Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: ghoul/human sort of \ Oocness (because I tried to fix Charon's dialogue and I can't help but think I failed)
A/N: My second try at a fic in this fandom and I just realized I need more practice writing human beings. Please tell me of any mistakes you see and I'll fix them as soon as I can.
Drinking to Forget
They watched her getting drunk with frowns on their faces. Each one with their own theories which they kept to themselves, but all with the same conclusion.
Something really bad must've happened for the Vaultie to get like this.
Nova thought the girl had finally realized the hell she had stepped into when she left the safety of the Vault. Some of her clients liked to talk and Nova liked to listen. She pieced the broken pieces of stories into the tale of a naïve little girl who found herself in need of survival. The fact that one of her regulars was a Regulator helped her to know the crimes the girl was being hunted for.
It wasn't killing, though she was sure the girl had to have killed to have survived this long. One couldn't walk around in the wasteland and not encounter raiders or super mutants. They were everywhere, like radroaches, and she'd heard her fair amount of rumors to know the girl was no stranger to pulling the trigger. And though to the Vaultie they might be human, Nova knew better. Raiders were nothing more than rabid animals and they weren't deserving of the amount of alcohol the girl was consuming.
It was stealing. The nice girl with a shining smile and a nice sheltered life turned up to be a thief. A good one, if the Regulator's words were to be believed. Nova herself had doubted the rumors, knowing how word of mouth could change from person to person, but staring at the redhead drinking herself into oblivion she couldn't help but believe what she'd heard.
Only the guilty try to drown their guilt like this.
Gob thought something bad happened to her in the wasteland. Last time he saw her, she was heading out of Megaton alone and now she came back with a companion. One that stood protectively behind her in full power armor. He doubted he was one of the Brotherhood members. Not even the outcasts were prone to helping damsels in distress… or anyone in distress for that matter. Which brought him back to the Vaultie and her unusual drinking.
She used to hug him whenever she was leaving and now she was ignoring him. Gob couldn't stop glancing at her while he worked, watching the pain in eyes that had looked at him, once, full of the closest thing to innocence he'd seen .
Not even when fresh out of the Vault did she look so fragile. He felt rage and hoped the man behind her had used that shotgun on the bastard that had broken the girl that had become so precious to him. It was rare when smoothskins befriended ghouls and rarer when one was willing to touch them.
Only one who'd done something against their will would try to forget the experience with the aid of a bottle.
Charon never said a word, but he kept a watchful eye to keep her from dying by alcohol poisoning. A hand stopping her from raising the glass to her lips was all he needed to do to get her to stop. She might be many things, but thank God she was a good drunk. He would've carried her over his shoulder if he had to, but that wouldn't make a good impression on the people around him and, since she lived here, he'd rather spare her the headache.
He didn't mind that she leaned on him for support. He was strong enough to get them both to her house. The robot she kept around was recharging and Charon let out a sigh of relief. He had better things to do at the moment than keep an eye on the thing. How could she trust it not to turn against them was beyond him. All robots were bound to go crazy one day.
Much like ghouls and yet she trusted them, but he'd rather not think about it.
He'd rather think that she seemed to be a silent drunk too. He was used to her commentary. The girl couldn't stop her chatter unless they were sneaking around or she was reading a book. Now, as he lead her up the stairs, he wished she started talking about something.
He knew better than most that bottling up whatever was affecting her would only get her killed faster. And he rather liked having her as his mistress.
She didn't say a word when he led her to her bed or when he helped her change into her sleepwear. He hoped for some resistance when he helped her take her clothes off, but in the end he was thankful to be wearing the blasted power armor. Some things were better left unexplored, he reminded himself and quickly turned to leave the room to get a drink for himself before going to sleep on the cot she bought him from Moira's.
"Charon," she whispered and he turned to look at her, "Think he'll ever forgive me?"
Ah, so that's what it was… Too bad he didn't have an answer for her.
"I never met the kid before, Mistress. Ahzrukhal ordered me to stay away from Carol's."
"Really? You would like her. She's nice."
Charon stepped back into the room, taking off the helmet and placing it on her desk.
"The kid does not have to know," he replied, remembering the conversation she had with Ahzrukhal before getting hold f his contract.
At the beginning he had thought her as bad as his former master. Only a fucking bastard like him would sink so low as to kill an innocent woman, ghoul or not. And while he learned she was different than his last master, he never could figure out why she did it. At least she seemed to be suffering from what she'd done.
"He doesn't know, but I do," she said, looking at him dazedly, eyes filled with tears, "I can't even look at him in the face."
Charon frowned, not knowing what to do now. He wasn't good with crying girls and he didn't want to feel sympathy for her.
"You shall make better choices in the future, Mistress."
She let her body fall on the bed. Charon looked away from the sight of his mistress spread all over the bed in nothing but a pink nighty.
"Who says I'll learn, Charon?" she asked him, forcing him to look back at her, while she concentrated on looking at the ceiling, "Do you know what was the first thing I did when I got out of the Vault?"
"If you wish to tell me, I shall hear it."
"I gave myself to an old man. All to convince him to not bomb this fucking town," she laughed then. A bitter, drunken laugh that had Charon approaching the bed…
To what? Comfort her? And how was he going to do that?
"We just left the ferals eat everyone on Tenpenny Tower, Charon. No… not we.. I did it. You're just stuck with me cause of a stupid, fucking contract. So much for learning to make better choices, eh, Charon."
He took a seat at the edge of the bed, ignoring how it creaked under the heavy weight of the armor. She was right in that she seemed to make all the wrong choices, but she wasn't doing so bad for a smoothskin from the Vault.
He took her hand in his to gain her attention. He wouldn't make her feel better. And he would not pretend to agree with the things she's done. He could at least do one small thing for her.
"You are not a bad Mistress."
She smiled at him. It was slightly crooked, but it was a smile at least. Charon gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder for stopping her from crying. He was about to step away from her and leave her to her rest, when she tugged on his hand.
"Yes, Mistress?"
He stood rooted on his spot as he watched her get closer to him. She smelled of cheap beer and vodka. His eyes widened when he felt her lips on what remained of his.
She stepped back from him faster than he could get his bearings. He stood still as he watched her get comfortable in bed again. This time he couldn't stop himself from devouring the sight of her practically naked in front of him. The thought that he'd seen her naked… touched her… just moments before kept popping in his mind.
"Thanks, Charon. You're the greatest," she said with a small smile on her face.
It was all he could do not to join her and he was, yet again, glad to have been wearing the armor. She was just grateful and drunk and would probably not remember a thing in the morning. And if she did, she'd probably pretend it never happened.
He took a couple of beers out of the fridge and made himself comfortable in her couch before starting to drink. He drank to forget the image of his mistress laid out like a virgin offering at an altar. He drank to forget how it felt… how she looked when he helped her change clothes. He drank to forget how broken she really was… the pain in her voice and the guilt in her eyes.
Because, while she seemed doomed to make all the wrong choices, she was still his mistress. And she was the best one he'd ever had.