Even after half a bottle of whiskey, Charon couldn't bring himself to check on Elle. She wanted to be alone, she had made that clear, but he still felt the need to bring her water and maybe a shot of Med-X. Nonetheless, every time Charon got halfway up the stairs and saw the closed bedroom door, his gathered courage failed him and he slunk back to the whiskey bottle.

The night went by in a haze, somewhere between sleep and a drunken state of wallowing in self-loathing. He had a room upstairs next to Elle's, but the last thing he'd wanted to do was lay in bed listening to her shuddering sobs, unable to do anything about it. In all of his years, Charon had never felt so defeated. Physical injuries were easy enough to fix; a stimpack or two could solve just about any problem on the battlefield, except perhaps the occasional blown-off limb. Emotional damage, however, was an entirely new concept, one that he didn't know how to mend. And on top of that? Charon still couldn't shake off the label Nova had given to his feelings: love.

When Elle didn't emerge in the morning, Charon worked up his courage and left a small plate of food and a Med-X outside her door. His head ached from a combination of a hangover and a restless mind, but her needs were always greater than his and he didn't want to use any painkillers she may need.

A few hours later, Charon heard a door click open, followed by slow, careful footsteps. Every muscle in his body urged him to get up and go help her, but her loose order still stood. So he stayed where he was, feeling pathetic and useless. He listened to her movement upstairs as she made her way into the bathroom, waiting for the sound of her falling, but it never came. As she headed back to her room, Charon heard the scrape of the plate against the floor and he sighed with relief. At least she was eating. That much he could do for her.

The night passed in a similar fashion to the one before. Charon dozed on the couch with the rest of the whiskey in his hand, always listening for noises coming from Elle's room. The following morning and afternoon were just as uneventful. Charon continued to bring food upstairs, leaving it in front of her door and collecting the dirty dishes. Once in a while, Elle would venture out to the bathroom, but not once did Charon dare to climb the stairs and try to talk.

As evening approached, he started feeling restless. It had been nearly three days and Charon needed to do something. Smash a radroach, blow off a raider's head, hell, he'd even settle for talking to Moira at this point. Anything was better than sitting there alone with his thoughts for another day.

Just as he was contemplating shouting to Elle that he was going to the bar to buy more liquor, Elle's voice rang out.

"Charon?"

Her voice was faint but unmistakable. Charon almost jumped at the noise; he had become used to the house being silent over the past few days.

He sprang to his feet and climbed the stairs three at a time, nearly stumbling in his haste. He flung open the door, expecting the worst, but he found Elle on the edge of her bed in a strange position. Her arm was stuck in the sleeve of her shirt, making her look like the dinosaur that guarded the Underworld entrance. Charon almost laughed, but then realized that Elle was close to tears.

"I can't even get dressed on my own," she mumbled, blushing and casting her eyes down out of embarrassment.

"It's okay, smoothskin, let's get you changed," Charon said, kneeling down in front of her and helping guide her elbow through the sleeve. "You should be glad this is your problem and that you aren't missing an arm instead."

Elle gave him a weak smile.

"Can you grab some clothes from the cabinet?"

Charon fetched a shirt and pants from the filing cabinet-turned-wardrobe and returned to Elle's side. She lifted her arms and Charon carefully pulled the shirt over her head. He averted his eyes, but he couldn't prevent his fingers from brushing along her ribs. Was he imagining it, or did she shiver under his touch?

Charon kept his eyes to the side as he held out the clean shirt. As Elle carefully maneuvered her arms into the sleeves, Charon caught a brief glimpse of her plain white bra. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make his cock twitch to life.

If she asked him to take off her pants, he thought uncomfortably, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop himself from going feral and taking her right there.

"I can probably get this by myself," Elle said, rising slowly to her feet, and Charon let out a sigh of relief. He made to leave the room but she stopped him.

"Could you stay? Just in case I fall?"

So Charon turned his back and listened, jaw clenched, as her pants slid to the floor. He didn't even have to try; he immediately imagined dropping to his knees in front of Elle, inching her pants slowly down her legs while trailing hot kisses along her exposed skin. She would lace her fingers into what was left of his hair as he made his way back up, teasing her inner thighs with his tongue. Just as he had her begging for more, he'd grab her by the hips, push her backwards onto the bed…

"Okay, you're good."

He spun around, snapping out of his thoughts. Elle stood before him, fully dressed and doing up the button on her pants. Her hair was messy, but she didn't seem to care.

"Hey, can we go out? I want a drink and I'm tired of looking at these walls."

He nodded and opened the door to let her out before him. Elle's walk was only slightly hesitant now, much more sure-footed than her footsteps had sounded earlier. As much as he didn't want to see Nova and her knowing smile, more than anything he wanted to see Elle smile again.