Now, this is super short because I felt it ended in a good spot but I also wanna add to it? So I may in the future? Like the very, very near future - or it becomes a story because I really like my Lone Wanderer for this. Its either that or this becomes a one shot-collection LW.
There is no pairing, and yes that was Charon. If anyone wants them paired, coolio and I can do that. Please leave any suggestions in the comments or message me on Twitter ( LikePicklez) and we can work from there. And check out my other stories for Fallout and the like ❤
He catches her.
Its a classical radio playing in a strange wasteland, and he catches her. Soft steps and swirling hair, he catches her doing it.
She's in those Vault issue shorts and half shirt, her hair down and a shaggy mess, makeup - days old - smeared over the faint freckles framing her hairline. There's a sheen of sweat, indicating she'd been down here for some time, trying and failing to finish that pirouette.
When she hits the floor, he doesn't even try to assist her, because she'll do something drastic. You're not allowed to see me like that, she seethed some time long ago, with lasers in the air and blood in her sock. You are never allowed to see me like that, and if you do, I'll fucking kill you. There was no doubt to her words, there might have been at one point, but he knew her better than she had ever wanted him to.
And this was her moment, her time, her secret.
So he watches in the shadows as she struggles to her feet, takes a breath, frowns at her leg and starts again on the new song. The music is soft and lilting, so unlike the stations back home, with the classical vibe harsh and foreboding. She liked that station though, said it always made her feel so fucking alive, made her stay on her toes even though she would have loved some sort of vocals to go along with the serenade. Agatha always had a way with the violin, her music saved to holotapes she didn't play anymore.
Homesick.
He remembers that girl, the one that showed how homesick she was, the one that tried and failed to brush it all off, the one that grew hard and mean from the Wasteland. He remembered that girl, with an addiction to stimpaks and a bloody bat, he remembers how personal she used to get with a kill, pent up anger finally breaking through. He remembers drunk serenades in the desert when she had enough, when she wanted to forget it all, when she was still willing to open up to him.
That girl was gone now, finally realizing what their relationship was and leaving it as so, even if he had told her a thousand times before.
"God dammit!" She cursed as she hit the floor again, nails screeching over metal as she curled them into her palms; her teeth were bore and she looked lethal. "God fucking - dammit!"
She wasn't who she had been for so long, almost a shell.
"Come fucking help me up," she snapped, glaring through the shadows to him. "If you seriously thought I didn't see you, then you're as dumb as I fucking thought."
He doesn't say anything, doesn't even sneer, doesn't glare, he just steps from the stairs and helps her mechanically to her feet. Her hair reeks of sweat and old perfume, she hadn't tried for days, held up inside and trying to fix herself where the doctors couldn't.
"I'm done," she murmurs. "I'm done."