grins as his contract is slid deep inside a breast pocket—the first thing he notices is the suit. It’s faded, with threads fraying on the cuffs and stains riding up along the left pant leg, but its wearer struts around in it like it's made of a million bucks. Perhaps it once was. 

   Do you know what an enigma is, Charon? 

   Charon says nothing. He does not have to volunteer words where he deems they are not needed; he cannot remember a time when he had offered something beyond the extent it was necessary. 

   It is something one does not understand.

   Charon stands in the corner. He stares at that face, that grin, and that suit his employer wears. His arms are crossed and his back is leaning against the wall. It’s all he does for the time. Waits. And waits. And waits…

   You are an enigma to me, Charon. 

   By the look in his eyes and the slithering smile on his face, Charon already knows the sort of person his employer is. He’s the kind of man that’ll be six feet under the first moment his contact is traded, for he will trade, because they all do, despite what they all have said or will say. 

   I believe we’re going to work very well together.

   They are all the same…and no one can ever convince him otherwise.

   The minutes ticked on, and he was forced to wait there, again. Wait. And wait. And wait…

   Charon couldn’t help but wonder what it was between her father and herself that he was not privy to. It wasn’t his business, and he knew how much she had lamented in wanting to find him in the past, but it seemed to be every time they interacted, she was left more remorseful than she had been, and that he was the one left to pick up the pieces. 

   A faint knock drew his head around, with a fainter voice calling on the other side.

   “Mister Scary Guy? Are you in there?”  

   Charon was greeted by the child they had saved from Grayditch. He rasped, “What?”

   The boy looked up at him with a smile. “Aunt Vera told me you were back—!”

   Charon shut the door.

   A few minutes passed, and he believed the boy to have gone home, but there was another little knock. “…can Dogmeat come out and play?”

   Charon opened the door again and curtly indicated with his chin at the dog to leave.

   The child began to speak so quickly that he covered more distance with words than the dog did with his feet. “Aunt Vera asks me a lot of questions about you guys. Are they married? I told her no, but they live together like Will’s parents did. She asked me if I knew what you look like. I said you were really ugly, and—”

   Charon slammed the hatch shut after the dog had finally departed, grumbling with a shake of his head. He retook a seat on the cot and eyed Evelyn’s bag beside his; a married pair. His hand twitched.

   Her journal was fished out and carefully handled like it was made of glass, and he flipped it open to skim through it. There were a few doodles of them and the dog, shooting ants and wandering the wastes. Another terrible picture of him, except he was wearing that silly dress with butterfly clips in his hair—it was surrounded by hearts. He read through what he finally now understood was poetry, but he still failed to understand it at all.

   There were some footsteps, and he heard a faint murmur of voices. The ghoul hastily stuffed her journal inside his bag without realization, not taking his eyes from the door as he recognized the speakers. 

   “I know what Victoria told you, but take your time, sweetheart. They won’t leave without you.”

   “…what if I can’t do it, Dad?”

   “Whatever decision you choose to make, just know that I fully understand…and I believe he will, too.”

   Charon slowly stood as she came in, and they stared at each other. All of her stars were dead. He took two strides to stand close to her and held her face in his hands. She had been crying for a long period of time…and he hadn’t been there for her.

   “What happened?” he asked.

   She looked right through him, her open sky bombed into glass, and he knew it to be terrible.

   He stressed, “Evelyn.”

   Her voice was hoarse, and it scratched his ears upon hearing her speak. “I’m giving your contract to someone else.”

   His heart skipped a beat, and he felt the sharp edge of a wire around his neck, squeezing till it hurt to breathe. “...I do not understand,” he rasped. 

   She licked her chapped lips. “I’m no longer going to be your employer…and we’re never going to see each other, ever again.”

   They said nothing for a length of time, and he stooped to be eye level with her, his hot breath wafting in her face. “Who is making you do this?”

   She looked right back at him, unflinching. “No one.”

   It wasn’t a lie. 

   A step was taken back, and he formed a single hand into a fist, the tight curl of his leather glove audible in the small space. He looked away, thinking.

   “I have trusted you,” he said, slowly, each word coming out like he was tasting it on his tongue for the first time. He stared down at her. “Why did we come to Rivet City?”

   She didn’t have to answer him, or speak the truth, and if she were any other person he had known in his life, he would have expected just that…but Evelyn was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was something not understood.

   Evelyn the Enigma.

   She took out his contract, unfolded it, and stared at the lettering he had written another lifetime ago.

   “There’s a group of people who call themselves The Railroad,” she began. “They help people like you, people who don’t have a choice in what they say or do or who they answer to.” She looked up at him. “They’re going to free you from this contract, Charon…and from me.”

   The contract. It made sense now. 

   “Evelyn,” he rasped, and his voice was surprisingly gentle as he clasped his hands over hers to hide away that piece of paper under her fingers. “There is always a contract. You know this.”

   Silly little smoothskin, making mountains out of molehills. 

   “You are my employer, and I am the employee, and so long as you have it, where you go, I shall follow.” 

   The woman he loved, trying to turn the sky white when it would always be blue. 

   “Let us go home.”

   He curled a strand of loose hair behind her ear and eagerly awaited her response. Surely, she finally would drive that pointless notion from her mind, and they could continue to live the life he wished to have with her for the many years to come.

   Evelyn whispered, “So this is really it then, isn’t it?”

   She unfurled her fingers, holding that contract so delicately, and then she tore into it like some savage beast, clawing and scratching and ripping it apart like skin from the meat. 

   “No, no, no, no! ” she garbled, her mouth contorted into an ugly twist of disgust as she then screamed at the top of her lungs, “NO! NO! NO!”

   Charon let them fall at his feet—he would pick them up, just as he would pick up hers.

   “There! No more fucking contract!” she laughed, slightly insane as she pointed a finger at his face like she could carve her own wicked smile onto it. “Tell me it’s over! Tell me it’s gone!”

   He calmly replied, “You know that is not true. You know I will just write a new one.”

   “Then tell me how to fucking break it!” she snarled, a vicious dog at the end of her leash. She had been beaten, many a time over…he could see that now. Her tail had been tucked and her head had been bent, but now, at the end of her rope, she bared her teeth and glared at him.

   If he had not believed in her love for him, he would have mistaken it for hate.

   “There is always a contract,” he said, a little testily. “That is life, Evelyn, and that is the way it always will be.”

   A gasp of despair bubbled in her throat as she choked to the side, “Fuck—I can’t do this—I can’t do this!”

   “Let us go home,” he tried again, but she howled like a madman does at the moon. 

   “Don’t you fucking get it?! Any of it?! Just how fucking brainwashed are you?!” she shrieked. “Don’t you ever wonder why there’s no one else like you?! Why you’re the only one with a stupid fucking contract?! Did it ever occur in that big fucking empty head of yours why you’re so fucked?!”

   He wanted to slap her across the mouth to dam the words that suddenly flooded over him, but he could only stand there, listening to the scalding outpour that somehow came from the very same lips he loved to kiss. 

   “You’re not fucking normal!” she screamed. “Everyone in your entire life has used you! Ahzrukhal, Gob, me! We’ve all been lying to you! You lie to your fucking self every fucking day! Why do you do it?! Do you like it?! Why are you like this?!”

   Charon released a shaky breath through his nostrils, and rasped quietly, “I am honor-bound to—”

   “YOU’RE A FUCKING SLAVE!” 

   At that moment, her words landed a solid blow to the side of his head, and he felt something he had not felt in a long time: fear.

   "YOU'RE NOTHING MORE!"

   It was cold, it was deep, and it threatened to take everything away from him, and he reacted in the only way that he knew best to survive—with violence. The room seemed to dim, the shadows grew three times their size, and Charon towered over her with a booming from his chest that shot her straight in the face.

   “IT’S ALL I HAVE!” he roared, and she horribly flinched as he flattened everything she had built like the shock wave of an atomic blast. She stared at him with that look in her eyes he had not seen since they had first met…she was just as afraid as he was. The contract pulsated an electric jolt between his eyes, but he had to make sure there was nothing about it that was an enigma to her, anymore. 

   She would understand. 

   He slapped a hand to his chest. “IT’S WHO I AM, IT’S WHAT I AM, AND YOU CANNOT CHANGE IT!” He cornered her, the dog now with its tail shaking and eyes wide as it lowered its head to the floor, waiting for the inevitable beating to come. “I HAVE NOTHING! THERE’S NOTHING LEFT OF ME!”

   A small, pitiful sound escaped her; he had scared her so badly she began to cry. 

   The BOMB—she did not understand. She had not seen the skies, nor felt the heat, or had death licking at her feet. 

   “Evelyn,” he said thickly, reaching a few fingers for her, but she recoiled away, sobbing. He licked his lips and dropped to his knees and slowly came to her. He grabbed at her arms, so desperate as he choked out, “Do not take it away…for I will have nothing left, and I will be, nothing.”

   Charon had not begged for over a century—a man the embodiment of evil had beat it out of him after he had pleaded to not carry out a single order, something so needlessly cruel it still made him want to vomit when it came to mind, and that man had beat him so badly with more things he had wished not to do that he never begged again…but he would beg for her, and his voice was so weak and pitiful that he didn’t even recognize it as himself.

   “Tell me what it is that you want! I’ll do anything that you ask of me! Please!”

   She had gone back to being a lifeless doll, and he wanted to shake some sense into her. 

   “Evelyn,” he implored pathetically, and then he rubbed a few fingers in his eyes as he brought out that little piece of poetry. It shook in his hand as he held it out to read with a broken voice. “I-I like the way, you are, for-for—”

   BANG BANG BANG

   “Rivet City Security! Open up! There’s been a report of a disturbance!”

   BANG BANG BANG

   Evelyn stepped away from him, her lips mouthing three words he had to read. 

   I’m sorry Charon.

   The hatch was spun open, wide and for everyone crowded around to see, and there was an audible gasp at the sight of this ghoul on the ground, with the little poem in his hands and the fire gone from his eyes. 

   Charon didn’t hear the exchange of words from herself, the security chief, or the others. His head was underwater, the words he had written for her distorted as he stared at them.

   “Charon,” she called to him, and he lifted his head, but he was unable to see. “We have to leave.”

   He didn’t remember gathering his things, or his gun, or even tucking that poem back inside to never be read from again. They walked through the ship with his head hung and eyes blank, and he barely heard the frantic whispers of his passing. 

   “I knew something about them wasn’t right!”

   “Should we all get checked?! Isn’t it contagious?!”

   “To think I let them shop at my stall! Disgusting!”

   “Mister Scary Guy…?” 

   The boy. 

   Charon turned his head, seeing the arms of the woman around him keep the monster from snatching him into the night. She spat at him, “Stay the hell away from us, you filthy ghoul!”

   “Maggot farm!”  

   Something pulpy and sticky exploded at his chest, splattering all over his uniform. 

   “You motherfucker!” Evelyn snarled, lunging for the culprit. The security escort held her back with a twist of her arm, eliciting a gasp of pain. 

   A pulse in Charon’s brain woke him from the strange dream, and he went to grab at the security guard’s neck to snap it. 

   “Charon, don’t!” Evelyn screamed, and he paused just as another fruit volleyed through the air and smacked her in the side of the head.

   "Zombie fucker!"

   Evelyn gave him a single look, with the pulp in her hair and juices sullying her face—don't. 

   ...and he was forced to obey.

   The security guard came to the side and dispersed the crowd with the wave of a baton. "Alright, alright, you all had your fun for today, now get lost unless you want to join them."

   James suddenly appeared, elbowing through the masses and standing in their way. "What is the meaning of this?!” he barked. 

   The security chief rounded on them with the dog muzzled and on a short leash at his side. “You three are going to the brig for the crimes you have committed against the people of Rivet City! There are no ghouls allowed on this ship!” 

   “We’re leaving the city,” James affirmed in a much more dignified and calm manner. "There is no need for all of this."

   Harkness stared at Evelyn. "The rest of you may go, but she stays."

   "I won't leave the bridge," she said dully, and then she bent her head to hide the tears in her eyes. "But I need to take care of something, first."

   Harkness held her wrists together and slapped a pair of cuffs on. “You will answer for your actions.”

   The sky was gray as they were escorted out, and Evelyn stopped before they began to cross. A group of two men and two women were waiting just on the other side, and she partly turned her head over her shoulder. 

   “I would like some time, please,” she told them.

   Harkness shoved her forward roughly, earning a mean snarl from Charon. "You get five minutes, but the mutt stays here."

   She nodded, and they started across. Charon stopped them halfway, holding her close.

   “Is this what you truly want?” he asked quietly. 

   There was no answer as she wiped away the mess on his uniform with her bound hands, peeling off chunks of the bitter skin and yellow flesh. She didn't meet his eyes until he brought his hands up to hers. The sea faded into the sky.

   “...no.”

   He leaned closer. “We can leave, Evelyn.”

   The dream was alive and well on her face, and he could picture the small house, far from anyone and everything. He could hear the late afternoon droning of the insects, smell the sweet tarweed growing in the cracks along the road, and taste the cup of fresh milk from the brahmin they kept in the shed. He would patch the roof and fix the plumbing; she would tend to the crops and be their face for trade; the dog would be asleep on the front porch. They would have all their years together, and be so very happy. 

   “Is that what you truly want?” he asked her. 

   Evelyn stared at the others still waiting for them on the other side, and she nodded, wiping at the fresh tears on her face as she began to march towards them. An uplifting swell of happiness pounded in his chest, and he felt there to be nothing in the entire world that could tear them apart…but then she came to stop before the woman, handing her the tiny pieces of his contract that she had destroyed. 

   “I am no longer your employer, Charon,” she said, and it was as simple as that. 

   She had given him everything, and yet she had left him with nothing.

   Evelyn reached up to gently cradle his face, and he lowered himself for her to do so, and she said softly, “My father will die. The dog will die. And I, too, will someday die. But you, Charon…you will live, for so many years after I’m gone, and I want to see you live all of them, free and happy, from where I am up above. I love you, with everything I have, and I will always remember you… Goodbye.”

   After a light press of her lips to his, she walked back across the bridge, and his feet shuffled along to follow her, just as his heart told him to do. 

   “Charon,” his new employer called, and the order lashed him to the ground where he now stood. “Let her go.”

   He did...and she never looked back. 

Chapter Text

   All my life, I’ve been a scared little girl, hiding under the blankets as the shadows unfurl, before they can swallow me down beneath the depths of the unknown. There are monsters everywhere—they pull my teeth, my eyes, my hair—until there's nothing left to be shown. I tell them to stop as they tear me in all directions like the circling of a black hole, forever suspended around a ring of eventual death, before the circle is complete and my existence is whole. They tell me to stop crying, but it’s all I know.

   That is…before I had a monster of my own. 

   His name is Charon.

   By definition, it suits him. A man without skin, but armor still hot from the forge, he came to me along the river using his hands as oars. He’s come a long way, I think…so long he doesn’t even recognize the path he’s walked, anymore. Those eyes. I see them in the dark, and I know not to be afraid.

   You can’t cry when there’s nothing to be afraid of. 

   I think I’ve dried up, left under the sun too long, shriveled and easily crushed into dust. I could just float along with the afternoon breeze, taken far from here and to many places all at once, unnoticed and forgotten by those who knew me. They’ll all forget me, someday—Gob, Moira, Nova, Amata, Dad, Dogmeat…even Charon. 

   And I think that’s the one that hurts the most. 

   “Evelyn,” he had called to me, just before I had stepped through the door that would close between us, but I didn’t turn around. 

   I would forever hate the person I was if I had. 

   “Do not be scared,” was all he had said. 

   And I knew he was. For he was mine, and I was his.

   They drew me from the Nile in that woven handbasket, pink and frail and without sight, and I cried, for forty days and forty nights. The cloth was soaked in the blood of the lamb, and when it bled white, they swaddled themselves from head to toe, and it set them alight. I seated him on a throne, washed his feet and replaced that crown of thorns. The sky was blue and the sand was warm. There was no forgiveness, for there was nothing to forgive. 

   There is only to forget. 

   I am laid there, for forty days and a night, and I pay for the crime that I commit. I am the monster, waiting in the dark, and the Good Father brings me his remarks. 

   “May Saint Monica bless you, child.”

   The blessings are many and sour, rancid as they are thrown at me from all around, staining my hands, my face, and my feet upon the ground. My basket is burned and the cloth is heavy as it drowns, drowns me down, and soon there is no sound. 

   He is gone, and I am yet to be found. 

   I am the little girl, waiting in the dark, scared of what may find me.

   “…if I did the right thing, then why does it feel so wrong?” 

   My father looks at me, the bright light in his eyes is gone. “I’ve been asking myself that question for many years now…and I’m afraid I still don’t have an answer.” 

   I journey, for a day and forty nights. I am searching for it, for the thing that’s wrong, even if it feels right. I ride a black horse, and his name is etched under his tongue, but he speaks a language of none when I have but one. 

   I give him gold. Three pieces, four, and then one more, each for a story that I am told, and I ask for the story of The Man in the Robe, eating fire and slaying Gods of Old. 

   I give him olibanum. He places it in a bowl. Burns it strong, burns it slow, burns it as I ask what he knows, of The Man in the Boat that rows. 

   I give him myrrh. To purify, anoint, and embalm, he pours it over and it drips from my palms, tells me there is nothing left of The Man I did Wrong.

   The man who told me he loved me.

   When I turned ten years old, I made a wish. I wrote it on a slip of paper, folded it thrice, and kept it under my pillow to visit me in dreams in hopes it would come true—it did twice. My father is near, but I am alone.

   This house is not a home.

   Do not be scared, but I am a lamb disguised with the head of a lion, and I rise to slit their throats and watch their eyes as I drink those thoughts they think. My blood is for them to keep, but do not cry, do not weep. We will all die someday, with my soul to reap, wrapped in the cloth that’s soaked, to forever be a reminder of what is destiny. 

   The dog lies by the door. "He’s not coming back," is what I tell him, not anymore, but he does not eat, he does not drink, I do not believe that he even sleeps. 

   God, this is cruel, don’t you see?

   I can’t help but be caught in the blink.

   I had swallowed despair with fire on my breath, those lips in a kiss with The Man of a Thousand Deaths. Would it be wrong of me to follow him now, when his steps are long and I am half the woman my father tells me is gone, would it be a sin to bring him back, would I be less than half of that?

   There is no little girl, there is only me. I Am, that I Am. I travel many days, have many sleepless nights, and I have made two wrongs, with a single right. 

   There are no stars out tonight.

Chapter Text

   Charon doesn’t remember the first. He can’t recall their face, whether they had been a man, or woman, or how long he had been of service to them…but he remembers how heavy the weight of the world had been. The contract was his only constant—a steady reminder of what his purpose was when he burdened everything on his shoulders, for there was nothing else…until he now realized he had nothing to ever begin with.

   "Evelyn," he called to her. He licked his mouth, unsure of what to say. Goodbye had never been a word in his lexicon. He thought for a second, and then, "Do not be scared."

   She was gone, and that was it.

   “We need to be moving, Charon,” his employer said beside him. “I’m sorry.”

   They walked, and he was forced to follow, and soon the roads and wastes he was familiar with began to grow distant and foreign. His eyes strayed from their usual motion of surveying for hostiles to the tracks they left behind—some part of him truly believed Evelyn would be running along in chase, breathless and with the dog loping beside her as she cried stop, I’ve made a mistake! She never did…and soon his eyes did not see anything more than the ground at his feet. 

   The hours passed, and the group eventually paused for a break, removing the load of their packs and giving their weary feet a rest as they sat around on the husks of fallen trees. Charon took refuge on a lone rock, carelessly dropping his things in the dirt and simply sitting there, too numb to think. 

   “Here you are,” the voice of his employer suddenly said at his side. She held over a box of something and a bottle of water for him to take. 

   He said nothing and ignored her completely. 

   “I’m not sure how much she told you what it is that we do,” she began. “But if you have any questions at any point during this journey, please, don’t hesitate to ask them.”

   Here, Charon turned his head slightly to look at her. Without even understanding the words leaving his mouth, he rasped, “May I go home?”

   She set the items down beside him before walking away. “...in case you’re hungry.”  

   Charon turned away, the reach of his gaze stretching far out into the distance: back to Megaton, back to her…back to home. 

   A flashback to only hours prior that morning—she had woken up to him in bed, sharing kisses and lowly murmured exchanges of easy conversation that he never had with anyone else, that he had never before desired...that he had been more than happy to have had every morning for the rest of her natural life.

   How did you get this scar? She had asked of him, tracing a jagged line across his left pectoral.

   Slavers, is what he had said, and he would have left it at that for anyone else who would’ve asked, but Evelyn always wanted a story, and so he had given her one. He never thought speaking about himself and his past experiences could be so…freeing…but it felt nice to be listened to, and he found that he had much to say.

   She had then tenderly laid her lips to it, almost a little solemnly, and he had wanted her to kiss him everywhere all at once. 

   A sharp, stabbing pain in his chest made him turn his back to everything. Charon instead watched his employer carefully put all the pieces of his torn contract together on the ground. It was incomplete.

   There was always a contract, and so he would have to write a new one. 

   Charon dug inside his bag for a paper and pen. The spine of a book touched his fingertips, and he withdrew Evelyn’s journal. The worn and faded edges of the cover were gingerly touched; the yellowed pages were fluttered through as he came to a blank page. His pen was picked up, and he began to write. 

   There had always been a contract—that much he did know. It had been his past, present, and future. It had been his foundation since before the war, and had come to be his North Star when there had been nothing left to guide him. The contract was his purpose.

   He stared at the sheet of paper once he had finished. 

   Never before had he ever held ill will towards it—he had loathed and utterly despised past employers who he had been subjected to, but the contract could not think, or speak, or bid him to have done those things, and so it was not to blame…but it also could not laugh, or smile, or love. For the first time in all of his time, he blamed it, and he found that numbness within him begin to fester into resentment. The contract had taken him away from the one thing in life he found to have wanted more than anything else, and then the epiphany dawned on him like a warm sunrise.

   He was never nothing, with Evelyn—he was always someone.

   His employer looked up after he had come to tower over her. The others silenced their side chatter, watching this big ghoul completely block the light of the sun as he stood tall and handed her the new contract he had written. Charon told his employer of the boundaries, stipulations, and constraints of his servitude to her. 

   His employer merely listened, stood to place a hand on his arm, and said, “Soon, you’ll never have to repeat those words to anyone, ever again.”

   Charon did not say anything in return, much less at all, after that. 

   They forged ahead. Charon fell to the back of the group, his feet filling with lead the further and further they journeyed. It would be a few days of travel before they reached the outskirts of the capital, and he continuously looked over his shoulder. There was still that faint flicker of hope inside him that longed to see those bright colors of blue and gold on the horizon, but the longer he walked, the emptier he felt. He didn’t know just how void one could be—it just was, and perhaps it always would be, and there was nothing to do but place one foot in front of the other.

   One of the men fell back to him, holding a full canteen. “Kind of warm today, innit?”

   Charon didn’t bother to glance at him, and the man stowed his offer away but remained at his side.

   “Victoria said your name is Charon. I’m Mayer. Been with The Railroad for some years, now.”

   They walked.

   “So, your partner was the Lone Wanderer, right?”

   They walked. 

   “...I was kind of hoping, for, I dunno, maybe the real stories? Heard some crazy shit from the radio and the locals.” The man rubbed a pinky finger in his ear and flicked off the tip. “Did you guys really take down an ant queen? Or there was that one about the behemoth! I even heard she defeated The Mechanist in hand-to-hand combat. Crazy!”

   “Mayer,” his employer called from the front. “Let him be.”

   The man gave him a certain look before sighing and resuming along beside the others. 

   Charon looked down at his boots dusted white with sand. If Ahzrukhal were to have told him he would be in this situation due to a weird smoothskin woman having puked on his feet, he might have rolled his eyes. If Ahzrukhal were to have told him that weird smoothskin woman had spent literal weeks combing the wastes for any hint of scrap to sell to collect enough caps for his contract, he would’ve scoffed and shook his head. If Ahzrukhal were to have told him that weird smoothskin woman would have him head over heels for her, have given him security, warmth, and a place to call his own, he would have barked a laugh down at his face and thought his employer high off his own merchandise... But then if Ahzrukhal were to have smiled that shit-eating grin, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said quietly, then she’ll send you away, just like we all do, for we are all the same, are we not? Such a shame, isn’t it? You really liked this one, didn’t you, Charon? I suppose you’ll never make that mistake again…

   Charon would have believed him, for he had been right. 

   The long caravan road became shadowed by the dark sky overhead, and they set up camp. Charon kept to himself, close enough in the event of an attack, but far enough away he wasn’t cast in the fire’s light. There was a tingle in his hands, but he stilled them. They were calling for his routine habit, a habit he had had for decades (centuries, even), but he didn’t move a single muscle. He just stared off in that one direction he could follow like the needle on a compass. 

   His employer came to his side again, this time with a bowl of something steaming in her hands.

   “I noticed you weren’t hungry, earlier…” She didn’t bother waiting to see if he’d take it and gently set it down. “Paul’s great with his grandmother’s recipes. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

   When he didn't move, she angled away from him, pulled something out of her shirt pocket, and then held it over with a sigh.

   “Evelyn wanted me to give this to you…and I’ll admit I didn’t think it was a good idea, but, here.” It was a folded piece of paper, and it was the first thing he accepted from her hands. She seemed pleased at that. “Hopefully her words will bring you the strength you need to see this through.”

   Charon listened as her footsteps fell away. He stared at the letter in his hands. A light breeze tickled his sense of smell with something far-off in the distance. His fingers then carefully unfolded it, and he began to read with what little light he had.

   Charon, if you’re reading this, I just want you to know that I never wanted it to be this way, and I’m not talking about your contract. When I had first met you, you honestly terrified me. I could never have imagined that mean mug of yours would come to be one of the few things I hold very dear in this shithole of a world, and how that terror has now turned into me saying goodbye to you. I still can’t shoot a gun. I forget which way is north. I’ll make terrible decisions and probably put myself in danger more times than I can count—

   He softly snorted.

   —but you won’t have to worry about me. I’ll be okay, big guy. I promise. Even if I lose a finger, or an arm, or even all desire to live on in this world, I’ll be okay. 

   He doubted that.

   I want you to be able to tell me to fuck right off, someday, if we ever meet again.

   Charon folded the letter. 

   ...and I secretly hope we do. 

   He hoped so, too.

   Evelyn had let him go for something he had no control over, because…because…he could not remember.

   No.

   Because he chose not to remember. The bomb had done more than erase his humanity; it had split his mind. He was able to forget that part of his life, and something deep within him wanted to keep it that way, so he never fought to remember why things were, for it just was. 

   Charon came to stand before his employer a second time with Evelyn’s letter tucked away close to his chest. All of them were watching him.

   “You intend to rid me of my contract?” he rumbled.

   She nodded. “We do.”

   Charon slanted his eyes slightly. “How?”

   “Would you like to take a seat?”

   “No.”

   “Very well,” she said with a withdrawal of her hand in her lap. “How much did Evelyn tell you, of our mission?”

   He took a step forward, in no mood for drawn-out conversation. “Tell me how you intend to rid me of my contract.”

   “Our organization has resources in the Commonwealth. We have a specialist who we believe can help you with your conditioning.” She held up his newly inked contract at him, brandishing it like a cross to ward off the devil. “We’re going to wipe your memories, Charon, and you’re going to live as a new man.”

   The ghoul’s face fell into disbelief. “...my...memories?” 

   “Vic,” a man from the side spoke up, “maybe we should let Dr. Amari—”

   “No,” she interrupted firmly. “He has every right. I know what Pinkerton told us, but he’s not here, and he’s not going to be seeing this through.” She stood and gently laid her hands on his arms as she stared up at him. “But you will, Charon.”

   His memories? They were not trying to rid him of his contract…they were trying to take everything from him, including Evelyn. 

   “It may be the only way,” his employer said softly as he retreated from her and growled when she tried to come too close. 

   Charon aggressively shook his head. “No… I do not want that.” 

   He would rather live with his contract and be forced to part from her than forget about her completely. Evelyn had given him something, something the contract could not, and he would never let that go.

   “I want to go home,” he said thickly.

   “I’m sorry, but that isn’t home.”

   Charon ran his hands over his head, distressed and confused. “I want to go home.”

   “Vic…” the other woman said in a strange tone.

   “No.” His employer held up her hand to ward off the others. “Just give him some space.”

   Charon pounded at his skull with his fists. “I want to go home!” 

   “Jesus Christ, Victoria, you told us this is what he wanted!”

   “And it is, just give him some time!”

   Charon shouted to everything around them, each word coming out more hostile than the last, “I am not a slave! I am not nothing! I want to go home!”

   The others were on their feet and frantically saying things at his back as he rushed to gather his belongings, but he ignored them all as he set off into the night. The contract would fight him—he knew that. It would be a bitter battle of willpower and pain tolerance, and he already had experience that he would be the losing party, but he didn’t fear the consequences of it.

   He feared losing her.

   “Charon, you can’t leave!”

   The bursts of lightning inside his head had been brief, even manageable, as he marched away with long, strong strides, but then those words left his employer’s mouth, and he crumpled to his knees with a gasp at the blinding light the contract smote behind his eyes. 

   It always won…no matter the fight.

   “No,” he garbled, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to crawl away on his hands and knees. “I’m going home.”

   “Charon, look at me, look at me!” she commanded, for it was a command, and he couldn’t resist the powerful urge the contract forced him to obey to, and so he did.

   “Charon,” she tried to say gently, but her words were poison to him, for nothing more she could say would ease the sting he felt. “You’re confused, and hurting, and I understand this is all very difficult to accept, but Evelyn wants nothing more than for you to be free.”

   Charon blindly sat there, down on his knees, trying to settle from the toll the contract took. The light in his eyes eventually waned into darkness, granting him the sight of his employer’s face.

   “I do not want this,” he begged. “Please…return my contract.”

   “Vic,” another said. “It should be his choice. This just feels…wrong.”

   “It’s wrong because he doesn’t have a choice to begin with,” she said fiercely, and she stood with a hand offered down to him. “Charon, Evelyn entrusted me to see to your freedom, and I’m going to honor her wishes. Please, if not for yourself, then for her.”

   Charon stared at the hand given to him, then up at the face, possibly the last face he’d see before he would be forced to forget.

   “I choose her,” he finally said.

   Her fingers slowly curled into her palm as her fist came to rest at her side. She stepped past, leaving him kneeling there in the dirt and open cold air.

   “Get some rest,” she called out to the others. “It's going to be a long journey.”

   He heard a chorus of mumbled words and some hushed speaking, but they all eventually came to quietly slip inside their tents and sleeping bags and feed some more fuel to the fire. He was still there, alone as he stared up at the sky.

   The stars didn't seem that bright, anymore.

   “Oh, Malcolm, you can’t leave me!”

   “I’m sorry, my darling…”

   “You, you…you bastard!”

   A crisp slap appeared on the black-and-white television screen.

   “It’s okay, my dear… I love you, too.”

   The couple embraced in a dramatic kiss, and a few Sugar Bombs bounced off their perfect faces of dark lipstick and pomade hair. 

   “Oh, please,” Evelyn drawled, shoveling her hand inside the half-empty box of Sugar Bombs and stuffing her face. Crumbs dusted her cheeks, locks of greasy hair tickled her chin, and a few fingers dove down to scratch her itchy butt through the fabric of her unwashed utility jumper. Her hooded, nearly blackened eyes watched the dramatic climax being played out before she loudly yawned, fishing for more sugary cereal. With a quirk of her brow, she peered inside the box when her fingertips grazed nothing but the empty underside.

   “Wadsworth!” she declared as she tossed the carton to the floor. “I’m out!”

   A few minutes passed, and she sniffled. 

   “Wadsworth!” she called a second time, but there was no fresh replacement to be had. Evelyn sat upright, narrowing her eyes at the robot hovering beside the empty pantry shelf. “Ugh! Guess I have to do everything around here!” 

   The blanket was tossed aside, her drool-soaked pillow was trampled underfoot, and she stumbled through the array of empty wine bottles as she struggled to hoist up her boots, leaving the laces half undone as she searched for the duffel bag of caps Pinkerton had returned to her after her release from the brig in Rivet City. 

   I kept a share as a finder’s fee, but the rest is yours, kid. You got a good heart, just don’t let it inflate your head.

   "Where...where...where..." She hummed an off-key tune as everything was nearly flipped right side back up after having been tossed upside down from the previous search. "I swear to God I had just...a-ha!" 

   A hint of the green military-grade fabric winked out from under the pile of dirty laundry, crusty dishes, and random assorted things she had piled in a corner. The wheel from a tricycle was tossed aside, bounding for the door to escape, as she hoisted the bag to her makeshift bed on the couch. She pooled enough caps to stuff her pockets, and went for the door. The wasteland sun greeted her with a healthy dose of bright rays, forcing her to hiss and squint as she raised a hand to shade her eyes.

   “Fucking hell, who turned the sun all the way up?” she muttered to herself as she began the long walk up the hill. 

   The eyes of a few settlers silently observed her as she passed, a few shaking their heads while the others gossiped amongst themselves. Evelyn ignored them all as she stepped inside the saloon, slapping down each and every cap.

   “Howdy smoothskin,” Gob said a little sadly, his frown deepening as she plunked down on the bar stool and laid her head on the counter. “...the usual?”

   Evelyn dramatically sighed, not caring to meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

   The ghoul drifted away to fill a crate with her request as Nova took a seat beside her, a cigarette perched between her fingers. She held one over from her pack.

   “When’s the last time you had a bath?” she asked bluntly. 

   Evelyn lifted an arm and loudly sniffed her pit. She shrugged, taking the smoke and fiddling with it as she waited for a light.

   “You’ve done nothing but mope around town for weeks." Nova flicked her lighter and held it under, the flame coaxing the smoke to life as Evelyn gently inhaled. "Has your father come back?” 

   “No.” Evelyn scratched her ass again and took a drag, catching the ashes in a tray at her elbow. “He’s busy. I’m fine.”

   “Fine is the last word you should be using right now,” the other woman said plainly. She laid her elbow on the counter and planted her head on her fist. “Best way to get over is to get under, and honey, you got all the selection you could ask for out here."

   Evelyn frowned, turning her head the other way. News of Charon’s departure had spread like the rolling of a radstorm, fueling gossip amongst the locals that then spread to the wandering caravans that then spread to nearly every ear this side of the Capital Wasteland. Her eyes landed on a group of traders seated around a table in the corner, their hands dealing cards. One caught her staring and threw her a wink in return. 

   Evelyn turned her head around again, dully repeating, “I’m fine.”

   A thud of a fully stocked crate landed next to her. Gob rasped, “Here you go, smoothskin…you sure you don’t want to take the job? It’d get your mind off things.”

   The ghoul had offered her a position as a barmaid for easy caps some days ago, but she had declined.

   Evelyn stood and stubbed her cigarette out before sliding the crate in her arms. “Sorry, but I’m busy.”

   Nova quipped sarcastically, “Yeah, we can tell.”

   Evelyn rolled her eyes and returned to her home, setting the crate down on the counter for Wadsworth to inventory. She cupped her hand around her mouth to smell her breath.

   “Smells fine to me.” 

   A brahmin steak wrapped in burlap was fished out and set on a plate that she brought to Dogmeat by the door. The dog barely moved his eyes to her even as she set it beside him.

   “Hey boy, you hungry?” she asked softly, petting his unkempt and mangy fur. The dog resumed his watch on the door, his eyes dull, and she sighed as she returned the plate to the kitchen and stacked it in the fridge atop the multitude of others he had refused. “…save it for later, I guess.”

   Evelyn flopped back on the couch with a box of snack cakes, ripping the parchment open with her teeth as she resumed play with the click of a button on the clunky remote. 

   Her eyes drifted from the Pre-War holomovie to the dog patiently waiting for his master to return. 

   “Give it up, Dogmeat, he’s not coming back.” She took a rather large bite of the sweet in her hand, forcing herself to chew and swallow. She said around a full mouth, “He’s never coming back.”

   The dog continued to stare.

   Evelyn quickly sat upright and snapped, “Look, I did what I had to, alright?! He’s gone forever, so get used to it!”

   The dog didn’t so much as twitch. 

   Evelyn looked down at the next cake she had grabbed, and she suddenly hurled it at the TV to make a big splat of frosting and cake all over the screen. 

   “I didn’t want to do it, okay?!” she cried as she jumped up and hotly paced around the room. “You think I like sitting here, thinking about how Charon’s just going to forget about us, how he’s going to live his best life with someone else?! For the record, I didn’t even want to go through with it, okay?! I was more than happy to run away and forget about all of this, but what kind of person would that have made me?!”

   A mannequin in the corner (dressed in the ghoul’s clothes he had left behind) was stomped up to, and she shoved a finger under the scowling impression she had drawn on with a red marker. 

   “This is all your fault! Do you hear me?! If you had just minded your own business back in Minefield, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess!” She roughly shoved the thing, making it wobble in a teetering circle. “Next time, just go ahead and blow my head off!”

   A musical number burst from the speakers on the television set, interrupting her regularly scheduled program of a one-sided argument. 

   Evelyn growled at the mannequin as she stalked away, “Don’t think this conversation is over…”

   A dusty, bent cowboy hat was swiped from the head of a garden gnome and placed on her head as she swung around the place, kicking her legs to the beat of the song in an attempt to mimic the dancers on the screen. 

   "I have always loved you, my darling!" she belted, waving her hand in the air and swinging over the back of the couch. "For I have never left, left that place where we were always meant to have met! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh—!"

   Knock knock!

   The door was opened to her father standing at her front step, and his bright smile instantly fell to his feet. “What in the world is that smell? What are you wearing? Have you been smoking?”

   Evelyn leaned in the doorway, shrugging as she observed the dirt under her long nails and cracked cuticles. Her voice nonchalantly rattled off, “Hi, Dad. How’s saving the world going?”

   James gently pushed her aside and scrutinized the disaster she called home. “My heavens, this is no way for a lady to live!”

   Evelyn closed the door and sunk back on the couch, reaching for the remote with a sarcastic, “Nice to see you, too.”

   There was a clinking of plates as James began to assist the poorly overwhelmed robot. He gagged and covered his mouth with an arm as he peered inside the fridge. “How long has this been without power?!”

   Evelyn didn’t answer the question as she watched the frosted cake slowly slide off the screen.

   James came to stand over the dog. “Dear lord, is he dead?”

   “Leave Dogmeat alone,” she grumbled, fiddling with the packaging of another snack cake. “He’s just sad.”

   “Depressed is a better term, for you both. I should have returned sooner.” The doctor came to sit beside her. He took her hand in his, meeting her eyes. “I know how it feels to lose the person you care about the most. I understand what you’ve been going through…but this isn’t the way. It's been weeks, sweetheart.”

   "Really? Could've fooled me," she bit out, tossing the unopened cake to the pile in the corner. "So, what're you doing here? I thought there was 'work to be done'."

   “The Brotherhood has rejected our request in clearing the Jefferson Memorial of super mutants despite our proposal. Apparently, their faith in the project is still broken after my departure all those years ago.” When Evelyn made no comment, he continued, “There is another group—mercenaries, more precisely—that I am seeking at this moment. I had decided to detour here in hopes you might wish to join me.”

   Evelyn wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jumpsuit. “Who are they?”

   James slightly smiled at her interest. “Have you ever heard of Reilly’s Rangers?”

Chapter Text

   The Railroad party had gathered around and voiced their concerns about his refusals, his ‘conditioning’, and his overall mental well-being. They appeared to be more divided than uniform, and after that first night, their numbers were one less.

   “We made a vow—!” his employer hotly reminded them, but she was interrupted by one of the men's curt shrugs and packing of his things.

   “I never agreed to anything like this,” he bitterly argued. “This isn’t what I signed up for. Count me out.”    

   Charon watched the man depart back in the direction of D.C., and his employer came to his side as the figure disappeared beyond the shimmering horizon.

   “Don’t worry,” she said. “So long as I’m still breathing, I’ll get you your freedom.”

   Charon didn’t eat or drink for the next five days, and the three remaining smoothskins smothered him with heartfelt pleas. The big ghoul grew so desperate for air that he breathed it in the radiation pits wherever he could find them, and he soon found himself with a dangerous habit he had no intention of curbing. Soaking his despair in the skull-tingling rads brought forth a quietness he didn't know he so desperately craved until then, and he would sit there, mercifully alone, with his eyes closed and thoughts indulging on Evelyn. 

   "That can't be healthy, even for a ghoul," his employer would comment after he'd finally emerge. 

   Charon honestly didn't know if it was or not, but he didn't care, and every tick from a Geiger counter would soon find him sitting amongst the radioactive decay, his arms languidly over his knees and eyes half-lidded, the memories playing like a Pre-War holovid that he would rewind, pause, and play again. 

   The contract constantly beat a tattoo between his eyes at his downright insubordinate behavior, and for the first time ever in his life as an honor-bound employee, he became sloppy. He left his weapons and gear to rot each night as he just sat there, not caring for what the next day was to bring, and it came to bite him in the ass after that second week on the road. His shotgun jammed during a confrontation with a couple of super mutants, and he was swept aside by the swing of a sledgehammer, cracking two ribs. The small party peppered the hulking green mutants with pint-sized bites from their shoddy pistols, and Charon had been forced to throw a grenade despite his close proximity. 

   His employer was not happy. 

   "Charon!" She slid to his side after the threat had been dealt with, fumbling with a Stimpak and attempting to stick him. "You need aid!"

   Charon growled and batted her hand away. "Do not touch me."

   "I need you to understand that I am not your enemy!" she matched his tone with equal frustration. "I am here to help you, but you are making it very difficult. Please...tell me how I can help."

   "I do not need your help!" he snapped, and as he limped away to tend to himself with his newfound addiction, his employer called out at his back.

   "If you die, I will be forced to return to D.C. and tell her." The ghoul paused, processing this, and she continued, "Don't throw your life away. It would break her heart, and I know you don't want that. If not for yourself...then at least for Evelyn."

   As Charon soaked beside the nuclear waste that night, he took Evelyn's journal from his bag and gently unraveled the protective fabric around it. It was the only thing he had sought to take mindful care of. He flipped to a picture, one he’d looked at a hundred, maybe even a thousand times—a scribble of himself holding Evelyn’s hand with the stupid dog between them. Everyone was happy.

   ...he had only wanted to be happy forever, and now, he never would be, ever again...

   The Railroad party quickly joined a caravan sharing the same destination, and as the days flew past him, he felt more of himself slip away. Under the light of the sun and with each step down the road, pieces began to crumble until he felt there was nothing left to hold him up. One incident with a mirelurk cost him the tip of his pinky finger; a skirmish with raiders rewarded him with a long, nasty scar from his inner thigh to his kneecap (that had almost been popped clean off). For all of his two hundred years, he'd never been this careless...and he didn't do a single thing to change it, even after it had cost them another member of his employer's group.

   The smoothskin who he'd first been introduced to—Mayer—had his eyeballs popped out of his skull and his lower jaw ripped off by the impact of a bullet, the entirety of his cranium cracking open for Charon to see the still-pulsing brain inside. 

   “Get down!” 

   Everyone scattered as Charon simply stared at the fresh corpse of a man, the limbs twitching and tongue waggling. 

   “Charon!” his employer screamed, waving her arms dramatically. 

   The contract commanded him to perform his duty with a giant fuck you hotly branded on his skull, and he grunted in pain and gnashed his teeth as he smacked his head a few times with the heel of his palm. A bullet ricocheted at his left foot while another lightly grazed the small, stumpy skin of what remained of his ear. He stumbled forward with his head in his hands, furiously trying to shake the lights back behind his eyes as he tried to see past the nothingness. 

   A curse and a faint click—reloading.

   He stumbled towards them despite his employer screaming from cover, "No! Come back! Charon, don't!"

   Charon stepped inside the dingy space of the gas station and blinked, attempting to regain his bearings.

   Thwack!

   Something violently struck him between the shoulder blades, making him grunt and crash into a jukebox. There was a faint tick as the stereo cackled to life, inserting a holotape and blaring at the highest volume, “They're gonna put me in the movies!”

   The contract suddenly lifted its agonizing fog to ensure his own survival, and the big ghoul straightened and turned around. A woman, raising a tire iron for a second attack, was snatched in the air by the throat. A few desperate kicks were launched at his chest, doing nothing to deter him or the powerful clench of his fingers around her neck. 

   “They're gonna make a big star out of me!”

   Another fiend charged from the side, hurling a wild scream and bounding over a table like a wild animal. 

   “We'll make a film about a man that's sad and lonely!"

   Charon lifted a boot to punt the raider in the face, but the smoothskin feinted and stabbed a jagged, rusty knife through the topside of his foot instead.

   “And all I gotta do is act naturally!”

   The ghoul dropped the woman to gasp aloud on the ground as he bumped into the jukebox again. Another click!

   "I do my best to hide this lowdown feelin'—"

   Wisps of sticky blood laced his boot as he yanked the knife free before he sunk it through the woman's right eye just as she scrabbled to her feet. 

   “I try to make believe there's nothin' wrong—”

   The other fiend was clumsily raising a loaded pipe pistol at his face, letting off a poorly aimed shot that missed him by a few inches. Charon swiftly unsheathed the knife and flicked it by the blade across the room, nailing the raider in the jugular. He observed the smoothskin suffocate on his own blood like a gurgling waterfall until a sound in the next room snapped his head around. 

   “But they're always askin' me about you darlin'—”

   Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he went to walk into the next room, but then a literal brick smacked him in the head from a raider lying in wait around the corner. Charon groaned and toppled over a workbench, fighting to get back on his feet.

   “And it hurts me so to tell 'em that you're gone.”

   A snarl vibrated in his throat as he gnashed his teeth and waveringly stood. His head met the chest of a man, and he found himself (for once) looking up into the face of someone else—someone big. The giant of a man cocked a grin.

   "You have to be shitting me," Charon growled, and then he braced himself for the uppercut the smoothskin laid into him, wincing as he felt his jaw crack! He was pushed a third time into the corner, and there was another click as the jukebox made another selection.

   “What to do now that she doesn't want me—”   

   Charon kept his arms defensively raised, taking the blows the bigger smoothskin pounded into him before he saw an opening and took it, throwing a solid fist of his own into the underside of the man's ribcage.

   “That's what haunts me, what to do?”

   The raider tumbled back some steps, stunned, and Charon charged forward with all of his weight in a tackle, crashing him into a drill press.

   "What to do to keep from feeling lonely—”

   Charon flipped the switch on with the heel of his boot, and the ghoul snarled from the herculean effort to shove the raider's bulging, panicky eyes under the high-speed rotary tool. 

   “Want her only, what to do?”

   The raider howled as he threw his head back and clonked the ghoul cleanly in the face, granting some release to turn the tables.  

   “The record hops and all the happy times we had—”

   Charon struggled under the surprising strength the raider held him down with, but before the spinning drill could be brought down through his skull, he kicked the man square in the nuts.

   “The soda shop, the walks to school now make me sad, oh—”

   Both men panted as they paced around each other in a circle before the raider dumbly shouted, "You DIE!" 

   "What to do I know my heartache showin'—"

   Charon slightly bent his legs as the raider charged straight for him, and at the last possible moment, he twisted to the side to grab him by the arm and used his momentum to throw him headfirst into the jukebox.

   "Still not knowin', what to do?"

   The glass dome shattered, and before the smoothskin could recover his stance, Charon curled a tight fist through his hair and smacked his head down, again, and again, and again, flattening his nose and crushing his cheekbones. Blood splattered, and a tooth rolled out, and the lights in the jukebox fluttered as the music erratically cut in and out. Charon heaved the remainder of his strength to shove him through the holotape selection, introducing live wires to a conduit. 

   "Doesn't-want-me-!"

   The raider shrieked, unable to escape as his muscles erratically twitched while the current froze his limbs. Charon took a step back, watching the smoke rise and smelling the skin beginning to singe as the smoothskin slowly cooked alive. The ghoul's chest heaved with labored breaths, and he snarked, "You first."

   A slow clap sounded off to his right, applauding the echoes of death with a standing ovation. 

   “Well done, Charon,” Ahzrukhal’s voice, wet and riddled with phlegm, rasped aloud. He stepped forward, his shiny dress shoes stamping through blood like wet ink across the floor. The former bartender flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from his sleeve as he drawled, “Still rather hurts, doesn’t it? So many miles from home. She could be dead at this point, for all you know…”

   Charon stared at the ghoul; the ghoul he’d turned cold.

   Ahzrukhal’s bony fingers suddenly curled over his broad shoulders from behind, the sharp tips digging through the leather of his jacket. “Or maybe she’s paid a visit to her Paladin; you know the one.”

   Charon bolted and spun around, but the specter was gone.

   “Or maybe she’s taken a little trip to see our good mutual friend, Winthrop… I’m sure he’s taking such attentive care of her, every night.” A swipe from a tongue licked the side of Charon’s face, the voice husky as Ahzrukhal murmured, “with his cock shoved all the way up inside her cunt.”

   The big ghoul lashed out at the empty air. 

   “It’s hard to face reality, sometimes. She’s forgotten all about you.”

   Charon pulled up the pipe pistol and aimed it at the sneering skull in the doorway.

   “Charon!” 

   He hesitated, but only because Ahzrukhal was gone, and in his place, was his employer. She had her hands raised to the sky, and he immediately dropped the gun. 

   “What is happening to me?” he whispered to himself, staring at his hands.

   “You’re hurt,” she said with forced calmness, licking her lips as she slowly approached him. “Let me tend to your wounds.”

   Charon backed up every step that she took, shaking his head as he felt panic rise in his chest. 

   “It’s okay, we’re here to help you.” Another few steps forward, another few steps back.

   “Be honest with me, Charon.” His name was savored on the tip of his tongue like the last drop of a fine whiskey. Ahzrukhal was standing just behind him, whispering in his ear, “Will she succumb to the same treatment as the rest of us have? Don’t hurt my feelings, now…”

   Charon turned around, raising both fists high above his head as he bellowed, “GET OUT!” 

   "Tsk, tsk," Ahzrukhal chided from across the room. "You should have put a bullet between her eyes...it always seems to make you feel better."

   Charon darted towards him with a terrifying roar. “GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!”

   His employer’s cries were muddled. There was a scream elsewhere. The ghoul threw punch after punch after punch, his hands bloody and broken as he continued to beat the solid concrete, his vision gone red and eyes unseeing what was truly there...or what wasn't. His hands wrapped around something metal and ripped it away, his fingers digging through wiring and tearing it like roots from the dirt. 

   “Charon, STOP!” 

   The order made him freeze; a statue that breathed, with pinched brows and slickened palms. Slowly, he lowered his arms to his side, and when he finally faced her, he instantly recognized the fear in her eyes—the very same fear Evelyn had met him with. 

   He looked down at his mangled hands. The leather of his gloves had flayed away, and the bone of his knuckles were poking out. His jaw was throbbing. His boot was squishing blood. Charon shook his head before she could say anything more, fleeing the scene and the ghost that stalked him to the crater of an old nuclear blast site. Charon fumbled as he tried to climb down, hitting the dirt hard as he rolled to rock bottom. The pain from everything made him groan, and he slowly rolled over to sit upright.

   “That smoothskin you call an employer is weak,” Ahzrukhal rasped, studying his missing fingernails as he stood off to the side. “She squanders what you truly could be, what you were for me.”

   Charon bowed his head and shut his eyes, rasping faintly, “Leave me alone…”

   “That other one, though…what’s her name? Oh, that’s right—Lyla.”

   There was some shouting along the outer perimeter above, but he didn’t answer. He knew of the woman he spoke of—the remaining person of their original party aside from his employer. He had never imparted a single word to her, the woman with cornsilk hair and eyes the rich color of earth. 

   Ahzrukhal breathed close beside him, “She watches you. You see it just as well as I do. She’s turning, and she thinks she can hide it from the others…but she can’t hide it from us. The look in her eyes…impossible to miss.”

   “I said, GO!” Charon snarled with bared teeth, but the only thing in the pit was that woman. She was staring at him. She always stared at him.

   “Charon?” she said timidly. Her hands were raised, and she slowly approached. “I’m not here to hurt you…it’s alright.”

   “Don't,” he warned, the tone of his voice on the edge of a blade.

   She halted, and then shyly lifted her shirt up. The affliction had begun to spread across her abdomen and over the bump of her breasts, something easily covered, but it would spread further before the year was over. He met her eyes, and she hid it away from the rest of the world.

   “My husband, Brody, left me when I first started to…ghoul,” she said. “I know what it is you’re going through. We’re the same.”

   Charon snorted and cracked his neck. There was a loud pop in his jaw. He shifted himself away from her, focusing on the hot tingle of the radiation beginning to mend his injuries. 

   “I told the others I’d take some RadAway later… I… I couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone anymore.” She came closer, her voice floating to his ears, soft and sweet. “We don’t have to be alone.”

   Charon didn’t look at her—he was unsure of what he was feeling.

   “Leave,” he rasped lowly, and then, a bit more quietly, “…please.”

   He only heard her feet shift through the dirt as she climbed back out.

   “She’ll ride your cock whichever way you like it,” Ahzrukhal purred as he stuck a hand down his tailored suit pants to fondle himself. “If you beg enough, maybe she’ll let you stick it up her ass.”

   Charon remained in the pit until the shadows began to grow, and when he was mended enough that the pain had subsided, he climbed out, trudging to the campsite the group had made in their wait for him. He ignored the general questions and sat on the edge as he always did, except this time, the woman took her place beside him.

   “Evelyn wants you to move on with your life,” she said. "It's why you're here."

   “Do not speak as though you know her,” he growled, reaching inside his bag for some water and a can of cold beans.

   She placed her head on her knees, watching him begin to eat. “Then tell me.”

   The ghoul ignored her as he finished his meal. He was minutely aware his employer observed their interaction from her place around the campfire, but she did nothing to interfere. He then retrieved Evelyn’s journal, unwrapping the fabric around its edges.

   “I’ve seen you read it every night. A book?” she asked curiously, and he gave her a mean glare when she attempted to take a closer look. She said, "...was it hers?"

   Her hand tenderly rested on his, and he stared at the simple gesture. Evelyn would not like it.

   He roughly shook her off with a snarl. “You are not her.”

   “I apologize…” she said, and before she left him to regroup with the others, she added, “I’m not trying to be.”

   Charon drew his eyes back down to Evelyn’s journal, and turned a page.

   “She’ll be back,” Ahzrukhal murmured at his side. 

   Charon flipped another page, and glanced up. The woman was staring at him. He looked back down, and flipped another page.

Chapter Text

   Evelyn gripped the sides of her vault suit, yanking it upwards with a loud hmph! It refused to climb past her thighs. 

   “No fucking way…” She gave another mighty heave, grunting as she jumped in place and wiggled herself around. “Come on, fit!”

   “Honey?” A knock at her bedroom door. 

   She loudly huffed as she pulled, “Just a minute!”

   Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip!

   Evelyn gasped aloud, blinking at the tear that had formed straight through her crotch. 

   Another knock. “Are you alright?”

   “Hold on!” She discarded the ruined vault suit to the corner with a frustrated snarl. Having done nothing but gorge herself on sweets for the last few weeks certainly showed for something. 

   She fished through her crusty laundry pile using the tried and true sniff test, unable to tell the difference between anything. The pair of nicely oiled leathers were eventually retrieved from her trunk, and while they offered much more durable protection than her vault suit ever did, they were somewhat…restrictive. She sucked in her tummy as she struggled to buckle all the latches, and when she released, the leather groaned against the weight it held. A baseball cap was shunted down her face for a finishing touch, hiding away the greasy locks and shadowing the new blemishes pimpling her skin.

    One look in a mirror would've told her everything she didn’t want to know—you look and smell like shit. Just like everything else out in the wasteland. She was finally living up to her fullest shitocalypse potential. 

   (Perfect) 

   Her bag was upended over the mattress, dumping everything she hadn’t bothered to unpack since her return home. Items were either tossed to the floor to later be discarded or restuffed inside for future use, and she lifted the sack over her head as she searched for her missing journal. That couldn’t be right…it was on her person when she went to Rivet City…did Wadsworth maybe…? She ultimately gave up her search for a later time and came out to her father still waiting by the door.

   He frowned, scrutinizing her closely for a moment before she balked under his intense stare, which led him to ask, “Did you brush your teeth?”

   She rolled her eyes. “No.”

   “You should. Self-care is important, and I don’t have to tell you how detrimental a cavity can be for your health out in the wasteland.”

   She scoffed as she stepped past, “Charon didn’t bother with his. He seemed just fine.”

   “And I cannot begin to imagine how awful that smell must have been,” he muttered at her back.

   “When you’ve been living with someone like him, his breath is the last thing you have to worry about. Just be thankful he wasn’t eating beans and steak on our trip—he about killed me.”

   There was a sudden tug at her hair as James pulled something from within the depths of her scraggly rat's nest. "Is this a jerky stick?"

   "Dad!" she gasped, mortified as she stretched the cap past her ears. “Stop it!”

   “I really should insist on a physical, if not from me, then at least with Madison,” her father urged with all the seriousness given by his profession. “Ghouls, I admit, are not my area of expertise, but they were human, and given the unknown circumstance that he may not be fully sterile—”

   Evelyn cut him off with a shriek, "I'M NOT PREGNANT, I'M JUST FAT, OKAY?!"

   James raised a hand in silent surrender as she stormed off with a dark cloud hanging over her head, stomping down the steps and throwing the front door open.

   “Dogmeat,” she sternly called the mummified mutt. “Let’s go.”

   Dogmeat gave a wheezing exhale before he slowly stood and shook himself, flying hair and dust and a few misplaced socks all around the room as he went to lazily follow her warpath out into the wastes. Her father took up a considerable distance behind, the years of single-handedly raising a teenage girl gifting him enough sense to not further kick the hornet's nest. James took up to reviewing their route on the screen of his Pip-Boy before he eventually realized he was alone in his journey. He backtracked a few steps to find his daughter and her loyal canine both crouched on the ground, staring at something between them. 

   “Evelyn, sweetheart? Is something the matter?”

   She didn’t answer him as he walked over, his hands on his knees as he bent down slightly to view what it was they had such interest in—a single empty casing of an expended shotgun shell.

   Evelyn sniffled, “Charon used the exact same ones…”

   Dogmeat lowly whined, nudging the shell with his nose. 

   James gently said, “We should be moving.”

   She wiped an arm across her face and nodded, braving the path forward until she became derailed again by a blackened blood splatter on the side of a building. “It looks just like the ones Charon used to make…” she mumbled, her voice thick with woe. She turned her sad eyes to her father, and he sighed as he pressed her onward. 

   “We’re nearly there,” he encouraged. 

   After another thirty minutes, they came to a stop before a lone feral (that was thankfully separated behind a chain-link fence). 

   Evelyn pointed at its drooling, snarling face as she sobbed, “Like the ones Charon used to shoot!”

   “Honey, I need you to pull yourself together—”

   “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” 

   James scratched at his head, looking down as an equally horrible sound began to howl from the dog. 

   “Awoooooooooooo!” 

   “I want Charon back! I don’t want to do this anymore! I don’t care that he has a contract!” Evelyn smushed her eyeballs in her sockets with a harsh rubbing of her fists. “We would’ve been so happy!” she cried, her nose flooding the gates. “We would’ve had a little house somewhere, with a nice farm, and—and—and—!” She sniffed the snot straight back up her head, wailing, “We would’ve been together till I had to leave!”

   The chain-link fence gave away, and James dove into action before she could be mauled to death. “Evelyn!”

   But she instead curled a fist and smashed it dead center at the feral’s face, sweeping it clean off its feet. 

   “I WASN’T DONE FUCKING TALKING!” she screamed, her skin turning a violent shade of red with her fists balled at her sides. The feral’s head spun in slow circles as it sat back on its bony ass, dazed from being momentarily knocked back into sanity. She roared at it, “I DON’T GIVE A SINGLE SHIT WHAT ANYONE SAYS ABOUT HIS CONTRACT! I WANT HIM HOME, AND I WANT IT DONE YESTERDAY, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

   The feral squinted at her, then croaked stupidly, “...uhhh?”  

   “DON’T QUESTION ME!” she shrieked, and it flew its arms before its face as she stomped closer to thrust a finger right up inside its hollow nasal cavity. “YOU TELL EVERYONE OUT THERE THAT I’M BRINGING HIM HOME!” 

   The feral violently nodded, clacking all its remaining teeth in its skull before it hurriedly scrambled away on all fours. “You’re crazy, lady!”

   Evelyn turned to her father and the dog, who both flinched. “Are we going to do this, or what?!”

   She stomped off without an answer, and the entire wasteland seemed to split like the sea after she had raised a lead pipe as her faithful staff, smacking it down with all the mighty power her anger bestowed upon it. 

   A super mutant fired its gun at her approach, missing every shot as the muzzle sprayed like a clogged garden hose, whizzing bullets in every direction but hers. James’ fruitless attempts at keeping her behind cover while he returned fire were outright ignored, and he observed (with a confusing mix of pride and horror) as she marched straight up to the giant mutant and clubbed it in the side. 

   The mutant dropped its useless weapon, confused as it rubbed at the site. “OW!” 

   “I’ll give you another one!” she snarled, keeping true to her word as she whacked it in the knee. 

   “UGH, STOP!”

   “Evelyn!” James rushed to lead her away while the mutant was too distracted being downright dimwitted, and they escaped into the darkness of the metros. He tried calmly, “Let us take a nice, deep breath for a moment.” 

   She smacked his hand from giving a comforting touch on her shoulder, the response startling them both. A fleeting look of shame almost forced an instant apology, but she chewed it apart with a snap of her teeth. “Don’t get in my way.”

   James’ hand redirected to rubbing at the back of his neck, and he simply watched her take off down the tunnel, clonking the heads of wild dogs like a game of whack-a-mole. He looked down at Dogmeat sitting at his side. “Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, after all.”

   “You want some more?!” she screamed as they fled. "I'll kick all your asses!"

   The good doctor sighed, “At least it’s just through here…”

   He emerged from the metro as the early evening stretched its fingers across Seward Square, his heart skipping a beat as Evelyn was unexpectedly nowhere to be found. 

   “AND THE SUN WILL RISE IN THE NORTH—no—THE NORTHWEST! FOR FORTY-FOUR DAYS AND SIXTY-SEVEN NIGHTS, AND WE’LL NEVER NOTICE!” Most definitely not his daughter’s voice, but the deranged speech brought him around a corner to discover Evelyn shaking her lead pipe at an invisible entity that threatened them with, “I’LL DO IT, I SWEAR I’LL DO IT! I’LL BLOW US ALL UP—YOU, ME, AND THE WORM!”

   “GO AHEAD!” she brazenly taunted. “YOU DON’T HAVE THE BALLS!”

   James snatched her by the arm and pulled her back before the entire square could be obliterated by some loon. 

   “HA!” Evelyn nearly blew out his eardrum with her warcry. “NOTHING BUT TALK, YOU FUCKING WASTE OF SPACE!”

   “The compound is this way,” James exasperated. He didn’t think his blood pressure had ever been quite so high in his entire life. The sight of the entrance made him breathe pure relief. “Ah, and there it is.”

   He depressed the call button. A faint whir from a tiny black camera above a speaker focused on their intrusion.

   “Yeah? And what the hell do you want?” a voice irritably filtered through.

   James placed a hand on his chest. “We mean no trouble, only a request. My name is James, and this is Evelyn, my daughter. We’re here to speak with the person in charge.”

   There was nothing but high-pitched static on the other end for some time until, “Leave your weapons in the locker by the door.”  

   A click!  

   He turned to her with a smile. “Well, all in all, a fairly easy journey. Let us be on our best behavior here forward.”

   Upon entrance, James deposited his pistol while Evelyn sneakily concealed her knife in a slit up her sleeve, and together they began to wander down the narrow hallway before they were greeted by a woman with light, pink hair. She crossed her arms, a smirk on her face. 

   “Name’s Reilly, and I’m the ‘person in charge’.” She extended a hand to each of them, giving a firm shake. "It's not too often we get a couple of wanderers so deep inside the ruins, but here we are. If you had the guts to come this far to find us, then it must be something interesting. So, what can we do for you?”

   “To put it simply, we’re looking to have super mutants cleared from the Jefferson Memorial,” James said, not bothering to beat around the bush. “My team of scientists and I need the facility up and running as soon as possible, but we will need your assistance, first.”

   All in an instant, the fiery spark snuffed itself from Reilly's eyes, and she spoke thoughtfully, “You came to the right place—is what I would’ve said a few months ago, but after our last run-in with mutants, we’ve sort of taken an extended vacation.”

   “Please understand," James implored. "This is for something that could change the fate of the wasteland. We have a purifier there that has the capability to draw fresh, clean water for everyone.”

   “Why not ask the Brotherhood? It’s their neighborhood.”

   “I’ve tried, however…” James appeared at a loss for words for a second.

   Reilly motioned for them to follow with a nod of her head. “You don't have to explain. They’re mostly just a bunch of pretty boys in power armor. Don’t get me wrong, they keep us employed and I’m thankful they do what they can, but they’re more capable than most and should act like it.” She beckoned them into a large, open room. “Please, take a seat if you can find one.” 

   Evelyn sat, tuning out the conversation and general negotiations as she looked around the space. Maps overflowed on tables, piles of ammunition in crates were lazily littered around, and there was a distinct, bitter smell in the air that reminded her of Charon's workshop back home. She imagined him coming in here, a walking tank wearing their signature combat armor, reviewing the next target as his thick fingers traced strategic points. It was the sort of environment he would have thrived in.

   “…sweetheart?”

   Evelyn snapped out of her daydream. “Huh? Sorry.” She glanced over to their host. “What’s going on?”

   “Your dad just told me Charon is your guy,” Reilly said. “Is that true?”

   “What? I-I don’t—wait.” Evelyn shook her head. “How do you know Charon?”

   “Guess you weren’t listening,” the other woman mused. She leaned back in her seat, looking at Evelyn under a new light. “I was saying how fucked my team was being trapped at the Statesman Hotel until a giant ghoul named Charon came and saved their asses.”

   Evelyn’s eyes went wide. “He…he did?!” She snapped upright, knocking her chair over. “When?!”

   “A couple months ago. I had been in a coma in Underworld, and he came to me with a demand for some Pip-Boy parts. He agreed to help my team for them.”

   As Reilly retold Charon’s heroic deed, Evelyn slowly turned away, a frown continuously creeping down her face.  

   “The guy was totally something else—if he hadn’t shown up when he had, I would’ve lost my team and everything I had. Seriously, we owe him our lives.” Reilly paused as she gauged Evelyn’s quietness. “Is…oh my god, did something happen to him?”

   “No, nothing like that,” James cut in very quickly, taking notice of Evelyn’s trembling shoulders and shaking hands. “He is—”

   “Such—a—fucking—HYPOCRITE!” Evelyn spun the wheels of her Pip-Boy like a mad scientist, laughing like someone on their last thread of sanity. “Are you shitting me?! He did all of that just for this?! And yet, he had the gall—the absolute FUCKING GALL—to get mad at me for dealing with some ants! How is that in any way fair?!” She vehemently paced around the room, foaming at the mouth and drawing a few extra eyes in the doorway with her screaming, “You asshole! Ohhhh, ohhhhh, you are a dead motherfucker when you come home! You fucking shitass, death-farting, self-pitying lump of dick!”

   James at once stood and apologized to their host, “It’s been a rather long day. Do you mind if we take shelter for the night and continue our discussion in the morning?”

   Evelyn was still crossly muttering to herself in the corner as Reilly singled out one of her snooping teammates in the doorway. “Donovan—show these guys the spare bunks and the showers.”

   The father and daughter duo (and dog) were led to the opposite side of the compound and given a private space to settle their thoughts and weary feet. 

   “Do you wish to talk about it?” James questioned as she began to unpack her things on her cot.

   “About what?” she countered with a slight edge, avoiding his stare with her back turned.

   “I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate.”

   Evelyn gathered a few things in her arms and went to leave. “I’m going to take a shower.”

   The hot water hit her skin, and she closed her eyes as she stood under the spray, thinking of everything and nothing all at once as she asked the same questions she never got an answer to. Where was he? Was he okay? Were they close? Would he even want to come back, now that they were apart and he was finally within reach of his freedom?

   The water was shut off. 

   Drip drip drip

   She stood before a mirror and wiped away the fog. Without a second thought, she took the knife that had been a gift from his very hands and began to slice away at the strands of tangled wet hair around her face. The cut was awkward and uneven as it rested above her shoulders, and she suddenly looked far too old for someone her age.

   James raised his head and stared at her when she returned, and he said nothing more than, “For a moment, I had thought you were your mother…”

   Evelyn took a seat on her own bed. “I want him home.”

   James steepled his hands and said gravely, “This may be his only chance.”

   “I know, I know that, I do.” Her eyes fell to her lap, a few tears dripping off the tip of her nose. “I’ve given it time. I’ve thought about it every day and I regret it each and every single night, and if I could go back and change what I did, I would, and I won’t feel sorry for it. There has to be another way, and I won’t stop until I find it. But…if he's decided it’s what he really wants, then I'll let him go...for good.”

   “He will come back to you.”

   Evelyn looked up, but her father was no longer staring at her as his eyes were seeing something somewhere very distant. 

   “When we reach Rivet City, we’ll speak with Horace.” James settled himself into bed, fluffing his stiff pillow as best he could. “I’m fairly certain he has contacts that can get us in touch with them. Now, get some sleep, honey. We still have a long road ahead of us.”

   The light was flicked off as she crawled beneath the covers, and for the first time since Charon had been gone, she felt Dogmeat curl up beside her, and she hugged him tight.

   “We’ll get him back, boy,” she whispered with a close of her eyes. “We’ll bring him home...”

Chapter Text

   The world is very dark, and she’s all alone. 

   Stop it! Let me out! She cries, pounding her little fists against the door. Dad!

   Wah-wah-wah! Nosebleed’s a big baby crying for Daddy! 

   Don’t do this Butch, please! Don’t leave me down here!

   They all start to sing. Scaredy-cat! Scaredy-cat! Scaredy-cat!

   And they laugh, all surrounded by warmth and flooded with light just on the other side of the door. They had been playing a simple game, a game they had never once invited her to, but Butch had lied and had made her feel safe to lure her into the deeper sections of the maintenance levels. They weren’t supposed to ever be down here, and now, she may never leave. 

   Butch! She screams. It’s pitch-black...and there’s something else. They’ve all teased each other about it—a monster. It keeps the children in line like a simple nursery rhyme. 

   Don’t go down below, or the monster will swallow you whole! 

   Butch! She screams again, but there’s no sound on the other side, and she crushes her head to the cold steel of the door, straining to listen for someone—anyone. Butch? Hello? Anybody?!

   They left. There’s no one else but herself and the monster that’s sure to eat her up from her toes to her knees to her ears, and they’ll all forget about her as their final words will be: Scaredy-cat! Scaredy-cat! Scaredy-cat! 

   Poor little crybaby, believing she had friends, was eaten by the world unknown…and that’s the real story she grows to know.

   Evelyn ran her fingers through her hair, the considerable difference in weight making it feel airy and light. With the curls and waves now fully dried out, no one could see the horrid styling job she gave herself…although Wadsworth was sure to pester her about it later. 

   James entered the room, relaying, “Reilly's team will be dispatched immediately to clear the memorial of the super mutant infestation, and we can proceed from there.”

   “That’s great, Dad.”

   “Indeed, although I have a feeling it was more repayment of a past favor than anything else. I owe Charon a great thank you." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them with vigor. "So, are we packed and ready to head out?”

   Evelyn patted Dogmeat’s head. “I’m not going to be joining you.” She then tacked on very quickly at the crestfallen look on his face, “Just not yet. I’m going to Underworld first, since it isn’t very far from here.”

   “The City of Ghouls?” James mused. “Whatever for?”

   “I have a few questions I’d like to ask somebody.”

   He sighed as he stroked his beard. “Alright then, shall we go?”

   “We? You don’t have to come with me, Dad. I can look after myself.”

   “I’m well aware,” he chuckled, thinking back to the previous day's fiascos. “The entire wasteland will be on high alert for you, I’m sure.”

   She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal, and if you could visit Pinkerton for me to ask him for information, that would be a big help.” 

   They stood opposite each other, and James gave her a very sad smile. 

   “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown since the vault…it’s hard to believe my very eyes, sometimes.” He reached out for a hug, and they held each other tightly as he said softly, “I am so very proud of you, and I’ll see you soon. I love you. Be safe.”

   “I love you too, and I will.”

   Evelyn strode off with the dog at her heel when a whistle turned her head. 

   “Hey," Reilly called over. "Before you bail on us, come here for a second. I have something for you.” 

   Evelyn stepped inside the armory, quirking a brow at the battle armor that had been laid out. 

   “Normally, only a ranger would be allowed to wear our gear,” Reilly explained as she began to adjust the straps on a chest plate. She studied Evelyn for a moment before moving on to the next piece. “But this set has been sitting for months now, and I can’t think of a better candidate to give it to, so, here.” 

   Evelyn patiently stood there as Reilly fitted her and snapped the armor into place until she was covered from chest to ankle, and her fingers lightly traced over the four-leaf clover pattern above her breast. 

   “It’s our symbol; means we’re lucky.” Reilly grinned and beat a fist on Evelyn’s chest plate. “When you see Charon again, tell him I now officially consider the debt repaid…and that he still has a job here if he ever wants one. Now just be safe out there, okay? I don’t want wind of you getting killed in our armor leading the big guy to our doorstep.”

   There was a smile on Evelyn's lips...the first in many weeks. “Thank you, this means a lot to me.”

   A small wave was given to Reilly and her father as they saw her off on her journey. She paused to bask in the sun, enjoying the warmth on her face and fiddling with the ring on her finger to catch the rays in its tarnished jewel. Dogmeat licked her hand, and she scratched him behind the ears. 

   “Dad was right, this does feel good.” She studied the map on her Pip-Boy. “Come on, boy. Let’s get going.”

   After a mere twenty minutes of following the metro line to the Mall, she was found keeled over against an abandoned subway car with sweat trickling down her neck. 

   “Holy shit,” she breathed, unclipping the chest plate to give her lungs more room to expand. “Why is this crap so fucking heavy?!” 

   Dogmeat growled, “Awoo.”

   “Yeah, I get it, I’m fat, okay?”

   “Awoo.”  

   She threw a scathing glare at her furry companion. “Keep it up, and I’ll make you carry it.”

   With a dramatic groan, she forced herself upright to reattach the piece and slowly continued along, her lead pipe kept at the ready in the event she came across something looking for an early lunch, fuck, or both. Every area they carefully crept through, however, was only decorated with blackened splatters that told of a sinister trail long gone cold. 

   “Something’s been through here.”

   “Awoo?”

   “I don't want to find out what.” She eyed the mutt. “It’d probably use you as a toothpick.”

   "Awoo..."

   As they finally exited the metro and climbed to the top of the steps, a raspy chuckle of surprise greeted them, “Hello, tourist. It’s been a while.”

   Evelyn braced her hands over her knees, her breathing labored and muscles aching as she panted, “Hey…Willow…gasp!”

   The sentry tilted her head around, waiting for another guest appearance. “Where’s Charon? Is he still with you?”

   “…it’s…complicated…” Evelyn wheezed, blowing out a rude sound with her tongue as she dragged her feet like they were weighted with concrete. “…gotta…see…Barrows…DR...bye!”

   Willow reached for a cigarette, disappointed in the lack of eye candy. “Alright then...” 

   Evelyn opened the double doors to Underworld and gave a slight hesitation as everyone stopped to stare at her, but she rolled the feverish whispers thronging through the concourse right off her shoulders as she kept her main focus in sight. 

   “And we’ll need some more tissue..." Dr. Barrows paused at the guest walking through his front doors. “Smoothskin. What has it been—months? Where’s Charon? Not breaking anything, I hope.”

   "It’s just me this time…well, and my dog."

   Barrows took a seat on his chair and wheeled over to her, his eyes landing on the four-leaf clover. “You joined Reilly’s Rangers?” He clicked a pen and poised it over a clipboard. “Have you been experiencing any symptoms of loneliness, anxiety, or have any feelings of impending doom?”

   Evelyn snorted and crossed her arms. “Ha-ha. I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you’re asking. The gear was a gift, sort of.”

   “Oh, good. I don’t want another coma patient in my ward—they can’t consent to samples. So, what did you need to see me for? Radiation? Addiction? Injury—?”

   “I want you to turn me into a ghoul.”

   A vial fell from Nurse Graves’ hand as she gasped in disbelief. 

   Barrows narrowed his eyes and set the clipboard aside. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

   Evelyn shook her head. “I’m 100% serious.”

   Graves scooped up the little bits of glass in a pan while Barrows sighed deeply and spun away to his terminal. “Can’t help you, smoothskin. Have a nice day.”

   “Aren’t you the ‘expert’ on ghouls?” Evelyn pointed to the glowing ones behind the protective sheet of glass. “And I’ll obviously pay you.”

   “Keep your caps,” he growled, beginning to type some notes on the screen. 

   “But—!”

   Graves kindly interrupted, “You have no idea what it is you’re asking for.”

   “I do,” Evelyn said a little tersely. 

   Barrows made a half-circle in his chair. “Why do you want to become a ghoul?”

   “Because...” Her voice became mellow as her eyes grew soft. “I don’t want Charon to be alone when I'm gone.”

   “Oh.” Graves laid a hand over her heart. “That’s terribly romantic.”

   “Don’t encourage her,” Barrows snapped. He crossed his arms and stubbornly refused to budge. “No. I’ll keep it short and simple, okay smoothskin? Ghoulification is something that is still not fully understood, even by someone as knowledgeable on the subject as me. I’ve been studying the effect of ghouling on the human body longer than all your grandaddies’ lifetimes put together, and I can say for a fact that it’s not a guarantee.” 

   “It is extremely rare,” Graves added solemnly. “Most humans just die a horrible death when exposed to lethal doses of radiation. It’s not worth the risk.”

   Barrows sharply questioned, “Did Charon put you up to this?” 

   Evelyn shook her head, bowing it slightly in defeat. “No… He discouraged me, actually.”

   “That’s what I thought.” Barrows stood and picked up a needle off a tray. “Now, before you go out there and try to get yourself killed with a homemade cocktail some asshole’s going to sell you, let me take some tests and see if you might even be capable of ghouling.”

   Evelyn instantly brightened, hope burning like wildfire that radiated her smile. “There’s a way to tell?!”

   “Not really, no, but I’ve found enough correlations from past studies that may—or may not—give me enough information about your chances.” Barrows indicated to a gurney. “Go ahead and take a seat. It’ll be a hundred caps, by the way.”

   Evelyn kept her snide remarks to herself as she dressed down to succumb herself to a couple of pokes and prods. Guess you got that physical, Dad.

   Graves wrapped some gauze around her arm after drawing blood. “Did you know Charon came to see Dr. Barrows when he thought he was going feral?”

   Evelyn blinked. “...he never told me that.”

   “Well, he was so certain of it because of the feelings he had for you. It would have been very sweet if it also wasn’t so sad.” The nurse gently patted her arm. “Don't worry, he was only diagnosed with a bad case of love.”

   Barrows peered into a microscope. “Alright smoothskin, we're all done here. Don’t go too far until I’ve concluded my findings.”

   Upon leaving, she heard a familiar voice call her name, and she craned her head around, suddenly finding herself standing inches from the one-eyed mechanic.

   “Winthrop?!” She planted her hands on her hips, looking the ghoul up and down in disbelief…and with slight shame from their last encounter (that now felt like another lifetime). “Um, how, how are you? Sorry it’s been so long, I’ve been really busy.” 

   He smiled. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I’m good, smoothskin, really good. What are you doing here?” He then looked around. “Where’s Charon?”

   The casual mention of the big guy's name made her tilt her head to the side. Huh. 

   “He's not with me, at the moment…it’s a long story.”

   “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” The ghoul awkwardly shoved his hands in his soiled overalls, saying a little lower, “Did you two break it off?”

   “What?!” she blurted, but before she could ask the right questions, another raspy voice turned their attention away. 

   "Wimpy-poo, are we not going to—oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there, smoothskin." Tulip looped her arm through Winthrop's, resting her head on his shoulder with a toothy (as toothy as it could get for a ghoul) smile. "Why hello again, it's so good to see you."

   Evelyn stared at the unexpected couple before she realized she was being awfully rude. "Uh, thanks! You too, Tulip! I was actually going to shop at your store, uh, when you're not...busy, later." 

   Tulip automatically dislodged herself from the mechanic and nearly sent him flying sideways as she nabbed Evelyn by the hand to half-drag her to her store. "I'm always open! It's not like I get many other customers, oh, but you know that already... Anyway! Tell me what it is that you want to buy!"

   Evelyn set her scavenged wares from the metro on the counter as they began the art of the deal, and she glanced back out into the concourse at Winthrop on the top step of a ladder fixing a rattling vent. "So, you and Winthrop? You make a nice couple."

   "Do you really think so?" Tulip beamed, resting her head in her hands with a dreamy sigh. "He's such a gentleman—great at sex, too. It's nice when the plumbing still works."

   Evelyn felt her face bloom like a cactus flower under the Mojave sun. "Oh, that's, um...really...swell?"

   "Does Charon have any trouble? The ladies here have always wondered what he's like. He was just so quiet until you came along. Is he proportionate? I think Willow's a little jealous of the whole thing...overheard her when she had too much to drink at Carol's one night. Poor dearie, he's like the one that got away..."

   "Uh." Evelyn glanced down at her Pip-Boy. "Sorry, I'd love to catch up, but I have to check in with Doc about something. Thanks for the chat!"

   Tulip leaned over the counter as she darted away. "Oh, well please come back at any time! My shop is always open...always!"

   She dropped in on Barrows at his terminal, but he simply dismissed her. 

   "Nothing yet, smoothskin. You might want to take the night off. This sample is...interesting."

   She quickly found herself to be the talk of the town (as always) and went to hide away from everyone at Carol’s, but a Jet-toking ghoul coughed at her as she passed by.

   “Jesus Christ smoothskin,” Snowflake groveled as he snipped some scissors in the air. “Did you get in a tussle with a lawnmower? You can fool the rest of these jokers, but not me. We got to fix that right up. C'mere, free of charge.”

   An entirely new embarrassment humbled her enough to do as told, and as she sat there with a towel thrown around her shoulders to catch the trimmings, she fidgeted her hands in her lap.

   “So.” A curl brushed past her ear. “Where’s the boyfriend? Surprised he lets you wander off on your own.” Evelyn sharply snapped her neck back to glare at him, and the ghoul chuckled as he made her turn forward again. “Hey, it came from the big guy’s mouth himself, at least, that’s what Winthrop said.”

   Evelyn frowned, studying a lock of newly shorn hair between her fingers. “He’s been away for a while.”

   “Oh?”

   “Yeah, oh.”

   “Oh.”

   “Oh?”

   “Your words, not mine,” he rasped, taking the towel away. “There. All done. Much better.”

   He handed her a mirror, and she twirled her head around to try and notice the difference—she couldn’t find a single one. Regardless, she said, “Thanks.”

   "Anytime. Bring your boyfriend, when you get the chance. Now there's a piece of work."

   The world was finally tucked away as she took refuge at Carol's, taking a much-needed seat and ordering a much-needed plate of food. 

   Greta frowned at Dogmeat lying under the table. "We don't allow dogs here." Evelyn set a bag of caps down to which she immediately scooped up. "Fine...but you're cleaning any mess it makes."

   Two plates were dished up and served, and both girl and dog devoured their meals without batting an eyelash.

   “Do you want seconds? There’s plenty left,” Greta suggested after watching them scarf down the blackened, tarry…whatever it once was. “Nobody else likes it.”

   Evelyn kept her tears to herself, the nostalgia of Charon’s cooking sending her into an emotional, weepy fit. “I’d love some, thank you.”

   Dogmeat licked his plate clean, and he, too, helped scrape the entire pot empty. 

   Carol gave her board for the night, insistent on being ‘free of charge’. “My Gobbie writes so much about you and how wonderful you are to him in his letters, and I can never thank you enough for that. Please, dearie. I won’t accept anything.”

   Greta sidled over after Carol had left to care for another customer, her hand discreetly waving at her to cough up the change. “If you tell Carol I didn’t let you off so easily, I’ll cut you in your sleep.”

   Evelyn dumped her bag beside her bed while Dogmeat jumped on the mattress, and there was suddenly a moist, heavy breathing at her back that she whirled around to. 
   
   Crowley was busily eyeing her ass before he slowly crawled up to her face. “Decided to show yourself here again, smoothskin? After Ahzrukhal? After Winthrop? Who’s it going to be this time? If you’re taking any requests, I’d like to drop a name or two.”

   Evelyn curtly waved him off with a shoo-shoo. “Whatever you're selling, I’m not buying.”

   “Well that’s fine, because I’m only in the market to hire.” Crowley slicked back his remaining patches of hair. “That radio host had talked a big talk about you when he was still on the air, and I wanted to see if it was all true.”

   “It is. Goodnight.”

   “Now, just hold on a second.” Crowley went to grab at her wrist, but Dogmeat lunged with a flash of razor-sharp teeth and a roaring snarl that about made the ghoul soil his pants. He bumped into a table, his hand flying to his gun at his waist.

   “What the hell is going on over here?” Greta garbled with beady perception. She narrowed it on Crowley, who was busy straightening his skewed tie. “If you cause any more trouble, I’ll kick you out.”

   Crowley growled, “No, we’re done here. I'll remember this, smoothskin..."

   Evelyn held him down with a nasty glare until he sauntered off to grab a drink from the other bar, and she plopped on her bed to remove her boots. "If he tries anything, boy, bite his nuts off."

   "Awoo!"

   "Don't worry about him, smoothskin," Greta said upon eavesdropping. She sloshed the coffee pot in her hand to the door. "Charon scares the crap out of him. He wouldn't dare."

   "I'll still sleep with a knife under my pillow," Evelyn muttered as she lay down.

   Barrows was writing on a clipboard when she visited that following morning, except this time, he squinted his eyes at her and simply said, “Hmmmm.”

   “Hmmmm?” Evelyn repeated, trying to read his notes over his shoulder. “Is that good, or bad?”

   “It’s inconclusive,” he replied, lifting the sheet to review his findings. “Going to be honest here, I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

   She scoffed, “Wow, I guess I’ll be taking my chances with that homemade cocktail.”

   “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said crossly, giving her a serious look under heavy brows. “I’m saying I’ve never seen anything like this before. What vault were you from, again?”

   “101.”

   “And what sort of experiments did they test on you guys?”

   “Um, none?”

   “Are you sure?”

   “What, am I a mutant, or something?! I swear my vault wasn’t…” she trailed off as a zany, wacky, overzealous woman began to speak loudly in her head. 

   It’s a secret recipe!

   Evelyn gasped, “MOIRA!”

   “Moira? Is that code for something?”

   "Oh my God!" Evelyn began to pace around the room in a panic, crazily patting herself down as though she would suddenly sprout three arms and another pair of legs.“She’s a part-time scientist back in Megaton, and she's absolutely insane. I was desperate for caps when I first got out of the vault, and so I volunteered for some experiments."

   "Hmm. What kind of experiments?" 

   "Well, getting deathly irradiated was one of them."

   "Hmm. And do you experience any ill side effects after being exposed to radiation, still?"

   Evelyn chewed her lower lip in thought. "I mean, yeah. I almost died after getting caught in a radstorm—so Charon told me."

   “Hmm."

   "Is there anything beyond hmm that I should know about?!" Evelyn then asked, a tinge of fear in her voice, “Is it…bad?”

   Barrows gave another look at her sheet. “It’s too early for me to say. I don’t know exactly what that smoothskin did to you, but it would be worth asking her. I’m sorry, that’s all I got.”

   “So, I can’t become a ghoul?”

   The doctor set down his clipboard and looked her right in the eye. “If you care about Charon as much as you say you do, you’ll stop thinking about it. There isn’t anything worse for a ghoul than to see their loved one go feral before they do.”

   Evelyn exited the shop, in dimmer spirits and in downier dumps, peeking inside Tulip’s to Winthrop leaned over the counter and so deeply entranced by the story Tulip was telling him. She left Underworld and went to descend the metro steps to make her journey to the memorial when Willow made a passing comment at her. 

   "Take care of yourself, tourist. And...tell Charon I said hi."

   Evelyn waved her goodbye, and was soon gone.

Chapter Text

   By the time Evelyn had made her way through Anacostia Crossing and reached the memorial, the sky had darkened to a shroudy gray and freckled cold rain on her cheeks. She arrived a sopping wet mess through the gift shop, her boots squishing water all over the freshly mopped floor while the dog shook himself dry and flew hair to the very corners of the earth. A small team of people, both in lab coats and utility coveralls, paid her little mind as they were busily preoccupied with hooking up machinery and blowing the dust off a dream that had long since been forgotten. She found her father speaking with Dr. Li in the rotunda, and he gave her a bright smile. 

   “There she is! That’s my girl! I’m glad you made it before the worst of the storm.” James steered her back out into the main lobby. “Did you get the answers to your questions?”

   “More or less,” she vaguely answered. “Wow, Reilly's team worked fast. It's like they were never here."

   James gave a nod to a colleague as they passed. "I think they took the matter quite personally this time around—we had just finished dismembering the corpses and having them hauled off earlier this morning."

   "Gross, sorry I missed it. Did you by chance ask Pinkerton about Charon yet?”

   “I did.” He spoke over his shoulder as they descended to the maintenance level. “Apparently, a member of Victoria’s team had departed back to Rivet City, and he was willing to come with me to wait for you here. He wanted to speak with you personally over the matter.”

   A man dressed in simple traveler's clothes was seated at a table with a book in his hands. He glanced up at the sound of their footsteps entering the room.

   James made the casual introductions. “Evelyn, this is Henry. Henry, this is my daughter Evelyn. I’m sure you remember her from the boat that day.” 

   Henry closed his book and stood. “Yeah, I remember. So, you changed your mind, huh? You should’ve never let him go to begin with.”

   A pinpricking sensation burned her eyes as she asked, “...what happened?”

   “Your guy lost his mind,” he said curtly. “I’ve been doing this shit for years, you understand? Our contacts aren’t really the regular type to begin with, and I understand that Charon’s a ‘special’ case, but…it’s wrong to force someone into something they’re not ready for, or something they don’t even want. Victoria can’t see past that—she’s too damn blind thinking she can save everybody, and it made me sick to watch. I can’t even imagine what he’s like right now.”

   Evelyn looked helplessly at her father, her hands smearing the tears rolling down her face. “Fuck, I fucked up. I knew he would be angry, but…I thought…” She imploringly asked him with desperation on her tongue, “Please, do you know of any way I can reach out to them before they wipe his memories?” 

   Henry watched her cry for a moment before he said in a much more forgiving tone, “I might be able to send them a message to possibly stop all of this before it’s too late. There’s a radio tower just a day’s walk from here that sends a broadcast to our halfway point—it’s a settlement called Port Stein. There’s a ferry there that they’ll take to get the rest of the way to Boston. All agents check the messaging traffic in case there’s any last-minute delays, or sudden compromises. I can send Victoria a message about your change of heart, and that you want Charon to come home. Now, Victoria is a little…fanatic…but she isn’t heartless. She’ll only do what’s right by him, and if she asks him what it is that he wants, knowing what it is that you want, she’ll let him go.”

   “And…” Evelyn swallowed. “If they’re already on the boat…?”

   “Then we’re shit out of luck. Once they're off the docks, it’s pretty much a done deal. The signal doesn't reach as far as Boston, unfortunately.”

   Evelyn closed her eyes and put her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths as she nodded. “Okay…okay… When are you leaving to send that message?”

   “Well, I have to wait for the storm to pass, first. I’ll be staying on the ship until then.” He grabbed his book and pulled a hood over his head, giving James and herself a nod. “If I get a response from Victoria, I'll let you know, and he’ll be on his way back home.”

   “Thank you,” Evelyn said graciously. “This means the world to me. If I can do anything for you…”

   “No need. It’d let my conscience rest easy knowing he’s where he wants to be.”

   James saw the man out of the memorial while Evelyn slumped in a chair, resting her heavy thoughts in her hands before a soothing touch on her back startled her into reality. 

   “Sweetheart?” James said gently. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You’ve done all you could at this point—it’s just the waiting game, for now. I can show you to your room, if you choose to stay.”

   Evelyn gave a tired smile. “I’d love to. Thanks, Dad.”

   “It’s good to have you here. Come with me.”

   There was a small room with its own bed and desk, offering more privacy than the general common area crowded with bunk beds. Evelyn perused through a metal container stacked with holotapes while her father collected some empty whiskey bottles, the collection clinking in his arms.

   She raised a brow. “New habit? I’ll tell Dr. Li.”

   James chuckled, picking up some notes to line his pockets. “Thankfully not.”

   Dogmeat sniffed the sheets, tempted for a dive inside, and Evelyn sat in the big chair in the corner to unlace her groggy boots. 

   “Are there showers?” she asked, hopeful. 

   “Not running at the moment, but it’s a high priority.” James put all of his rubbish in a bin. “It’s going to take some time to get things up and going again, but we’re closer than ever before. We’ll start with the real preparations tomorrow.”

   “Can I help?” 

   James kissed the top of her head and curled her hair behind her ears. “I wouldn’t want anyone else there, by my side. Get some sleep, darling. I'll be upstairs if you need anything.” 

   Evelyn removed her gear and cold leathers to dry, pulling on Charon’s old shirt before she snuggled herself into bed, browsing through the holotapes her father had left behind. She read the scrawled writing on each tape, recognizing it as James’. “Wonder why he didn’t take these, too?” 

   Dogmeat curled in a ball at her feet as her personal foot warmer. “Awoo.”

   One was held in her hands. Better Days. She inserted it, and clicked play. 

   “...that batch of tests was inconclusive, but Madison and I are convinced it’s…” Evelyn frowned, listening to the woman’s voice filtering through the speaker. “...James, please, I’m trying to work…” She slowly sat upright, her heart fluttering in her chest. “James! Stop! I need to finish these notes…”  

   A laugh, crystal clear and bubbly, and so euphoric to listen to. 

   “...Mom?” she whispered. The tape clicked off, and she hit play again. 

   “...a problem with the secondary filtration system…”

   Click. Play. 

   “So that’s the next step...”

   Evelyn curled on her side, falling asleep to the sound of her mother’s voice and dreaming of a beautiful woman sitting there beside her, her gentle hand softly stroking through her hair. 

   Ding!

   Evelyn groaned, rapidly blinking the sleep from her eyes and squinting through the dark to read the screen of her Pip-Boy. An animation of fireworks and confetti dazzled the background as Vault Boy gave her a trademark thumbs-up. 

   Happy Birthday!  

   She clicked off the message, staring up at the ceiling through the black. Had it already been that long? Her life back in the vault felt like it belonged to an entirely different person, now…

   Dogmeat scratched at the door with a whine. 

   “Okay, boy, okay.” She yawned. “I’m getting up.”

   They crept by the still-sleeping scientists lounging in their bunks, making their way through the gift shop and out of the museum to take a breath of fresh air. The clouds lingered overhead, holding promise of another downpour. Her eyes rested on the slumbering ship nestled in the bay.

   "I hope he gets to them in time..."

   Girl and dog went to return to bed when James' voice called out to her. 

   “Evelyn,” her father repeated, unseen but heard. “Can you come lend me a hand for a moment?” 

   When she entered the room, she was greeted by a sweet roll on a plate and a single candle waiting to be blown out.

   “Happy Birthday!” James blew on a party blower. "Pheeeeeeew!" 

   Evelyn laughed as she took the plate. "Where did you get this? Where did you get that?"

   "I had Madison pull some strings, with her being a council member and all. She was happy to help." James gave her a warm hug. “The big twenty! How the years have flown. Pretty soon, you’ll be in my shoes and wondering where it all went so fast.”

   “Thanks, Dad.” She shrugged, slightly sheepish at the attention. “To be honest, I sort of forgot all about it. My Pip-Boy reminded me.”

   “The world is different up here, I know.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “It makes one lose sight of things, but it should never take away what’s most important to us—the ones we love. Now go on, make a wish!”

   The flickering flame danced inside her eyes, the small light in the big world. With a breath she snuffed it out, a promise made in her heart. 

   “Bravo.” James removed the candle. “It’s your day today, and I wish I could say that I had something planned, but we unfortunately have a lot of work to be done, and—”

   Evelyn cut her sweetroll in half, sliding off a piece for the dog to catch. “It’s okay, Dad. I understand. I actually want to help, if that’s still okay. I’m not a scientist or anything, but I feel I can do something at least.”

   “And I told you, I wouldn’t want anyone else to move forward with.” He smiled and pulled something from his pocket. “But I could never forget your gift. Here.”

   A beautiful cross, embedded with sapphire stones and hanging from a silver necklace, was handed over to her. She took it with her eyes full of wonder. “It’s beautiful… Where did you—?”

   “It was your mother’s. She’s had it for as long as I can remember, and I know she would have wanted you to have it. Unfortunately, it had been left behind when I had abandoned the project for the vault, but it had still been here, even after twenty years. It was simply meant to be. Here, I’ll help you put it on.”

   She turned around and swept her hair aside so James could clip the clasp together, and she marveled at how it looked under the light. “I love it. I’ll take good care of it."

   “...would you like to say something, to your mother?”

   They were soon standing under the giant tree beside the memorial, its branches high and mighty and roots thick and deep. 

   “Twenty years ago today, you came into this world, and your mother had to leave.” He wrapped an arm around her as they stared at where Catherine had been laid to her final rest. “She would be so very proud of you, honey. She loved you more than anything on this world, and in the next.” He then turned her to him, frowning at the silent tears on her face. “That question you had asked me, back in Megaton all that time ago… No, sweetheart. There are no regrets in my life but my own mistakes. You are the one thing we know we did right, and never, for a single moment, believe anything otherwise.”

   Evelyn sniffed, saying thickly, “I love you, Dad.”

   “And I love you, my dear.”

   "Do you miss Mom?"

   James looked up to the sky, thoughtful and somber. "You know, I never had the chance to properly grieve your mother after she passed. I mean, how could I? Here I was, newly widowed with an infant girl, leaving everything behind to ensure you would be safe. The days were so blurred together then, I don't think I ever had enough time to sleep, as it were...and when I finally had the chance to open myself up to the world again, I realized your mother was never truly gone." James looked at her. "She lives on in you, as do I. She will always be a part of us."

   “...can I say a few things? To Mom?”

   “Of course. Come back inside whenever you’re ready.” 

   Evelyn got to her knees, feeling the dirt through her fingers and looking up at the cold, dark sky. With a close of her eyes, she whispered to the empty air around her, her fingers lightly touching the cross on her chest.

   “Goodbye, Mom. I hope I’ll get to meet you, someday.” 

   Dogmeat whined, and she rubbed his favorite spot behind his ears before they went back inside. 

   The rest of her father’s team had already roused from their beds and had begun to set to work almost immediately. Evelyn put her hands to whatever task was needed to be done, helping move various things around and inventorying some better-faring supplies and tools.

   Madison approached her as she was busy sweeping up some debris, apologizing, “I know I was a bit short with you before, but I just want to say thank you for everything you’ve helped us accomplish, and for bringing your dad back to us. No one else believes in this project as much as he does, and it’s nothing short of a miracle to see him here again. I firmly believe you being here has a lot to do with that.”

   Evelyn wiped the sweat from her forehead. She really needed to quit the sweets. “I just want my dad to be happy, again.”

   “Well, I’m sure he is now. Oh, and Happy Birthday.” Madison nodded, going to take her leave when Evelyn got in her path. 

   “My dad would love a drink, sometime. He prefers whiskey.”

   Madison stared at her, no expression on her face, before she gave a stiff nod, a hint of blush rising up her neck. “I…I will. Maybe…”

   Evelyn spent the next hour finishing her tasking before she returned to her father, finding him alone in a room with Madison, their speaking hushed and laughter quiet. She knocked on the door. “Dad?”

   “Hmm, yes?” James turned, and Madison ducked her head with her clipboard to her chest as she walked out. He gave Evelyn a smile. “How's my birthday girl?”

   “Great. I’m done with everything you gave me. What’s next?”

   “We’ll need to activate the pumps in the flood control room to restore power to the security center. Can you go downstairs and do that for me? I’ll be standing by the intercom to walk you through the next steps.”

   Evelyn was soon bounding back upstairs to take a set of fuses to install, and after replacing the few that were needed, she clicked the button on the intercom.

   “Great, that worked," James said through the speaker. "Now you should be able to access the mainframe. Head straight there.”  

   She flipped a switch to activate it before stepping over to another intercom and clicking down. “Okay, it’s on. Now what?”

   “Janice said there’s a blockage in the pipes. Head back over to the museum level and down into the grate and follow the pipe to the control valve. I’ll direct you from there.”

   Evelyn carefully walked down the tunnel until she came to the only valve she could find, a hole in the piping granting her a view of the catwalk outside. She spun the wheel until there was a click, and she heard her father’s voice on the speaker overhead. 

   “Perfect work, now, we’ll just…”

   A sudden loud buffeting of air drowned him out, and she clamped her hands over her ears as a flying aircraft came to land on the catwalk. A handful of soldiers jumped out with guns held to their chests, storming the facility. Dogmeat barked, his hackles raised and growl low.

   “Madison, lock the doors!”  

   Evelyn cried out, “Dad?!” There was no answer, and another bird touched down. She sprinted back to the grate, but it wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck? Open!”

   She was forced to exit through the other side, following a curving pipe deep down until they entered through the sub-basement of the memorial, trapped on a raised platform with no way down but the water feet below them. 

   “Dogmeat, jump!” 

   The water splashed high and all around as she emerged with a gasp, swimming to the edge and helping the dog out. She sprinted back to her room, halfway equipping her battle armor as she struggled with the leather latches and metal clips while she raced to the topside, her lead pipe at the ready. She burst inside the rotunda, taking the steps two at a time to the purifier.

   Madison was locked outside of the main control room, her normally cool facade overcome with panic. “The Enclave, they’re here, and—!”

   Evelyn slipped by to open the emergency bulkhead with a furious click of the button, but nothing happened. 

   “Everything related to this project will be turned over immediately,” Colonel Autumn drawled, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. 

   “This is a private project—the Enclave has no authority here,” James calmly said. Evelyn came into his line of sight, and he continued, “I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

   “Are you, sir, in charge?”

   “I am.”

   “Then you are to direct your scientists to turn over everything they have and to assist the Enclave with their efforts. Do I make myself clear?” 

   James stood firm in spite of the laser rifles directed at him from either side. “I cannot do that, Colonel. This facility isn’t even operational—it never was.”

   “I see…” Colonel Autumn unholstered a gun and aimed it at Janice standing next to him, ringing off a clear and loud shot that splattered her brains all over the controls. “Do I make myself clear, now?”

   Madison shrieked as his daughter cried out on the other side, “Dad!”  

   James slowly raised his hands and looked over to Evelyn—she was crying. 

   No child should have to cry on their birthday. 

   “Please...no more violence.” He bowed his head, keeping his voice calm and steady. “You can have it, all of it, just…don’t hurt anyone else.”

   “Good,” Colonel Autumn said, but he kept his weapon high and finger on the trigger. “Then proceed.”

   “Very well." James stepped over to the controls. "I’ll just need to lift the lockdown.” He then turned around to Evelyn, giving a small nod of his head and saying quietly, "Run."

   There was an explosion, and the entire rotunda began to shake. An extreme ticking spiked on his Geiger counter, and the very fabric of the world seemed to slow as he walked forward, willing his body through the heavy gravity that suddenly weighed him down. The very air was hard to breathe; his eyes were losing sight with every step he forced himself to make, but he had to get to her—to his little girl.

   “Daddy!” Evelyn screamed, and he came to the glass that separated them, putting a hand to her own.

   Oh, how he wished he could have held her, one last time. Just as he had when she was so very small. 

   “There, there, don't cry." 

   The world was getting very dark now, so hard to see...and then he picked her up, all tiny and swaddled tight in the blanket her mother had made for her, listening to the soft coos she cried. She cried a lot, as though she had a sense her daddy was gone, leaving her alone in this big, empty world. 

   “I’m here, sweet child,” he said gently, rocking her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “Daddy will never let you go.”

   Arms wrapped around them both, with a voice so sweet and soft that said, "She's beautiful."

   “She is, isn’t she?” They looked down at her little face, the little hands, the little feet. “I love her more than life itself.”

   “You did,” Catherine agreed, and together, they held her near. Tucked away inside their hearts, warm and safe. “…you did.”

   And they both began to sing, "Baby mine, don't you cry, baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine...”

Chapter Text

   “Don’t you find this routine getting old, Charon, my boy?” Ahzrukhal flicked the ash from his cigar, squinting his eyes at the sign reading Eastern Cove Radiation Disposal Site. “Are you hoping you’ll go feral?”

   Charon curled his fingers, staring at the tide rolling over the sand. 

   “I went to pay Evelyn a visit, and can you guess who I found her with? You know Mister Crowley has always dreamed of shoving his tongue up her pussy, and it looks like he finally got his chance…”

   Charon turned his head to the two figures walking along the coast. His employer and the other woman. She had been following him a lot as of late, no matter how cold of a shoulder Charon gave her. A breeze rolled by, carrying with it the scent of salt and algae and their hushed conversation.

   “You know the risks of exposing yourself like this.” His employer. “It seems to be the best way to keep him calm.” 

   “Don’t worry, Vic. I make sure to pop a Rad-X.” The woman…Lyla. “I think he needs a friend.”  

   “Okay, but it’s your hair and skin…”

   The woman came to sit on the driftwood beside him, waggling a bottle with an impish grin on her face. “It’s strong,” she said.

   Charon just stared at the murky water leading out to the open ocean. The cork made a loud pop, and she took a drink before holding it over for him.

   “It wasn’t cheap,” she tried again. She eventually set it down with a shrug and pointed to Evelyn’s journal in his lap. “Is she a writer? Does she write stories?”

   Charon didn’t answer, but she didn’t care. She playfully bumped him with her elbow, and he growled a warning. She winked, unbothered by his toasty scowl.

   “Have you ever been?” she vaguely asked. He didn’t reply, or even look her way, and she lightly smacked her head with the heel of her palm as she explained, “How dumb of me. Port Stein, I meant. Have you ever been?”

   She was waiting on him with an expectant look on her face. He gave her a glance before looking back down at his feet—a familiar view from these past weeks. 

   “No,” he finally answered, and he hoped it was enough to shut her up and leave him well enough alone, but he had miscalculated, for she brightened with excitement.

   “You’re in for such a treat, then! It’s really a fantastic place—people from all over gather there. There’s also a ghoul settlement nearby, Braxton, so you won’t stand out in a crowd.”

   Charon snarled with annoyance, “You talk too much.”

   He stood and wandered off, and she thankfully didn’t follow. 

   That night, she laid out her sleeping roll underneath the stars, just a few feet from his post. He didn’t like that, and so he turned his back to her. The woman stayed with him every night and walked by his side every day, and he felt his hands shake and fingers twitch at some forbidden desire he kept buried deep inside. He sometimes stared at her sleeping, his thoughts consumed with something he had no right to act on. Ahzrukhal laughed and laughed and laughed.

   Bandits tried their luck at ambushing the caravan they traveled with. Charon would have normally spotted the trap an easy mile away, but he had been staring at the woman with the golden hair and the dip where her shoulder meets her neck. He had been wondering what it felt like to have his hands wrapped around it, to feel the warmth of her skin and the beating of her pulse. It wasn’t until she had smiled at him that he saw the glint of a sniper rifle on the overpass. The brahmin had taken the shot in one head, and the other had gone mad with fear and bellowed as it ran off with its other half flopping about. Charon dealt with the threat while the others attempted to calm their pack animal, and when he returned to his employer, they were loading up whatever supplies they could manage on their backs—the mutated heifer was beyond saving. Charon refused to carry anything. 

   “That is not my duty to you,” he had growled at his employer when she had asked.

   “Hmph,” the caravan leader had grumped, muttering under his breath as he saddled himself, “Some bodyguard he is…”

   The woman carried a little more than she was capable of and had to pause multiple times to alleviate the weight burdening her shoulders. By night, the crew would groan and complain of their aches, pelting him with glares like stones. 

   “Your big fella could be awful helpful with some of this,” he heard one man say to his employer. 

   “I can’t force him to do anything,” he heard her say curtly in return. “He does enough already with a gun—more so than the rest of us.”

   The woman laid out her sleeping roll beside him, just as she did every evening, and Charon could see the bruising and blisters on her shoulders when she tied up her long hair. She caught him staring, and he looked away.

   Port Stein welcomed them with open arms after they came over a ridge and caught view of the harbor. A single large boat at the docks made his employer breathe out relief.  

   “We made it.”

   They entered the outskirts of the city, paying a hefty price to pass through a high wall for passage. The caravan took to their separate way as they continued to the docks, and Charon stood by his employer as she paid for three tickets to board.

   “Seems you just made it by the skin of your teeth.” The boatman punched their cards before handing them over. “Ferry ain’t scheduled to leave for another hour. If you ain’t on it by launch, we ain’t turnin’ back to get ya.”

   His employer kept their tickets close at hand and gave them each a nod of her head.

   “You heard him. We have one hour before we make the rest of the way to Boston.” She gave Charon a tired smile. “I know this has all been the most difficult for you, but we’re nearly there. You’re so close to being a new man, Charon. Evelyn would be proud.”

   The other woman touched him on the arm; he stared at the way her fingers curled around his muscles and skin. 

   “Charon and I can get some supplies before we board.”

   His employer seemed to consider it. “Okay. I’ll be at the safehouse to relay Henry a message about Mayer's passing. I’ll meet you both at the docks.”

   The woman, still holding his arm, began to pull him to the side—or at least try to.

   “Port Stein is famous for its mirelurk cakes,” she told him as he followed.

   He watched her conduct business with a vendor while a radio began to grow staticky, and the shopkeeper banged a fist on it before getting back to the transaction at hand.

   “Thank you.” The woman gave a small nod of her head, taking a sack of berries while exchanging the appropriate number of caps. She then turned to him leaning against the side of another stall, his arms crossed and expression forever baleful. She smiled and reached inside the bag to produce a shiny fruit. “Care for one? They’re usually sweet.”

   Charon predictably left it untouched. 

   She softly sighed and tied the sack in a knot around the neck before walking away. He silently followed, and the crowd parted before them so as to give no reason for his wrathful eyes to land their way, but then he stopped. The woman turned around at the sudden absence of his presence, observing him picking up something at a stall, and she curiously looked over his arm. 

   A little golden statue of a horse, there in the palm of his hand. 

   She blinked as he unbuckled a satchel at his waist and took out some caps to lay down, before neatly wrapping it in a scarf to stow away. He then gave her a look to continue her errand, and she kept her lips together with no question about it. Within twenty minutes, she was carrying around a full pack of things that would see to their next port visit, and they met with his employer at the docks as planned.

   Her expression was solemn, her eyes unusually dark.

   “What is it? Something wrong?” the woman at his side asked as his employer stared at him.

   “No,” she said quietly. “Come on. We need to be on the boat.”

   They boarded, the planks creaking and dipping with every step under his massive size, and they disappeared below deck to the hammocks hung in rows. The women set their things in a shared steam trunk before sitting across from each other to eat a cold meal. He leaned against the hull of the boat, staring at her again, and she noticed. He averted his eyes. His employer raised her head to him as he set to leave. 

   “I will be on the deck if you have need of me,” Charon said over his shoulder, and he left them to each other to feel the salty spray on his face. 

   “Last call! Last call!” the boatman cried. “All aboard!”

   Charon had been on a ship before, more than a few times. The deckhands casting off the lines and the loud roar of the motor in the engine room were not experiences he had expected to relive anytime soon—Evelyn had never spoken of wanting to venture farther than the Capital Wasteland. The boat treaded steadily along the open water, the shoreline slowly growing smaller.

   He placed the little horse in the glove of his palm. Evelyn had an entire page of drawings dedicated to this creature—the only good illustrations she had made. He wondered where she had seen one. A book, more than likely. He didn’t know why he had never noticed before. His rugged thumb stroked its windswept mane.

   “What is it?” the woman interrupted beside him. She leaned her arms on the railing, the breeze dancing her sunlight hair across her face. “Some kind of animal? Were they around before the war?”

   Charon wrapped it and tucked it away.

   “You’re lucky to have had someone like her,” she said. She was watching the water and the small wakes they left behind. “I’ve never been with anyone after Brody. No one ever looked at me the same after I started to change.” 

   He remained silent at that. Her fingers slowly crept over to his, their skin sharing a brief touch that he pulled away from. 

   “I do not want you,” he rasped. 

   She smiled, and it was sad. There was a strange look in her eyes. “Is that why you’ve been watching me?”

   He stared at her. “What do you want of me?”

   Her eyes moved to his mouth, and he knew exactly. 

   “We have a few days before we reach Boston,” she said quietly as she put her hand on his. “It would be nice to not be alone for it.”

   “Lyla.” They both turned to his employer suddenly standing there. He shifted away from her. His employer was staring at where their hands had been. “We need to talk.” 

   They left for the lower deck, and Charon remained there for a moment before he silently crept along in their footsteps. He heard his employer speaking from his spot on the stairs, and he listened, a strange, terrible feeling brewing in his gut. 

   “Henry sent me a message. It was about Evelyn.”

   Charon felt his heart hammer away, pounding at his ribs like it was yearning to be free. He waited as she continued. 

   “She's dead.”

   “Dead? What happened?”

   “She was with her father at the Jefferson Memorial when it was under attack by the Enclave. They witnessed soldiers disposing of bodies on the beach…and he’s afraid Evelyn was one of them. There’ve been no reports of any survivors.”

   “Oh my god…that’s horrible.”

   “That wasn’t all. Henry also wrote that it had been her final wish for Charon to come home.”

   “Turn back? Now?”

   “I don’t know. I don’t think I can. It won’t matter in the end, anyway.”

   “...what are you going to tell Charon?”

   Footsteps. They both turned their heads to Charon quietly standing there. 

   “Charon?” his employer said unsurely. “How much did you hear?”

   But Charon wasn’t listening anymore. He was staring at the other woman, looking right through her and seeing someone else. She was younger, with eyes the depths of the sea and dark tawny hair he tangled his fingers through. She was smiling too wide, laughing too much, and talking more than he would've cared to listen to—she would have loved that little horse.

   He wished he had never had the chance to meet someone like her.

   He stared at the gun in his hand. There’s a round in the chamber. He can see the pistol in Evelyn’s room—the one she never used. It wouldn’t be his first try, but the contract stopped him every time. As soon as his finger hit the trigger, he’d wake up on the floor—a million times more sober, and a hundred degrees colder. 

   “Charon…” his employer said with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

   It’s under his jaw, snugged close. He could almost taste the metallic bite and feel the warm flow of blood across his tongue. 

   Ahzrukhal had his mouth to his ear, whispering, “Do it.”   

   And he did.

   The screaming doesn’t stop. She was pounding at the glass, sobbing on her knees, and there was a horrible, horrible cry.

   “Goddamnit, Evelyn, get up! Get up!” It took a firm slap across her face to make her realize that awful sound was coming from her. “We have to get out of here, and we have to go now! Come on Evelyn!”

   She couldn’t. She doesn’t want to. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. It’s her birthday. It’s all for her; Dad said so. She stared down at his body, just there on the opposite side of the glass, at the deep shade of purple his skin had become, at the foaming from his mouth, at the black pits of his eyes. She was dragged—her feet were moving along without her. 

   “We’ve got to get the fuck out of here!” 

   The others—they had come. They were helping Madison move aside a manhole cover leading deep into the tunnels below. Evelyn could only watch, too numb to react to anything. 

   This was all but a very bad dream…

   Clang clang clang

   She went down the ladder and missed the third to last rung and hit the bottom. She was dazed. Dogmeat licked her face. Someone had to have carried him down. She was helped up on one side. 

   “I can’t do this on my own!” Madison was screaming, crying, a fucking mess of anger and tears whereas Evelyn had none. “We’re all that’s left, do you understand?! Your dad gave his life for the rest of us to have this chance!”

   Evelyn saw a ghoul, so very still and on the edge of death itself, lying there on the floor. Charon had given her that chance…and yet, here she was, repaying their sacrifices by simply accepting it. 

   Don't downplay yourself. That's impressive enough for just one person. I can't imagine coming out of a completely sheltered life to facing the entire wasteland alone.

   I’ve heard the stories, and I know someone who can handle themselves and others when I see it.

   Anyone else, and I would have called them a fool. You never fail to surprise me, Lone Wanderer.

   But then, when you had just looked at me with that fire in your eyes…I knew you were her.

   She wasn’t the biggest, or the smartest, or even the luckiest…but she was still alive, and that counted for something. She had to push, to keep moving forward despite what was being left behind.

   Evelyn…do not be scared.

   She held her lead pipe in her hand, taking a few shaky breaths before she asked, “Where do these tunnels go?” 

   Relief washed over Madison’s face. “The Citadel. We’ll be safe there. I don’t know what’s in these tunnels, but it’s our only option.”

   “Okay...” Evelyn nodded, and she looked them each in the eye before waving them on. “Stay behind me, and if I tell you to run, you run, understand?”

   The group remained close, at times coming to a complete halt when she ventured a little further ahead to scope the area. Dogmeat growled, only low enough for her to hear, and she would crouch and snake her head around for a visual to gauge the situation. A group of soldiers, identical to the ones that had held her father hostage, were busily engaged with a group of ferals that called the tunnels home. Evelyn safely pushed them past, keeping to the shadows and taking advantage of the confusion. No one was going to be left behind...not this time.

   “Oh my god,” the male scientist dubiously cried, “We’re actually going to fucking make it!”

   A horrendous screech came from an open service door just on his left, and Evelyn intercepted the tackle to the ground, shouting, "Go!" 

   The scientist shoved Madison and the remaining survivor in the back. “Holy fuck, run! Run!"

   Evelyn cried out in pain as the feral scratched her face, the ragged, bony fingertips like claws. Its blunt teeth snapped for her throat, trying to worm past the thick straps of combat gear on her arms that she shielded herself with. She whacked it in the side of the head with her pipe while Dogmeat leapt for the killing blow, giving them a chance at escape before more appeared. She was forced to close one eye against the strong flow of blood blinding her, too strong to be temporarily stemmed. They ran in chase after the others, finding them huddled at a service door. Madison had her come to a standstill with a sharp tug at her arm.

   “We need to stop!” she shouted. The other man, Garza, was hunched over and barely coherent. Madison cried, “He can’t go on any further! He needs to rest!”

   Evelyn snapped, “If we stop here, we’re dead!”  

   “He has a heart condition; he’s not going to make it if we don’t!” Madison patted down the pockets of her lab coat, searching for something. “Do either of you have any Stimpaks?!”

   Evelyn went to reach for her bag…that had been left behind in her room. She said, defeated, “No…”

   The other scientist shook his head. 

   Another screech echoed down the tunnel. They were coming. 

   Garza struggled to stand upright, his chest wracking with coughs. “Please…don’t leave me…I can make it...”

   Madison held Evelyn’s hands between hers and begged, “Do something!”

   Evelyn ran to the entrance with her pipe at the ready, and then she saw the horde. There were far too many—they were all as good as dead unless she did something now. She looked around at all the junk: a bio-gas canister, a radio, a hunting rifle, a wrench, and a few bottles of beer. Her mind raced a million thoughts all at once. 

   "You two help carry him!" she instructed, waving them to the next junction. "Dogmeat, go with them!"

   They both straddled the man under their arms, limping him onward, and Madison yelled as she watched Evelyn remain behind, "You can't just stay!"

   "I'm buying us time, now go!"

   She dragged over the bio-gas canister to the middle of the room, cracking the valve with the wrench and setting the radio beside it, turning the knob to a preset station.

   "I am, your President, John Henry Eden..."

   The hunting rifle felt heavier in her hands than the BB gun ever did, but it wasn't a toy, and it wasn't simple roaches she'd be aiming for, this time. She hurried down a ways before lining herself up for the shot. 

   Hey, Jonas, get a picture of me with the big game hunter!

   The ferals crowded around the radio, scrabbling over each other and hissing as they investigated the sound drifting from the speakers. She had to aim perfectly—it would only take one shot before they would come for her next.

   BANG!

   An explosion erupted throughout the tunnel, bigger than she had anticipated, and she was barely able to skid around a corner as it blew past. She panted heavily, looking down at the rifle in her hands and listening to the screeching of the ferals being burned alive. She pulled the bolt handle back, the empty casing ejecting, and then she checked the chamber. It was empty. 

   There had only been a single bullet.

   Evelyn dropped it and ran, looking back over her shoulder to the withering flames eating them whole while she kept her feet to the concrete in search of the others, finding them waiting for her in another junction. 

   "Oh, thank God," Madison cried. "Let's go!"

   Evelyn nodded, and they went down another passage. She guided them up some stairs, ensuring everyone was ahead before she could turn to join them. Something hot hit her in the back, sprawling her forward and cracking her head on the railing. She went down and felt sharp teeth dig into her ankle as Dogmeat dragged her along to safety. 

   Madison put an arm under her, forcing her to her feet. “You're not going to die down here!”

   Evelyn hobbled, every step a sharp knife to the ribs. It was too hot to breathe; this wasn’t fire, it was something else. It made her skin tingle and numb and she was suddenly going under. There was too much black to see anything else, and she fell, closing her other eye. The ground was cool...and the dirt was soft. 

   It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be.

   There were suddenly many sets of hands pulling her towards them...and two pairs at her back, forever left behind.

Chapter Text

   The sun rises over the edge of the earth.

   Evelyn yawns. “It’s pretty.”

   He looks at her. “It is.”

   She blows at the rising steam from her cup of ‘coffee’ and takes a sip. “I had always imagined what a sunrise was like, back in the vault.” 

   “And?”

   “My idea of it was a lot smaller.” She shrugs, a little sheepish. “I never knew just how big everything was out here. It makes me feel so small, sometimes.” She looks him up and down. “You certainly don’t help.”

   “You did not mind earlier.”

   She chokes on her next sip, and the rosy rays of sunlight brighten the blush on her cheeks.

   He takes her mug for himself, stealing a drink. It was truly terrible ‘coffee’. He waits on her as she watches the sun climbing ever higher in the sky, but he doesn’t mind, not anymore. 

   She leans her head on him. “I could do this every day for the rest of my life.”   

   They laid him to rest. The pallbearers rowed his body to the edge of the world, and tipped it over. He floated down the river, down, down, down, in a box filled with her favorite dried flowers. There was a coin for each eye, but they could not pay the price for the things he had seen. They devoured him, from his feet to his arms to his head, the twelve hands that fed at his flesh, for three days and three nights. 

   Charon tosses the ball in his hand. Up. Down. Up. Down. She’s missed every throw he’s given her.

   Evelyn taps the baseball bat on the base. “Okay. I’m ready.”

   “Are you sure?” He can’t keep the doubt from his voice.

   “Wow, rude!” 

   He gives her an easy pitch, and she swings with all the drive of a super mutant, spinning herself in an entire circle while the ball rolls down the hillside back to Megaton. She growls at herself before looking around for the dog.

   “Hey, where’d our catcher go?”

   “Shall I bring him back?”

   “Nah. I’ll get it.” She disappears down the slope for a few seconds before she runs up to him, holding the bat over for him to take. “A little more than three strikes—”

   “A lot more.”

   “—but no one was really keeping count!” she huffs. “You want to try? Have you ever played?”

   He takes the bat, flexing his fingers around the handle before twirling it once. “I have not.”

   They switch positions, and she wiggles her butt while sticking her tongue to the side and closing one eye. She proceeds to give a miserable pitch, but Charon compensates with a gun-cracking hit that sends the ball flying far off into the wastes. 

   She shields the sun from her eyes as they watch it leave this world for the next. “…beginner's luck.” 

   He rests the bat over one shoulder. There’s a split from the tip to the handle. “I am sure.”

   “So humble.” She sticks her tongue out at him, and he returns it. She giggles. “What do you want to do now?”

   He tosses the battered bat aside. “I have an idea.” 

   He suddenly sprints in a chase, and she screams, laughing loud enough for the entire wasteland to hear as he scoops her over one shoulder just before the gates.

   Had there always been this many stars in the sky? He didn't think so, but as he pulled back the lid and spat out the nails he gazed, marveled, at all the holes in Heaven’s floor. He was going to pluck them out and put them in a sack and bring them home to her, and she'll fill the tub with a starry light, bathe in the beauty of endless night. He’ll wash her hair and kiss her skin, kiss it until he is made whole again. He’ll clothe the world under a veil of wonder, and taste the dirt so she may drink the sky. 

   “What do you think happens after we die?”

   Charon turns his head. They’re lying naked together in their bed, right where they want to be, and he wonders for a moment. Evelyn’s waiting for his answer, and he shrugs. 

   “...I do not know.”

   “Have you ever thought about it? You’ve lived for decades.” 

   “Does that matter?”

   She laughs, like he had told a joke. “I’d think so. You’ve had more time than most. You’re as old as dirt.”

   That had to be a joke. He hums to himself and looks up at the ceiling in their room. “I have not.” He gives her a side-eye. “And I am not that old.”

   “Sure, whatever helps you not sleep at night.” She walks her fingers across his broad chest, waving the thumb at him. “I hope you told Aristotle ‘hi’ for me.”

   He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh she’ll ever get. Her leg wraps between his, and she becomes very quiet, and he is about to ask her what is wrong when she says, very sadly, “What happens to all these memories? These thoughts? Our feelings, desires, and fears? Are they just lost forever?”

   She looks at him, and he doesn’t have an answer, again. 

   “I do not know.”

   “Do you want to know what I hope happens after we die?”

   He shifts to his side, propping his head on his fist. “I do.”

   “I hope wherever it is that we go, we all go there…together.” She touches his face, and he closes his eyes. “When you cross over, be sure and come find me.”

   Their eyes meet. 

   “I will.” 

   A flash of white in the distance. A whistling sound. There was a great big beat of his heart in his chest, and then all was quiet. 

   Charon opened his eyes. His face was wet…he had been crying.

   The rain was falling—the pelting on the rooftop was deafening. He slowly sat upright. He was alone in a room, with but a small table and a lamp for company. All of his things were gone. The ground was much too still beneath his feet for them to be on the boat. He went for a door, turning the knob and opening it to no one on the other side. 

   “Charon.” A voice down the other end of a hallway made him turn his head to a woman in a lab coat. She held up his contract. “Please, follow me.”

   He proceeded down some stairs into a sub-basement, following his new employer to another door. 

   She opened it and waved at him to step inside. “Through here. Take a seat.”

   There were blinking machines lining the walls and a strong, sterile smell that permeated his nose. He stared at the strange pod in the middle of the room, not unlike the one from Vault 112. He sat on a chair, and she did the same, and he looked at his new employer while she looked at him. Older woman. Strange accent. She held over his contract for him to take, and he did.

   "I am Dr. Amari. I'm a neurobiologist who specializes in the study of the human brain." She then turned to a terminal at her desk and clicked a few keys. “Can you recall the last thing you remember?”

   Charon stared at the piece of paper—the chain that bound him to another. “...we had boarded the boat.” He then rumbled after some failed recollection, "I do not remember anything afterward."  

   “You had attempted to take your own life, and you would have succeeded,” she said gravely, “If your gun had not misfired.”

   Charon looked up. Suicide? Granted, he had tried in the past, under very grave circumstances, but the contract had always stopped him. If it hadn’t been for his weeks of neglectfulness...

   The ghoul straightened in his chair, an unease settling in the pit of his belly. “Where am I?”

   “Goodneighbor. In my lab. It had taken a handful of agents to bring you here off the boat, after Victoria had sent word of what had happened.” 

   “How many days have passed?”

   “Several.” She took a dramatic pause. “Even though your gun hadn’t fired, you were dead. For three minutes.”

   She pulled up an image on the screen for him to take note of. He didn’t say anything, but there was no need, for she continued as she pointed to a white dot on the grainy image.

   “After you had arrived here, I had taken the liberty to conduct some scans and tests of your brain for further assessment. Do you know what this is?”

   He shook his head. 

   “This device, here, is what gives that piece of paper you hold in your hands importance. It's an implant in your brain that sends signals to your entire nervous system; it's why you feel pain when disobeying a command."

   Charon suddenly felt uncomfortable. His fingers slowly crept up to his head, pressing at the flesh and bone of his skull. His brows bridged together as he tried to comprehend what he was being told. He did not...remember such a thing. 

   “I do not understand,” he said slowly, and unsurely. 

   "It is a lot to take in at once," she said gently. "You are very special, Charon, with a very special kind of position I have not seen before." 

   Charon’s fingers tightened around the contract in his hands, and he looked down at it. “...there is always a contract.”

   “There was." She stood, and pointed across the room. “I wish for you to walk to the other side.”

   Charon’s eyes squinted, confused at the sudden request from his employer and its purpose, but the longer he sat there, simply doing nothing and not responding, the greater the realization became that…nothing was happening. 

   It terrified him. 

   The ghoul stood, briskly walking to the other side as she had commanded. He felt the room spin, and he braced himself against the wall with an arm as he bowed his head and forced himself to take slow, collected breaths. No. There was still a contract—he was sure. It had been a mistake. He needed it. It was his purpose. He ran his hands over his head as he tried to think. No…contract? No employer? How did one survive in this world, alone? The possibility couldn't be entertained—it was much too frightening. It was— 

   She stressed with patience, "I believe that due to the defective nature this device had already presented, when you had tried your final act, it sent an overload to regain control. That burst of energy ended up shorting out the implant, instead." She placed a hand on his arm to stop his pacing. "Unfortunately, it had also cost you your life." 

   Charon leveled a look at her. "But I am here."

   "And lucky to be. The side-effects of being a ghoul come with their advantages. If the implant had been stronger, or if you had just been a normal human, it would have killed you." She walked back to flip to another image on the screen. "Which leads me to my next observation: radiation poses risks to everyone, including ghouls. Victoria had told me of your recurring habit of being in the radiation zones. I have told you your brain is special, but it is also fragile. Constant exposure to lethal doses of radiation is already slowly eroding pieces of your memory. Do you have any difficulties recollecting certain times of your life?"

   He only nodded.

   "And so if you continue on this path, you may lose all of them." She clicked the terminal off, and the screen went black. "You were told I would be erasing your memories, but I only consent my services to those who are willing to undergo it. The usual patients I help are in need of escape from their past lives. Memories can be painful, and powerful things…” Her eyes softened. “And you have suffered greatly. I would understand if it is the route you wish to take.”

   His hands shook, and he took out the contract again to stare at the lettering he himself had inked upon the paper. If...if there was no contract (but there was), then he was free to go as he pleased (back to home). There was no employer to stop him (not yet), and he would be free to return to Evelyn, and everything would be as it should. She would take him back now, now that the contract was no more (even if it was), and he would tell her its weight no longer bore any burden, and they would be together for all her days. 

   He folded it to stow in his pocket, going for the door. There was an air of excitement about him that he had not felt since he had left. "I am going home." 

   "Home?" she questioned. "Back to D.C.?"

   "Yes."

   "Charon." The scientist stopped him before he could leave. “This is a great change for you, and it will not transpire overnight. What you have been conditioned to believe and endure will have lasting effects for many, many years to come. I advise that you remain here, so that others may provide guidance with this new freedom you have." She eventually relented under the unwavering determination burning hotly in his eyes, and she sighed. "See to Victoria before you leave. She will have a few things for you for your journey, and wherever it may take you.” 

   He found his old employer in another room, and she rose to greet him with neither a smile nor frown. 

   "...how are you feeling?" she asked. "Did Dr. Amari explain everything?"

   Charon looked around the room. "Where are my things? I require them."

   She took that as his answer and went to a crate to set things on a table for him. "These are all for you, from us." 

   Charon buckled himself into new clothes and tightened the laces of durable boots. A simple medkit was filled with Stimpaks, a needle, and thread. His stash of caps was now plenty and full. She handed him a Pip-Boy, and he raised a brow as he latched it to his wrist.

   "It wasn’t an easy find…but I knew you needed it, more than anyone else. Where will you be going?" She observed as he flipped to a map and began to make some pins. "Is it not your first? You seem familiar with it."

   He raised his eyes to her. "I had some experience with Evelyn's."

   The expression on her face changed a few times, but they were too subtle to be definite. "Are you returning to the capital?"

   "I am." He clicked the screen off, reaching for his shotgun to holster to his back. "She is waiting for me."

   "I see." His old employer turned around and walked to the door. "Please excuse me. The rest of your things are there for you."

   She left him to his devices as he sheathed his knife, and then he drudged up his pistol from the bottom of the pile. He turned it in his hand, then pulled the slide back. A jammed round in the chamber. He shook it out to clink on the floor. Evelyn's journal, with all of her flowers and beautiful poetry and terrible drawings, was wrapped in linen and carefully tucked in his bag. He wouldn't have need of it every night, anymore—the stars would keep him company as he walked the road back home to her. It was going to be long, he knew that very well, but he wouldn't pause for a single breath or simple rest until he was at her doorstep.   

   The notion almost made him smile as he tucked her letter and his poem in the same underside pocket by his heart, and then he draped himself under a leather duster and pulled the hood over his head. He went to find an exit, to be carried away by the rush of wind billowing in his sails, when he heard the scientist and his old employer speaking in a room and mentioning Evelyn's name. He halted, putting his head to the crack and listening.  

   "It's cruel, Dr. Amari. You should have told him."

   "And he's extremely delicate at this moment. Something of that nature would more than likely be catastrophic for his mind, and perhaps unravel the rest of his sanity. If it gives him purpose, then so be it. The passage of time might soften the blow enough to have him come to terms with it."

   "And what if it doesn't?! Or what if he suddenly remembers?! What is the point if—!"

   "Victoria, please try and understand that this may be the best course it could have taken. You saw what had happened before. Do you think we would be so lucky with a second chance of that happening again?”

   "...I...I don't know. It feels wrong."

   "And it is, but it's what he needs, at this moment. Don't take that away from him."

   "I don't have to. It already is."

   Victoria caught a glimpse of the coattails of his duster disappearing around a corner. 

   "Charon!" she called out. He paused and turned, keeping his thoughts and questions to himself. He felt they didn't really matter...or at least, he didn't want them to. She held over a piece of black cloth. “Here, take this mask. They probably won't let you back on the boat after what had happened, but it should be a good enough disguise to get you passage back to Port Stein. If you leave now, you should make it before it launches. I'll mark the harbor on your Pip-Boy."

   He took the mask and held his arm over for her to input the marker on his map. It felt strange having someone do something so similar as to what he had seen Evelyn undergo a dozen times. 

   “Thank you,” he rumbled, and then he asked a little awkwardly, "What happened on the boat?"

   Her eyes shined over with pity. "You are alive and well and a free man, and that's all that came of it. Good luck to you, Charon. Remember that you have friends here...if you should ever need us."

   Charon gave a simple nod of his head and walked away, but the woman with golden hair was in his path at the door.

   “I told the others I was leaving for good, this time,” she said. “I want to come with you, wherever it is that you go."

   Charon stared down at her. "I do not have what it is that you want."

   "But...with Evelyn gone..."

   "I am returning home to her," he said simply, and she only watched as he stepped past and into the raging storm.

   He slipped the black mask over his face and followed the marker, finding the harbor through the thick mist and boarding the ferry as it rocked on the violent seas. A foghorn blew.

   "Last call! Last call! All aboard!"

   The rain was heavy, and cold, but he stood at the bow overlooking the choppy waters and green sky as the ship began underway into the fog of the unknown. He reached inside a pocket and placed the little gold horse on the railing before him, a beacon guiding him home. 

Chapter Text

   The sun sets below the edge of the earth.

   Charon doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough of a hint.

   She looks at him. “That boring, huh?”

   He tilts a bottle of beer for a drink before he curtly shrugs. “It is nothing I have not seen.”

   “Oh?”

   “It is the sun,” he says plainly. “It sets.”

   “Jeez Grumpy Pants, I'm not forcing you to stay out here!”

   He looks at her as though she has more than a few cobwebs in the attic. “It is dangerous outside the gates. You know this.”

   “You know this,” she mimics, and she swipes his drink for a swig, feebly holding it out of his reach for a split second. 

   “You have your own,” he growls.

   “But yours just happens to taste better,” she teases with a laugh, and she tries to go for another steal before he swells his cheeks with the brew and plants their lips together to share. She pulls away instantly, shrieking, “EW!”

   He wipes his arm across his mouth. “You had said it was better.”

   She holds the tip of her tongue out with two pinched fingers and dramatically wipes at it. “I goud haf gone the west of my wife without that!”

   He bumps her with his elbow, nearly toppling her over, and finishes his beer.

   They laid her to rest. The pallbearers set the flames to her pyre, and it was alight. Her ashes floated up to the sky, up, up, up, carried by the wind he blew for her. There were jewels in place of eyes, perfect sapphires that sparkled all the purity and beauty she had left behind. They devoured her, from her feet to her arms to her head, the twelve hands that fed at the nothing that was left, for three days and three nights. 

   Evelyn watches him pull the trigger. Splat. Sploosh. Squick. Slap. He’s never missed a single shot.

   Charon swings the rifle’s strap over one shoulder. “That is all of them.”

   “Are you sure?” she asks, slightly doubtful. “I thought I saw…”

   The look he gives her makes the hair on the back of her neck rise up. 

   “Okay, Mr. Perfect, sorry I ever doubted your divine wisdom in all things kill-or-be-killed,” she scoffs, and they walk to the molerat massacre. She gets on her knees and pulls out her knife to begin prepping the first kill, and looks over at him just standing there. “You know, two hands are always faster than one…”

   He looks at her and says dryly, “Then it is good that you still have two.”

   “Rude!” She sinks her knife in the carcass, but pauses before skinning. “Hey, where’d our scraps connoisseur go?”

   “Shall I bring him back?”

   “Nah. It’s fine.” She pulls away the finer cuts and lays them on a special burlap fabric meant for their hauls. “You know, I used to do this on my own with this weird stick thingy—”

   “Stick…” He hesitates, as though the next word inflicts him physical pain to say. “Thingy?”

   “—but this is so much less messier!” She grins, smearing blood across her cheek after brushing at some loose hair. “I mean, sort of.”

   He snorts and nods his head at her to continue. The kills are clean, and the goods are packed, and she smiles a thanks as he burdens the weight of everything for the walk back home. 

   “What do you want to do after this?”

   His eyes look down at her, and he licks his thumb to wipe at the stain on her skin. “I have an idea.”

   “Gross—let me at least take a bath, first.”

   Another snort. “There is room for two.”

   There were no more stars in the sky. They’ve all been plucked out. She was drifting forever in the endless void, watching Charon place them all in a sack until there were no more to be had. He filled a tub, so vast and deep, that all the stars became a shining sea, and as she lowered herself within to bathe in all its light, her strands of long hair threaded through his fingers and soaked under warm summer skies. The water dripped from her fingertips and seeded the dirt far below, and rather than flowers, diamonds blossomed into crystal snow.

   “It is not so bad.”

   Evelyn turns her head. They’re home, together, right where they always should be. Charon’s given her his answer.

   “It…isn’t?”

   “No,” he says gently, and he turns to look at her. “I have lived many years…most of them were not kind.”

   Her eyes grow sad. “I wish they had been.”

   He hums to himself and looks up to the ceiling as though he can see all the wonder of the great beyond. “It does not matter, anymore.”

   “So, it’s almost like something to look forward to?” 

   “No.” He looks down and takes her hand in his while he deeply rasps, “But it is something not to be afraid of.”

   “I won’t be,” she promises, and she squeezes his hand. “When I go…?”

   He squeezes back. “I will follow.”

   A flash of white from above. A beeping sound. There was a great big beat of her heart in her chest, and then all was quiet. 

   Evelyn opened her eyes. Her face was wet…she had been crying. 

   The sun was shining—the late afternoon light poured through the open window and draped across her bed. She was in a spartan room, with Dogmeat near and breathing softly in his sleep—yet everyone else was gone. Everything was still and quiet, and she cried out as she tried to rise from bed. Her ribs hurt like hell, and she traced the swath of bandages covering her from front to back. She gently laid herself down, trying to find some semblance of where she was and what was happening. 

   They had been in the tunnels. They had to get away! Dad was—!

   Her eyes spotted something sparkling in the sunlight, all pretty and silver and blue. Her hand shakily reached over for her mother's cross necklace, and she curled on her side and cradled it to her chest as she smothered her sobs in her pillow. 

   Dad was gone… Forever.

   Dogmeat gave her a few sloppy kisses as she cried, and she cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left, until her throat was raw and her nose was red and her head was pounding. The hours mercifully gave way to sleep, and she awoke to the broiling of her flesh and the madness fever accompanies with it. There were shadows, shadows everywhere, and all of the voices that floated overhead were muffled. Everything was a blur. Something cool touched her forehead before her eyes rolled back, and it all faded away to nothing.

   She awoke another day with another sunrise greeting beyond her window, and she sluggishly sat upright and puked over the side of the bed. 

   People came—all of them strangers. She did not know their faces, but she recognized the insignia they wore on their uniforms, and they all spoke around her as they poked and prodded and took some tests and follow my finger with your eyes. They offered her water that she did not drink, and bland food that she did not eat, and they eventually all left, with an IV in her arm and a fresh mopping at her feet. Evelyn's sunken eyes looked out the window to the pale moon climbing higher in the sky. 

   Another round of studies was conducted the following morning, this time led by someone she recognized.

   Madison gently placed a hand on her forehead. “How are you feeling?” 

   Evelyn's breath was raspy and weak, and she licked her overly chapped lips as she croaked, “Dad?”

   Madison looked ready to cry, but she steadied herself and threw her feelings aside as she gently squeezed her shoulder and said, “Get some rest. You have a long recovery ahead.”

   Evelyn turned and stared at the wall. No amount of crying could heal the hole deep down inside, and it sucked everything left of her.

   Madison came again the next day, coaxing her to eat something. 

   “You need to regain your strength,” she urged. When there was nothing but a shell of a woman lying with her back to the world, Madison sighed and set her hands in her lap, facing the open window. “You had taken a hit from a plasma weapon. Thankfully, a few Brotherhood Knights were just nearby and came to our aid, but the damage had been done.” She looked down at her once immaculate hands, now lined with age and weary from constant stress. “Your body went into shock, and you suffered a cardiac arrest. You were dead—for about three minutes.”

   Evelyn met her tired, hooded eyes. The defiant spark had withered into hopelessness. 

   “For a moment, I thought I had lost you alongside your father…but you’re here now, alive, and that’s all that matters.” Madison grabbed the bowl of hot soup and placed it on a tray, smacking a spoon down and choking on her withheld tears as she said thickly, “So I’m not going to leave this damn room until you finally eat something!”

   The spoon was picked up and dipped inside the bowl. Evelyn blew away the steam and took her first bite in days, forcing herself to swallow. It wasn’t much, but Madison gave her a small nod of satisfaction. 

   “Be sure and finish all of it. It may taste terrible, but it'll speed along the recovery process. I suspect you’ll be in bed for the rest of the week before you can start walking again.” Madison then stood, and hesitated before she awkwardly brushed a strand of hair from Evelyn's forehead—a poor, but trying imitation of a mother’s grace. Her hand then instantly curled to her side. “If you need anything, there’ll be medical staff on standby at all times. I have to return to Rivet City for some important business, but I’ll be back to check on you.”

   The days passed, and Evelyn slept. She watched the sun rise and set, and soon, the bandages were unraveled from her skin. The medical assistant and herself both blinked in surprise at the lack of scars left behind. 

   “You were extremely lucky,” the woman said. “Plasma normally liquifies right through anything. You must have had some serious protection.”

   Another few days passed, and she was allowed to hobble out of bed with the aid of a walker. She patrolled up and down the medical wing with Dogmeat, wearing nothing but a simple white shirt and loose-fitting pants the recruits were given. The effort was exhausting, and she was bent over in pain and drenched in sweat by the time she had finished her daily laps. The blackish bruising over her cracked ribs began to fade into a watercolor of blues and yellows, and after some time, she was mobile enough to walk unassisted, albeit not without a slight limp.

   Madison kept her word and visited one afternoon, satisfied with her progress. “Good. They told me you’re soon ready to be moved out of the medical ward and would like to ask you some questions, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Elder Lyons, the one in charge of everything and everyone here, says you’re free to do as you wish.”

   Evelyn tucked her necklace under her shirt and swept her hair behind her ears. “Did they ever find my Dad?”

   Madison said quietly, “Everything was lost, including James and Janice’s bodies. The Enclave still has control of the memorial at this time, and there’s nothing we can really do.” 

   Evelyn stepped up to the window, looking out to the waters below and how they stretched far and wide. "...what will you do now?"

   "I’ll be returning to my lab in Rivet City." She folded her arms. "The Brotherhood may try to convince you to help them with retaking the purifier—it's your choice if you want to do so."

   "Will you?"

   "I'm not going to let James and Janice's deaths be in vain," Madison vowed, a little bit of that former steel hardening in her eyes. "But at this moment, it's pointless. Even if the Enclave doesn’t know what is needed to activate the purifier—it’s useless to us as well until we find a G.E.C.K.”

   “What my dad was searching for,” Evelyn murmured.

   Madison nodded. “Yes. James said he knew where to find one, but that knowledge died with him…" She went to leave. "I have spoken with the rest of the Rivet City council and lifted your exile—you’re welcome back at any time."  

   "Thank you." Evelyn nodded, and then spoke up after a moment’s hesitation before she stepped out the door. “Madison?”

   She instantly turned. “Yes?”

   “There’s a man—Henry—that I need to see, but I don’t know him well enough to know exactly where he is. He’s an associate of Pinkerton’s, and he said he was staying on the ship for a while. I don't know if he still is...”

   She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

   Madison saw through, and as Evelyn was sitting one evening, lovingly admiring Charon’s ring on her finger, she heard a knock at her door.

   “Come in.”

   One of the medics handed a letter over. "The courier had said a Mister Henry wanted this delivered to you."

   "Thank you." Evelyn waited for the door to close, then unfolded the single sheaf of paper to hungrily read its message. 

   Evelyn,

   I wish I were writing this with better news. We had seen the soldiers storm the memorial that day, and the body bags that quickly followed after. Myself and everyone on the ship had assumed you had all tragically lost your lives, and while I am glad to hear that is not indeed the case, I regret to inform you that I had already left to relay your message to Victoria prior to learning it. I had told her of your final wish to bring Charon back to the Capital Wasteland, but she had instead decided that the better course would be to proceed as planned. I do not need to tell you how much time has passed, or that the procedure has long since been done. I am truly sorry, for the loss of both Charon...and your father. Please, have comfort in knowing Charon has a new life and free will, and that it was all possible because of you.  

   Take care,

   Henry

   For a long time, she didn’t move, and only when she saw that full moon shining high in the sky did she stand before the open windowsill and place the ring on its ledge for the pale light to catch.

   "I hope wherever it is you are now," she whispered to the night sky, "...it's home."

   The ring was tipped over, sinking into the dark waters below.

Chapter Text

   The next day it rained. Evelyn sat at the window, but she didn’t look out. 

   Before leaving the room, the medical examiner told her, “Be sure and repeat those exercises we went over; it’ll help with the stiffness in your leg.” 

   Evelyn didn't listen to what he had said—nor had she noticed him leave. She eventually stood from her chair and left the room. In the previous weeks, she hadn’t sought to explore beyond the medical ward, but her steps deviated far from their usual path down the hall as she dipped past the double doors and met unfamiliar faces. 

   Everyone stared as she passed, with a few even nodding their heads in respect as they called, “Wanderer.”

   Perhaps that was all that was left to her—a wandering soul, never to return home.

   She sat in the mess hall, took to a table of her own with Dogmeat loyally at her feet, and crammed something plain down as she kept her eyes on her plate. She heard the whispers. Felt their eyes.

   “Word was in Rivet City they had someone smuggle a ghoul onboard, and get this, she was fucking it, too.”

   The group of three sniggered, and a can of crisps hit her in the back. Dogmeat growled.

   “Go eat elsewhere, zombie lover,” the closest spat at her. She recognized him—the initiate she had pummeled at the GNR station. With a deep, calming breath, she picked up her tray and went to leave, but the man reached down for Dogmeat’s tail as they passed. “And don’t come back.”

   He yanked. Dogmeat yelped and scuttled forward. Evelyn whirled the tray around and slammed the initiate in the throat with the edge, sending him flying from his chair with a gasping choke.

   The woman seated beside him went to lunge with a closed fist, but Evelyn picked up her fork on the table and jabbed it in her right eye, sinking it nice and deep. The woman shrieked and flailed backward, hitting everything around her with a flurry of her arms. The remaining initiate was slammed in the face by the force of her knuckles, and she straddled him on the floor as she rearranged his facial bone structure. 

   “DON’T FUCK WITH ME!” Evelyn screamed as she pulled another punch, cracking his nose with a sickening crunch. “I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE!”

   A set of hands grabbed at her, sweeping her back as the first initiate she had attacked met her blazing eyes—his wet with nothing but fear. 

   “Everyone, stay calm! Percy! Go get Gale and Ruther some medical attention, and Lowes, clean this mess up!” a woman with blonde hair barked at the lot of them, dragging Evelyn outside and keeping the dog away with the brunt of her boot. She nabbed Evelyn by the collar and shoved her to the wall. “What the hell are you thinking, outsider?!” 

   She released her, and Evelyn just shakily breathed and got to her knee to inspect her dog. She ran her trembling fingers through his fur, ensuring he came to no harm.

   Sarah Lyons briefly cursed to herself and then looked Evelyn dead in the eye. “I’m not going to say they didn’t have it coming—I heard everything—but Gale was one of my best snipers, and Ruther was set to be promoted to dealing with new recruits, which is sort of pointless now that his face is fucked up for who knows how long.”

   Evelyn stood her ground, but her voice was quiet once more. “I held back.”

   Sarah stared at her for a few minutes until she seemed to relax slightly, and she sighed, “I’m really sorry to hear what happened to your father, but I can’t excuse what you did.”

   Evelyn didn’t drop her steely gaze. “I’ll take the punishment. I don’t care anymore.”

   “As it so happens, my father, Elder Lyons, does.” Sarah stepped away and motioned for her to follow. “He wants to speak with you. Do you need anything for your hands?”

   Evelyn assessed her bloody knuckles. They burned...and it felt good. "No."

   She followed Sarah through the halls and up some stairs until they rounded by an open door. The older woman motioned her to wait as she entered alone for a few minutes before she beckoned her to step inside. Evelyn bade the dog to sit as she was met with an elderly man seated behind a desk.

   “Please, do come in,” his voice whispered like the bark of a dying tree, dry and yet full of water. “Sarah, close the door.”

   “Yes, fath-” Sarah hesitated, then corrected to, “Yes, Elder.”

   It was just the two of them, and he rose from his chair to hobble to the only window overlooking the ruins of the city. 

   “Allow me to begin with how terribly sorry I am about James’ passing.” He looked at her, the wrinkles lifting over his eyes. “Your mother and father were some of the brightest minds I had ever met. I see them both in you.”

   Evelyn said nothing.

   He coughed in a hand and returned to his chair. “Even though this is our first introduction, I cannot help but feel as though we have already met. I’ve heard much about you, Lone Wanderer, and all the adventures you’ve had across the wasteland: Arefu, Canterbury Commons, Grayditch—”

   “I wasn’t alone,” Evelyn cut in.

   Lyons appraised her. “No. I hadn’t forgotten the detail of your companion, who I’m assuming is no longer with you?”

   “No,” Evelyn replied. “He isn’t…but he was there, and truthfully, he deserves all the credit.”

   “Do not be so hard on yourself, child. Dr. Li’s recount of your courageousness in those tunnels is something to be proud of. You would make a fine member of the Brotherhood of Steel, if you so wish to join our cause.”

   Evelyn looked down at her stained hands. “I have no interest in being a soldier. I’m sure I proved that just a few minutes ago in the mess hall.”

   “Ah, yes. Sarah had told me about your altercation against some of our own. Do you know what the punishment for such insubordination is?” When she didn’t respond, he answered plainly, “Exile—sometimes a fate worse than death.”

   Evelyn gave a hollow laugh, her hand feebly covering her mouth to stem her rudeness.

   “Is that rather amusing to you, Wanderer?”

   She bitterly said, “I've been an exile all my life. I wasn’t born in the vault, and yet I was raised as one of their own, only to be cast out all the same. Now my father’s dead because of some meaningless dream, and I’m here, alone.”

   “James did not give his life for his work,” Lyons said gently. “He gave it for you—do not forget that.”

   “He’s still dead,” she remarked coldly. “No amount of remembering will bring him back.”

   Lyons remained silent and thoughtful before he rose and went for the door. “Come with me, please. I have something to show you.”

   The elder led her to the topside of the Citadel’s walls in the lightly drizzling rain, and together they overlooked the training recruits below.

   “What do you see?” he asked.

   She plainly answered, “Soldiers.”

   “Is that all?”

   “My dad was fond of giving analogies, too.”

   Lyons chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back. “Forgive me, my intent was not to patronize. I simply ask, because I believe you to be a very important person to this wasteland.” The recruits began their exercises in the yard, unbothered by the weather. “I see a group of individuals who have banded together for a cause greater than themselves—is that familiar to you?”

   “Still patronizing.”

   “Then I’ll be brief.” He fully turned to her. “The Brotherhood of Steel needs your help to reclaim the purifier.” 

   “You have people far more capable than me for that sort of thing,” she scoffed.

   “We appear resourceful, but truth be told, we’re drowning.” Evelyn turned to look at him, and he nodded. “The ruins are vast and deep, and there seems to be no end to the super mutant infestation we constantly deter every day. You may be one person, but I have lived long enough to know that a single person whose destiny to be followed is a far greater strength than one hundred men with none.”

   “I think you’re trying to use my father’s legacy to convince me that I’m someone I’m not,” she growled. She then stood firm, and she did not yield to this old man who could have raised a single hand and had her sniped through the eye. “If you had cared so much before, my dad would still be alive. I have my own life to live, and I’m not going to waste my dad’s sacrifice for some clean water.”

   Elder Lyons slightly dipped his head. “Very well. There seems to be no swaying your decision, and I will respect it. You are welcome to stay for as long as you like until you are ready for the journey home. It was a pleasure to meet and speak with you, child. May steel be with you.”

   She left him overlooking the recruits in the rain as she went to return to her room, but another voice halted her steps.

   “Evelyn.”

   She stiffened before turning. No one else within these walls had called her by name besides Madison. It was the soldier from Galaxy News she had first met at the Mall. “I remember you,” was all she said as he approached. 

   “And I, you.” Earl awkwardly ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the mutt. “Friendly?”

   “Depends,” she said, and then she began to walk away.

   He quickly came to her side, keeping an easy stride. “I heard what happened at the memorial. I’m sorry for your loss.”

   “Me too.” Her voice was plain—more bored than anything—and he could see the hollowness in her eyes. 

   “Where’s your ghoul?” he asked. When she paused in step and didn’t respond, he looked over his shoulder. 

   She was coldly staring at him. “Is there something you need?”

   He raised his hands in surrender. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever it was you were doing…we don’t often get outsiders here, and I was curious after seeing you.” He tipped her a smile. “I’m glad we have the chance to talk again.”

   “Why?” Short. Blunt. Straight to the point with a dagger plunged right through his chest. 

   Earl responded just as straightforwardly, “Because I like you.”

   Her eyebrows crossed, and she took a step back. “What?”

   “I never forgot about you after GNR,” he casually explained, and he finally lowered his arms to his sides and slowly got to one knee to let her dog sniff his offered hand. He rubbed the mutt between the ears. “You’re not like the recruits here, and I don’t get out to socialize much beyond my line of duty.”

   There was nothing but a frown on her face. 

   He elected to continue with, and not without a warm reddening across his cheeks, “I also think you’re very attractive.” Her own blush bloomed bright enough for him to see, and he smiled again as he stood. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

   She crossed her arms and looked down. “I got into a fight with some of your friends at the mess hall. I’m on everyone's shitlist at the moment.”

   “You’re not on mine.” When she looked back up, he winked. “I've been promoted to the rank of Paladin. No one’s going to bother you, I promise.”

   She bit her lower lip in thought and shrugged. “...sure.”

   They walked, side by side down the halls, in stifled silence. The cafeteria was now empty except for the two of them and her dog, her previous scuffle wiped away with the heavy smell of Abraxo. They sat across from each other as they both lazily picked at their food with their forks. He watched her, and she watched her plate. 

   “Food’s always been terrible,” he joked, but she wasn’t even amused. “But not as bad as my jokes, I guess.”

   She set down her fork to the side and pushed the remainder of her food away, resting her arms on the table as she leaned forward slightly. “Why did you join the Brotherhood?”

   “You always ask the hard questions up front?” he quipped again, but when she just stared at him, he set his plate beside hers and leaned back in his chair. “They took me in after I lost my parents.”

   She softened a bit. “What happened?”

   “Super mutants.” He looked to the side. “I was eight. It was the middle of the night, and I mostly just remember my mother shoving me into the cellar and throwing the rug over the door to hide me. I listened to them scream as they were being hauled away…and I never saw them again.”

   “I’m sorry.”

   He shrugged. “I was too, and then I realized it’s what the wasteland does.” 

   Evelyn looked down with her hands slid into her lap before quietly saying, “My mom died giving birth to me.” She reached around the collar of her shirt and pulled out a necklace, her fingers tenderly caressing the inlaid blue stones inside a silver cross. “This is all I have of her. My father gave it to me…just before…” 

   “The Enclave attack?”

   She nodded, too somber to speak of anything else.

   Earl glanced at a clock on the wall. “Got any afternoon plans?”

   “No.”

   “Good. Let’s go.”

   Evelyn followed the Paladin as he escorted her around, and he was surprised to learn she hadn’t explored the Citadel despite living within its walls for nearly a month. He noticed the slightest hitch in her step, and he asked her if she was in any pain or needed medical attention.

   “No,” she answered him, forcing herself to straighten a bit to hide it as she walked on. “I’m fine.”

   Earl decided it best not to broach the subject—he recognized the low-burning fire behind her eyes that many of their seasoned veterans carried. It was not a torch for him to bear. 

   “I have to visit the mechs on the progress of my power armor,” he explained as he led her to the armory. He eyed the casual recruit clothes she wore. “And maybe we can get you something better to wear.” 

   They crossed through the laboratory, her eyes drinking in the giant mechanoid that took residence in the middle of the room. Blue sparks sizzled from welders patching joints on the raised platforms surrounding it, and there was a general hush from the scribes as they watched the two make their pass. 

   “Pretty cool, huh?” Earl asked her as he nodded his respects to the senior staff. 

   “What is it?”

   “That’s Liberty Prime. Supposedly, it’s going to change the tide in the fight someday…but we’ll see.”

   They ducked from the squinted stares and into another large space, where the walls were lined with power armor stations and various sets of armor hanging in disrepair. Earl stepped up to his suit and whistled at the closest mechanic. 

   “How’s it coming, Tess?” he asked when she drew close enough to hear. 

   The woman wiped her greased hands down her coveralls, throwing him a smirk. “Suddenly you’re a Paladin now, and you think you have every right to go out and bang up every piece of equipment you have.” She blinked at Evelyn standing quietly to the side, and she crossed her arms with a hum. “You’re the outsider. I saw what had happened to your gear. Sorry to say it was a total loss—but it saved your life, so it did its job.”

   “Tess, this is Evelyn,” Earl introduced, turning to the woman behind him. “And Evelyn, this is Tess, one of the few mechanics that knows her way around a set of power armor.”

   “Heard a lot about you,” Tess said, staring at her with flint for a smile. “The Lone Wanderer.”  

   “Guess I am,” Evelyn replied, tracing her finger down the forearm piece on a suit. 

   “Think you can get her some new equipment?” Earl asked the mechanic.

   Tess began to walk back a few steps, throwing him a wink. “I’ll see what I can find…and only since you’re the one who's asking.”

   “I appreciate you,” Earl chuckled as she walked away, and then he turned his head to Evelyn inspecting the finer details of his power armor. “Even though Three Dog’s been in a coma, word of your actions around the Capital Wasteland never fails to spread. I’d say you’re our local celebrity.”

   Evelyn tilted a brow at him. “Three Dog’s been in a coma?”

   “You didn’t know?” Earl asked, mimicking her expression. “I figured it was common knowledge at this point. You don’t listen to Galaxy News?”

   She shook her head and held up the Pip-Boy on her arm. “Receptions mostly shit everywhere. I’m guessing no one ever replaced his satellite dish. What happened?”

   “Oh. Well, it was kind of a freak accident. Oddly enough, it happened just as you two had left that day. They think he fell down the stairs in his studio—he was banged up pretty bad, and he’s been unconscious ever since. Someone that worked for him took over, but she isn’t as enthusiastic as he was.”

   Evelyn had a look on her face, one he couldn’t decipher, and then she blew out a deep sigh and continued to look over his power armor. “I hope he gets better.”

   Tess returned with a small satchel filled with Stimpaks, pure water, and a few emergency rations. 

   “Here, this was all that could be salvaged on you. We don't have any other spare uniforms, unfortunately.” Tess handed over the knife Charon had given her, and Evelyn tucked it close at her hip. Tess gave her a smile. “I wish you luck out there, Wanderer.”

   Evelyn nodded her head as thanks, and then she addressed the Paladin, “I need to return to Megaton.”

   Earl waved Tess farewell as he guided them back around. “Are you sure you wish to leave so soon? The storm should pass by tomorrow.” He stopped them in an empty corridor. “If you’d like, I can request an absence of leave to take you home. It’s a dangerous walk alone.”

   Evelyn eyed him, wary. “You’d do something like that for me?”

   “I told you—I like you.” He smiled. “And I’d love the chance to get to know you better.”

   “She’s enamored with you.”

   Earl blinked. “Huh?”

   “Tess.”

   “Oh. I know.” 

   “Not interested?”

   “No. Not really.” He held her gaze. “We had a one-night stand, a long time ago. Does that sort of thing bother you?”

   “Does me sleeping with a ghoul bother you?”

   He snorted, shaking his head. “I already knew, if that’s what you’re asking.”

   “You did?”

   “Sure. He made it obvious with the way he looked at you.” Earl scratched his head. “May I ask what happened to him?”

   She was quiet, and then, “He’s gone up north, and he’s never coming back.”

   “His choice, or yours?”

   “...neither.” Evelyn shouldered the satchel. “I should be going.”

   Earl followed her to the front gates through the cold rain, gently grabbing her hand to pull her around before she could be gone for good. “Will I be seeing you again, Evelyn?”

   She looked into his soft, warm eyes. 

   It would take months, perhaps a year or two, for her to let Charon go completely. Earl would visit her in Megaton whenever his duty allowed him, and he’d catch every eye of every gal with his handsome features and charming smile, but he’d only have eyes for her. 

   They’d have their first kiss at the bar—Nova would tease them, and Gob would treat their drinks for free, and she’d invite him to her house for the first time, swapping kisses all the way to bed. 

   The years would pass.

   He would be the one to ask. Down on one knee, with a ring in his hand, and she’d say yes. He’d ask her to return to the Citadel with him, and she would leave Megaton behind for the rest of her days to spend them with him. The Brotherhood would earn a sister and a scribe, and they would be assigned to extend their reach beyond D.C. farther north. 

   An unexpected surprise of a baby would drastically change their plans, and they would leave the strict order of the Brotherhood for a much simpler life. Husband and wife and baby-to-be would find a home further west, nestled in the sloping hills and along the safe trade route in an established community to raise a family. 

   It’d be a girl, then a boy, and then another boy. Their children would grow healthy and strong and full of wonder for the world, and they would soon see them off, one by one, until it was just the two of them again...

   Evelyn let his hand slip away with a soft, “Goodbye.”

   She left the Citadel with Dogmeat at her heel, her head held high and hair fluttering in the wind. A ray of light parted through the clouds, dappling her face with warm sunshine.

Chapter Text

   Ping! Ping! Ping! 

   Beep! Doo-doo! Beep!

   Congratulations! You won! Thank you for playing Atomic Command!

   Play again?

   Charon clicked the Pip-Boy screen off, concluded his business on the shitter, and listened to the fog horn blow alongside the boatman’s cries.

   “Prepare to dock!”

   With a shift of his mask and a pull of his hood to further conceal his face, he stepped up the ladder to the top deck and took a deep inhale of the long road to come. There would be no employer there to guide him; no employer there to trace his every step. It would just be him—and the world awaiting. He fished the contract from its place and held it up in the dancing, frigid sea breeze. One slip of his fingers, and it would be swept away, forever gone from his hands and out into the unknown…

   It was refolded, so ever-perfectly, before being secured back inside the warmth of his pocket. 

   The boat shuddered as the fenders bounced against the dock, and the throng of passengers went about their way to depart. Charon did not, however—at least, not right away. He was (unbeknownst) standing in the very spot where his employer had watched him pull the trigger, and it was here he stood that he stared at the coarse grain in the boards. He mildly wondered what it was he should have been told…but it was of no concern for him, in the end.

   He was going home.

   The market of Port Stein was bustling with the trade of caps, the shouts of unfair business, and the shift of his leather duster as he walked through the crowds that parted for his passage. More than a few eyes shifted to watch the big, shrouded man with the very big gun on his back go—and he did, beyond the high walls and out into the uncertainty that was the wastes. He was no foreigner to these lands of death and suffering, and while his hands were honed to a fine edge (like that of a blade), and his feet were as swift as the shifting sands, it was not a land he yearned for. His land was a dusty couch with broken springs, a tub two times too small, and a creaky bed with her warm body beside him. 

   The blur of a person in his peripherals made him glance over. It was a man in a lab coat, his hands in his pockets and a patient smile on his face. 

   It was James.

   “Don’t let her go,” James said. 

   Charon blinked—and he was gone. 

   Charon blinked again, removing the mask from his head and squinting at the place where Evelyn’s father had just been standing. He would swear on his life that…but…he wasn’t there, that much was obviously clear. Charon stared at the spot for a few more minutes before continuing, a grumble under his breath and the mask fitted back in place. 

   The long walk began.

   The ghoul had no desire for company, such as that of a traveling caravan, or even a fellow wanderer, and although his grueling pace was self-inflicted, it was necessary, for the more miles he put between himself and the Commonwealth, meant the less between himself and Evelyn. He wondered for many miles what she was doing. He wondered for many more what she was thinking. Charon had been a man of seldom regard for anything for many a decade, for the contract and the employer had confined his world to a very narrow view. Wherever the steps of his employer laid, there his shadow would be, looming with ominous intentions. Charon had lived many lives—a bodyguard, a scapegoat, a workhorse—but he had not lived until Evelyn.   

   He was soon stopped, seated on a concrete divider in the middle of an empty highway, hunched over that folded piece of paper he had drawn from his warm pocket. The contract was read, every word drawn over his tongue like scalding water. His teeth ached and his eyes itched and his skin blistered, but he could not stop. The contract was still there. It had to be.

   (…didn’t it?)

   “No,” he said aloud as he took a stiff breath through his nose and craned his neck back to look down at that piece of paper, giving it his meanest glare to date. “You do not matter to me.”

   (Evelyn did not want it to)

   It fell from his hands, softly gliding back and forth like a yellowed leaf from a tree before it was crunched under his boot. He walked two paces, and then five...and then he stopped, and looked back. It was still there, and nothing was calling him back to it. He clenched a fist and gnashed his teeth as he rubbed at his eyes with his fingers.

   “You do not matter to me,” he repeated, his voice tired. "You are nothing..."

   He stared at it, and then the open sky, and he deeply sighed. The contract was gently picked up, dusted of dirt, and carefully folded. He stowed it away before resuming his course. 

   The ghoul carried on to the south, lonely of apparitions and clearer of mind. He referenced the Pip-Boy seldom, for albeit he was very old, he wasn’t forgetful. He recognized the roads they had previously walked, and the farther he went, the less and less he relied on his charted stars. He took great care of his gear, stripping his shotgun and pistol of worthless pieces and picking some parts along his way, whether it be from raiders, traders, or simply scavenging what he could find.

   He wanted to present his very best self to her.

   The days passed, and the excitement tingling in his belly was spreading to his fingers and toes with each mile he left behind him. When his body would grow too weary with his pace, he would be forced to settle somewhere remote, and he would spend the time wisely by devising new recipes. The interactive Pip-Boy screen proved too difficult for his large, thick fingers to properly take notes on, and he gave up on the endeavor after the letters squished together one too many times. His inscriptions were left to be taken in Evelyn’s journal, and as he scratched the ridge of his brow with the end of a pencil, he would stare at the little horse statue under the dancing shadows of the firelight. 

   ...deathclaw claw…bloatfly maggot…tongue of brahmin…

   More than a few ambushes were lying in wait for him as he took shorter routes and cut through barren towns. Charon, however, did not allow complacency as he had before, and his shotgun blasted through cover like wet paper, rattling brains and seeing to the scumbags' last days with shells through their front teeth. He kicked open doors, evaded melee swings, and powered straight through room after room and floor upon floor until the fiends fled like roaches he sought to squash.

   Charon went to blow away a raider cowering in the corner when his eye caught something on a table—a Pre-War magazine with an illustration of a man presenting a woman with flowers, the title reading: How to Keep the Love Alive Between the Missus and You! The ghoul lowered his shotgun and stomped over to swipe at it, flipping through to find it had been torn in half. He growled, his eyes snapping back to the raider who had his trembling hands raised. Charon smacked his arms aside with his gun before smushing the front cover at his face. 

   “Where is the rest of it?” he snarled.

   The raider gaped, stupidly, “W-what?!”

   “The pages.” Charon tipped the man’s chin up with the muzzle of his shotgun, his finger on the trigger as he lowly rasped, “If you get me the other half, I may let you live.”

   The raider squeaked, pointing to the bathroom door. “It’s-it’s-!”

   “Get it!” Charon barked, and he smacked the fiend upside the head as he scrambled on all fours across the room. The raider just as quickly came back, offering the other half. Charon snatched it, growling in displeasure at the obvious use of some of its previously discarded pages, but the majority of it was intact. Charon didn't even look down the barrel of his gun as he pulled the trigger, his eyes still on the cover while a wet splash of chunky red splattered the wall.

   He took a seat in a creaky chair, reading through the magazine like a parched man drinking cool water. 

   Cooking an aromatic meal is a sure-fire method to bring romance back to the table!

   He flipped a couple of pages. He had that in the bag.

   Words best left unsaid are better written down, instead! You don’t need to be Shakespeare to swoon the missus with a poem written by love.

   Charon flipped a few more pages. He didn’t know who this Shakespeare was, but he was confident the schmuck couldn't hold a candle to his own poetry.

   Looking for something to reignite the spark you once had flaming? 

   He paused, squinting at the pictures.

   Dancing is one way to get the heart burning with desire! 

   Charon studied the step-by-step instructional guide for a simple waltz before he slowly lowered the magazine to his lap and stared at the far wall. Dancing? He had never danced before, and so he was slightly skeptical…

   A few practiced steps are sure to sweep the lady off her feet each and every time!

   That night, after the ghoul had lit a fire and settled in his temporary shelter, he opened the magazine and propped it against something so he could study it as he practiced. Charon wiggled his fingers at his sides, crossed his brows as he looked at his feet, and stepped to the left. He then circled back to the right, his movements precise and sharp, before coming to a stop. Charon flipped to the next page, reading the lines of text above the pictures. 

   Now, for the music! 

   Charon flipped the knob on his Pip-Boy, tuning in to the clearest radio station he could find, and performed the simple dance to the beat of a song. He once again came to a stop, and snorted. Dancing was way too easy. Evelyn was sure to be impressed. He resumed his readings to begin the next stage. 

   Think you’re ready to hit the town this Friday night? Grab your partner, and get ready to show off those smooth moves!

   Charon glanced at the headless mannequin in the corner, making a step towards it.

   Nuh-uh, not so fast there, slick! Be sure and bring your best manners to the table when it comes to wooing your lady for a night she’ll never forget!

   Charon straightened, swallowing a bit as he imagined the face he’d been longing to come home to, and stiffly held out his hand. His eyes were drawn to the side to read off the sheet of paper as he flatly asked the dummy, “Will. You. Have. This. Dunce…?” He squinted. A fleck of water had distorted the lettering. He reread, “Dance?”  

   He then took its immobile limbs into his hands and twirled around, the radio lending another song for the night. 

   The days came, and the evenings went, and the mannequin was kept strapped to his pack. A scrounge through a department store scored a brown wig—not unlike Evelyn's own wavy, curly locks. The next big town he came to pass through gave him a head—the eyes were missing, and the lips were faded, but he painted on some red in what he imagined was a smile, and hammered in some blue buttons for eyes. A silver dress with missing sequins was shimmied over the dainty frame, and that night, he set it down to study with a stern pinch of his brows and rub of his chin.

   It would do. 

   He practiced every moment he spared himself to, lifting the prop in the air and pretending Evelyn’s beautiful smile and contagious laugh were along for the ride.

   "Only you!" he garbled, horribly out of key. The Pip-Boy blared, and he belted out in song with Evelyn's double haphazardly swinging around in his arms. "Can make this world, seem right!"

   The distance on his Pip-Boy began to grow smaller day by day, and the ghoul would sometimes hum quietly under his breath while his feet occasionally swayed down the cracked asphalt highways. A couple of traders open to do business with him stared on in silence after he set down his pack, their eyes on the mannequin and ears listening to his raspy singing.  

   Charon looked up after no one went to inspect his offloaded goods, his good mood instantly curdling sour. "What?"

   The one closest flinched at his tone and sputtered, “What’s it for?”

   Charon followed their eyes down at the mannequin. He bluntly replied, “Practice.”

   The other one then awkwardly said, “I reckon it’s harder for your kind…”

   Charon stared at them before picking up his belongings (mannequin included) and going along on his way.

   After a few days, he disappeared into dense fog and came upon a seaside town still occupied by its original inhabitants from 200 hundred years ago, their growls and hazy eyes leaving their sane brethren be. Charon took to resting his weary feet in a house on the waterfront, listening to the waves crashing over the shore and some distant thunder peal across the sky—a radstorm was on its way. 

   Constant exposure to lethal doses of radiation is already slowly eroding pieces of your memory.

   Charon crafted a fire in the hearth, stripped himself down to his pants, shirt, and boots, and sat in a chair to stare at the contract unfolded on the table before him. He grunted out loud, “There is a storm approaching.”

   He looked up, but there was no one else there. Another five minutes passed. He slid the contract across the table to the empty seat on the end.

   There was an unsteady tremble to his rasp as he said, “I don’t know what to do with this.” He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling with a far-off look. His voice was low, and nothing but uncertain. He tapped at his skull with two fingers. “There’s nothing…and I do not know what to do.”

   He closed his eyes. There were stars behind them.

   “I don’t know what I am, anymore…”

Chapter Text

   They say every story has three parts to it. A beginning, a middle, and an end. The classic trifecta—some might be full of adventure, laughter, or even tragedy. One doesn't really know what sort of story they're going to get until it's finished. 

   I know I didn't.

   Well, the name is Dogmeat, and this is my story. 

The Beginning

   “Why’s he so small?” my oldest sister asked. She sat on her haunches and scratched at an ear. “Are you sure he’s one of us?”

   My oldest brother barked out a laugh right in my face with his disgusting, putrid puppy breath. Oversized hairball. “Yeah, look at him! He won’t last a day!”

   “He smells funny!” my other brother audibly sniffed me. “Mom, I think he’s broken! You should take him back.”

   My youngest sister came nose to nose with me, crossing my eyes. She whispered, “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

   I looked up at all their faces, looking down at me. I was small—small enough to be carried off by a bird with a broken wing—and I did have funny eyes, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t like the rest of them! I may not have been the strongest, or the biggest, or the fastest, or the smartest…but I was something. 

   I jumped to my stubby, wobbly feet—standing tall and proud as I shouted, “I’m going to be the best dog there ever was!”  

   They all stared at me like I had gone completely insane, before they all burst out laughing, rolling around the floor.

   I didn’t let it bother me though—I was going to be the best dog there ever was.

   “He is your brother,” Mom chided the rest of those furry little assholes. “And we are one. You will all be there for each other. That is our way.”

   We had a single working parent, AKA: Mom. Dad was completely out of the picture. Mom told us he went out to get dog biscuits and some flea preventative…and just never came back. It wasn’t too bad, though. We all lived together in a small, secret cave no one else could find, and we had each other. Mom was really into the whole family first thing from the start. She did her best with us. Bringing home the bacon. Homeschooling five unruly pups. She kept us safe, warm, and fed. It was the best sort of life a mangy, flea-bitten pup could ever hope to ask for. We chased lizards on the hot rocks, buried each other in sand, and burped up bugs. It was pretty awesome. Eventually, Mom took us out into the world and showed us the way of life.

   And how easily it could get taken away. 

   She told us you always remember your first kill. 

   “You must be quick,” she quietly said, our eyes trained on the lone radroach just up ahead. “Every second is a chance for opportunity, and you must not let it go when it comes.”

   I turned my eyes away to look at her—the only one to do so. “But, Momma…how do you know when it does?”

   “Shh!” my older sister hissed. “It’ll hear you!”

   I snarled back, “Nu-uh!”

   My other sister growled, “Yeah-huh.”

   “Quiet!” Mom barked at us, and we flattened ourselves for a moment under her angry eyes. “Do not lose focus!”

   She returned her lethal stare to the unsuspecting creature, and we all stuck our tongues out at each other before rejoining her. The radroach skittered a step to the left, and Mom bound from behind cover with a simple but deadly pounce. The bug emitted a pitiful squeak as it was squashed under her powerful paw, and she turned to us. 

   “Come along, little ones. I will show you what to eat.”

   After we had been taught everything there was to be a true-born natural killer, Mom took us out, one-on-one, to test our skills.

   My oldest brother—the biggest—bagged an adolescent deathclaw. Show off. My second brother—the strongest—took down a giant ant. My older sister—the fastest—came home to gloat about her radstag, and the younger one—the smartest—somehow managed a softshell mirelurk. 

   That left me—the best dog to have ever lived.

   When it was finally my turn to bat that day, I knew I was going to take down the biggest prey of all—a yao guai. 

   “Pfft, yeah right, runt,” my brother teased. “You’re going to fetch nothing but a wet stick, and even then, I’ll have to come help you bring it back.”

   The others laughed as I left the cave with Mom, and she took me to the set of tracks she had specifically chosen for me. 

   It was a lone molerat. Old, a little sick, and smaller than the usual ones. 

   It even had a limp.

   “What?!” I cried, undignified by her choice. “But Momma, the others will laugh at me!”

   “It is what you are ready for—nothing more, nothing less,” she patiently reminded me. She nudged me with her nose, scooting me a few inches across the sand. “Go. I will be here to watch. Good luck.”

   I am big! I charged, knocking it off its feet. I am strong! I clamped my jaws around it, squeezing until I felt the bones begin to break. I am fast! I quickly scurried back, tasting the hot red of blood across my tongue. I am smart! I evaded its wickedly sharp claws as it flailed a counterstrike, and went in for the killing blow.

   I am… I am victorious!

   I spun around to Momma, who looked pleased, and then I bared my teeth at my fallen prey. “Ha!” I stuck my tongue at it, hopping around in a little dance. “Take that, you overgrown field rat! Who am I?! I’m the best! That’s right! The best dog to have ever—!”

   And then there was a sound, like a hundred angry whispers, and I looked over to Momma as the heads began to pop up from the ground. 

   I am outnumbered. 

   “Momma!”  

   I felt their teeth in my flesh and saw their angry eyes glow yellow and rancid. They howled and hissed and spat and tore me all over. They were angry and there were many. Mom scooped me up in the safety of her teeth, dashing over the milling molerats like a weightless cloud, and soon we were safely away, heading back for home. 

   She put me down and licked my wounds. “You did very well. I am proud of you.”

   I was still shaking all over. I couldn't meet her gentle stare, so full of pride and love. I didn’t feel like I deserved it. “I was scared,” I confessed, and she didn’t say anything as I yelped, “L-let’s not go back, just yet! The others will make fun of me!” 

   “The others didn’t face down an entire nest of molerats.”

   “Momma, you know what I mean!”

   She sighed and looked to the horizon, before beginning to walk in a different direction from home. “Come with me. I wish to show you something.”

   I followed, and she brought me to a place we had never been before. There were strange, unnatural structures everywhere—it was the first time I had been met with something touched by humans.

   “Where are we?” I asked, keeping close as she calmly walked around the debris. 

   “There are some creatures more deadly than others,” she explained, and then we entered a small clearing with metal cages, all of them empty except one. We came closer, and inside, were nothing but bones…dog bones. “And we are to avoid them at all costs.”

   We sat and stared at the remnants of those long gone from this world. 

   “You are much like your father,” she told me. “You are very special.”

   I stared at the skull, much larger than my own, and twice the size of Mom.

   “Dad?” I glanced back up at her. “What happened?”

   “Humans,” she said simply. “He gave his life to keep us safe.”

   “Why don’t the others know?” 

   “Because they're not yet ready, but you're different from the others, and I know you will understand.”

   I nodded. “I understand, Momma.”

   Mom took me home then and embellished my molerat hunt a little more than I honestly would’ve, but something inside me changed that day…and it wasn’t for the better. Instead, now that we were allowed to hunt for ourselves, I’d wander a little farther than the others would, returning to that place where Dad lay unburied. 

   And then I’d go a little further.

   It was as plain a day as any other when I stumbled across them. A pair of tracks unlike anything I’d ever seen before suddenly appeared before me, and I took a big sniff as I began the hunt. It led me to them—humans. There were three of them, all cozying around a campfire, yelling and spitting and stinking of molerat fart.

   I saw the cages—just like the ones Dad had died in. 

   I went to turn back, to go home and warn Momma…but that little thing called curiosity told me to wait, to watch, to learn more about these creatures that had killed my father and frightened my mother. On the outside, they didn’t look all too dangerous. No fur? Soft flesh? Not even sharp teeth or long claws? Just what was it about them that made them so deadly?

   Night fell.

   I was still there, patiently stalking from behind the safety of my cover and observing these creatures falling asleep. I should've been going home, for the others would have noticed me still gone by then and would come looking for me…but my eyes are tired, and so I close them for just a second…

   “Ha! Gotcha!” 

   There was something suddenly around my neck, and I yelped, and cried, and there were many hands grabbing and pulling as I was shoved into a metal cage. The door was locked, and they began to laugh as I raced around inside, thrashing against the bars and screaming for Momma. 

   “Momma! Momma!” I howled into the night. “Somebody, anybody!”

   “God dang, what the hell’s a pup doing all the way out here?” The one by my side bent down to peer at me through the bars, and I bared my teeth at him with a snarl. “Fiesty little feller! Nice work, Jimmy.”

   “Think he could be our new tracker?” Another one asked.

   “Nah. Not right now, at least. He’s too small.”

   “How about something to add to the soup, then? There's a little bit of meat on him!” And they all threw their heads back and laughed. 

   “Momma,” I softly cried to myself, and I curled into a tiny ball to stay small. My voice was thick and scared. I saw Dad in the cage. “...I don’t want to be bones.”

   The hours began to slowly pass, and there was no way out. I lay there, curled tight, until a familiar scent on the wind caught my nose. I looked around, seeing nothing, but I knew they were there…Mom and the others. 

   They had come for me!

   "Momma!" I screamed.

    There was a terrifying snarl, and the humans awoke to a massive dog lunging through the air. She went for the first human’s throat, but he raised an arm that she latched onto instead. She began ripping him to shreds with no ounce of mercy, and another one of the humans went for something in his pack. He pulled out something shiny—a gun—and aimed it at her. 

   "Mom!" I cried, and then I was surrounded by the many snouts of my brothers and sisters. 

   "What is this thing?!" my biggest brother growled as he clamped his teeth around the metal bars. 

   "We’re here!" My fastest sister clawed at the sides. "We'll get you out!"

   "Brothers!" I said with relief, yapping with joy. "Sisters!"

   And suddenly, there was a loud roar that made us all go quiet. A terrible beast emerged from the edge of night, the biggest I’d ever seen, and it went to stand on two legs and bore a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. 

   “YAO GUAI!” a human shouted, and he whirled the gun around. 

   BANG! 

   The yao guai shrieked as something hit it in the chest, and then it bellowed down at the human with a swipe of its paw, knocking the head clean off the shoulders. 

   “JIMMY!” The other human grabbed a bigger, shinier thing. “You fucking—!”

   BANG! BANG! BANG!

   Mom came before me, desperately trying to free me.

   "I'm sorry Momma, I'm sorry!" I cried, shrinking in the back of the cage as the bear continued to chew another man in its large mouth and rip the arms away. "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry! I don't want to be bones Momma I don't want to be bones!"

   The others could only numbly stare on as she snapped at the bars of the cage, horrified at this giant creature tearing apart the entire earth with its mere screams. 

   She snarled at them. "Protect your brother! We are one!"

   They returned to the cage. Tooth and claw did nothing, and I was crying to be set free. "I want to go home!"

    BANG! BANG! BAN—!

   The other man screamed a sound I will never forget, and then he was silent. I could see the yao guai, just through the bars, its eyes hot and angry. It was coming for us next. 

   I turned to my mother and brothers and sisters. "Leave! Go!" 

   But they didn't.

   They stood together—and I could only watch. 

   Mom turned just as the yao guai brought a massive paw down to crush her, but she sank her teeth into its claw, making it lift her high into the sky. 

   "Mom!" we all cry. 

   The angry beast swiped its large teeth at her, but she ripped off three of its toes before vaulting towards its face and clawing at its eye. It howled and flung itself back, and Mom took her opportunity to swipe at its chest, leaving a long, bloodied mark. She went for another attack, nabbing it by the backside of the neck and pulling it over. My brothers and sisters sound off their warcries and joined her in the fight, biting and clawing and tearing the beast apart as great dogs do—and then the bear slammed over backward, crushing Mom into the dirt before she could jump away.

   She was still; she did not move.

   My biggest brother was next. The yao guai brought a paw down and smashed him completely flat, leaving nothing behind but fur and squished flesh. My strongest brother and fastest sister were second. They were picked up between its jaws and chewed apart by its powerful teeth, the bones crunched and screams silenced. My younger sister, my smartest sister, looked at me as it came from behind. 

   "You will survive," was all she said. "You are special."

   And she closed her eyes, and was gone like the rest.

   The yao guai got down close, smushing its nose to my cage, and I swiped at it with my own smaller claws, making it sneeze. 

   "I hate you!" I screamed at it, and it tried to pry the bars open. I snarled, "I’ll kill you!"  

   BANG! 

   One of the beast’s eyes burst, not enough of a wound to kill, but it effectively scared the creature into running off in the night. Another scent was in the air—more humans. They entered the circle of firelight and looked around at the carnage, and then one looked at me. 

   He picked my cage up and showed me to the others. “Hey, we got a survivor!” He displayed his blunt teeth in a grin. “You’re lucky…you could’ve been dog meat.”

   The human set me down as they began to sift for things worth taking, placing me beside Mom. 

   Her eyes were open, and her chest was crushed, and there was something red and fleshy coming out of her mouth.

   "Momma...?" I whispered.

   She didn't answer. Her eyes had no warmth to them.

   I curled up as close as I could beside her, with the cold bars between us, and closed my eyes. 

   I never returned home again.

The Middle

   And so, the years passed.

   “Get back in there, ya damn waste of caps!” The man spat on me, kicking me in the ribs back into the ring. “Go out there and get me my money back!”

   I rose on unsteady feet. Blood was dripping from my mouth, and there were somehow three more geckos rather than just the original one. Oh. No—there was only one. My eyes were just crossed, again. The gecko swiftly advanced and lashed out with its claws, but I dipped myself at the last possible moment and crushed its legs with my teeth. It shrieked as I ripped its arm clean off, leaving it to bleed out on the floor.

   I limped back to my master, every step misery. He was shouting at me, and shaking his head with a nasty scowl. 

   “You fucking worthless animal, you did it too soon!” He kicked me when I came near, sprawling me flat, and I simply lay there as he collected his money and stalked off. 

   The lights were turned out. I was left there, alone in the dark, and he never came back for me.

   It was like that, here and there. I was traded off, sold, bartered. Traders, raiders, and scavs. I was used for fights, for labor, and protection. Some fed me, some kept me out of the cold, but most either tied me down or locked me up. 

   I was bigger. Bigger than my father was. 

   I was stronger. I could kill a full-sized deathclaw, and I have.

   I was faster. I had outrun radstags in chase.

   I was smarter. Humans had taught me the most valuable lesson of all—don’t trust them, for they were the most dangerous of prey, and you always had to try and be on their good side. 

   I ended up wandering the wastes for a long time, most of it in a cage on the back of a pack brahmin, watching the sands drift on by with my head on my paws. I did party tricks for extra food—the humans always laughed at that. I scouted for materials they had taught me to find—even the ones that went boom! My fur was dull, and my bones showed, but I was alive, and I aimed to keep it that way every day. 

   I thought of my family a lot. Of my brothers and sisters. Of Momma. Of what I could have done differently that day. I dreamed of being back in the cave as a pup again, chasing lizards and digging in the sand and playing tag...and then I'd wake up to an empty stomach and a heavy hand twisting my ear.

   "Get outta there, you stupid fucking dog!"

   I was up for another auction. Ten caps. It was my highest bid. I was sold off to a human that looked to be some sort of scavver, and he read the collar that had been around my neck since I was a pup. 

   “Dogmeat, huh?” he mused. He tied a rope to my neck and tugged me along. "Well, come on. We got some work to do."

   The scavver wasn't so bad, all of my previous masters considered. He didn't beat me, and I had a warm place by the fire without chains or a cage. My newest role was that of a hunter, and I would set off during the day to bring us back enough food to get by. I didn’t quite get enough of my own share, but I was more than used to it at that point. It wasn't a bad gig, overall, and I could see myself being content with this human until he was ready to trade or sell me. It was what they all did, and it was what I had come to expect. We traveled, always on the move, and my master brought me to a place he called his own for the time being. I was set off to hunt, and I brought back two molerats for that night's meal when I discovered raiders looting our camp. 

   Master was deader than a doornail, with the three responsible fighting over the measly scraps from the pockets on his corpse. 

   I ripped their throats out and ate their innards, and for the first time, I didn’t belong to someone. It was a strange feeling, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I had depended on humans for so long at that point…what else was a dog’s purpose for, other than to serve the master, as they had taught me to?

   That scrapyard ended up being home for me and my old master’s bones for some months. I hunted for myself, eating my full share this time, and it was an o-kay existence for a dog like me. There wasn’t much to do besides playing fetch with his femur, or watching the clouds roll by, but it was simple enough. 

   “Ooh, what about that one?” I pointed up at the next cloud shaped like a mushroom. I looked at my master’s skull, his empty eye sockets facing upwards. “Mushroom, right? Come on, tell me I’m right.”

   He didn’t say anything, which was typical.

   And then one day…she came along. 

   “Charon, look, a dog!”

   I’d finally met Evelyn, and boy, was she something else. 

   “Do you want to come with us?” she asked me, and I decided to give the initial approach—a wet, slobbery kiss. She giggled, and I knew right then and there that I had picked one of the good ones. “C’mere boy, get on little doggie!”

   Where had Evelyn been all my life? 

   She brought me home inside an actual house, and gave me a thing called a bath?! I’d never had a bath, ever, and I didn’t think I’d ever been brushed, on top of it! My coat was so shiny and soft that it put a baby’s butt to shame, and it only went upward and onward from there. 

   “You know what you are, Dogmeat?” she asked me, soft and gentle as she lovingly stroked my ears. I had been so used to people beating me I didn't know petting could be so heavenly. I definitely got used to it, and never wanted it to end. Ever. “You’re a good boy.” 

   …I …I am? Who. Me?  

   She then kissed me, and I knew I was in love. I’d kill anything and anyone in the entire wasteland for this human. She was my human—my Evelyn.

   And I’m her good boy.

   Now that we’ve established my love-love relationship with Evelyn, let’s move on to the other one. The one that looked like it got run over by a car, and then they put it in reverse to do it again before dumping his body in a ditch full of ants. 

   And then lit him on fire.

   I wasn’t too sure what his deal was, at first. He made it apparent he didn’t like me, but I was used to that, and so I didn’t like him. Don’t get me wrong, the food he made was absolutely fan-fucking-tastic, but that was about the only thing worth keeping him around for. He was enamored with Evelyn, even a dog my intelligence could see that, but man…guy was a twat.

   I didn’t know what she saw in him. 

   Besides the ugly cloud constantly hovering around her, life was good. I was happy…something I hadn’t been in a long time. I shared her bed, was kept clean and brushed, and had all I could eat any time I was hungry. I was damn spoiled, and I never imagined in all my wildest dreams to ever have such a thing to myself. I had begun to wander, sometimes. I enjoyed the freedom she gave me out in the wastes, and some days I would just chase lizards or dig holes in the sand, reminiscing on my younger years. I was content in knowing I had someplace safe and warm to return to, and that she was never angry with how long and far I would be gone for. 

   One of my escapades led me to a raider outpost, seemingly abandoned beside the lone sentry on watch.

   There was a dog in a cage. 

   “Psst, hey!” I called over, and the dog raised itself to look at me. I motioned to the guard. “Are there others?”

   She shook her head, quietly calling back, “They’re gone for now. You need to leave before they come back!”

   I chuffed to myself. I wasn’t a defenseless, naïve pup anymore. I told her, “Just hold on, I’ll get you out!”

   She sat on her haunches and wagged her tail, but she remained quiet as I sneaked up on the raider and quickly took him down from behind—never even noticed me, that’s how good I was. 

   Evelyn’s good boy.

   “Wow,” the captive dog marveled as I grabbed a bobby pin with my teeth and inserted it inside the lock. The door opened, and she rushed out to circle me. “Thanks! How did you know how to do that?”

   I nodded my head to the open wastes. “I’ve learned a thing or two living with them. Come on!”

   We sprinted out across the sands, far enough away to be safe from any reprisal from the homecoming raider party, and circled each other with eager sniffs and wagging tails. 

   “I’m Dogmeat!” I told her excitedly. “Want to come home with me?”

   “Dogmeat?” she laughed. “Where’s home?”

   “With my human, Evelyn! You’ll love it!” I dashed away, but she didn’t follow me. I come back, suddenly uncertain. “...are you not coming?”

   She looked worried, with her ears flattened and tail tucked. “I don’t trust the humans...they’re all bad.”

   “Not all of them.” I licked her nose, and she licked me back. “Mine isn’t. You’ll see.”

   “No… I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She then ran off, and I went to chase her, but there was a call for me on the wind.

   "Dog!"

   Big & Ugly™ was summoning me home. I could only stare at her as she reached the top of a dune, and then disappeared.

   I went home to a warm bath, a nice brush, a good book, and a full belly. 

   “Sleep tight, Dogmeat,” Evelyn had told me as she kissed me. “You’re a good boy.” 

   I was Evelyn's good boy. The other dog had it wrong. Not all humans were bad. 

   Mine wasn't.

   Some days passed, and I stumbled upon her after finding her tracks in the sand and sniffing her out. She was alone, in a cave, and she was hungry and weak. 

   “Here.” I brought her meat, pushing it forward with my snout. “Have it. All of it.”

   She watched me carefully. She wasn't used to such kindness...much like I hadn't been. She said with her hackles raised, “You did not bring any humans?”

   I sat back and returned her stare. “No.”

   She ate. She told me her name. 

   Leela.

   I taught her how to chase lizards. Play tag. We buried each other in sand and I showed her the ways of a hunter. I spent my time between Evelyn and Leela, and life was good for a dog.

   Time went on. I was away for some of it, following Evelyn and Big & Ugly™ on their adventures, and when I returned, I was surprised with pups. My pups. They were all the colors of my brothers and sisters. Black, brown, white, and red. Two boys, and two girls. I was so very proud of their mother. They jumped all over and pulled my ears and gnawed on my tail, and I brought them food and kept them safe when I could. 

   “You should stay,” Leela told me one day. “Your place is here.”

   I should stay…but Evelyn would be heartbroken. She loved me, and I loved her. 

   I was her good boy. 

   "Evelyn would love you, and the pups," I told her. "Give her a chance. You'll see."

   Big & Ugly™ found me at the cave, told me to come home, and he saw my family. He growled and had me return, and I did not see Leela or my pups for a while after that. I went on many dangerous adventures, and then, unexpectedly, Big & Ugly™ left my Evelyn. 

   He did not come back. 

   She cried, and nothing I did could make her happy. I did every party trick I’d ever been taught, gave her wet kisses, brought her food, kept her safe, and—Urgh! Nothing I did could make her happy! She wouldn’t stop crying! Where did Ugly go?! Why did he leave?!

   I didn’t see Leela or the pups. I was not given a bath. My fur went unbrushed and tangled. I wasn’t really hungry, anymore…

   The house became too quiet. There were no smiles, or laughs, or that lull of conversation the two humans constantly had between them.

   I saw then what it was she had—a family...like I did. 

   Those were some dark days. I found myself as torn over Big &...Charon's...absence, as Evelyn was, and I did as any good dog would do. I lay by the front door for his return, and waited.

   And waited. 

   And waited. 

   And...waited.

   But he didn’t come back.

The End

   Evelyn’s father—James—came instead. 

   “Dear lord, is he dead?” he asked her as he looked down at me with a frown.

   Definitely felt like it. Inside, at least. 

   James took us back out into the open world, and for a few moments there, everything felt like it would be alright. 

   “Your dad gave his life for the rest of us to have this chance!”

   And then it just as quickly wasn’t.    

   I couldn’t stop Charon from leaving. I couldn’t save James. I couldn’t…

   ...

   ...

   ...

   I look up at Evelyn, at the subtle hitch in her stride, at the pinch of her brows as she forces herself to keep moving. 

   I almost lost her, my Evelyn, and I couldn’t stop any of it from happening…

   “Hey, boy,” she calls down to me, and she gently rubs my ears. “You’re a good dog, you know that? I love you.”

   I love you, too.

   We're heading for home. The weather is turning sour, but she doesn’t let the few drops of cold rain slow her pace. I stay close, sniffing the wind for any hint of a threat and keeping my eyes sharp for movement. We’re careful, and we’re lucky, for the coast is clear as we make camp in some random hideout. 

   She pushes a desk against the doorframe, wiping the sweat from her forehead before she looks at me and smiles. “Hungry?” 

   Always, but as I slurp down the canned surprise, I notice she barely touches her own. I lick my chops and look down at the leftovers. A screeching sound makes her glance over as I scoot my can to her. 

   I whine.

   She holds my head and kisses the spot between my eyes. “Thanks, boy, but I’m okay.”

   When she curls in her sleeping bag, I sit by her feet and keep watch. I’ll kill anything that comes through that door. I love Evelyn, and I am her good boy.

   The rain is gone by morning, and we continue. I find a box of snack cakes that she loves. It brings the world’s tiniest smile to her face, but it wasn’t enough to make it glow. 

   “You’re amazing,” she tells me, and I lick her hand as she takes it. 

   We walk, and then I catch a strange, foul scent in the air. It is horrible, almost suffocating, and I nudge her forward before the ground begins to shake beneath our feet.

   THUD THUD THUD

   Evelyn turns, and screams, “YAO GUAI!”

   The yao guai stands tall, blotting out the sun with its massive size and swiveling its one black eye around to her, the other an empty socket. It erupts a hideous snarl, drool dangling from its jaws and breath blowing a decayed wind at our faces. It’s missing toes on one paw, and has the same scar on its chest that Mom had given all those years ago. 

   No…no it can’t be…

   It slams back down to the ground, reverberating shockwaves up our legs, and I leap in front of Evelyn to buy her some time to escape. 

   Go! I bark at her. Leave, hurry! 

   The air shifts. I flatten myself to avoid the paw that could crush me with one fatal swing, then jump forward and duck to the right as the yao guai gives its full attention to me. 

   I taunt it. Come and get me! 

   It roars as it misses again, and I take off into the ruins to draw it away. I have to keep Evelyn safe. She needs to run. She has to get home!

   The giant bear follows, the earth seemingly being opened up from below from the ripples it creates. I duck inside a hole beneath a foundation to buy myself some time and an exit strategy. The yao guai gets low to the ground, sweeping its paw around inside after me, and I bite down on it. 

   “Dogmeat!” Evelyn screams.

   The yao guai suddenly rips itself free from the hole—with me still attached for the ride. I hang on as it lifts me high in the air, ready to slam me back down before I can let go. 

   “LET GO OF MY FUCKING DOG!” 

   There’s a pained roar, and I know she’s hurt it in some way. It's distracted enough for me to chew its remaining toes off and allow me to jump away, but I find Evelyn straddling the back of the bear, her knife buried in its spine. 

   “Go Dogmeat! Run home!” she yells, and the yao guai quickly shakes her free from itself, sending her flying into a concrete pillar. She cries out as she hits it and falls, and then is still on the ground. 

   The yao gaui roars, confused and enraged at the knife in its back that it can’t dislodge, and it charges straight for her. 

   I’m all that stands between them, and there is no cage to keep me there. 

   With a mighty push, I lunge, so high I believe myself to be flying, and I open my jaws as wide as the sky itself. My teeth sink deep into its throat, and it shrieks as it stands tall and attempts to release me. I hold on—for Evelyn, for myself, for my brothers and sisters, and for Momma.

   I am big, I am strong, I am fast, I am smart...and I am a good boy. 

   I clench down, crushing its windpipe for the killing blow. The yao gaui swipes at me with a powerful paw, but I don’t even feel it. It then opens its mouth to roar, but no sound comes out, and its eyes roll back as it drops in a cloud of dust. There is a twitch to its shoulders, and then it doesn't move…

   I killed it.

   I saved Evelyn.

   I…I did it! I shout. I jump and twirl and turn around to Evelyn shakily back on her feet. She appears unhurt, and I rush to her, elated and proud. Woo-hoo! Did you see that, did you see that?! It’s dead! I did it! I did it Evelyn, I did it!

   Evelyn races to meet me, and I race to meet her…but then she runs straight past and kneels on the ground.

   I turn around, confused. Evelyn…? What’s wrong?

   I get closer, trying to see what it is she is doing. She’s bent over something beside the bear. She's sobbing. I've never heard her cry like this, before...not when Charon left...not even when her Dad died.  

   “Dogmeat…” she bawls. “Oh, boy…my good boy…”

   I sit down. There’s a dog in her lap that looks just like me. Its eyes are two different colors, just like mine are. They don’t see anything. There's a collar around its neck.

   Dogmeat.

   I look over at the dead bear, and at the other half of the dog lying with it. 

   The yao gaui…it had torn that dog that looks just like me right in two. 

   I nudge her with my snout. I’m right here, Evelyn. I’m your good boy, remember? I give another nudge. We should be going.

   But she doesn’t move, it’s as though she doesn’t even feel me…or hear me…or see me…

   Another dog comes to sit beside me. It’s Mom. 

   Mom? I say. 

   She turns around, and I with her, and there’s the entrance to our cave. Inside I can see all my brothers and sisters, and another dog that looks like me…but, he’s not me.

   It's Dad. 

   Mom walks away, but there are no prints in the sand. It’s like she’s not even there. 

   “Dogmeat,” Evelyn whispers, thick and sad as she lovingly caresses her cheek against mine. “I love you, forever, stinky dog-butt.” She kisses my forehead, and closes my eyes. “Sleep well, boy. Thank you for being the best dog there ever was. Goodbye.”

   …I’m the best dog there ever was...

   I'm a pup again, tiny and afraid, but Momma is there beside me, and so our all my brothers and sisters and Dad, guiding me home, and as I look back to Evelyn one final time, I know it to be the last. 

   Evelyn. I tell her. I love you forever, too. Thank you for being the best human there ever was.

   She closes her eyes, and cries. 

   Goodbye.

Chapter Text

   The collar hung from her hand, and she climbed the tallest building to the crumbling rooftops, staring up at the starry sky. She came into this world as an exile—but never had she felt so alone. Evelyn stared into the vast expanse of nothingness that would swallow her if she just took but a single step off the ledge.

   There would be no tomorrow, or today, or yesterday. 

   There would simply be nothing. 

   Evelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She screamed.

   It was loud, hoarse, and wholly frightening to those who heard but did not understand. No one else could feel her sorrow, her emptiness, her guilt. No one could answer.

   Not Charon. Not James. Not Dogmeat.

   She was truly alone.

   She screamed until there was no air left in her lungs to breathe, and then she went down to her knees, and she waited. She waited for that sun to rise, just as it had yesterday, and that present day, and for that tomorrow. The world wasn’t going to wait, whether she left it or not—just as it hadn’t waited for Charon, or James, or Dogmeat.

   Your father will die. The dog will die. You will die. And I, too, will someday die. That is life, Evelyn.

   The sun rose, and it colored her face the soft hues of purple and blue and gold and red. She stared on at that shimmering horizon dramatically overtaking the sky in a breathless wonder. 

   And it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

   “Because all of us will die, someday.” 

   Dogmeat's collar was safely tucked away, and she went home without a lover, without a father, and without a friend. She turned the knob that had been left unlocked, stepped inside, and wiped her feet on the mat purely out of habit before raising her head.

   “Welcome home, Madam!” Wadsworth joyously cried from the top of the landing. He sped down the steps to her, waving his robotic limbs around with buzzing excitement. “I was almost beginning to fear that—!”

   Evelyn interrupted, much less enthused, “You talk again?”

   “That shopkeeper from up the hill had come by to deliver some items for you. She noticed my—"

   Evelyn looked around the place as Wadsworth revved a hundred miles an hour in her ear. All of the garbage had been disposed of. The tub was scrubbed clean. Everything was placed in its rightful spot, and she had no doubt that the upstairs was much the same. 

   “—and she had that other ghoul with her—"

   Evelyn swiveled her head back around. “Gob was here, too?”

   “Along with a third person. I believe the hostess from the saloon.”

   She blinked. They had all been in her home? Why? 

   “I guess I was gone for a long time…” she mumbled to herself as she finally stepped past.

   Wadsworth followed closely at her heel. “Will the dog need retrieving for dinner, Madam?”

   Evelyn stopped. She didn’t turn around to address the question. “Dogmeat's dead.”

   There was silence at her back, and then, “Oh. I’m so sorry, Madam. He was...hairy.”

   Evelyn climbed the stairs to her room, widened the door, and was greeted by an assortment of dresses laid out nicely on her bed. She turned around and went downstairs. There was a stocked pantry and food in her working fridge. She went back upstairs and opened the door to Charon’s—her, other room. A crate full of odds and ends was on the workbench, along with her newly stitched vault suit. Evelyn closed the door, leaned over the railing to peer down below, and stood there in silence for some minutes. 

   Wadsworth slowly came up the stairs. “Is everything alright, Madam?”

   She didn’t say anything, and then, "I feel like I'm so alone, sometimes, and yet...I keep forgetting about those I have here." She said with great sadness, "I don't deserve any of them. I didn't deserve Charon, or my dad, or Dogmeat. I thought if I tried hard enough..." She looked down below again. "I'm just a stupid little vault dweller in the end, after all."

   “Madam, if I may say!” Wadsworth cried, making her jump. “Tell me of another dweller such as yourself who was cast from your vault, alone and unarmed, left to fend for themself! Why, it’s no one! I might not have been able to speak—no thanks to that oaf—but I can most certainly see and hear, and this is what I have to say!”

   Evelyn stammered, "Wha—?"

   "You came to Megaton and defused an atomic bomb! I watched you go, day in and day out, beyond the safety of the gates and somehow ome back alive! Do you not recall the time you were deathly irradiated? I was scrubbing the radiation from the floorboards for weeks! Or how about playing parlay with vampires? Ugh, how I hated you draining your own blood for caps! Speaking of hate—how can you forget the fact you brought home one of the—no, dare I say—the most grotesque, violent creature I have ever seen, and yet you somehow tamed him enough to take a bath, wear clean clothes, and read poetry? Madam! When I first came to be your steward, I did not think you would live long enough for me to dust the shelving, but here you are, still standing in spite of the world having tried to kill you! You’ve faced death more times than cats have lives! And they have nine, Madam, nine!"

   Evelyn stared at the Mister Handy for awhile before breaking out in a small smile. "Thanks, Wadsworth. I guess I have you, too."

   "You most certainly do, Madam!"

   Evelyn returned to the spare room. Dogmeat's collar was set down on a shelf beside the remainder of Charon’s things. The vault suit was picked up. She brushed her thumbs over the golden numbers stitched on the back.

   “Wadsworth?” she called out without looking away. 

   The audible hum of the robot’s thrusters indicated he was in the doorway. “Yes, Madam? How can I be of assistance?”

   “Can you undo the stitching here?”

   “Why, certainly.”

   “Thanks.” She handed it over to his extended claw, and then she looked around the room. Her eyes fell on the power fist hanging on the wall.

   “Here you are, Madam!”  

   Evelyn blinked in surprise, taking the suit back. The numbers were gone, and in its place, was just the color of blue. 

   After taking a bath and shrugging it on, she made herself somewhat presentable before heading to the saloon.

   "Good luck, Madam," Wadsworth said before she closed the front door.

   A voice called out in surprise from behind the bar. “Smoothskin!” 

   Nova dropped the caps back in the till, rushing over to embrace her with relief. “Where the hell have you been? It's been like a month since you've been in town!” 

   Gob gave her an awkward half-hug with a pat on the back, suddenly sheepish. “You really worried us, smoothskin.”

   Evelyn wearily sighed, “Sorry. A lot has happened.”

   “I’ll say—you look like shit,” Nova muttered, and she pulled her around to seat her on a stool before fixing a plate and cold beer. “Now tell us everything. The place has been dull without you.”

   Gob took the barstool beside her, and they both watched her pick up a fork to push the Instamash around. “What’s the matter, smoothskin? Not hungry?”

   “My dad died during an Enclave attack at the Jefferson Memorial.” Evelyn set down the cutlery and placed her hands in her lap. “Dogmeat’s gone, too.”

   A few minutes passed, and then Nova reached over to place her hand tenderly on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey.”

   “Yeah… I know he meant a lot to you,” Gob rasped. “Do you…do you need anything?”

   Evelyn shrugged. “Not really. No.” She gave them a half smile. “You’ve done enough. Thank you for everything you brought me.”

   “Hey,” Nova said, and she raised Evelyn by the chin to meet her eyes. “You’ve still got us, and Moira, and Simms, and everyone else in this damn town you’ve helped. You’re not alone, not when you’ve got friends like us in this shithole town.”

   “I remember the first day you came,” Gob remarked off to the side, staring at a distant memory. “I didn’t think a smoothskin from a vault would last more than a day out there…but you proved me wrong, hell, you proved us all wrong.” He nudged her with an elbow. “So keep proving them wrong. Someone’s gotta do it.”

   “If it weren’t for you, we’d still be working for that creep Moriarty.” Nova tilted her head to Gob when Evelyn gave her a sudden look. “He told me.”

   Gob appeared sheepish when she turned her stare to him. “Charon told me.”

   “Why didn’t you say anything?” Evelyn questioned.

   “What, exactly? Far as anyone else is concerned, it was a faulty railing.” Gob stood from his seat, and scooted the plate closer to her. “You’re always welcome here, smoothskin. Day or night. So long as this is my bar, it’s yours, too.” 

   Evelyn sniffled, lightly wiping at her eyes before she croaked into her arm, “...thank you.”  

   She picked up the fork, and began to eat. 

   Craterside Supply was her next stop, and she entered through the front door to the zany scientist already exploding in a drawn-out speech about the upgrades she had done to her vault suit. 

   “Oh! And I coated it in a special substance I’ve been working on to make it completely fire-proof! Now you won’t have to worry about those pesky little fire-ants anymore! Oh! And I also went ahead and—!” 

   Evelyn pulled Moira into a tight hug, shushing her for a moment before they stepped apart. 

   “Thank you, Moira, for being a wonderful person and friend,” she said. 

   “Oh, well, I, uh…” Moira scratched at her head, puzzled and bashful. She then lowered her hand, and broke out in a smile. “My shop closes at eight, but my door is always open.”

   Moira's hired man mumbled from his post, "We close at eight."

   After some conversation regarding her suit, Evelyn then stepped out into the presence of the town sheriff. 

   “Nice to see your face back around here,” Simms said to her. “I’m sure Walter will be pleased—it’s been nothing but an earful about where you’ve been and needing you back soon for some repair work he has lined up for you.”

   “I’ll speak with him,” she promised.

   "Oh, and a by the way," Simms said. "There's a new family in town. The Porter’s. Sad story, that one.” Simms tucked his thumbs in his belt. “Raiders invaded their homestead and took their daughter. Husband lost his arm trying to escape with her. They’re living in Jericho’s old house—the wife has been asking around for you. I told her you'd come to them.”

   “Thanks.” She began to walk away.

   “...you thinking of doing something about it?”

   Evelyn halted in her tracks and turned around. “And if I do?”

   Simms gave her a grin. “Then I know the wasteland doesn’t stand a chance against it.” 

   Evelyn went to the door of the Porter's house and knocked. 

   It was opened by a heavily pregnant woman, with a one-armed man by her shoulder, and two small children glued to her legs. 

   “Wanderer,” the woman breathed, almost in awe, and she reached out to touch her. “You…you are her, are you not? The one they call The Lone Wanderer?”

   Evelyn went to speak, but the woman nabbed at her hands and squeezed them tight, sobbing as she began to beg. 

   “We lost everything to raiders! No one else will help us!” she wailed. “But I’ve heard the stories. The Lone Wanderer! You’ve helped so many people, please, help me, help us. Save my daughter!”

   Evelyn looked down at the skin touching hers. So much darker, and so rough. They were firm, but loving hands. Hands that toiled, and sewed, and cooked, and held on fiercely despite the storm beating them down in the face. She wondered if her mother would have had such hands. 

   Evelyn gently released her and held up her Pip-Boy. “Can you mark on the map where they have her? I’ll do what I can to get her back for you.”

   “Bless you, Wanderer,” she hoarsely whispered, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed, “Bless you.”

   Evelyn peered through the binoculars, adjusting the scope. Three raiders in total, and still no sign of their daughter. She lowered them, thinking. 

   Equipped with a power fist (she had learned how to use on the long walk there), a string of frag grenades, her knife, and an ill-conceived plan, she sat down and stared at the individual grains of sand. She picked up a handful and rubbed them between her clammy and sweaty palms. She’d never done this by herself. She’d always had help, or the wit to run away. 

   But there was no one coming to save her—not this time. 

   Evelyn shook her nerves away, steeled her thoughts, and closed her eyes as she took a breath. The power fist was surprisingly light as she slipped it on and strapped it to her right hand, and she curled the mechanical fingers into a fist. 

   She was ready. 

   Her eyes flew open, and she leaped over the side, running fast fast fast, so fast the first raider just exiting the house on her right only heard her before he looked up and saw it—a dash of blue, and then a wink of glinting metal in the sunlight as a knife came for him in what seemed like an eternity, before he fell to his knees, clutching his slashed throat and choking on a fountain of blood. The raider looked up at the woman hovering above him, too bright with the halo of sunlight at her back, and he could only choke and spit and cough on his words of warning before he fell over backward in a slump, pooling what remained of his life all over the linoleum in the kitchen.    

   Evelyn carefully stepped over him and began to quietly creep through the house. Glass from broken bottles crunched under her boots, and she widened the door to the bathroom. It was empty aside from the littering of Psycho and Jet canisters, and so she moved on.

   A voice called from outside by the back door she came through. “What the fuck?!” 

   Evelyn spun back inside the kitchen, narrowly missing the bullet that ate through the wallpaper by her head. Her heart pounded inside her chest and drowned out all sound in her ears. She ducked behind the small dining table and threw a chair at the second raider that fired another round at her—it blew two of the legs clean off.

   “You little bitch!” he raved, firing off another round as she ducked back inside the living room. “You’re dead!”  

   Evelyn flattened against the wall, trying to form into the plaster and wood itself as she made herself as convincingly invisible as she could while the raider poked the gun around the corner. With a swift lunge of her power fist, she grabbed the raider’s hand with the gun underneath, and squeezed. The raider shrieked as his hand squished under the unrelenting pressure, oozing jellied flesh from between her fingers, and the gun fired off, shattering a window with a loud crash!

   “MY HAND! MY FUCKING HAND!” he screamed, and then his throat was crammed with a grenade from her left. He stumbled a few steps to the right, too bewildered to understand what had just transpired, and then he exploded. 

   Evelyn flinched against the bits of gore splattering all over her person, quickly wiping away the mess from her eyes as there was another crack of a gunshot, and a sudden bloom of pain in her side. 

   “Guh!” She went down, her hand instinctively clutching at the site, and she could feel the hot draw of blood seeping down her suit, sticky and thick. 

   She tossed another grenade in the third raider’s direction, crawling on her hands and knees to the bedroom before she felt something pull at her hair. With a scream, she spun around and kicked out, landing the steel toe of her boot at his groin. He stifled a groan but released her, giving her enough time to slam the door and lock it in his face before she made a break for the window above the bed. 

   Smoke began to cloud the ceiling, and there was a faint cackle in the air—the grenade had started a fire. 

   Evelyn was halfway through the open window when she was suddenly pulled straight back inside, and the third raider, a man much larger and stronger than herself, straddled her atop the bed and pinned her beneath him. He slapped her face so hard she saw stars. 

   “You think you could just come up in here and take what’s ours?!” he roared. He slapped her again, and then he went for the zipper of her suit. 

   The door to the living room showed nothing but a wall of fire, and she coughed from the smoke beginning to fill her lungs. 

   “N-no!” she screamed, bucking herself up and thrashing around. 

   Evelyn.

   “NO!”

   Do not be scared. 

   “FUCK! YOU!”

   She slammed her knee up and nailed him in the spine, spasming him for a split-second to free her wrists and land a punch in his side with her power fist. Bone easily gave way under the thin fabric and blob of skin, and she flipped them over to be on top. The raider stared up at the curtain of flames surrounding her—this crazed woman who had somehow become one with the power of the sun. She grabbed his face in her mechanical hand, and began to squeeze. 

   The raider screamed. 

   She screamed back. 

   His head popped like a water balloon, and she felt the heat at her back. With a lunge forward, she dove through the window and rolled through the dirt outside, coughing fresh air into her lungs as she backed away to watch the farmhouse burn in a fiery blaze. The roof caved in, and she shielded the embers from her face. She hadn't found the girl in the house.

   An old brahmin shed caught her eye, and she hustled as fast as she could before the fire could spread to it. She opened the door, and was hit with the smell of shit and rank piss. 

   There was a little girl, perhaps no older than six, curled in the corner with a chain around her ankle. She was bare, and didn’t even lift her head to Evelyn walking inside. 

   Evelyn sunk to the ground, wincing at the searing pain in her side. She glanced down as she lifted her hand away from the bullet wound. She would need her medkit—soon. 

   “It's okay,” she whispered. With careful control, she kept the pain and panic from her voice as she listened to the roaring inferno just steps away. Evelyn slowly reached over and pulled the chain from the wall with her power fist—she’d have to lockpick it open. “I’m Evelyn.”

   The little girl continued to stare at the dirt, her eyes open but unseeing. 

   “Your Mom is waiting for you to come home. I’m going to take you to her.” 

   There wasn’t so much as a twitch—she could have been mistaken for a doll. 

   “Those bad men are gone,” Evelyn said, a little more forceful this time. Her voice grew thick, and her throat tightened. “I’m not going to let them hurt you, ever, again.”

   A glance. 

   Evelyn held out her arms. The roof had finally caught, and she could hear it trickling down the sides. “It’s okay to be scared.”

   A shuffle of movement, and very cautiously, the little girl curled into her open embrace, just as the fire burst through the cracks and began to consume everything around them. Evelyn enclosed her within the safety of her suit, dashing out from the fire relatively unscathed. She limped with the little girl in her arms, climbing up the hill to where she had left her pack. They both turned their heads to watch the remainder of the farm go up in flames, and then the small child buried her head in the crook of Evelyn’s shoulder, holding on to her tight. 

   “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Evelyn said gently.

   She worked around the clinging child refusing to let her go, dosing herself with a Med-X before she stabbed a Stimpak in her side. As the medication worked its magic, she procured a bobby pin and easily unlocked the chain, tossing the thing down the hillside before she began to wrap the girl in a spare shirt she had. She then gave her a water bottle, tending to her with a damp cloth and washing away the filth as the little girl guzzled the thing bone-dry. 

   “Here.” Evelyn handed her a second one, along with some dried brahmin jerky. “When you’re ready, just go ahead and climb on, and I’ll carry you to your family. Okay?”

   The little girl said nothing, but she faintly nodded her head before she eventually clambered up Evelyn’s back, and together, the two made the journey back to Megaton. 

   “She’s back!” Someone called out over the town as she neared the gates, the sun low and the child slumped over in sleep. “Open the gates!”

   They began to part, and on the other side, what seemed like the entire town coming to see. They saw a vault dweller, covered in scrapes, and cuts, and bruises, with singed hair and ash smeared across her face, caked in dried blood and wearing a suit bled from blue to black, walking amongst them from a fight only she could win. Evelyn stepped up and through the crowd that parted for her as she carried the little girl to her crying mother and father at the very end.

   “Sally!”  

   The child woke and rubbed at her eyes before she blinked them at her family, and then she erupted into a snotty, tear-filled explosion as she cried, “Mommy!”

   Evelyn gently handed her over, watching the parents embrace their three children with never-ending thanks, and Evelyn waved off their attempts at payment. 

   “Use it to rebuild what you lost,” she said. “That’s what’s important.”

   “Wanderer?” a voice said at her side. 

   Evelyn looked to an elderly woman she had always seen around, but had never parted words with until now. 

   “My grandson,” she began to say with a wispy voice. She pulled out a folded paper from her coat, handing it over with trembling hands. “He writes to me, but these past few weeks I haven’t received any of his letters. Do you think you could visit him and tell me if he’s alright?” 

   Evelyn went to reply, but there was another voice at her side. 

   “Wanderer? Do you think you could help me with—?"

   And a third. “Wanderer?”

   And a fourth. “Wanderer?”

   And then a fifth. “Excuse me, are you The Lone Wanderer? I really need your help.”

   She looked up at all the faces surrounding her, and saw the eyes of those watching from the catwalk just outside the saloon. Gob gave her a little wave. Moira leaned over the railing and crowed something overly enthusiastic. Nova inclined her head with a cigarette in her hand. Moira's man gave her a two-finger salute and winked. Simms tipped his hat to her. 

   You're not alone.

One Month Later

   “AHA!” the super mutant bellowed, and then it took an electrical charge to the right side of its chest, electrocuting it into dropping its nail board. “GWAH!”

   Evelyn fired two more from the device on her left hand, striking the oversized ogre in both legs to drive it to the ground. It lay there, spasming uncontrollably with a chatter of its teeth, as she ran up and brought the power fist down with full force into its skull.

   She had little time to celebrate—another super mutant was just rounding the corner. She rolled away before getting into a crouched position, firing off an electrical charge at the side of its face. 

   It was her second encounter that week with super mutants, and while they were much bigger and stronger than she was, she was invariably faster, and smarter. 

   “KEH!” The super mutant choked and remained frozen just long enough for her to slide around and knock out both its kneecaps with a single swing.

   A third mutant was nearly on top of her—it threw a fist back at the same moment she did, and they met in the middle with the clashing of flesh vs hydraulically actuated metal.  The power fist held, and crushed straight through bone and meat.

   Evelyn was soon standing tall amongst the bodies, picking the locks on the prisoners' chains and overlooking wounds with stims. 

   “Are you The Wanderer, they speak of?” a man asked with wonder as he took a bottle of purified water from her hands. 

   Evelyn handed out some rations next. “Some call me that.”

   “How can we repay you? We don’t have any caps, but..."

   Evelyn closed his hands around a pouch of jingling currency from her own pack. “You get home safely.”

   When the dust had settled, and the prisoners were well on their way, she turned her attention to herself. Releasing the mechanism around her wrist to free her hand from the power fist, she snugged it inside the personalized holster Moira had crafted for her, where it hung for easy access from her right hip. She fiddled with her Pip-Boy for a few minutes while seated on a chair, and began the process of caring for her gear. She unsheathed her knife from its secret slit in her boot, honing the blade as she had witnessed Charon do well over a hundred times. The power fist was cleaned and shined, and the device on her left hand—a genius invention from Moira—was removed to reload and recharge. 

   She then set up camp, strategically placing mines around the perimeter to ensure no unwanted visitors, and soundly slept. She dreamed of playing with a pack of puppies (with one that looked like Dogmeat), sitting with her father and speaking of her day, and following a large, faceless man who wandered alone through a thick fog...somehow always out of reach.

   The morning sun would rouse her from her sleeping bag, and she’d shake the cold away by performing the same exercises she had undergone back at the Citadel, only stopping once she was thoroughly soaked and out of breath. After a quick rinse with the use of some bottled water and a rag, she zipped into her vault suit and slowly chewed her breakfast as she scrolled the list on her Pip-Boy.

   The next item on the docket—feral ghouls.

   Charon had taught her the most valuable lesson in the wasteland: that she had to be braver than her fears in order to survive them.

   After rescuing Sally, Evelyn had taken a full day and sat down with all the knowledge she had of creatures she'd encountered in the wasteland. If she wanted to live, then she had to kill, and she had to figure out a way to do it that still kept her alive.

   Super mutants were relatively easy—so long as she kept out of arm’s length and crippled the limbs first. 

   Ferals, on the other hand, were much tricker. What they lacked in eyesight and cognitive function, they made up for with sharp hearing and a rather keen sense of smell. The ghoul mask Roy had given her all those months ago was fished out of the trunk under the bed and taken for a test run. She discovered if she kept her distance, and her steps quiet, they paid her no mind—and to never take on a lone feral unless she was one hundred percent certain it was most definitely alone. 

   Mirelurks reacted well to placed bait traps, and the landmines she hid underneath.

   Ants were easily frenzied if she aimed for the antennas. 

   Yao guais were viciously smashed into pulp.

   Deathclaws, as she had learned from her previous encounter, had a tough scaly exterior that was near impossible to penetrate with a bullet or knife alone. They were also much faster, much stronger, and much smarter than anything else, and although they didn’t travel in packs like ferals did, just one alone was enough of a death sentence. She generally avoided them, and waited on the 'special-super-secret-think of it like a giant molerat stick!' weapon Moira was still devising for her. 

   Humans...were the deadliest on the list—and no two were ever the same. Raiders, Slavers, Talon...they all wanted to kill, rape, or eat her, and she now wore a few new scars to prove her wit and resourcefulness. She understood a little better why Charon was the way he was...and she hoped his life was much brighter now than it ever had been.

   With a click of the screen off, she tucked her hair in a tight braid that curled underneath and up inside itself, equipped her assortment of gear—grenades here, medkit there—fastened the laces of her boots, and caught sight of herself in a cracked mirror on the way out. Her mother's silver necklace sparkled. 

   "I'm not a doctor like you, Dad," she said, placing the sapphire cross back underneath the collar of her suit. "But I'm still able to help people...in my own way."

   With her head held high, and boots crunching the skulls of her enemies beneath her feet, she set off into the wastes.

   A ping from her Pip-Boy alerted her to a new radio transmission. She halted, frowning.

   Vault 101 Emergency Frequency

   Evelyn turned in the direction of the vault. She wasn't that far. 

   With a flick of the knob, she tuned in.  

   And started walking.

Chapter Text

   It began with the lightning strike.

   There were so many faces. 

   Warren. Fuckface. John.

   All of them dead.

   Paul. XC-2. J.

   Charon felt their hands, pulling, from all around. 

   Victor. Lucas. Handle.

   But they were his hands, from every life he had ever lived. 

   Marsh. Rotgut. Stew.

   He couldn’t escape. There were far too many.

   Karn. Coop. Razor.

   “No, no!” Charon pushed them all away. “Get out, get out!”

   They all called to him from beyond the grave, yearning for him to lift them from the dirt and carry them on his shoulders. Charon smothered their cries with his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut. They couldn’t touch him. They were gone. There was no more them.

   Charon.

   That…that was what he was called now…wasn’t it?

   I think that is what I will call you… Yes. Charon, my boy. You work for me now, is that understood? 

   Ahzrukhal had given him that name. None of the others mattered. His name was Charon, and only Charon.

   And the second lightning struck.

   He was a child, wearing his father’s hat and shoes. He had the Sunday paper—made it into an airplane and flew it across the room. He was holding a gun—far too young to be doing such. He was helping toss body bags into the sand—with a pull of the zipper, he closed another one.

   He saw every memory of every day, everything he had forgotten...or had chosen to. 

   And the third lightning hit.

   The feral ghouls were gathered all around him, their fingers white and mouths opened wide.

   “It’s not my fault!” he cried, running through and between with nowhere left to go.

   They all wore his face—the faces of the many. He swam through them, ripping off their limbs when they tried to drag him under. An endless fog rolled in, and he lost himself within. He wandered without a face, and soon, there was nothing left to see.

   Charon. A voice, calling to him.

   That was his name, the name another had given him, but it wasn't until she spoke it, that it became his own.

   He turned to the voice, her voice, and he saw a light. 

   Do you think we should get Dogmeat a thing of armor?

   He came to the edge, peering within. There was a dog, a woman, and himself. They were seated in a small room on a small couch, and he watched himself scoff.

   He does not need it.

   But what if he does? I think he’d look cool.

   They began to fade, one by one. The small room, the small couch, the dog, himself…but she stayed.

   Evelyn.

   And suddenly, the fog began to lift, and the world was full of her. 

   She puked on his shoes. Oh—oh my God. I’m so fucking sorry. She kissed him on the brink of death. He experienced sex with her for the first time. Was…it, um, good? She’d freed him from his life at The Ninth Circle. She gave him a home. She’d shown him the meaning of kindness, empathy, and love.

   She reminded him what it was to be human.

   I love you, with everything I have, and I will always remember you… Goodbye.

   He was standing on the bridge. Victoria was at his side.

   Let her go. She whispered.

   Evelyn was there, a gun held under her chin. His finger was on the trigger.

   Let me go. She said.

   And he pulled it.

   There were so many pieces, all of them sinking far below the waters to where he could never reach. 

   My father will die. The dog will die.  

   Charon awoke, still in that creaky house on the seaside, and bolted from his chair. He felt his face, ran his hands down his clothes, and heard the rain pelting down on the rooftop above. He had fallen asleep. He never slept. It had all been a dream…

   He looked at Evelyn’s mannequin seated in the chair, and he remembered. 

   And I, too, will someday die.   

   Charon grabbed at his things, slamming the door open to the storm as a burst of lightning illuminated the sea of ferals wavering just below. 

   He ran. 

   The ferals stumbled as he charged through them, making them screech out in confusion and pain as he stomped over the ones who fell underfoot. The mannequin's leg snagged on a feral, tearing away. He tried to grab at it, but another was taken. Her head came up and off, and the ferals began to claw and fight over the scraps as he let it go.

   He ran fast.

   The lightning raced alongside him, and he clutched his head as he saw more of her, and somehow less. 

   Yousmellgood. If you’re going to shoot me, then just fucking do it. You’re the one leaving now. I don’t want this. I can’t tell if that’s a joke.

   She wasn’t dead—they had it wrong—he was finally going home.

   Take that stupid fucking contract, and shove it up your ass with God knows what else up there! Where are your clothes?! You can’t shoot him! Would you have killed him? Does it bother you...killing people?

   Charon tripped, stumbling over the rocks and heavy wet sand. Her things scattered from his bag, and he rushed to collect the pages of her journal as they flew out to the murky waters where he couldn’t reach. The little horse began to sink into the sand with every passing wave washing over him, and he felt her slip further away. 

   Having sex, thing. I told you I didn’t want it! What the fuck is your problem?! I don’t have cooties. Don’t leave me here alone!

   “I’m coming home,” he sobbed, and he sat there, under the pouring rain and with the ocean threatening to take him away. “Please wait for me. I’m almost home.”

   The little horse was picked up, and the remainder of her journal drifted out to the open sea.

   Evelyn, do not be scared.

   “I...I am terrified,” he said thickly, gently wiping the sand from the little horse she’d have loved to see. “I do not know what to do if you are gone.”

   A hand touched his shoulder. It was a man standing there. 

   “Don’t let her go,” James softly said—and he was gone.

   Charon squinted against the storm that blinded him.

   “Wait,” he garbled out as he shakily began to stand. “Evelyn—wait for me.”

   He sloppily shouldered what he could salvage, and continued forward. He walked with his head bent against the brunt of the storm until the night began to fade into the day. He grew exhausted, but he did not sleep, and he did not eat. He found no reason to. 

   “Evelyn,” he whispered, his voice like dry paper. His eyes were on the horizon, searching for that shade of blue. She was out there, somewhere. He told her he would follow…wherever it was that she had chosen to go.  

   Everything avoided him—like a walking plague he shuffled his way across the wasteland, a large, faceless man, wandering through the thick fog of his mind with but her name on his lips. 

   “Evelyn.”

   He came to the outskirts of the Capital Wasteland, and he finally dropped to his knees. He cupped sand into his hand, and slowly poured it back out to drift on the wind. 

   “I am almost home,” he told her. He then forced himself to stand, and walk, knowing he would never move again if he believed anything but his truth. 

   Charon saw the city of Megaton from the distance, and his pace quickened. He came to place his hand on the metal walls, his fingertips lazily gliding across as he navigated around to the front gates. They were open, and he stopped at the top of the hill, removing his hood and mask as he believed everything to still be but a dream.

   It was a sea of blue, shimmering and dancing before him. Nearly every settler was wearing a vault suit of some kind, and all of them had their numbers removed. Almost everyone had a smile on their face and a laugh to be shared. 

   “Holy shit, it’s you,” someone spoke at his side. Charon turned to the sheriff—one of the few people not wearing a suit. “Honest to God, I never thought we’d be seeing you ever again.”

   Charon spoke a single word, “Evelyn?”

   Simms coughed into his hand and motioned to her little house on the side of the hill. “Come on, I’ll walk you over.”

   Charon grabbed the man by the shoulder, hard enough to break the bones underneath, and spun him around. “She is alive?”

   Simms flinched and carefully peeled the ghoul’s massive hand off. “Last I heard. Where have you been? Did someone tell you otherwise?” The relief on Charon’s usually emotionless face made the sheriff soften a little. “Hey now, I’m sure she’s fine. She always is, and you know firsthand how tough she can be. She should be back soon.”

   Charon choked out, fighting the burning in his eyes, “Where is she?”

   “Dunno. She’s been off cleaning up the wastes—and doing a damn fine job of it. You’ll see.” Simms hesitated for a moment, and then clapped Charon on the arm. “She’ll want to see you.”

   They were standing outside her house. Charon stared at a little shrine someone had built. There were medical supplies, cans of food, and a few folded fabrics lying beside some freshly lit candles. He picked up a bouquet of dried flowers, and set them back down. 

   “She tried to tell people to not waste it on someone like her, but they never listen,” Simms explained. “Whole town basically sees her as some sort of Messiah. If you’ve noticed, it’s why they’re all wearing suits, just like her. Crow made a killing off it.”

   Beside the shrine was a grave with a tombstone, and a dog collar atop of it—Dogmeat. Charon crouched and brushed his fingers along the top. 

   “She said that dog saved her life. Yao guai.”

   Charon quietly said, “Good dog.”  He then stood, looking down at the tombstone beside it, although it was absent of a visible grave.

   There was a name.

   James.

   “What happened?” he rasped, but he already knew the answer to that question.

   Simms heavily sighed. “Enclave attacked the Jefferson Memorial. Guess they lost a few good people. She’s okay, though…better than she was when you had left.” Charon turned to stare at him, and Simms shrugged. “I’ll let her fill in the details. It doesn’t feel quite right saying anything more without her here. I’m sure you remember your way around town, so I’ll go ahead and leave you to it.”

   Charon stood outside her front door, flexing his hand around the knob a few times before finally stepping inside. 

   Everything was different. 

   “Welcome home, Mad—” the robot paused, mumbling, “Oh. It’s you.”

   Charon removed his gear and slowly wandered around the place, somehow feeling like a complete stranger and perfectly well at home all at once. He looked at the new things on her shelves, flipped through a few pages of some unfamiliar books, and walked up the stairs. He opened the door to his room…but it wasn’t his, anymore. 

   “She placed your things inside the locker, over there.”

   Charon opened it, pulling out a crate that stored a few of the things he had left behind. Everything else was gone. 

   He placed it back inside and observed the rest of the room. There were schematics, blades, and items he had no recognition of. He pressed his fingers to a rolled-out parchment on the workbench, studying the hand-drawn pictures and notes she had made.

   “She has missed you.” Charon turned his head around to the robot just floating there. ”Madam will be pleased to have you home, again. That is all I will risk my programming enough to say.”

   He stepped out. “Where is she?”

   “I haven’t the foggiest of ideas, Sir. She’s usually back in two, perhaps three days, at most.”

   Charon opened the door to her room—it was the only place that was the same. 

   He sat on the edge of the bed, and then laid down, staring up at the ceiling. With a close of his eyes, he told himself this wasn’t a dream. 

   This was real. 

   There was a bubbling in his chest, so light and airy, and it escaped in the form of a raspy laugh. Charon laughed, and laughed, and then laughed some more, wiping his hands down his face as he simply said, “She waited for me. I am home.”

   He heard a ping from his Pip-Boy, and he lifted it to silence the notification from the radio transmission he had picked up. The name of the distress call made him sit upright.

   Vault 101 Emergency Frequency

   He tuned in.

  "This is an automated distress message from Vault-Tec: Vault 101. Message begins: It feels like you left home a long time ago, but I know you're still out there. I just hope you're still alive to hear this. Things got worse after you left. My father's gone mad with power. If you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help stop mine. I changed the door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and if you still care enough to help me, you should remember it. Message repeats."

   “Oh dear,” Wadsworth said at the door, having eavesdropped (and sweeping up the dirt tracks Charon already left around the house). “If I had to venture a guess, I would think Madam would be there now.”

   Charon flicked the transmission off and went downstairs for his gun. He knew where the vault was, just hidden behind that little wooden door. He wasn’t going to wait, not anymore. Charon was home, with a name she knew him by, and he wasn’t going to let it go.

   He went past the gates.

   And he started walking.

Chapter Text

   “Evelyn! You have to wake up!”

   There’s the hum of the recirculation fans, an almost white-noise lullaby she's listened to every night as she falls asleep. She smells the linger of toast—something her father makes every morning for breakfast, but still somehow manages to burn. She pulls the starchy, bleached sheets just a little tighter around her, trying to keep the cold at bay and hold on to the dying wisps of her nice dreams. 

   “Come on, we need to move! You need to leave! Wake up, Evelyn, wake up!”

   But that’s a little strange…there’s also a loud, very frightening alarm that blares. A blink of her eyes invites a light that’s too bright to be her nightstand lamp. She pulls back the blanket and is swept away from whimsical fantasies to meet the staleness of everyday reality—and the waking nightmare she will never forget.

   “What’s wrong? What is it, a fire?” Evelyn rubs her eyes and slips on her Pip-Boy. She checks the time. Early. Her situational awareness is then hit with the full force of a runaway train, and she snaps to her feet. “Oh my god! Dad! Dad?!”

   “He’s gone!” Amata cries, and she grabs her by the hand to begin pulling her out of her room. “You need to leave, and now!”

   Evelyn yanks away. Her heart is thumping like a rabbit. “Dad’s gone? What? What’s going on?!”

   “My dad has gone crazy!” Amata licks her lips and watches Evelyn race around the room, shrugging on her vault suit and trying to pull on her shoes. “He had his men kill Jonas!”

   It doesn’t register. None of it does. 

   Evelyn sits at the edge of her bed, her shaking hands trying and trying and trying again to tie the knot on her laces. It keeps slipping, and she holds her breath as she forces her hand to still. Bunny goes around the tree and through the hole…  

   Amata’s talking. She’s listening, but she doesn’t hear a single thing she says. 

   Dad will know what to do.  

   She stands, rushes past her hysterical best friend and into Dad’s room, but he’s not there. 

   Must be with the other adults trying to figure out what’s wrong. 

   She goes into the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet with a full swing that makes the mirror clash with the tile, making her jump, and she grabs for her toothbrush, dropping it in the sink. She’s trembling all over. 

   Dad will make it okay. It’ll be okay. You’re safe, nothing is wrong, everything is okay.

   She goes to pick up her brush when Amata grabs her by the shoulders with a rough shake. 

   “Are you even listening to me?!” she screams. She’s crying. “You have to go, Evelyn! Before they come for you next!”

   Evelyn’s lip quivers as tears start to fall. “I don’t know what you’re saying…”

   She still needs to pack. Extra pair of socks. Hairbrush. There’s a whole tube of toothpaste under the sink. Dad won’t mind her taking it, she’s sure.

   But Amata pulls her out and begins to run for the hallway. “Come on!”

   Evelyn stops, bends over, and vomits all over her shoes. She croaks, “Wait.”

   She turns and goes back to her room. This is happening. This is real. The look in Amata’s eyes tells her this isn’t some dumb prank—she would never be that cruel. Amata is scared to death, and it’s making her scared, too. 

   Evelyn begins to sob, tries to wipe away the blur in her eyes to see as she grabs everything she can in her arms. Baseball bat. Red ballcap. Journal. Teddy. She runs back out, dropping everything all over the living room floor after tripping, and quickly tries to claw them back into her lap with shuddered sobs.

   Amata kneels beside her, places everything inside her backpack, and zips it up. “Now let’s go!”

   The door was a lot smaller than she remembered. The handle was broken, hanging on by a single screw. The wood was peeling and splintered. It didn’t seem as imposing—so final—as it had before. Evelyn opened it and stepped through, adjusting her eyes to the darkness before her. The tunnel was cool, almost damp, and her every footstep echoed loud and clear as she walked down until she was before the entrance of Vault 101. 

   Where no one ever enters, and no one ever leaves.

   She stood at the access panel, inserted the pin from her Pip-Boy, and typed in the password. Amata. The red button illuminated, and she punched it. A loud horn began to blare. Amber lights spun around. Once again, one year later, she was within its walls. 

   Cautiously, she roved around inside, listening for any sound or hint of distress. There was nothing—she couldn’t decide whether or not that was better, or worse. She came to stand over a corpse slumped over the interior access panel, grabbing him by the shoulder to pull him down. Her head tilted as she studied the bloated face. “Jim Wilkins…”

   A scurrying sound snapped her head on a dime. A lone radroach came at her with a flash of speed, and she simply crushed it underfoot, wiping the sole of her boot on the steps before opening the first service hatch. An armed security guard almost collided with her skull, making him jump—and her prep for a swing. 

   “Hold on, stop right there!” Officer Gomez raised a gun, somewhat a little shaky. “Wait a second…you’re…it’s you.”

   “It’s me, all right,” Evelyn said, taking the tip of her finger and pushing the muzzle of the gun away from her face. She then held up her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot, officer.”

   “My god, I…I can’t believe it!” he guffawed, awkwardly holstering his weapon. “I heard the vault door open, but now it makes total sense. I mean, wow! You look so, uh…”

   “Dirty? Traumatized?” she offered. “Like a true outsider?”

   “Grown up,” he finally settled on. “What in the world are you doing back here, of all places?”

   Evelyn lifted her Pip-Boy. “I got Amata’s message.”

   “Message?” he questioned, and then he shook his head. “Look, I don’t know anything about that, but keep it to yourself, okay? You could get us in a lot of trouble.”

   Evelyn scoffed, setting her hands on her hips. “Trouble? From who? Alphonse? Please.”

   “I’m serious, young lady,” Gomez warned as she began to stride right on by. “Things have been different since you’ve been gone. You be careful, or you could get hurt. There’s still some radroaches crawling around—you better keep an eye out.”

   A snort as she opened the next hatch. “I’m not the one you should be worried for.”

   She descended a stairwell and entered the main atrium, sneaking up behind old man Taylor and the gun he had pointed across the way. 

   “Now get down below!” Officer Taylor croaked. “Stay back!”  

   A few shots fired, missing their target by a country mile, and Evelyn reached around to unclip the magazine into her hands. Officer Taylor jumped, clearly startled by her sudden presence. 

   “What in the blazing hellfire?!” he cried. He aimed the gun at her, trembling from head to toe. She wasn’t sure if he wasn’t about to have a stroke. “Don’t you know to stay away?!”

   “You could really hurt someone firing like a total jackass,” she chastised. “What the hell are you even doing up here? You should be in bed!”

   “Now, now don’t you get snippy with me, young lady!” he coughed, and then he looked at her with sad, watery eyes. “Oh, who am I kidding? I honestly didn’t mean to fire, but he had a knife, and—!”

   Evelyn took the gun from his quaking, wrinkled hands, and guided him over to take a seat on some crates. “Just sit down and take a deep breath, okay Mr. Taylor?” 

   “Yeah…yeah, okay,” he said, and then he stared at her for a moment, as though the synapses in his brain finally made the connection. “Hold on…weren’t you out of the vault?”

   She clicked the magazine in place, ensuring the safety was on before she tucked it in her bandolier. “It’s a long story.” 

   “You need to get to my dad’s office! There’s a secret tunnel that will lead you to the vault door! I’ll meet you there!” 

   “Wait, Amata!” Evelyn cries as she runs off. “Don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me alone! Amata! Amata?!”

   A radroach headbutts her from behind, erupting a shriek from her mouth as she jumps back. She slips from turning on her heel too fast, scrabbling along the floor as she continues to run down the hallway. 

   “Help, help me!” a voice shouts out, but she doesn’t listen, she just runs. She has to run fast. She has to leave! 

   Evelyn’s shoulder is grabbed from behind and she screams, spinning around to Butch DeLoria. 

   “You have to help my mom!” he cries, and his chest is heaving as he implores the greatest mercy from her. “Save my mom! Hurry!”

   Evelyn’s shaking her head, her mouth cotton-dry and hands balled into tight fists. Run. Survive. Hide. Live.

   “Please!” He forces her to follow him with a tight hold on her wrist, throwing her to the wolves as she tumbles inside his apartment. 

   She hears the screaming. The chittering. The inconceivable pain of being eaten alive by crawling insects that creep their little mandibles under the skin and pull at strings of ligaments and tendons to chew. 

   “Evelyn!” Butch screams at her. She’s just standing there, unable to move. “Do something!”

   And there’s a faint tug of something deep within, the call to action despite being so full of fear, and she doesn’t feel the grainy wood of the baseball bat in her hands, or hear the door to the bedroom open, or even see the rise and fall of the strikes she makes. There’s only the calm wave of holding one’s breath underwater, and then she’s above the surface, drawing in that first sweet taste of air.

   She’s alone in the hallway, and the alarm is still blaring, and there’s a baseball bat in her hands that’s dripping a strange ooze to the floor and a leather jacket that smells strongly of pomade around her shoulders. She looks down. Her knuckles are blanched white, and she shuffles forward. 

   The diner is passed, and she glances inside as she takes one slow step after another. Grandma Taylor is sprawled on the floor, lifeless, her body twitching as though alive from the multitude of radroaches nibbling away at her corpse. Evelyn turns her head to the end of the hall, and keeps going. 

   Amata will be waiting for her at the entrance to the vault. Dad’s going to be there, too. 

   Her steps come to the top of the stairwell, and Officer Gomez is there to greet her with a baton aimed high above her face. He doesn’t lower it, and she bursts into tears. The bat drops to the floor from her hands.

   “I’m sorry!” she sobs, sinking to her knees with her hands raised. “Please don’t kill me! I didn’t do anything! I don’t want to leave!”

   Officer Gomez curses under his breath and then reaches down to pull her up. “Listen, I’m not going to hurt you, alright? What the others did to Jonas…this is all so wrong. Go, get out of here before anyone else sees you!”

   She whimpers, “But…”  

   “I said to beat it, kid!” he yells, lifting his baton in the air again, and she nabs at her bat before scurrying away. "Go on, leave! And don't come back!"

   A scream sent her running down the hall, and she found a man crouched in the corner with his arms over his head to fend off a buzzing radroach. She flicked the giant bug off with a swipe of her boot before stomping its guts everywhere, and then she reached a hand down. 

   “Stanley?” she asked as he lowered his arms. “Are you okay?”

   He refused her help in going to stand, backing away slowly along the walls. “I…I shouldn’t be talking to you. You shouldn’t be here!” 

   “Hey, wait—Stanley!” she called as he took off running, and she tsked to herself. “Jesus, I’m not a fucking leper!”

   “No fucking way,” a voice made her turn to a figure approaching down the hall. Wally Mack strode forward, wielding a baseball bat tightly in his hands. “Why the hell did you show back up? No, you know what? Fuck you! This is all your fault!”  

   Evelyn slipped on her power fist as he charged with a scream and the bat held high over his head. It was snatched from his hands, and she clonked him on the skull with the handle. 

   “Ow! Hey!” he cried out, rubbing where she had struck him. 

   Evelyn snapped the thing in two like a dried twig. “Shut up, and stop looking like an idiot for a second, Wally. Where’s Amata?”

   Wally took a few steps back and looked at her, seeing a stranger where there had been a girl he’d once known. “...she’s in the upper level with all the other dumb assholes.”

   “Thanks.” She threw the remainder of his bat at him. “And try sticking to the books, next time. They’ll help you not get killed.” 

   He picked up his broken bat, sniffling to himself as she walked away, "When did you get so mean?"

   Evelyn climbed the steps to Amata’s hidey-hole, coming face-to-face with a knife that made her kick out with one leg to sweep the enemy off its feet, before she drove the power fist down an inch in front of their nose. 

   “Holyshitdon’tkillme!” he shrieked, his hands flying before him. 

   Evelyn straightened, lifting the power fist away. “Butch?”

   “E-Evelyn?” the greaser said, his voice cracking. He coughed, clearing his throat, and then took the hand she offered to him. “I was not expecting to see you here!” 

   She helped him to his feet, and after he had brushed the dirt from his leather jacket, straightened his uniform, and then slicked back his hair, she threw a slugger from her unarmed left straight at his jaw. He immediately crumpled, knocked out stone-cold. 

   “That’s for when we were kids,” she growled, and then she hotly stalked off down the hall. 

   A faint trickle of voices led her to her father’s old medical clinic. She released the power fist into its holster, and then stepped inside. The entire room grew quiet as they all turned their heads. 

   Amata jumped up from her seat on the edge of a desk and rushed over, embracing her in a fierce hug. “Oh my God, you came back! It’s really you!” They released, and she gave a breathy laugh of disbelief. “Wow, you’re so—so different!”

   “I have to be, to survive out there.” 

   “I can’t even imagine, but…” Amata threw another hug at her. “It is so good to see you.”

   "And you," Evelyn said with a smile. They held on to each other for another moment longer, and then they parted as Evelyn took a glance around at the others. Freddie Gomez. Christine Kendall. Susie Mack. "Tell me what's happened since I've been gone."

   Amata dove into her father's abusive relationship with authoritarian power, filling in second-hand memories of fires, riots, Brotch’s arrest, Paul Hannon Jr's death, and the many other casualties of the vault's citizens as Evelyn passively listened while stepping inside her father's office. Everything was strewn about. Medical files, surgical equipment, and the leftover limbs of Beatrice on the gurney. 

   Andy, the resident Mister Handy, floated to her with a bloodied bone saw at the ready. 

   “Good to see you again, Miss!” he jovially remarked. “Have you come for a checkup? Routine procedure? Perhaps something on the more, cosmetic, side?”

   Evelyn lifted her left hand and shot off a single electrical charge at his outer casing, frying the robot into a useless steaming pile of scrap metal. 

   Amata and the others crowded her back. “Evelyn! What the hell?!”

   She turned, raising an eyebrow. “Do you not see Beatrice?”

   “Andy was designated as the new medical practitioner by my father…”

   “I don’t think that thing has ever been to medical school.” Evelyn stepped to her father’s terminal, wiping the dust off the screen.

   The others gently laid a sheet over the body and placed her in a cold locker.

   Evelyn clicked the keys, browsing the data that hadn’t been wiped since their absence, and downloaded some files to her Pip-Boy for later reviewing. She then purged the entire system before her eyes caught her mother’s favorite passage framed on the wall.

   “I stopped my father from removing anything in here,” Amata told her as she went to inspect it. “I couldn’t save anything from your apartment though. I’m sorry.”

   “That’s alright.” She skimmed her fingers around the sides, finding it bolted to the wall with a keyhole. Huh. A safe?

   With a flash of a hidden bobby pin from her braid, she picked the lock and swung it open. 

   A holotape labeled Home Sweet Home. Her mother’s Bible. A picture frame was flipped—her tenth birthday, holding that BB gun like a prized hunter and the world’s goofiest grin on her face. Dad’s arm was around her shoulder, wearing the proudest expression a parent could ever hope to make. She stared at it for a few minutes until she felt Amata hover at her elbow. 

   “What happened to him out there?” she asked. 

   Evelyn began to tuck it all in the safety of her military-tactical backpack. “He died.”

   “Oh…” Amata placed a comforting hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.”

   “It’s the law of the wasteland.” She turned, giving her childhood friend a stare filled with experience and wisdom far beyond her years. “You will die if you cannot take a life.”

   Amata said nothing to that, and Evelyn stepped around her to the main clinic. 

   “Okay,” she announced to the others with commanding authority. They stiffened with a wary glance to their appointed leader, but they listened. “I’m proposing this very simple plan: I’ll speak with the Overseer about the vault’s options, and you’ll all come to terms with whatever it is we decide.”

   They all exploded into different theatrics, and Evelyn patiently waited as they argued amongst themselves and tossed pointless drabble back and forth across the room. When she had heard enough and felt their tempers sufficiently aired, she held up a hand. 

   “You’re dying down here,” she said plainly, holding each and every one of their eyes as she went around the room. “You have no supplies, no medical knowledge, and no real support from the rest of the residents in the vault. Your cause will be silenced, whether by violence or your own self-destruction. It’s not a matter of when, but now.”

   Amata stepped forward, imploring, “But outside—!”

   “You have no idea what the outside is like,” Evelyn cut her off sharply, and the venom on her tongue was enough of a bitter taste for her friend to swallow. “I’ve been out there for over a year, and it’s a fight of life and death every day. I don’t get to sleep knowing I’ll wake up tomorrow.”

   Christine scoffed, her voice tight, “Then why the hell do we want to go outside?”

   “But we don’t want to go outside,” Amata reasoned. “We just want to open the vault to better our chances down here.”

   Evelyn thought for a moment. She could easily secure them with trade from the caravans and security with Megaton being so close by…

   “I’ll see what I can manage,” she finally decided, and then she left the clinic to begin her visit to the Overseer’s office.

   “We’re getting out of here, just like the doctor did!” Tom Holden says, and he grabs Mary’s hand as they make a run for it. “Come on!”

   “Wait for me!” Evelyn wails, rushing to follow behind them. “Don’t leave me! Please!”

   The crack of a gun makes her stop and flinch, and she sees a spray of bullets fire down the hallway. Evelyn gasps and runs for the upper deck, screaming as she sprints past the radroaches to the top level. Someone is yelling at her from behind the safety of their glass as she goes by, but there’s only one thing she hears.

   “This is all you and your Dad’s fault!”  

   “I don’t know what’s happening,” she blubbers. Floyd Lewis is crumpled on the floor. Radroaches hiss as she dashes past. A fire's broken out and swirling thick smoke, and no one’s coming to stop it. “Dad!" she screams, and her voice echoes all around. "Where are you?!”

   She rounds by the security office to slap her hands to the window for desperate help. Amata's inside, wearing a face like she's in the most trouble of her entire life, with the Overseer and Officer Wilkins standing over her. Evelyn opens the door and steps inside, her arms already raised and body trembling from head to toe.

   She shakily says between the hiccups and tears, “Please, Overseer, don’t hurt me. I just want my dad. Where’s my dad?”

   Amata snaps from her seat as the two adults turn around to confront her. “This isn’t her fault!”

   “Your father’s the reason for all of this!” the Overseer says with a deathly undertone. It sends chills down Evelyn’s spine as he glares down at her, just as he did when she was nothing more than a shit-dispensing brat still in diapers. “And you, are you ready to turn yourself in? You’ve caused a lot of trouble for everyone here, especially for my daughter.”

   Evelyn wipes at the stream of snot down her nose. “I-I don’t, I don’t know what’s going on...”

   “Then maybe you’ll come to understand once you’ve spent your time in a cell,” the Overseer curtly says. He turns. “Guard, arrest this young woman.”

   “No!” Amata rushes between them, shouldering them both off-balance as she takes Evelyn’s hand and makes a run for it.

   Officer Wilkins didn’t give her a chance to speak. He opened fire, almost getting lucky with a bullet in her side. She nimbly rolled behind a corner for cover, then crouched low to the floor before peeking out to fire an electrical gotcha-bitch at his leg. He went down, and she stood over his body with her power fist raised. 

   “You don’t got the guts, you little bitch,” he spat out, his eyes nasty with unfathomable rage as his twitching fingers crawled for his gun. 

   Evelyn cracked through his security helmet, skull, and squished his eyeballs all the way to the floor. 

   Officer Mack met a similar fate, with Chief Hannon and Officer Kendall both surrendering their weapons after witnessing a grown man become meat paste as she smeared him across the wall. They trembled when she clicked their own handcuffs behind their backs.

   “Please—please don’t hurt us,” Kendall pleaded, and Hannon just screwed his eyes shut and bowed his head to his chest. 

   "You're lucky you weren't the ones who killed Jonas," was all she said.

   The security office was open and empty—she sauntered right on inside and opened the cell containing her former schoolteacher. 

   “Hey Mr. Brotch,” she casually greeted as she unlocked his cuffs with the keys. “You’re free to go.”

   He rubbed at his wrists and blinked at her. “I’ll be damned. I never thought I’d be in this situation with a former student of mine, much less you!”

   “I’m just trying to help.” She shrugged. “Glad to see you’re alright.”

   “Well you were my star student, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised.” He appeared perplexed when she just turned to leave. “Where are you going? And what exactly are you doing back in the vault?”

   Evelyn sat at the security terminal, hacking it with ease from past repetitions. “Amata asked me to come help. I’m going to speak with Alphonse about this whole mess and get everything in order.”

   He crossed his arms, impressed by her maturity. “I see James’ daughter is here after all.”

   “Wouldn’t say that, seeing with who they had replaced him with,” she joked.

   “You know something,” he said as she scanned various dossiers, “It always puzzled me as to how my number one pupil who aced every quiz, exam, and test I had ever given to suddenly flunk the G.O.A.T and be designated as the vault’s Garbage Burner.”

   She turned the screen off and spun in her chair. “You said that test wasn’t a pass or fail.”

   “And it wasn’t.” He shook his head. “But I already knew there was something up when the next doctor-to-be was heading down to the lowest level of the maintenance tunnels.”

   She only said, “I would’ve been left alone.”

   “Yeah, and marrying Butch DeLoria, too.” He chuckled at her scrunched-up face. “I got to see the arrangement list early.”

   “I knew the Overseer hated me,” she muttered. “Thank god Dad had left.” She stood, and held out her hand. “It was good to see you, Mr. Brotch. Take care.”

   He shook it, smiling. “It’s Edwin. You’re no longer a student of mine. I’d say good luck with Alphonse…but I think you’ll be just fine.”

   The Overseer immediately opened fire upon sight of her, and she ducked.

   “Alphonse, don’t shoot!” she yelled from around the corner. “Amata sent me up to talk!”

   “You stay the hell away from my daughter!” he shouted like a rabid animal, wildly firing off more shots down the hall. “I should have let you and your father die out there! You both ruined everything!” 

   Evelyn blew a strand of hair from her face, waiting, and then there was a faint click of the magazine being expended, alongside a muttered curse. She whipped around and took off at a sprint, aiming her glove as he still searched on his person for extra ammo. He raised his head, his face blending from anger, disbelief, and then fear, before he fled into the Overseer’s office and attempted to close the door. A shot was fired off at the control panel, fritzing the circuitry and keeping it open. When she rounded through, she found the great Overseer of Vault 101 backed away in the corner. 

   “You should have died out there,” he snarled, flattening himself into the wall as she came closer. “But now look at you—a cold-blooded killer! I knew you were bad news from the start. My daughter took pity on you! I had told her her kindness would turn itself against her someday! No good deed ever goes unpunished, just as mine did when I let you and your father in the vault all those years ago! It is my only regret that I had cast my better judgment aside and let you leave with your father! I did it for her, you know, for Amata’s sake!”

   “I know.” Evelyn reached for Officer Taylor’s pistol still tucked away in her bandolier, raising it at Alphonse’s face.

   “So, you’re going to kill me, and then what? Kill everyone else down here? Isn’t that what your kind do to those like us?” He glared down the barrel. “I tried so hard to protect the people of this vault from the monsters outside our walls…but you brought them in, anyway. Your father would be so disappointed in you.”

   “No,” Evelyn said simply, and she slid her finger on the trigger. “He’s never been more proud.”

   BANG!

   A swirl of smoke curled from the hole a hairsbreadth from Alphonse’s head, and as he shook in his spot with his eyes screwed shut, he slowly began to peel them open to Evelyn’s face inches from his own.

   “This is how it’s going to go.” Her voice was the sound of death waiting at the steps, as cold as it was certain. “You have no control here anymore. Your daughter doesn’t see you as a father. The residents have proclaimed you a tyrant. Your own men were plotting to raid the rebels and kill Amata. What exactly are you holding on to, Alphonse? You know the vault is dying—don’t be the cause of it.”

   He saw the evidence of her violence on the surveillance feed, heard her warcry as it shook the very foundations of the vault. That little girl he had watched grow from a baby to a young woman was dead—in her place was this frightful creature, and it chilled the very marrow of his bones. 

   “What…what should I do?” he asked quietly, almost to himself. 

   “You’ll leave the vault.”

   His eyes refocused on her. “What?”

   Evelyn backed him further into the wall. James’ defiant spirit was speaking to him, using his child’s mouth as a medium. “You can’t fix what you’ve broken. The residents will never trust you to make another decision, and Amata’s only going to cave to your pressure like she always has. It’s time for someone else to step up and take charge, and for the vault to come to terms with its own mortality.” She walked over to stand at his terminal. “Leaving will give the vault a fresh start—and you one, too. Let it go, Alphonse.”

   “You have no idea what it is I protected this vault from!” 

   She pressed a single key on his personal computer to boot the display to life. “Then show me.”

   He slowly moved off the wall, shuffling toward her like the old man he was feeling to be, and hovered over the keyboard with still fingers.

   “I did what I thought was right…” he said solemnly. “To protect my daughter, and my people…”

   He entered the password, and a folder was clicked. 

   Evelyn squinted her eyes as she read the report—Enclave.

   “Do you understand now?” he said a little snidely. 

   “Yes, I actually do.” She intercepted the keyboard with one hand and clicked the action to open the secret tunnel. “And now you can leave knowing you did at least two great services to this vault.”

   Alphonse stared at the descending stairs leading below. He panicked, his feet unwilling to move. “But…but…where will I go? I…I don’t…”

   Evelyn scared the living daylights out of him as she clapped him on the shoulder. “If a nineteen-year-old girl can survive out there, I’m sure the Overseer will have no problem.” She gave him a little push, and he slowly began walking. When he was at the bottom and looked up, she pressed the key to close him out, cheerily waving until he was gone from view. “Welcome to the wasteland.”

   He's unrecognizable. There's no way it can be him. Jonas' face, what was once young, handsome, kind, and smart, is now just a squished pile of meat and bone. There's one eyeball intact, and it's popped out of the skull, staring at her.

   “Oh, Jonas,” Evelyn cries, and then she vomits stomach acid and dribbles spit on his coat. She makes a strangled sound, trying to wipe it away with her fingers. "Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry Jonas. I'm so sorry!"

   Amata kneels beside her, picking up the holotape that had fallen from his pocket—Note from Dad. 

   “I’m sorry. Officer Mack just wouldn't stop,” Amata says, and she tucks it in Evelyn's backpack before laying a hand on her back. “You really didn’t know your dad was leaving like this?”

   Evelyn shakes her head, sobbing in Jonas’ hand, and Amata removes her touch.

   “I’m sorry,” she repeats softly. “I thought your dad told you…”

   There’s banging on the glass outside. It’s the Overseer, with what appears to be the entire security force at his back. 

   “You open this door right now!” he yells, and he bangs a fist again.

   “We have to hurry!” Amata shouts. “His computer!”

   There’s a loud thumping sound on the other side of the door as Amata types away at the keys and opens a folder, clicking on it. The desk behind them unexpectedly begins to lift, showcasing a set of hidden stairs. They descend, and Amata slams the button on the wall to conceal their exit before they race to the edge of the vault together.

   Amata and the others jumped to their feet the moment she came back to the clinic, whereas Butch stayed seated with a cold pack on his swollen face. 

   “So, how’d it go?!” she asked with buzzing excitement, like she was inquiring who had the better score on the latest test.

   Evelyn stared at her before saying, “Officer Mack and Wilkins are dead. I didn’t have a choice.”

   They all gasped, with Freddie and Susie taking a few cautious steps back after noticing the blood splattered on her suit. 

   “And…” Amata tightly swallowed. “My dad?”

   Evelyn held her eyes. “He’s left the vault. He won’t be coming back.”

   Amata took a long inhale through her nose, trembled, then broke down and began to cry. Evelyn went to offer a touch of shared understanding, but she was shrugged away.

   “Please, just leave me alone!” Amata sobbed, and she locked herself in the clinic’s office.

   Butch rolled his good eye. “Well damn Amata, make up your mind!”

   Christine walked up to Evelyn, screeching in her face, "You should have stayed gone, you fucking freak!" And she fled from the clinic.

   "Your dad's still alive, and you don't even like him!" Butch called after her. 

   "Butch," Evelyn said curtly as he rolled his good eye to her. "Don't make me hit you again."

   The door eventually opened to Amata’s ruddy face and swollen eyes. She sniffled as she came to stand before them.

   “We’re going to close the vault doors," she began. "For good, this time.” 

   Evelyn crossed her arms and merely listened to the outcries, but Amata shouted over the rest of them.

   “LOOK WHAT IT'S DONE TO OUR VAULT!” she hoarsely screamed. She brandished a finger at Evelyn, an archdiocese throwing a torch on the woodpile. “Your dad opened it a year ago, and people died! Our vault hasn’t been the same since! You opened it, and we lost not only more people, but my father’s gone! Opening the vault has only hurt us!”

   "I did what had to be done," Evelyn said firmly. "It's why you called me here. Nothing would have changed, otherwise. I know you're upset, Amata, trust me, I know...but don't be rash. You're better than that."

   Freddie Gomez cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. We want the vault open, right? How else are we supposed to…”

   Amata stamped her foot. “We stand together!” She walked around the others, leaving Evelyn to herself on the edge. “We survive because we don’t rely on the outside. It’s worked for two hundred years, and it won’t stop now!”

   “Amata,” Evelyn tried again. “I can help you guys on the surface. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

   “You’ve done all you can…you said so, yourself.” Amata didn't turn around. Tears dripped to her feet. “Please, just go, and this time…don’t come back.”

   Evelyn gave her friend a sad look. “I guess we really are our fathers’ children.”

   She left, and Amata's cries followed her down the hall after having lost a father...and a friend.

   She's hyperventilating. There’s so much noise in her head, so much sensation on her skin, she’s staring at the great big door that’s never been opened for all of two hundred years.

   No one ever enters, and no one ever leaves.

   “No, Amata, I—”

   “You have to do this!” Amata begs. “If you don’t go, I don’t know what my dad will do to you!”

   There’s a sudden ruckus from behind the doors, and she knows she’s out of time. Evelyn’s arm is grabbed, and Amata pulls her over and snatches the pin from her Pip-Boy to insert it. A big red button glows, just waiting to be pressed, and they look at one another. Amata nods, and Evelyn screws her eyes shut as she slams a palm down on it. A horrible screeching of metal on metal makes their hands cover their ears, and they both watch in awe and fear as the door is pulled back, drawing a rush of air along with it. It’s rocked to the side, crumbling earth from the walls and ceiling, and then settles in its tracks.

   “Oh my God…” Amata breathes. “You actually opened it…”

   They both step down the set of stairs, and the sound of the guards coming starts to get louder. 

   “Here, take this,” Amata says shakily, and she hands Evelyn a gun. “It’s loaded. I stole it from my dad. I…I’m going to miss you.”

   Evelyn holds their hands together. “You’re not coming with me?!”

   “I’m sorry, I can’t. My place is here. I...I can’t go out there.”

   “But I don’t know where to go! What will I do?!”

   “I don’t know!” Amata turns her head, and then pushes her friend away. “Go, they're coming!”

   Evelyn looks up at the great big door, steps through, and then stops just on the other side. She glances back to Amata, who’s already at the access panel. 

   “Please,” Evelyn cries. “Please don’t leave me out here.”

   Amata looks down, her face full of tears, and presses the button. 

   The door closes, and she's left outside.

   Alone.

   "A-Amata?" Evelyn calls, but there's no answer.

   She steps to the door, and hears something crunch under her feet. She jumps, then blinks as her eyes adjust to the darkness. Piles of bones are gathered all around, the remnants of those who were in her very place, wanting to be let inside. 

   "Amata!" she screams, but no one can hear. Her voice echoes down the cold tunnel, and she sobs as she pounds at the door. "Please, let me in! I'm sorry! I-I don't want to be left out here! AMATA!"

   No one's coming for her. She's all alone.

   She walks down that tunnel, so slowly, sniveling, coming to the light at the very end with a raise of her hand and the gun at her waist. It's loaded—she only needs a single bullet for it to matter. The wooden door is pushed...

   ...and Evelyn looked up to the blue sky, taking a deep breath and smiling. This was her home, just as it always had been, and just as it always would be, and it was beautiful.

   She returned her eyes to earth, and found Charon there.

   There was a woman. 

   In the time before Evelyn, when the world was simple enough and killing was a contrast of black and white, Charon flourished. It wasn’t to say he lived, or even so much as thrived, but he understood his duties, his strengths, his weaknesses, and what his underlying purpose was. 

   Then, there was a woman.

   He didn’t have much qualms over her, in the beginning. She was insignificant, small; a speck of dirt to be brushed away with a flick of his finger. Then she somehow became a smudge—not quite impossible to remove, but it dirtied his hands. He scrubbed, under both hot and cold, applying every trick in the book before he raised his palms and saw the entire skin had stained black.

   And it was a woman.

   His mouth was too dry; his tongue was numb. There was blood on her face, and her hands, and the boots she walked in. Her eyes drowned him under the tidal of a great wave, keeping him from swimming out to open sea and stranding him on the shore. 

   This was his woman, and she could devour the entire world if she so chose to, for she was not afraid.

   Evelyn came to him, and he went to meet her there.

   And she decked him in the face.

   She shouted, “You aren’t supposed to be here! You can’t be here!”

   Charon closed his eyes and shook his head—the world was suddenly much clearer. He growled, rubbing at his jaw where she had struck him. 

   “You’re gone!” she cried, and the welling of tears began to fall. “They told me it was over! They told me it was done!”

   Charon said nothing as he stood tall and looked down at her, his breathing heavy.

   “They said you wouldn’t remember me, they said you would be forced to forget, that the contract would be gone forever if you would never love me again!” She screwed her eyes shut, hanging her head as she started to babyishly cry. “I lost my dad! I lost Dogmeat! I can’t lose you again, too!” 

   His rasp was deep and husky as he promised her without a single doubt in his mind, “You won’t.” 

   They reached for each other, their lips coming together and never seeking to part. His hands cradled her face while her arms wrapped around his neck, and he pulled her from the dirt and lifted her to touch the sky. The collar of his duster was curled around her fists as she held on fiercely, unwilling to let go lest he vanish like a wisp of smoke. 

   They came away, catching their breath. 

   “You came back,” she whispered. “You came for me.”

   Their foreheads touched as they closed their eyes. “Where you go, I wish to follow.”

   Another share of lips, slow and deep, and he finally set her down. He held her hand, and she squeezed their fingers, and she said, “Then let’s go home.” 

Chapter Text

   She watched him unbuckle his belt as his eyes drew to her fingers pulling her zipper down. She kicked off her shoes while he pulled back his duster; she unclasped her bra as he stepped out of his boots. His hands reached over to shimmy down her underwear while her fingers nabbed the hem of his shirt to lift it. Their eyes roved with agonizing slowness over the other—memorizing every new scar, scrape, and blemish the other one bore. She gently rubbed the missing tip of his left pinky finger—his knuckles traced the white scar on her side. 

   “You’ve been through a lot,” she said thickly, holding his palm to her cheek.

   He stroked her face with his thumb. “You as well…”

   The couch made a loud creak as they tumbled on top, their lips greedy in the taste of each other's mouth as his hand was already at his base, guiding himself past that wet heat while she arched her back and threw an arm around his neck. A whimper bled in his mouth as he pushed slowly, his thumb rubbing her clit until she pulled him forward with a leg slung over him. He rocked his hips into hers, threatening to collapse the couch as it creaked with every thrust, and she pulled her mouth away to tilt her head back and whisper delirious, delicious things that he drank with every spill.

   He didn't last long, but neither did she.

   They then sat there, content, his arms curled around her with her head on his chest. He noisily exhaled through his nostrils, and they said nothing for an extended period of time. 

   When she finally pulled off and turned to him with a grin, he raised a brow and grumbled, "Yes?" 

   "Want to go to Gob's?"

   They opened the door to the saloon, and Evelyn pulled him under the limelight with a shouted, "Look who's back!"

   And everyone erupted in a cheer. 

   Gob slammed a frothy glass of beer down. “My friend, everything is on the house tonight!”

   Pats on the shoulder. Good to see you! Questions at his side. When did you get back? Smiles at his face. Welcome home.

   Evelyn placed her hand over his. He had been sitting on that bar stool just staring down at his plate of steaming food.

   She said, her voice lowering, “…is it too much?”

   Charon picked up his fork, but he didn’t eat. He raised his eyes around the room. Like her home, everything was the same, and yet it was drastically different, too. 

   Someone played a homemade banjo. They sang. A child skirted close behind them, shrieking with delight as another child nearly caught them. One table was full of players dealing cards—half of them ghouls. Another party was chanting and swinging their mugs in a slurred-out song. No one spat at his passing, no one mumbled a curse under their breath, and no one ignored his existence. 

   “It is…a little much,” he mumbled. 

   “Do you want to leave?”

   He shook his head. “No.” He looked at her. “I will be alright.”

   She laid a hand on his thigh and squeezed, smiling. “Okay.” 

   “Hey! Wanderer!” someone called from across the room with a wave of their arm. “Do you have a minute?”

   Evelyn glanced up at him, and Charon sharply tilted his head. “Go.”

   "I can just—"

   He gently pushed her out of her seat. "Go." 

   She kissed his cheek. “Only if you eat something.”

   He snorted, hunching over his plate with his elbows resting on the counter as he watched her walk away. She addressed the table with a cheery disposition, and the people spoke about their honest troubles, and she listened.

   Gob came over and threw a dish towel over one shoulder, leaning against the counter. “Nice to see your face back around here, friend."

   Charon replied lowly, his eyes still on Evelyn across the room, "It is different."

   "You don't even know the half of it," he rasped, grabbing a glass to refill. "But you will."

   Evelyn was attacked at the ankles by a pack of feral children. She hoisted one over her shoulder while another began to scale the summit that was her back, and soon she was on the floor, swarmed by their snotty noses and grimy hands, and she laughed. 

   “Huh. Haven’t heard her laugh until you showed up,” Gob remarked. He looked at his fellow ghoul. “And I don’t think she’s ever been this happy.”

   Charon glanced down to his plate. With a shove of the fork, he stabbed at something and chewed. He swallowed, took a swig of beer, and ate some more. The fork scraped the plate as he hurriedly brought it to his mouth, washing it down with giant gulps like a man gasping to breathe. It was all soon gone, and just as quickly replaced.

   Charon looked up. 

   “Don't think she's smiled that big in a long time.” Nova winked. “And this time, don’t go anywhere she doesn’t.”

   Evelyn returned to three stacked plates and five drained glasses, and the door flew open to turn their heads. A dramatic shadow filled the doorway, complete with a crack of lightning and roll of thunder and a wiggle of their fingers.

   "YOU'RE BACK!" Moira hollered, running with outstretched arms. She halted inches away from the warning glare of murder he gave her, and then she simply gave a very light punch to his shoulder. "I heard you were seen running around town again! Oh boy, I am so excited to pick up where we—"

   "Moira," Evelyn kindly interrupted. "Maybe later?"

   "Silly me, you're right—!"

   "No," Charon said, and he surprised them both as he growled to himself, forcing out like it physically pained him, "I have...time." 

   Moira gasped, "REALLY?!" 

   He nodded, grinding his teeth, and Moira took the seat beside him with a sheaf of notes she already had on her person while Evelyn leaned against the wall, listening with a smile.

   They then returned home, and Evelyn excitedly gave him a proper tour.

   She showcased a television—in full working order.

   “There’s a ton of holovids to choose from! I got a boxed set from Wolfgang. Just flip the dial here, and, voila!”

   He pivoted as she motioned to the tub and the added shower installation. She ripped off the ratty curtain and dove through her backpack, pulling out a fairly new liner—branded with a Vault-Tec logo—to begin hanging up.

   “They have over a gazillion of these things down in the vault,” she blathered over her shoulder as she threaded the hooks through. “I snagged one from a storage closet before I left.”

   His eyes followed as she rummaged through the kitchen and held up an assortment of items for cooking.

   "This one is for whisking!" She raised another utensil. "And this one is for stirring!"

   He listened as she talked about her collected library of books.

   "Oh, and I found this one in some raider den. They were using the pages for cigarette rolling, those fucks!"

   He followed her up the stairs and to the workshop—where she quickly slid everything into a crate with a sweep of her arm. 

   “Obviously I’ll move the rest of my stuff,” she yammered away. “And there’s also the bedroom!”

   Charon crowded her in the tiny space, his eyes only staring at her. She gently set her mother's Bible and father's picture frame on a little shelf by the desk.

   "It's missing something..." she said to herself, and he waited as she returned with Dogmeat's collar in her hand. It was set down in the middle. "There, that's everyone..."

   They said nothing but stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at it. 

   Charon gave her a soft look, and then he reached down to hold her hand. "I would like to see the rest."

   Evelyn sniffled, wiping her nose, and then beamed at him. "I've got lots of cool stuff in my trunk!"

   They sat on the floor of their room, the trunk opened with everything inside spilled all around them. Charon remained quiet as she showed him various things she had thought interesting enough to collect. A pristine lunchbox. Giddyup Buttercup head. She tried to spin a yo-yo with little success, tangling herself in the thread, and Charon unraveled the thing before giving it a try. It was expertly cast up and down, and he gave it a fancy little spin. 

   "Have you ever played with one?" she asked, awed by the simple little toy. 

   He shook his head. "No." He handed it back to her. 

   "Show off," she muttered, placing everything back inside. 

   They had a shower, and he washed her hair while she scrubbed his back. They took to the couch, and he massaged the knots in her legs while she read him a short story. They lay in bed, both bare and on their side to stare at each other. 

   "I feel like this is some strange dream I'm going to wake up from," she murmured, sliding her leg between his. 

   He didn't say anything for a while, and then, with hesitance, stroked her cheek. "I do not want it to be."

   The light was clicked off, shrouding them in darkness, and he held her close to never let go. By morning, Charon was (still) sound asleep, and she was forced to wiggle out from his iron grip that squished her to his side. 

   “So you do sleep.” She tucked the blanket up to his neck and kissed his forehead. “Have sweet dreams.”

   The town had brought gifts. Clothes, ammo, and other various things targeted at Charon were left at the little shrine. Evelyn took everything to the workshop, dividing the room in half and clearing out her things to grant him space for his. She went through his clothes and emptied his pockets to hand over his soiled garments for Wadsworth to wash, and she found a little slip of paper that she unfolded and read.

   The contract.

   He had rewritten it, just as he had told her he would if it had ever been destroyed. The penmanship was surprisingly elegant, something she wouldn’t have come to expect. It was set down. When he was ready, they’d talk about it—on his terms, this time. Everything else was set neatly on the workbench for him to organize at his convenience. She inspected his Pip-Boy, wondering where he had acquired one. She flipped the screen on and marveled at the red lighting.

   “Whoa, why’s yours a different color?” she asked aloud.

   “You can change it.”

   She jumped into the workbench with her hip and knocked a few things to the floor. “Holy shit!” she growled at him. “You know not to do that!”

   Charon snorted, taking the Pip-Boy in his hands.

   She said rather snootily as she scrolled through her own, "I'll have you know that I've had this thing for ten years, and that you can't just—"

   Charon pinched her fingers with his thumb and index, manipulating the knob a few twists before scrolling down, and then selected her favorite color blue. 

   Her jaw fell off its hinge. "WHAT?!" 

   Wadsworth called up, “Madam! There’s someone at the door!”

   Tom from the nightshift sniper’s nest was unexpectedly at their front step, and she stood in Wadsworth’s place with a hand on her hip. 

   “Mornin’,” he greeted her, and then he abruptly turned to point at something across from their house. “You know these two?”

   Evelyn stepped out, squinting at the individuals huddled closely beside one another in the dirt, their heads together and mouths hanging open in a deep sleep—Butch DeLoria and Alphonse Almodovar.

   She sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “Yeah. Unfortunately. When did they get in?”

   “Late last night.” He nudged DeLoria’s boot with his toe. Butch let out a snort. “This one here crawled through the sand the entire way, honestly thought he was some kind of weird worm at first.”

   “A worm?” she repeated. 

   “Yeah. It’s like he didn’t know how to walk, or somethin'. And then this one—" He nudged Alphonse, who grunted and began to stir. “—eventually followed him (walking, at least) until they both made it to the front gates. They said you by name, and so I let ‘em in.” He shrugged. “They looked pretty harmless.”

   “They are,” she said. “Thanks, Tom. I’ve got them from here.”

   Charon watched her bend down and slap her hand against one’s cheek.

   “Wake up, Butch,” she tried, but he just smacked his lips together a few times and drooled. “Wake up, idiot.”

   Charon rolled his eyes and slammed a boot on the catwalk, shaking them like a mini earthquake. The two men startled, blinking up at his snarling face, and then held each other as they gave a high-pitched shriek.

   “Enough!” Charon barked, and their eyes rolled in the back of their heads as they flopped over in a faint. Evelyn sighed, and he growled, “Leave them.”

   “I would, but they have nowhere to be left.” She stood, crossing her arms as she weighed her options. “I knew Alphonse was gone, but I didn’t think Butch would be, too. Amata had said she was closing the vault…”

   Charon leaned in close to her ear to rasp, “I can make it quick. No one will see.”

   She blinked at him and then erupted in a laugh. “Good to see you haven't changed, big guy.” She kept giggling to herself as she bent over to shake Butch awake.

   Charon stared at her ass perked up in the air, his voice serious. “Neither have you.”

   Alphonse roused and rapidly blinked his eyes before lifting his hands to shield the sun away. “Where…where am I?” Evelyn came into focus, and he appeared confused. “What is happening…?”

   “You’re loitering.” She parked her thumb over her shoulder. “If you want a bed to sleep in, go to the common house.”

   Alphonse was distracted staring at the passing blue settlers (that gave him and Butch strange looks). “…there’s…there’s more of us, out here?”

   “They’re not vault dwellers,” she said, and she gave DeLoria a swift kick in the leg, finally jolting him awake. “Get up.”

   Butch groaned, blearily opening his eyes to Charon’s cold glare once more, and passed right back out. 

   “Jesus.” Evelyn spun on her heel to walk up the hill. “Whatever. You’ll both figure it out.”

   Alphonse grabbed Butch by the jacket and shook him repeatedly with a frenzied whisper. “Get up, DeLoria. Get up! Hurry, now!”

   Charon kept his head over his shoulder as he followed her, watching the younger one slowly come to his senses.

   "Get the hell off me, man!”

   “As your Overseer, I demand that—!”

   “Cut the crap! You ain’t overseeing shit!”

   “Hard to believe that was me at one point,” Evelyn said to him. She gave a smile and teased him in the ribs with an elbow. “Luckily I met someone much more friendly.”

   He said, completely sincere, "Yes."

   Charon then followed her everywhere. 

   Breakfast.

   “I call it, Gob’s Brew!” Gob handed him one but kept it out of Evelyn’s reach. “Sorry, smoothskin, it’s for ghouls only. It might kill you.”

   Supply run at the store.

   “Oh, goodie!” Moira brightened as they entered together, and she held up a chainsaw machete—complete with fire. “Look at the weapon I have for you!”

   Water purifier system check.

   “We’re going to need a new valve on the lower side,” Evelyn told Walter as she hung up her toolbelt in her own locker at the plant. She wiped the grease from her hands down her utility suit. “Oh, and I’ll be making a run soon for more scrap. I can see we’re low again.”

   Reports from the sniper’s nest.

   “Caught them on the western slope just yesterday. Dunno what they’re doing so close to town.” The sniper handed her their daily logbook for a review check. “Didn’t recognize the uniforms. Not Brotherhood, not Talon, and definitely not raiders. You mind checking it out?”

   Lunch.

   “Here you go!” Gob smacked down a crate of his personal booze for Charon to take.

   Visit to the new schoolhouse that had replaced the Church of Atom.

   “And remember kids,” Evelyn lectured the children, “don’t feed the yao guai!”

   Calving a brahmin. 

   "Oh." Evelyn blinked after the calf came out with only one head. She held it up for Charon to see. "Is this normal?"

   Aiding Doc Church with the line of patients outside his clinic.

   "And, no, Mr. Waters." She handed over a two-hundred-year-old bottle of expired aspirin and a cup of water. "A headache will not kill you."

   Weeding the community garden. 

   "Look, Charon!" She tossed a pruny, dense, sad-looking fruit at him. He only blinked and she scoffed, as though it were obvious, "It's a tomato!"

   And finally, home.

   Evelyn flopped on the couch, letting out a loud sigh as she kicked off her boots. Charon stood by the table, picking up the handful of letters that had seemingly come from nowhere. 

   “What are all of these?” he asked, and she wiggled her fingers in the air to summon them over. 

   Charon brought the stack and sat down beside her, setting it between them. He unfolded a piece of paper and began to read. His brows immediately crossed as he read aloud, “My blue angel, so divine and beautiful. You are a drop of water in a lake of sand—” 

    She groaned and covered her face with one hand. “I have Wadsworth burn those.”

   Charon crumpled it in the palm of his hand. “They write you poetry?”

   “Some guy—I don’t know who—keeps leaving me love letters. I’ve already told the others that I wasn’t interested, at all. Doesn’t seem to stop this one, though.”

   Charon tossed the ball over his shoulder with a snarl. “I will.” 

   She bumped him with her knee. “I think they’ll get the message soon enough.” She opened another one. “Encroachment of super mutants on Tenpenny Tower."

   “That is not your concern,” he muttered. 

   “It is now.” When he lifted a brow, she explained, “We cleaned it up and moved some settlers in. Megaton had been overflowing for a while, and the building still has power and clean water. It would have been a shame to let it just sit there. I did have to clear out a den of yao guai that had previously moved in, though.”

   "Alone?"

   "Yep!" She declared proudly, "All self-taught!"

   His brows drew sharply together. "That is concerning."

   She laughed. "The yao guai were most definitely concerned."

   He asked dubiously, “And you protect these people?”

   “I sometimes go over to check on everything and make sure they’re kept safe.” She opened another letter. “Maybe now that you’re here, you can help me train a proper security force for them…”

   He shook his head, grumbling to himself. "You do too much."

   She lowered the letter to peer over the top at him. "Then what should I do?"

   When he didn't have an answer for her, she tucked herself close to his side and held his hand in her lap, tracing the lines with her finger.

   “I know the sort of man you are,” she said with patience, “And you know the kind of person I am. We both understand the risks we take every time we step outside that door—everybody dies someday, and neither of us is the exception.”

   His hand came down to rest over hers, his eyes sad, and he confessed his greatest sin, “…I am afraid.”

   “It’s okay to be scared, sometimes.” She kissed him. “We all are.” He embraced her in a tight hug and closed his eyes, and when they finally pulled apart, she took his hand and led him upstairs to their room. “So let’s enjoy the time we have.”

   She was shrugged out of her clothes when she noticed he wasn't undressing, and she stopped. He was holding something in the palm of his hand—a little golden horse. 

   "It's beautiful," she said, and when he handed it over, she shyly smiled. "...you brought this back, just for me?"

   He nodded, somewhat flustered. 

   It was carefully placed in its rightful spot—perched on the shelf with her mother, her father, and Dogmeat.

   Charon guided her to the bed, and he only said, "I will." 

Chapter Text

   Evelyn was lost amidst a sea of teeth and nails and screams, and he couldn’t reach her. The boat was well underway and there was nothing but dark water beneath, and she looked at him one last time.

   And she was gone.

   There was a hand on his shoulder—Lyla.

   “Let her go,” she told him. “She’ll never become one of us…you’ll always be alone.”

   Charon woke up. 

   The early sunrise was drifting through the tiny cracks and holes in the walls, and Evelyn was there beside him, still peacefully asleep. No rotten teeth, no ragged nails, no harsh screams. He swung his legs over and smashed the heel of his palm to one eye. It was all just a terrible, terrible dream…

   Cupboards opened. Drawers shuddered. Two mugs and the percolator were prepped for a morning cup of ‘coffee’. Charon nabbed at the little pink apron she had and put it on; the stretched threads hung on for dear life. He then held up the two utensils she had shown him yesterday. 

   “Whisking.” He looked to the other. “Stirring.”

   A pot boiled. A pan sizzled and fried. The percolator whistled. 

   Evelyn came down the stairs (with a very subtle limp) and yawned in her hand as she left to use the head. Charon fixed the table, plated two servings, and then awkwardly stood there as he waited for her return. He straightened a fork two centimeters to the left just as she came back inside.

   “Wow, smells good,” she said somewhat sleepily, her hand scratching through her wild tangle of hair. She then noticed the tiny apron he wore and smacked a hand to her mouth as she chortled and choked on her own inhaled saliva. 

   He scowled, already going to remove it. “What?”

   “Nothing,” she giggled, and they sat to eat. 

   He watched her expression as she took her first bite. “Do you like it?” he neutrally asked. He hadn’t forgotten her comment to Pinkerton.

   She eagerly nodded, taking another mouthful. “It’s good!” She washed it down with a cup of joe and stabbed her fork in the air at him. “I’ve noticed you’ve been sleeping now…”

   He put his cup down, his voice flat. “Yes.”

   She played with her food, trying to remain as nonchalant as awkwardly possible. “Are you…” She squinted at him. “Okay?”

   “Yes,” he repeated, and then they both sat there, careful not to step on the other’s toes.

   She finally got up to retire her dishes, but he stood and took them from her. She retaliated and swiped at his nearly empty mug, and he hooked his boot around her ankle to keep her from walking away. The cup was jarred from her hand and splashed all over his front, and they blinked at one another. She erupted in laughter, grabbing a ragged handtowel and giggling herself into tears as she wiped up the mess. 

   “Fuck,” she breathed. “Sorry.”

   He removed his shirt and tossed it upstairs, hearing a disgruntled excuse me, Sir! The laughter eventually died. The towel in her hand was flung over the railing (really, Madam?!) and she hugged herself whilst he scratched at his elbow. 

   His eyes traveled down to her leg as he bluntly observed, “You have a limp.”

   Evelyn tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “Yeah…”

   He swallowed. “Does it hurt?”

   “Not really. No.” She shrugged. “At least, not anymore. I barely notice it now.”

   “That is…good.”

   “Yep.”

   He socked a fist in his hand. She cleared her throat and motioned to the television. 

   “Want to watch a movie?”

   They sat on the opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap and his head on his fist, nursing their fresh mugs and waiting on the world to end a second time. They watched the musical number dance across the screen, and Charon's foot inadvertently tapped to the beat. 

   She wore his (only) extra shirt and meticulously cleaned her power fist at the workbench—he leaned in the doorway with crossed arms as he quietly watched.

   “What is that?” he asked as she placed a glove down. 

   Evelyn excitedly handed it over for him to inspect. “Moira made it for me. It emits an electrical shock.” She pointed to an embedded bulge under the fabric. “I just push my thumb on this, aim my palm, and bam! The longer I hold it, the bigger the charge. Immobilize.” She then held up the power fist. “And pulverize. Pretty cool, huh?”

   Charon grunted, "Yes...cool."

   They cleaned the rest of their gear together, back to back in that little room. Their elbows bumped and they overreached each other's spaces, and she peeked around more than once to watch the master at his craft. Charon raised a brow as her head nearly fell off its neck from how far she stretched it, and he lifted his arm away so she could see unobstructed. 

   She sheepishly smiled and tapped her fingers together. “Sorry. It’s just, you know so much more than I do about this sort of stuff…”

   He shifted to the side, inviting her in. “Would you like me to show you?”

   Her things were teleported next to his, and he took hold of her power fist to begin instructing her on the details she had missed. A knock at the door interrupted Charon fitting on a new hydraulic line, and they answered it together with grease streaked across their faces. 

   Walter was there, and he held up Evelyn’s toolbelt. “We got us a bad break; my back’s too stiff to reach it.”

   Evelyn swiped at the belt and immediately began to follow. “Is it bend fifteen?”

   “Unfortunately. Guess it couldn’t hold out for that new pipe fitting just yet.”

   “Shit,” she muttered, and then she placed a hand to her eyes to shield out the sun as she looked up. Water spewed like a fountain, sparkling rainbows and inviting laughing children to play under its spray. 

   Her toolbelt was unbuckled. She twirled around to Charon slapping it over his shoulder as he began to climb. The entire pipe shuddered and sprinkled loose silt as he hoisted himself up to reach the top, and then he sat down to fix the bust. 

   “That should do it!” Walter sighed with relief after Charon climbed down. “If only I had more reliable people like you two to help out, this old girl wouldn’t go so long between repair jobs.”

   Charon wiped his hands on a rag and looked up to the common house. “You will.”

   Evelyn was at his heel as he marched onward. “Wait, what are you thinking?”

   Charon didn’t draw his eyes away as he lowly growled, “You do too much.”

   They entered the common house, and she coughed from the dank smell of too many unwashed bodies sharing a confined space. There were only two smoothskins in the entire building, snoozing the day away whilst everyone else did their share around town, and they were the exact smoothskins he had in mind.

   Charon kicked their bunk, rattling the entire frame. “Wake up.”

   A groan from the younger one, whilst the older smoothskin gasped aloud as though startled from a nightmare. He reactively flinched away from Charon’s presence, throwing his hands before his face.

   “Pl-please, please don’t eat me!” he begged, pointing to the younger one. “Take him!”

   Charon hoofed his thumb over his shoulder, his face plain. “Get up.”

   “B-b-but—"

   “NOW.” 

   The older smoothskin rolled out and hit the deck. The second smoothskin finally opened his eyes to Charon and quickly sat upright with a shriek, smacking his head on the metal frame of the top bunk and knocking himself out cold. Charon grabbed the twerp by the front of his jacket and pulled him out of bed, hauling him to the door.

   “Follow me.”

   The other smoothskin got to his feet and hesitantly nodded his head. Charon heard him quietly ask Evelyn, “He’s not really going to eat us…is he?”

   The unconscious smoothskin was dragged the entire way to the treatment plant by the back of his collar, his boot digging lines in the sand. Charon threw him inside and curtly inclined his head for the other to stand beside him. Upon hearing the commotion, Walter appeared to survey his newest apprentices. 

   “Never seen you two in town before,” he said, and then he blinked at the one on the floor. “What’s wrong with this one?”

   The other smoothskin cleared his throat, strictly keeping his eyes off of Charon. “I-I do believe our friend here isn’t the most congenial when it comes to...people.”

   Walter blankly stared at the man before he turned to Charon and Evelyn. “Where the hell did you get these two? A vault?” 

   “They're from 101 like me,” Evelyn said. "And they're going to need some work. I'm sure they'll be fine."

   Charon crossed his arms and kicked the unconscious one in the side, rudely waking him. The greaser coughed with a pinched face, taking in Charon’s glowering mug before he promptly backpedaled into Walter’s leg. He raised a shaky finger at Charon, his voice cracking as the vomit of incomprehensible nonsense spilled out of his quivering lips.

   “Don’t piss yourself in my shop, for Pete’s sake!” Walter grumped, and then he scratched the back of his head and waved at them to follow. “Well, alright, I’ll see what I can do with them."

   Charon glared at the greaser rat just sitting on the floor openly gawking at him. “Go,” he growled, and then he stomped a foot down. 

   The smoothskin rolled over and scrabbled away, and Charon stared at the snake insignia on the back of his leather jacket. He remembered Evelyn had one, as well…

   “That went smoothly,” she joked. Her hand snugged itself past his belt line, and he gave her a look as she tugged. She sweetly said, “You’re right, we do do too much. Why don’t we go home and take a break and…”

   She bent him down and cupped her hand around his ear, whispering some very naughty things that she wanted done to her. Charon’s dick was more erect than the Washington Monument as they reached their front door and his hand was turning the knob and—

   There was a one-armed smoothskin, also inquiring for Evelyn’s help.

   “Daisy’s ready to have her calf,” was what he told them. 

   They were no sooner in the calving shed attempting to ease out a newborn (with the correct two heads), when it appeared to be partially stuck.

   “Damnit,” Evelyn breathed, her tongue sticking out the side as she tried to dislodge the calf. “Just relax there, momma.”

   Charon slapped the heifer on the rump, and the two heads mooed in startled surprise as she abruptly pushed out the baby.

   They were back at the front door. The knob was turned and the frame opened—

   Another visitor. Molerat infestation digging through the floorboards in the men’s head. Charon took her repellant stick and bashed every single rodent in the world’s fastest game of whack-a-mole.

   The knob was turned and the frame was opened and he went to close it—

   A request for a neutral third party to settle a dispute. Evelyn stood between the two bickering smoothskins staking a bizarre claim over a fence board. 

   “It was on my property line! I get to keep it!” one nasally shouted.

   “No, that was my property line, so I get to keep it!” the other refuted. 

   They were at each other’s throats with Evelyn attempting to settle them down when Charon picked up the stupid board and snapped it in half, giving each a piece before he whisked Evelyn away for home.

   The caravan trader Wolfgang—dressed in a formal suit—was waiting for them there with a single hubflower and a sheet of poetry in his hands before he realized just who Evelyn had at her side.

   “Oh, uh, hello.” He swallowed, loosening his tie. “I had no idea you were back…and so soon…”

   Charon smashed the flower in his hand, ripped the sheet of poetry into pieces, and slammed the door in his face. He then deadbolted it…just to be sure.

   “You do too much,” Charon repeated with a grump, and then he unbuckled his belt. “Take off your clothes.”

   “Excuse me?”

   “Now.”

   The zipper of her suit came to her navel.

   BANG BANG BANG

   “Contact! Raiders!”

   The zipper was tucked back up…but then the scary look on Charon’s face made her slowly bring it back down.

   “I’ll just, uh.” She sat to unlace her boots and gulped. “Wait here.”

   The big ghoul grabbed his cock and miraculously contained it within the confines of his pants before he snatched up his gun and stormed out. Everyone barreled out of his way as he took aim and fired; not even sparing the lone survivor wailing for mercy as they sprinted for escape. Charon left the graveyard of corpses behind, the blood pooling around his boots, dripping from his hands, and smeared all over his scary face as he slammed their front door shut. He came to stand over her.

   …and she was asleep.

   Head hung limp, arms simply dead weight, and a puddle of drool gave him more than enough of a hint that he was going to have to wait. He checked the time. 

   …until tomorrow.

   Charon let out an angry snort as he chucked his soiled gear in the tub. She really did do too much. He instead made an evening visit to the saloon, checking in to his seat with the usual creak and lean of his elbows and tap tap tap of his knuckles on the counter.

   Gob was ready with his usual flavor. “Where’s Evelyn?”

   Charon took the bottle, but didn’t drink. “Asleep.”

   “Could probably use it,” was all the bartender said.

   Charon brought the lip to his mouth, growling, “She does too much.”

   “Yeah, and we all know it.” Gob sighed and leaned on the counter, wiping off a plate. “Hate to think what would happen if she weren’t ever around…”

   They took to their private thoughts for a while, with Gob tending to other patrons while Charon had a second round. The bartender eventually came back, popping the cap off a third. 

   “So, uh…” he started awkwardly, “is…is it gone?”

   Charon knew what he spoke of, and he pulled the folded contract out. They stared at the thing placed between them, and Gob pointed an elbow at it. 

   “What’d Evelyn say?”

   Charon put it back in his pocket and didn’t say anything. 

   Gob blinked. “…does she know?”

   Charon threw him a warning look, and the smaller ghoul slightly raised his hands.

   “Maybe you should—"

   “If you tell her,” Charon rasped lowly, leaning towards him. The very air grew shadowed and cold. “I will kill you.”

   The ghoul nervously laughed and squeaked, “Yeah, sure, I never saw it.”

   “Good.” Charon then returned to his beer, silent once more. 

   The door opened, and Charon partially turned, hoping for it to be his sleeping smoothskin, but it was the two idiots they had taken to Walter’s, instead. 

   “It appears another one of those things is tending this establishment. Not to worry, just let me handle this, DeLoria,” the older smoothskin said, and then he loudly cleared his throat. “GOOD DAY,” he declared, and everyone in the bar stopped to stare at him. The greaser pulled his jacket collar high up his neck while his companion made miming motions at Gob. “CAN. WE.” He motioned to them both with exaggerated hand signals. “GET. SOME. WATER?” 

   The entire bar watched as he pretended to hold a glass and drink.

   “Smoothskin,” Gob growled, the first hint of real anger that Charon had ever heard in his voice. “I’m not fucking deaf.”

   The smoothskin was popped with a pin, and he instantly deflated. “O-oh…”

   “Just what sort of hole did you two crawl out of?” Nova mused. “A vault?”

   “Why, why, yes, actually,” the older one replied, and he awkwardly held a hand to his chest. “My name is Alphonse Almodovar, and this is Butch DeLoria. We’re from Vault 101. As former Overseer—”

   “I asked where you were from,” she interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Not your life story. You boys have caps?”

    "Caps?"

   "I think she means those bottle caps that old coot gave us," the greaser loudly whispered.

   They both quickly rummaged through their pockets and held out their hands, and the older one preened, “Oh, oh yes! We do! We have caps. Now, I may be so generous as to leave a nice tip if the service is extraordinary—”

   Nova looked them over and then turned to Gob. “They got enough to get a beer. Each.”

   Charon drained the remainder of his glass and stood from his chair, walking right between the two smoothskins that quickly dived out of his way as he went back for home. Someone was already at the door, their fist raised to knock on the frame, when he grabbed it from behind after having silently crept up on them.

   The stranger jumped out of her skin and spun around. “Oh! Uh, are, do you, do you live here?”

   Charon eyed the bulky package she held. “What is it?”

   “A message—for the Lone Wanderer—is she…?”

   Charon took it for himself and opened it. A holotape addressed to Evelyn. “Who sent this?”

   “Paladin Earl of the Brotherhood of Steel. He said it was to be delivered straight to—hey!” 

   Charon had moved her aside and closed the door in her face. The robot was quietly putting away his laundry, and Evelyn was still in the last spot he had left her. Charon sat on the other end of the couch and clicked the holotape in his Pip-Boy.

   “I haven’t seen you in what feels like forever,” the voice drifted through, “but I hear of your deeds almost every day. You’ve inspired a lot of people, and I just know there are others out there who are waiting to listen. If there’s anyone who can tell them, it’s you. I’ve been stationed at GNR for the foreseeable future… I hope to be seeing you soon.” 

   Evelyn slightly stirred, mumbling drowsily as she rubbed her eyes, “Earl…?” 

   Charon ejected the holotape and frisbeed it across the room. "It is nothing." He then picked her up and carried her off to bed. "It is late. Go back to sleep." 

   The lights were clicked off, and everything was quiet. 

   Evelyn’s head popped like an overripe melon. It splattered all over his face, moistening his lips and coating his tongue. She burned—black, tarry, the skin crackling all over as she crumbled to ash under his fingers. There was a sudden scream and then a riiiiiiiiiiiip as she was torn in half at the waist, the muscles stretching as far as they would go until they snapped. 

   Charon had dreamt of the horrors of the wasteland…and she was gone with every single one. He had awoken, shaking the entire bed with a shout of her name on his lips and a reach for the pistol he kept at their bedside when he finally came to, and he smothered his labored breathing in his hands.

   Evelyn clicked on the light, rubbing at her eyes and blinking away the sleep. "What's wrong?"

   He turned his head to her. “I am sorry I woke you.”

   She gently touched his face. “Bad dreams? Do you want to talk about it?”

   “No,” he robotically answered, and he left the warmth they shared. “I…I need some time to think.”

   A full pack of smokes brought little clarity. Every turn of his mind teased his sanity with the imagination of how she could meet her untimely end—and how powerless he was to stop it. Each cigarette was a lit matchstick tossed in a field of brush, burned straight down to the filter with nothing but a dust of ash and dwindling smoke to show for it. Charon squinted his eyes at the crawling sunrise taking its time coming up over the edge. The contract was in his hand. It had kept her safe, and yet there was nothing pulling him to her. He had lied; he wasn’t afraid—he was fucking scared shitless. 

   He heard her before she announced herself coming up from behind, and he pocketed it away.

   She yawned into a hand, taking the seat beside him on that cold rock. “Were you out here all night?”

   He blew an exhale of white smoke from his nostrils, and nodded his head. He flicked the spent butt to the sand and looked at her. She was wearing that green jumper and fiddling with the sapphire cross around her neck. He hadn’t asked her about it; she didn’t offer to explain. His ring on her finger was gone—he had noticed that the first day. 

   “How are you feeling?” she asked.

   His hand slipped inside of hers, drawing her eyes up. “Better.”

   “Want some coffee?” She smiled. “Promise I won’t spill it this time.”

   There was a low hum in the pit of his chest. “I do,” he answered, and he let her lead him home for breakfast.

   They then visited the supply store, and he closely followed as she browsed the shelves to replenish her stock of various things. 

   “Do you need anything?” she asked. 

   Charon’s eyes swept the already familiar shelves. She was planning on leaving town soon. They would be encountering enemies, threats, anything and everything that could go wrong by sheer bad fucking karma alone—

   “Charon?” she repeated. “Hello?”

   He had been thinking of her losing her footing at the top of the metro steps and cracking her skull open at the bottom.

   He turned and simply said, “Yes.”

   Evelyn blinked as he then took stock of everything he needed, didn’t need, and might need.

   Moira rubbed her hands together with that unending amount of enthusiasm as they set their stuff on the counter. “Going back out again?”

   “Always,” Evelyn replied, and then she bumped his boot with her foot. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

   Charon clenched his jaw, not meeting her eyes. “Yes.”

   "Okay..." She looked away and pointed at something on the back shelf. “Hey, Moira, weren’t we almost done with that?”

   Moira gave a curious little hmm and turned around. A dusty binder was picked up and blown clean before being smacked down for them to see—the Wasteland Survival Guide. 

   “Oh, this old thing?” she scoffed, wiping the remaining dust off the cover. “I mean, it’s not like it even really—"

   Evelyn offered, “Why don’t we finally finish it?” 

   “WE JUST HAVE THE ARLINGTON LIBRARY AND RIVET CITY LEFT!” Moira shouted as she flew the pages open, quickly forwarding to the remaining chapters. “I’M SO EXCITED ARE YOU EXCITED YOU MUST BE EXCITED IT'S SO EXCITING I REALLY REALLY REALLY—!"

   Charon snapped the binder shut and growled.

   “Sorry…” she whispered, inching the thing off the counter before hugging it in her arms. She gave a happy sigh and finished their sale before waving them out the door. “Can’t wait!”

   “Gob’s going to be in for the ride of his life tonight,” Evelyn joked. She then leaned on the door of the saloon. “Speaking of…want a drink?” 

   They each had a shot. And then another. And then another. She asked for a fourth and slightly wobbled on her stool, forcing him to lay a hand on her lower back to keep her from eating shit on the floor. 

   “Here you go, smoothskin,” Gob rasped as he poured her refill. “I think you’re done for the night.”

   Evelyn waved a hand, leaning dangerously to the right. “I can go all night!”

   Charon pulled her back to the left. 

   “Not if you’re your father’s kid,” Gob muttered under his breath. He then set a glowing shot before Charon. “And this will be an end to yours.”

   Charon snapped it back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before swiping her off her seat for home. He snugged an arm around her waist as they tottered down the hill; twice she had to grab the railing. 

   “Cha-Charon,” she hiccuped, smuggling her hand into his jacket pocket and loudly whispering, “I love you.”

   Charon stumbled. (It must've been that final drink Gob had given him). He held her just a little bit tighter, and tucked her just a little bit closer, as he looked up to the night sky. All the stars were shining again, and he knew they were for him.

   He'd follow her anywhere.

   "I love you, too."

Chapter Text

   The space beside her was cold; Charon was gone from their bed again. Every night, for the past seven days, it was the same. They would make love (if she could even describe it as such, based on the handprints alone), fall asleep in a close and intimate embrace, with her legs through his and his arms curled around her, and she would wake to nothing. The hour was very late, but he wasn’t in the house—he rarely was. She got dressed and shivered from the cold as she walked outside the gates to find that tiny, glowing ember burning brightly in the gloom. He would always offer her one, and she would say, no thanks.

   It was the same.

   Bad dreams?

   Yes.

   How are you?

   Better.

   He never cared to talk about it. He never brought up the contract. He—not once—referred to her as the employer. Charon would cook breakfast wearing that ridiculous apron. Charon would rub her feet while they watched something on the television. Charon would aid her with every request a settler came knocking with.

   He was everything he wasn’t.

   She took her spot on the rock next to him. This time, he didn’t hand out his cigarette for her to take, but instead looked at her with nothing but the light orange hue painting their faces from the dark. 

   “Why do you sleep?” she asked.

   Charon took a drag, the smoke lazily drifting from his nose. “…I do not know.”

   “You’re having nightmares almost every night.”

   He flicked the butt away. His outline was barely visible, even being so close. 

   “Please tell me.”

   She almost believed he had simply left by how long the silence stretched on for, for as long as the stars were dotted across the sky, until he answered with, “In my dreams, you die…and I am alone.”

   He turned his head to look at her, the strange glow of his eyes like floating orbs. 

   “Come,” was all he simply said. 

   She stumbled off the rock, blind to everything, but then she felt a large, warm hand gently help her down. Nothing in the world compared to the safety she felt being held in those hands.

   Charon led her back for the warmth of their hearth. The percolator whistled, and a few snack cakes were unwrapped on a chipped plate. Two coffee mugs were married beside each other on the table. He turned the knob for the television, smacking the console to adjust the static noise that bled through. 

   “Are you happy, Charon?”

   The big ghoul turned his head, staring down at her seated on the small couch. He turned back away, ejecting yesterday's holovid and tossing it in a tattered box. He then said, firmly, “Yes.” 

   A new movie was inserted, and he took a seat beside her. The terse silence made her drop the subject and nibble on a snack cake. Charon took a big bite of his own, and she missed the disgusted expression he made as he paused chewing and put the half-eaten sweet back down. They kept their eyes on the screen, but neither bothered to watch what played.

   Breakfast was made. Evelyn returned to bed. The coffee turned cold. Charon left. Evelyn took a bath. Charon didn't come back. Evelyn found a holotape on the floor under the tub and popped it in her Pip-Boy, listening to the prerecorded message Earl had left. Charon still hadn't returned. 

   Evelyn scratched the back of her head and muttered, “Where did you go?”

   The bartender that she interrogated merely shrugged.

   “No idea; haven’t seen him,” Gob told her as he sorted new inventory. 

   “I’ve looked all over town, and he’s just gone. Hopefully he comes home soon, or I’m calling a search party.” She spun on her heel to leave when Gob said something too faint to hear properly, and she quirked her brow with a, “Hm? Sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

   “Who—you talking to me?” Gob forced a laugh. “I didn’t say anything!”

   Evelyn crossed her arms, ensuring no one else was around to listen. “Charon told you about his contract, didn’t he?”

   Everything was dropped from his hands as he got to his knees to beg at her feet. “I didn’t tell you anything, alright?! Please make him understand that I—!”

   “Jesus, calm down!” Evelyn helped him back to his feet and brushed off his shirt. “I already saw it when he was sleeping, but he hasn’t told me yet.”

   “He told me he’d kill me if you knew about it!”

   She rolled her eyes. “And you think he was being serious?”

   Gob gave her a look like she’d gone insane. “Yes!”

   “Come here.” She dragged them to the back room and shut the door. “Okay, what exactly did he tell you about it?”

   “Nothing, really… I asked him if he still had it, and he showed me.” When Evelyn just rubbed her chin in deep thought he badgered, “You’re not going to talk to him about it?”

   “I don’t want to push him—he just got back. I don’t know exactly what happened to him, or why he would still carry it if he wasn’t going to give it back to me. He hasn’t said a single thing about being the employer or there’s always a contract.”

   “Yeah…” Gob crossed his arms, putting on his thinking brow. “Maybe he’s afraid you’ll make him leave again if he does.”

   Evelyn's face immediately became crestfallen. “He should know better than to think that.”

   Gob said gently, “But isn’t the contract what you sent him away for?”

   “Well, yes, and no.” She paced with her hands behind her back. “If he was so afraid to show it to me, then why would he still have it? He would have to give it to me to make me his employer, but he hasn’t.”  

   “I think you should ask him,” Gob tried to reason.

   A voice crept behind them, “Ask who what?” 

   “Gah!” Both ghoul and girl screamed and jumped from the shadow suddenly standing there. 

   Evelyn stamped her foot with a snarl at the behemoth spectre. “Charon! I told you not to do that! How did you even get in here?!”

   Charon crooked a thumb at the back door. “It was unlocked.”

   “You know,” Gob mumbled, “someone should really put a bell on you…”

   The bartender left for the front of the saloon while Charon blocked her route with an arm in the doorway. 

   “What were you speaking of?” he asked plainly.

   She ducked below his bicep, and his head appeared underneath to watch her go. “Just—town things. Boring stuff. Where have you been?”

   “Out.”

   “Noted.” 

   They came outside to the bright sunshine and went down the hill, and she slowed her roll before coming to a complete stop and looking up at him. The settlers milled all around, bustling and loud as the dirt drifted at their feet with the hot breeze, and they quietly stood there, an anomaly to the life all around. 

   “You know you can tell me anything, right?” she said.

   Charon shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable as he looked up to the sky with squinted eyes before landing his icy stare back to earth. Back to her. 

   They had a silent stand-off for a few minutes before she finally continued for home. “I’m going to get my gear prepped. There’s a nest of ants I have to deal with.”

   Charon was there as her breathing shadow—just as he always had been before, and just as he always would be. They assembled their weapons and buckled their satchels. 

   “Ready?” she asked, tucking her knife in its hidden sleeve in her boot.

   Charon latched his Pip-Boy to his wrist, nodding.

   After a twenty-minute leisurely stroll, Evelyn swept the plains with her binoculars to eye her next ‘to-do list’. There was an ant retreating into a hole deep underground, and she lowered her sights with a grin. 

   “Gotcha, little bastards.” She unclipped a few grenades from her belt line, but was halted by a large hand at her elbow. 

   “I will do it,” he curtly rasped.

   She snorted, unbothered by his rude attitude. “I’ve been clearing the nests for a while now. I can handle it.”

   “I do not care.”

   Evelyn pursed her lips and lowered the explosives to her side. 

   In my dreams, you die. 

   “I’ll be alright,” she said with patience. A step was taken, and then another. “Have some faith in me, okay?”

   Charon gnashed his teeth together and angrily sighed, but he relented with a brusque, “Hurry.”

   Evelyn dashed over, pulling all three pins and dropping the juggled bombs down the ant shaft with a shouted, “Look out below!” 

   The burst was more forceful than she had predicted, and whilst retreating, a splash of dirt smacked her in the face from a ruptured pocket below. The inhale of silt made her wildly cough, but she dazzled the ghoul with a white smile. 

   “See?” she said with a ta-da! She gave a tiny bow. “I’m a pro.”

   But Charon was unlatching a back satchel and dipping his fingers inside, his other hand reaching for the cut she had across her cheek. She touched it in surprise. 

   “Hold still,” he commanded, harshly wiping at it and making her wince from the sting. He pulled away, his face betraying his alarm.

   “You’re being too rough,” she said, taking the gauze for herself. 

   As she cleaned up the mess and doused it with some water, she glanced over to Charon still staring at his empty hand, clearly troubled. 

   “Hey.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”

   He blinked, looked at her, then looked at his hand, and flexed it. “I…” He curled it at his side. “Nothing.”

   An obvious lie.

   She splashed the ghoul and swiftly side-stepped from his nabby paw before he could squish her with it. She then sprayed the back of his head.

   “Stop it,” he growled as he spun around. 

   She stuck her tongue at him. “Make me.” 

   The ghoul lunged, faster than she had ever seen him move, and she squealed as she was pinned down over a boulder. She laughed, holding his face in her hands and bringing him down for a kiss. The buckle of his belt was undone, and the zipper of her suit was brought down, and she felt that hard, leathery cock come knocking at her entrance. There was no courtesy finger, not even the decency for a lick, before he shoved himself deep inside. She cried and clawed at his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he flattened himself over her and hotly growled in her ear. One hand snaked itself in her hair, while the other wrapped around her throat, and she whimpered and pleaded as he snapped his hips into her, unrelenting.

   There was the lonely howl of the wind; a distant echo of gunfire. The terse breathing from her nose kicked up the dust on his armor plating; his stifled silence soon devolved into labored grunts. His fingers tightened, and his pace became quick and unrhythmic, and when he came he buried his face in her hair, inhaling every part of her. He slowly stood away, the clinks and zips of his decency being tucked back into place. After she had recollected her bearings she stood, and blinked at him just standing there. 

   She asked, “What’s wrong?” 

   Charon was staring at the bruises he had left behind—some old, some fresh. He looked down at his hands. 

   Evelyn zipped up her suit and took a step towards him, when the ground suddenly sunk beneath her feet and swallowed her whole. A mouthful of sand was inhaled as she slid down in the darkness, her scream lost to the earth. She fell with a heavy thud in a portion of the collapsed ant tunnel, coughing her lungs clean and squinting as she reactively clicked on her Pip-Boy light. 

   “Shit,” she choked, spitting out the remainder of dirt from her throat. She wiped at the stringy saliva hanging from her chin and looked up. The sand began to violently pour down, and she scrabbled away before a sizable ghoul quickly dropped beside her. Her light fell over him. “Charon!”

   He was on his feet faster than she was, his hands and eyes overlooking every inch of her with erratic panic. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his fear evident. 

   “I’m okay—I’m okay,” she stressed, blinking up at the sinkhole above their heads. “Fuck.”

   Charon grunted and hoisted her upright. He then clicked on his own light and swept it around. A portion of the tunnel was sealed off at their backs, and he motioned to the other end that was still clear. “This way.”

   She took his hand that searched for her, and he fiercely held her as he guided her behind him through the murkiness. Twice the corridor narrowed and forced them to squeeze through the passage, but he never let her go. Charon carefully pulled her through, and she was briefly tucked close to inhale his musky scent. 

   “Wait,” he suddenly said, quietly. “Do not move.”

   The light was extinguished, and they strained to listen in the dark silence. Evelyn heard a faint chitter, and she tensed. She felt Charon reach for something—his knife. She drew hers out as well, waiting for a signal of some kind. The chittering eventually drifted away down another tunnel, and she let out a breath when she heard Charon sheath his blade. He then clicked his light back on. 

   “We will have to be cautious,” he murmured, and then he continued to pull her along. 

   Evelyn toed a rock ahead, her voice low. “You didn’t have to come in after me.”

   Charon stopped and spun around to properly glare at her, the light from his Pip-Boy not quite reaching the scary look on his face. “I was not going to leave you.”

   “But now we’re both stuck down here!”

   He tilted his head. “Would you have not come for me?”

   “Of course I would. I always will.”

   “Then I do not see the problem.” He tugged at her to continue. “Let us hurry. The tunnels are not stable.”

   For that, he was unfortunately right—they seemed to groan and cough dirt as they navigated the underground nest. Bodies of ants crushed under fallen debris were passed, and Charon tucked themselves inside small crevices whenever he heard any survivors maneuvering their way around. One such hidey-hole had her ass flush to his crotch, and as they waited for the mutated insects to pass, there was a hard poke of something riding up her suit. 

   She crawled out when the coast was clear. “Really? At a time like this?”

   He almost seemed to be scowling at her as he adjusted himself below the belt line. “It cannot be helped.”

   “Uh-huh.”

   Charon opened his mouth, and then a great big rumbling made them brace their footing. An avalanche of rocks broke free from the wall, and Charon pushed her as they cascaded over him, crushing him below their weight. 

   “CHARON!”

   Evelyn heaved with her power fist and pulled a boulder over using leverage and muscle, revealing the ghoul to be alive…and very much pissed off.

   “Charon! Are you okay?!” She heaved another boulder off, shuddering the entire ground as it rolled away. “Anything broken? Can you move?”

   Charon grunted, freeing his arms as he tried to find some room to maneuver. He eventually ceased, breathing heavily. “My leg. You will have to free me.”

   “Shit—okay, hold on.” 

   A loud vibration sounded off down the tunnel, and Evelyn redirected her Pip-Boy light to a few ants skittering straight for them. 

   Charon attempted to pull himself free, but then shoved her at the shoulder. “Evelyn! Go! Run!”

   She snarled, “I’m not leaving you here!”

   “There will be more!” He tried to push her away, but she refused to budge. “I will buy you time!”

   Evelyn stood her ground, and Charon snapped at her.

   “You cannot fight them all!” he shouted, and then his anger swept away like the tide out to sea. He rasped, scared and begging, “Evelyn, go! Get out! They will eat us both!”

   “Big guy,” she said with an eerie calmness as she slipped on her glove. She gave him one last look. “Have some faith in me.”

   The first ant dove for her leg—she sidestepped it with all the grace of a dancer and swung her power fist down to squish it between its eyes. The second ant was frenzied with an electrical charge at its head; it engaged in the third ant by cleaving it in half with its strong mandibles. She took advantage of its confusion and punched it into guts and pulp, and then she waited a few minutes to ensure there were no more.

   Charon stared at her with an expression she had never seen before, but she ignored it as she continued in her endeavor to free him. 

   “You’re going to push while I pull,” she ordered, and it snapped him from his thoughts as he braced on the other side. “When you’re ready.”

   Charon grunted, “Go.”

   They both groaned in effort, and bit by bit, the boulder gave way. Charon crumpled to the ground, and she came to him with a stimpak already in her hand. “Which leg?” 

   He sat and rolled to his side, his face pinched. “Left.”

   The injection was made, and then another, and then he grabbed at her hand before she could stick him with a third.

   “That is too many,” he growled. “How many do you have left?”

   “After this one, uh, one.”

   “Keep it.”

   “You broke your fucking leg,” she growled right back at him, and she stuck him before he could even blink. “I’ll use every fucking stim if I have to.”

   Charon narrowed his eyes at her as she uncapped a med-x with her teeth, but he just snorted and simply watched as she gave him a pain reliever, for once not fighting the relief. She then stood over him, her eyes vigilant on the tunnels. 

   “How long do you need?” she asked.

   Charon flexed his toes. “Thirty minutes.”

   “Do you think the tunnels will hold that long?” 

   Charon gave her a straight look. “No.”

   “Then we have no choice.” She reached for him and was surprised when he leaned his weight into her. “Don’t die on me just yet.”

   He snorted again. “I won’t.”

   The ghoul used her as an improvised crutch, hobbling down the passageways as fast as his pace allowed. Evelyn kept a sharp eye and ear on their surroundings as they journeyed through until a faint hint of daylight shined from the ceiling. They came to stand beneath it, Charon’s fingertips scraping the crack below. 

   “It is thin,” he informed her, and he gave a direct hit with a fist, widening the crack slightly.

   A multitude of chittering drew their attention over to the swarm of ants barreling in from another tunnel. Charon threw another fist, and then another, and then he felt his thigh pistol unholstered as Evelyn took aim with one hand while still providing him support with her power fist. 

   “Evelyn,” he said, almost to himself, and he lost focus to watch her take perfect aim and pull the trigger with zero hesitation. She nailed a few ants in the antenna, and then she unclipped the empty magazine to the dirt and reached in his satchel for a fresh one. 

   The ghoul stared at his hand, curled it back into a fist, and threw a slugger at the ceiling with all his strength. The roof crumbled over them, and he hoisted her up by the waist as she kept firing, dumping her over on solid ground. Evelyn dropped the gun and held her hand down for him to take, and he did, and they both grunted from the effort of lifting him over. The remaining ants began to swarm below, and Charon unclipped a few grenades to toss them as a farewell gift before they hoofed it to relative safety from the blast. They traveled a solid distance between themselves and the chaos left underground, seeking refuge in an abandoned cave. 

   Evelyn helped Charon to a seated position before she plopped right down beside him, that white smile still on her face. “See? What’d I say? Pro.”

   The ghoul gave her a fond look before snugging an arm around her to hold her close. He kissed the top of her head. “It needs some work.”

   A fire was made. Charon tested the healing in his leg while she scoped the map on her Pip-Boy for their current location.

   “Wow, I guess we wandered a bit farther than I had thought down there.” She held up her screen for him to see. “I haven’t mapped this area yet. Do you recognize any of it?”

   Charon studied it and shook his head. She clicked it off and pulled something from her pack.

   “Here.” She threw a fruit at him—homegrown from the community ‘garden’. 

   Charon squinted down at the shriveled thing. 

   “I’ve never seen you so scared before, down there,” she said, and their eyes met. “It made me scared.”

   Charon didn’t eat and set the fruit aside. His appetite was lost. “I could not watch you die.”

   “But we didn’t.”

   “No,” he agreed, a bit reluctantly. 

   “Aren’t you proud of me?”

   A most unexpected question, and when he stared at her for having asked it, he saw something—a yearning of a different kind. He had seen that same look given to her father, and now it was given to him. 

   “Yes,” he answered, slowly. “I am.” He shifted his feet through the dirt, resting his arms over his knees. “You have come a long way from when we had first met…”

   “Then you don’t have to worry about me, right?”

   Charon slanted his eyes slightly. That was a most peculiar thing to ask. He said, leaving no doubt inside her mind, “I will always worry for your safety.”

   Evelyn said nothing else as she tucked them in a blanket, snuggling close to his side, and Charon watched her sleep the whole night. 

   He was afraid of what he would dream if he didn’t.

Chapter Text

   It was more than obvious—Evelyn didn’t need him, anymore. 

   Charon observed her blow a raider’s brains out with a single shot. He stood by as she disarmed a roving sentrybot. He blinked when she swung a radscorpion around by the tail. Evelyn would wipe the dirt from her hands, throw him that winning smile, and continue onward like there was nothing wrong with the world. 

   "Ouch!"

   (But he could still be something for her) 

   Evelyn held her finger up to pop the cut in her mouth, when it was snagged away by a much larger, disfigured hand that poured a bottle of purified water over it. 

   “It’s fine!” she protested, but he was already wrapping it in gauze. “It’s literally just a tiny cut.”

   He cut the bandage with a pull of his teeth and neatly tied it off. “There is risk of infection.”

   She was left with a wadded fingertip, and she waggled it, frowning. “That’s a little overkill…”

   Charon clipped his medkit closed, and then visibly reconsidered his treatment plan. A stimpak was held up. “Hold still.”

   She protectively drew her finger to her chest. “Seriously, it’s fine. Don’t waste it.”

   "Give it," he growled.

   "No!" 

   He lunged for her small appendage just as she took off at a sprint, and he gave chase. The finger was caught, the stim was applied, and he was left satisfied after she had regained full mobility once again. Evelyn merely sighed and ushered them on. She scanned the map on her Pip-Boy, placing dots and marking waypoints. 

   “Evelyn,” he began, and when she tilted her head to indicate she was listening, he scratched at his head and bluntly asked, “Are you happy?”

   Her fingers stopped manipulating the knobs, and she looked up, confused. “Very much so.”

   “You will not lie to me?”

   She frowned, lowering her arm to her side. “Of course not.”

   “Even if you are upset?”

   She studied him for a minute. He didn’t like it. She then finally asked, “What’s on your mind?”

   “That wasn’t the question.” He took a step forward to cup his hands around her shoulders. “Even if you are mad at me, you are happy?”

   Her hands came up to gently lay over his. “Charon, I think we need to talk.”

   He felt his heart skip three beats. “About?”

   Not-so-distant gunfire made them pull away and look to the source. Charon climbed a small hill, his heavy boots sinking in the sand as he came to crouch by a large boulder for cover. Evelyn was soon there beside him, and together, they peered over at the firefight. 

   A few ghouls were in the struggle of their lives against a stunted yao guai, pitching bullets like pebbles at its thick, leathery hide. Charon stood and took aim, dropping the creature after three well-placed shots. The ghouls turned to their savior and gave small cheers, rushing him despite the warning he gave with his muzzle level at their eyes. 

   “Charon!” one ghoul called, pulling down his drifter’s scarf and scratched goggles. “Evelyn!”

   “Quinn?” both ghoul and girl said in unison, and they joined the necrotic party on the cracked asphalt road. 

   “Oh man, am I glad to finally see a friendly face out here,” Quinn rasped, and he introduced the others crowded at his back. “I met these guys trying to get their way to Underworld, and thought I’d be some help in guiding them. Thanks for the backup.” He turned to Charon. “It’s good to see you around, by the way.”

   “Do you mind if we join you?” Evelyn asked, and all eyes fell on her. “Charon and I were just on our way back to Megaton, but I think I’m due for a visit.”

   “The more, the merrier.” Quinn waved at them to follow. “So, smoothskin, what’ve you been up to since we last had a chat?”

   Charon stuck to her like a charred burr in her side as she happily babbled to the trader. One of the ghoulish party members—a woman—twirled the three strands of hair above her left earhole and gave him a gummy smile. Evelyn noticed, and playfully elbowed him when they had retreated to the rear. 

   “Uh-oh,” she teased. “Looks like I have some competition.”

   Charon smacked her down with a thunderous glare, stating very seriously, “You do not.”

   She burst out laughing, drawing the attention of the others from the front, and Charon only grumbled to himself when the toothless broad threw him a kiss and a wink.

   They traveled for three nights and four days, with Evelyn and himself keeping the others safe from all general wasteland threats. Animals, people, robots—the category didn’t matter. Between her power fist and his shotgun, the bodies dropped and the flies swarmed wherever the road was left behind them.

   “Wow,” Quinn remarked after Evelyn pulled her knife from a feral dog, the noise slick and wet. He grew flustered and fumbled with his words as she turned her pretty blue eyes on him. “Y-you, uh, uh, are great—amazing—wow.”

   Charon shouldered him as he stepped past, almost toppling the trader right over. He then gave his fellow ghoul a certain look.

   Quinn caught the warning and turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Should probably keep going. We’re almost to Underworld…” 

   “Uh-oh,” Evelyn jested as Charon came to her. “Do I have some competition?”

   Charon gripped her by the hips. “You do not.” 

   And then he proved it with a kiss.

   The Mall was much the same: super mutants brawling in the trenches, Brotherhood taking potshots, slavers patrolling the Lincoln Memorial steps, and the sentry to Underworld, dropping her cigarette upon sight of...him?

   “Ch-Charon,” she rasped, shy. “You’re back…”

   “For good this time,” Evelyn said, and they walked on by. 

   Willow coughed, discreetly smelling her breath in one hand as she subtly fussed with her hair. She then fished out a cracked makeup mirror, adjusting her remaining eyebrows with a yellowed smile and lick of a fingertip.

   Evelyn bumped him with her elbow after they had entered the Museum of History. “Did you know she has the biggest crush on you?”

   Charon stared at her, his brows folded, and then looked back at the double doors. 

   "Competition?" she asked.

   He snorted. "No." 

   The residents of Underworld swarmed Evelyn like bloatflies on a corpse, buzzing around and being a general annoyance. Charon kept the populace at bay with a snarl, his hand itching for his gun before it was firmly grabbed in Evelyn’s to be dragged away.

   “We have to be nice if we want a place to crash,” she reminded him as they went up to Carol’s. 

   Charon rolled his eyes, looking over to the opened doors of the Ninth. Everyone inside avoided his stare. Well...some things apparently never changed.

   “Look at what the cat dragged in,” a voice rasped above them. 

   They turned their heads up to the one-eyed mechanic precariously balancing himself on a ladder, and Evelyn waved. The ghoul descended.

   "Always nice of you to visit us down here, smoothskin," Winthrop said after stepping off the last rung. 

   Evelyn pointed at his left hand (where a gold ring shined). “Did you and Tulip get married?!”

   “Huh? Oh, oh yeah! We did!” He chuckled and held it up for them to see. “Someone traded the pair in and we thought, why the hell not? No ceremony or anything like that, but the sentiment feels nice.” He looked at her. "It feels good having someone as yours—and you theirs—you know?"

   “Congratulations!” Evelyn said, and Winthrop appeared embarrassed as he tipped his head before he redirected his single eye on Charon. 

   “Welcome back. I’m sure it’s nice to be home.”

   Charon merely grunted, staring at the ring on his finger. 

   Evelyn grabbed Charon's hand to pull him along, breaking his trance. “We’ll be around for a while!” 

   “Sure.” Winthrop waved them off.

   Carol crowed with happiness at the sight of Evelyn. Greta served them each a plate of something (best left unidentified, even by his standards). Crowley—

   Charon picked the creepy ghoul up by the nape of his collar, growling close at his face for the nasty sneer he had directed at Evelyn. 

   “Hey!” Crowley cried out, pathetically attempting to wiggle free. “I don’t have beef with you, alright?! It’s between me and her!” His feet uselessly dangled off the floor. “When did you get back in town, anyway?!” 

   “It’s okay Charon,” Evelyn said as she placed their bags by their rented bed for the evening. “He’s harmless.”

   The bigger ghoul rasped lowly (for only Crowley to hear), “I’ll snap your fucking neck. Go.” 

   He was dropped, and the ghoul skittered out the front door. 

   “Charon!” Greta chided. “Don’t you dare cost me another customer! I still haven’t forgotten what you and Ahzrukhal did to Frank!”

   He rolled his eyes, unholstering his shotgun and unstrapping his Pip-Boy. Evelyn snuggled close to him as he took his place beside her, whispering in his ear, "Is there somewhere we can be alone?" When he nodded, she clarified, "That isn't the bathroom?"

   Charon led them back out into the museum, detouring around the reception area and over some rubble leading into another exhibit. "Come."

   She did—in more ways than one.

   "Fuck, fuck," she panted, and he blew her mind and his load. 

   They cleaned up and started back, but she halted at the doors to the exhibit next to Underworld. Charon stood beside her, tracing his knuckles down her arm. 

   "What is it?" he asked. 

   "Is that where they go?" She gave him a sad look. "When they...?"

   He nodded, once. "Yes."

   "Have you ever taken anyone inside?"

   He nodded again. "Most."

   "What happens to them?"

   Charon turned his eyes to the door. He'd lost count of how many ghouls he had brought here after they had lost all sense of self. "They eventually will die." When she remained still and quiet, he held her hand and said gently, "Evelyn, you will not have that fate."

   "I wasn't thinking about myself." A tear was hurridly wiped from her cheek. "I can't imagine losing someone like that..."

   "It is the way things are."

   "I know..." She looked up at him, her pretty blue eyes sparkling with wild hope. "Don't ever go feral on me, big guy."

   Charon stroked her hair behind one ear. "I am sorry, but I cannot promise you that."

   "If you go," she vowed softly, holding his palm to her face. "Then I'm coming with you."

   Charon slowly let her go, unsure of what to say to that. He didn't want Evelyn to die...but he couldn't imagine a world, here or there, without her. They returned to their bed. The lights overhead were dimmed as the rest of the residents followed suit. Charon kissed her forehead as she wished him sweet dreams, and he fell asleep.

   Golden locks tumbled down in clumps. Her skin began to peel; her muscles decayed; her eyes pickled white. 

   "What is it?" Lyla rasped, scratchy with concern. "Are you thinking of her? Evelyn?" 

   His hands were at her throat, at the lovely dip where her shoulder meets her neck, and he gave in to his strongest urges that he had kept restrained since the first moment she had approached him. He squeezed. 

   Hard. 

   Bones snapped, cartilage cracked, and her skin flushed angry colors as she choked and saw nothing but darkness. 

   But it wasn’t her—it was Evelyn.

   And suddenly, he was awake. 

   It was quiet. A couple were whispering in conversation just outside. The creaks and hums of the museum were mindful of their slumber. Evelyn was peacefully asleep, with his large hands wrapped nicely around her throat. He released her instantly, choking on his disbelief as he left the bed and stared at his hands. He...he would never hurt her...the contract, but, no, he couldn't...

   He could.

   Charon wildly rummaged through his things for the contract. It was there. He laid it flat on a table and read every word, snarling as nothing happened. He smacked himself in the head, again, and again, and—

   "Charon?" 

   He turned at Carol standing there, looking from the piece of paper on the table to the maddening fire blazing in his eyes. It was quickly crumpled into his hand, his heart jumping in his throat as he croaked out, "You have seen nothing."

   She crossed her arms, giving his sleeping smoothskin a worried look. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

   His voice was hard. “Leave, now.”

   The hostess walked away, her heels clicking on the tile flooring. Another pair of watchful eyes snapped his head up. Crowley was in the doorway, his wheezes labored as he stared at his contract that had been seated so delicately out in the open. The ghoul raised his slinking stare to him—his mottled lips upturning in a snake-like grin. 

   “I’m guessing your precious little smoothskin wouldn’t be too happy, now, would she?” he rasped.

   Charon carefully folded the contract back in his bag, shut the privacy door to their ‘room’, and walked towards him. Crowley instantly dipped outside the double doors with panic, and Charon followed. He easily caught him just outside in the main lobby, dragging him to the next exhibit for a private 'conversation'. Crowley shouted the entire way as he was pulled along the floor by his suit. 

   "I won't say anything! I don't know anything! Please, please!" he cried. His hands scrabbled over his own before he reached for the doorway, trying to free himself. "We can let this go! We can talk this out!"

   Charon listened, but there was nothing said on his end. Charon never was a man for words when his hands carried the conversation along just fine. It didn't take long—much to his disappointment—and he stood upright when he had finished and narrowed his eyes at the spying guests they had. The ferals twitched, moaned, shuffling forward at the smell of blood and shit. Charon looked down at his hands.

   He would never sleep, ever again. It would keep her safe. 

   Charon began to leave the exhibit when something shiny caught his eye, and he walked over to the dusty cases along the wall. The display glass was smashed, and he picked around the broken shards until he retrieved the thing he wanted.   

   Evelyn did not need him...but he needed her.

   Evelyn awoke. The lingering sleep was rubbed from her eyes, her yawn was loud, and the pleasing crack from her spine was met with a sigh. She turned for her ghoul, but he was gone.

   “Charon?” she sleepily called, and she opened the screen to poke her head out. 

   Carol and the others were standing there, their faces lined with apprehension and auras deadly frightened. Evelyn felt the room crackle with electricity, and she turned her head to the behemoth of a man, completely bloodied and sullen, seated at a table. Charon raised his eyes. His crimson footprints left a trail from the door. 

   “Oh my god,” Evelyn whispered, standing between the others and him. “Charon…what happened?”

   The ghoul leaned back in his seat. “It is not mine.”

   “Nobody thought it was,” Greta muttered, and Carol gave her a sharp shush!  

   “Charon,” Evelyn said thickly. “We need to talk. Please.”

   The ghoul snorted and rose from his seat. “I will wash off.”

   “No—no, you can’t just brush something like this aside,” she chastised as he began to pull something from his pocket. “You need to tell me if—"

   And suddenly, there was a diamond ring. It had a beautifully cut stone set on a band of pure sparkling silver, destined for her finger. She gaped up at him, completely derailed, and the room quickly turned from palpable fear to excited hushed whispers.

   “Do you like it?” he rumbled.

   She couldn’t answer—and he didn’t let her—for he grabbed her left hand and slid it on her ring finger. Her face bloomed as bright as the blood he was slathered in.

   “You are mine, and I am yours,” was all he said.

   “Oh.” Carol put a hand over her heart. “How sweet.”

   Greta countered, “How bizarre.” 

   “Charon, wait—what?!” Evelyn stared at the ring, her laugh nervous. “Are you asking me to marry you?! Like this?!” 

   He shrugged.

   She swiped it off her finger and brandished it at his face. “Whose blood are you covered in?! Where have you been?! What is going on with you?!”

   Charon kept silent for a few minutes, his mouth a stern line, before he took the ring back and lowly asked, “…you do not like it?”

   “It’s not about the ring!” She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside, away from all the prying eyes and ears as she ushered him into Snowflake’s secluded corner.

   “Holy shit, what happened to you?!” Snowflake flinched when the big guy glowered down at him.

   “Snowflake—give us a minute.” 

   “Take five, please,” he rasped as he hurried away.

   Evelyn huffed and crossed her arms, her mind still reeling from Charon’s unique…proposal. 

   Twenty wasn’t too young, right? She knew plenty of people in the vault who married for a myriad of reasons—granted, most were already prearranged for genetic diversity, but they still got to pop the question, recite their vows, and hold the dusty bouquet before celebrating in the atrium with extra rations of liquor cards being passed around. Mom and Dad married young; Dad loved her up until the day he died. She loved Charon with everything, and she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else for as long as she would be alive. Charon didn’t have a last name. Would they get matching towels? They weren't in a church—did it matter? Would she go as Mrs. Charon? They wouldn’t have children—couldn’t—but she’d come to terms with that existential crisis later in life…

   Evelyn smacked her cheeks with both hands. This was beyond the point!

   “Whose blood is that?” she demanded. 

   Charon wiped some from his forearm and whisked it at their feet. “Crowley’s.”

   “Why?!”

   “He was a threat,” was all he growled, and she knew better than to push the subject. 

   She instead moved on to the next one. “Where have you been?!”

   Charon inclined his head to the double doors leading out of Underworld. 

   “What is going on with you?!”

   He stared at the ring, then her hand. “I wish for you to have it.”

   Evelyn nearly scalped herself with how hard she tugged her hair. “Charon!”

   The ghoul suddenly appeared somber, for he said, “...you do not want it.”

   “Of course I want it!” She then slapped a hand to her face in exasperation as he happily (as happy as Charon could stonily emote) reached down and slid it back on her finger. He appeared proud and pleased. She very nearly raked her skin off as she ran her hand down her tired face. “Where did you even get this?”

   “Do you like it?”

   “It’s beautiful,” she flatly said. She narrowed her eyes to slits as she stared at his (or lack thereof). “Where’s yours?”

   Charon held up his large hand, null and void of a shared vow. “I am too big.”

   “I know,” she said automatically, and when he gave her a raised brow, she felt her face grow hot as she spluttered, “It’s true!”

   “No competition,” he repeated.

   “Most definitely not in that department,” she muttered, and then she inspected the pretty ring on her finger. She wasn’t going to lie to herself—it was a major upgrade from the old one. The band was perfectly snug, but not too tight; a true diamond in the rough. She preened to herself like a cat in the warm sun as she rotated it under the light, catching the facets and glittering them like stars across the wall. 

   Even if you are mad at me, you are happy?  

   Charon became cross as she took the ring off and slowly handed it back to him. 

   “I can’t have it—not like this,” she said, a heavy weight riding on her shoulders. She hugged herself after he took it back the second time. “Charon…there’s some things we need to talk about, first.”

   The ghoul blinked at her. “What?”

   She took a deep breath, seeing him on those stairs after their encounter in Minefield when she had first inquired Ahzrukhal about his contract. He was caked with guts, just as he was then, giving her a toasty scowl, just like he was now. 

   She began, “Do you...?” Her words died as she looked into his eyes, only ever soft when they were on her. She bit her lip and rubbed at her forehead. She was very clearly not the employer, and whilst she knew he still had it, he wasn't ready. 

   (But would he ever be?)

   Charon was waiting on her every breath, ready to pounce on whatever it was she would ask of him, and she finally said, albeit lamely, "Do you really want to be stuck with me forever?"

   The big ghoul rolled his eyes and placed the ring back on her finger, for a third time's the charm.

   He held her hands in his, giving his little vow. "Are you happy?"

   "Yes," she said, giving hers. "Are you?"

   He nodded, and he brought her up for a kiss. 

Chapter Text

   Willow drained her drink, chasing a bitter pill down her throat. She set her glass on the counter as Charon uncorked a bottle with a side-pull of his teeth, and after he finished filling the cups before him, he held it up in offering to her.

   “Just a little, then I’m calling it a night,” she croaked, watching him sloppily pour her a round. She chuckled, nursing her drink to her chest. “Now I know why Ahzrukhal never let you behind the bar.”

   He didn’t say anything—she didn’t expect him to—and he caught his wasted smoothskin bride as she tumbled off her bar stool. 

   "Come, my lovely." Evelyn went for the bottle, but he held it out of reach. “My lovely, come back!”

   “You are done,” he sharply told her. 

   “Bah!”  

   Willow took a sip, unable to keep her eyes from straying to them. Evelyn kissed the muscled ghoul, her lips in a wide smile that was flush to his mouth. That little diamond ring was somehow the biggest thing in the bar that night—Evelyn had dropped a bag of caps and invited the entirety of Underworld to share in their matrimonious happiness. 

   “Can’t believe he’s married, and to a fucking smoothskin,” a ghoul at a table said to another. “I still sometimes think he’s just there in the corner, like he used to be.”

   Willow could hardly believe it herself, and most nights she's kicked her own ass for never having done anything about it. Sure, he had frightened everyone and anyone who had been stupid enough to come close, but he was also…strong…and brave…and seemingly immortal to both time and the end of the world. Ahzrukhal might have kept him on a short leash, but no tether could ever keep that sort of man down. 

   Charon tilted his drink back just as Evelyn dipped her fingers inside his glass to try and catch the last drop. He growled as she giggled, and then she whispered something in his ear that promptly made them go to leave. He carried her as she directed a hand at the door, a drunken sailor spotting land.

   “That way!” she cried. “Giddy-up! Talley-ho!”

   “I’m sorry,” a voice said at Willow's elbow. 

   The sentry startled and turned, blinking at Tulip taking the newly empty seat alongside her. “What for?”

   When Tulip took her drink and drifted her eyes to the big ghoul in question, she meanly scoffed.

   “Please—he’s never even spoken to me outside of shooting something,” Willow grumbled, finishing her round. 

   “I can tell it still hurts.”

   “Yeah, well…” Willow grabbed at the bottle left behind, helping herself. “You miss the shots you don’t take.”

   Did you get them? 

   Charon’s looking at her, his gun in his hand and a fresh coat of dark blood slathered across his face like war paint.

   Sure did. She says, and she slings her rifle over a shoulder. You?

   He doesn’t say anything, and she knows better than to push. Of course he did. Charon’s the best merc she’s ever known—and she’s damn glad he’s on their side.

   Hey. She says just before he stalks back off to Ahzrukhal and the bar. His icy eyes are on her, and she’s trembling at pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. She holds it over. You got some, uh, stuff on your face.

   Charon takes it, and the feeling of his thick fingers brushing up against her thin ones drums her heart to a million beats. He brusquely wipes at his face and then hands it back to her. He doesn’t even say thank you, but he gives the tiniest nod of his head, and she sighs as she tucks it back away. 

   It’s still there in her pocket…all these years later…

   Willow stood from her seat, giving her old friend a friendly squeeze on her arm. “I’ll be alright.”

   She left for a piss and went to resume her post, striding through the empty lobby of the museum when she heard very peculiar sounds past the reception area. The rubble blocking one of the caved-in exhibits was stealthily climbed, and she squinted through the gloom.

   “God, yes,” Evelyn moaned, her head thrown back and neck fully exposed. “Right there.”

   Her white legs were wrapped around his lower back, her arms twined around his neck and fingers clawing into him. His face was buried in the side of her hair, one of his hands reaching down to touch her clit. Willow watched his cock pump in and out of her, the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and back rippling like water.

   Her foot slipped, tumbling a rock. Willow looked down, mumbling, “Shit.”

   When she glanced back up, he had stopped and was staring straight at her with a mean glint in his eyes. She quickly jumped down, dashing for the doors and taking in gulps of cold air. What had she been thinking?! She shouldn’t have peeped; she knew better! She wasn’t a perverted lech like some of the others! They had deserved their privacy, and, oh—!

   Willow smoked a full pack as she wandered her post, her mind neither on the mutants close at hand or the Brotherhood assholes trying to blind her with their laser sights. She eventually took a seat on the wall, stubbing her spent smoke on the cement and grumbling to herself. 

   “What were you doing?” 

   The deep, angry voice almost gave her a heart attack as she jumped up and spun to the person standing there. How a ghoul his size ever managed to be so quiet, she’d go feral before knowing…

   “I’m sorry,” she stammered, coughing in one hand. “I didn’t mean to—I thought I heard—I-I mean—”

   Charon was just standing there with his brow muscle raised and his arms crossed. He interrupted her silly nonsense with a finger jabbed under her nose.

   “Do not do it again,” he warned, and she very quickly nodded with a meek bow of her head. 

   “Sorry,” she repeated. He didn’t leave, and she glanced up at him searching for a cigarette on his person. She bumbled through her pockets, pulling out a fresh carton. “Oh. Here.”

   He took it, then bent his head forward for the light she offered him. He took a drag, blew it from his nostrils, and then took a seat right next to where she had just been. His face was somber and thoughtful, and he casually smoked and looked over the moonlit avenue of the Mall. 

   Willow fidgeted before gingerly sitting next to him. “Congrats, by the way…you’re very lucky to have found someone like her.”

   Charon blew out some smoke and said in his gravelly voice, “Yes.”

   “She’s very pretty.”

   “Yes.”

   “And very brave.”

   “Yes.”

   “And very much in love with you.” 

   Here Charon turned his head and brought the cigarette to his mouth, his eyes critical as he stared at her. “Why do you say that?”

   It was the one thing he’s said to her that didn’t have an underlying edge of wrath. She perked right up, sitting straight and clearing her throat as she looked out over the Mall.

   “Oh, well, uh, I suppose for us women, it’s sort of an easy tell.” She flit her eyes to him. He was still squinting at her, waiting for her to continue. “I could venture a guess she was here for you anytime she swung by—and I was right. She asked around about you before, did you know that?”

   He shook his head and flicked his butt away. 

   “Almost like a love-sick puppy,” Willow rasped. “The minute she walked out with you from those doors, I knew she had you.”

   “Had me?” he questioned, a faint sense of curiosity coloring his tone.

   “Yeah, like, uh, you were hers.” She gave a small smile. “And she was yours.”

   Charon gave a hum. They then sat there, the pack going between them as the hours began to pass.

   “Shouldn’t you be getting back?” she eventually came to question, although, more than anything, she wanted him to keep sitting there beside her in the quiet solitude they shared.

   Much to her guilt and joy, he shook his head. “I do not sleep.”

   “Oh, that’s right, you don’t…”

   He gave her a look. “Do you?”

   She fought herself from yawning. “I only need a few hours when the sun is up—don’t you remember? You’d come cover my shift until I was up.”

   He dragged on his smoke and looked at his feet, slowly nodding. “I remember.”

   “We spent a lot of years doing that.”

   He nodded again. “Too many.”

   “Yes…” she said a little sadly, watching him. “Too many indeed.”

   There was always a chance, always a time and a place and the man of her dreams just right there for her to sweep up and cast off with. All those long, long years, from the first time she had laid eyes on him when Ahzrukhal had shown him off like some shiny new toy, she had felt that long dead flame rekindle and slowly burn.

   And now…

   Well, now it was snuffed out, gone forever. She was too many years too late, it would seem. Evelyn was a daring smoothskin, doing the one thing she never had been brave enough to.

   Willow stretched, and Charon scratched at his elbow, and they watched the birth of the sun as it came into the world.

   “I’m very happy for you both,” she said, and she genuinely meant it. She held over the last cigarette for him to take, and he did. “I wish you two a long and happy marriage, for as much as that’s worth out here.”

   Charon stood, and the rays of sunshine dappled him in oranges and reds and gold, and he looked back at her and said, “She is worth it all, to me.”

Chapter Text

   A little holotape was on the table by their breakfast, and Charon held it between his fingers. It was the Paladin's.

   “Where did you find this?” he scowled.

   Evelyn gave him a strange look as she shoveled some food in her mouth, her cheeks full as she spoke around it. “Uh, our house?”

   He grunted and dropped it on the table. He should’ve disposed of it properly…

   She washed her plate down and put an arm over the backside of her chair, holding up her left hand to admire her ring. “Have you ever been to the Museum of Technology?”

   He shook his head. “No. The mutants are…uneasy, over there.”

   “What does that mean?”

   “Super mutants do not normally bother ghouls,” he plainly said. “Unless they are paranoid, like some in the ruins tend to be. If they are scared, they will shoot, and it does not matter who or what.”

   “So, you can’t just walk in there like you did at the Jefferson Memorial?”

   “No.”

   “I guess that makes this a little harder, then,” she said, fiddling with her Pip-Boy while he gave her a cold glare.

   “Makes what harder?”

   She sighed, “Getting that relay dish Three Dog had asked us about months ago. I figured since we’re already here, we might as well.” The holotape was inserted in her Pip-Boy. "It seems like they still want it done."

   He rudely waved a hand through the air and snidely commented, “That is not our concern.”

   Evelyn gave him a look and flipped a dial for the radio, a woman’s voice filtering through from GNR.

   “If Three Dog were here, he'd say something witty. But he's not. 'Cause he’s in a coma. So you get me playing music. Here’s—”

   She flipped it off, giving him a snarky, “Wonder who we have to thank for that.”

   Charon angrily sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “This is not worth the risk to your life.”

   “We risk our lives every day!” she argued. 

   His words were cut between his teeth. “This is different, and you know that.” He left his seat to go through his pack on the bed. “Ants are nothing in comparison to super mutants.”

   She stood beside him, pulling him around to face her. “Oh? And yet you taking on an entire brigade of super mutants to save Reilly’s Rangers was somehow acceptable?”

   He felt his temper rise as his voice lowered, his eyes squinting at her. “How did you know that?”

   She grabbed hold of him and began to shake him down for everything he was worth—like an angry, skinny cat throttling the thick trunk of a tree. “Barrows told me you thought you were going feral!”

   Charon growled, annoyed. “Why does any of this matter now?”

   She threw her head back and yowled, “Because you didn’t tell me!”

   “There was no reason to,” he said evenly.

   “HOW IS ANY OF THAT NOT A REASON?!”

   Charon snarled as she released him with a hiss of her own, both looking away for a hot minute. 

   She caught their reflection in the screen divider, dourly saying with a cross of her arms, “I asked him to make me a ghoul.”

   Charon snapped back around with a booming from his chest, “YOU WHAT?”

   “I was doing it for you!”

   Charon looked ready to blow the lid off the entire museum when a small voice squeaked up. 

   “Are you both looking to be staying another night?” Carol asked politely. “If so, I can change the bedding so it’ll be fresh.”

   Evelyn stepped out before Charon could bite her head off, and she graced the hostess with a bright, pleasant smile. “That would be wonderful. You’re very kind, Carol, thank you. I’ll let you know before we leave for Megaton if you have anything you wish to give to Gob.”

   Carol held one of her hands between hers, giving it a small pat. “You really are an angel, dearie.” She then gave the fuming, fire-breathing monster at her back a wary look. “Truly, you are…”

   The newlyweds shouldered their gear and went to leave, while Carol took their bedding and flipped it over before retucking it in. Charon made Evelyn fly off her feet by how hard he stayed her hand. 

   “And did he?” 

   She dumbly blinked, abruptly confused. “Did he what?” 

   Charon’s voice was cold enough to lower the temperature in the air. “Did. Barrows. Agree. To. Make. You. A. Ghoul?”  

   She scoffed, unfazed by his deathly aura that would have made any other man drop dead. “No. He was actually offended by the request.”

   That made Charon’s bristles lower some. Some. “Good.”

   “But really only because Moira fucked up my entire DNA.”

   "SHE WHAT?"

   Evelyn kissed his cheek, the steam whistling from his ears as he immediately cooled. “I need some things from Tulip’s before we go.”

   “Evelyn,” Charon said seriously, crossing his arms and becoming an entirely different man. “If we are to do this, we will need to plan ahead.”

   “Oh, I know.” She grinned, giving him a pat on the arm. “That’s why I’m going to let you do it.”

   “Here they are!”

   Tulip cast down a few blueprints on the table, and the four of them crowded around to study the faded lines of the Museum of Technology. 

   Charon pressed a finger to the parchment. “This is the side facing the avenue—it is the only way inside the museum. It will also be the most dangerous.” He gave Evelyn a hard look. “We will be forced to go around. There are too many mutants in the trenches.”

   “Actually.” Evelyn ejected the holotape and held it up. “I was going to ask our Brotherhood pals at the monument to help with that.”

   Winthrop meanly snorted. “They don’t care about us, smoothskin.”

   “Well, some of them do, and once I have a little chat with them, they’ll help.” She placed her chin in her hand, her eyes back on the layout of the building. “Where’s the relay dish?”

   They all remained quiet for a few minutes, reading the tiny text in attempts to decipher, when Winthrop pointed. 

   “Here—the Virgo II Lunar Lander is just before the Planetarium.” He looked up when all eyes were on him, and he chuckled. “I was a big space nerd as a kid. Always wanted to see the exhibit myself…”

   Charon peeled the sheet back for the other floor, his finger tracing from the front door. “We do not know the condition of the rest of the museum. There may be some portions that have collapsed. We will have to adapt once inside.”

   Evelyn squinted at the label Vault 106. “There’s a vault under here?”

   “It’s just a display,” Tulip explained. “Back before the bombs fell, Vault-Tec pushed really hard for the public to accept them as the only way to survive the war.”

   “That’s grim,” Evelyn said.

   “The war was grim, smoothskin,” Winthrop added.

   Charon rolled up the blueprints and fastened them to Evelyn’s tactical backpack as he nodded at Tulip. “I need you to show me everything.”

   They stocked on supplies as Tulip heaved and grunted (and nearly threw her back out) while lifting something from behind the counter. “Oh, and take this!”  

   Evelyn stared at the colossal weapon presented to them. “Whoa. What is it?”

   “An incinerator.” Charon easily supported the weight, unscrewing the cap for the gas tank to peek inside. He then flipped the safety switch off and depressed a button, bringing a small flame to life. “Where did you acquire this?”

   “Quinn knows some people,” Tulip said. “And by some, I mean dead.”

   Charon set it back on the counter, batting Evelyn’s curious fingers from it. “No.”

   “Aw, but I want to try!”

   “It is dangerous.”

   “I can handle it!”  

   Charon pulled out their bundle of currency. “How much?”

   Tulip refused the payment. “It’s on the house. Nobody ever buys this stuff since you’ve been gone." She beamed, "Consider it our wedding present! Just be sure and come back alive to enjoy the honeymoon.”

   “I’ve been stationed at GNR for the foreseeable future… I hope to be seeing you soon.”  

   Evelyn clicked a button on her Pip-Boy and set her hands on her hips. “So? You guys going to help out, or not?”

   The two goons in full power armor swapped a hidden look from under their helmets, before one nodded and turned back to her. 

   “You have our support, Wanderer.” 

   (They were going straight across, then)

   While the soldiers were busy briefing the mission amongst themselves, Charon was double-checking their own skins. He ensured her bootlaces were tight, her braided hair was secure, her—

   Evelyn waved him off, laughing as she removed her ring to tuck it safely away. “Seriously?! Stop it! I’ll be okay.”

   Charon held her chin in one hand while resting his palm on her shoulder, bringing their foreheads close together. “You do not stop. You do not slow down. If I go—”

   “Then I’m coming with you,” she finished, and she snuck a peck at his lips. “Focus on the mission, big guy. I got this.”

   “And if she doesn’t, then I’ve got you both,” Willow said as she approached. She gave them a nod. “Sorry I can’t help directly, tourist…”

   “Don’t apologize,” Evelyn said. “The Brotherhood has our backs.”

   Willow winked. “If I can sneak in a shot or two, I’ll try. Good luck.”

   Like a couple of runners, they lined up, waiting for the crack of a gun. Evelyn looked to him, and then turned to wave her arm at the Brotherhood snipers stationed high in the monument. She slipped on her glove, dove her hand inside her power fist, and unclipped it from her waist before forming a tight mechanical fist.

   “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

   Bang!  

   The first mutant in their path had a .308 caliber round go straight through its eye, sprinkling a cloud of bone and fleshy pink meat that they ran through. It freckled their faces, but they kept on, and then they came to a skidding halt at the first rickety bridge over a trench. 

   Charon pushed her from behind. “Go!”

   Evelyn dashed forward, flinching at the spray of bullets that suddenly whizzed in her direction. Charon unclipped a grenade and tossed it at the mutant that had poor aim and poorer luck—the sniper’s above began to rain down serious firepower, and it roared with frustration as it redirected its line of sight. Another mutant climbed the next trench and stood in their path, waving a sledgehammer in a long arc through the air before going to bring it down and squish her like a bug. Evelyn cocked her power fist back and nailed the exposed green bastard dead center in the chest, tumbling it backward to fall on the few others that were just down below.

   Charon held up the incinerator, sparked a flame, and pulled the trigger. Lobs of molten fire sprayed over them, cooking the flesh from their bones and wafting great plumes of black smoke in the air. The sand turned white and viscous as it started to flow. 

   “Holy shit,” Evelyn said, out of breath, and then she was pushed forward again before more could appear. 

   They crossed the gangplanks over the river of fire that was just feet below them, the heat rising and scorching the air from their lungs. 

   Halfway there. 

   A super mutant came barreling from the western side, intent on charging them down with sheer brute muscle alone, and Evelyn’s foot got caught in a minor shelving crack in the slope. Her eyes went wide as she instantly fell face-first, slamming into the earth with enough force to crack her jaw, and Charon dropped the incenerator to scoop her into his arms. His blood turned to ice as he was left with no other choice but to brace for the hit about to come.

   Crack!

   The super mutant limply fell to the side like a ragdoll, its eyes rolling white from the shot that had gone through its head. Willow lowered her rifle, and Charon moved on. The bullets from both mutants and Brotherhood blindly ricocheted all around as he sprinted as fast and as far as he could to the entrance. One grazed his arm—another blew through his left knee. 

   And then, he touched the door.

   Charon grunted, shouldering it open and gaining access inside, shutting off the chaos of the world behind them. He bolted it shut before slumping to the floor against it, his smoothskin cradled to his chest.

   All was still inside, and all was quiet.

   “Grbf!” Evelyn choked, her face in total panic as blood poured from her weirdly-skewed mouth. She had bitten her tongue. 

   Charon quickly leaned her forward, allowing the pooling to spill to the floor. She groaned in pain, and he gently leaned her back into him. His breathing was labored, his heart heavy as he held her jaw firmly in one hand with his fingers wrapping around her face. “This will hurt.”

   Crack!  

   His hand clamped over her mouth as she wildly flailed, the screams muffled in his palm after he had reset her dislocated jaw. Hot tears raced from her eyes to stain the leather of his glove, and he injected her three times—twice with a stim, and once with a med-x.

   His bloodied hand wrapped around her neck to pull her forehead to his, his eyes briefly closed for the barest of moments. “Are you alright?”

   She sniffled, croaking, “Yes.”

   Charon kissed the top of her head and then stretched out his left leg, wincing as he pulled back the flaps of dangling meat. Evelyn harshly wiped at her face and set to work on doctoring his injuries, before they both simply sat there and listened to the eerie silence of the museum.

   “Are you sure they’re in here?” she whispered. 

   A deep, rhythmic boom of footsteps turned their eyes to a super mutant roving the second-story balcony, completely unaware of their presence. It disappeared down a corridor, and she let out a breath.

   “Are you good?” she asked without looking at him.

   “Yes, are you?”

   She nodded with vigor. “I’m good.”

   Charon went to a crouch, and helped her do the same. “Then let us hurry.”

   The open first floor was littered with debris in the form of fallen exhibits, barricading most entrances. Charon unrolled the blueprint and mapped their way by the hallways available to them, and then he set a double-mine trap in wait for the mutant on patrol. They then took cover behind a barrage of overturned desks, and waited.

   Beep beep beep!

   “HUH? WHO IS THERE?”

   BOOM

   Charon held her still before she could jump out. “Wait.”

   A thundering of footsteps came down the hall, and they peeked over at another one that had come to investigate. 

   “WHAT…” it loudly roared. “…mm…HAPPENED…”

   It took a few steps. 

   Beep beep beep!

   BOOM 

   They waited for more to appear, but when there was nothing but silence, they pressed forward through the vault. 

   “Welcome to Vault-Tec, your new home!” The lights flickered, and the overhead speaker became distorted. “H-h-h-here-here-here-here-”

   They carefully crept through the big ‘door’ of Vault 106, and Evelyn pushed the panel to gain access inside. 

   “Pretty good replica,” she noted as they stepped through and began the descent. She wiped some dust from a viewing window to peek inside one of the display rooms. “Weird to think my ancestors had signed up for a vault.”

   “It was inevitable,” Charon told her. 

   She pulled away from looking inside the kitchen model, frowning. “Did you try to get in one?”

   The ghoul tightened his grip on his gun. “No.”

   “Guess our lives would be a lot different if you had…”

   The sentiment appeared to make him uncomfortable, for he shifted his weight and continued walking. Vault 106 promptly ended, and the museum began again with a mutant on the other side. Evelyn electrocuted it as Charon blew half its face away, and they paused for a moment to review the blueprints. Charon lowered the parchment and stared at the mountain of rubble caved in from the ceiling that was roadblocking half the room.

   “It is on the other side.” He rolled up the sheet and pointed down the stairs to a hallway on their right. “We will have to go through the Planetarium.”

   They entered a massive auditorium with a large projector in the center, and as they stepped closer, it whirred and began to rotate. One by one, the lights clicked off, and the projector came to life. Evelyn stopped and stared upwards at the little dots mimicking the constellations. It was nothing in resemblance to the sky just above their heads. 

   “You could not see the stars as you do now,” Charon said at her side, and he looked down at her. 

   “Really?” She blinked up again at the mock galaxy, the lights reflecting starlike freckles on her face. “What did it look like?”

   Charon thought for a moment, and then, “Empty.” He nudged her and pointed with his gun at the exit. “Through there.”

   She instead became derailed, and he curiously watched as she climbed the seats and started going around the room, picking at skeletons like a carrion would a carcass. 

   “What are you doing?” he asked, and then he received his answer in the form of a pile of rings in her palm. 

   She tried to place the first one, but it wouldn’t go past the knuckle. “No.” Another one was tossed. “No.” A few more were tried, and they all failed to match his size. “Sheesh, you really are too big!”

   He waggled his lonely ring finger, and then curled them all to point his index to their main objective. 

   Two more mutants came down from a side stairwell, with one tripping over the last to bottom step and being crunched underfoot by its brethren. Charon unsheathed his combat knife, held it by the tip, and then threw it to impale the remaining green mutie up through its large nostrils. The super mutant stood stock-still, spasmed, and then fell forward, pushing the knife through its skull. Evelyn made a disgusted expression as he removed the blade with slime, brain, and boogers coating it. He wiped it clean on the mutant’s soiled garments before ushering them on.

   An open archway revealed the Virgo II Lunar Lander—along with the relay dish atop of it. 

   “Well,” she said with a sigh and her hands on her hips, blood still stained around her cheeks and neck. “All in all—that wasn’t so bad.”

   “I…SMELL…HUMAN!”

   A super mutant had come through another side door. It was big, and embellished in heavy armor. 

   Evelyn curled the fingers of her power fist. “I’ve never seen them wear armor like that.” She looked up at him, unsure of herself. “I don’t think I can punch through it.”

   Charon didn’t break his eyes from the encroaching mutant as he snapped his aim upwards at the ceiling, firing off two shots. 

   The overly large mutant paused, its pig-like eyes bulging from its skull. “HA HA. YOU MISS, PUNY MEAT!”

   A groan from above, and the remaining anchor points keeping the P-51 Mustang aloft snapped, sending the aircraft straight down to the floor—with the mutant squashed underneath.

   Charon rested his shotgun over his shoulder. "I didn't." 

   But there was little time to celebrate, for the big mutant burst through the wreckage with nothing but endless hunger in its empty eyes. It started to pull the sheets of metal away, roaring.

   Charon placed a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “Trade me.”

   He quickly unwrapped and laid out his toolkit on the floor, handing over his shotgun whilst he held her power fist. The ghoul picked up a small flathead, and began to loosen a screw. 

   “Be firm with your grip,” he instructed her, his fingers picking up another tool. “Eyes up, forward, and place it into your shoulder.”

   The mutant climbed out of the wreckage and started towards them, pausing to rip a propeller free. It bellowed, shaking the very air. 

   Evelyn licked her lips and put the butt of his shotgun to her shoulder, just as he told her to do. Not too loose, not too tight, but firm. Her finger rested on the trigger.

   A hiss from the pressure in the hydraulic line emitted as he widened the cuff band. “It will kick—do not let it throw you. Aim for the middle. It is a bigger target, and will be harder to miss.”

   “Okay,” she said, and she took aim. “I got this.” 

   Charon lowered the power fist on his hand, and gave a valve a turn. He curled the fingers, watching as the machine clicked into place and bled steam. He then looked down at her. 

   “I know.”

   Charon dashed ahead just as she fired the first shot—it oversprayed a bit upward, but she regained control and braced better for the second one. The ghoul gained speed towards the mutant, and he felt the air from the shells kick by before they slugged the mutant in the chest, stumbling it back half a step. Another shot ripped through its shoulder pad, and it screamed as it dropped the propeller blade to the floor.

   Charon jumped on a desk and leaped in the air, swinging the power fist behind him before he came down and threw all of his weight and strength into the punch. The mutant’s armor crunched, and its flesh rippled under the force—every bone shattered to dust as the flesh burst into mist, and then it was suddenly sent flying through the air to slap into the wall twenty feet back with a gruesome spurt!

   He heard his gun fall limply from her hands, clattering it to the ground, and he turned to her climbing him and diving her hands under his belt while smashing her lips to his in a heated kiss. The power fist made a clunk as it fell to the floor, cracking the tile at their feet, as he scooped her by the back of her thighs and lifted her against a stone column. Her fingers pulled out his cock and ripped her zipper down, and she pushed her underwear aside for him to plunge right in. 

   A few shaky thrusts, and he was completely lost in her world. There was no relay dish, or the flattened corpse slowly sliding down the back wall, or the wasteland outside the museum, or even the bombs that had fallen over two hundred years ago. There was the impatient bite of her teeth on his lip, the twine of her tongue around his, and the smell of her scent and taste of her salt and the wet heat wrapped around him. He held her close, pressing their bodies together as though they were one, and she held him by the back of the head with her fingers digging in his scalp as he filled every part of her. 

   Her whimpers echoed around the room; his grunting grew heavy. He pushed a little harder, slapping his balls on her ass, and she made such a breathy, sexy sound that it tipped him straight over. He humped her a few more times, emptying all he could, and then slowly pulled out and set her down. She got to her knees and plopped him in her mouth. Charon inhaled sharply, the sensation overwhelming as she circled her tongue over the tip and licked him clean, sucking his entire cock down her throat. He closed his eyes and suppressed the groan in his chest, and then he twitched as she pulled off with a slobbery kiss.

   “You’re amazing,” was all she said, and she stood to clean herself.

   Charon ran a hand over his head and turned back to the pancaked mutant.

   If that happened every time, then he’d gladly do it a hundred times over again.

Chapter Text

   Evelyn slowly propped the door open, swiveled her head around, and then held it wide for the ghoul to pass through. “All clear.”

   Charon came out with the relay dish strapped over his hunched shoulders, his expression extremely sour. 

   “Are you sure you don’t want help?” she asked. 

   Charon curtly bit out, “It is fucking heavy—stop talking.”

   “Fine!”

   She held on to his shotgun and escorted his slow, methodical steps to the Washington Monument—where, upon arrival, they were denied access inside. Charon instantly dropped the thing, shaking the ground with a mini boom. 

   Evelyn thrust a finger at one of the soldier’s faces. “We went through literal Hell and back to get this fucking thing!”

   “You can come in,” the soldier said, and he threw Charon a sneer. “Your pet zombie can wait outside like a good dog.”

   Evelyn snatched the soldier by the collar and brought their faces close together. She said with a lethal low tone, “I don’t know if you’ve met initiate Gale back at the Citadel, but if you do, ask her about the time I took her fucking eye.” She shoved him back. “And then ask her why I did, because in the next five seconds, the same is going to happen to you.”

   The soldier visibly swallowed, a bead of sweat blotting his uniform, when a hand from a Brotherhood Knight in full power armor pulled him to the side. 

   “Please, take it easy on the new guys.” The Brotherhood Knight cleared the way. “We appreciate what you're doing out here, Wanderer.” 

   “Myself and Charon,” Evelyn said with a haughty hmph. 

   Charon refused to pick the straps back up. "It is not my problem." He threw an arm across Evelyn's chest as she went to try. "No. It is heavy."

   She scoffed, "If you can carry it, then how heavy can it be?" 

   The Knight whistled. “We got us a new relay dish, and I want it installed yesterday, or no rations for the next three!”

   Ghoul and girl stood by as they watched five men feebly attempt to drag the thing inside the elevator, and Charon cleared his throat. 

   “You’ve been to the Citadel?” he asked somewhat awkwardly.

   Evelyn folded her arms, mimicking his trademark stance. “Yeah. It was after the Enclave attacked the purifier. Was there for about a month.”

   Charon looked down at her, and then back to the scene at hand. “I see.”

   She gave her eyes to him. "Why do you ask?"

   "You have never spoken of it, before."

   She turned, fiddling with her necklace. "A lot happened that day."

   The Knight returned to his men left hung out to dry, the dish nowhere near the entrance. He sighed under his helmet, and Evelyn walked on by with a little pat pat on his arm. Charon stood over the sorry lot and lifted the relay dish by one hand, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of disbelief. He propped it in the elevator, barely allowing enough room for himself and Evelyn. 

   She poked her head around it. “Thank you.”

   He snorted, not saying anything in return.

   Ding!

   Charon hoisted it out, and Evelyn came to stand at the very edge and look out over the Capital Wasteland.

   “Wow,” she said. “You can see so much up here.”

   She then glanced down, wobbled in a little circle, and was gently assisted to sit on the floor. Her skin flushed pale, and sweat bled through her suit.

   “...so…high…” she squeaked.

   “You never look down,” Charon said (as he looked down). He then squinted at the old broadcasting dish still attached to the side of the monument. “We will need someone to install it.”

   “Winthrop,” Evelyn wheezed, laying down and closing her eyes. “...get…Winthrop…”

   Charon propped the relay dish in a secure position before crouching down next to her. He touched her face. “Are you alright?”

   “…no…”

   “Shall I take you back down?”

   “...must…install…dish…”

   Charon shook his head and stood. “I will return. Do not move.”

   "...never..."

   The ghoul had come back in less than ten minutes with the old mechanic at his side. 

   “Wow—there she is,” Winthrop remarked at the sight of it. He then noticed Evelyn playing opossum on the floor. “You’re not scared of heights, are you smoothskin?”

   Evelyn made a sad little sound like she was on the brink of death. She barely opened one eye to Winthrop sitting over the edge to uninstall the old dish (with Charon there alongside him handing him tools).

   She expired. 

   Charon pressed his fingers to her pulse after noticing she was abnormally quiet. 

   “Poor gal,” Winthrop remarked, tucking a few rusty bolts in his overalls. “I honestly figured she wasn’t afraid of anything, with all that she’s done.”

   “How long do you need?” Charon asked.

   “Hmm.” Winthrop scratched his brow. “Maybe ten minutes to finish this, another ten to prep the new wiring, and then about fifteen to install the relay. Why?”

   Charon picked up his corpse bride. “I will take her back. She has done enough.”

   “I’ll need your help holding this new relay dish in place.”

   “I will return shortly.”

   “Well, alright…" Winthrop mumbled to himself as he returned to the task, a screwdriver in his mouth. "Just don’t leave me here with these bigots too long." 

   Charon soon laid her down, removing her socks and shoes and wiping her skin clean as best he could (without exposing her). He gently ran the damp rag around her face, down her neck, and over her chest. He paused at that little sapphire cross she had there, holding it between his fingers. He didn't know how to ask her about it...about any of it.

   Carol brought a glass of cloudy water, and he set it aside for her to wake up to. “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of,” she said. 

   Evelyn awoke some odd hours later, alone, still clothed in her sweat-stained (cum-laced) bloodied suit. She rubbed at her eyes and checked the time—all were asleep, and all was quiet, and Charon was gone. A glass of water was downed like there was no tomorrow.

   “Get some good sleep, dearie?” Carol asked, her voice low so as not to disturb the others.

   “Where’s Charon?” she asked. She then snapped to a stand at having remembered their previous task. “Is he still at the monument?”

   “Oh no, they finished that hours ago. He said he'd be outside.”

   Evelyn took her pack downstairs and locked the door to the restroom, stripping her suit and scrubbing herself as best she could. The cold water and nippy air perked her nipples so tightly they could be seen through the jumpsuit she shrugged into, and she hung her things to dry. The ring was placed in its rightful spot, and she tenderly petted the stone with a fingertip. 

   She wondered what Dad would’ve said. Too young, perhaps, or maybe just a little bit rushed. Ask her to wait some years—see more of the wasteland, meet some new people! Or maybe he would’ve thrown them a toast, realized long before she had that this was always how it was going to be.

   A ghoul half-slumped on a bench reached out for her as she passed. “Hey,” he gargled, his voice like saltwater in the back of his throat. “If Charon goes, I got the goods. You feelin’ me, doll?”

   “Uh.” She kept on by. “No thank you…”

   Evelyn opened the entrance to the Mall, catching a peek of Charon and Willow seated on the metro wall, both overlooking the bloated mutant corpses and leftover wisps of smoke from the previous day’s battle. They each had a cigarette at their mouth, their conversation too quiet for her to catch a snippet of. 

   Charon gave a nod. Willow erupted in a laugh. 

   Evelyn quietly retreated back inside the depths of the museum. If this was his way of finding peace from his bad dreams, then she wasn’t going to interrupt a single moment of it. She yawned in her hand, stretched her arms high above her head, and stared up at the giant skeletal T. Rex as she passed. 

   A thick grunting noise turned her head, and she froze. 

   The door to the other exhibit was wide open, with a glowing feral standing there, staring at her. Its limbs twitched, and it guttered something low in its throat, but it didn’t make a move for her…more than likely, not even noticing she was there yet. The door to Underworld opened with Greta stepping out for a smoke break, and she had her eyes bent to the crinkled carton in her hands that she was attempting to fish a smoke from. When she raised her head, everything dropped from her hands, and she looked from Evelyn (pretending to be another display) to the glowing ghoul slowly walking around. 

   “Smoothskin,” she rasped lowly, and then she briskly came to her, blocking her from view with her body. “We’re going to walk nice and slow to the doors.” 

   They began, with Greta’s arms wrapped around her and Evelyn's head tucked on her chest, and then she heard Greta’s breath hitch in her throat as their feet suddenly stopped. Evelyn looked up, and her insides went cold. A multitude of ferals had investigated the open doorway and were crawling over the steps, slowly creeping near them. One was sniffing the air, and it caught her scent. 

   “Back, back, back.” Greta walked them backward, turning her head for the front door. That feral was now coming for them, a hiss drawn from its belly, drawing the attention of some of the others. It would only take a second until it drew the entire hoard down upon her. “Get to Charon, go!”

   Evelyn pushed away and went into a sprint, hearing the scrabbling and growls of the ghouls chasing her down from behind. One swiped at her back, making her stumble, and before she could get to the entrance, they swarmed like a tidal wave over the reception desks to crash into it. 

   They were suddenly everywhere, and she had nowhere left to run.

   “Evelyn!” Greta shrieked.

   Rubble was at her back, and she swiftly turned to scramble up them as they leapt, their claws stretched out and mouths opening so wide she might’ve just tumbled down inside to disappear completely. She rolled down the other side before bursting through a small closet door, trying to smash it closed against the boxes of mildewy newspapers that got caught in the frame. She briefly widened it, kicked the debris out, and then slammed it home—but not before a feral launched itself inside. 

   The dark was suffocating.

   She had no weapon, no light, and no way out.

   The door shuddered and jolted and the screams echoed from just beyond, and she was trapped, completely blind...with a feral in that tiny void.

   BANG BANG BANG

   She was dead if she left—she was dead if she stayed.

   The feral hissed, the sound so loud between them it made her ears ring, and it lashed out with the serrated tips of its bony fingers to claw through her jumpsuit. Evelyn cried out, grabbing it by the arm to twist it the other way, but then something hard and sharp clamped around her wrist, and bit down. It snapped her bones, and she screamed.

   BANG BANG BANG

   The shuddering just beyond suddenly stopped, and the remaining ferals scattered. 

   BANG BANG BANG

   “EVELYN?!” she heard Charon call out.

   She went for the handle, uselessly trying to open it, but it was locked, and she was fighting for her limb that was ensnared in the teeth of a creature trying to chew it off. Her thumb found its eye, and she popped it with a squish.

   She threw her head back and shouted with all her might, “CHARON!” 

   The entire door was ripped off its hinges and allowed the light to flood in, and she only saw the feral’s hideous face, a burst of blood seeping from an empty socket, with her flesh being crunched and devoured and slurped down in its drooling maw. Its head was burst clean off, and it slowly slid to the floor.

   “Charon,” she cried, gingerly bringing her mangled wrist to her chest. Her entire right hand was dangling, with blood spewing from the open veins and arteries, and she sobbed as she tried to keep it from falling off completely. "No!"

   Charon carried her over the rubble and through the carnage of bodies strewn inside the lobby. Willow chased after the remaining stragglers with her rifle, and everyone in Underworld let the big ghoul pass in a direct line for The Chop Shop.

   A light was clicked on, and her arm was carefully set down. Graves jabbed her with some pain reliever—a stronger dose than normal. 

   “This is some nasty work,” Barrows said, and he gave Evelyn a grimace. "You're going to be out for this one, smoothskin."

   "Wha—?" There was a prick on her skin, and a flutter of her eyes, and she was gone.

   Charon paced inside the infirmary, his skin so hot he felt it would melt right off. He watched the ghouls perform their best work, slowly stitching bit by bit of Evelyn's mangled wrist back together before they injected some stimpaks, and then a few more. Hours passed, and he stood there, helpless. 

   Barrows finally wiped at his forehead and walked away from her gurney, wiping his bloodied hands down his front. "She'll be okay. Fingers might be a little wonky at times, but overall, she's leaving here with all her limbs intact." He glanced over to Charon. "Pretty lucky, I'd say."

   "Lucky?" Charon breathed, fire and sparks and smoke spitting from his mouth.

   “I want her here for observation for the rest of the night, just in case. We’ll see how it looks in the morning.” Barrows turned to his terminal for a second, with his assistant checking Evelyn's vitals.

   BANG BANG

   Graves and Barrows jumped as a sudden chunky mist of meat splashed all over the viewing window inside the containment room.

   Barrows barked as Charon came back inside, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Those were important specimens! My specimens!”

   Charon's voice was death personified. “I don’t care.”

   He came to sit beside Evelyn. “I should not have left,” he quietly told her, taking her bandaged arm in his hands. He bent his head down. "This is my fault... I should not have left."

   "It wasn't your fault," Graves gently told him.

   "No..." Barrows said, his chin in hand. "But it was someone's. Hey, Charon, don’t kill anyone just yet!”

   The big ghoul was already at the door, growling, “I know who to ask.” And then he slammed it behind him.

   “Oh boy—here we go,” the doctor sighed.

   No more than five minutes passed before a ghoul was tossed through the double doors, skidding across the floor until his head hit the wall. He flinched as Charon rounded in with Cerberus at his back.

   “I-I didn’t mean anyone to get hurt!” the ghoul begged.

   Charon raised his shotgun, but Barrows got in his line of fire. 

   “Ted? You?” He turned to the Mister Gutsy. “I’m going out on a limb that you saw him do it?”

   “Everyone else was asleep, aside from the smoothskin and this bag of filth right here. They spoke, and he followed her out. He was the only one to leave the premises.” 

   Barrows gave the ghoul a shake of his head. “Why?”

   “You think she’s one of us, but she’s not!” he spat. He pointed a shaky finger at Evelyn's sleeping form. “She thinks she’s better than us! Fucking smoothskins and ghouls will never be equals! She’s a dirty little whore whose—”

   Splat!

   The smoke from Charon’s muzzle bit their noses with gunpowder, and he angrily slammed his weapon down as he rounded on the doctor.

   “No one comes in,” he ordered.

   Graves tried to reason, "But, the other patients..." 

   “I do not care!” he roared, his voice filling the space like a clap of thunder. He then took his seat back beside Evelyn, and sulked. “When she is better, we will leave.” 

   Charon held her bandaged wrist as she slept, and she dreamed.

   She was in the closet, in the dark, and there was a guttural breathing wafting hot air down her throat. She panicked no no no as she searched for a light, for something to fight back, for a way out, and then it grabbed her just as she felt a string and pulled.

   Evelyn gasped, sitting upright and clutching her throat. Charon was there, not having moved a single muscle, and squeezed her leg with reassurance.

   “You are safe,” he told her.

   She released her shaky breath, looking at her lap while beads of sweat perspired down her forehead, wetting the sheet.

   “Bad dream?” he asked.

   “Yes,” she croaked, and then she laid back down, closing her eyes. “…just a dream.” 

   The light had been flipped on, and she saw the feral standing there…but he had a ring on his finger and a madness to his icy eyes, his face grotesquely decayed and his mouth open wide to swallow her, and she had cried.

   “Charon.”

   A small party met them at the entrance, bidding their farewells as the couple went to take their journey for home. 

   Carol pulled her into a hug. “I’m so sorry this all happened. Stay safe, dearie.”

   Evelyn accepted the surprise embrace from Greta as well. “Thank you.”

   “If I had my frying pan, I would’ve fought them all for you, smoothskin,” Greta rasped. “You’re good to us.”

   Willow and Tulip handed her a box, and Tulip kept it closed before Evelyn could sneak a peek inside. 

   “For your honeymoon,” was all she rasped with a sly wink.

   Barrows took her hand to scrutinize it one final time. “Don’t push your wrist—I’d caution using that power fist of yours for an extra couple of days. Your nerves were used as a chew toy, and I don’t trust another doctor to patch you up if something goes wrong.”

   Willow playfully bumped Evelyn. “You’re tough, tourist. I know you’ll manage just fine.” She then wandered her eyes to the seething hulk of a ghoul standing away from them all. “Him, I’m not so sure of. Take care of each other out there.”

   “We will,” Evelyn said, and then they left the Museum of History.

   Charon held her good hand and checked their surroundings a little too intensely, and he raised his shotgun at the Brotherhood Knight advancing their way as they went for the metro down the avenue.

   “Wanderer,” he called over, halting a few feet away. “Your presence is requested at GNR. Paladin Earl has sent us a message that they would like to reward you for your efforts in installing the relay dish.”

   Evelyn looked up, saw Charon’s answer, and then told the soldier, “That’s okay.”

   “There is a sum of caps they have waiting for you.”

   Charon rolled his eyes as she asked, intrigued, “How much?”

   “2,500.”

   “Holy shit,” she said under her breath. She turned the ghoul away a fraction. “We can live off that for a while.”

   “We do not need it.”

   “You maybe, but we already did the job. We hit up GNR and then go home.”

   Charon side-eyed her. “No detours.”

   “No detours,” she agreed. They turned back and she said, “Alright. Radio them that we’re on our way.” 

   “We advise you to take our route,” he said. “The metros are cleared, and we have constant patrol squads. You will have no issue getting to GNR.”

   “Works for us.”

   Charon took the lead by referencing his Pip-Boy map, and they wandered through the underground until they arrived at the GNR plaza. The sun-bleached bones of the behemoth were still resting where they had last fallen, and Evelyn shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at it. Charon turned to her when he realized she hadn’t been following him, her eyes on the great big bones. 

   She looked over and met his stare. “You’re really not afraid of anything, are you?”

   He wasn’t…is what he would have said if they had never met. 

   Charon didn’t answer and held his hand out, and she jogged over to catch up and take it. The doors opened for them, and the one soldier he had no intention of ever wanting to see again was there to greet them—or her, rather.

   “Evelyn,” Earl said, his smile too wide to be neutral. It dipped a little bit when it turned on Charon. “I had heard rumors you had returned.”

   “Earl, Charon, Charon, Earl,” Evelyn casually reintroduced, somehow unaware of the vibrant electricity that flowed between them. “How’s the new relay dish working out?”

   “Haven’t tried it, yet,” he said, and then he motioned for them to follow. They climbed the stairs to the recording studio. “I thought perhaps you’d like to be the first to listen, since you had put in all the work.”

   “Charon carried it over, and another ghoul by the name of Winthrop installed it.” She shrugged. “I mostly just passed out from fear of heights.”

   Earl chuckled, and Charon felt the muscles in his jaw pop. 

   “I’m sure you did a lot more than that,” he told her. “I’ve heard a lot of what you’ve been doing since we last spoke.”

   “Oh?”

   “Word about the Lone Wanderer travels fast around here, and soon to be a lot faster.” Earl escorted them up the stairs, and they were met with a woman seated at the recording booth, her eyes and lips as sour as her voice. 

   “Good news,” Earl told the reluctant disc jockey. “That new relay dish is finally installed, and we’re ready to broadcast to all of the Capital Wasteland and beyond.”

   She rolled her eyes, stubbing her smoke in an ashtray. “Great.”

   Evelyn stared through a partially open door, spying Three Dog unconscious in a bed. The machines hooked up to his catatonic body beeped and flickered. 

   “Will he ever wake up?” she asked. 

   “We don’t know. Truth be told, no one can still figure out what’s exactly wrong with him. He’s undergone every test and scan known to our best medics, and yet he just won’t wake up.” Earl put a comforting hand on her shoulder, ignoring the growl from behind. “He’s not in any pain.”

   “Well, he’s a pain in mine,” the woman snarked, and she flipped a few knobs and turned a dial before reaching for the mic. “Okay, let’s see how this thing sounds.” 

   The speakers were powered, and the reception came in crystal clear. 

   Three Dog's voice suddenly shouted, “I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!” 

   Everyone spun around to Three Dog snapping his arms forward and raising himself back from the dead, pulling the multitude of wires off his person before adjusting his dark glasses and snugging on his bandana. He then jumped from bed, bypassed everyone still standing there, and gently clicked his replacement’s mouth shut. 

   “Thanks for holding down the fort for me,” he told her. “But you’re sitting in my chair.”

   Three Dog opened his arms wide and embraced the console with a close of his eyes, kissing the microphone. “Oh, my baby. It’s been too long! Come to Daddy! Mwah mwah mwah!”

   “What the fuck, Three Dog?!” the woman snapped. “Were you fucking faking it this whole time?!”

   “What?! Me?! No!” He waved her silly accusation away as he blew some dust off the top. “My god, woman, have you ever heard of this thing called dusting?!” Three Dog then ignored her as she spewed vile things at his back while he rubbed his hands together and looked at the three of them. “Nice work there, 101, I knew you’d come through.”

   “Uh.” Evelyn dumbly said, flabbergasted, allowing her (good) hand to be violently shaken. “Sure…”

   “And, the ghoul of the hour!” Three Dog went to give said ghoul a hug, but quickly reconsidered at the expression on Charon’s face. “The Capital Wasteland thanks you for fighting the good fight!”

   He then looked at a small box tray at his side, littered with cobwebs, and made a gasping noise of pain. “Where the hell are my fresh reports?! Where have my eyes and ears been?!” He clicked his fingers, going to take his seat and blowing on the microphone. “The people need to know what’s been happening out there!”

   Earl turned to them as Three Dog tuned them all out and began to practice his recordings. “The caps are in my office—I’ll get you two on your way.” 

   The Paladin took a seat behind his desk and mountain of paperwork, and Evelyn sat down while Charon leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed. 

   “So…” Earl cleared his throat. “How long have you been back?”

   Evelyn looked over her shoulder to the ghoul he was addressing. 

   Charon raised his eyes and merely said, “A while.”

   “I see. Are you staying long?”

   “Yes,” Evelyn interrupted, and she held up her left hand for him to catch her ring. “Charon’s going to be staying for a long time.”

   The Paladin visibly slumped before he quickly straightened and opened a safe box. “Your payment is in here. You’re more than welcome to count it. We have extra quarters if you need somewhere safe to stay prior to your departure—if you have any need of anything, please do not hesitate to ask.” 

   Evelyn bit her lower lip as he abruptly stood and went for the door, and she touched Charon on the arm as the Paladin strode down the hall. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

   “No detours,” Charon told her, and he placed the duffel bag on the desk to pocket their caps. 

   Evelyn ran after the Paladin. “Earl!”

   He immediately halted and spun around. “Do you need something, Wanderer?”

   “I’m sorry,” she said, and she hugged herself as her voice became quiet. “And I’m not. I remember what you had said, back at the Citadel, but…”

   They awkwardly stood there, and he softly placed his hand on her arm, lifting her eyes to him. 

   “In another life,” he said. 

   She nodded. “Another life.”

   “Be safe out there, Evelyn. And congratulations. I hope he makes you very happy.”

   “He does,” she said as Earl’s hand slipped away. She was looking at him, but all she could see was Charon in the closet, with his hands wrapped around her neck, and his ring making an indent in her skin as he forced the life from her eyes. “He does...”

Chapter Text

   Charon kept watch as she slept.

   A storm had rolled in, forcing their hand to stay at that radio outpost longer than he had hoped to be. They were given the very same cramped space they had shared before, complete with the bunk and battery-powered light, and he sat opposite as she took to bed. Charon heard his name roll off her tongue as she dreamed—not in assurance, or pleasure…but in fear, and pain.

   When she awoke, he asked her, "What did you dream of?"

   And she turned her back to him so he couldn't see her face as she answered, "…I don't remember."  

   They separated for their respective heads, and when he came out he was instead greeted with the Paladin.

   “Charon,” the Paladin addressed. “Can you walk with me? I promise to be brief.”

   The ghoul slanted his eyes but did as asked. He followed in step as the Paladin led him around to a secluded hallway, away from all eyes and ears. He was sure it was intentional. 

   “Firstly, I want to say congratulations.” The Paladin held out his hand, and Charon begrudgingly took it…with a firm grip. “Evelyn is an amazing woman, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

   “I am,” was all Charon said, but he felt a strange sort of pride puff up his chest at others' acknowledgment of it. 

   “You’ve been with her through everything, or so she told me.”

   “I have.”

   “Except when her father died.”

   The words were an iron fist sucker-punched to the teeth. Charon gave the man a hard look and closed the distance between them. 

   “It was not my choice,” he growled.

   “And yet you came back.” The Paladin wasn’t backing down. “Was that your choice?”

   Charon went to grab the man by the collar, but hesitated. A pair of eyes had come around the corner, only to disappear. This was Brotherhood territory, and it wouldn’t do himself—or Evelyn—any sort of good to kick the wasps nest with them still inside. 

   Charon quietly asked, “What do you want?”

   “I want you to understand the price Evelyn is going to pay, for you.” Earl crossed his arms. “You’re a ghoul, I’m guessing Pre-War? She’s young and impressionable. You were the only person there for her until she needed you most, and where did you go? Doesn’t really matter, now, but what exactly are you offering her?” 

   When Charon was shockingly unresponsive to that sort of question, Earl snorted and shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. 

   “You’re a two-hundred-year-old ghoul who's been playing mercenary for too long. I’ve seen your type countless times before—a killer. How does that compare to Evelyn? To the only person in the wasteland who’s ever given the others something to wake up to every day? Do you give that to people? Hope?” He gave him a once-over. “Or just the fear you might be the next one to go feral?”

   This time, he did grab him. 

   Charon lifted him off the ground and twisted the collar of his uniform in his fists, and Earl wheezed out a laugh. “You take everything you can, because it’s how you’ve survived this long. You’re going to take her only chance at living a normal life. At growing old. At having children. At not waking up to something that can go rabid any fucking minute. Tell me you’ll at least pull the trigger before you—”

   The Paladin was thrown at the wall, sinking to the floor where he coughed and rubbed at his throat. Charon didn’t look back as he stalked off to where Evelyn had last been left, her brows raised.

   "I thought you said 'no detours'," she teased, trying to catch a glimpse of where he had come from. "Everything okay?"

   He didn't answer as he gave the sentries watching him a nasty glare. If luck had ever been on his side, they wouldn't have to return to this place, for as much as he could never bear to admit to himself…the Paladin was right. 

   "Hey." Evelyn bumped the ghoul, catching his eyes from his feet. "You okay?"

   Charon just grumbled something totally unintelligible and left her question aloof in the air. 

   They rounded outside of Tepid Sewers to a slow-crawling sunset. She smiled all her pearly whites as she stood beside a little rickety wooden bridge that led across to the memorial. 

   "Ta-da! Built this baby myself! No more wet socks!" She crossed and eagerly waved him over. Charon broke through a board, swamping a boot, and she shrugged after he threw her a skeptical look. "Hey, at least you have one that's still dry!"

   Evelyn waved a hand at Grandma Sparkle and the Boys unloading fresh mirelurk from the bay, and she felt Charon's gaze heavy upon her shoulders as they walked the entirety of the way home. She offloaded her pack on the workbench, breathing out a tired sigh. 

   "Shower?"

   They rinsed the wasteland from their skin and went to the saloon, where Evelyn proudly showed off her sparkling ring to a gathered crowd. 

   “Congratulations to you both!” Gob shouted. He held up a bottle from the top shelf, and everyone cheered. “To the happy couple!”

   The jukebox in the corner was dusted off and powered, set to blare static-free music (courtesy of Galaxy News Radio). 

   "Only youuuuuuuuuuu, can make this world, seem riiiiiiiiiiight!"

   “Hey,” Evelyn asked the big ghoul, keeping her voice between them as the din from the bar began to rise. “Are you okay? You’ve seemed…off.”

   Charon took her good hand, with that diamond winking out at him, and he shook his head. “I am fine.”

   “Are you tired? You didn’t sleep last night.”

   “No. I am alright.” He kissed her forehead. 

   Nova sidled up to her. “I’ll be damned—didn’t think you’d tie the knot before me, honey, but I can’t think of anyone who more deserves it.” She gave Charon a pointed look. “Don't fuck this up."

   Charon just snorted in his beer.

   “Okay, sweetie, up you go.” Nova slapped the counter, whereas Evelyn looked completely lost. “Come on, up.”

   Evelyn hopped up and lightly swung her legs. “Okay?”

   The barmaid unzipped her jumpsuit to nestle a shot glass between her breasts, and Evelyn protested with the brightest cheeks he had ever seen. Nova ignored her as she tipped a bottle of liquor, spilling it all over her tits.

   “Drink up, big boy,” she told him. 

   Evelyn cried, “Nova!”  

   Charon placed his hands on her waist and dove his face at her chest, keeping her steady as she squealed and bucked on the bar counter while the others laughed. He nabbed the shot with his teeth and tilted it back, earning a small cheer. 

   Evelyn then gave the older woman a stuffy huff. “Okay, your turn!”

   “Sorry, hun, but I’m taking a permanent hiatus from the fun stuff.” She rubbed her belly, and Evelyn’s jaw dropped. 

   “You're pregnant?!”

   “Found out last week,” Nova said with a smile. “We’re going to be moving into Mr. Burke’s old house in a few days—you know, more space for the baby when it comes.”

   “Congratulations!”

   “Thanks.” Nova gave her a tight hug. “And to you, too.”

   Charon sat back down, cozied with a bottle of Gob's Brew!™, and was simply content in watching Evelyn glow throughout the room. No nasty remarks were made, no disgusted faces—all were genuinely happy for them. The Lone Wanderer and her Loyal Ghoul Companion. A pairing that would be flayed and hung anywhere else (and still would be). He looked down at his drink. Evelyn truly was something for the wasteland; a little vaultie that popped out of the ground without a single fucking clue, and yet, despite the entire world being against her, she managed to beat it back and stand tall atop it. 

   What did he have to offer someone like that?

   “Here we are!” Gob declared as he set down two shots—a glowing neon one for him, and a tequila for her. “Enjoy!”

   Charon kicked his back and then stole hers before she could even have a single sip. Gob chuckled and set another pair down. Charon had those, too. 

   "You won." 

   Charon looked up, his pensive brows knitting together tightly. "What?"

   "You won," Gob repeated. He swept a hand around the room before it landed on Evelyn. "Any other ghoul out there would have called you crazy, but now they'll just look at you and think damn, that's a lucky bastard, how'd he do it?"

   The big ghoul huddled closer to his drink, feeling anything but lucky. "I am not worth it."

   "Oh yeah? Then who's that big smile for that she's wearing?" Gob shook his head and set a separate drink down—for her. "She picked you out of all of them for a reason…don't forget that." Charon's frown turned ever more sour, but then the bartender leaned in close and rasped, "Remember that light I told you about? It only shines when she sees you."

   Charon turned his head at the same moment Evelyn did, and they stared at each other from across the room. 

   She smiled. 

   And he finally saw it.

   Evelyn came over after giving last-minute farewells to the others, plopping down in her seat and kissing his warm, rugged cheek. "Hello."

   Charon gave an awkward tip of his head, unexpectedly nervous. "Yes."

   She giggled, going for her booze, but he tipped it back.

   “Wha—hey!” she protested, and then she was given another…that he also helped himself to. He held it out of reach as he snapped it to his lips with her climbing and giggling all over him. “You big idiot! Those were mine!” 

   “I am yours,” he corrected her, and he took her third for final measure. 

   She laughed, attempting to squish his leathered cheeks together. “Unfortunately.”

   Charon stared at her…were there always four Evelyn’s…? He was going to be working overtime that night…

   “Ch-Charon?” she was calling to him, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Hello?” 

   Gob came around with a slight frown. “Uh-oh, did he drink all of those?”

   “He stole them from me!”

   “He should probably go get some air. The cold will do him good.”

   Evelyn tucked herself under his shoulder, helping him off his stool. “Come on, big guy…” 

   There was a giant splat at the front door from someone upending their liquor everywhere, and she paused with Charon leaning over and deeply smelling her hair. 

   Gob pointed. “The back’s open.” 

   They staggered along to the storage room where Evelyn went to reach for the backdoor, but Charon intercepted and pulled the handle clean off. 

   “Charon!” she chastised. “What did you do that for?!”

   “Sorry,” he mumbled, holding on to his four Evelyns as she turned them around. 

   Charon stumbled them into some shelving, knocking some items over, and he clumsily held on to a bracket, snapping it in half.

   Evelyn panicked, “Stop breaking everything!”

   “Sorry,” he repeated, his words as slurred as his vision. He fell back into her as she supported his weight, and he suddenly had her pinned.

   “Charon,” she grunted, attempting to remove him. “You’re too fucking heavy! Move!”

   But when she looked up, his back to the light and face swathed in shadow, she could only see the bright, eerie glow of his ghoulish eyes as he stared down at her, unblinking.

   “Charon…?” 

   He dropped to his knees, cupped her ass in his hands, and bit her groin through her jumpsuit, moistening the fabric with his large tongue.

   “Ch-Charon!” she squeaked, glancing up to see if anyone beyond the threshold had noticed. “Not here! Are you crazy?! Wait till we get home!”

   He reached an arm behind him and closed the door, not once taking his eyes off her.

   “You’re insane!” she laughed, but then he began to unbuckle his belt, and all the mirth died at the sight of him teasing his cock with firm, long strokes.

   “Take it off,” he panted thickly, and his eyes devoured the sight of skin she gave to him. 

   Her shaky fingers had only barely shuffled down her underwear when he dove headfirst and lapped her up, eliciting a surprised whimper from her mouth that he reached his other hand up to silence. She hotly breathed into his palm, his fingers crushing her cheeks as he rode himself to her climax with the rough, broad strokes of his tongue. She came, her eyes rolling in her head as he refused to quit. A pinch of pain made him grunt and pull his hand down, his other one slowly stopping in pleasuring himself. 

   He brought his palm close, stupidly blinking at it in the dark. Blood. 

   He dumbly grunted, “You bit me.” 

   Evelyn crouched face-level and curled her hair behind her ears, wiping the streak of red from her lips. “You’re going to get us caught! Let’s go home.”

   Charon ogled her tits as he wavered to and fro, planting both hands over and giving them a squeeze. “I like these.”

   “Good, cause you’re stuck with them forever now.” She helped him to stand, tucking his raging hard-on back in his pants. They had only made it about halfway when a voice pulled her aside. 

   “Nosebleed, wait, you gotta help me!”  

   “Not now, Butch." She threw the smoothskin greaser a glare. "And don’t call me that.”

   The vault brat got in their way with his arms raised, and Charon growled. 

   “You’re the only one who can!” he begged her, and Evelyn gave a sigh as she helped Charon to a seat. 

   “Five minutes, okay?” she told him, and Charon grumbled to himself as he was left to sit there—a glass of water cautiously slid his way. 

   Charon narrowed his eyes at this vault smoothskin that had come from the very same vault his smoothskin was from and they were now speaking quickly and rather quietly in their own little circle away from him and he slammed the water back missing his mouth entirely as he refused to look away from his Evelyn conversing with that smoothskin—

   “Uh,” Gob started as he came over, blinking at the puddle on the floor. “You alright? Maybe all those drinks weren’t the best idea…”

   Charon jabbed a finger at Evelyn. “She is mine.” 

   “Sure is. Wife, now, I guess.”

   “My wife.” 

   “Yep…”

   Charon crooked his finger at him, making him lean over the counter before Charon belted (rather than whispered), “MY WIFE!”

   The bar fell silent as everyone stared at the sudden outburst. Gob rubbed his earhole with a pinky finger while Evelyn slapped a hand to her reddened face. 

   Charon was given another glass of water, and he stared inside at his rippling reflection, murmuring repeatedly to himself, “My wife…”

   Evelyn, on the other hand, was too busy attempting to dissuade Butch from his current endeavors. She had her arms crossed and face downright disapproving as she listened to his insistent delusions of leaving Megaton for a better life.

   She rolled her eyes. “You’re safe here, Butch.”

   “But there’s gotta be someplace else!” he cried, dropping to his knees like a holy man at prayer. “I tried, but I can’t take it anymore. I can’t!”

   “Oh dear lord,” she muttered. "Get off the floor!"

   Butch reached out to take her hands. “Look, I don’t care where, but if I gotta turn one more wrench, or weld one more patch, I’m done! This ain’t the life for a Tunnel Snake like me! I need more!”

   “If you go more than five feet out there, you’ll die,” she said matter-of-factly. “What the hell could you possibly want to do anyway?”

   Butch snapped upright. “A man's got dreams, alright? And being a barber is the only life for me!”

   She crossed her arms. “A hairdresser? Just cut hair here.”

   He curtly adjusted his dusty jacket. “Hey—I ain’t no hairdresser, let's get that straight. And everyone here just knows me as the water boy.” He pointed at Alphonse. “You still get him to fix your shitty pipes, okay?”

   Evelyn looked over. The previous Overseer was slumped over a table surrounded by empty bottles, his vault suit and skin having seen too many days without a proper wash. 

   “Is he alive?” she questioned.

   “Huh? Oh, yeah.” Butch shrugged his hands in his jacket. “Old man just keeps going on about Amata and I’m sorry Amata and forgive me Amata and—” His eyes then widened after catching the sparkle of Evelyn’s ring. “That isn’t what I think it is…” He gave her an expectant look. “Is it?”

   “What do you think?” she asked caustically.

   “But the list had you and me down to get married!”

   Charon twisted his head around so hard there was a snap!  

   Evelyn colored rosy. “Obviously, that doesn’t matter out here!”

   “And why not?” he retorted. “We both made it out of the vault, didn’t we?”

   “You’re being a child.”

   “You’re supposed to be my wife!” He waved an arm around. “Where the hell am I supposed to get a woman, now?! Most of them don’t even have all their teeth, and do not get me started on—!"

   “Butch,” she snidely interrupted. “If it bothers you so much, take it up with my husband, instead.”

   “For real?! Well, fine, alright, I will!”

   Her eyes slanted. “Do you not know who it is?”

   “Dunno, and don’t care!” The greaser puffed out his chest and threw a few jabs at the air. “After the talk I’m about to have with him, he’ll be—!”

   Charon had stepped over, slowly craning his head over the smaller man and breathing a hot snort of air over his hair. 

   “…he’ll…be…”

   And he fainted. 

   Evelyn looked up with her arms crossed. “I guess that’s one way to get the message across.”

   Charon growled, “my wife.” He then tilted to one side, kept tilting, and fell over.

   "Charon?" Evelyn kneeled over his body and smacked his cheeks, but he didn’t wake. “Well, fuck.”

   She went to the bar, hitching her thumb over her shoulder as she told Gob, “If he doesn’t wake up soon, I’m going to have to leave him.”

   Gob stared at the body on the floor. “Charon can’t take him out?”

   With a raised brow, she turned. Butch was where she had left him—Charon was gone.

   “Charon?” she questioned, turning every which way as she looked for her missing ghoul. “What the fuck? He was just passed out a second ago! Where did he go?!”

   A breeze of cold air prickled her skin with bumps, and she looked on with horror at the open door.

   “Charon!”

   She hoofed it outside, leaning on the railing as she wildly searched for the only person who would easily stand apart from a crowd. To her surprise (and despair), he wasn’t anywhere. She began down the catwalk when her foot tripped over something. She bent down, picking up his jacket. A few feet away was his shirt. She followed the breadcrumb trail of random articles until she made it to the front gates…where his pants happened to be in wait.

   Evelyn hopped up to the sniper’s nest, startling the guard on watch.

   “Did you see him?!” she panicked. 

   “Sure did—he’s over there.” 

   Binoculars were handed over, and she scoped through to spot Charon in the waning moonlight—buck naked and walking.

   “Charon!”

   Her feet effortlessly glided over the sand as she raced towards him, catching up to the lumbering giant as he had suddenly stopped to lean against a hollowed tree and take a piss. He groaned, blinking as she came close.

   “What?” he groused. 

   “Excuse me?!” she snapped back at him. “Charon—you’re fucking naked and wandering around outside! Do you not even recognize me?!”

   He narrowed his eyes before glancing down and shaking the tip. The giant ghoul then continued on his way, ignoring her completely.

   “Stop!” she commanded, and he tilted his head back to glare at her. “Don’t give me that dirty look, you big idiot! I’m your wife now, remember?!”

   She held up her left hand with the sparkling diamond twinkling in the soft white light, and he took it, a faint, dim lightbulb burning somewhere deep inside his mind.

   “Pretty smoothskin…?” he questioned, smashing a palm to his eye as it pained him to recollect. “My…wife?”

   “Yes.” She took his hand to lead him back. “We’re going home so you can sleep this off. And you tell me I have too much!”

   His fingers curled through her wavy long hair, pulling a little roughly.

   “Pretty,” he mumbled.

   “Ow!” She batted him away. 

   By the time they reached the front gates, she had noticed his cock had been on the steady rise until it was as stiff as a mast pole, ready to ship sail straight into her (thoroughly charted) seas. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she reached down to scoop up the pile of clothes she had left at the entrance. The tip of Charon’s dick slowly came into view, nearly poking her eye out. 

   “Alright, now put your clothes back on!” she said, trying to keep her voice low so as not to rouse the sleepy settlers. 

   Charon just dropped everything she handed him, and she angrily sighed as she picked them back up. His shirt was draped over his dick like wash set out to dry on a clothesline, giving him some minimal decency. 

   “Come on, you streaking moron.” 

   The big ghoul was crammed through the door into the safety of their home, and she locked it before letting out a deep exhale and turning around. He was hovering over her once more, breathing straight down her neck.

   “What is this list?” he plainly asked. 

   "List?"

   "The list," he growled. "That idiot smoothskin spoke of."

   “Oh, now you're sober?" She laughed before simply explaining, "The vault had a system in place to ensure no residents had incestuous relations to keep the genetic pool as clean as possible, so the Overseers would create a list of people predetermined to get married.”

   Charon almost sounded disgusted as he said, “And he was yours?”

   “I mean, yes, but he's also not."

   “You would have had children?”

   She appeared a bit troubled by his question. “I guess so.”

   “I see.” He then asked, “You would like children?”

   “I don’t.”

   He side-eyed her. “You said you would not lie to me.”

   “I mean…you know we can’t.”

   They wouldn’t grow old together. They wouldn’t have any children of their own. She’d never have a normal life being with someone like him.

   …he hadn't even been there when she had needed him most.

   "It was not a mistake?" he questioned with sincere doubt, staring at the shiny ring on her finger. "You are certain that this is what you wish?"

   His knuckles were pressed to her lips for a soft kiss. "You're the only person I've ever wanted. Where's this coming from? Are you getting second thoughts?"

   "No—I…" he trailed off, unsure of his next words until he finally gave in with, "you deserve better."

   Her arms circled around him. "I have more than I deserve."

   They went to bed. The search of her lips along his neck pulled his face from her hair to grant her her need of him. His hips rocked slowly yet firmly into hers, scratching the bedframe through the floor. Her legs widened, and her hands came around to his shoulders, her fingers touching his ruined body like he was anything but. The sweetness of her lips melting on his, coupled with the hypnotizing melody of her pleasured whimpers, were savored on his tongue like it was the best fucking cocktail he had ever had, and he fell asleep with the taste of her in his mouth. 

   When he woke, pleasantly surprised at having been blessed with nothing for dreams, he discovered with alarm that Evelyn wasn’t in bed. He became even more paranoid when he found that she wasn't even in their house.

   "Evelyn?" he called out to the early hours, pulling on his boots as he went off in search.

   There was a faint ember glow just outside the gates, and Charon came to join her on the rock. She offered him a smoke from the pack she took.

   He fiddled with it in his hands, asking her, “Bad dreams?”

   “Yes,” she dully said.

   “How are you?”

   And when she turned to look at him, he almost wondered if this was but the beginning of an awful nightmare.

   “Scared.”

Chapter Text

   He’s standing in the corner. 

   Charon, come here.

   He leaves his post and walks to the bar where Ahzrukhal is waiting for him, always ready to give a demand. He points to another ghoul that’s quaking in their seat, strapped down by the heavy weight of fear of what’s to come next. 

   Take him out.

   To the others. 

   Away. 

   Away from them.  

   Charon grabs the ghoul by the back of his shirt, and he twitches, screeching as he’s dragged across the floor for everyone to see, for everyone to say something about, for everyone to recognize that this is what will come for them all. Every ghoul goes feral, whether it be today, tomorrow, or one hundred years from now. 

   There is no escaping it.

   No-no, please—no! I swear I’m okay, I swear I-I—get Barrows, have him tell you that—!

   But no one is listening, not even the good doctor. They all turn their heads as he walks through them, a parted funeral procession where no one gives any last farewells or bids any sort of goodbye—all they can do is pray that they will not be next. 

   Charon places his hand on the door of the next exhibit, their feral kins' low hisses and grunts already stirring at the smell.

   I don’t want to go feral.

   That’s what the man says, his garbled voice so thick he can barely understand him. Charon looks down, opens the door, and ushers him inside. 

   Charon does not cast judgment here—he simply ferries it on.

   As the door begins to close, a hand reaches out and grabs at his boot, anchoring him for but a moment as the twitching man pleads with his final words of sanity.

   Don’t let them forget me.

   The door closes, and nothing of him is ever remembered.

   Charon does not fear going feral. Not when he returns to the Ninth and his employer, not when he carries out the next one, or the next one, or the next one, or the next… Not when he meets a smoothskin that pukes on his feet. Not when that smoothskin buys his contract. Not when that smoothskin tells him she loves him. Charon never considers the inevitable—it just is. It is the same as dying, and he does not fear any path he has been accepted to take.

   …but when that smoothskin, the only love he has ever had in this world, stares at him through the gloom of the dark with that fear drowning her eyes for him to submerge in, he realizes.

   He does not want to go feral.

   “I’m scared,” she whispered, wiping at the tears that began to fall. “If you ever…”

   But she didn’t finish—couldn’t. The woman he loved was sobbing her heart out on that cold rock they shared, howling into the night for a grievance that was yet to come. The salty tears rolled off her chin with her bubbling snot, and he wiped her face clean before holding her close.

   “If it happens, I will take care of it,” he promised.

   He knew the signs. He had carried all of those souls to purgatory, tasting the promise that would be delivered someday every time he opened that door to the other side. Bloated, ashy, bitter. He had assumed Barrows or Winthrop would be the one to carry him out—to take him there and leave him behind to rot away all of the remaining years this earth had left to turn…

   Charon would ensure her safety above all else. It would be quick, and far enough away for her not to see. He’d have his gun at his temple and the stars above him—his one and only God.

   Evelyn was shaking her head, her voice scratchy and hoarse. She hiccuped. “You said you wouldn’t leave me again.”

   There was nothing he could say to that—the man who never believed in promises had already made too many.

   He curled her hair behind an ear, and they shared a smoke. It was pinched between her lips, with his fingers flicking the wheel to spark a flame that made her sad eyes glow red. It passed between them, each taking an inhale that they then breathed out to the wastes, the smell permeating their clothes and their tongues, and he could still taste the ash on her lips as he kissed her in bed. 

   She was rolled underneath him, her legs spread wide and his cock shoved deep inside, and she held him close with trembling fingers, crying again.

   “What do you know about feral ghouls?” 

   Moira looked up from her current obsession—the dissection of a mirelurk’s eye. 

   “Feral ghouls?” she clarified, and Evelyn nodded. The shopkeeper plopped her chin in hand, her scalpel idly taking a peek at the layers underneath. “Well, actually, not much! I’ve never had the chance to study one up close…” She slapped her hands down, the gooey eyeball all but forgotten. “Hey! Maybe we can add that to the survival guide! How to—”

   Evelyn derailed the train before it had a chance to leave the station. “Do you have any idea as to why they go feral?”

   Moira resumed with her lazy study. “Hmmmm.” When a few minutes passed, she finally looked up with a smile and shrugged. “Nope, not really! Why? Are we thinking of conducting some sort of experiment?”

   Evelyn sighed to herself, shook her head, and paid for her wares. “No…but…don't you ever wonder…like, with Gob…?”

   All of Moira's eternal sunny skies darkened, and she gave Evelyn a shared look of understanding. "Oh…I-I mean. I'm sorry. I didn't realize that…"

   "It's okay," Evelyn said as she went to step out. She opened the door to a sky full of rain. "If you ever think of something, please let me know."

   She sought cover in the saloon, placing her dampened burlap sack of goodies on the counter at her spot.

   “Moira didn’t have any .308s. They'll be in next week,” she told the big ghoul who had been waiting for her. 

   Charon rummaged through the sack, merely grunting his response. 

   “You the Lone Wanderer?”

   Evelyn turned to a stranger she’d never met before—a fresh soul straight from the wastes. “I am. Did you need something?”

   There was a sudden flash of a blade. Her body crashed into the wall as she instinctively ducked back; it all happened so quickly that she barely had a chance to react—but Charon did.

   The ghoul took the blade to the forearm, betraying no pain as it sank down to the hilt through his jacket and flesh, his hand already reaching for the man’s face. His fingers squished through the assassin’s eyes, spurting them at his face, with his thumb pushing in the front teeth as he took hold of the man’s skull in his entire right hand to slam it into the edge of the counter. There was a crunch of bone, with the man’s jaw awkwardly hanging, and Charon unsheathed the knife from his own arm before impaling it straight down into his brain. The body dropped. The growing pool of blood began to stain the grains in the wood.

   Someone screamed at the other end of the bar. Gob raised his voice to calm the panic. Evelyn reached for Charon just as he removed his jacket to inspect the injury.

   “Here.” A patron handed over a stimpak, and she inoculated him. 

   There was a shouted, “Someone go get Simms!” 

   The sheriff came as called, tipping his rain-soaked hat back as he crouched over the corpse. “Don’t have to guess as to who put an end to him.” He rummaged through the pockets, pulling out a slave collar. He held it up for them to see, a deep grimace etched on his face. “That ain’t good.”

   Evelyn felt the big ghoul beside her stiffen. 

   “He wouldn’t have made it five feet out that door,” Gob rasped. “It was suicide.”

   “I don’t think that was his intention,” Simms said, setting the collar aside. He gave Evelyn a look. “He just wanted you dead.”

   She picked up the collar and studied it. Not the first slave collar she had ever seen, but the only one she had held up close. Slavers weren’t rare in the Capital Wasteland, but their explosive devices were excellent at deterring noble do-gooders such as herself from making them as such. 

   “He came from Paradise Falls,” Charon cut through his teeth. His anger was as heavy as the storm that raged just outside the door, his eyes as hot as cinder.

   Evelyn was surprised at his certainty, and it colored her voice as she asked, “How do you know that?”

   Charon gave her a stone-cold look that she knew wasn’t meant for her, but for the past he was suddenly being forced to revisit. He almost became a completely different man, one so incapable of emotion or fear that an icy shiver ran down her spine as he said, “More will come.”

   The finality of his words was as heavy as a stone dropped in her gut. Evelyn looked down at the corpse he had so easily disposed of, but what of the next? Her eyes went around the room. All the settlers were watching them, watching her —the woman they had chosen for their cloth. All of them families, whether by blood or bonds, and they would all hang themselves on the wire if she so asked for them to…but she never would. 

   “Then we stop whoever sent him before they do,” she declared, and Simms gave a nod of his head. 

   The room bustled as they stripped the slaver of his belongings before dragging him out the door to be disposed of, and Charon rounded her to a corner for some semblance of privacy. 

   “I will go,” he said. "I will take care of it. You will be safer here."

   “You know it’s together or not at all.” 

   If she had asked him of it at the first touch of her fingertips on his contract, he would’ve scoffed and shook his head—maybe even given her a nasty laugh. 

   Very well, but do not expect me to return.

   They would have parted at the gates, but it wouldn’t have been anything of resemblance to a goodbye. He would have given her one final look with resentment in his eyes, shouldering a duffel bag full of guns and ammo and grenades as he took to his early grave in the form of an ordered suicide. He would do it for her, but not for her. 

   But she would have never, not once for as long as she had breath to breathe, ever have asked him of such a thing…and it was for that exact reason that he had come back of his own accord, offering himself for it now. 

   He growled, “There are worse things than death.”