Maleficent

We stopped in the café at Canterbury and had a bite to eat, and I introduced everyone to Charon.

I may be the Devil elsewhere, but after I took care of their "ant problem," I became something of a celebrity in the small settlement.

I managed to finagle a newly cleared-out private room for us at Uncle Roe's, in the firehouse. I tried to pay him, but he wouldn't hear of it. "Our hero deserves the best Canterbury Commons has to offer. It's not Tenpenny Tower, but it's clean."

We rested our packs in a corner. "I could go for a nap and a shower right now." We made a show of doubling up the bedrolls on the floor – even when we were among friends we have to keep up appearances.

He barricades the door – old habits die hard.

I strip and lay on the bed, and he hesitates. I sigh and close my eyes. I'm tired. I don't have time or patience for your nonsense right now.

When I wake later, he's beside me, soaking up my warmth. I yawn contentedly and stretch against him, and he stirs, nuzzling into my hair. Seeing an opportunity, I wiggle my hips, and he responds, grinding against me from behind.

I moan, and he whispers – "Shhhhhhh…" I pause, suddenly remembering where we are. He runs his rough hand down the length of my body, purring contentedly.

"Mmmm…" I relish the sensation. It's one thing to fight alongside one another, brief touches as we pass magazines or grenades to each other, tend to each other's wounds - but intimate contact is another thing entirely. He kisses my neck, and I close my eyes and melt into him. I can feel his soft, warm breath in my ear, in my hair.

He pushes gently on my lower back, tilting my hips forward. Reaching in front of us, he guides himself slowly, gently, inside of me. We move with each other, our bodies finding a soft, delicate rhythm, as he parts my velvety folds and strokes the precious jewel hidden within. The bed frame creaks quietly, in mild protest.

He whispers to me; tells me that I'm beautiful, that I am his world, and that he loves me more than anything. I wish I can live in this moment forever.

When I come, it is mild, sweet – a gentle shiver, a soft gasp.

We lie there for a few moments.

Softly, I ask – "would you like the shower first?"

"You go…I will follow."

Charon

She is my world.

I do not deserve something this precious.

When she leaves for the shower, I start packing for the trip ahead, setting aside a neat pile of clean clothes for myself. We're headed west, towards the Scrapyard, so we can give that old lady her violin.

After I finish, I sit on the bed, and wait for her to return, with orders.

Maleficent

The water is warm. It rolls down my body, taking the dirt and grime of the wasteland with it. I stand in the spray – I don't want to think, I just want to feel. I don't want to have to worry about anyone's problems – not even my own. I don't want to have to think about my secrets, the promises I've made, the meaning of love, and the pain of not being able to display it for fear of being ostracized. The mask of stone I have to wear, for his sake.

The Darkness sits in the back of my mind, content; satiated by the blood of the Enclave officer.

Eventually, I'm going to have to finish what Dad started. Before Charon, I didn't give two shits about the purifier, about the G.E.C.K. I figured that if the Brotherhood wanted it so bad, then it could spare a few guys to go into 87 and fetch it for them. I was tired of letting other people dictate my life. First Dad, then the Brotherhood, and now, indirectly, Charon.

The difference with Charon is that I don't mind.

His isn't the paternalistic "Daddy-knows-best" shit that I've gotten before – just gentle reminders that we depend on each other. That he depends on me.

At first I wanted to run away from him. Now, I want to run away with him. We can leave the Capitol behind, go south or west. Maybe we'll find a place more accepting. I don't have my hopes up, but at least there's a chance. We don't have much of a future here.

But I can't do that yet. We can't go. I must finish this. It's my burden and mine alone.

I'll have to send him away; something I told him I'd never do.

Sometimes, it seems like my life is a story of one betrayal after another.

I'll postpone it until I can't anymore. I know the longer I wait, the harder it will get – but I don't know if I'll survive this. I want to spend as much time with him as I can. I want to be happy – at least for a little while.

Now let's go give that old broad her violin.

After Charon takes his brief shower, we're back on the road. Or, what passes for a road these days.

I'd floated the possibility of exploring Vault 108, but Charon's having none of it. I know that I could just go and order him in with me – but it really doesn't seem worth it. I'm really not in the mood for his bitching. After all, it's not like the vault's going anywhere.

There's lots of empty space between Canterbury and the Scrapyard. Plenty of time to think, smoke – and talk, but we don't do a lot of that.

We find the odd radscorpion and some groups of raiders on the way. I find them early enough to where I can practice with my reservist's rifle. I missed one, and let Charon take care of him when he rushed us with a tire iron. "Ugh. That was sloppy. Sorry about that. Got a lot on my mind." I drawled around my cigarette.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asks.

"It's about those slaves. Or, former slaves." Not a direct lie – I was thinking about them, too.

"Oh?"

"I was thinking – that maybe if I help them out, I can redeem myself. Atone for what I did." At least a little bit.

"Life doesn't work that way." Charon says, authoritatively.

"It doesn't, huh?"

"No. You do things, you feel bad about 'em. Then you make different choices, you feel better. It doesn't make what you did go away. You just learn to live with it." Makes sense.

I sigh. "Can't anything be easy?"

He shook his head. "No."

"That was rhetorical."

"This thing drives me nuts." I'm poking at my Pip-Boy, frustrated with the map. Agatha's is hard to get to from this direction, and the limitations of the little computer are made abundantly clear from the confusing, sometimes glitchy map function. I think it may have something to do with the disparity between the pre-war atlases in its database and the post-war reality, but that theory – truth or not – won't help me climb rocks.

"You should learn how to orient yourself from the environment, then. Use landmarks. " He points at my Pip-Boy. "What if that thing goes tits-up? You'd be stranded."

"I'm not arguing about this right now." I don't need your attitude.

"As you wish. Lead the way, boss." He smirks.

We take the long way around, me cursing at my Pip-Boy the whole way.

"Step back, I'll introduce you."

"Worried about me getting shot?" he says, with a raised eyebrow.

"No – I'm worried about her getting a heart attack when she opens the door to a seven-foot ghoul mercenary. That's the last thing I need on my conscience."

He retreats to a respectable distance, and I knock on the door.

"Agatha?"

"Oh, Maleficent, dear, it's wonderful to see you again!" she exclaims.

"I brought a friend this time. Charon, come on over."

He joins me at my side, nods his head to her in greeting.

She holds her hand out, startling him. He takes it, pumping twice, gently. "Not many people wanna shake my hand."

"I'm not many people. Once you get to be my age, appearances don't much matter anymore."

He tilts his head. At a loss for words, big guy?

"You value what's in here – " she poked at his chest plate with one wrinkled, yet nimble finger "– much more." She smiles. He stares at her, bewildered.

"Well, come in, come in! We can't stand out here all night, can we?"

Charon

This old lady is nuttier than a fruitcake.

I glance at Mallie. Just when I get cynical, I meet someone like Agatha. Too sweet to be real.

Her face lights up when Mallie hands her the violin. She's almost crying with happiness. "Oh! It's so beautiful! A true work of art. Hey – why don't you two stay the evening? I can give you a private concert – aside from the radio frequency, it's the least I can do."

"No, we-" I start, but Mallie speaks up. "That would be lovely, Agatha. Take all the time you need to warm up."

She points at a chair, next to the dining table. "Get comfortable. And take off that armor." She then breaks out a bottle of wine, and finds three glasses. "Fine company, fine music, and fine wine." She says, as she fills them. "It's the little things that make life worth living."

She pulls off her own armor and settles in the chair across from me. She starts picking bobby pins out of her hair, and sips her wine, waiting for the show to begin.

I have never heard anything like this.

Dramatic highs that make my heart soar with joy; sweet lows that twist my stomach in grief. Music has never made me feel this way before – all I've heard is the remnants of pre-war music: love songs, toe-tappers, catchy tunes that are easy to sing along and dance to.

It makes me want to cry, to scream – to hold Mallie and never let go.

I glance over at Mallie, and she's watching Agatha, entranced, her cheeks wet. Sensing the movement of my head, she meets my eyes, reaches across the table, and rests her hand on mine. I squeeze it, close my eyes.

My heart feels like it's going to burst.

Maleficent

I almost feel sorry for him.

Emotions come slow to that one – he must feel overwhelmed right now. His pulse is racing, his breathing is shallow and quick. I squeeze his hand back, and wonder how long he can last before he tries to run. He looks at me.

I mouth to him, "Stay with me."

His jaw clenches, he nods, eyes closed.

Poor baby.

When Agatha finishes, I thank her for a wonderful performance. A quality violin allows her natural musical ability to shine. We pick up our armor, and then I tell her that we'll bed down under the stars tonight, and thank her for a wonderful evening.

The door closes, and we walk past her little fence, toward where we dropped our packs. As soon as we're out of the line of sight of the little house, he grabs my shoulder, twirls me around to face him. He drops his armor, cups my face in both of his large hands. "The whole time, all I could think about was you." I smile.

"I want you."

I look into his eyes, and see there only pure need. "Right now." Whoa.

I stiffen. My heart starts to race.

"Here." I try to pull my head back a little, and he tightens his grip.

"In the dirt." He growls.

"If you want it, take it." I sneer, defiantly.

Then we were scrabbling in the dust, fighting one another; our game.

I get to my feet, hair in my eyes. By the time I can orient myself, he's behind me, tugging at my pants. It's not my fault for being slow, really – this game is designed for him to win.

I twist, intent on changing direction, and fall instead. Whoops, game over.

He's on me immediately. Having managed to unbuckle my belt, he yanks my pants down to mid-thigh. I squirm, get to my hands and knees and start to crawl away. He grabs a baggy trouser leg and pulls, knocking me flat on my chest. A split second later, his hand is on my back, pushing me into the ground. Writhing in the gritty dust, I fight him as he pulls my pants down further, then with great effort, flips me over and catches my hands, squeezing my wrists in one of his huge paws.

He plants a knee between my thighs before I could think to close them.

My hair fell over my eyes in the struggle.

Leaning forward, knee grinding into me, he brushes my hair from my forehead. He pauses, examining his prize.

"Submit." He orders.

"Never." I growl, and buck against him. I could stop him if I wanted to, with a single word. If I wanted to.

"Have it your way." With the swift, efficient, coordinated movements of a professional soldier, he pins my arms above my head, positions himself, and enters me.

I writhe against him, producing a guttural shout.

When he loses his grip on my wrists, there's a flutter of hands, nails scratching, and he pins my wrists to either side of me.

Thrusting into me, he barks, "Submit!"

"No….." I shake my head back and forth, breathless.

He leans into me, pinning me against the ground, thrusts harder, faster.

"Submit!"

"Oooh, yes! Yes…"

Shortly after my assent, he finds his release, bellowing into the cool night air.

We lie there for a moment. Covered in dirt that's mixed with sweat, leaving muddy streaks on both of us. So much for that shower.

He releases first one wrist, then the other; brushes my hair from my eyes. "You shouldn't have taken your hair down."

I smile at him. "I couldn't resist teasing you."

"You're a heartless creature." He croons.

"It's part of my charm."

He pushes off me, gets to his feet, and hikes his pants up. "I'll be back."

Charon

We know how to push each other's buttons so well. Our relationship is all manipulation, emotion, reaction. It may not be healthy, but try as I might, I can't deny that I'm enjoying it. I glance over at her as she cleans up as best she can. Everything is a game to her. No – it's an elaborate play, with her as the star.

"Thanks, now I'm covered in dirt." She complains.

"Maybe you wouldn't be if you gave in sooner." I point out.

She smirks at me. "Where's the fun in that?"

She stands up, and stoops periodically – collecting everything that we…dropped. "Let's go to bed. I don't know about you, but I'm worn out."

Sounds like a plan.

I watch her sleep.

She doesn't like when I do it – she says it makes her uncomfortable. But I can't help it. She looks so content, so calm. She's so active and animated when she's awake that it's hard to imagine her at rest, dreaming like the rest of us dream.

I stroke her hair until I fall asleep.

Author's Note: I couldn't help including a tiny Gone with the Wind reference in this scene.