Leah lie awake that night, her arms flat out to either side, legs spread as far as possible. God damn, this place was hot. She'd already kicked out of her normal sleeping pants, and now she was ripping her shirt up and over her head. Her skin was slick with sweat, lips parted as she sighed uncomfortably. Her hair was splayed out around her head like a dark lake.

"Carol, how do you live here?" she whined loudly, kicking her legs ifn frustration.

"What do you mean, hon?" the ghoul called back.f

With a tired groan, Leah toed open the stall door to see Carol sitting at the dinner table. She had been reading, but now she was looking up at her guest with a wry little smile.

"I mean that it's hotter than Hades in this place," Leah replied with a heavy glare.

"You get used to it, smoothskin. We ghouls don't really sweat too much, and we run a little cold so the heat is actually quite pleasant," she explained patiently, turning back to her book. "It's the fans. They're always on the frits. Drives Winthrop crazy."

"It's driving me crazy." She flopped back down onto the bed and stared up at the stained ceiling. She'd have to collect as much fucking scrap metal as possible and tell Winthrop they were to go immediately into the fans.

A few long, comfortable moments of silence passed between them as Leah tried relaxing all the different parts of her body, one by one, to help ease her into sleep. Her eyes closed as she tried to roll her foot in circles. The left ankle had always given her trouble. She'd broken it when she'd run from the Vault. Tripped over a rock and tumbled down a hill. No Stimpaks. Not even some irradiated water. Just a shitty 10 mm pistol with four rounds left in it. Had to hobble her way to Megaton into Nova's compassionate arms.

And now here she was: one of the sharpest shots in the entire Capital fucking Wasteland.

"Did you hear what Charon did today, Leah?"

"Mmm?" She lifted her head, having been roused from her thoughts. "What's that?"

"Charon. Willow told me he killed four travelling ghouls out front earlier today."

Leah frowned, propping herself up on her elbows and peering out in interest. "Charon?"

"Oh, I figured since you go to the Ninth Circle you'd seen him. Hard to miss. He's taller than a tree, that one." Carol closed her book and set it aside, turning to Leah's stall as she settled into storytelling mode. "Guess some ghouls had come over from a nearby settlement asking for money that Ahzrukhal owed them. He's a gambler and it sounds like he'd owed them quite a debt. Anyways, he sent Charon out and he cleaned 'em off easy as that."

"Wait, wait, wait." This was too much to hear all at once. She had to have it broken down. "He just killed them – just like that? For no reason?"

Carol's expression became a bit concerned. "You don't know about Charon? Whatever Ahzrukhal says, he does. No questions asked."

"Why? Are they lovers?"

"Oh!" Carol covered her mouth to stifle her wild outburst of laughter. "Oh, no. Charon is a slave. Always has been. Raised a slave. Whoever holds his contract has his complete allegiance."

Leah paused, chewing on her thumbnail. "So that's why he always looks like he wants to kill everyone around him. And then himself," she added as an afterthought.

Carol sighed. "Perhaps, yes. Everyone is scared of him but I've always felt a bit sorry for him. I'd never tell him that, though!"

"So he's a hard-ass?"

"More than you know," Carol explained with wide eyes. "I tell Greta never to go near him. He's never looked twice at any person, but who knows what he'd do if Ahzrukhal let him go? I don't think he's fit for normal society."

The human leaned back and ran a thoughtful hand through her hair. "He doesn't look that bad."

At that, Carol lowered her voice and looked very urgent. "You'd do best not to involve yourself with him, Leah. He's not good company, slave or not."

"Yeah," Leah replied, feeling uneasy. "Maybe you're right."

"You're a professional fighter, smoothskin, but there are a few people whose darkness will swallow you up."

"Maybe." Rolling over so she was facing the wall, Leah used her foot to close the stall. "Good night, Carol."

The ghoul sighed and got to her feet. "Good night, smoothskin."

Charon was down to counting the number of scratches and cracks on all the plates he could see when the human waltzed in.

She marched straight for the counter. Ahzrukhal looked like a kid on fucking Christmas. She was wearing a tiny tank top and a pair of yellow shorts that exposed way too much of her skin—tan, silky skin. With her back to him, Charon could see the holster hanging from her side, a 10 mm SMG inside; that is, once he'd stopped inspecting her legs . . . for any hidden knives. Right.

Charon frowned. What the fuck could she possibly be trying to say by dressing like that?

"Good evening, smoothskin," Ahzrukhal greeted her warmly.

"Leah. My name is Leah. And I'd like two glasses of whiskey, please." She was already sliding twenty caps across the counter toward him.

"Well, my name is Ahzrukhal and I'd like nothing more than to get you that whiskey." With a cheeky smile, he pulled the bottles out of the refrigerator and handed them to her.

"Ooh, nice and cold. Thank you." She beamed at him and then retreated to her normal table: the one right next to Charon. She took her seat, humming softly to herself, and then slid the second bottle across the tabletop.

To him.

Charon experienced, for the first time in his life, a mild panic attack. His eyes darted wildly to Ahzrukhal.

What the fuck do I do?

His master seemed none too happy about the girl's open invitation. He was watching her with narrowed eyes as she propped her feet up and began tapping away at that damn machine on her arm. Unfortunately, she'd come in during the busiest time of the day. A line was beginning to build at the counter as Ahzrukhal struggled to think of something.

He nodded at the chair beside the girl, but put a finger to his lips.

Sit down. Don't say a fucking word.

Gritting his teeth, Charon obeyed.

It felt . . . nice to sit down. A traitor sigh gave his relief away as the strain in his legs and feet was eased.

She looked up as if just noticing that he'd joined her. "Oh. Hi." She smiled. "My name's Leah. Care for a drink?"

Charon looked down at the whiskey and God, he wanted it so bad. He glanced up at Ahzrukhal who, rolling his eyes, nodded. The slave swiped up the bottle and took a good, long drink.

The human was over the moon. "Nice shotgun," she remarked, still smiling. What was her fucking problem?

He didn't respond in any way, shape, or form. But he did continue chugging his whiskey. It felt so good: cool and refreshing. It had been a long time since he'd had the pleasure of a drink.

"I prefer a Chinese assault rifle myself," she continued casually, leaning backward and even hooking her elbow over the corner of the chair's back. She was the picture of ease. "A shotgun's hot and quick, gets the job done in a blast of fireworks." Her eyes were lighting up as she spoke, blue ice melting into scalding hot fire, fingers twitching as if they yearned to be behind the trigger of a gun. "But a rapid fire weapon? You can take out the legs first, one by one, watch 'em drop into the dust. They look back at you with the wildest fear on their face." She blinked and her mouth split into a wide grin. "And if they don't give in by then . . . well, I've never come across someone who wouldn't."

Charon watched her in passive interest, fingers loosely curled around his already half-empty glass. When he was sure that she'd finished speaking, he slid his chair away from the table and got back to his feet. After pushing the chair back in and depositing a few caps to pay for his drink, Charon leaned in close.

"You have now."

Without looking at her again, he returned to his corner, crossed his arms across his chest, and turned to stone.

Leah looked down at the caps in surprise, pink lips parted. Then she smiled.

By God, she liked him. She really did.

"Carol!" Leah barked, bursting into the room with all the purpose of a wrecking ball.

"Goodness, what is it?" Carol demanded, scurrying over from the other half of her two-room suite. "Did something bad happen?"

Leah smirked and slapped five caps down onto the counter, her shoulders set in a triumphant way.

The ghoul stared at them in confusion, glancing up at the girl and then back down. "Would you like something, dear? What's with all the fuss?"

The human shook her head, looking frustrated now. "These are not my caps."

"Well then give them back to whoever owns them, for heaven's sake!"

Leah grinned. "Well, they're technically mine now."

Carol rolled her eyes and cocked a hand on her hip. "Just spit it out, smoothskin. I'm too old for these games."

She scooped the caps back up and rattled them around in her hands. "They're from Char-on!" she sang proudly, dancing around on the spot.

The ghoul froze on the spot, dropping the arm on her hip back to her side. "What did I tell you about talking to him? He's dangerous, Leah! And why did he give you five caps?" she snapped, looking furious.

"Oh." Leah instantly shrank like a little girl, stopping her victory lap in its tracks. "Because I bought him a drink?"

Carol pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "I swear, smoothskin, you cause me more trouble than I can manage. You shouldn't be around him."

"But he shared a drink with me!" Leah protested weakly. "He actually spoke to me, too!"

"And what did he say, 'talk to Ahzrukhal?'" Carol said sarcastically, turning to walk away.

"No." Leah was pouting now. "He said, 'You have now.'"

The ghoul stopped, her hand on the counter. She slid it along the surface's edge before twisting back to face her favorite human customer. "Why did he say that?" she asked quietly, anger gone.

Leah's smile tentatively returned. "I thought you didn't like Charon."

Carol waved that away with a frustrated chuckle. "Just tell me, girl."

"Because I said I'd never met anyone who wouldn't give up after having their legs shot off."

Carol winced. "Oh. Well . . . that certainly fits his character." She paused for a thoughtful moment. "And yours."

Leah grinned. "Pretty much. I think I'll go back tomorrow. I was smart enough to go during rush hour today so Ahzrukhal was too busy to say anything." She slipped the caps back into her pocket and headed for her bunk.

"I won't stop you, Leah," Carol called after her. "But please do be careful."

"Thanks, Carol, will do. G'night!"

The ghoul fell back against the counter, frowning. Greta came in through the double doors from her cigarette break.

"Hey you. Was that the smoothskin I heard?"

Carol dropped her voice to a low level. "Yes. And I'm worried about her."

Greta leaned in to hear her partner's quiet, fervent rant.

Charon tossed and turned on his tiny cot. He hated to move around when he was trying to sleep because he wore his armor at all times and the clanking noises it made were really distracting. But he couldn't get the smoothskin's words out of his head.

Nice shotgun.

Prefer a Chinese assault rifle, myself.

He sighed angrily. They were the first words in a long time that had been directed toward him and not spoken by Ahzrukhal. And she'd said them so casually, as if she hadn't been speaking to a slave, a machine of death that merely had to be pointed in the right direction to tear and destroy. She'd spoken to him . . . like he was a normal person.

He flopped back onto his back, scowling now.

Yeah, well she'll learn soon enough not to talk to me ever again. Maybe she hasn't heard about how I killed those ghouls. That ought to scare her off and get her to never bother me again.

He dreamt that night of crawling after the smoothskin, unable to walk because she'd shot his legs off.

Quinn checked all the ammo in his hunting rifle. A cigarette smoking away between his lips, he lowered his gun back down to his side. His trading bag was full, he had more ammo than necessary, and he was ready.

"You good, Charon?"

The slave nodded once, not even bothering to check his armor or gun. He had so much free time that he knew the exact status of everything on his body.

"Ahzrukhal want something in particular? It's not often you join me on these trips."

Charon nodded again and that was it.

Accustomed to his ghoul acquaintance's odd manner of being, Quinn simply shrugged. "Hope you find it." He tapped his foot and smoked for a few moments, earning himself a questioning, impatient look from Charon. He smiled. "Got a new companion for this trip. You know that weird smoothskin been hangin' around?"

Charon's entire body went rigid. "She will be joining us?"

"Oh, so you've met her, huh?" Quinn smiled. "Heard she's . . . one of a kind. At least, that's the earful Greta gave me." A door closed from the opposite end of the hall and the two ghouls turned to watch the smoothskin come jogging toward them.

Black hair tied into a very tight bun, huge, clanky, silver armor adorning her, rifle strapped carefully to her back, the Vault-dweller fell into place beside them. "Hey," she greeted them with a wicked grin. "I'm excited! What's your trade route, Quinn?"

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively before answering, surprised by her casual manner around ghouls. Greta had made the girl out to be an incessant pest. "Ah, I usually trail around past all the major cities since that's where the traders like to rest and wait."

"Evergreen Mills," Charon grunted unexpectedly.

Quinn's brow wrinkled. "Yes, we pass there as well."

Charon was watching the girl's face out of the corner of his eye while he kept his arms folded nonchalantly over his chest. But she did not give him the grimace of fear that he wanted; instead, her mouth, already stretched into a wide smile, broadened across her face in a crooked grin.

"Sounds good to me," she confirmed excitedly. "Ready?"

"Charon."

His head whirled upward, as it always did and always would. Ahzrukhal stood just outside of the Ninth Circle doorway, looking impatient. Charon jogged over, ignoring the girl's curious eyes on his back.

"Yes, Ahzrukhal?" he rumbled quietly.

His master's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Keep that girl alive. I like her."

Charon nodded once.

"Also, don't touch her. I like her." His tone made it quite clear what he meant by 'touch.'

Another nod.

"If I find out you've done anything to her, Charon, I'll fucking kill you myself. Do you understand?"

"You'd be out a slave," Charon said, before he could stop himself.

Ahzrukhal cursed under his breath, but didn't move to strike Charon, as he'd expected. Instead, he turned his back and opened the door to the bar. "I'd be out a pain in the ass," he said over his shoulder.

Charon moved silently back to his new travelling companions. "Let us leave."

The girl was staring at him and he hated it. He looked pointedly at the other ghoul.

Quinn jerked his head into a nod and opened the doors into the Museum's atrium. Leah was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she followed; she'd stayed at Underworld for a long time to rest up and nurse a few injuries she'd sustained on her trip from Rivet City after stumbling upon a huge nest of raiders in the metro beneath the Museum. She wanted nothing more than to get out and watch a few Talon Company mercs die beneath her gun. The sharp sound of their footsteps ricocheted around the huge room.

Quinn opened the next set of double doors, and then they were out into the Capital Wasteland.

They all three sighed—content.