Note: Some sex in this chapter. I've already established Emily and Charon's behavior. This is just a warning.

Charon had not been sleeping; he did not sleep. But the state he found himself in was similar. Emily was laying beside him on a mattress, her hands wound into his leather armor. She was funny like that; she would get a grip on him and refuse to let go, while she slept.

Charon suspected it was because she did not want to be left alone again. Like he would get up and leave her in the middle of the night. That was ridiculous. She refused to sleep without him beside her, either. It was... childish. Charon did not enjoy being a living teddy bear for Emily. But with her arms around him and in the darkness of night... He was relaxed. He did not mind letting his mind wander. That explained the memory state.

He unstuck her fingers from his chest and sat up, staring out into the small shack. They had managed to find it before it was too dark to see, wandering north out of the Capital Wasteland. Everything was unfamiliar to him, and Emily had not bothered with her Pip-Boy after Charon shot it. Neither one of them knew precisely where they were. But she wanted to explore. Their being lost was lucky, she said.

Her Pip-Boy was broken, though. She knew the risks as much as he did, in the wastes. He was not about to let a Talon Company man stab her through the stomach. She was lucky that Charon had chosen not to shoot her entire arm off. But he was good at what he did―that would not have happened. He had been that way since he could remember anything.

Memory state might be a problem, if he let it get too far. He had not thought about Connie Alexander in well over sixty years. He had... separated her memories from his present and sealed them away. Emily's diamond had brought it back.

Charon remembered his first contract owner as a man of stoic nature, like himself. They had not spoken much. The man called him Peter. They had gone to Annapolis together in the capacity of work for the Commonwealth. The second owner had been the man's friend, and so forth, until the last man ordered him to wait in the wastes and had never returned. None of them were worth much time remembering... until Connie Alexander had come along.

Charon remembered Annapolis as a thriving community of scientists and governmental officials. That was all that he could remember. It was not likely he would recall those people, since he had no need to. He remembered the dormitory he'd been raised in. He recalled he was brought there at a young age. He did not have memories before the conditioning began.

Once he had returned to the dormitory, after being left in the wastes, his contract was considered abandoned property and auctioned off. There had been others like himself on the block, waiting to be bought, but none were so old as he was at that time. Connie Alexander had not bought him until he was almost too old to be an effective bodyguard. She had paid for him with a diamond much like Emily wore now.

But he did not want to think about Connie Alexander.

A memory ~

"What are you called?" she asked him, as they walked away from the courtyard outside of the Annapolis market. She was younger than he, approximately thirty years old. He was aware that this would make guarding her difficult. He doubted that her personality would lend well to being protected; she was very animated and had greeted everyone on the way out, along with everyone they had passed in the alleys of the market.

"I do not have a name," he replied. "I expect you to give me one."

"Neat," she said. She was short, much shorter than he was but he was taller than most others. The effect their respective heights caused was amusing. Connie Alexander had black hair that bounced around her shoulders as she walked, and brown eyes that scanned her surroundings constantly. He did not know where she was leading him, but he could not control their path unless she was in danger. He could only control the danger around her.

"Well!" she said, and turned to him. "I suppose you must have a name; otherwise I will be forced to call you 'Hey you' or 'Bodyguard man'."

"I shall answer to whatever name you desire to call me," he told her.

"How about... hmmm," she said. "Dang. Hard to pick one. What did your first owner call you?"

"Peter."

"I like that. A solid name." Connie Alexander pulled out a little book of papers and made a note. He would see her do this frequently, in the future. She was researching, she said. She made notes on everything remotely interesting. "Let's call you Peter, then."

"I shall answer to Peter," Peter said.

Connie Alexander smiled at him and led him through the courtyard gates, out into the waste.

With the contract to guide his hand in protecting Connie Alexander, his shotgun at his side, and a name with which to define the orders he was given, Peter obeyed.

"Charon?"

He was sitting in a chair at the table in the metal shack, staring blankly at the metal wall opposite him. He looked behind him and at Emily, who had been sleeping. She was blinking sleepily at him, in the darkness. "What?" he asked, testily.

"You left me alone," she groused. "Get back over here." She patted the bed and managed a tired smile at him.

"I do not wish to lie down with you, right now," he said. "I am not a goddamn teddy bear."

Emily pushed herself upward and ran a hand through her rumpled brown hair. She looked confused. "Who said you were a teddy―"

"You need to learn to sleep without me," he interrupted, staring at her over his shoulder. His tone was never friendly, but in this instance it was downright murderous. He was not reacting well to his memories.

She pressed her lips together and laid back down, and turned to face the wall. He had made her angry, he knew. But she would get over it. She always did. He would make it okay for her in the morning, perhaps, or she would simply forget that they had words. She was tired, it was likely.

Right now, Charon did not want to be anywhere near Emily. He could not trust himself; his reaction to his own memories, locked away for so long, was frustration and anger. ...He would not leave Emily alone, but while he was remembering Connie Alexander he did not want to be close to her―

He had murdered Connie Alexander.

A memory ~

Peter pulled the girl off of the man, and hauled her away. He did not stop walking, dragging the girl by her shoulder, until he had reached a safe enough distance. They were not being shot at or pursued. He stopped, released her, and stared down at her with his cold blue eyes.

Connie Alexander was a troublemaker. She had attacked the man after he made a nasty comment about her ass.

"You shoulda let me claw his eyes out!" she hissed, her face flushed with blood.

"It is the contract," he replied. "I cannot let you come to harm."

"Screw that stupid contract!" she shrieked. "Don't you understand―" She struck out at him.

"You were in danger," he said, firmly grabbing her hands to stop her. She had not struck at him before. He was surprised.

She was surprised, too. Connie Alexander's eyes grew wide, and she stared at him. "You..." she said. "You stopped me! You aren't supposed to be able to do that!"

"I am allowed to prevent injury to myself," he said, and released her. "If you have a problem with this, you may correct my behavior."

"I just might," she said, angrily, and squared her shoulders as she looked up at him. "I just might."

Connie Alexander was an alcoholic and she would continue to pick fights, no matter how often he intervened to remove her from the threat.

Emily laid a hand over his eyes. Charon grumbled a little, but she placed her lips onto his mouth and he could not argue with her while he was kissing her. She was warm and soft, and had gained some weight since they had left the shack behind to wander through the wastes without destination. They could not find the way home without direction, or without her Pip-Boy. Right now, she was more interested in sex than finding a way home.

Charon was appreciative of her extra flesh to hold onto, even if it was gained because she had raided an old Fancy Lads Snack Cake factory. She was still a child, sometimes, gorging herself on sweets. The snacks cakes had made her... rounder, and he enjoyed that, for some reason.

"Ah! Oh, God!" she was moaning, as she moved up and down on him. Charon grunted with the effort of withholding himself; if Emily was not happy, he was not, either.

"Oh, God, Charon!" she screamed, the name he had been given by that bastard in Underworld. He hated that name, remembered the horrible things he had been made to do by Ahzrukhal. The gratification of the activity he was engaged in diminished. Emily threw herself forward onto his chest and grabbed his shoulders, shuddering and moaning loudly. She slowed to a stop.

She was happy, then. He did not need to worry about his own physical needs. He twitched inside her, deliberately, and she moaned as she clutched at his chest.

"Get off of me," he said, abruptly.

She scoffed at him. "God, you're so touchy lately. Who shoved a grenade up your ass?"

"Get off of me," he repeated, more firmly.

Emily pulled herself away from him and shivered, as he was exiting her. She was not physically attracted to him. He knew this. She had covered his eyes, before. She made derogatory comments about his appearance. She used him because she wanted sex, and he was readily available. That was all.

It made her calm. A calm Emily was less likely to do stupid things. He knew this to be true, and he was completely agreeable to letting her continue her behavior because of that. ...He did not dislike the experience entirely. But he did dislike her attitude at this moment.

"Seriously, what the hell is your problem anymore?" she asked, pulling on her underwear. "Every single time, you've been off in your own little world or something. Makes me feel like shit."

Charon did not dignify it with a response. She did not need to be privy to his memories. She would not understand; she was too young to comprehend―

What the hell was wrong with him? He sat up on the ratty piece of cardboard that Emily had dragged him to, and stared into the distance. He was not acting normal... if normal could be defined as his behavior after that mess with the purifier and his "death". She had come to expect that from him, and he had subsequently denied her, any normality. He had... been acting as if he were under the contract again, lost in his memories.

"I have been thinking, Emily," he said. "I should not be here, with you."

Emily stopped in the middle of pulling her shirt onto her arms and was immediately at his back, clutching him under his arms. Her exposed breasts against his back quivered in what he knew was not pleasure. "You can't leave me," she said, her voice small and scared.

"I am not leaving." He frowned. "You are far too attached to me," he added, shaking his head.

Emily said nothing but held him, as tightly as she could. He knew she was crying, now. He could hear the breathy little noises she made. That had happened once before when he did seriously threaten to leave her, well before the trip to the Republic of Dave. At the time, he was trying to keep himself from throttling her in frustration. ...It was a trend that continued.

Charon was not happy to hear her crying. It felt like an injury, and old habits died hard. He could not cause her damage. He could mitigate what damage she might incur―

He grumbled to himself, under his breath. The contract was still in his head. "I have been remembering an old friend," he said. "Stop crying."

She rubbed her cheek into his shoulder and sighed. "I can't," she said. A hiccup escaped her. "You don't... you wouldn't understand."

"Try me," he said, turning his head to see her brown hair messily arranged across his shoulder. She did not respond for a few minutes.

"I don't expect you to love me," she finally said, shakily. "Just, ...I do."

Charon snorted in amusement. "Definitely too attached," he said. "I should leave, if you are spouting nonsense."

Emily sobbed again. "If you leave me―"

"Stop blubbering, Emily. You are being dramatic." The last time he had threatened to leave, she had declared she would kill him before she started crying. Charon rolled his eyes at the thought.

She smacked him weakly in the side and spat out, "Fuck you, Charon, I'm trying―" She sniffled. "You can't leave. We belong together, remember?"

He did remember.

He would not leave her.