Thanks for the reviews and favs! Glad you guys enjoyed the previous chapter, it was awesome fun to write.

This time Barrows said nothing, just gave an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, pulled out a folding screen and flapped a hand at Graves, who rolled her eyes and went to fill up a bucket at the clinic's sink. Both ghouls spent close to an hour getting the grunge out of Cort's flesh before they were able to wash it down with irradiated water, interspersed with the application of a blood pack, a bag of Rad-Away, and several refills of the bucket so she could clean herself. Charon leaned against the far wall and perpetually glowered until Cort reemerged, wearing nothing but her sunglasses and a bedsheet, her pistol's holster and boots slung over one shoulder. Chirping a thanks back at Barrows and Graves, she trotted out the door in her makeshift toga with a blissful smile, the big ghoul lumbering crankily beside her.

"Cleeeean I like clean. Clean is awesome. You ready to head out, or did you need to sleep more?"

Charon shook his head and resisted the urge to grip his temples. "I'm not the one who just got shredded. What the fuck were you thinking, crawling in there? Were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I needed to, and that he would have done the exact same for me. He was trapped in there, and if I hadn't gone in, he would have been toast." Bouncing up to the stairs, she saw Winthrop involved in a heated discussion with a small group of ghouls and waved, getting a distracted one back and then a hard look once he noticed what she was wearing. Giving his head an amused shake, he went back to whatever it was they were hashing out. "It would have taken ages for anybody else to go in, and I was there right then, so in I went." Letting out a loud whistle, she grinned wider when Dogmeat appeared an instant later, running up with thankfully all of his fur intact. "Thanks Snowflake!"

"No problems kid!"

Charon irritatedly glanced towards the far end of the balcony where the disembodied voice of the white-haired ghoul had drifted out from, annoyed that she had bothered to inform someone other than him of what she had been up to, the one person whose duty it was to prevent shit like this from happening in the first place. "It was foolish and reckless. How am I supposed to...why the fuck didn't you come get me to haul that shi...him out?" He rolled his eyes, belatedly refraining from using a colourful way to refer to the caretaker. The man having the guts to yell at him and the fact that it had been truthful had garnered enough respect up for him to keep from slagging the other ghoul. It was difficult, considering that he was more than a little infuriated that the older man had been the one to safeguard his employer, putting him in a position to be grateful that he did not want to be in. Tipping the scales into civility was the dirty look Cort shot him when he nearly let slip with another profanity directed at Winthrop, which so far, had only increased. "Why didn't you at least take the damn dog?"

She snapped back at him. "Because I was worried about him getting stuck, and I was right with all the fucking climbing around I had to do in there." Swinging into Carol's, she gave both her and Greta a distracted wave, the latter woman grabbing up a pack of smokes and slipping out immediately. "Look, if I want to go help my friend, I'm gonna go help my friend. I don't need your approval." Coming up to their belongings, she started yanking spare clothing out of her pack, scattering small bits of wire and oddments over the floor. At some point Winthrop had tucked her pistol and a wad of Stimpaks into her pack, and she yelped, catching the little bundle before it could impact on the floor. Cripes, there's a lottery for you. Stimpak or a slug in the foot.

"I do not like you venturing into an unstable area unattended."

Hearing him suddenly slip into his formal tone, she brought her temper up short and turned to take a good look at him, already having an excellent idea of what she would see. Yup, standing straight as an arrow. Ah, balls. Cort sighed and inclined her head towards him, the big ghoul only hesitating for a second before reaching out to tug at her damp hair, his posture slowly relaxing as he pulled at it. "They're not usually 'unstable'. I've been in the ducts before, and I didn't know it was going to turn into such a clusterfuck. I'm sorry I upset you." Her mouth quirked ruefully. "Besides, you wouldn't have been able to fit in there anyway."

Unwrapping the sheet from herself and holding it up and apart, Charon took it from her and stretched his arms out, making a drape for her to hide behind, and his expression softened as he looked down at her. She was perfectly, spotlessly clean and there were clear signs her flesh was filling out again, moving from what had been brushing up against emaciation and starting to head back towards her normal rounded set of curves. "I fit in you just fine."

Cort smiled, pulling on spare clothing and following it with her armour. That's better. Happy Charon is happy me. "Naughty. Okay, let's see. We need to go to Rivet City now and track down this Pinkerton guy Harkness talked about on the tape." Thinking about going back to the carrier, she curled up her lip in distaste. "We'll have to stay at that ratbag hotel again, I do not feel like bunking in a Metro room. I still have kinks on top of kinks from sleeping in the Memorial. Besides, it's been a while since we've had a bed together. Come to think of it, I don't think we've ever actually had, ah." Lots of floors, several desks, a pile of sandbags and oh God. Blushing madly, Cort dropped down to tug on her boots as Charon finally dropped the sheet, moving to strap on his own armour and then Dogmeat's after changing his shirt, distastefully wadding up the fouled one.

After gathering the last of their things and saying their goodbyes, Carol loading Cort down with another packet of letters, the trio headed back out again into the early night, descending into the Museum Metro and making their way to Rivet City by way of Anacostia Crossing. Moving through the tunnels leading towards the carrier, Charon was turning over their next objective in his head, uneasily circling his thoughts around what Cort was going to attempt to do. "Are you sure you want to make Harkness remember? He seemed pretty fucking set on flushing his past out permanently, if that recording was any indication."

"Yes. Eventually something will happen and someone somewhere will end up finding out he's an android. If he doesn't know he is, how the hell is he going to know how to protect himself? What if he needs surgery or something, there's no way that he looks human on the inside." Cort kicked a chunk of rubble, watching it bounce down the tunnel and into the darkness. "Wouldn't you want to know who you were?"

He grimaced. I know who I am, that's the fucking problem. "I've managed to accumulate quite a lot of things I wouldn't mind forgetting, Cort. Fuck, haven't you?"

"You know that I have, but they're mine, they're my memories, and I wouldn't be who I am now without them." Her face screwed up into a distressed confusion, her hands clenching into fists around the barrel of her repeater as she faltered. "I-I need to know who I am so I can be who I was, it's important." Dragging in a ragged breath, she forced herself to relax, noticing the ghoul looking at her with the shrewd, searching concern that she was seeing on his face way too often. "He can always go back to this Pinkerton fellow and get his memories wiped again, or something. I can't just leave things like they are."

"Well, let's go fucking fix him then. Come on, we'll get back to that shitpile and you into bed. You've had too long a day again, huh?" Reaching out, he hugged her to him, walking with one arm around her and balancing his shotgun over his shoulder with the other. Cort said nothing, only stared blankly ahead while she kept moving, and he tried a different tack. "How the fuck did you manage to let a molerat get the drop on you?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Charon shook his head, wanting to keep her from sliding back into herself.

"You play storyteller for that damned bartender, you can do it for me. Spit it out!" A pause. "Please? It must have been impressive to get you like that, what was it, ten feet tall and farting napalm?" Cort snorted out a giggle and he grinned. Gotcha.

"No, it was a fucking normal one. It's really really hard to hear where things are coming from in there, it echoes like crazy and Winthrop's rearranged so many routes in there it's well, it's a rat's nest."

He listened attentively as she quietly laid out what her afternoon had been comprised of, absently filing any tactical information away for future use, the odd data joining the massive collection he kept in the back of his mind. He grimaced as she came to the parts about the rat being blown off of her, her fainting and the caretaker hauling her out and goading her on, reminded again that he was in debt to the other ghoul. I'll have to apologize. At least a little. Later, where nobody can see me fucking doing it.

"That's the second time I've done that to him, any more and I'll give him some kind of paranoid complex. Did you know how old he is? I think he's almost three hundred, like, at least twelve or fourteen times older than I am!" She looked up at him, wonderingly. "That's so freaking cool. I'm like a flash in the pan compared to that."

"There will not be any more, and no, I did not." Now it was his turn to feel withdrawn, looking at his patchy arm draped over her armoured shoulders. "We're almost back outside, anything showing up on that piece of shit?"

Lifting up her Pip-Boy, she nudged off the cover and rapidly flipped through the screens. "Uhm, hm. Oh crap."

"Oh great. How many?"

"Five, all close together. Talons?"

"Who else is that sloppy. Even raiders know to spread out when they're trying to scrag someone." Bringing his shotgun down and drawing out a handful of grenades, he nudged the gate to the surface open. "Come on, let's get this shit over with."

Cort let out a long and exasperated sigh, walking down towards the carrier and staggering under the weight of arms and armour they had stripped from the party of mercs. There was blood running down her neck, and she was fairly positive that it wasn't hers, which was making her mood possibly even more foul than it already was. "I am getting really, really tired of having people personally out to get me. At some point, this foolishness is going to have to stop."

Charon shrugged. "Well it's stopped for those idiots."

"I mean it. I'm tired of having these bastards on my tail." And I'm really, really tired of being called a corpse-fucker, it's gotten old. It's reached the fucking Precambrian by now. Can't they slander me with something new? Looking down at the skeletal ramp balancing on the edge of the river, she suddenly smiled, the sight of a vague two-headed lump at the base banishing her sour temper instantly. "Look! There's a merchant in. Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll be Crow, that would be so nice. I haven't seen him in ages."

The ghoul grunted noncommittally and shifted his share of the load higher, scowling down at the shape partially illuminated by the flaming barrel that was perpetually burning at the entrance to the carrier. He was of the firm opinion that no, it was not nice, and would be quite more than happy to plow through another dustup with more Talon Company than sit through another few hours of her socializing with the annoying merchant, unsettled by the prospect and even more unsettled that it was bothering him. Personal feelings were riding up against his contract again, and he was reluctant to ask Cort to clarify the new annoyance for him, the sensation entirely too new for him to specifically quantify yet. Whatever this feeling was, he wasn't sure if he liked it or not; either way, it was making him want to punch the shit out of someone. If they touch each other again, I'll do more than punch him. I'll rip his fucking head clean off. He blinked, surprised with himself and feeling even more uneasy because of it. He had just gone through a discussion over her deciding her own actions and gotten his words pushed back at him after her escapade in the ducts, and here he was pushing the envelope again. She's your employer. She can do that if she wants, it's her decision to make, it's always her decision. Picturing the last time she had encountered Crow, he went from furious to something that felt suspiciously close to quailing. What...what the fuck do I do if she lets him again? She liked it, I know she did. She looked like she does when I do-

"Ah damnit, it's not him. Well, we can still sell off a bunch of this extra crap, and maybe whoever it is'll have stuff we need. Hey, maybe they'll know where he is! Then we can figure out where to meet up later if he's on this side of the loop, that'd be aces." Cort grinned down at Dogmeat trotting beside her, completely oblivious to how nauseated the ghoul looked behind her and entirely clueless to what she was doing to him. "Isn't that right, baby." Getting a whuff back, she laughed and absently spun her bracelet, happily fiddling with the smooth metal. "Don't I ever have a lot to share with him." She tried to put on a brave face as Charon started trying to mask his, trailing farther behind her. The good things. If I only share the good things, maybe the bad ones won't be so bad.

Like so many other things that it was taken for granted he would know like any other person, jealously was something that Charon had no sweet clue how to process. From an intimacy standpoint, his emotional maturity extended only so far as Cort was capable of teaching him(which, unfortunately, she only did when she tuned in to the fact that she needed to do it, which to date had only happened after something went spectacularly haywire). He had made leaps on his own once he had her behaviour as a benchmark to mold his own on and correlate other's actions to, such as figuring out that he wanted her, but anything complex that she hadn't explained started off feeling like a hopeless snarl that made his head ache, partly because of his training and partly because he hated being at a disadvantage in regards to anything. Nearing a century in age or not, when it came to things like this, Charon was as screwed up and clueless as a teenager; in some ways a ludicrously sheltered one. Simply put, it was not unlike the stunned leading the blind.

Giving the merchant a nod as Cort flapped a hand back in his direction(this one a balding, bearded man dressed in a surprisingly tidy set of pre-war business wear) Charon buried himself in his thoughts and tried to figure this new quandary out while keeping a weather eye on everyone and their surroundings. Running through his long repository of observations, he tried to pinpoint any in his past that matched up with the actions he had wanted to take, in any shape or form. I don't want someone else going near her. No, more than that. I don't want someone touching her the same way I do; not the hugging, she does that to everyone. The other stuff. What about her, who hasn't wanted her to go near...oh for fuck's sakes. No fucking way am I acting like that shitbag Greta.

Scowling, he forced himself to reexamine the woman and her ill-tempered posturing several weeks beforehand. While not exactly the same, it was the closest thing he had to compare his own situation to. Cort was friendly with Carol. Greta did not want her to be. Carol loved Greta, and from what he could figure out, the crass bitch reciprocated it. He spent a moment wondering what the kind woman could see in the sour, truculent hag before the irony of that particular thought hit him, and he quickly moved away from it and along with what he was trying to figure out. Love, touching, not touching, fuck. This love shit is hard. He brightened suddenly, the last phrase jogging his memory. This he remembered from their abortive first night and her explanation of the concept. One of the things she had said was that not wanting to do that stuff with anyone else meant that he loved her. Employer or not, when Cort said something meant something, it always meant the same for both of them, regardless of hierarchy.

Well, that was fine then. If he could reaffirm that with her, he would presumably have his answer. Charon decided that he wanted it now. Cort was talking in a lower tone, obviously trying to keep him from hearing whatever it was she was discussing, the pair having an intense discussion over a sheaf of tattered paper, and he frowned again as she traced a finger over it. Oh let me fucking guess, a map of where that asshole will be. "Cort? I lo-"

Looking distracted and weirdly secretive, she turned slightly after flicking a hand at him, hunching over the paper and blocking it entirely from his line of sight. "Just give me a sec, huh? Almost done."

Charon fell silent as he felt something inside of himself fall, and pointedly refrained from thinking of anything as Cort rooted around on her pack for a couple of slightly used and slightly bloody assault rifles, taking a pile of medical supplies and the paper in exchange, stuffing her pockets and any free space on Dogmeat. Tipping a lazy salute at the merchant and his guard, she slogged up the ramp, Dogmeat at her heels and Charon somewhat dejectedly bringing up the rear. "Cort, I-" She cut him off again, one hand sliding back into the pocket she had stuffed the sheet into.

"Save it for the moment and come on! Got what I wanted, let's get in and get settled."

Doggedly, desperately needing to find out what he wanted to know, he tried a more oblique approach. "What's the paper? Did you find out where that asshole merchant is?" If this didn't work, he was giving up before he felt any worse. I'll leave it alone until tomorrow. I can wait that long, even if I don't want to.

If he had kept asking, things would have turned out a lot simpler and with a lot less notoriety added to their burgeoning tally onboard. As it was with the way things did fall out, he didn't have to wait for the next day. He didn't even have to wait an hour.

Cort glared up at the ghoul with no small amount of asperity, tamping down her glee at finding something with Doc Hoff to surprise him with. "The paper is none of your beeswax, and yes, I found out where Crow's going to be later." Pausing long enough to flick a bottle of purified water she had purchased at the beggar situated halfway up the stairs, she clumsily bolted up to the intercom, and after waiting for the tedious song and dance of the ramp to complete itself, they walked back onto the carrier. For once Harkness wasn't there to greet them, Cort supposing that was for the best, finding it slightly hard not to think of him like an object as her curiosity got the better of her. I'd probably stare at him and try to find the damn nuts and bolts. Jeeze, he must be so damned fascinating on the inside. Coming up the the security officer on duty, she put on her best for-company smile, trying to look pleasant while covered in hunks of gore-splattered armour.

"Hey, is there anyone I can talk to about finding a resident? Guy named Pinkerton, he's a scientist, but wasn't with Doctor Li."

The woman responded almost instantly, squinting her face up in thought. "Pinkerton? I've never heard of him. You sure he's here?"

Cort nodded. Even without the tape, Tulip had been absolutely sure, and Harkness' location was too convenient. "Positive. Is there anyone around I can ask right now that would know, anyone who keeps tabs on folks?"

Looking doubtful, the officer rubbed the back of her helmet. "This time of night? Well, there's Vera Weatherly, and you can try Belle Bonny down in the Muddy Rudder, if you can get her to do anything aside from curse at you. She's been here at least as long as Doctor Li, I think. For anyone official, you'd have to wait for Harkness and Bannon to get up. Chief's on the morning rotation right now and Bannon'll be around when the Marketplace opens."

Grinning cheerfully, Cort gave a short wave and moved inside the city. "Alrighty. Thanks kindly."

"Remember, keep-"

Calling back out, Cort waved again, resisting the urge to cross her fingers just in case. "Our noses clean, gotcha." Kicking the door shut after her companions came through, she leaned against it and sighed heavily. "All right, let's go dump our stuff at the hotel and then pick some brains." Getting a non-committal grunt from Charon, she lightly patted his arm before moving on, deciding that whatever was bothering him could wait until they were settled, shrugging as he fell in behind her again instead of beside. Well, it can't be too bad, he hasn't said anything and doesn't look like there's a stick currently up his ass. Trotting down the corridors until she reached the hotel and finding Vera Weatherly still behind the front desk, she decided to get business out of the way before her personal queries, figuring caps would grease the wheels. "Room, please!" In return to her polite smile, she received an extremely bright and totally fake one in return, the blonde woman practically oozing supercilious insincerity. Oh, what the fuck now.

"Oh, I'm very, very sorry Miss, but I'm afraid I can't accept your patronage now, or in future. Subsequent guests complained of a rather, ah, unique aroma after your last stay. I had to have the mattress replaced and the room scrubbed down before they were satisfied. I'm sure you understand."

Tired and overloaded like an abused Brahmin, Cort's temper instantly went from zero to sixty. "No, I do not understand. I've stayed here twice with no problems." Aside from you yapping my business around like a terrier, but then who doesn't do that. If trying to kill me is a national sport, that's the motherfucking hobby. At least you don't have a fucking radio station.

Charon frowned as Cort started to seethe. As lousy as he felt, he didn't need another fight over his condition on top of everything else, and he did need her to be secure. "Cort, I can bunk outside the door." Reaching over and gently turning her chin towards him, he raised his eyebrows, making sure she understood what he was implying. Like she'd fucking forget that. Christ, I want to know when these shitting dreams are going to stop. "I'll be able to hear you if you wake up."

Ignoring the ghoul entirely, Vera blithely talked over his last statement, folding her hands on the desk. "I'm sorry Miss, but that won't work either, not with your...unique set of predilections."

Jerking her face loose from the ghoul's grasp, Cort fixed two very cold eyes back on what was rapidly becoming the only thing in the world aside from a rising, jangling chord in the back of her head. "Please and fuck you very much you gossip-mongering whore, but my what?"

"I can't rent a room out to perverted trash, to put it plainly. My reputation's been tarnished enough." Vera smiled primly, decided that the insult wasn't enough for the one levied against her, and put the icing on her little barbed cake. "You're damaged goods, dear. Filth."