She stumbled in only moments before the sun peeked over the ragged metal walls of Megaton. Though she had been gone all night, he could tell she hadn't been sleeping; her eyes were half-lidded and dark circles were beginning to form around her lower lashes. What's more, she brought the smell of booze along with her when she lurched through the door and toward the stairs, one hand resting on the wall in an attempt to keep her balance. She didn't notice him sitting in the pink armchair by the door, his shotgun dismantled on his lap and a cleaning rag dangling from his mottled fingers. His faded blue eyes followed her as she struggled to make it up the stairs to her bed. Roused by his master's fumbled entrance, Dogmeat lifted his head from the rug and let out a short whine of concern for the girl. She stopped midway up the steps and turned her head to look at the mutt, her gaze widening as it landed on the ghoul watching her with a steady stare.
"Charon," she croaked, her voice scratchy with exhaustion.
"Penelope," he responded evenly, lowering his eyes to his weapon and continuing to run his rag across the burnished metal. "You're home late."
"I'd say I'm home rather early," she quipped cheekily, gesturing out a window to the rays of sunlight that were beginning to creep over the walls and glisten on the metal walkways. "Have you been up all night?" She asked, changing the subject with a pointed look at his gun. He nodded. "Why?"
"I had to make sure my mistress returned home safely," he replied, sparing her a brief glance, one scraggly eyebrow cocked.
"Bullshit," she snorted, carefully turning on the stairs and picking her way back down. Once she was safely on the ground, she trudged to the armchair across from him and dropped into it with a weary sigh. "You and I both know you don't have to wait up for me."
"Not when you tell me where you're going," he agreed. "But when you disappear, I have reason to worry."
"I told Wadsworth that I went over to Mor-"
"I know." He cut off her protestation with a growl. "He told me."
"Then I don't see what the big deal is."
"The big deal," he responded, reassembling his weapon with the ease of practice and setting it on the table between them, "is that you left at ten and now it's five o'clock in the fucking morning." As he spoke, his gravelly voice grew more irritated, a fact that sent a look of annoyance across her face.
"Well excuse me," she snarled, eyes narrowing. "I didn't realize I had a curfew."
"You could have been lying out in the Wastes bleeding to death!" He cried, his anger finally growing out of check. "Or Moriarty could have poisoned you, or Jericho-" He stopped at a soft, derisive snort from his employer. "What?"
"You have no faith in me," she replied, producing a combat knife from the waistband of the light armor she preferred while in Megaton. "You think I can't take care of myself? I did just fine without you before I got to Underworld, didn't I? And you think I'm gonna go wandering into the Wastes alone at night? I'm not stupid." He seemed slightly placated by her words and her weapon, but his flaky lips remained pursed.
"Were you at Moriarty's all night?" He asked, arching his back to work out the kinks that had developed over the hours of sitting.
"Yeah," she replied, though her eyes darted to the side as she spoke. He noticed the movement and narrowed his own eyes.
"Oh really?"
"Yes, really," she answered testily, standing a bit shakily and glaring at him as though her instability was some kind of proof. "Can't you tell?"
"Moriarty's isn't the only place around here that sells liquor. You could've been downstairs at The Brass Lantern," he reasoned. Almost immediately, a light blush flushed her cheeks, and he bit back the urge to smirk, though a glare from Penelope proved that his success showed in his face.
"Ok, fine, I was at The Brass Lantern. What's it to you?" She asked gruffly, wobbling past him, headed for the stairs once more.
The more she talked, the more Charon suspected her infirmity was a symptom of exhaustion as opposed to a side effect of too much liquor. They had just returned from an extended trek into D.C. earlier the day before, and she had refused to rest up, insisting instead that she join Lucas Simms on the wall, watching for the Raiders that were rumored to be in the area. After night fell, she had briefly stopped in to discard her gun, then made for Moriarty's Saloon without a passing word to Charon. He wasn't unused to her frequent lapses in silence: after her father's death, her happy-go-lucky attitude had faded along with her zeal for Project Purity. Lately, he knew, she spent much less time planning their next move and much more time brooding. He supposed the death of a loved one could do that to a person, though he had become a bit numb to the pain of loss over the years.
Charon was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a scraping noise, and he looked up to see Penelope falling backward, her hands scrabbling against the metal wall for a handhold as her boots lifted from the steps. In an instant, he was at her side, catching her deftly in his strong arms and holding her against his chest as she tried to regain her balance. He looked down to reassure himself that she was safe, and in that moment, their gazes met. Her eyes, wide from the surprise of her sudden fall, latched onto his and held them for a long moment. He was suddenly acutely aware of her fingers curled around his biceps as she clung to him for support; their chests were pressed close together, and their faces were only inches apart. He released her quickly and stepped back, eyeing her.
"Do you need help getting to bed?" He teased, smirking. She narrowed her green eyes at him and scowled.
"No, I'm perfectly capable, thank you," she retorted, determinedly placing a foot on the bottom step and beginning her upward trek once more. He fell into step behind her, assuring her that he was simply going up to bed himself, though they both knew he was readying himself to catch her should she stumble once more. At the top of the stairs, she bid him goodnight and turned to retreat to her bedroom. He watched her go, but frowned as he caught sight of something on her neck. He reached out a hand and gently grabbed her wrist, causing her to stop and turn around, her gaze somewhat confused.
"What's that on your neck?" He asked, stepping forward to get a closer look. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she took the mirror off her desk and held it up, flushing scarlet as she saw the mark to which he referred.
"It's nothing," she assured him hastily, pulling her wrist free of his grasp and replacing the mirror on the desk. "Really."
"Is that… a bite mark?" He inquired, incredulity evident in his raspy voice.
"N-No!" She snapped a bit too hastily, shamefully casting her eyes to the floor.
"Who the hell bit you?" He continued, voice hardening. She recognized the protective look in his eyes and shook her head quickly.
"It's not like that," she told him. "It was a… misunderstanding, that's all."
"Between you and whom?" He demanded, reaching a hand forward to run a finger over the upraised skin. She flinched away, averting her gaze from his once more.
"It's really not a big deal," she said weakly, but he only raised his eyebrows expectantly as a way of response. She sighed. "Andy," she admitted finally.
"Andy Stahl?" She nodded, and his jaw tightened.
"Now don't you go picking a fight," she warned sternly. "It's not what you think. He didn't attack me – like I said, it was a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding that ended with him biting you?" He replied dubiously.
"Well… Yes. Now go to bed. And don't mention this to anyone – especially Andy." She turned to look him in the eye. "Do you understand me?" Reluctantly, Charon nodded an affirmative and bid his employer goodnight, turning to go into his room as she shut the door to hers.
Letting out a tired sigh, he slowly stripped off his armor, draping it neatly on the shelves that stood against a wall. Now clad only in the shorts that served as underwear, he drifted over to his bed and was about to fall into it when he heard Dogmeat's distinctive whine outside his door. Sighing, he opened the door and surveyed the dog, who pawed pitifully at Penelope's door, determined to guard his master as she slept. Mumbling about the spoiled animal, Charon stepped over to Penelope's door and opened it, stepping aside so Dogmeat could enter. He leaned into the room to catch the door handle in one of his big hands, glancing toward Penelope as he did so.
"Charon!" She yelped, scrambling to pick up the tank top she had just discarded on the floor. As she bent to retrieve it, Charon tried not to notice the curve of her breasts and her smooth, muscular thighs.
"Shit, sorry," he mumbled, flicking his gaze to the floor. "Dogmeat wanted in," he explained, daring a glance up once she was decent once more. He blinked and stared at what he saw: the pale skin of her shoulders, usually unmarred save for a multitude of freckles, was littered with red bumps, and, as he stared, he realized they were bite marks like the one on her neck. A few swift strides brought him to her side, and he looked down at the marks with concern in his eyes.
"Charon, it's really not what you think-"
"What the fuck did he do to you?" Charon's voice was dangerously calm, his gaze fixated on the bite marks. There were several on her shoulders, as well as a few on her collar bone, and he could see another one peeking out from the neck of her tank top. He reached up and pulled the fabric down just enough to reveal it. "On your neck was one thing, but on your chest?"
"I promise it's nothing to worry about. Please believe me."
"Did he try to take advantage of you?" The glint in Charon's eyes suggested that he thought he already knew the answer. Penelope let out a soft chuckle and placed a hand on the ghoul's chest, pushing him away good-naturedly.
"No, Charon," she assured him, voice patient. "We…" She huffed a short sigh and crossed her arms over her chest, looking embarrassed. "I drank a little too much and things got out of hand, ok?"
Charon was quiet for a long moment after her confession, though Penelope wasn't sure if he was processing her words or planning Andy's impending murder.
"You slept with him?" He asked finally, his voice dull.
"Well, there wasn't much sleeping involved, but… Yeah." She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, face twisted with embarrassment. "Look, it didn't mean anything. I just- I haven't… been with anyone since before I left the Vault, you know? And even then I never really… had anyone. And Andy, well, he's a bit rough, obviously, but he's a nice enough guy…" She trailed off awkwardly. "Maybe not, y'know, exactly what I want, but nice enough…"
"Right," Charon said abruptly, spinning on his heel and heading for the door. "Goodnight." With that, he stepped out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him before re-entering his room and falling to the mattress, which groaned under his sudden weight.
Charon rolled onto his side and tried to get to sleep, but sleep proved elusive despite his long night. Staring up at the dimly lit ceiling, he sighed. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of Penelope having sex with Andy was driving him crazy. He imagined them tumbling into his bedroom, mouths crushed together in a lustful kiss. He imagined Andy ripping the armor off of her small frame and throwing it onto the ground, stepping back to briefly admire her muscled stomach and full, supple breasts before lifting her into his arms and crashing down onto the bed, straddling her wide hips as his fingers flicked across her nipples, hardening them. He imagined Penelope's cry of euphoric pain as Andy bit into the sensitive skin along her collarbone. He imagined Penelope struggling to stifle her moans as Andy thrust into her. He didn't think she would let him have the satisfaction of hearing her pleasure voiced; instead, he imagined her thrashing on the bed, biting hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming as her orgasm ripped through her, leaving her trembling from the intensity. He imagined Andy grunting as he finished, then extricating himself from her and getting redressed without a word, leaving her gasping and alone on the bed as he returned to his customers.
Charon groaned a little as the scene played out in his mind. Andy wouldn't know how to treat Penelope. He didn't know that she was emotionally fragile, or that she still cried at night sometimes as she mourned for those she was forced to kill. He didn't know that she had a bullet hole in her left arm that was still healing; he probably grabbed it in the heat of the moment, making her cry out in pain. But he wouldn't have stopped to check on her: Andy barely even put up with Penelope most days. She was too good for him, literally. She was single-handedly ridding the Wastes of all the vile creatures that plagued it – little did she seem to know, he was one of those creatures. Gob had told Charon once that he had overheard Andy talking to a Mr. Burke, a man from Tenpenny Tower, about rigging the bomb that sat in the middle of Megaton to explode, back before Penelope had waltzed in and disarmed the thing.
That was how she operated, Charon thought with a smirk. Though he knew she was often oblivious to the affect she had on people, he couldn't help but suspect that some part of her found utter joy in pulling the rug out from under people's well-laid plans. She especially loved toying with the men that dared to approach her. He had, on occasion, caught a spark of cruel joy flashing in her eyes as she put an end to a suitor's advances with a few snide words and a wink before heading over to him so they could leave the area. As hard as he tried to ignore the fact, he couldn't deny that the look of shocked disgust on her suitors' faces as she left with him at her side gave him a sense of sick satisfaction. He knew that their relationship was strictly business, though it had grown into a sort of friendship over the months since she had bought his contract, but for some reason, the various people they encountered in the Wastes seemed to sense something more between the two.
But, he reminded himself with a grimace, there was nothing to speak of between employer and employee. No fleeting glances, no lingering touches – nothing to suggest that Penelope had any interest in pursuing anything beyond the professional relationship they had established. And, if there had been some indication of her desire, it was all worthless now. She was clearly lonely in the Wastes with naught but a dog and a ghoul for company. Why else would she have sought out a man to keep her company through the night – a man like Andy, no less? Charon had thought that Penelope bought his contract because she wanted some company, someone with whom to share her experiences. Now, though, he felt the hard truth settle in his gut like a lead weight: he was there for her protection. Nothing more, nothing less. She needed to stay alive, and he was the perfect bodyguard.