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Chapter Text

Damn smoothskin had been too fast, bounding through the door and up the metal stairs toward the control room, shouting his name as she ducked past an Enclave bastard trying to coordinate himself enough to grab her while in power armour. Charon let his shotgun do the talking, twice, then raced after Wanda as she ran headfirst into danger...like she had a habit of doing when it came to her father.

"...step forward immediately..."

Charon knew that pompous-ass voice and dread settled in his bones as he followed after Wanda. Two quickened beats of his heart and he came up the steps, watching Dr. Li try to override the control room lockdown; watching Wanda and her little fists bang on the bulkhead to demand entry.

"No--no, damn you! You c-" She swallowed and it looked visibly painful. "You can't do this! You can't!"

They only ignored her as they carried on a stiff back and forth. Wanda knew what James was going to do before anyone else seemed to. Her screams turned unintelligible as blood rushed in his ears when Colonel Autumn killed one of the scientists inside the control room.

Danger, danger, danger--get out, get out, get her out! His entire being seemed to scream at him, forcing his limbs to move when he really wanted to let Wanda say goodbye. And so, as usual, his mistress was smack in the middle of his internal conflict. Could he take her away now? What was it James had said to Charon before he followed Wanda down into the tunnels, and why was it escaping him now?

James was speaking again, though; his pitiful attempt at placating Autumn. "...few moments to get the system online..."

Lucky for them all, Autumn had his eyes on his prize and little else. He didn't even turn to register anyone behind the bulkhead, his back to Wanda's demands and banging fists.

Charon watched James's posture change. A breath in, then out, and Charon was moving before he finished exhaling. His arms wrapped around Wanda's midsection and yanked her to him while her palms and fingers streaked across the glass, trying to claw herself into staying put. He turned his back to the bulkhead as the explosion sounded behind him, stumbling a little as it shook the metal walkway.

He wasted no time in grabbing Dr. Li by her upper left arm while making for the stairs. There was a strange heat in the air and the taste of metal in his mouth, a flavourful little combination he'd never forget.

"When the time comes...you'll get her out." Those were James's ominous words, the only one's he'd ever spoken to Charon. Not a command or a verbal thrashing, just a confident understanding between them--between two men of action, one her father, the other her protector. Of course, thinking back on it reminded him that the bastard had a destruction fail-safe in the control room all along, one that would take him and everyone else out to give Wanda time to escape.

"You don't know what you're doing!" Wanda wailed like a banshee, her screeching and the alarms blaring around them drawing him back to the present, warping together and ringing in his ears.

He was already marching down the stairs on auto-pilot thanks to his programming, with Wanda's back against his chest and Dr. Li stumbling along beside him before she moved up front and began leading the way. Wanda twisted and thrashed in his arms more wildly than before, driving an elbow back into his jaw. It smarted fiercely, though all he could do was exhale from deep in his throat and stick to his current mission of getting the fuck out of here.

He thought about tightening his hold on her to drive home the fact that he's much stronger than her, but she just lost her fucking father. If he had to serve as her punching bag so they could make it out of this alive then it was a fair trade off. Elbowing, kicking, scratching--those didn't constitute as physical violence that would negate the contract. It was his own unvoiced loophole of finer details that no one ever seemed to question.

"Turn around!" she demanded, pushing on his forearm tucked under her breasts to try and turn her body so she could look him in the eyes. She failed and it was amusing enough to snort at her wasted efforts. She doubled down in the face of his snort, "We can't leave him!"

She clawed her nails into the patchy skin at the back of his right hand, causing him to hiss and grit his teeth, but he soldiered on and watched Dr. Li stop at a floor hatch, ushering people down inside before looking to a kicking and shouting Wanda, then Charon, and nodding once before she went down the ladder herself.

"What are you doing, Charon!" Wanda screamed, kicking her legs out now. "I command you to turn ar-"

"No!" he barked. He set her down on her feet and she tried to lunge away, back toward the radiation leak and certain death. He grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back, spinning her to face him. With no time to think it through and no tact to soften the blow, he got in her face to declare, "We're not going back. He's dead, Wanda!"

The way she shrunk away...the way her shoulders pulled in and she sucked in a scared breath... He was scum for what he'd just said and how he'd said it, plain and simple.

"Don't...Don't say that," she refuted hollowly. Her words were barely audible over everything else, then her legs gave out. "He... No, he's not..."

His throat locked an apology inside tight and he played into the role now forced onto him, pulling her to him again. This time, one arm barred around her back so he could press her front to his--something that too right in the utterly wrong moment--as he stepped onto a lower metal rung of the ladder. Wanda was little more than catatonic, staring at him like she had a thousand things to say by way of denial and proving him wrong, but blinking like she couldn't focus in order to articulate them.

He exhaled and lifted her up and over his left shoulder, hefting her as gently as he could manage and hearing her let out a subdued 'oof'.

Dr. Li's voice carried up from the manhole as Charon crouched and grasped the side of the ladder, the back of his hand opening up the tiny scratches in his skin and stinging as he slid down the rod the whole way. Those who followed closed the manhole covering over top, all of them gathering at the bottom where Dr. Li was talking about the Citadel.

He wasn't welcome among the Brotherhood of Steel, he knew that, but he couldn't leave Wanda like this so he supposed he'd have to endure their reserved hostility when he showed his ugly mug and passed Dr. Li and Wanda off.

"Wanda...?" Dr. Li called, peering around Charon's larger body until he turned so she could see the visible psychological damage she was working through. He watched Dr. Li's brows pinch in as concern bleed into her features. "Oh," she breathed, her brown eyes flicking up to meet Charon's with an unspoken question.

"Yeah," he exhaled a resigned confirmation, giving the doctor a nod of his head, "I will escort you all to the Citadel, but I will not be staying."

"I understand," Dr. Li replied, sounding more like she was in grave agreement with his decision rather than being deferent.

Charon knew it would be difficult to manage protecting Wanda and the others while she was draped over his shoulder, so he pivoted and pointed to one of the bulkier male scientists with them. "You," he called, crooking his finger before shifting Wanda down as he instructed the man, "Carry Wanda."

He pulled out his shotgun and to the rest of them--less than ten souls in total--he said, "Stick close, we're moving."

-_-_-_-

So maybe that was why, after all that, sitting in the cleared-out subway tunnel by himself with barely a day having gone by, it felt like years.

The Enclave was still an issue...but Wanda wasn't herself. When she came back from the Citadel she'd taken to mumbling to herself in the little subway car hidey-hole at their nearest temporary camp, avoiding responsibilities to process things.

Avoiding him.

And what had he done? He'd taken up muttering to himself just outside the train-car, tending to a subway-tracks fire and eyeing Wanda's eclectic assortment of pre-war books she wanted to give her dad for his upcoming birthday. A little pocket book of poetry she found, a few plays of some kind--they were all frivolous pre-war literature she'd found in what looked like an old donation box at a picked-through bookstore.

She could have been in Megaton at her home right now but she'd haughtily insisted she wouldn't be welcome when he'd asked. He wanted to believe she'd come to the tunnels to look for him, but it was probably some kind of self-exile on her part and she'd been unlucky enough to come to this particular camp of theirs.

He wished he could tell her that whatever she was thinking in her head was a load of bull, but he wasn't about to insinuate to his employer that she was broken and looking for her dad at the bottom of a vodka bottle was only likely to make matters worse.

"Keep that up and you will go blind," he'd said to her, trying desperately to crack some light banter between them, to test the waters of the very dark situation.

She'd nearly taken his head out when she threw the half-empty glass bottle at him through the busted train-car window. It shattered on the ground near him and the air still stunk to high-Heaven like sharp, shitty alcohol on top of all the refuse in the vicinity.

For the past three hours he'd sat uncomfortably on a broken cargo crate, half his ass not even on the damn thing. He rested his arms on his thighs, hands hanging between them while he stared at his boots and let out a heavy breath. He replayed the escape, her screams and kicking legs and reaching arms, the way he hoped she'd come back to herself when he dropped her off with the Brotherhood and ducked out like a coward.

Since then, she'd hurled accusations at him and called him every insult under the sun. When she finished with that show of catharsis, she'd disappeared into the train-car and hadn't come out. He had heard clinking, muttering, retching of some form, banging and scraping... No more things to say to him, though; as though her word-purge served as a final goodbye he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge.

He heard louder shifting around in the train-car and half expected to hear her rolling body fall hard to the floor, since he'd though her recent quietude meant she'd finally passed out on one of the hard benches inside. Instead, when he lifted his gaze to the open doorway she was standing there in it with a new bottle worked down to the sloshing dregs trapped loosely between the thumb and forefinger of one of her hands, her other hand was holding onto the train-car doorframe for stability as she wavered.

"Charon," she said. Well, she spat it out like his name tasted disgusting, really. Her lips curled into something like a sneering but it didn't look right on her face.

She'd never looked at him with anything other than awe and wariness, then eventually trust and admiration. So...this was new. Still, he couldn't deny that she seemed somewhat more conversational than before.

"Wanda," he rasped in acknowledgement.

"You know that's not my fucking name," she slurred, taking an unsteady step toward him and nearly tumbling out of the train car with the large step down.

Cursing was new, too. She was being reckless, test driving independence now that she knew her daddy wouldn't be coming back around to soap her mouth out. And what was he supposed to call her instead? No one knew her real name but her dad, and he didn't call her anything but 'sweetheart' or 'honey.'

"I do not care," he stated casually. "You are Wanda to me. Always have been."

"I do not care," she mocked his voice and then coughed at the forced rasp, making a face before taking another pull from her bottle to wash it down. She finished the last drops by tipping her head way back and swallowing down to the air, then sighed and tossed the bottle aside. It hit the iron track near him just right, joining the remnants of its predecessor and shattering with ringing loudness through the tunnels.

She sniffed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, hiccupped in a way he should have been able to laugh at with her, then she came close to the fire and stumbled again. He twitched with readiness, but she didn't fall in or toss herself on it. She held her hands out over the heated smoke lifting up in the tunnel and let out a rude laugh, evidently having seen his reaction while she wavered a little on her feet but ultimately stayed upright.

"Why are you here?" she suddenly asked, working her facial muscles hard to maintain that repulsed sneer.

She was half-facing him, not quite giving her back; he could tell that she wanted him to see the disgust and anger and hurt in her expression and body language. He could, of course, even if her back were entirely to him he would have at least been able to feel it all radiating off of her.

"You have my contract," he answered. "I wasn't going to return and wait somewhere you could not find me."

Very gradually, he watched her begin to shake--with rage or upset, or both, he wasn't sure.

"Why didn't you just leave me there?" she asked, a hoarse whisper that sucked all the venom out of any intention to wound with her words.

As if he could have ever done that to her, contract or no contract.

"Woulda been better," she continued in a little stronger of a mumble, "coulda been free that way."

He fought the urge to sigh at her dejected performance. "The contract-"

"To hell with the fucking contract!" she yelled, turning to face him abruptly.

She stood there for several moments, staring him down with her fists clenched at her sides and her body vibrating with anger and malice he'd never seen directed at him before. Then, she turned less-than-gracefully and stomped back into the train-car. For several seconds he thought she went in there to stay and that the short conversation was over, but she stumbled back out and was holding an aged paper her recognised all too well in her hands.

"Here, take it!" She thrust the paper into his face, waving it a little.

He sat still, unmoving as he said, "I cannot."

They'd been over it time and again. She kept trying to find loopholes and he kept shooting her down. To his understanding, she'd eventually just given up after a few months and accepted his company, too afraid to hand him off to someone who might abuse him within the contract's parameters, and too scared to attempt destroying it again. The first time she tried...

No, he didn't want to think about that. He'd felt like dogshit for a week afterward, forced to see her black eye every day--a mark that was the size of his heavy hand. He'd had to knock her for a loop before she could rip the damn thing up, knowing that if she had her way he'd have to kill her.

He sniffed casually and lifted his gaze from where her fingers gripped the paper up to her normally-sweet hazel eyes, eyes that were now burning a contemptuous hole into his skull. "Mistress-"

She cut him off with a snort. "No, no 'mistress.' I'm not your 'mistress' anymore. I'm not the Capital Wasteland's little hero, I'm not some chosen one bringing peace to D.C., I'm not-" Her voice broke and she stopped talking for a second. "I'm not even someone's daughter anymore."

His eyes tracked her movements, the way she straightened from looming over him, bringing both of her hands up to either side of the contract. "I'm not anything anymore," she mumbled distractedly.

Again, no thought went into his reaction, it was all programming. He reached out both hands in a flash, standing to tower over her while he seized her wrists to hold them as far apart as her wingspan allowed for. He glared down with a look he knew was frightfully menacing by the way she shrank back and tried to pull away, but he had no control over himself for the moment and he couldn't release her.

She cried out when her pulled her arms our taut after she tried to bring them back in toward herself--To destroy the contract if she somehow managed to overpower him? Or was it just to pridefully fight back even if she knew it was futile?--and gave up with shaking arms and an exhaled wail of impotence. He had to hold her up when she slumped to dead weight, though he imagined it must be painful to hang there with her arms outstretched like they were.

Regardless of what her end goal was in dropping like that, her weight was of barely any consequence and her size was pitiful in comparison to his own.

He wet his ragged lips, still looking down at her and forcing his hardened expression to soften somewhat. "Wanda," he pleaded, or at least tried to sound like he was imploring her though his gruffness, "please do not do that again."

Her eyes were downcast, then she lowered her head, but he hadn't failed to notice the way her lips wobbled and her eyes turned glassy. "Do it," she muttered, calling him on the asinine Catch 22 of his contractual employment. "If you don't do it, I'll give your sorry ass to the next traveler we see," she promised him, her voice undercut with heartbreak and quiet, shaky fury.

He wanted to call her bluff but it was impossible with what she was threatening, because she could very well do just that in her unpredictable state of mind. And if she kept trying to destroy the contract he'd have to kill her in the process, then he'd have no contract and no Wanda--no purpose. And if he let her go then she might give the contract away just to be rid of him and the reminder he served as; he'd have to obey and he'd still lose his Wanderer.

He clenched his jaw and shook his head, surprising even himself when he managed to snarl, "No," though all heat was reduced by the quietness of his voice.

She lifted her head then, eyes wide at first before narrowing as she resumed her struggle to get out of his hold. It was remarkably easy to keep her where she was, arms spread out and body weaker, smaller. She could say the word--demand that he remove himself from close proximity--and he'd obey so long as she continued to comply with the safety clause of the contract. He kept having to remind himself that she posed a danger to the contract no matter what he did.

Yeah...that was why he continued to hold her in front of him. Because she was dangerous.

So they remained at an impasse.

Finally, she tossed her head back with a low growl of frustration and then shrieked petulantly, "Oh, I wish I never saw you in that fucking zombie-infested hell hole!"

He knew she was just lashing out, but his lips were peeling back from his teeth into an automatic snarl anyway. He started squeezing in retaliation, holding her wrists in a bruising grip that was making her wince and growl ferociously as she tried yanking her arms in again to no avail.

"If you hadn't dragged me away I could have saved him," she insisted viciously, face tinging red to match her cheeks. "I could have found a way! You and me--we could have taken on the Enclave then and there!"

"Yeah, you could have saved him, lost in hallucination land when the radiation delirium kicked in," he snorted. "You would have left a pretty little corpse with soupified insides for me to find later, right next to your daddy!"

She growled in frustration again, having to know he was right. "If you had given me more time, I could have gotten him out safely. I could have given him our Radaway supply and I could have saved him!"

He yanked her arms in and held them between their bodies, getting in her face. "You would have died trying," he emphasised, attempting to control how he seethed and breathed harder in light of her provoking him. "You keep trying to play the martyr, Wanda. But these good-natured games of shoulda, coulda, woulda? They will not ever pay off! They will not bring him back!"

"You...big...bastard," she accused in a low tone that would precede violence, had she the use of her arms. He'd not seen her so fired up since hearing about what Ahzrukhal used to make him do when he purposely incited violence with others. "Get your filthy fucking hands off of me, you goddamn corpse!"

The surface-level insults cut particularly deep because, from her, they just hurt worse. They'd known each other for nearly six months now, not that he was keeping track on a calendar or anything, but because he... Well, sometimes he read her physical journal while she slept, all the entries were dated meticulously, down the minute and second she started putting pen to paper. He couldn't really help himself since her internal monologue made for such good light-reading entertainment.

She really disliked Moira Brown.

Honestly, he'd only started doing it because he didn't need time for sleep like she did, since she was a growing human--and she was still growing at only 18. Yet another thing he had to grudgingly remind himself of. That thought reminded him of how ridiculous this exchange was. He was a little over half a century from 300 and needed validation from a teenager? No fucking way--he didn't give a shit what she called him.

"I am not going to take my corpse hands off of you until you swear to me that you will not mess with the contract," he told her through clenched teeth.

She scoffed and her gaze trailed down to the crumpled old document still locked in her left hand, balling it up into a ball in her fist. He pursed his lips, inhaling though his nose aperture and really, really hoping he could find it in himself to not snap her wrists.

She made a face but she couldn't hide her discomfort as they met each other's eyes again. "I'm tossing this fucking thing in the fire as soon as you let my wrists go," she taunted with intention.

He sighed, exasperated but well aware that he could hold her like this all day if he had to. He denied her with a tired tone, "No, you will not-"

She twisted enough to move her torso to her left and let the balled-up contract go. The dirty gray paper dropped down toward the fire, unfurling a little without her hand holding it tight. He shoved her away, crouching down as she stumbled back and fell on her ass. He grabbed the wadded paper just as it touched the ground and an edge caught in the flame; Charon slid his fingers up to snuff the curling, blackening catch.

He let loose a breath, hunched over with his body shaking as the brain-melting ill feeling that always accompanied immediate danger to his contract began to recede, thanks to him having saved the damned thing. He set the contract on the ground beside him with gingerly and waited a few more moments, as merely the act of holding it while still technically being employed was enough to cause him discomfort that bordered on physical pain.

He let out a breathy laugh as the tension in his body eased, then felt his nose aperture stinging a little; though his eyes couldn't really cry anymore he felt the urge to nonetheless. He felt like he'd just narrowly avoided death. Did she not understand that he was still required to kill an employer in the event the contract was destroyed by their hand? Did she not get it? That contract was there to keep him alive just as much as it kept his employers alive.

One of the first things he ever imparted to her was that physical violence negated the contract and the contract was part of him. Any attempt on his life, like bullet fire or a stabbing, or trying to burn his god damn contract, was grounds for termination. Whether she was drunk and hurting emotionally or not.

He lifted his head and turned it slightly, looking at her sideways. Her eyes were big and she was still on her ass, one hand behind her propping her up, the other hand covering her mouth like she couldn't believe she'd just done what she had. Her eyes darted around from the fire, the contract, him, the fire, him, the contract, him...

He let out a grunt, lurching a little but holding his place. "Do you remember...the first thing you ever...said to me?" he asked her, with great strain.

She gave him a confused look as she gave his hunched form a once-over, fingers playing with her lips anxiously. "Holy shit, you're big," she breathed.

He felt a tug at the corners of his mouth. It was an unfamiliar, rare smile that only she could ever pull out of him, but then he sobered, still fighting the overwhelming urge to move. As soon as he did... Well, he knew he'd snap to it. It would be quick, at least.

"I am sorry...that you lost...your father...Wanda."

Her expression was growing more and more wary. "Why are you talking like that?" she asked slowly, body language guarded as she shifted a little.

"I want you to know something..." He huffed, managing to stave it off a little longer. "If I could go back in time...to the Rotunda...I would do it all the same...every part." He waited a beat, trying to use his eyes to communicate what his mouth couldn't. "I am supposed...to protect you."

She was shaking her head while he spoke, dropping her hand from her face to sit up straighter too. Her eyes were still glassy with drink and she smelled like the rubbing-alcohol that passed as vodka these days. Or maybe that was just the air in the tunnels, since she'd broken so many bottles of it on the ground. He tried to focus on that, rather than the dreadful fact that she was missing his insinuation.

She reached for the contract and it scraped across the dirty ground before she wobbled, adjusting the way she sat, and brought it to her chest to clutch it close and smooth it out.

"Before we went down to...clear the pipes, your father...stopped me. Pulled me aside. He said..." Charon exhaled, holding still even though his nerves were on fire. "'When the time comes...you'll get her out'."

The little bit of light left in her eyes dimmed and she shook her head more. "No, why would he say... Why would he say that?"

Despite seeming to ask herself the question, he answered, "He was a...smart man." Then Charon groaned, starting to pant quietly. He was too cowardly to tell her to go, to tell her to run, because it would annihilate whatever control he had and just be more painful when he caught her. "Think he wanted me...to be prepared...for you."

"Because I would have stayed there..." She trailed off the whispered confession with a far-away look. "I just got him b-ack." Her voice cracked and it ate at Charon.

His own voice was pitiful sounding as he tried to console her, "I think he...knew that, Wanda."

After a few moments she lifted her chin a little, like she was trying to force her tears down with gravity while looking at the top of the subway tunnel. "He told me I'm a good person. He said he was proud of me...he said..." Now she looked to the side, her lips wobbling again as she swallowed, some errant tears rolling down her cheeks. "He said he'd make it up to me--for what he put me through in order to get back to him."

She wiped under her eyes, sniffling and then scoffing in a way that seemed more wistful than angry. She brought her eyes back to Charon's and offered the smallest, saddest smile he'd seen on her face yet. He could hear her, he could see her, but things were sharpening and dulling at the same time. Zeroing in to make him a more efficient killer.

She didn't seem to notice his fixed rigor.

"Guess he did, in the end?" she said with a bittersweet laugh. There was a long pause, then she cleared her throat and looked him in the eyes, hers were brimming with unshed tears. Some innate part of her must have registered that whatever she saw in him was odd, because her brows pinched before relaxing with contrition. "I'm sorry about what I said. What I...ca-called you, and what I threatened. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean a-any of it."

He tried, he tried so, so hard to be strong for her. Unfortunately his words came out in all but a feral growl, "I...know you are...Wanda."

She searched his eyes, inhaling shakily as realisation seemed to dawn on her. "It...d-doesn't matter, does it?" she asked, her voice barely audible and reeking of fearful defeat.

He pressed his lips together. It was all he had the capacity to move anymore, while every one of his muscles were locked up with tension and his body quaked against his rebellion.

She leaned away from him too quickly and he lashed out, just missing being able to grasp onto her as she lurched backwards. She was on her front in a flash, belly crawling before scrambling up to an awkward, crouched run. He followed after her, lunging again and landing on top of her back just as she made it into the train-car aisle.

Charon flipped her around to her back and her arms flailed wildly. He grabbed the sides of her face with his hands and held her in place as she gasped, then whimpered when he started pushing his hands together with her head trapped between them. Her bag slid from one of the chairs beside her head from her arms being flung about and catching the strap; he ignored it as it smacked into his shoulder on the way down and spilled some of its contents.

He fought his body's urge to apply pressure and crush her skull, he fought the way his biceps tensed to twist her head, he fought it all but he could see the discomfort and terror on her face and knew he had to be hurting her by now.

He sucked in air through his nose aperture, half-convinced he could smell her fear. "I'll make it quick," he grunted out in promise to her.

"Ch-ron-" she exhaled and inhaled his name, tears rolling down her cheeks and stopping at the dam his thumbs made while she batted uselessly at him and kicked her legs out. He could tell she was trying desperately to bring her knees between them and shove him off.

Brave. So brave. She didn't look away from his eyes even as he started apply pressure one way or the other, his indecision prolonging her visceral torment. Why couldn't he stop? He could just stop, couldn't he? She clearly hadn't meant to incur his wrath like this, and the contract was whole and unharmed except for that one, tiny corner. In fact, he could see it lying on one of the warped train-car steps.

He felt like he was crushing her jaw, and still she found the ability to speak as soon as her body gave up. Four little words filled with exoneration for him.

"Okay, big guy. Okay." Her delivery was shaky, but it was like she was trying to forgive him for being an unforgivable monster right then.

"No..." He whined the denial in pure agony, because it wasn't 'okay'. His eyes rolled back from the way his brain was being scrambled over his indecision about her and he closed his lids, groaning loud into a roaring scream that tore in an echo through the tunnels.

He made a promise. He made a promise. He made a promise, and he didn't rob her of saying a proper goodbye to her dad just to kill her in a dirty fucking tunnel and sit around to wait for the next unfortunate bastard to come along and hand his contract to.

She was still telling him it was okay, still forgiving him. He felt something sharp prick into his left arm, followed by another, the odd feeling ripping him from giving in to the mind-numbing pain and wrenching him back to reality.

He felt sluggish when he opened his eyes to see a real god damn angel under him. He inhaling deep before breathing out her name, "Waaaaan....daaaaaa..."

His ability to blink was heavy and slow and he tried to keep his eyes open as he looked down into Wanda's pretty hazel irises. Were they sparkling? Wow, they were something...

He pitched forward a little, held up only by his elbows at the sides of her head, and her now awkwardly-folded arms pushing into the front of him. His hands slid into her long brown hair of their own volition, gripping it at the scalp, causing her to cry out and arch her body for relief from the tugging pressure. He saw white little needles stuck into the inside of his left arm and he laughed. A full-belly chuckle that dried up easily.

Her...Her Med-X?

He let out a surprised laugh. Wouldn't you know? It sure as hell calmed him down and loosened him up.

Her stomach and tits pushed against his chest as he dropped down onto her, holding her as the illness and splitting headache that were making his mind go numb from pain faded away for the second time. He was grunting and huffing like a damn animal, eyes rolling back and closing before he heard Wanda grunt and groan trying to push him off of her.

He blinked his eyes twice more, wondering why she smelled so damn good all of a sudden. Maybe it was because his face was so close to her hair...

But what was more important was that she was breathing. She was alive and her eyes were wide as saucers, looking into his as she pushed and pushed to move his weight... Son of a bitch, she was alive, and he didn't have a drive to kill her at the moment. She wriggled and grunted and he kind of liked the movement, but then another pinprick in his arm had him feeling even more weightless than before.

Chapter Text

Charon had been still and silent with his eyes closed for several tense seconds before Wanda patted him and slurred hesitantly, "Hey? Uh, big guy? You with me?"

She pushed on his shoulders and there was nothing but slack weight--a metric tonne of it. As if she couldn't have surmised that from the first time she set eyes on him. Still, she'd never had to support or carry him in any capacity. His heft was nearly flattening her spine against one of the raised tracks under her and it hurt badly, even in her still slightly inebriated state, but it was nothing compared to the adrenaline fear still surging through her from what happened beforehand.

Fuuuuuuck me, she thought to herself, huffing out a manic breath of disbelief as she gave up trying to push him off her and stared up at the train-car roof above her. Shit, she groaned internally, I could use some of that Med-X right about now...

She closed her eyes and several minutes passed--agonising minutes where she thought about Charon's terrifying behaviour and the miraculous quick thinking that likely saved her life. Why hadn't she thought further ahead, to the possibility of having to defend herself against his contractual wrath? At least she had some luck left; though her intention was to incapacitate and not subject him to overdose, beggars certainly couldn't be choosers.

Can a big ass ghoul like him even overdose? she asked herself, trying to stay present and upbeat when he inhaled a long, loud snore. Or is he getting the most peaceful nap he's probably had in a while? she groused, shoving him again and managing to wiggle out from under his body a little more.

Her internal monologue went unanswered, of course. She wouldn't have any explanation until he woke up or she starved to death beneath his corpse, and she didn't want to be around to find out if his murderous rage extended past long naps in the event he did wake up...

Oh. Corpse. She'd called him that and seen the hurt in his milky eyes. A new spike of shame made her face hot despite it already having been warm with anger and drink.

"I'm sorry, Charon. God, I'm so sorry. I've been awful," she whispered to the stagnant, silent air. "I'm just so messed up without dad-" She choked up a little bit, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. "-you'd think I'd be used to him being gone now, but it was a Schrodinger's Cat situation during the last six months without him. I still had hope that he wasn't actually gone, and..." She looked down Charon's head on her chest with an empty sadness. "Well, now it's real, isn't it?"

She sniffled a little, managing to keep more tears at bay. "It's real," she repeated sullenly, "and you're probably going to kill me when those chems wear off," she concluded with a shaky exhale. "At least it'll put an end to this iron bar assaulting my spinal cord at the moment," she added with a weak, amused snort.

She let out a break and relaxed back for a moment from pushing, then pushed hard and grunted in renewed effort, trying to adjust her position under Charon's immovable bulk. "Holy shit, Charon-" She panted, groaning as she pushed and pushed to slide him the rest of the way off of her. "What do you feed yourself-" She groaned some more, giving him another long, lifting push. "-concrete chunks...and rebar?"

Wanda gave him one last lifting shove and finally escaped, letting out a sob of relief as he slumped hard to the metal walkway and she sat up. The world spun for a moment and she regretted her recent diet of all alcohol and no food. Hand to her head, she seethed about the sudden onset of pain behind her forehead and leaned forward, waiting until it all went away.

More time she didn't have passed without her paying it any attention; she just held her face in her hands and continued to lean forward with her legs stretched out before her. After a while Charon moaned quietly and stirred, his big body twitching a little when she abruptly dropped her hands and looked at him. She didn't have a lot of time, energy, or brain power, but she immediately stumbled up from the train-car floor and began gathering her shit. Just the essentials.

With her rifle strap over one shoulder, her small pack at her back, and a lead pipe in hand, she turned and stopped abruptly. Charon was still lying there on his side and hadn't moved anymore, a lump of leather-covered patchy flesh and red hair. The longer she stared the worse she felt for leaving him like that, but damn it, she wasn't going to have a brain-rewired mercenary after her without getting a head start in.

She cast a look around out of the train-car window. His contract was on the ground still, but out of harm's way. She didn't see a need for it anymore, seeing as how she was literally crushing it to her chest when he attacked. It wasn't going to save her from him if she took it with her; probably just make him even more angry that she had the audacity to.

With a last look down at him she uttered, "I hope you find better employment, big guy," in a raspy whisper--part in the spirit of her usual smart-ass banter with him, part in genuine well-wish.

Her head was throbbing and her nerves were still shot but she managed to put one foot in front of the other, stepping down from the train-car's walkway and uneven stairs, then travelling southwest down the subway tunnel until she could turn and head into a parallel maintenance access corridor. Her hand was clammy and the pipe felt heavy and unreliable in it, but where she was going...anything she did, including defending herself, would have to be quiet.

Now, she wasn't entirely sure what a ghoul's sense of smell was like but she didn't think Charon could locate her by following her scent or anything... Though she also couldn't be sure about what the people who made his contract did to him she had to assume he didn't have super senses, but he wasn't dumb. A part of her hoped he wouldn't think to come down this way since she was deathly afraid of the ferals and they hadn't cleared out this part of the underground yet.

She came to a door that was locked and had to jimmy it loose, placing a box of old detergent in between the heavy door and the jamb. It was pitch black on the other side and she didn't fancy the idea of having to pick the sticky lock again in the dark. Having some of the vodka still in her system greatly reduced her fear of the unknown and becoming feral food; the 6'5 ghoul that was going to wake up strung out and possibly still bloodthirsty gave her the necessary push the rest of the way.

She looked down at her left arm and turned her Pipboy light down from dim to off, then slipped through the opening without a backward glance.

-_-_-_-

The heavy plink of her pipe smacked into the hand of a ghoul attacking her, ripping off a finger or two as the clawed thing swiped at her. She had put too much force into it, connecting the end of the lead rod with the concrete tunnel wall to her left and making a noise that echoed loudly through the elongated space. With a panicked huff she drew the pipe back in a reverse arc and connected it to the ghoul's lower jaw before it tried to tackle her.

By then she was swinging wildly at it and trying not to let out antagonised screams when it got too close. It finally gave up with a pathetic screech when she got it on the ground, but then it grabbed her calf and dug vicious claws into her flesh. She bit back a scream and stomped on its neck. That was the fourth she'd had to kill and it probably wouldn't be the last, but at least they were all isolated battles with single combatants and not coming at her in a group.

This one had gotten her good in the leg and it hurt to flex it. She straightened up and hissed, having to stop short of standing tall and grab her side to the right of her bellybutton where warm wetness coated her hand, and then some. Wanda dropped her pipe--luckily the ghoul's body muffled the subsequent thud--and bit back a groan.

She shook a little as she opened her mouth and screamed silently. Can this get any fucking worse! she wanted to bellow, but she knew that griping about it aloud would just draw unwanted ghoul attention to her.

Teeth clenched, she marched to the general area where she'd had to drop her rifle in the previous fight and found its outline, bending her knees to squat and pick it up instead of bending at the waist, choosing to exacerbate the lesser of the two wounds. She put the strap over her shoulder and head with her left hand, the right still pressed to her side as she straightened once more and looked down at her Pipboy map.

The access door to the west side of Georgetown wasn't much further. In fact, though she couldn't see it in the pitch dark, the door was a straight shot in front of her. She started limping in that direction, excited to see the sun and never come back to this shitty tunnel again. Fucking feral ghouls--if she never saw another one it would still be too soon.

Behind her, the intermittent shrieking of more ferals carried hauntingly through the tunnels toward her, sounding as if they were getting closer. She wasn't sure why that would be, as she'd been so careful about being quiet, but she picked up her pace regardless and forewent taking any Stimpaks until she made it outside.

A few more meters...just a few more meters... Don't look back, keep going. The loudest shuffling and screeching echoed in her immediate area and she chanced a cursory look over her shoulder. She couldn't see shit but her instincts told her that whatever was approaching her would reach her faster than she could make it to the door. Her rifle wasn't going to help shit when she couldn't see far enough, and she risked having a poor aim with her side in as much pain as it was.

She whipped around and toggled the switch for her Pipboy light so she might have a fighting chance without a weapon in her hand. There were three, all running full speed at her and clawing the air menacingly. She barely even had time to inhale a gasp when the central one lunged at her, quite literally leaping through the air with its full body, as if it didn't care where it actually ended up.

She sidestepped it and stumbled in her disquiet, crying out upon putting thoughtless pressure on her injured leg in the process. The lunger landed a few feet away on a pile of blown out rubble from the tunnel's south wall; the other two slammed into each other in their combined lack of coordination. Breathing heavy and amazed at her continued strokes of luck--or perhaps lack thereof--she stumbled back further and pulled her rifle up, working the bolt to bring a cartridge up into the chamber and trying not to let her shaky hands fuck it up.

Wanda hastily tucked the butt of the stock against the wall and pulled the trigger. The kick-back from properly taking aim at one of the ghouls would have absolutely wrecked her if she had tucked it to her shoulder, so she sacrificed accuracy and fired blindly. One of the two tangled together was hit, a chunk of its neck and shoulder exploding out behind it to paint the south wall while it shrieked and staggered, taking its partner with it. The lunger recovered as soon as she realised she only had the one cartridge in the damn magazine.

She improvised recklessly, ripping the strap over her head and taking hold of the barrel and stock to swing the rifle like a bat. She let loose a war cry as she connected the end with the ghoul's head, knocking it aside and absolutely winded her. She bent at the waist without thinking, releasing an abrupt shriek of her own as she disturbed the wound at her side. She dropped her rifle and the gun clattered some distance away as she tried to put pressure on her wound to alleviate the pain.

Her luck had officially run out it seemed, but she didn't want to just lie down and die. A ragged half-laugh, half-sob left her lips before she yelled, "Come on!" at the two remaining ghouls, then pushed all her might into screaming more to herself than to them as she slammed her fist into her side, "Come on!"

Wanda charged, tackling one of the two threats and going for its throat. She bit into the toughened skin and gnawed hard until she found purchase enough to rip it's throat open. She spat the acrid blood and flesh out, leaning forward despite the pain in her torso to do it again when she got tackled to the ground herself, landing hard on her left and only able to wheeze pathetically on impact.

They rolled twice until the ghoul's back hit the north wall, then quickly settled atop her to begin viciously clawing at her. Both arms up and trying to keep the ghoul at bay as it grappled with her, she felt her strength flagging and her mind already resigning itself to a horrifying death. All she could think of in those chaotic few moments was what she'd said to Charon, though that was in part because he'd promised her a quick death.

Okay, big guy, was a taunting echo in her head. An evil mockery of her own voice accepting it all because of what she'd seen in his eyes: remorse for what wasn't and guilt for what was, and some profound sadness she didn't understand because she wasn't a 200-something-year-old ghoul with mental illness--or whatever brainwashing constituted as--whose body was programmed to kill without question and whose mind was taking issue with that protocol.

These ghouls, though... They were nothing like Charon. Maybe that would make it easier to die to them in the end, but it wouldn't make it less horrific of a death.

"Fuck..." she breathed out. Her expression of rage was contorting into some strange mix of incredulity and regret as hot tears rolled down her cheeks and into her ears and hair.

Who was she, now that she'd lost Dad and her drive to help the Capital Wasteland, and basically told the Brotherhood and Dr. Li to fuck off? Who would she forever be remembered as, dead down here in the feral-infested Metro where someone was more likely to find her as a pile of bones and cloth than anything else? For fuck's sake--she'd pushed Charon away, of all people, and he was contractually obligated to stick around and protect her.

And how fucking fitting was it to be brutally killed by the creatures she feared most, in the dark, pathetically hoping for another miracle? Was it too much to ask for a quick death? It certainly was for a saviour.

The ghoul on top of her screamed in her face and she screamed back, with all her remaining strength. But before it could take advantage of her failing arms its head exploded in a spray of brain matter and blood. Blood that got in her shocked-open mouth, splashed across her face, and dripped from the stump above her. She was staring at the stump and unable to look away at the mess as another blast sounded to her right, then another further down the tunnel toward the access door.

Heavy boots thudded purposefully against the concrete floor, squelching more blood and viscera than she cared to think about. A leather-clad leg kicked aside the ghoul body she still had suspended above her and... And there he was. No saviour, that was for damn sure; but his eyes were as milky blue as ever and the disappointed set to his mouth was a familiarity she needed in that moment.

Then dread filled the pit of her stomach because, even though he looked like an avenging angel in that moment, he was there for her and not to save her.

She stared at him like a dumb brahmin that had gotten out of its pen and held her breath. Part of her was temped to greet him, another part of her was deathly afraid of making any noise whatsoever as he looked down at her. She didn't have a guess as to what was going on inside his head, as per usual, but she imagined it wasn't far off from plotting how he was going to blow her head off.

She finally tried to say something, but nothing came out. She tried again, and this time was little more than a reluctant and terrified squeak, "Charon?"

He grunted. That was it, just a grunt. Caving under his silent intimidation, she shrieked and felt around blindly for something to grab and use to bash his head in. Pain racked her and reminded her of the current state she was in, as she curled her fingers around a chunk of rubble and swung it out toward his shoulder and not his head. He brought his hand up quickly, trapping her power in the blow with a resounding slap against his hand as his fingers closed around her less-than-sensible weapon.

Feebly, she tried to pull it out of his grasp so she could swing at him again.

He yanked it away, tossing it somewhere behind her where it clanged against something metal and then rattled to silence. His head tilted--a dare for her to try something again as he audibly cracked his neck--and he exhaled at her as she trembled and kept her wary, fearful gaze on him. When he didn't move otherwise, she clumsily sat up a little and started crawling backward on her elbows.

"How many times..." He just...watched her crawl away. "...do I have to tell you?" His voice was measured, quiet, very choice and deliberate as always but with an edge to it that was unfamiliar to her.

Unfamiliar, and very, very scary. He stood slowly, tracking her as she crawled back further and then bumped into whatever metal thing the stone had hit. Gasping as the noise it made went on for longer than she anticipated, she looked over her shoulder to see it was a metal bucket and that the concrete he'd tossed had landed inside of it, making its rattling even more pronounced.

"Physical..." She whipped her head back to look at him taking a step toward her as he spoke. "...violence..." Step. "...invalidates..." Another step. His longer gait had him in front of her by then, and he crouched down to her level once more to finish speaking, "...the contract."

She swallowed hard, still having to look up at him even though he was squatting directly in front of her. "I guess I just thought we might have...v-ventured past the point of discussion?" she supplied weakly.

"Oh..." She noticed the skin of his forehead wrinkle, indicating he’d lifted a brow. "We have, Wanda," he affirmed coldly.

He held his arms out pointedly, wrists upturned. She gulped, loudly, looking from his arms back to his normally warm, milky blue eyes but they didn't hold any such warmth that she could see now. Her lips trembled and she could only shake her head, blinking at him rapidly in confusion.

"Thank you for sharing your supply with me, Wanda, really. I think I might return the favour to make what I have in store last...a little longer," he rasped, lowering his arms to drape them over his thighs.

His words and tone--it was impossible to swallow down her terrified whimper and hope he wouldn't hear it. "Ch-Charon..." She shook her head again. "I-I was scared, Charon. I don't want to die--I didn't want you to kill me..." She trailed off at his increasingly sceptical look.

"You did not?" he asked with a distinct, gut-punching note of ridicule. "Well-" He sucked his teeth and tilted his head a little. "-we are certainly well past discussing your conduct, and..." His eyes dipped down her body in a quick scan as he reached into a thigh pocket on his leather leggings, then he met her eyes again. "I am well past killing you quickly, I think."

"Because you're the Capital Wasteland's most generous and benevolent ghoul and you're going to let me go? Right, big guy?" she asked awkwardly, filling the space between them with words. Not because she was complacent, but because her thoughts were a mess to be rifled through for infeasible escape plan after infeasible escape plan, and she was too scared out of her fucking wits to make proper reparations and beg him to reconsider whatever he had planned.

It fell miserably flat under his unamused stare.

"No," he answered plainly, looking as though he enjoyed tanking any hope she may have had left. "It is because you dosed me with some shit that you should not have." She was going to apologise for that actually--profusely--but couldn't find the right words before he was speaking again, voice lowered and lips twitching a little. "My dick is hard just thinking about it, Wanda."

"What?" she blurted, having to close her eyes. Her mind needed a hard reset for that.

Charon had never spoken to her in any such way from the time they met until now. In fact, she didn't think she'd heard the words 'my dick' ever come out of his mouth within any context. As far as she knew, before now, the worst of his crude vocabulary included 'bastard' and sometimes a colourful 'fucker' if he was feeling cheeky about a raider in combat.

She felt something sharp and small stab into her thigh, causing her to open her eyes again and stared up into his very serious, intense blue eyes. He pulled away a dose of Med-X and she repeated herself with a choppy, "Wh-What?" because she'd hit a mental processing roadblock.

He smirked at her--Smirking? Charon never does anything of the sort.--and tossed the empty syringe aside. After a moment he pushed her pack off her shoulders, then gave her a humiliatingly amused look when she just sagged there, struck dumb and starting to feel a rush of The Whoozies.

"I think you heard me," he said, voice quiet and distorted.

He didn't give her time to process or reply at all after that, not that she could have if she wanted to. He inched forward and grabbed her under the arms, lifting her with him. She didn't even feel the pain in her side as he hoisted her up and over his shoulder where she landed with a huffed out, 'oof.' Charon carried her like a caveman in the darkness only illuminating a step in every direction by her Pipboy light.

She would have found his behaviour really funny if he weren't scaring the shit out of her again. As if reality caught up with her in a fell swoop, she came to life and started beating on his back and kicking her legs out. Under the effects of the drugs she really thought she was doing some damage, but her strikes were feeble in reality.

She inhaled deeply before yelling at him in one breath, "Put me down! Charon, put me down-Ow!"

By the sharp pinprick in the back of her upper thigh under her asscheek, he'd given her another dose. This was followed by a slap of his heavy hand down onto the same spot--a warning to be quiet, she supposed, though she didn't see the point in obeying it. Even if her pain was dulled the noise the smack made sounded like it was full force and he intended her to feel it. She did feel it, even if it was latent, as a stinging spread through her whole behind when he slapped it twice more.

"You are no longer my employer, Wanda." He must have felt her sudden rigidity through her bonelessness because he let out a low laugh. "Best to get that out of the way now."

She gripped the waistband on his leather pants and tried to pull herself down and off of his back, having to use her core to do so as sneakily as possible. She instantly recalled the one time Amata stole her dad's whiskey from the Overseer’s office, and what a disaster that was. Her mouth grew watery with upcoming bile as she remembered why she never drank.

They had guzzled that bottle together in Amata’s room, giggling and gossiping while both of their fathers were busy investigating the anonymous tip that there was a ‘gas leak’ in the diner. My, how they had ragged on Butch DeLoria before Amata pointed out he was probably the cutest in the vault...

Wanda had gotten home later than she intended and collapsed on the floor as soon as she reached the safety and security it provided, but was then forced to belly crawl to her bed because she couldn’t bear to stand up--it was safer being close to the floor--and hoped Dad wouldn't smell the watery puke she left in the corner of her room when he got home.

He’d found out, of course. His disappointment in her was crushing, in retrospect.

She hadn't thought of Amata in so many months but she was struck with a sudden urge to go back and see her, to visit and tell her everything she’d seen out here in the Wasteland, how alive she felt... If she'd even be welcomed back.

With determination beyond the drug haze, she threaded her fingers through Charon's belt loops so that she could, at the right moment, pull herself down far enough to reach his shotgun hanging at his hip. The ground was littered with bodies, some she knew were her doing, but the majority were new additions that she had to assume Charon had left there. Stealth wasn't a big thing for him.

He continued to march on like some single-minded deathclaw on the prowl and she was thankful for his attention seeming to be focused forward. She wanted to talk to him, to distract him more or perhaps to get an idea for where his head was really at...or to find out whether this was all the contract's doing. Wanda was scared, yes, but she still couldn't even force sincerity into her voice on the off-chance that he was doing this because he thought she had intended to harm him for no reason.

"Now, Charon, you know I didn't mean to...get violent with your contract," she began shakily, sliding a little further down his shoulder when he bounced down some steps. She had no idea where they were now and she was struggling to keep the gun in her sights as a sort of spotting point while her head spun more and more out of her control. For all she knew her words were a strung-together garble and slur that he didn't understand a word of.

She had only a second or two to think about reaching for the shotgun, which was just within reach, when he turned slightly at the waist and used his free hand to fluidly yank it from the thigh holster, holding its weight loosely in his free hand as he exhaled in what sounded like exasperation.

Wanda didn't succumb to defeat, lifting her head and trying to look at their surroundings, feeling blood rush in her head that tinted her vision with swirly black, mixing with the surrounding darkness and forming shapes that couldn't possibly be there. She muddled through her light-headedness and flopped against his back with a resigned, "Where are we going?"

Couldn't he have just killed her and gotten it over with already? She wrote that thought off as soon as she asked herself, recalling the sinister and rather frightening way he mentioned he was aroused by his plans for her.

It sounded like he sucked his teeth before he answered her gruffly, ominously, and as tight-lipped as ever. "You will see."

After a time he opened a heavy metal door and it slammed shut behind them. The echo went on and on in the new space, quickly followed by unsettling silence as he turned and walked from the short alcove into a caved-in train tunnel.

Wanda wriggled once, unable to properly see their surroundings. She planted her hands against his lower back, grunting while managing to push herself up a little--unfortunately unable to miss how good his ass looked in that leather at her new viewpoint--and groggily looking around while Charon turned a corner and began walking again.

Her head swam at the quick movement but then she could see the full scope of Foggy Bottom Station now. She had avoided this place since coming here last time for a reason: no matter what one did to clear the raiders out of areas like this, they would just come back twice as vicious and set up shop over the bones of the previous occupants.

A close second to a pack of feral ghouls was a den of chem-crazed raiders with over-fortified holdouts and the high ground. She couldn't articulate this to Charon, in fact she shouldn't have to, but it was hard to trust that he had a plan while he was walking through a raider den like he owned the place.

She heard groaning and shuffling around, and someone uttering a low and paranoid, "I heard somethin'..." followed by a panicked, "What the fuck?"

"Charon," she whispered apprehensively, flopping down against his back in exhaustion but still fighting to put urgency in her voice and get his attention. She failed miserably. "Th-this is raider territory..."

"Is it?" he replied drily, continuing on his path without a faltered step.

Seconds after that, Charon lifted his shotgun and fired off a shot, which was followed by a raider shouting, "No, Donny!"

"Must have missed a few," she heard Charon grumble under his breath.

"Holy shit! It's that big fuckin' ghoul again!" another cried.

In her somewhat painless and subdued state, Wanda wrinkled her nose and thought, That's not very original. And then all hell broke loose.

In the next instant the world was blurring with dull colours, then her back hit the floor. She let out a delayed whimper, trying to sit up and crying out as she pushed her hand to her side to quell the abruptly sharp, aching pain. She'd forgotten about her injuries and flattened back down with a self-deprecating whine. Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot...

Her vision swam as her head lolled--she was so tired now--and she was left to watch as Charon took up cover from the gunfire across from her. He didn't even spare her a glance as he jumped over it when there was a lull and went after the raiders she couldn't see.

How did they know Charon? She found their acknowledgement of having previously encountered each other odd, especially Charon's. She blinked her eyes very slowly, feeling the strongest wave of the steady-release Med-X yet, and mumbling nonsensically to herself through it. She must have blacked out for a while because she woke to see someone who wasn't Charon stop in front of her.

They kicked her shoulder, then crouched down and grabbed her by the front of her shirt to lift her up and examine her closely, revealing themself to be a woman with a dirty face and and stinky breath. "What the fuck is this?" she demanded. Wanda had no answer for her, but it turned out she wasn't speaking to her at all.

"The fuck is what?" someone else asked.

"This bitch is X-ed up, Sam," the woman relayed with a snort of amusement before pulling an off-put face and releasing Wanda so that she slumped back down bonelessly. "Eww, she's got rotten feral guts all over her!" she exclaimed, shaking her hands out and pulling a very off-put face as she released Wanda's shirt so that she slumped back down bonelessly.

Well, you don't smell much like roses either, cunt she wanted to retort. It really was too bad she had one foot in lala land with the other in a really grim-looking reality.

"That fuckin' zombie was carrying her," the other person replied, coming into view with their back to her like they were scanning the area for threats still. This one looked like a man but Wanda couldn't be sure by their unisex name; plus they were quite skinny, with a voice that was too strained to be able to tell if it was naturally deep for a female or high pitched for a male.

She hoped... She really hoped their presence didn't mean they'd done Charon in, because she was already imagining this little meeting as the very sordid beginning of her one-way trip to Paradise Falls in exchange for caps and a stack of chems.

The woman backed off a little, looking extremely grossed out now that she knew Charon had touched Wanda. "That thing probably wanted to...to eat her, or some shit!" Then she looked over her shoulder to suggest, "Let's leave her. That fucking zombie can eat her in peace and we can get out of here!"

"No. She might be worth somethin' to someone," the other one said to overrule the woman, giving her a sidelong look before their attention returned to scan the space around them.

Charon was still alive. That was a relief... Kind of.

The woman started to stand up, frantically shaking her head. "We need to get the fuck out o-"

Once again, brain matter and blood showered over Wanda. She had sense enough to have her orifices shut this time, only opening her eyes when she heard more shouting and the blood seemed to have stopped spurting onto her. She watched Charon's larger form advance on the other raider as the junkie screamed and fired off shaky, poorly aimed shots from their 10mm.

"Just for that, I am going to eat you first, fucker," Charon said in declaration--well, he growled it, really. Even Wanda was inclined to believe he'd do just that due to his vehemence.

Now, it might have been the blur of everything and how warm and sleepy she felt just lying there, but she swore Charon shrugged off every bullet as he marched up to that raider. He smacked the handgun out of their hands before raising his own arms to grab and crush their skull with his bare fucking hands. That last bit of savagery and carnage spelled defeat. She closed her eyes and rolled over to her right, heaving her insides onto the dirt and bloody rubble.

"Oh, fuck," she groaned, trying to get her bearings and opening her eyes, gaze immediately falling upon the female raider's corpse which was missing half its head. The one intact eye was staring lifelessly but the half of an expression frozen there was one of sheer shock and terror. Wanda threw up again--was still actively throwing up bile--as Charon lifted her from the ground.

He propped her up over his arm until she was done, then tried to stand her on her feet. It didn't hold, she was limp and too tired to even try. She couldn't even keep her eyes open anymore and was so out of it by that point that she started giggling and coughing and giggling some more to keep from breaking down into sobs.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Charon barked, shaking her as her legs gave out.

Thankfully, he took enough pity on her to catch her in his arms. She felt like a stringless marionette and it was funny... Charon wouldn't understand.

"What the hell, Wanda!" he hissed in what sounded more like accusation than undue surprise.

She felt him peel up her ripped shirt where the ghoul had dug its claws into her side and heard him make a noise she could only describe as a predator's growl. It was both scary and slightly endearing--she interpreted it to mean that he cared for her injuries still, even though she couldn't see his facial expression to confirm that, and that he was quite upset with her for not telling him about it.

Well, why should she have? He wanted to kill her and made it very clear his intent was to drag it out. To be frank, this death was the better option.

"Hah...got you..." she teased in sing-song, mouth open because she was trying to smile but it probably didn't look even remotely like one.

"What are you like this?" came his rhetorical deadpan.

Then, she was weightless again, carried in his arms instead of over his shoulder. It felt like they were walking up stairs as she bounced in his hold considerably--Was he taking them two at a time? Was he that eager to get started before she faded away?--then she was being put down somewhere that felt softer than chunky, uncomfortable rubble, and warmer than the cold ground.

Her head lolled to the left and she was able to flutter her eyes now that the rest of her body could relax, catching sight of Charon on his knees and moving stuff around in front of him that she couldn't see past his large body. They were inside one of the pre-war turnstile booths where a shitty mattress had been shoved, but it felt like a cloud under her back anyway.

A fucking pharmacy of chems were set out in organised groupings on the shelving: three bottles of Buffour, six injections of Psycho, a whopping ten cannisters of Jet, and too many Med-X syringes to count. How in the fuck had Charon amassed so many? And why? When Charon moved a little to the side to look at something else, Wanda could see he was messing with an assortment of Stimpaks as well.

The set-up could have possibly been the raiders' doing but she doubted they cared enough to do so. Charon looked at home, in any case; he looked like he knew what he was doing and was familiar with the immediate area and organisation of it. He plucked up a Stimpak and pivoted, turning his body to sit at the side of the mattress and lean over her, inserting the syringe into her skin near the wound and pushing the plunger down quickly.

"What...are you...d-doing...?" she mumbled, not even feeling the process of her muscle and fibers being rapidly knit back together.

He gave her a sour look before taking the needle out and placing the empty Stimpak on the shelf. A long exhale left his nose aperture and all she could do was flutter her eye lids and hope to stay conscious long enough to convince him that he didn't need to hurt her to make his point. If his contract demanded he kill her for doing what she did, then she wasn't going to fight him on it.

She was going to fight him on his methods. When the Med-X wore off...if it ever wore off--God, it was lasting forever. How many had he given her now?

"Wanda," he began, and to her it almost seemed like his stern and hardened features were softening. "Are you aware of what you do to me?"

"I make you mad," she conjectured readily despite her borderline delirium.

"That is a very..." He paused. She caught flashes of him working his jaw in thought, his blue eyes roaming over her body in a clinical way. Then he turned at the waist and grabbed another Med-X dose.

She felt nauseous just looking at it. "No, Charon..." she whined.

He ignored her. "Making me 'mad' is a sore understatement, Wanda. You don't make me 'mad,'" he clarified as he put the needle into her good leg and injected the contents. His voice lowered to something affected as he finished his thought, "you make me feel paroxysmal."

She swallowed down the nauseous feeling but it didn't go away; but it wasn't like she had more to heave than acidic bile, anyway. And damn his stupid archaic eloquence and vocabulary! She had no idea what the fuck that word meant but she could at least extrapolate from his tone that she evoked intense feelings from him.

She moved past it, regardless. "Why...are we...here...?" she huffed out. Her eyes were shut, she was fading fast.

"Where else was I supposed to find more Med-X?" he asked, voice warped and wavering. "You and I used the four doses we had."

"Four?" she puffed weakly. Hadn't he put one in her ass? Or under it? Or somewhere near her ass?

Hah...ass...

Still, she could count high enough to know that three went into Charon initially, he gave her one in the ghoul tunnels and one more on the way... One more would mean five. She should tell him that. She should show that she knew basic math just in case he didn't. Wouldn't he be impressed? Math was a skill a lot of people didn't have in the Wasteland and...and he needed her because she could count and she could keep up with his stupid vocabulary sometimes.

"I gave you a Stimpak for your leg, Wanda. You have only had one dose--well, two now," he amended.

Had she said all that aloud? And fuck, why was it that when he spoke it was like she was trying to listen with tissue paper stuffed in her ears.

She could feel her eyes rolling back into her head and her lips parting, the warm feeling in her body and mind was bliss compared to the stress and pain over the last couple of days.

Wanda let out a sigh and breathed dreamily, "Hooooooly shit, big guy..." She relaxed completely on the mattress under what she could only imagine were Charon's watchful eyes. Something still nagged at her, but she didn't find that there was an anxiety for what his reply might be as he asked very slowly, "Are you still...gonna hurt me, Charon?"

The last thing she heard was more of his low laughter; she could imagine him shaking his head at her, amused by her and pitying her at the same time. "Yes, Wanda," he said quietly, "I think it is still going to hurt, no matter how much Med-X I give you."

Chapter Text

Wanda groaned and shifted around. Her head felt like it weighed 50 pounds and her mouth felt like the air in the wind-swept Mall when she closed it and tried to swallow. It took several passes of her tongue to get the saliva flowing again, then she peeled her eyes open and blinked them a few times.

She was in the subway still...but not in the train-car, like she thought she'd be. So that wasn't some drunk-off-my-ass dream, then, she thought. Great. She was stripped down to her skivvies too, not that she cared much about that. She had no doubts that her gear had been disgusting and more or less torn to shreds to the last of her knowledge. She felt...clean, though.

It took some amount of effort to sit up, facing the open entrance to the booth to see Charon coming toward her. He was dressed in his casual pants and nothing else, appearing far less murderous than she could remember from their first altercation back at the train-car camp, but there was still tension in him. He looked good, she couldn't deny that with his abs on display the way they were, but he was clearly pent-up about something.

Maybe she was just hyper aware of it now that they were at odds but he was on edge, and something was telling her more about why that might be than his words ever had. And his hair almost looked wet. She couldn't be sure because it was already a dark red colour and tended to get filthy and greasy after long periods out in the Wasteland, which unfortunately sometimes gave hair a wet appearance.

Sheepishly, she dipped her head a little in greeting and sat completely upright, feeling a twinge in her side but nothing painful--just an odd discomfort.

"Hey, big guy..." she tried, feeling like a moron but dipping a toe into conversation regardless.

"Hey yourself," he rasped, stopping in the opening and leaning his shoulder against it. His eyes trailed down her form, however small it was as she sat there folded up, then dragged it back up to meet her eyes. "You look much better than you did when I found you. Good," he announced, stepping inside where there was barely enough room for him to walk by the shelving without bumping it.

He seemed to be in decent spirits. "Thanks..." she said warily, scooting aside and then getting on all fours so she could push up to her feet on the uneven mattress.

"Stay there, sweetheart."

She froze. Sweetheart? She scrunched her face and looked up at him from her hands and knees as he turned to face her with a canister of Jet in his hand.

"Just like that..." His tone was nearly praising and she didn't know how she felt about that. She didn't know how she felt about any of it.

"Okay... Something is happening here that has me thinking I'm still very out of it," she mentioned to him.

"Good," he commented quietly, "then you won't mind tipping your head back a little and breathing this in." He put his free hand in her hair, having to stoop over her a little, and slid his ragged fingers down to her neck before gliding them up to tip her chin up. His skin smelled clean, though the gunpowder scent on his fingers would likely never wash out no matter how hard he tried; he smelled like the municipal water and detergent--had he washed their stuff?

Had he washed himself? What the hell was going on?

"Charon?" she whispered with uncertainty as he held the inhalant up to her mouth. Previous conversations would lead her to believe he wanted her dead...

He shushed her, now cupping her chin and nudging the cannister gently against her lips. She'd never taken Jet. The only addictive chem she'd ever done was Med-X and she used that sparingly...up until the past couple of hours--days? She wasn't sure and she just then noticed that she didn't have her Pipboy on to check.

"Are you gonna hurt me if I don't?" she enquired warily, her voice taking on a strangled quality from the angle.

She could tell nothing by his expression, nor the way he was looking down into her eyes. "Do you want to hurt, Wanda?"

"No," she breathed out in immediate answer. She'd felt enough for a lifetime, she supposed--between every battle, losing Dad, getting her head nearly crushed and then the shit clawed out of her by feral ghouls. "But I don't..." She tried to explain her misgivings with a note of desperation.

"Trust me and breathe in," he invited, saying nothing else.

She parted her lips and wrapped them around the canister mouthpiece, watching as he pushed his thumb down on the propellant and, while the puff caught her off guard at first, she breathed it in deeply.

"Hold it," he instructed her uncharacteristically gently, keeping the mouthpiece in place between her lips.

She nodded, pulling back from the mouthpiece and keeping her lips together. She breathed in again, through her nose, and it hit her in an instant.

"Yeah," he purred with a short laugh, "it is some good shit, huh?"

Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned, wavering on her hands and knees and letting out a sigh. Euphoria like nothing else she'd ever known became her entire being. The dirty mattress was an ocean of springy cotton beneath her fingers, knees, and toes that she bounced lightly on; Charon's smell was invading her olfactory and overpowering the stale stench of the musty station; and she felt elation the likes of which surpassed what Dad's pride ever instilled in her.

It was over too fast and something else took over. It started with a few stray tears; then, just like that, she started bawling. "Dad..." she uttered weakly, hanging her head. "Oh, God... Oh my God..." she repeated a few times, stuck on a loop.

Charon was shushing her again, crouching before her and taking up her entire field of vision as he held her face in his big, warm hands. "Yeah, honey. He's gone."

Honey... Wanda sniffled as more tears slipped down her cheeks. She leaned into Charon's touch, closing her eyes and just feeling it--just letting the highs and lows of grief and heartbreak and reminiscence ride out.

Another wave hit her and she sobbed out a loud, "Ah-ha-ha...!" before breathing in several hitchy breaths to do it again, "Ahhhh-aaahaaa-haaaa!" She pulled in a deep, ragged breath, then let it out in a wail, "Daaaaaaaaaaad!"

The whole time Charon was shushing her softly, his rough thumbs swiping her tears away from the apples of her cheeks, his hold serving as the only thing that was keeping her from collapsing against the mattress in despair. She curled her fingers, digging her nails into the mattress while she tried to swallow her emotions down, but she couldn't. Her whole body shook with the effort that would just wasted in the end.

"I know, Wanda," Charon murmured, his face a blur of patchy skin and milky blue. "I am here. I am here, Wanda. You have to feel it, baby. I know it hurts."

She clenched her teeth. She didn't want to feel it. "No! " she denied him sharply, trying to push him away but his hands held her face tightly. "F-fuck you..." She shuddered as she grasped his wrists and tried to pry him away, but it was no use because Charon wasn't backing down from her unspoken demand for him to fuck off. She closed her eyes again and screamed herself hoarse, "Fuck! You!"

She heard a throaty chuckle, misinterpreting his endearment for ridicule in her blind rage. Her eyes popped open and she lunged at Charon, who let her as he released her face. He had to have let her, because he could have swatted her away with his fucking pinky. He landed on his back, half off of the mattress edge.

"Give him back!" she screeched, raining down pitiful blows on his chest, then clawing at his face until he caught her wrists and kept her from shredding him up. "Give...Him...BACK!"

She tried to yank her arms from his grip, unbalanced because her knees barely touching the mattress on either side as her thighs barely fit around his torso. Their fight for control caused her to inadvertently scoot higher on his chest.

"You did this," she seethed. "You took him from me!"

She managed to get a hand free and used it to smack him hard across the face. Before she could even consider the consequences of doing that, he released her other wrist and wrapped his arms around her, trapping her to his chest as he pitched her to the side and rolled on top.

He slammed his fists into the mattress at either side of his head and snarled in her face, "I saved your life, little girl. Or did you want me to leave your tangy meat beside Daddy? A nice feast for the radroaches to eat?"

She flinched, unable to rear back from him with her body flat against the bed, before she recovered enough to shout, "It was my choice!"

"Do you even know what you are saying? Can you even hear yourself?" he thundered. "I thought you said you did not want to die?" he added cruelly.

She glowered pointedly. "Why should I care about living or dying anymore?"

In another blink of her eyes he had moved to prop himself on one elbow and grab her jaw with his other hand, the arm of which dug in to her chest between her breasts and she whined under his added weight. She knew he was holding back from crushing it into her though; she'd felt the full capacity of his body weight back in the train-car.

"Because people need you, Wanda," he snapped, giving her jaw a squeeze.

She tensed her jaw, vibrating with rage though she lowered her voice to match his own intimacy and insistence. "And what do I get?" she asked him. "Everyone always wants something, Charon, so what do I have left?" she stressed, lips quivering as she inhaled.

His eyes moved, close enough to her face that she could see he was searching her eyes. She felt his hand tremble, fingers relaxing incrementally around her jaw before they suddenly tightened again and he came so close that his nose aperture was right above her complete nose, air from it washing across her face as he breathed deep and hard breaths.

Then came a shaky, insistent reply, "Me." A low-toned, one-word strike straight to the heart. Quiet and intimate, and yet it left her head ringing like he'd roared it in her ear. "You have me, Wanda."

The fight left her and she gaped at him. "B-but your contract... And what I did...And then you..." she whispered with vulnerable incredulity.

"I do not know what happened," came his breathless admission. He shook his head after a long pause, taking his hand from her jaw and settling himself on both elbows at either side of her head. "When I woke up I was pissed, Wanda," he told her. "I sprinted here and I don't even remember killing all of the assholes that had moved in, but I do remember that I did not find you among them. I went back down through the tunnels and it occurred to me...you are quite scared of ferals-" He snorted softly. "-but apparently scared enough of me to brave them."

He let out a breath through his mouth and looked like he was marvelling at her for a moment.

"You are so brave, Wanda. So, so brave," he praised her. "I know-" He swallowed and looked away from her. "I know you wanted to stay there and say goodbye to him, but he was already gone." He dragged his eyes back to hers. "He knew he was already gone."

The tears came again, helpless and rolling into her ears and hair just like in the ghoul-infested tunnel, "You can't know that..." she whimpered.

"I told you that he said as much to me, baby. He knew it was a possibility-"

"But he didn't say goodbye to me!" she raged, interrupting him.

Her anger dissolved under Charon's lack of a reaction. He looked at her with such sadness in his blue eyes, with all the meaning that she could possibly read into.

"That's not f-air, Charon," she squeaked, hating how her voice cracked and the tears continued to flow. "That's not-"

She choked as her throat closed up, because she really didn't want to think about it let alone say it out loud. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't. Yet there it was, clear as a bell--a vivid memory of Dad that, maybe one day, wouldn't hurt so bad. She pressed her lips together and turned her head to look as far away from Charon as she could, staring dully at the chems on the shelf.

"He s-aid he was pr-oud of who I bec-ame without h-im," she hiccupped, pressing her fist to her mouth and biting down to hold in another scream. "Oh my God," she garbled around it.

"I am here, Wanda. We will get through it," Charon rasped softly, still holding himself above her. After several minutes of her blubbering and struggling to breathe through her sobs, he asked, "Do you want another one, baby?"

She didn't want to get addicted. Dad would... That would befoul his memory and his pride.

"I have Fixer, just in case" he informed her calmly, evidently ascertaining her fears and attempting to assuage them, "and we can get you to a doctor afterward, too."

It was enough. "Yes, pl-ease" she choked out, unable to meet his eyes.

He reached for a canister and brought it down, holding it to her parting lips and pushing the activator. Seconds later she was floating into bliss again, this time accompanied by a mild round of intense sadness before it dissipated and all she felt was the desire to take a long nap. She rolled to her side, suprised that Charon moved in behind her and pulled her in to the front of his body so that they were fit together, spooning.

"I am here, Wanda," he mumbled against her hair, pulling her in even tighter. "I am here," he repeated intermittently, until his voice faded away and her turmoil finally succumbed to the airy puff of Jet in her system.

"Daddy's here.

-_-_-_-

Her mouth was dry again when she came to. She smacked her lips a few times--they were just as dry, and cracked as well--and inhaled deep before stretching out on the mattress. The big, hard body behind her was a shock at first, but then she gradually relaxed back into Charon as their confrontation with one another clarified so many things when playing it in her head for a second time.

His arms tightened around her and she didn't pull away. She'd be lying if she said she didn't think of Charon in a...romantic way, once or twice. Maybe closer to six or seven times, a solid once-a-month ideation. They had a respectful rapport with one another up until now; he'd never said a mean thing to her unless they were ribbing each other and it was all in good fun.

Was she wrong to be receptive to him having put her in her place? Or to him directing her, instructing her, and taking the lead? She had to do that so often for everyone else. This was a nice change of pace.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, the rasp of his voice sending shivers down her spine as his breath ticked the space between her neck and shoulder from behind.

"Better," she answered honestly, if a little guarded. She didn't want to give him a passive 'okay,' but she didn't want to lie, either. And she was still unaware of what his intentions were.

He was quiet for a few moments before asking, "Better, huh?"

Something about the way he asked it made her shiver again, and this time not because of the tickle of his breath.

"Charon," she gasped, turning to face him.

He grabbed her face in his huge damn hand and pointed it forward again, her body obediently followed suit. "Face forward, baby."

"Okay," she acknowledged, voice suddenly too rough and affected by his behaviour. She clenched her thighs, uncertain as to where this was leading but perversely excited by it anyway.

"What did your dad do for you, Wanda?" he asked.

Yuck, huge turn off. She nearly turned around to face him again but his hand was still holding her face and his arm was pushing down on hers to keep her on her side.

"Answer the question, Wanda..."

She racked her brain for something that might be palatable to the mood that was being set but, quite literally, nothing came to mind. "Uh, he t-took care of me?" His enduring silence made her feel self-conscious and a little dumb. "He gave me everything I ever wanted or needed," she added quietly.

Charon gave her a throaty hum and she was glad that nothing about this was overtly sexual aside from the previous undertones. And the tension--holy shit, the tension was coming back with a vengeance. His thumb stroked her cheekbone and she practically melted into the mattress.

"He was the only one who took care of you, was he not?" he surmised correctly. "A provider; protector."

"Yeah," she confirmed gently, feeling numb sadness start to creep in.

"I am going to take care of you now, Wanda."

Had she misread things? Shit... He was getting up now, leaning up as his hand slipped from her face.

"No, that's all right," she stammered quickly, "You do so much, Charon. You don't have to-"

"Wanda," he interrupted sharply.

"Yeah-hah-" She squeaked as his hand cupped her pussy over her shorts and squeezed.

"Shut up," he groaned in her ear, licking it before clamping down on the lobe with his teeth.

There was an instant reaction, and it wasn't the one she was prepared for at all. Holy fuck, holy shit, holy fuck... she panicked, trying to remember how to function and breathe. How did this go again? How did sex go? Fuck's sake she'd only had it two times and they were both let-downs. She was determined to be silent as he'd requested, but she didn't think he'd be opposed to her honesty--he never had been before.

"Charon, I've only been with two guys," she blurted.

His rough hand was down her shorts and stroking her clit, making her brain short circuit even more. She gripped his wrist with both of her hands and whimpered, in a war with herself for whether she should start grinding on it or pull it out and tell him to slow down. But wasn't this slow? This was slow...no one else had ever stroked her the way she liked--like this--they'd just gotten it over with for themselves.

She tipped her head back against his chest and pressed her ass against him, back bowing and chest pushed out. She pressed her lips together after wetting them, not trusting herself to stay quiet.

"No, no, no," he chided, low against her hair. He slid his hand in deeper, palm rubbing her clit while two fingers gently rubbed up and down her slit. "Where is that little viper that was screaming in my face six hours ago?"

"You s-said to shut up," she stuttered distractedly.

He pushed his middle finger into her hole and she squealed.

"Yeah, there she is," he huffed. "I want you to shut up about everything else but this, understand?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Yes, what?"

Oh, she was lost. She was quite lost. "Yes... Daddy," she mewled, no longer recognising her own voice or her own questionable tastes--because why was this so hot"

He exhaled through his nose aperture and groaned in what seemed like approval. "Well, that works, baby. That works just fine."

He teased her with the second finger and then pushed it in alongside the first, curling and wiggling them, working them in and out as her hips twitched in tandem. He sighed contentedly and then she felt him start to move his hips too. She could feel his hard cock against her ass, her body sandwiched between his and his hand and arm. Her wetness started to become audible and something in him seemed to change, his urgency more apparent and twice as thrilling.

"Are you going to come on my fingers, Wanda?"

"Yes!" she sobbed, hips rocking back and forth faster now as she arched as much as she could.

"Are you going to get my clean fucking fingers all filthy with your mess, baby?" he growled into her hair.

That was it; it was that easy. She came undone with a sharp cry, rolling her hips and feeling the warmth spread through her entire being, her nipples feeling extra taut and neglected under her standard-issue half-shirt as she tried to slam her hips back against Charon's. He chuckled into her hair, then moved his face away and shoved her weak body to roll to her stomach.

A little part of her panicked, thinking this would be when he struck harderst, so she spread her arms out from under her and planted them on the mattress. But he put a hand between her shoulder blades to keep her flat to it.

"No, baby. Face down," he instructed her.

"Wh-why?" she practically slurred.

"Because I want this ass in the air for me."

Her eyes fluttered and her mind nearly wiped clean with those ten words. She rested her cheek against the mattress as he picked her hips up and spread her knees to his liking, then placed his hands on her ass and rubbed. She moaned at the impromptu massage, enjoying the feeling for more than just the sexual purpose and whining when his thumbs started rubbing and spreading her cuntlips open through her shorts.

Then one of his hands moved away and came back down in a hard smack to her asscheek. She cried out abruptly, wriggling to move before he planted his hand between her shoulder blades again. "Wanda," he warned. When she relaxed herself again he returned his hand to rubbing her now-sore ass.

Until he smacked her again. HIs heavy hand was pure torture, but for some reason she felt like it was the kind she didn't want to stop.

"You are not going to disobey me again, are you?" he asked, with a confidence that told her he already knew she'd agree.

"No, I won't," she promised breathlessly.

He smacked her again, probably for good measure. "Do you like that, baby?" he asked when his thumbs gently came back in toward her cunt to rub her throbbing vulva.

"Yes, daddy," she moaned, opening her stance wider and feeling her stomach get tight as warmth washed over the wet spot in her shorts.

His mouth...oh God, his mouth is right there.

He pressed his face there and inhaled. It was all she could do to hold still for him, whimpering pathetically as she dug her nails into the mattress edge and shook with anticipation.

"God damn, I am going to devour this wet little cunt."

Her eyes rolled back as he spoke against her; she shifted her knees wider again and panted as his approving moan vibrated against her covered wetness. She could feel him tongue the cloth over her entrance like an animal and she wanted to burst the longer he teased her without direct contact. His hands spread her cheeks and pulled her shorts' crotch taut against her, then his mouth was back to work.

"Charon," she gasped, "Charon, Charon, Charon, please, ple-ee-ease!" she begged him--for what, she wasn't sure. Honestly, as long as it snapped loose the intense coil in her belly she didn't give a fuck.

"Say my name, baby. Say my fucking name." His voice was strained, just as affected as she was.

"Charon, please, please..." she cried, finally pushing up to her hands and locking her elbows, thrusting her ass out even more as she bowed her back in and brought her knees closer together.

"My girl..." he marvelled, pulling his face away and leaving her bereft for only a moment before he was yanking her shorts down to her knees and then burying his face against her cunt the second it was exposed.

She shook and shivered, tossing her head back and spreading her knees wide again, causing her shorts to lock around her ankles. Her pussy clenched and clenched around nothing, then he was sliding his arms between her tights and lifting her for better access--to press the whole lower half of his face against her pussy and eat it until she was seeing stars dance across her vision.

He dipped his tongue into her hole, wiggling it around until she was riding the cresting waves of an imminent orgasm. The wet flat of it covered her cunt and he opened and closed his mouth in a sucking motion.

"I want it," he smacked his lips, "pretty baby, give it to me. I want this scent...living in my fucking nose...forever," he groaned against her between sloppy wet kisses against her pulsing sex.

Once again, the filth of his words was her undoing--the final straw. She cried out over and over, begging incoherently as he locked her upturned ass against his face and thrust his tongue back into her hole, wiggling it around savagely.

"Holy fuck!" she wailed.

With half of her body lifted off of the damn mattress by him her other half was going limp, an orgasm ravaging her as surely as he did. "No, oh, stop...oh God...I can't," she gasped, unsure of what she wanted in that moment because her brain was being scrambled like Cram and mystery eggs.

Pressure released in her belly and she bore down with it, sending a warm spray out which sounded like he was drinking down from behind her. Most of it, she felt, dripped down her cunt and soaked the mattress and her shorts, but she was too out of it with rapture to care about her embarrassment. She twitched and whined in overstimulation as Charon licked her up, lapping at her cunt with long strokes as he lowered her back down so that her knees could rest on the mattress again.

"Oh, little girl-" Charon's voice was past its usual rasp, becoming something altogether raw and filthy. He crawled over her slowly, his bare chest rubbing against her back and his thick manhood dragging along her cleft. "-you are so mine."

"I'm yours," she panted in response.

"Do you want me to stretch you out, Wanda?" He moved hair from off of one of her shoulders, kissing her there. "Do you want to feel me?"

"Yes," she said with a gasp, feeling his hand snake between them so that he could slide his dick between her labia in teasing strokes.

"What do you want to feel, Wanda?"

"You," she whined pathetically, pressing back against him in counter-slides of her slit against his cock.

"Come on, pretty baby-" She really liked him calling her that. "-tell me what you want to feel."

"Your cock, daddy," she exhaled.

He kissed her shoulder again, soft and wet against her skin. "Good girl," he purred roughly, nipping at her skin.

He bent upright and remained on his knees, which her planted between her own widened ones. He reached back and pulled the shorts off her ankles within two tugs, tossing them aside and opening his knees to fit against her own and widen her stance a little more.

"Bow down for me, baby," he directed her, warm hand gently pushing between her shoulder blades again until her cheek was flat against the mattress once more.

She braced her arms above her head as the bulbous head of his cock probed against her opening. She bowed her back in to take it, feeling it stretch her open and moaning as it continued to stretch her more. "H-oly f-uck, Charon." She gasped twice through the shock, eyes widening as she clawed a little forward on the mattress. "Holy shit-" Her exclamation was interrupted by a shaky laugh as she realised what she was saying, "-you're so fucking big, Charon."

"What are you afraid of this time, baby?" He sounded strained as he pulled out before pushing in a little more. "I am not going to tell you to go anywhere this time." He clamped a hand on the front of her left thigh and held her in place while he cooed, "You can take me, baby. I know you can. You are so brave; my good girl," the spillage of words comforting her.

The stretch was as delicious as it was odd, sending zings through her and heating her belly all over again. He wasn't overly large, but he was considerably bigger than she'd ever had. She imagined that her wetness and his saliva were greatly easing his entry, and soon he'd slip all the way in. When he was fully seated she experimentally clamped down, delighting in his immediate gravelly groan and reprimanding slap against her ass.

"Keep that up and I am liable to ram this tight little snatch until you are ghoulified," he warned, then cursed and shifted for a moment.

She tried to watch him from the corner of her eye but he was at the edge of her peripheral when he leaned away. Coming back into sight again he said to her, "Ghouls are impotent, and I can tell you right now that if any sexually-transmitted-whatever wanted to live in this body, it has another thing coming."

She hadn't even thought about contraception if she was being honest with herself. She hadn't thought about consequences at all--maybe that was why he was a good fit for the mantle he wanted to take on. Not a father--that was just a taboo game they were playing--but someone who really wanted to look out for her well-being, someone who cared for her and her health.

"Thank you, Charon," she said meekly, overwhelmed by his attentiveness and feeling absurd with him still buried inside her.

"Open your mouth, baby." He held out a little red-and-yellow capsule for her, leaning in and planting his hand near the other side of her head as she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out. He placed the capsule there and she dry swallowed it, but her mouth was over producing saliva as it was. "We can give you some Radaway later if you start feeling sick, okay?"

She nodded, accidentally clenching her cunt as she shifted awkwardly on the bed. She watched his eyes flutter as he let out a stunted groan.

"I am going to enjoy fucking the brat out of you," he swore to her.

"I didn't-" It was already too late; he pulled back and knocked the breath out of her body when he slammed back in.

"Yeah?" he asked breathily. "You 'didn't' what?" he mocked, pulling out and slamming home again.

She forgot. The last five to ten seconds? Forgotten. "I-I...I don't know," she finally squeaked.

"That is what I thought, Wanda." He started fucking her slow and deep, using her hips to push and pull as he thrust his own back and forth. "That is what I fucking...thought," he grunted.

She felt weird just...bent over and taking it, but he was groaning deeply--and admittedly ferally--and she was so limp and shaky still from her last two orgasms that she couldn't have fucked him back if she tried. And she did try.

"No, baby," he panted, gripping either side of her waist tighter with his hands and massaging the meat of her hips and lowerback with his thumbs. "Just let me fuck you, let me do the work."

She relaxed a bit.

"Because you are going to ride my fat cock when you are feeling better," he tacked on sinfully. "Make your sweet pussy bounce on it," he continued, rambling, "with your little tits in my face--fuck" he ground out. "I want to suck your tight little pussy and make it squirt again...but your tits are next."

He started to fuck her harder, faster. "Charon-yes-oh God-" she whined, clenching her fists against the mattress helplessly as he pounded her insides like he was trying to bore himself a home inside of her.

A strange deep feeling in her tummy, just under her belly button, had her rolling her eyes back and melting. He was reaching some depth that felt both dangerous and sacred at the same time, sending her even higher than before. She got lost in his grunts, groans, and snarls; she wanted more, she wanted less, she wanted everything he had to give.

"Oh, fuck yes, baby," he growled over her. "Going to wreck your pussy, Wanda... Irradiate your little cunt..."

He wasn't already? Oh... No, he wasn't.

He moved to lie atop her back, flattening her to the mattress and guiding her legs out straight. He pushed the hair that had fallen into her face out of the way, looking down at her with his arm boxed over her head on the mattress, his body completely covering hers, one knee up by her hips and the other leg relatively straight. He was going so deep, without mercy, and making her cry out louder and louder as he built a new pace.

"Scream for me," he grunted in her ear. "Let it out, baby. Daddy's here."

"Fuck!" she shrieked. "Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck!" She wasn't ready, she didn't know how to tell him she was overwhelmed with sensation and that she couldn't take it anymore. "Charon-CHARON!"

He slid his weight-bearing arm down, trying to fit it under her head but she bit down on it and pushed her hips back to him as much as she could. The ability to inflict pain in reciprocity alleviated some of her anxiety, making her feel a little more in control of herself and the situation.

"Good fucking girl," he praised her unsparingly, his other arm moving down her body so that he could push his hand under her hips to attack her clit. He was ravenous and ruthless, growling low in her ear, "Bite me. Bite me while I make you come so fucking hard you forget about all the other bullshit for a while."

Her brain short-circuited. The filth in this man's mouth--no wonder he never said shit to anyone.

Her legs shook against his and he trapped them, driving into her like he wanted their bodies to meld together. She thought perhaps they did for a second or two, because her vision had gone white-out and all she could feel, all that was grounding her to reality, was his body on top of hers; all she could hear was him and all she could smell was their sex in the air.

He moaned continuously, a raspy, obscene noise that had her twitching even more and clamping down on his cock as his strokes turned shallow and quick.

"Do you want me to come in this pussy, baby?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Go on, you do not have to use words. Just tell me..." he breathed heavily.

She obliged him, whining passionate, nasally iterations of 'please' and 'it's your pussy.' Would it be embarrassing later, and would she find it hard to look him in the eyes? Probably. Did she care in that moment? No, absolutely not.

Charon railed into her so hard it started hurting in a strangely pleasurable way. She took it, surrendering to him as she came down from her high. His forearm was still between her teeth but she wasn't biting anymore, only managing licks of her tongue and gentle gnawing.

He came with a roar unlike any she'd heard before, driving deep inside with hurried strokes into her cunt, and low moans in her ear. It was sin; it was rapture. The warmth of his spend was tingly when he pulled out gingerly, the slow action causing her to tense and clench in overstimulation. She was nothing but a twitching, unfocused mess on the mattress as he slid his arm out from under her face and took his warmth away from her and disappeared somewhere.

When he came back he parted her legs and pressed some kind of cloth between them, soaking their combined fluids up and then giving it a pat dry. The he tossed the wadded up cloth through one of the booth bay windows and groaned as he stretched out before lying down beside her. His hand, tough and hot, rubbed her back in soothing up and down motions all across it until she came back to herself enough to relax and bring her arms up to rest her chin on as she lie there.

"Do you feel sick at all? Dizzy or nauseous?" he asked her, far too softly to believe it was Charon.

She hummed and shook her head on her arms.

"That is good," he stated, still idly stroking her back.

She lifted her head up to turn it and rest her cheek on her arms so that she could look at him. "Am I going to wake up in a little bit and realise this was all a dream?" she asked, not feeling any particular way about how he answered. But she did want to know.

He exhaled through his nose in amusement, flashing a small smile at her. A smile.

"If this was a dream, baby-" He sidled a little closer. "-then I cannot wait to wake you up with my face between your thighs."

A content moment passed between them and he moved his hand to push her shoulder, gently prompting her to roll over to her to her side and then to her back. He crawled close and looked down into her eyes. Mischief was in his own, making her belly warm and her core come to life all over again as his milky eyes glassed over with desire and his pupils dilated.

"Now," he began, voice a little roughened as he trailed his eyes down her body and reached a hand out to tease at the hem of her half-shirt. "I believe I told you that your tits are next."