Hard Cover

A Fallout 3 Fan-fic

With thanks to Setrus for the title, sitting through trial runs and being supportive.

I don't own Fallout 3 or the Fallout universe and its various peoples, places and other junk belong squarely to Bethesda and their writers.

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Chapter 1: Lone Wanderer

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Turning down the radio on the Pip-boy, Isidore spat. "Did you hear that shit? Three-dog called me a fucking hero... Oh, look at me, I crap flowers and fart rainbows..." She made an overly cute face over hands clutched to her chest, sucking her lips in like a beak and opening her eyes into saucers.

The replying grunt was followed by a gravelly, "He hasn't seen you put a live grenade in someone's pocket."

She shook her finger, losing the act. "Hey, every one of those douchebags deserved it. Especially Moriarty."

There was a rattling laugh, slightly digitized because of the suit's comm. "Better them than me."

"You're so sweet. Honestly, I don't know how my teeth haven't rotted out being around you." She shook her head, pulling up her goggles and settling them on the slick combat hood to rub the sweat out of her eyes. "How's that air-conditioned tin-can feel? Comfy?"

Charon rolled his shoulders and his power armor hissed obligingly. "Very."

"Lucky bastard." Isidore grumbled. She stunk like a dead yao gui and no wonder, it'd been a week since her last shower. A long, dusty, hot trek in the scrub and rads was worth the caps but Wadsworth was going to have a fit about the laundry. Damn robot didn't even have a nose and just looking at sweatstains was enough for him to start making gagging noises. "So what do you say, over that next hill then? See what we can see and then go back and give the info to Reilly?"

"If that is what you wish."

Isidore narrowed her eyes at him. "We had a talk about that ingratiating business, right?"

"Yes." His tone was very mild. It was a clear sign he remembered and was whipping this out on purpose just to push her buttons. Charon's games with authority could either be twisted barbs or designed for sport. This felt like the latter.

"So what would be your preference?"

Charon seemed to contemplate that a moment, his helmet cocking just slightly back as if studying her. "...To get you out of the sun. We have been active almost 46 hours. You do not look well."

"I swear, Charon, sometimes you sound like you're my mother..." She laughed soundlessly. "Alright. I'm following you-- where's cover? We can nap or something and then head back tonight when it's cooler."

"A wise decision."

Isidore rolled her eyes. She made a half-formed kicking motion towards his backside as he crawled past her.

"At times like this, I am glad for the armor." He grumbled.

"Pansy."

It took almost an hour before they happened upon an abandoned shack. Isidore's energy was fast lagging and her sunburned skin stung. Charon gave a silent sign for her to wait in the shade by the door while he made sure the building was clear. Her stomach tensed for the call to jump through the yawning portal, rifle blazing. It didn't come. Instead her companion appeared and motioned her inside.

The air was dusty and dry, but it was cooler than outside. This was largely due to the fact a hole ventilated a top corner of the roof, showing a small mote of green-gold sky. Isidore finally let her shoulders sag. "This dump got a bed?" She asked.

"Mattress. On the floor in the next room."

"Thank Maa." The loose boards that made up the floor creaked as she walked across them. For a few hours, at least, it would be nice not to wonder who or what else she was going to have to put a bullet in.

As she passed the doorless threshold she sighed, pulling off her goggles and hood completely. Her hair, still indigo from Snowflake's recent dye-job, was all but plastered to her skin and dangled in her eyes. Noticing the color again made her smirk. He had mentioned getting something called 'body wax' if she was interested and had given a meaningful glance at her pants. Truth was she didn't have a razor or the time but when she expressed this to him, he'd laughed and said the wax would do months of work all at one sitting. Besides, Snowflake had few pleasures in life and getting to smooth the skin of a pretty smoothskin would make it worth it to him. How could she argue with logic like that? Man knew how to make a sale and compliments came her way rarely.

That's how she'd ended up with poor Freddie Gomez back in the vault. Crazy and ugly went together like peanut butter and jelly.

Even Karl hadn't commented on anything outstanding except the prospect of free sex. She was breathing and had a twat and that was good enough. A pig, but he was a man nonetheless, and had anything moved him other than the urge to screw he hadn't said a word. To complete her transformation into a true wasteland whore, he'd even given her a discount at his store and was all smiles when she came up to him from then on. She and Nova had laughed about that for weeks, how he'd fuck over everyone in Meresti for a piece of ass, but it had felt dirty all the same. Maybe that's why they'd laughed- to wash that feeling away. If anyone knew the pain of having to swallow pride, it was Moriarty's former employees. Bless them both, Nova and Gob were often her rocks in the storm in those early months when she hadn't known shit to step in it. They were good people that cared for her and made all this worth doing.

Fuck if her father was. Running off, sacrificing Jonas and leaving her to the wrath of the Overseer and his minions. Dad wasn't stupid. He must've known what was going to happen. Take care of herself, sure. She'd taken good care of herself-- with three feet of ashwood and a 10mm. They were the only reasons she'd gotten out of the vault alive. Just as fucked up as outside, ultimately, with people willing to watch on the sidelines rather than help when bad things went down.

She yawned. More or less stumbling by now, she made it to the carelessly dumped mattress and almost fell into a sit. Isidore stayed there for a few moments, just appreciating the chance to relax in the shade while her muscles ticked and complained from overwork. She smiled a wide, close-mouthed cat-like smile at her reflection in a rusting toaster nearby. A bit of missing lip that distorted the expression and flashed tooth was a gift from that idiot Butch long years ago. It was mate to the sharp crescent-shaped scar on her forehead from the same fight. Combined with the slightly lighter outlines of her goggles and the border of her combat hood, she reminded herself of a crazed raccoon. No. A crazed raccoon with things to do, she corrected. Equipment to be taken care of, trash to be dumped, all that jazz.

There was some shuffling in the other room followed by the telltale click of a tripmine being laid. Even in the heavy armor Charon made very little noise. Still in the throes of repairing her combat shotgun with half a bleary eye, she almost didn't notice the ghoul's approach when he finally did join her. The clicks falling silent should have been clue enough. That's when she admitted she was exhausted. Had he been an enemy, she could have bought the farm right here.

"You should sleep." He said flatly, his ravaged face still hidden behind the impassive dark helm.

"Don't want to blow my hand off next time we're out whacking mutants. Soon as I'm done here, I'll sleep." Isidore looked at him pointedly. "What about you, need me to check the refrigerator for leaks?"

Charon tapped his wrist, pulling up the suit's HUD. After a few moments he replied, "Yes."

Setting aside her gun, she took the helm when he offered it and started right to work while he stripped off the heavy suit.

Charon always had a faint aura of unease when she didn't react with disgust to ghouls. He didn't say anything, he wasn't much for conversation, but something passed silently every time. Isidore almost sighed, but kept it to herself. Whatever that came from, she wanted to stomp on it. She didn't care that hers would be the second pair of boots to the task. If people had done evil to Charon in the past, or around Charon, they likely wound up like Ahzrukhal as soon as he had the option of taking care of them. Slave he might have been made, but he wasn't an evil man. Nor did he tolerate such when he had the option. He'd probably already dealt with them. It didn't make her stop hating each nameless "owner".

Her hands worked in sharp movements as she thought.

"Who are you killing?" He asked.

Isidore stopped mid-motion, surprised. He didn't often initiate conversation. A guilty expression crossed her dusky, sunburned face.

Thinking and not talking again, Izzy.

Charon used to be irritated when she talked, so she'd learned to shelve it. Far be it from her to impose on him anymore than she already did. His life was shitty and pointless enough as it was. But, if he wanted to, far be it from her not to respond. She mustered a smile for him, to let him know he wasn't the object of her irritation.

"Oh, lots of people. Too many to count. Sometimes my father's on that list too. I still haven't decided what I'm going to say to him."

Charon grunted. "Maybe wise to let him talk first."

She nodded. Not something she hadn't thought about already, but still good advice coming from a good friend. Yes, friend. She imagined him that despite that awful contract hidden under layers of fabric and armor in the cloth bag around her neck. It was awful in the old sense, terrible and awe-inspiring, to hold a man's soul like that.

She wasn't sure she believed him even though he insisted several times that the purchase was more important than ink and paper. On rare occasions she felt the need to stare at the hated document he eyed her with the kind of look that promised insanity should something happen to it. It's not power she'd ever have wanted for its own sake, but she hadn't taken it for fun. He needed to be free-- even if his mouth insisted otherwise his eyes said differently-- and she needed help. Together they could scratch mutual itches.

He watched her for awhile, as she repaired his suit with plates taken from dead outcasts they'd come across. She felt slightly wistful at the attention. It wasn't the first time she'd been struck that he'd been a handsome man. Her mind filled out his features idly-- strong profile, red hair, tall and broad shouldered. He didn't smile even in her imagination, but that was alright. Charon usually didn't smile unless he was killing something. She chuckled as she slipped a new fission battery into the armor.

"Something amuses you?"

She looked at him for a long minute and decided to go with most of the truth. "Laughing at myself mostly. I know you can't, but sometimes I forget that contract. Believe you're here because you want to be. Even imagine you to be my friend." Isidore shrugged. "I'd like to think you would be if you had the choice."

He didn't offer an opinion on the subject. Not that it hadn't been expected. His thoughts, his past, those were his. Isidore respected his privacy. There was a strong feeling that it wasn't a luxury he'd had often. Bastards.

"What would happen if I tore it up, Charon?"

"... you would still retain my service. The paper is only a reminder. A new one may be drafted at any time to replace the old by a current employer, so long as the terms of service remain the same."

"And you can't be freed?"

"You have asked this before."

"I know. I know..." She set aside the armor as it ran through its self-check diagnostic. "But I don't like slavery, Charon. There has to be a way of freeing you short of putting a gun to my head or yours." She finished reassembling her weapon as she spoke.

He sought out Isidore's face instead of looking through her. "I am not a slave. You have purchased my service. You are not a bad... employer."

Tossing the gun aside she cut him off. "Stop. There's no way to make the situation pretty. Believe me, I've tried."

He recoiled, his face going blank. "You may always sell my contract, if you are displeased."

"NO!" Isidore suprised herself with the vehemence of the response. The words came rushing out beyond her control-- due to tiredness or just the hipocrisy in general, she wasn't sure. "I will not have that on my conscience. With me you at least have something halfway decent until we can figure out how to deprogram you or... or... nullify the programming that's there..." She sucked in a deep breath and then let it out. It was an attempt at calm she didn't feel. She felt powerless, disgusted with herself, and furious with a broken world that had made a person like Charon a slave. "And I do think of you as my friend. I'd miss you, even as much as I wish that you were sticking to me like a bloatfly on tarpaper because you wanted to instead of having to."

"...as I said, you are good."

She ran a hand through her sweat matted hair. "So Three-Dog keeps telling me and everybody else who'll listen. ...why do I feel like a sack of crap?"

Charon's grim expression spoke volumes.

"It doesn't get easier does it?"

A faint negative shake of his head was the only answer she received.

"I think I'm ready for that sleep now." Her voice was small, tired.

Charon nodded. "Water first. Then sleep."

She took her water ration mutely and swallowed most of it down without tasting it. The rest she patted on her abused skin. Moira was going to have a field day with the blistered mess when she got home. "I'm warning you now, I reek." Isidore muttered after taking a strong whiff of herself, then made a face and laid down on her side of the grungy mattress.

"It does not bother me." Charon stretched out next to her, his leathers still very cool from the climate controlled suit. Isidore was glad he didn't argue over sleeping arrangements anymore. That first night home, when he'd tried to sleep on the floor next to the only bed in her house, had been exasperation itself. She'd demanded that he either take the bed alone or climb in and share, because she wasn't going to treat him like the dog. He'd been ever so proper about it, even huddling his large frame against the wall to try and not touch her. Now-- now it was old hat. Space was invaded and bodies nestled. That was the arrangement and it was comfortable for both parties, so she hoped. Charon never complained.

"Thank god, because I'm about to claw my nose off." She yawned.

A dry, raspy chuckle followed her into darkness.

When Isidore was stirred from sleep, she'd have given anything at all to be back in Megaton and taking a personal day so the option to roll over and ignore the gentle shake was available. Not that she was actually dreaming about anything worthwhile, but every ache and pain she had at the moment settled into her bones and she was not excited about another six to eight hours of combat and sneaking just to get back to Ranger HQ. Instead she slowly opened her eyes to be met with Charon, already armored and ready to go.

"I let you alone as long as possible, but if we are to use cover of dark to hide our movements we must leave soon."

She nodded at the digitized voice and forced herself to sit up. "Just a sec, let me get motivated here." She loosened the breastplate of her armor enough to get at the zipper in her jumpsuit, then slicked back her hair as best she could with her hands. Donning her goggles, she then slid her combat hood over and tucked it in her suit, sealing it up to her chin. Righting her gear took less time than she imagined it would. Always practical, Charon had already taken that time to gather his mines, whisking them away in his pack for later use and stood waiting. A shot of Med-X to dull the throbbing aches and a couple of bites of mushy ant meat later, it was time to go. Too soon she was up and out the door after her companion.

"Hold on, big guy. I gotta take a piss." She muttered when he made to start leaving immediately. "How about you?"

"Already answered nature."

She shrugged and crept around the side of the building. Thankfully her gear had a trapdoor, and she employed it while scanning the surrounding scrub. Nothing worse than having a radscorp crawl up your butt while you're otherwise distracted. Of course she could have had Charon stand guard but that wasn't exactly fair to the man. That done she took stock of the situation. Somehow she always got started in the dark.

It had been night when she'd left the vault too. Looking up had floored her. Ever since she could remember, the vault had been her home. Suddenly the roof was gone and there was nothing but blackness dotted with stars. Sure, she'd seen pictures of them... holos... but nothing like the real thing. The sky swallowed her and made her feel small and blessedly insignificant. After the nightmare of escape, the cosmic sea had washed the horror of Jonas' blood and the screams of the dying out of her head for a brief moment. Now, as she righted her clothing, she was just glad her armor stank so badly nobody would notice she didn't have anything to wipe with.

Life got in the way of appreciation of beauty. Sad but true.

"Good to go, Charon." She called in a low voice as she came around the rickety shack. "You ready to split?"

He nodded. "I shall follow."

"Capital." Her reply was part half-hearted pun, part agreement.