"Clara," someone said.

She looked up, squatting over a dead raider's body. She was taking the clothes and guns from it, outside of a Metro station entrance. The wind blew into her face, making her eyes water. She blinked a bunch of times, trying to get her eyes to focus.

"Sweetie, what are you doing?" Her―her dad―was standing there, watching her. Clara was up on her feet in a second, rushing to his side, holding him tightly and crying.

"Dad!" she yelled, mashing her face into his side. He held her for a moment, and she enjoyed the hug, enjoyed the closeness―she'd never been able to give him a hug before he died―

Wait. Wait, he was dead... wasn't he?

Clara stopped for a moment and looked up at her dad, then jerked back in fright. He was falling apart, his skin coming off in huge clumps. She screamed, putting her hands up to her mouth and backing away, watching him melt away.

"What is the matter, Clara?" he asked, raw muscle tensing in his jaw as the skin came away, teeth exposed by the decay. She let her mouth fall open in a long scream, watching in horror as he turned into a terrible thing, rotting away before her very eyes―she couldn't help but scream―

Soon, a skeleton was all that remained, still talking to her, asking her what was wrong, reaching bony hands out to her. Clara ran, screaming, her feet moving her away from the dead raider, away from her dead father, down into the Metro.

She jammed herself into a bathroom stall and cried, knees up to her chest, fists pressed into her face. She cried for what seemed like ages, until the door of the stall opened and an all too familiar raspy voice spoke to her.

"Clara, my love... you've been very, very bad."

She screamed so loud she hurt her own ears, kicking out at the bony hands that grabbed at her―

Charon grunted in her ear, pushing her away as she kicked out at him. She felt her heartbeat, so fast in her chest, and looked up at his face so close to hers―then recoiled and screamed, when she remembered the dream.

Charon moved away from her, but kept his hand on her arm. He was surprised by her screaming like that, when she saw his face. It made her feel terrible. Charon was not Mister Burke―he was different―even if he was a ghoul.

He was holding down one of her arms, the other trapped under a bed cover. She stopped fighting, then calmed herself, trying to slow her breathing. Charon waited for her to calm down completely before he released her.

"You were having a nightmare," he stated. "It appeared you might harm yourself. I intervened. Is that acceptable?"

"Y-yeah," she said, pressing a hand to her heart. "Yeah."

"That is unusual for you?" he asked, backing away and staring down at her. "Nightmares?"

"Not... really." Clara pulled her knees up to her chest and stared blankly at the bed. "It was my dad... He was dead. And he started―to fall apart, and―" she sobbed into her knees. "And I r-ran a-wuh-way―"

Charon grumbled and laid a hand onto her shoulder, holding her tightly. Didn't say a word, just stood there touching her. Clara cried herself out, then put her hand on top of his and held it.

"Thank you for waking me up," she said, rubbing the back of his glove. Charon did not respond other than to squeeze her shoulder, which made her feel better.

She... she wasn't afraid of him, she told herself. No matter how much he made her think about Mister Burke. He wasn't afraid to touch her, and she shouldn't be afraid of that―after all, he'd needed her to touch him when she dug the bullet from his back. She couldn't keep treating him nice, but act afraid of him at the same time―it wasn't right, and she felt guilty for it.

"I'm sorry I screamed like that," she said, wiping her nose with her other hand. "I was startled, and..."

"I understand," he said, interrupting her slightly. "My appearance is grotesque. The contents of your nightmare would not have lent to a more friendly response." His hand went loose on her shoulder, but she didn't let go.

"It still wasn't right." Clara grabbed his hand with both of hers and held it in front of her, staring at his fingers. "I shouldn't be scared of you. You won't hurt me unless I sell your contract."

He rumbled out a laugh, then. "I would not hurt you, if you sold the contract," he said, laughter in his voice.

"But... but you shot the other one..." She looked up at him, nervously.

"Ahzrukhal was far worse than you, Clara. He deserved to die." Charon tightened his hand in her grasp, wrapping his fingers around hers.

"You said that, before," she said, absently rubbing his fingers where they were not covered with leather. His hands felt exactly like the leather, but with more rough edges. "...Why?"

"You have not pushed drugs on others. Pimped out your debtors to others like yourself. Enabled slavers to do business with you, so that you might sell someone for profit. You have done none of these things." Charon sounded angry. "And you most certainly have not done them for as many years as Azhrukhal had." He lowered his tone and looked down at her.

"What I did was just as bad," she said, looking at the ragged fingers wrapped around her own.

"If you were manipulated, then your actions were not what you would have chosen for yourself. I lived in such a fashion, for many a year." Charon leaned down and loosed his hand from hers. "You are at fault for existing, and doing these things at the behest of another..." He stared down at her and she found it hard to meet his eyes. "But they are not who you are. Do not let such things define you."

Clara sat and thought about it for a while. When she left Rivet City, her entire goal had been to finish the job at the purifier, to do what her father had been doing. But... but she'd started feeling like a monster when she realized at the radio station that Three Dog had been telling people what she'd done. When Three Dog told her she had a nasty reputation, talked meanly to her.

Three Dog didn't feel that way about her, now. She'd talked to him for a long time, told him what happened with Megaton. He understood she was dumb. Knew she hadn't done it on her own. Knew she'd only wanted her dad back, and then Mister Burke had used her... for bad things. Things she would not have done, if she understood better.

"I don't know who I really am," she said, sniffling a little.

Charon moved away and leaned onto the walls. "Then you have to find out," he rasped, thoughtfully.

She set her mouth and stared at her hands, picturing her scar-lined and callused fingers holding Charon's hand. "I'm not a bad guy," she said, stubbornly. "And I'm not―I'm not smart, but I'm not gonna let anyone tell me what to do―"

"Not the President," Charon said. "But the Brotherhood?"

"They want to help me finish the purifier," she said, slowly. "Pretty sure that makes them the good guys."

He rumbled in his throat. "Perhaps."

Clara sighed and moved out of the bed, and went to the little toliet at the end of the room. She moved the divider to cover her, then stripped off her pants and looked at the burn on her inner thigh. It was still sensitive to the touch, making her hiss in pain as she rubbed it.

"Charon," she said, once she was dressed again and the wound dealt with. "Do you need to sleep?"

"I do not need sleep." He shot her a curious glance.

"Are you sure―"

"I do not sleep at all, Clara," he said, staring her down.

"Oh." She looked up in surprise. "What? How come?"

He shrugged, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. "I simply do not."

"I don't know anything about ghouls," she muttered. It was confusing for her.

"We are not all the same," Charon offered. Clara stared at him for a minute, her face flushed in embarrassment. She still didn't know what was right, to say or do... and she was curious―

"Let's go, okay?" she said, shakily, grabbing up her pack and opening the door. "I don't like it here."

"How long have you been a ghoul, Charon?" Clara asked. She hopped over a piece of broken overpass, moving underneath a raider "town". They had just cleared out the raiders, and gotten more shotgun shells for Charon. He was grunting whenever he moved and she knew he probably had a hurt, but he wasn't telling her. She didn't like that.

"Too many years to count," he answered, stepping over the broken concrete and grunting again.

Clara stopped short and Charon almost ran into her. She turned around, quickly, and stared up at him. "Where are you hurt?" she asked, point-blank.

"It is of little concern," he said, staring down at her.

"You say that, but I can hear you making hurt noises," she said. "Where is it?"

Charon's mouth twitched. "My knees ache. I am old, Clara."

She couldn't tell how old he was, even if she guessed. Kept her eyes on him for a moment, searching his face for any clue to his emotion, then screwed up her mouth. "How do we fix them?" she asked.

He gave a rasping bark, startling her. "It is only a product of age. Nothing can be done."

"I don't like you being hurt," she said.

"I am aware," he said, and stared out over her head into the distance. "There is danger here."

She turned and looked and saw a radscorpion crawling over the ground toward them. She sighed, pulled her sledgehammer from her back, and went to kill it.

The radscorpion was tougher than she thought―it was a very large one, and Clara wasn't good at dodging the blows. She got hit with its stinger once, jabbing her in the side, before she slammed the hammer down onto its eyes and stumbled away. Charon put it down, holding it at bay for a moment or two before shooting and killing it.

Clara threw up onto the ground nearby, feeling the cold ice of venom running through her. Charon approached her and grumbled, then picked her up and set her on a piece of overpass. He pulled up her shirt as she laid her head back onto the rubble. "Hurts," she said, mumbling, as she felt the hot fingers traveling over her side.

"You'll live," Charon said, pushing on her skin. "Does not appear to be dangerous."

"I think you ought to start shooting things before I get to them," Clara said, closing her eyes.

"I agree," he answered. "You may lead the way, but in combat, you must stand behind me."

"We're out of stimpaks again," she muttered, thinking hard. It was hard to think with her mind filling up with the cold. "Need to find a doctor." Charon only grumbled a little, in reply.

Clara opened her eyes and saw a swirling sky, skin muscles and ice-colored eyes, and winced. "Charon," she said, pushing herself upward and rubbing her face. "What color were your eyes, when you were..." she paused. "I don't know the right word."

"They were always blue," he said, picking her up and setting her onto her feet.

"Mine are, too," she muttered, rubbing her face.

Charon laid a hand on her shoulder and pointed. "The Metro to the D.C. ruins is very near."

She looked up and regretted it, grimacing. Felt sick to her stomach. "Okay," she said, willing her feet to move. It was hard work, trying to move herself to the Metro gate.

Charon opened it and she stumbled inside, yawning. They moved deeper inside, and eventually she knew the poison would wear off―

"It's a good thing you don't sleep," she said, as she fell onto the broken ground, passing out in a heap of arms and legs.