A/N: This is the first fanfic I've ever published on this site and one for the Fallout community that wasn't intended for the kinkmeme. This idea has been floating around in my head for the past few weeks due to my real live gameplay so I decided to make it into a one-shot of sorts. Just as a warning, it does jump a around quite a bit in terms of storyline and experiences but that was intentional, so hopefully you as the reader can stomach it. I have a few end notes that explains a lot more, so without further ado, happy reading!
I fired him because it was better for the both of us.
The remaining smell of hot laser pistols and plasma lingered in the air and wafted all around the entrance to the Jefferson Memorial, swarming my senses and clouding my judgment for the brief moment I debated whether to take him in with me. He had followed my lead while I kept my pace only a few steps back from Liberty Prime and endangered myself so that the rest of the Brotherhood members would have a fighting chance to get to the rotunda alive. I administered stimpaks to Dogmeat and went into a fit of undisputed rage when anyone took him as their target, attempting to singe his fur off with their energy weapons and eventually turn him into the haunting green muck that remained of unlucky soldiers who fell at the hands of each other during this inevitable war.
Somehow, after going through all of that trouble in keeping him by my side and wanting him to share this last slice of glory before the final standoff, having him head in with me to the Purifier was the last thing I wanted to do.
"You're fired, Charon."
"You are choosing to dismiss me when we are so close to your goal?"
I winced at the bitter reprimand in his tone but I wouldn't be deterred with his unusual critique. "Yes. Those are my orders. I don't want you coming into this battle with me."
The words he recited from memory sickened me in a way that left me beyond nauseous and willing to see him leave.
I couldn't confess the real reasoning as to why. Somewhere deep down I understood that I was never supposed to exit this situation with my heart still beating and my lungs taking in irradiated air. My parents invested themselves into this project and without me, the last of their lineage to complete it, all of their research, development, time and effort would have been null. I understood when heading up to the rotunda after dealing with Colonel Autumn that I would have to be the one to start the machine up and say goodbye to the post-apocalyptic world I had only begun to explore.
"Dogmeat, I want you to stay here. Don't come in with me."
He whined and his paw rested on my foot, heterochromatic eyes rolling up to beg me not to abandon him. I knew that he was always frightened at the thought of being alone since his former owner had up and left him to defend himself. Even having him sit outside of a house for a few minutes made him antsy. His tail thumped once when I bent down to nuzzle my hand right behind his ears and I laughed at his silly reaction.
In a few more seconds I stepped inside the room and punched in the code that would save thousands of lives, the radiation pouring into every orifice and weakening my body despite the power armor I had on and the Rad-X I pumped into my veins beforehand. My fingers shook when they brushed up against the buttons and when the final preparations were made, I sank to my knees and toppled over, vision blurring and my lungs constricting in one final, choked breath.
Of course, thanks to the unending amount of endurance I drew out of myself in times of necessity, I ended up surviving.
Being knocked out for two whole weeks and waking up in the Citadel, mind boggled and cloudy, was not something I expected. The room around me spun and the edges of my vision were still tinged with red, the color I seemed to associate with copious amounts of radiation due to the Geiger counter on my Pip-Boy. I lurched out of bed and saw a familiar figure waiting for me just beyond my reach. The grey and black mutt barked with renewed excitement and vigor.
Recuperating wasn't too much on me. I forced myself to get back into the game because my conscious tugged at me, an unpleasant nagging feeling that demanded me to stop marveling at my own strength and return to my duties.
Admittedly, I half-expected Charon to be with me when I opened my eyes and had the alarming realization that I was still alive. A part of me was disappointed when I peered around the corner after exiting the hospital bed and didn't see his lurching figure standing around.
But, I reprimanded myself, it didn't make much sense that he would be there. I fired him. He was programmed to return to his post at the Ninth Circle and stay there until I came back for him, which I initially thought would be never.
At the same time, despite my rationalizations, I found myself furious at the notion that he didn't think twice about damning the urge to return to that greasy bar in Underworld and at least watch my back until I made it past the Enclave. In his final words to me he had hinted that it was ludicrous of me to toss him out on his ass but he hadn't acted on it.
I never told him, "Charon, if I ever fire you, I want you to go back to the Ninth Circle and stay there no matter what." There was never an order from me. Couldn't he have used that loophole to tail me and make damn sure that the owner of his contract was unharmed, despite my obvious lack of ingenuity in that specific moment of weakness?
I wasn't sure which I found more painful: the fact that he affirmed my orders with no signs of hesitation or that he hadn't at least decided to check up on me after things were said and done. Hadn't he known by now that I was on the brink of death? If the contract meant that much to him, it would seem that he would have been livid at the fact that I was still in possession of it after I kicked the bucket. He would care enough to retrieve it and shove it on someone else.
My intention was to give him a piece of my mind. I had always been the quiet and intellectual type, looking to settle things in a diplomatic fashion rather than violence if given the option. I was never aggressive without reason and managed to keep my cool in even the most frustrating of situations. But when there was this much pent-up animosity toward someone I would have willingly called a friend, if not something more, then I had to snap and get it out of my system before it compromised everything.
"Dogmeat, we're going to Underworld. If you can keep up then there'll be a nice big juicy Brahmin steak for you."
He woofed in response and his light trots quickened after my morale-boosting comment.
Super Mutants used to be the bane of my existence and now they were nothing but a petty nuisance...well, aside from the new introduction of the Overlords which exerted every ounce of my adrenaline and ammo into taking them down. Still though, Dogmeat and I managed to head on over to the Museum of History without bumping into a single one.
I passed the rotting corpse of an old Mutant I killed during my first visit and exhaled. It was a constant reminder of how far I had come and gone; I could still remember the terrified sensations that pricked at my awareness when I first came into contact with them. Now I could stand up to their deafening roars and mow them down with any weapon given, my fear for them all but eradicated.
Fawkes wandered around the middle section near a new group of ghouls, one of which was on stage, and I couldn't help but give him a friendly hello. The only time we ever traveled together was during his selfless rescue at Raven Rock, which I was still grateful for. He insisted that he owed me his life but he had done so much for me already that I considered his debt to me paid in full.
"Heya, smoothskin. Decided to drop back in?"
"Yeah. Sorry I can't talk Winthrop, I have something to do."
"Oh. Well, lemme know if-"
His words faded and I could still feel the usage of 'scrap metal' banging against the back of my head when I headed up the rotting stairs. I hadn't meant to leave him hanging, so to speak, but I had contributed too much of my time in collecting rusted pieces of robots and other miscellaneous machinery to run back over to him in exchange for a stimpak or two. He could go just a little while without any, and maybe one of these days I would accompany him so I could permanently repair all of his problems.
I hesitated when I lingered outside the doors to the bar, letting my fingers graze against the aged wood. A few shards of it fluttered to the ground and I could see a new cloud of dust billow up around me when I shifted my position. Dogmeat nudged the back of my knee expectantly, as if to say, "You promised I would get a warm meal!" I knew what he wanted and I needed to just suck it up and face Charon head on.
The doors scraped against the tiles and locked in place once I held it open for Dogmeat, shuddering at the strength I had to exert in keeping them that way. They closed eagerly behind me as soon as I let go, the full weight of them swinging backward so that they hit each other in a loud clunk. Some of the ghouls around jumped at the noise but recognized me and went back to immersing themselves in their own poison of choice.
My gaze swiveled to the corner where I first met Charon, more specifically, to the tables and chairs. I felt a wave of panic rush through me and knock the wind out of my already heaving lungs (due to my nervousness).
He wasn't there.
Well, where else could he have gone? I continued to stare at the spot in hopes that I ran my eyes right over him, as I may have done a few times before in the past. I blamed him for being such a camouflage expert – he always knew how to stand up against something and sink into the scenery whenever I stopped to look back and make sure he was still there. Much to my dismay, this was not one of those times.
"Charon?" I moved closer to the dusty junction of the walls and my heart dropped into my stomach.
To confirm the queasy clenching in my gut, I whirled around and scanned the entire bar section. No one. Only a few female ghouls were lounging on the stools and drunkenly spinning around in them, one of them burping and excusing herself while she went to guzzle down more alcohol. Even on my Pip-Boy I could see tick marks, indicating there was movement and a lifeform within my peripheral vision, so I peered into the adjacent empty room to double check. Nothing.
I was lost for a few moments, unsure of what to do. This had never happened before. In the brief times where Charon and I were split apart, namely those having to do with the Enclave, he ended up retreating to the place where I acquired his contract. I never understood why but perhaps it was the only home he really knew aside from the one I had in Megaton. So why, now of all times, was he absent?
Carol must have known where he was so I darted across the way and made it to her place. I tried to hide the obvious discomfort etched across my features and waltzed right up to the counter, ignoring the group of ghouls that sat down at the table and beckoned me to join them. Even Greta lifted what was left of her brows when I didn't bother giving her any type of hello.
"Oh, hello there, dear. I was just wondering when you'd be back. How can I help you?"
"Carol, have you seen Charon around?"
She blinked at me once in response. "I can't say that I have. I thought the boy was with you."
"He was – but he said he would come back here after we parted ways. That was two weeks ago."
"Well, you know I'm not really one to pry into Ahzrukhal's place, despite him not being around any more. You could maybe ask Greta. Greta!" Her scratchy voice carried well in this aging room, and its light quality made it distinct from the other males in the area. "The smoothskin wants to ask you something."
"If this is about the freshness of our food then no refunds," she joked.
I wasn't really in the mood for her comments. "Greta...when's the last time you've seen Charon?"
"Huh. Well, he was with you the last time you came. I don't think he's stopped in since then. Then again I could care less what he's up to so I don't keep tabs on what he's doing."
"I just need to know if he's been here, in Underworld, once during the past few weeks. Did he ever mention going anywhere else?"
"No. Like I said, I'm not even sure he's been back. Why, do smoothskin and ghoul relationships have the same ups and downs as any other? What a shocker," she stated smugly.
I ignored the insinuation. "Fine. Please, get me a Brahmin steak, and to go. I...I have to leave."
"Leave? But you just got here." Carol poked her head around the column that shielded her from view. "You must be exhausted from your trip, are you sure you don't need a room?"
"I...I'm positive."
Greta prepared Dogmeat's meal and all the while I couldn't stop running through possible scenarios in my head as to what happened.
The Citadel wasn't too far from Underworld, and as Willow had mentioned before, the mutants almost never attacked ghouls unprovoked. Anyone else who would have tried to hurt Charon couldn't have gotten past them first...even if he wandered through the metro tunnels, ferals would have chased off any raiders and he could handle more than that with his hands tied. The only other source of trouble would have derived from the Brotherhood or Enclave...the former I warned explicitly about harming him on the grounds of his mere appearance. The latter...well...they had been forced to withdraw, so why would they bother exerting energy on him when they needed to stockpile their ammo and training into getting revenge for all that had happened so far?
Maybe I was blowing this all out of proportion. Charon was more than capable of taking care of himself, and he didn't need me worrying about him on top of everything else that irritated him. He had been living much longer than I had and knew the inside and outside of this area. The mystery of where he had gone was still throbbing in my head but the only thing I could do at this point was brush it off and move forward.
It was strange traveling without Charon. Somehow I didn't feel one hundred percent with myself. Even if I acquired much more survival knowledge since the day I stepped out of my vault, he had always been there to watch after me. He was the most protective person I knew. I understood that his contract put me on a pedestal and his main objective was to ensure I was unharmed, but despite how much time we took in combing the Wastes to lend a helping hand, he would always say simple things like, "Be careful" that threw me for a loop.
Due to my 'good deeds, people tended to see me in a different light and I was a savior of sorts. But no one held that innate urge to make sure I wasn't killed. Charon was the only person in this world besides my father and most likely Dogmeat who stuck their neck out for me instead of the other way around. He never asked for compensation and even though I was sure I gave him hell for the reckless things I tangled myself into, he was forgiving and didn't turn the other cheek when I asked him for help (aside from the G.E.C.K. incident, but that was already resolved before I had the chance to bring it up to him).
Even the age-old sound of him reloading his shotgun and his growls at anyone who tried to rush us with a spray of bullets was gone. The silence was overwhelming. The only other noise besides the crunching of the ground underneath my shoes was Dogmeat's heavy panting. There was no low grumbling, no verbal warnings of possible danger, and no off comments about the environment in general.
For the first time in a long while I really did feel like the Lone Wanderer.
Of course, Charon wasn't always with me. I got along on my own for a fairly decent amount of time prior to my purchase from Ahzrukhal. It was just...well, after walking hundreds of miles with a person you do become attached to them. He was the one who gave me pointers on how to use my own shotgun. He showed me how to maintain my weapons and he filled me in on basic knowledge that most Wastelanders had about the land and its resources. He was the one who pointed out places for us to rest and take shelter in. Without his guidance I never would have survived and found my father, no matter how brief our reunion was.
Old Olney was a death trap waiting to happen.
The three of us – back when there were three of us – had been going around and exploring for caps from Reilly when I suggested we head up there to check it out. What I was not informed of was, despite the normal appearance of any broken and trashed town, this hellhole was swarming with the only creature in the Wastes that still sent me backing up in horror. Not to mention that the sewers were their breeding ground – a slimy, desolate underground chamber that matched their very nature.
I hadn't known when I dropped through the trapdoor on the surface that this was going to be the death of Dogmeat.
Thing was, I was optimistic about it all; I had cleared out the Deathclaws the last time we visited and there was sure to be no problems. The first few of them came in small spurts and I had equipped a Stealth Boy to sneak up right behind them and liquidize them once their backs were turned. So that was no problem.
It wasn't until we dropped down to the lowest levels where they swarmed from every direction, some of them hiding behind corners and charging with their massive arms outstretched to rip my throat out and soak in the mist of warm blood. I fended off the majority of them, trying to draw their attention away from Dogmeat, but it always seemed that enemies targeted him while he clamped onto their ankles and tore through ligaments with his jaws.
I tried so hard to give him stimpaks to make it through while he darted toward them, unrelenting and the only instinct left in his mind to eliminate the threats to our safety. But I couldn't do both; I couldn't fend for myself with my gun and keep injecting him with liquid health at the same time. I activated one V.A.T.S. session after another, trying to keep my aim steady while succumbing to the deep gashes that the overpowered beasts were throwing my way out of sheer annoyance of my interventions.
One of their tails swung out and conked me in the side of my head, throwing me backwards against the crumbling wall. My vision blurred, dimmed, and sharpened once I heard the strangled squeal from my dog.
"DOGMEAT!" I screeched, my grip on my gun so tight that I swore I broke it in half.
I leaned forward to get onto my knees and forced myself up, lifting my eyes to the two motherfuckers who caused him that much pain. My vision was tinged crimson with pure loathing and all apprehension I had left dissipated from my memory. In retrospect my movements were reflexive and the adrenaline fueled my accuracy while I fired off every possible shot and had it land in quick, precise motions. Both of the Deathclaws went down and crumpled to the floor, letting out growls of agony while I continued to unload clip after clip into them, hoping that even beyond death they understood how much anguish they caused me.
Dogmeat's fur was matted with blood and sections of his neck and shoulders had chunks pulled out of it from his scuffle. Despite the stains that were sure to set in on my armor, all I could do was bend down and encircle his lifeless body into me, curling my arms inward so he rested against my chest. It felt so wrong to do this with him going completely limp and his full weight sinking into my senses. I buried my face into him, sucking in a shaking breath and hearing the last weak beats fade underneath his shaggy coat. The only companion I had left in this world and he was gone too.
The rest of the time in Old Olney was hazy. I vaguely remembered helping some ghouls escape and blasting Enclave soldiers' brains out the backs of their heads before I took off. I walked all the way back to the Citadel, stopping only once or twice for food and drink. Sleep was not an option any more.
I did think back to how I handled Dogmeat's body and for the life of me I couldn't remember. It would have been logical to think that after I was done with the Brotherhood's dirty work I went back and retrieved it so no mole rats or radroaches would nibble on his remains. What I really wanted to do was bury him outside of Vault 101 but the distance was too far for me to travel under those circumstances. Part of me wanted to believe I hiked with him all the way up the mountain and gave him a proper gravesite in the Oasis where it was so beautiful. He really had enjoyed the sunshine there, and the trees...the stupid dog, he got more excited sniffing the foliage than anything else.
No one asked me about Dogmeat. They didn't notice the dark circles under my eyes and the starved appearance I held when I stumbled beyond the Citadel's gates. Everything was business as usual. While I was torn up inside at the fact that my dog was brutally ripped to shreds for their mission, all of them sent me on my way to secure the next portion of their plan.
I broke away from them and headed out by myself.
My first stop was aiding the Outcasts. I heard their signal on my Pip-Boy and deep down I knew that the right thing to do was to forget my hang-ups and lend them some support. Despite the majority of them being pompous assholes, they were still human and much better than the Enclave. A few times during the struggle with the Super Mutants outside their base we did engage in a little friendly fire that left some very real singes on my arms and chest. I hadn't meant to hit them but they walked into my bullets when I was doing my best to save their asses.
The simulation was enough to get me to break away from reality. Instead of the Lone Wanderer I was faced with a Pre-War landscape, the stinging of new snow on my cheeks and my blood rushing to warm me up. The one thing though, that was so comforting and soothed me more than anything, was the fact that I wasn't alone.
Sergeant "Benji" was good company. He reminded me of Charon in a lot of ways, from the badassery he exerted with little effort to the blunt way he fought his way through situations. He took orders without thinking twice and even stepped in front of me to give out a few shots so I could survive the attacks before getting to the nearest health dispenser. We just worked so well together, and even if there wasn't a third installment to our party, I was content with sharing blood and sweat with him while we gunned down soldier after soldier.
But it couldn't last forever. It wasn't real, despite how much I wanted it to be. The sensations I went through were all created by the machine and nothing more. Even if I wanted to believe this could really have been happening and savored the old world and its inhabitants so I wouldn't have to deal with the loss of everyone I severely cared for, it was all fake. I couldn't get addicted to this and lie here forever, especially not with the Outcasts biding their time to get inside the armory.
The spoils I received after my mission were note-worthy, but the material possessions didn't fill the void I temporarily took care of by immersing myself in another person's life.
"Riverboat Landing, huh?"
I stared at the new marker on my Pip-Boy. It couldn't hurt. I was outright ignoring the next mission from the Brotherhood and going around to visit new places here in the Capital Wastes wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. The idea of leaving D.C. and heading out to somewhere far enough away, where I wasn't choked up with memories, would be good for me. Right?
Tobar was friendly enough. His comment about not doing "group rides" opened up a fresh wound but I told him straight out it wouldn't be a problem. He smiled at that and advised me to lie down in the cot so he could shove off the shore. Sure. I complied with no qualms whatsoever. The journey would take a month. Thirty days for me to wander around the shitty tugboat and reevaluate my life.
My days were spent looking out across the murky gray water and sleeping. I tried not to stay awake for the majority of the trip because when I wasn't knocked out cold I was going too far into my mind to come back out unscathed. I didn't want to relive the memories of things that had happened in the past few weeks or so, and being away from the familiar sights would put me in my own element. I could start over. Explore the land, get a few caps, maybe even settle down and abandon the role I thought I was supposed to fill for my dad.
Point Lookout wasn't what I expected. At all. Tobar's description of it was exaggerated to the extreme and did nothing for the mental portrait I painted in my head. Still, if he wanted to drop me off here and expect me to carry on by myself then I would prove him right. I didn't travel hundreds of miles with this giant creep and his obnoxious pornstache to back out. I would make a name for myself here.
The smoke on the horizon was interesting. I was drawn to danger due to my misconception of being invincible; in all fairness I had survived much more than I should have, so what was a little dispute going to do to me? I clambered up the hill, ignoring the shops that were around me, and made a beeline to the mansion that loomed ahead.
A scratchy voice called me inside and I almost choked up when hearing it. It held...a certain element to it that was so familiar it was painful. Despite the knot in my stomach and my mind telling me to turn heel and ignore the owner of that demand, I pried open the doors and walked right into the gun fight.
I had never experienced tribals before but they were fucking hard to kill. After pumping shotgun shells into their skulls and seeing them drop, they would get up like nothing happened and continue to assault the four of us with bullets. My power armor fended me from the majority of the buckshot so I wasn't directly harmed but it still hurt like hell when all was said and done.
Before the man could utter one word once the few crazed locals were dead, I stared at him in awe. "You're...a ghoul."
"Nice of you to fucking notice, princess. Now if you don't mind, there are still a shit ton of tribals lurking around my house and I would appreciate it if you stopped gawking like a loon and start shooting. You managed to hold your own with that piece of junk so let's get to it."
"Wait. What's your name?"
"Does it fucking matter? We can discuss this afterwards. Now follow me."
I chased after him and my stomach ached. Even though I was thrilled to be involved with someone, doing anything really, I came here to avoid spending time with anyone. I was supposed to embrace the title that Three Dog gave me and put away all of the urges to keep someone by my side. Still...at the same time, ghouls were comfort. They had always been the people to keep my sanity in check and provided the world with the last bit of humanity it had to offer, as ironic as it was.
Against my will, I managed to keep my mouth shut the entire time this stranger and I fortified his house. He barked orders at me and scoped ahead for trouble, toting around his own shotgun and blasting holes through tribals that tried to sneak around corners. His dogs snarled and barked at any of the intruders, pouncing and ripping throats out. The similarities between this situation and so many others made my throat constrict but I swallowed it all down, not ready to break down in front of someone I'd just met.
"Not too shabby, kid. A little more years under your belt and you may have what it takes to be semi-competent with a weapon."
I ignored his backhanded compliment. "I helped you, now please give me your name."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. I was getting to that. Name's Desmond. Desmond Lockheart."
It didn't ring any bells. Half of me was disappointed and another miniscule part of my shattered psyche adored the fact that he wouldn't be there to remind me of anyone back home. "Ever been to Underworld?"
"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
"I meant the ghoul refuge in D.C. I'm guessing no by your answer."
"Good job, sweetheart. You're the epitome of intelligence. Now can we get back to fucking business?"
I always had a soft spot for ghouls and a foul-mouthed one was right up my alley. He could be a giant douchebag about his requests, but Desmond was an alright guy. I agreed to help him and made my way up to the church, going through all of the rituals they threw my way. It took a chunk of my brain and a bad trip to do it, but I sure as hell wasn't the type to give up.
The punga fruit that knocked me unconscious while Tobar moved in for the kill...in spite of a lot of the images being the result of nothing more than a damn strong hallucinogen, it only solidified the self-doubt I had for myself.
My inward thoughts were right. It was depressing how many figures in my life tore away from me at one point or another. My mother gave her life so I could come into this world and she left my father alone and second-guessing himself, cooping him up in a Vault where it was safe and as riveting as watching two bloatflies fuck. He did it all to shelter me and save me from the madness out of the outside world, only to abandon me and leave me on my own in the end. He strayed as far as possible as he could from me, and even if he said the distance between us killed him, I couldn't have been sure about that. Amata tossed me out with no holds barred as soon as I helped her and the rest of my peers out of their minor situation. Even Butch, who I admittedly harbored a gigantic crush on in my earlier years, didn't bother to look me up but rather started his own path and made it all the way to Rivet City. Charon disappeared off the map once I gave him a reason to leave and Dogmeat threw his life away in a putrid cesspool. Everyone I had known distanced themselves for a reason, one that I was still struggling to understand.
I hopped on the metaphorical train to find myself and only furthered the insufferable negative emotions that were hiding away in the darkest recesses of my mind in the first place. My self-pity was enough to swallow me up and it made me ill. I should have brushed it all off and moved forward. Yeah, so no one I loved tended to stick around. What was the big deal? The Wasteland was a big sloppy "fuck you" in the face of everyone. No one's story was beautiful and had a happy ending, so why should mine have been any different? People died. Others got sick. Some were captured by slavers and sold off, others strung up in raiders' hideouts as gruesome ornaments.
I wasn't special. I wasn't significant despite all of the encouragement I got from the radio disc jockey who only knew me by my actions. He force fed and ingrained this sense of righteousness in me I tried to maintain but by now I had no hope left. The Wastes got what they wanted: clean water. Why the fuck was I still here and kicking?
The truth was, I had to go back. Despite the hatred I was swimming in for my situation, there were still others I cared about. People I had to see, places I had to go. If I couldn't do it for myself, then why not for them? There were plenty of significant figures in my life, if not as influential as my top six, and they deserved all the help I could give, whether it was a life-saving experience or just a few caps on the counter to keep their hearts beating.
Nadine was all cheery when we shipped out. "Oh man, did you see the rows of jars he kept in the engine room? What a freak. I can't believe neither of us just snuck in there out of curiosity the entire time we were on this boat. I know if I saw that I would've popped him right in the face and jumped off this thing to swim to Point Lookout."
She rambled on about Tobar and how little she was looking forward to seeing her mother. I halfway listened and instead busied myself with reading old magazines I found underneath my cot, tucked away in a damp corner.
"Hey, so when we get to D.C., what are you planning to do?"
"Underworld," I answered without thinking twice.
"Huh. Never been there before. Ain't that the place with a bunch of ghouls in it?"
"Yeah. It's kind of like a second...home to me. I'm going to visit a few people."
"That's cool. I thought they uh, you know, ate brains and stuff. Like those zombies everyone talks about."
At least the topic was interesting. Nadine wasn't a very bright girl, but what she lacked in common sense she most definitely made up for with her insatiable curiosity and need for adventure. I explained to her all about the ghouls I encountered and we shared a few laughs here and there, especially the story about Patchwork thinking he was drowning in the toilet.
By the end of our conversation I felt a tad lighter. There was more of a spring in my step, an airy mindset that burrowed past the halo of discontent that lingered over my head.
Underworld hadn't changed much, not that I expected it to in the months I had been away. That was such a small increment of time for these ghouls that it was probably so insignificant they hadn't even noticed I had been gone. Still though, it felt oddly refreshing to pop in and say hi to Winthrop, unloading a giant pile of scrap metal I had been toting around to apologize for my rudeness last time. I even offered to have a drink with him later, if he was so kind to meet me up in the Ninth Circle.
I just had to check. It had been so long. Charon would have been there by now, wouldn't he? I lingered on the steps and Cerberus brushed past me, his eyestalks swiveling around to survey my nervous expression before I turned my head away from him. My fingers lingered on what was left of the banister, smoke from inside creeping out from underneath the doors and hitting me smack dab in the face. The scent was so familiar.
If I hadn't known any better I would've thought that I stepped back in time, to where the greasy bar owner was still alive and I could re-purchase his contract again. Correct all of my mistakes. Make up for lost time. Say the things I meant to but couldn't bring myself to, even in the face of my imminent death.
But if there was one thing I excelled at, it was setting myself up for heavy disappointment.
Empty empty empty. Just like I knew it would be. A tiny part of me wanted it to be a lie and all I needed was to see his ugly mug staring at me from the table. In a moment of pure and utter weakness, all of my emotion and energy drained out of me. I slumped into the chair in the corner of the room, inhaling deeply. Empty empty empty. Just like I felt. A shell of a person. I knew that my time out in the Wastes changed me from the starry-eyed, scar-free brat I was when I stumbled out of my safe haven. I just didn't think that I could be broken this easily, and by such a miniscule happening, too.
He was his own person. Me having his contract didn't mean I was entitled to his soul. He wasn't a piece of property. He never promised me that he would come back here. Maybe he hadn't heard the news that I was still alive and decided to take time on for himself. Maybe his contract was void and null when his employer keeled over with it in their possession and he took advantage of my sacrifice to find himself. Get his own fame instead of sharing mine.
I slumped even more against the back of my seat, letting my muscles lax to the point where they felt useless and boneless, almost alien and not part of me at all. The world around me was off-center and lopsided, nothing going right and all of it was due to the fact that he wasn't here.
"Kid? You still up for that drink?"
"Yeah. I'm buying." I had too many caps. Too many worthless tops of bottles to throw away. Living alone and not having to pay for much food, water, ammunition and repairs was enough to send another blow to my fragile mindset. So why not just dump bags of them on the doorstep of Underworld and keep this place thriving? If that meant getting booze and drinking myself into a coma, then so be it.
"You haven't seen Charon, have you?"
The words were slick and thick on my tongue, rolling around it and landing on the table with a heavy splat when I murmured them. I wasn't sure if I had even said them loud enough for Winthrop to hear until he lifted his chalky eyes to mine, uncomfortable at the mention of the former bouncer.
"Sorry, kid...I haven't. None of us have. He hasn't been back since...shit...I don't even know."
"I was just wondering. It's not like I'm worried or anything," I snapped in my own defense. From my sloshed point of view the pity that Winthrop held in his eyes was enough to rile me up. "He can do whatever the fuck he wants. I fired him."
With a clumsy motion I brought my hand up to my eyes and rubbed away the fat drops that threatened to squeeze out from my tear ducts. "Shit," I seethed, trying to hide my sadness through well-practiced expletives. "Shit. I'm sorry, Win. I didn't mean to lash out. I'm just...so tired. And the vodka isn't helping. I've been gone for so long and he's still not back. And Dogmeat is fucking dead." The taste of bile crawled up my throat and I pushed it back down with a hard swallow, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth in a rubbery mess. "I'm fine though. Just fine. Without them. I can do this. I'm the Lone fucking Wanderer, right?"
Another half hour later, Winthrop had me slung over his shoulder and carried me next door, mumbling an apology to Carol for dropping by so unexpectedly. Faces of the residents mashed and mixed together, all sinewy strands in cheeks and rotted flesh gaping at me when I was dropped down onto the dirty mattress. I rolled over onto my stomach and fumbled for the bucket on the floor, heaving over it and my nose running while I tried to stuff my hair out of my line of vision and avoid having it soaked in puke. The room started up like one of those carousels I'd seen on old holodisks and it was all over.
"Sorry for last night. I can pay for all the stuff I mucked up, and...the room, obviously." Even with almost all of the liquid drained from my body I still gathered enough blood to let it pool in my cheeks in embarrassment.
"Oh, sweetie. Don't worry about it. All of us have gone through a rough night, and...as for the room, you know it's on your tab. Pay when you feel ready."
"Yeah. Okay. Well...I'm going to try to recuperate."
Recuperating meant creeping out of her place and asking Snowflake if he would give me a haircut.
"Oh kid, you got no idea how happy this makes me. What do you want? Mohawk? Dye your hair purple?"
"Not that exciting. Can I pick one?"
Somehow, having Snowflake chop off thick chunks of my hair and comb it up, leaving me with a groomed appearance made me feel a hell of a lot better. I wasn't sure what was so relaxing as he took a weight off my shoulders...quite literally. I saw the strands fall down to the floor and felt his scabbed hands work down my scalp, primping and perfecting his work, before he drew back and showed me my face in the broken piece of mirror he carried with him.
"Whaddya think?"
"It looks amazing," I gushed. "Think you can give me one every week? I like the length and it'll be tough to maintain since mine grows back so fast."
"Whatever you want. Remember – no charge."
With my brand spankin' new hairdo and me dressing into some pre-war outfits rather than my bulky power armor, I strutted over to the adjacent bar and took my seat. The one that I would continue to claim for the next few weeks. This was where it all started, this whacky relationship I had with a six-foot-five ghoul who watched my back day in and day out. I'd be damned if I would let anyone tarnish its significance to me by stealing it.
So I rooted myself there. I wasn't always drinking my sorrows away, but did other things too. Doodled on the back of Fancy Lads. Listened to the conversations of the other patrons. Offered to buy rounds for every tenth person that walked in. Turned the radio on and listened to the same songs that Three Dog played over and over again, hoping that my favorite would come on next and rolling my eyes at others that weren't quite as good.
"Carol's looking for you," Greta hovered over me one day while I fingered my Pip-Boy, nail lingering on the last holotapes my dad recorded before everything went to hell in a handbasket. "Maybe she'll finally give you the heave-ho."
"Ha, ha. I'll be right there."
After tidying up my spot and making sure that no one took it, or even eyed it for that matter, I shuffled along next door. I had been paying my debts to Carol so I knew that couldn't have been the reason she would call me in. Either she was worried, which was most likely the number one factor, or she had an errand for me to run. And while I wasn't too keen on leaving my post, I couldn't ignore any of her polite requests.
She brushed back the few strands of hair she had left and a small smile broke out onto her weathered visage. "Oh, good. Greta passed along the message. Dear, I know this is a lot to ask, but could you deliver this message to Gob? His birthday is coming up soon...I've remembered after all these years...and I thought seeing you and reading something from his mother would cheer him up after he's been working so hard with his new business."
My heart sank. Yup. She was sick of seeing me mope around here and wanted me to get back on track so a little excursion would do me good. She was right. I needed to get my head in the game. I accepted the thin pieces of paper she handed to me and folded it up, packing it in my pocket for safe-keeping. She gave me a care package for the trip and made me promise I would come back as soon as I could.
Everyone was relieved to see me go; I could feel it. Even Winthrop, who had been my constant company and drinking buddy, had a grim sort of smile spread across his face when I shouted to him that I was getting kicked out of Underworld. He waved with the ragged cloth he carried around with him to scrape hardened grease off all the contraptions around the place and I exited.
Poor Fawkes. Cooped up here with nothing to do. If he went out he was sure to get gunned down by a Brotherhood member even if he picked up a white flag to surrender and recited Pre-War poetry that illustrated his anguish at his appearance and brethren's sins. I glanced once more at him awkwardly keeping to himself but watching the Aqua Cura display with mild curiosity. He must have been bored out of his mind.
"Fawkes?"
"What is it?" His voice was so loud and booming I nearly forgot myself. I flinched at his tone but reminded myself that he couldn't very well help it.
"Do you want to come with me? I'd love the company."
"Of course, my friend. I owe you my life."
It was a start. The truth was, I needed someone to chat with, even if he was going to just be on the listening end. He was no Dogmeat or Charon but he was a damn good shot and his Gatling Laser put my energy weapon skills to shame.
The sunlight was bright and took some adjusting, among other things. Sure, I had gone out a few times in my moments as a recluse but those moments were far and in-between. It was a little awkward having Fawkes slaughter mutants on our way there. It still brought back the thrilling memories of my adventures beforehand and slapped a silly grin on my face in no time. I found myself enjoying the way that the blood of the Talon Company Mercs splattered across the right side of my face and the smell took me in. Now this was familiar.
"Where are we headed, if you do not mind me asking?"
"Megaton. I have a home there so we can rest after I deliver this letter. And don't worry about the masses, all of them are harmless. And in terms of bigotry they're on the lower end of the scale."
"I look forward to it."
Megaton might not have been the classiest place in the Wastes but I never found a better place to call home. Underworld was great but my room wasn't free and I still didn't know the names of every person who resided there. But between the giant steel walls that gave me fond memories of my carefree childhood in the vault and the friendly Protectron greeting me, it was always on my list for visits when I was around the area. Plus, I figured that I might as well torture Wadsworth with my presence a few days every month or so.
It took some convincing with Simms to keep Fawkes inside since he wasn't too keen on the idea of having a "mutie" inside. I insisted. And when the "meta-human" in question introduced himself in a polite manner, offering to help with the struggling repairs he spotted in the far end of the town, of course the sheriff had to reconsider.
"Are you sure you do not mind me leaving you?"
"Nope. I think it's nice of you to lend a hand. I'll be in the saloon if you need me. And if you end up staying out late, just ask Simms where my house is. It's not that hard to find. I'm sure we can find some way to get you inside so we can rest up."
I clambered up the ramp and brushed past Moira's. Nowadays I didn't really stop by her place much unless I needed repairs since I was still bitter about her survival guide trials and the consequences of them. Besides, I came here for a definitive reason, and that was to unload the gift to Gob.
Oh, shit. I forgot. It was his birthday. I froze in mid-stride and looked around me. It completely slipped my mind and I hadn't even gotten him a present. Guilt washed over me and the awful feeling of neglect bubbled up inside me again. There had to be something around I could bring him that he might like, but what? And where would I find it in such little time?
Aw. I knew what he really needed. I turned heel and headed back for the Craterside Supply, letting myself in and wincing when I heard the high-pitched greeting.
"Oh! Wow. Look who it is! I haven't seen you in a while, it's good to see you! Need me to take a look at your gear?"
"Actually, I wanted to ask you something..."
After my quick exchange with Moira and dumping some caps into her eager hands, I trudged back up to Gob's. Jericho and Billy were both inside on the stools when I stepped in and both of them reacted in their respectable ways. It wasn't until I caught sight of the owner of the new place that I broke out into a smile and waved at him.
"Got a special delivery from your mom, Gobbie."
He scratched his neck at the childish nickname Carol often used for him. "Thanks a lot, kid."
"Yup. Said it was your birthday. I didn't know that so I got you something too."
"Yeah?" The ghoul was intrigued. "You didn't have to, really. You fightin' the good fight is all that matters to me."
"Well you still deserve it. Anyway, I bought this voucher for you from Moira. She's the one who decorated my house. You can stop by there any time you like and pick out one of the packages she has for sale so she can spruce up the place. That includes a more official sign to go over the old one so people know that Moriarty isn't in charge any more."
I couldn't help but laugh at the incredulous look on his face. "Ah...kid...you...that means a lot to me..."
"Good. So, go ahead and read the letter. She was adamant about getting it to you."
I swung around on the stool a few times and glanced around the bar. Without Moriarty breathing down the pair's neck, it really wasn't a half-bad place. Gob had been working harder than ever to keep things in shape and he was doing his best to go from a beaten bartender to a legitimate businessman. I leaned forward on my hands and clunked the heels of my boots together, amusing myself while his eyes scanned through Carol's messy scrawl.
"Hm..." Gob glanced at me.
"What?"
He turned around and his scabbed fingers plucked a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. He slid it over to me and plopped down a shot glass for good measure. I stared at the orange glow of the alcohol and squinted at him, searching for any sort of hidden message. What the hell was I going to need that for?
"Carol asked me to give you a round. For free. Said you've been having...some problems."
I snorted. "Oh, jeez. She included me in there? Well, it figures. And here I was going to try to put up a front."
"What's the deal, smoothskin? What's got you so twisted?"
I hesitated but found I couldn't lie when staring directly at his baby blues. "I don't know. Things...just haven't been working out lately. I've tried hard to keep my faith in humanity as a whole but it's tough when you're on your own. Quite literally. The entire time I was against the Enclave I had someone watching my back and now the dynamic is...overwhelming."
"She said you've been moping around for a while."
"And she's right. It has been a long time. Months. I just..." In my frustration to find the right words, I scooped my hair back and ran my fingers through it. It was funny. Even if I wasn't the type to blab on and on about my life in normal situations, I had a silver tongue when it came to persuasion and settling things in a peaceful manner. Freezing up when trying to give Gob the low-down to my depression and uncertainty was tougher than it should have been. "Ever since Charon left..."
"Whoa, whoa. Hold up. Charon left? We're talking about the same guy, right? Built like a Brahmin, big as a Deathclaw? Watches over you like a momma Yao Guai?"
"One and only. I sort of...fired him. And I couldn't find him after that. I've been struggling to figure out just...why I'm so fucked up without him. It's killing me. Not to mention he still hasn't shown up and I've looked everywhere for him."
He popped open the whiskey and poured the both of us a shot. "We need to loosen those lips so you can explain everything, alright? Just. Breathe. You look like you're gonna cry and I don't think I can handle that right now."
Once my inhibitions were out the window the stories came out without me thinking twice. I let my mouth run and downed shot after shot, my lips numb by the time I was finished. Every detail I included might have been too much information but it was his fault for wanting it out of me and I needed to vent. I still needed to vent. The drunken nights with Winthrop and Patches, the bullets pumped into those damn swamp people, and slicing the throats of the Chinese soldiers did nothing to satiate my hunger for confidence.
"Look, kid. I'm just gonna say this. Shit happens, and...maybe Charon took it to heart. I mean you don't see many smoothskins and ghouls as close as you two. He probably isn't as far as you think. He couldn't just up and abandon you, contract or not. And you don't need to worry any more because you'll find your way back to him one way or another. Like, the more you mull over it, the longer it's gonna feel."
"Gooob! Listen to me! Are you listening? You and Nova have known each other for what, five years or so? I can't imagine all the shit you've been through with that Irish pig and his so-called debts he put on you. Imagine if she just up and left one day. How would you feel? Wouldn't you be worried? Wouldn't you want to know why? And if you had the chance, wouldn't you want to try to find her?"
Gob lifted his shoulders up and plopped them back down, rolling his neck in-between them to loosen his stiff muscles. From the light fixtures, which were directly above us, I could actually see him up close. Moriarty never liked the two of us chatting during business hours so our moments were brief, but now it was interesting to see how he compared to the other ghoul figures in my life. I found myself comparing the different shades of what was left of his mottled skin and weaving my gaze around the scarred tissue that surrounded his neck and chin.
"That's different. If Nova had the guts to take off then of course I'd be worried but at the same time I'd be happy for her to get out of this dump. We don't have what you and Charon do, you know? That's a rare thing, so I guess I don't know if my advice is any good anyway. There's a difference between co-workers and lovers, no matter how close we are."
I brushed off the lovers comment, seeing as how it was far enough from the truth to make me upset. "Okay. Fine. I'll just try to move on. Maybe Charon will just magically pop back up and things will go back to normal, but I'm slowly learning to be realistic here. All I want is some closure. If that means finding his body out there with some Centaur picking at it, then fine. At least I'd know."
I stormed out of the bar and left Gob staring after me, almost slipping on the puddle of Nuka that Maggie and Harden spilled, judging from their guilty expressions and the empty bottle lying near the railing. I couldn't even spare a grin through clenched teeth at them and instead rushed past a few of the residents heading up my way, knocking some of them in the shoulders. Fawkes' boisterous laugh boomed from not too far away and I saw him taking directions from Manya, his massive height doing wonders for reaching up to straighten out some of the walls.
To calm my nerves, I walked all the way to the vault. It wasn't exactly my best choice but it was close enough where I could sprint back to Megaton when I needed to and it gave me some time to think. The silence engulfed me on the way up the steep hill to the cogwheel door; it made it impossible to ignore the sense of sorrow I felt when I stared past it and tried to run through the layout of 101, only to find I couldn't.
And then I heard something.
"Dogmeat?"
I must have been losing my fucking mind, because that was who it was. I recognized his labored breaths anywhere. When I crept closer to the canine that was resting on top of the rocks, I felt something warm tighten in my chest. Oh. It looked just like him. I knew immediately that it wasn't because of its size and it was still so young...but the colors, the mannerisms, even the bushy tail was so distinct...not to mention it turned to me and wagged its tail as if it knew me.
"C'mere, pup."
The puppy bounded over to me and lapped at my hand, thick saliva coating the back of it and squelching in-between my fingers. A friendly nibble went on my digits and I turned to mush. It was a little morbid that I was replacing my original dog with a lookalike, but he was different in such a way that separated the two of them. This had to have been his kin that made its way over here somehow...and while I never saw Dogmeat run off with another mutt, it still made me go into teary laughs thinking about how he really was such a smart bastard.
The pup followed close at my heels, mimicking all of my movements. If I jumped down a few rocks he did the same. I admired his loyalty and rewarded him with all of the food I had in my pack, ready to spoil him rotten by keeping him well-fed and conditioning him for the fights we were sure to have ahead.
Something shifted in me and the pessimism I had been sporting for the longest time ebbed away. Seeing the pup give me an appreciative bark at his meal and his cold nose nudging the back of my knees instilled a sense of urgency into me instead. Before I had been lazy and quick to call it quits, but now...there was this absolute need for me to head back to Underworld.
"Let's go break the news to Fawkes, Pup."
Fawkes really enjoyed the attention the locals were giving him. Some of them were more standoffish and afraid of him due to his looks, but the majority of them were either fascinated with him or downright enamored. Which was understandable; he was a stand-up guy and deserved the praise he received for being so helpful.
I stood at the sidelines of the undetonated bomb. He was wading into the water and savoring the feel of it against his toughened skin without having to worry much about the radiation damaging him all that much. The Church of Atom looked as though they were both in awe of him and annoyed that he was taking all of the glory by hanging around it with no side effects.
"Do you think we can talk?"
"If you insist."
"I...I think I'm going back to Underworld. One last time before I get my head back into the game. I hate to kick you out like this, especially since you just got a taste of fresh air...but do you think we could have some time apart again?"
"Certainly. Once I am finished with my work here I will return to the museum and you will know where to find me."
"Great!"
I couldn't waste any time. After stuffing all of the supplies I could into my bag and grabbing a rushed reply from Gob, Pup and I went on a one-way ticket to Underworld, fast traveling all the way. I had to cut him a break because his endurance wasn't all the way up yet, but he proved himself to be quite the fighter on the way there. Dogmeat wouldn't have been able to tear the stinger off a giant radscorpion in one giant bite, but Pup was a trooper. I was tickled at the thought of him keeping up the family name.
"Mind your manners, Pup. I know ghouls may not look all that great to you but they're people too. If you behave yourself you won't regret it. They really like dogs and you'll get all the special treatment you want."
He whuffed in response and darted a head of me a little bit to encourage me to quicken my pace.
Aqua Cura was still there. Fucking Griffon and his crackpot stories. I rolled my eyes visibly when he caught me from the corner of his vision and an oily grin wormed its way onto his face after he tugged at his collar. Despite the threats and investigations I did he was still ripping people off. Well, at least he promised to give them the right stuff instead of drowning them in his own irradiated brew.
I pushed past the doors and, as always, Winthrop was there to greet me. "Hey kid, wanted to let you know-"
"Yeah, okay, I'll talk later. Right now I'm kind of busy!"
My ribcage shuddered with every quickened beat that my heart threw against it, throat constricting and mouth dry. What if he wasn't there? Or what if he was? What would I say? How would I even go about any of this? Could he have learned to resent me and found out about any of the less than perfect things I'd done to people undeserving? Would he pull his shotgun out on me? And...what would I do if I busted through those doors like I had a million times before and found the decaying empty chairs lying against the wall with no one occupying them? Or, worse off, what if someone had completely trashed it due to Ahzrukhal's absence and obliterated all the meaning I had left for it?
My nerves made me linger outside the door a few more times and the quick, fluttering sensation in my belly only made me queasy again. I felt like I was falling off the edge and it didn't help that a sea of ghoulish eyes were glancing up at my unnatural display of emotion in the stairwell. All of the drama and self-doubt built up to this one point, something that could make or break me.
I took the plunge, leaned into the door with my weight, and stumbled inside the bar.
Half of me didn't want to turn my head to confirm the sight. One quick glance to the right was all it would have taken but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was frozen in an array of emotions, ranging from the strongest form of anxiety to bitterness that would have made Desmond himself clap for me in pride. My fingers tightened and curled into a fist, shaking so hard I looked like I was going through some kind of relapse or withdrawal symptoms I had seen from chem junkies on the roads.
But I wasn't raised to be a coward. I spent a good chunk of my life out here without him and if he wasn't there then I would do fine. I would go out like I knew I had to and finish the Brotherhood's requests, Pup at my side...and maybe Fawkes too. I would continue rebuilding the shattered remnants of life out here into something more sustainable, teaching lessons along the way that had to do with selflessness and instilling a sense of humility in this lost generation. Right?
With the draining resolve I had left, I tilted my head and caught sight of the most glorious thing I had ever seen in my life.
The orange hue of the bar only made this moment that much more surreal. Everything had an aura around it in an ethereal glow, colors melding and the slow music fading into my own personal backdrop. All I could see was him, seated on the left side of the table, still sporting the Hellfire armor I gave to him, arm resting on the table near a bottle of dirty water. He glanced over at me through the helmet and the yellowed eye sockets pierced right through the tough act I put on. My legs just about went out from under me and I took cautious, well-practiced steps over to him as not to destroy the delicacy of my vision and make it all come crashing down.
I took a seat across from him and he followed my figure, all the way from the door to the spot near him. The distance between us didn't seem so great any more, not with the time spent without him, and having him a good six inches away from my touch was an enormous plus. We spent a few seconds in deserved silence before he decided to initiate the conversation. I wanted to begin with something meaningful and only he would steal the limelight. Of course.
"You return. Shall I join you once again?"
"Yes. I want you to come with me, Charon."
After all this time, all of the scenarios I ran through my mind and the endless ways I pictured this going, this was not one of them. I never thought I would drop all possibilities of me screaming at him and demanding to know where he had been or breaking down and crying into his chest. There was no dramatic running into his arms or pretending that nothing ever happened, either. I was too busy swimming in the bliss of having him by my side again that I dismissed any of those whacky fantasies. This was real life and I was still a woman, not a girl, despite my prior worries about my age and terms of maturity. I was old enough to know better and keep it simple.
He stood up at my words and I followed suit, never taking my eyes off him. The burning questions were still in the back of my mind. And, among other things, I wanted to take action. It had been far too long with us in this awkward limbo of tiptoeing around the terms of our real relationship that I needed something to change...anything. It didn't have to be big. I couldn't really imagine Charon being the romantic type or that he even knew what love was. But deep down I had hoped that he recognized the care I had for him, if not on his end as well.
So I did what seemed best. When he faced the bar and waited for my next order or comment, I took a few determined steps toward him. I made the space between us nonexistent by moving so that we were adjoined in our shadows, my shoulder against his arm and the height difference on full display for everyone. To solidify the obvious question he was directing at me in his mind, I lifted my hand just enough so that I could wrap it in his. No words were spoken, no glances exchanged, just me savoring the feel of his gloved hand in mine.
I peered down at the ground and heat crept up my neck and ears, the stale warm air doing nothing to keep the gradual rise in temperature at bay. I avoided eye contact with him until I knew he had turned his head to physically catch a glance at me. His expression was unreadable due to the helmet secured on his head but it was better that I didn't see. I wouldn't have been able to handle any sort of rejection written across his face and for right now I wanted action rather than passive looks.
Still, I couldn't handle ignoring him for this long any more. I met his stares head on and I couldn't imagine what I looked like. It was more than likely an eccentric display of emotion that threw him for a loop. I imagined things to get strange between us while we just silently drank each other's appearance in but nothing ever led up to that point. We simply basked in each other's company, hands still grasped together and fingers curling around one another.
No kiss was shared, no tears were shed and no outwardly passionate reunion occurred. But when he tailed me down the steps to the circular room with the entire population of ghouls smirking or whispering under their breath at the sight of us, some nudging each other and a few laughing to themselves, I accepted that my skewed world had finally corrected itself and went on spinning just as it had before.
A/N: This little glitch really did happen to me after I installed Broken Steel. I fired Charon right before the "ending" of the game because I had gone through it once and he ended up taking off on me (which is actually fairly common as I later learned). Anyway, most people tell you that he ends up back at the Ninth Circle after a week or so, but my LW did tons of things without the notice ever popping back up. I felt so naked without having this giant ghoul following my every move so I thought, why not try to tell this from the LW's pov? Of course, as soon as I had accepted that he was lost forever and hired Fawkes he went back to Underworld. I couldn't have been happier so I did make my LW stand near him...since I'm a creeper and wanted something romantic to happen...which it didn't. Damn the limitations of gameplay.