Warnings: This fic contains attempted non-con. Please be aware of the summary as well.

Disclaimer: Do not own Fallout. Or things would be a little...different.

If there was one thing he could remember from the past; from when he was still part of order and not chaos, was how his Commander said the only thing more certain that the potential man had for war, was the lust he'd always have for a good woman. Charon hadn't known any good women, or at least, he couldn't recall knowing any. But there was always potential lingering...always...and what he'd just seen in his cracked binoculars may very well have been a good woman – not if the raiders got to her first though.

It'd been awhile since his heart had stuttered so hard or time had seemed so slim. A part of him, even now, knew he'd never have risked his life for a man had he been in the same situation. Old world morals were still ingrained in him: serve your country, follow orders, and protect the weak.

Dust and ruble lifted behind him as he skid down the cliffs slope, forcing a plume of fine yellow clouds. In the distance he saw the woman's rifle discharge – the crack of sound following a short second later. The shot hit too, but raiders – like rabid dogs – followed in packs, and one less wouldn't dissuade them any when there were three more of them, all as uncaring and merciless as the next.

The beating heat of the sun ran hot on his shoulders and hard sun spots blinded his eyes off the dilapidated cars from where the raiders had sprung into action, but if he could do one good thing...then that would mean something. A man, after all (ghoul or not) had to find meaning every now and then, and saving a woman from peril was about as good as it got.

A feral scream punctuated the abyss as a raider threw a fist, missing but throwing the woman into the excited arms of a strung out teenager; riddled with filth crusted wrinkles to rival any weathered man. The young raider cackled, tossed her to the next barrel of disease who flung her to the ground where she scrambled in the dirt like a fearful animal. One of them shot at the ground with tweaked carelessness – the bullet plugging into the dirt over her shoulder like a yellow geyser. Her short sound of fear bounded off the wind as she went rigid in her attempt to get away, staring at the dirty hole the bullet had dug.

Raiders never did anything mercifully...or short. Charon would have plenty of time to sneak up on them in the end...but witnessing torture and the rape no doubt about to unfold didn't sit well with him at all. He stepped carefully around the cluster of mutant sized rocks, keeping quick check on the helpless woman as she was kicked on her back, all of the men laughing as it was done. The ripe smell of burning rubber and stale piss grew the closer Charon crept. Shotgun eased down at his thigh, he watched for opportunity to present itself.

One of the raiders sank to his knees, grinning wide with rotten teeth.

"Think she pissed 'erself?" the one on the ground jested.

"Don't bother me none..." another drawled with speech near bordering on animal sounds, "what? - you afraid of a little smell, ass fucker?"

Two of them laughed hard at the expense of the other, but it didn't seem to bother the other much, in fact it merely made him grin further. "Maybe she'd like a taste of a good ride. Hey, darlin', what say you huh?"

The woman seemed momentarily paralyzed with fear. Charon caught her eyes dart to her fallen gun, half way between him, hidden between two shredded cars, and her. The adrenaline fueled gaze lifted a second from her gun, before returning and immediately finding him squatted across from her in the sun-drenched shadows. For a brief second her eyes widened and then immediately narrowed as if they weren't where they really were – as if they were in a bar, and he'd ordered the last beer, putting it to his lips as she glared at him for enjoying what she surly did not.

"I like the way this broad thinks. Keeps quiet like a good bitch ou'tta..."

Suddenly she rolled on her back; eyes flashing to the raiders, snarling with fists up at her chest in a final act of defiance. A demeaning punch was issued to her stomach, just as she swung to defend herself – her own jab missed by a pathetic amount, leaving her to choke and curl on her side when another kick struck her in the back. Again they kicked and that tight mouth she'd formed opened with a spit covered yelp.

When two out of the three raiders knelt down with plain intent at the girls curled body, Charon felt that surge of adrenaline race up his spine. If there was any time to act it was now. His knees snapped straight, forcing the sun in the cracks of his face as he lifted his shotgun, gave it a rough pump and shot a small explosion of buck into the one standing the closest. Blood dusted the air, and with the sudden distraction and a snarl, he kicked the lonely rifle to it's rightful owner; still curled and only now growing aware of what was happening.

She was an interesting woman, Charon realized.

A toothless raider turned, pulling upon a pistol latched tight in his belt, but Charon merely gave him a heavy smack on the jaw, watching him grunt and slam to the ground in a bloom of dust. He would have done the same to the other bastard, but on the ground by his feet – with a fierce, hateful gleam on her face – was the girl with her rifle in hand, jammed straight into the gut of her victim.

The shot from her rifle rang and Charon's eyes lowered with amusement, pumping his shot gun one more time to nonchalantly put down the last one on the ground – the one that no longer had to worry about that painful broken jaw Charon had given him...

A disgusted sound came from the woman, whose kill landed with a dead smack right beside her; rotten mouth open and crusty eyes wide beside her. He nearly gave a grin when she managed to toss the sod off her before the raider soiled himself.

It was nearly laughable how her reaction resembled a small girl inspecting a dead animal, because that's all they really were in the end...animals.

"You always like this around women? - or does my swearing bother you?" She queried before popping two mentats in her mouth, chewing them quickly. The calm came on as she let the bitter drug rest on her tongue. Normally it was dangerous when alone, but the ghoul shuffling before her seemed even more capable than herself. There was a sense of safety as odd as that sounded out here.

She watched him look her over with a nearly clinical eye; one steeped with mistrust and the rest reeking of apathy as that sand bruised shotgun rested downward in one of his ghoulified hands. He looked unlike any savior she'd had over the years – though saviors were few and far between, they normally didn't look as unhappy to have saved her as this one did, or for that matter so indifferent. The very fact that he was a behemoth of a ghoul didn't deter her nearly as much as his expression did.

"You don't come across others often do you?" she asked with genuine curiosity. Despite fearing an attack from every direction, it was rare to bump into anyone, especially one that was not only willing to point a gun away from her, but then point it at her enemies.

"No," was all he said before taking a deep inhale; his chest expanding to make him look even larger than before, and then he turned...walking away.

"Don't you want to ask why?" she added with a smile that only could be given when she felt once again alive and less close to death than a moment ago. Endorphins were a thing to be praised indeed.

He kept walking, stopping only to pluck up expended cartridges. "There no 'why's' out here, kid," he groused as if she were a dumbass.

She nearly smirked, but her lower lip cracked dryly in her attempt, forcing a wince between her eyes instead. A lick of the lips didn't even solve it when her mouth felt just as dry. The ghoul tossed up a unspent bullet and cupped it mid-air in a tight, mammoth-sized fist. She didn't have much of an issue with his kind, though the stories she'd heard unnerved her – it was more that, despite his unexpected rescue, she found herself perturbed by his attitude.

Instead of letting him be as her survival instincts suggested, which would be a threat, a good deed always begot a good deed in her book, so she saddled towards him, plucking up a shotgun shell before he did and capping it with a minor tilt to her lips. He looked just as annoyed suddenly.

"Found a map that lead me here. The Brotherhood 'supposedly' have a bunker in the garage stocked with supplies...but the," she swallowed disdainfully, "raiders were using this place as a convenient ambush site."

She had his attention by the look of his fervent eye contact, but that annoyance was still there as he looked at her. For some reason his stare made her feel childish and vaguely ridiculous at her explanation. Though if what she'd heard about ghouls was true, then she was but a child in his eyes no matter if she was twice her age.

"This an offer?" He asked her as if she were pulling some trick on him, and she'd have been lying if the idea of clocking him on the back of the head when he followed her in hadn't crossed her mind. To say his leather armor would have been big on her was an understatement, but better that than the shit she was wearing now, and that gun was nearly as impressive as his stature. Anyone else and she'd have done such a thing, but she wasn't a large as she sometimes thought she was. He'd fuck her day up if she crossed him...

"I'd like to think of it more like a reward," she muttered while squinting as he moved to let the sun in her eyes.

"If I'd done this for the reward you'd have been better off with those raiders raping you."

His callous threat dug like a parasite in her belly, so deep since it was so true. With timing and luck on her side she could have fought off the tweaking raiders, but a sober, huge ghoul proved about as dangerous as a deathclaw she reckoned. If he'd wanted to pluck her up like a child did a treat he would have had little trouble.

"Then let's call it me being grateful?" she tried with – she thought – a hopeful expression.

Silence stretched longer than she thought, her lip curling lightly at his belittling look. She couldn't understand how or why he made her feel so fucking green, but it was ruining her post-survival mood.

"Very well," he said finally, after what felt like a minute.

"Thank god for that...talking to you is like pulling teeth," she mimicked his tone insultingly; smirking soon after she turned around while he growled at her. Despite his mood, falling into a verbal sparring match with him was becoming a rather enjoyable endeavor.

If he was being honest, he was slightly enthralled that this woman would offer him anything, let alone spoils. He would have been content with a thanks, but she was surprising to say the least. There was that nagging feeling that this was a rouse to catch him off guard; to take what he had and even kill him for it.

He'd agreed for some reason, but that reason didn't seem good enough even while he followed her into the oddly cool market. Bits of dust, and crumbling paint fell from the ceiling gradually, while skinny projectiles of light filtered in from miniscule holes dotting the decaying walls. Immediately he surveyed the area, counted the boarded windows, the three passageways leading into darkness and the many possible weapons. The shelves were mostly barren, but the stray can of vegetables and packaged cereal looked promising enough.

"Keep yourself at a distance, will ya?" she groused, eyeing him cryptically from the counter where she was busy emptying the cash register.

"Same to you, smoothskin," he bit back, putting a hand on the hilt of his combat knife – it was reassuring when her eyes would stray from counting the bills to watch him as he moved to survey the area. Nothing so far looked worth the weight to carry. He'd eat his fill of the canned goods, but he wouldn't bother taking any with him. He'd hunt his food later when the hunger finally crept back on him. Naturally he didn't have to eat often. One big meal every other day and he managed just fine.

"I think I'm safe to assume the goods are in a basement, bunker...whatever. It looks like a cellar key..." she mumbled, singling out an elongated key on a heavy looking wheel of differing keys. There must have been over fifty. The smoothskin got around.

"Lead the way then," he said with the nudge of his head to the back corridors. He wasn't about to trust her at his back.

"You stay back," she ordered, sizing him up again; more hostile than she'd been outside. It seemed the closed quarters made her nervous for some reason, more nervous than others would be. "If I hear you creeping too close-"

"Lead the way," he repeated; not caring about her concern. She had nothing to worry about as long as she kept her hands to herself. He wasn't about to harm a woman he'd just saved, and she was naïve if she thought otherwise.

Down a short crop of stone stairs was indeed a heavy door, and her key worked as she'd said. Musky odor of long rotten meat, mold and tepid water assailed his senses. It was cold as well, making what skin he had left tighten and his muscle twitch. He hated the cold. Alaska had proven to that a dozen times over.

As he checked the area, scrutinized the floor for traps and gave her another cryptic look, she started mumbling, "...should be a safe...a cabinet...where the living hell..." He tuned her out when his foot landed on a reasonably intact magazine – the edges frayed but the cover photo visual. Watching her search the area, he picked it up with one hand still on his gun. A house wife looked back at him, all smiles with white teeth and a bobbed hair cut. 'How to save by shopping savy!' it read. It'd been a long time since he was rudely reminded of the past and honestly, he wasn't sure what to feel at the time-tainted memories. Was this nostalgia? - did he even know about this materialistic world at any time in his life? No, he realized. There was never shopping, a wife or even smiles.

"Found it!"

Charon dropped the magazine – a cloud of dust flying up from it's impact with the filthy ground. The girl was trying to move a heavy looking sheet of wire fencing. Old planks were further covering what he guessed was a gun cabinet.

"Out of the way. I'll do it," he said, still enjoying his freedom to give orders instead of take them. The power was as addictive as a drug, and as she backed away to let him lift the rubble out of the way, he couldn't help but feel a certain wave of euphoria. To be the master of his own actions was better than any feeling he'd experience in life, better even than killing.

"...look easy."

The fence toppled to the floor as did the planks – her small voice even smaller against the sound. "What?" he asked. Her mumbling was unflattering.

"I said you make it look easy..." she seemed to bite with her words, "It's called a fucking compliment. Most people like 'em."

He merely grunted – the compliment as she called it wouldn't soften him to her womanly wiles if that was her goal. Saving her was a moral judgment, and aside from the goods she wished to share with him, he cared little for what ever came out of her mouth.

"Are ghouls always this shitty for company, or do you just like making them all look bad?"

It was a taunt he could tell; one he ignored as she fit him with an odd, appraising look before turning her back to him for the sight of the cabinet. The jingle of her keys echoed near-painfully in the stone basement, but when the lock unlatched and she turned back to him grinning he couldn't help but notice how similar she looked to the woman on that forgotten magazine cover. White teeth, nearly blemish free skin and eyes that didn't look red-worn or doped were only a few of the features he suddenly took note of. The fuller figure she made when she twisted her waist was also uncommon – it may have been before the war that he'd a woman look so...

"The fuck are you looking at?"

He rose his eyes from her figure to a thin frown and narrowed eyes aimed right at him

"Which Vault was it you crawled out of?" He was even more curious of her now. Sure she looked roughened up from life out here, and her demeanor spoke of acclimation to her now found world, but she was the cleanest looking woman he'd had the rarity to see, and all it took was a comparison from the past to notice.

"You're perceptive aren't you?" He couldn't tell if she meant to mock him or not.

"One O' One. Just a half mile from Megaton. Don't think for a second they'd let you or anyone else in for that matter though."

She swung the cabinet open, banging it back with a shivering smack of rusted metal. Her body hid whatever was inside and her silence told him it was either a grand haul of goods or a disappointment. Too long she was quiet and then without warning she gave the inside a rough kick, screaming with a sort of frustration that sounded like it stemmed more from betrayal than deception. Charon knew then that she was a hostile and not a woman eager to share her supposed trophy of supplies. Her eyes told him she was a dangerous woman in this moment.

Those rat finks had lied to her. They openly told her the supposed coordinates to this place; a place that had just happen to run through cannibal country and a raider hijack post. Near digestion, rad. poisoning, and near rape were all suffered through with a stiff lip because the whole point was to stock up on the mass of supposed armaments. And this! - this is what she was looking at now. One, split-wooded, hunting rifle looking back at her, leaning into a corner as if it also knew what a sorry sight it looked. It didn't even matter that she could at least repair her own gun with it.

Past the red rage she heard the ghoul behind her snort derisively, at least that's what her brain processed. He may have been simply breathing for all her rational mind knew, but that part wasn't thinking now. She was angry...and the nasty thought that she'd been set up crawled like a poison through her veins.

When she turned to glare past her shoulder at the hulking man of rotten flesh, she felt a rush of spite work it's way through her. The remembrance that he'd saved her, and had done so without seeking any reward, pleasure or 'other' was forgotten as he gave her a glare right back.

With the few bullets she had left she wouldn't make it back to Megaton at this rate, and running into trouble was as guaranteed as the sun would be setting in the next few hours. She needed ammo, and the first idea that came across her mind was to take his.

As if he saw that very thought, she flinched as he lifted his shotgun to her; a casual move but not one to be taken lightly.

"You gonna shoot your damsel now?" she spat with fresh rage still building. She'd never been so thoroughly fucked before, and the memory of that scribe and his nasty smile only made her growl like a rabid dog. The only other thing the Brotherhood could expect from her now was a fat man aimed at their training yard.

The ghoul was quiet, only staring with those milky eyes that before would have unnerved her, if anything the constant eye contact was thinning her desire to act out in a stupid manner; a stupid violent manner that would get her no more than a shot of buck in the gut.

With no small sense of reluctance she swallowed the urge to verbally berate him, and cautiously rose both her hands in the universal sign of concordance. Her last mistake in life wouldn't be to fuck with a man of his size, or with a shotgun of that caliber, ghoul or not.

"No threat. I promise..." Inwardly she grimaced at the deflation in her voice. She was acting childish for the first time in years.

"If it's ammo you need, I have rounds for that hunting rifle...to trade only."

Despite his defensive tone and her still ripe ire, she rose an eyebrow at him. His offer surprised her, just as his passiveness after he saved her had at first. This whole time she'd been traversing the wasteland, she'd yet to come across anyone with his certain...moral integrity. It reminded her of the war heroes she read about in the vault, way back when.

"Yeah..." she muttered finally, "that, that would be alright." No one really said thank you out here, since no one did anything that was in need of a thank you, so she almost forgot that's what you did when someone helped you out. She couldn't even remember if she'd said it after he'd ruined those raiders chances for a free fuck and meal.

With his gun still trained in her direction, and her palms still raised, he slung a short, near-empty looking pack off one shoulder where it sank to the ground in a thin and rather sad looking way. A sudden well of gratitude replaced much of the leftover anger as she lowered her hands to her sides, still making sure she appeared the submissive in this situation.

"I don't have much in way to trade...could provide a handful of jet if that's your thing?" If she was lucky he liked the stuff much more than she did, but a stiff, one-shake of his head said otherwise. He still gestured for her to come close while simultaneously lowering his shotgun – a hand going into his pack to fish out the ammo. With care she knelt close enough and watched his shredded looking fingers put differing ammunition into piles.

He seemed to have over a dozen .32 rounds but she shifted uncomfortably, knowing how little she had to trade back. The high after the raiders, the anger after seeing what she'd trekked all this way for – it was all gone and a morose, nearly sheepish mood had taken over her. The mentats earlier must have kept her in check enough that she hadn't done something like attack him, but now they were making her more passive and muted than she normally was. She even thought fleetingly of offering him something more intimate for the ammunition, but she'd never offered such a thing before, and wouldn't even now.

She frowned as he ignored her looks. Something about him reminded her of one of those protectrons from RobCo. Every move he made was oddly synthetic and calculated. Thinking back he'd exhibited the same movements as he was now, but that time she was distracted by highs and lows of serotonin. Now she could think rationally enough. Was he some ghoulish android like Harkness? It seemed counter-productive to make an android appear ghoulified, unless he was to blend in with other ghouls...

She'd known of a place in DC that held a community of ghouls, but the name of the place escaped her since going had never appealed to her before. Then again, DC in general never appealed to her...

"What do you want for them?" she asked suddenly, pushing folly thoughts away for the current dilema at hand. Her own pack, though fuller, contained an assortment of useless things a ghoul of his caliber wouldn't seem to be interested in. Still, she flung it off her shoulders – her rifle tapping to the floor as well in her clumsy haste.

"...shit," she cursed, setting the rifle close before unbuckling her pack.

"Just take them. We won't make this into a problem."

Uncertain as to what he was getting at she didn't respond, merely gave him another searching look like she'd give any unpinned stranger. Everything he did was...unlike anything she'd come to accept about the outside world and it wasn't right. No one did things for nothing.

"Don't play games with me. Just tell me what it is you need..." before she could list off the goods she had she caught his gaze drop for just a moment; a moment so slim she almost thought it'd been a hallucination, but she'd seen it all right. The ghoul had just checked her out...and the normal disgust didn't come as it did when it usually happened – not that it happened much. It was normal routine to appear as much a man as possible at a distance.

An awkward silence followed as he caught her gaze. She saw that he knew she'd known what the look had been, but his expression never wavered from that mask of nothing. She had to admit, he was good at the poker face.

With a silent swallow she pried the opening of her pack open and delved a hand inside "...I've got colas, scrap parts...jet, but you don't want that, smokes, chips..."

"I'll take the cigarettes."

Without thinking she tossed them at him, but with an envious reflex she saw him catch them just above his shoulder – the action smooth and simple looking when she was certain it wouldn't have been if she'd done it.

"...I can pay you in caps if that's wh-"

"I don't use them. Traders avoid ghouls if you're not aware by now. These will be fine, smoothskin."

A pack of smokes for forty caps worth of ammunition seemed more akin to robbery than a trade, but she wouldn't complain, not when she'd thought of ways to incapacitate him to grab his shotgun just minutes earlier.

"...Thanks, for everything by the way."

She'd watched him leave then, without even a nod of acknowledgment and she'd gone on her way as well. Live another day to fight for another one tomorrow, she thought with a grim smile as the large silhouette of him against the evening sun faded. Maybe there was a few good souls out here after all.