(? POV)

Charon used the gun as a way of letting his mind ease up. He enjoyed repairing weapons, working with weapons, anything that required great concentration. It gave him no room for foolish thoughts, no room for second judgment. One false calculation and he could very well blow his hand off. It required all the attention he could muster, but it still didn't distract him. I am protecting my boss. That is my job, nothing more, nothing less. Still, as his hands worked around the trigger and barrel of his employer's sawed-off shotgun, he could not forget how her small, frail, little body had fit against his. How she begged him not to leave and it made him feel like he was something more to her than a job, than someone she was simply using for her own survival.

Charon placed the gun down and shook his head. The night air was cool and stiff. Nothing he could think of to occupy his mind could possibly clear his head. It has been that way for some time now. I cannot simply forget. He kept thinking to what he'd done at Fort Bannister. How without a second thought he obeyed his order to harm Dez. Shit. He couldn't get that look out of his mind. The image of her face, the tears that fell down her cheeks, the damn pain he caused her. The scars were a mocking reminder to him, as if to say 'look what you did! look at it!'. He wanted to erase them from her body forever, so then nothing would ever be able to remind him.

Somehow, this little annoying brat that treated him as if he was a drinking buddy rather than a bodyguard came to mean everything to Charon. He made an extra effort to not let it slip to her, to keep his distance and assertiveness, and when need be, his crude wit. But that little trick has got a sharper tongue than me. He smirked to himself as he looked at her sleeping body. She said she wasn't tired, but Charon saw those heavy black circles under her eyes. She just didn't know when to stop, her body was wearing thin.

His mind kept racing back to the fight at the grocers at the Jury Street Metro Station. He wasn't thinking tactical, wasn't thinking like a Mercenary. She had run out of ammo, and he should have let her run off and take some of those bastards out with that knife, but he didn't. He couldn't catch himself in time to stop, and then next thing he knew his shotgun was in one hand, and he was clinging on to her with the other. I'd never felt my heart race so fucking fast in my life.

Charon stared out into the desert, looking at the sand and rocks that overran it. The Psycho he had crushed earlier made his hand go numb, but he hadn't mentioned it. He didn't want Dez to get worried. She tried to hide it, but he knew every time he got hurt, she worried. He could read her better than she knew. Flexing his fist, he looked at the coarse skin and muscles. I am a beast. He thought, wishing for two seconds he could look like the rest of the smooth skin males out there. He'd have a chance at what he wanted, if he was just plain, simple, normal.

No. He shook the thoughts from his head. Looking over at Dez, Charon found his insides choking up. It was a feeling he wasn't comfortable with recognizing. This small, frail little child, and that is what she is, needed him. She had confessed more than once that she depended on him, and even whispered that she loved him. He tried not to remember it. Tried to not recall those words and how he stayed awake for hours, holding his tongue and trying to sleep. He didn't expect her to fall into him, to cry like that. She had been so strong through the journey home, silently mourning. God knows what made her finally break, but some part of him was relieved she did. Keeping it all inside wasn't something he advised doing.

Lighting another cigarette, Charon eyed the pack she carried around. Does she have anymore drugs? He hated seeing her do that shit. Smoking was one thing, Jet and Psycho were another. He wouldn't watch her while she huffed and injected herself. Next time she got her hands on it, he'd threaten to leave her, lie and find an excuse that made his contract invalidated. But she made you swear you'd never leave. That was exactly why he'd threaten to. Because she didn't want him to. Charon had no clue why she was so damned set on him staying and never leaving, but whenever it came up she got a terrified look on her face, like her world was going to end all over again. He didn't bother to tell her that even when she was done with him, he'd still fucking follow her and take any order she barked at him.

That screwed up kid was everything he could have wanted. If he had been allowed to lead a normal life, that is. She had no fear, it seemed. She would be the first to fire in a fight, and run ahead of him, wielding her weapon like her own personal flag. It made him worry. He could not possibly protect her and chase her into the battlefield at the same time. She's not the sneakiest thing he's worked with, but she's by far the bravest, or craziest. Sometimes she drove him so mad he wanted to prove how much of a man he is to her.

When she mocked him for being a ghoul, insulted his manhood, he wanted nothing more than to prove it to her right then and there. Prove that he wasn't 'broken' or whatever terminology she had used wit him. She'd have to order him to stop, and after she did, he'd feel nothing but shame and regret. He knew there was no way in hell it would ever happen. Even when she teased him, showing more skin that she should, baring her backside and swaying in front of his face, he knew better than to assume anything. But fuck if it wasn't hard.

"Charon?"

Her voice floated up from where she slept. He glanced over, ready to reply, when he noticed she was still sleeping. He walked over, standing over her sleeping body. He hadn't liked her new hair very much, the pink brought out how tired she became. It made her look older, like a Wasteland Junkie. But somehow, she was able to pull it off.

"Charon you're stupid…"

He smirked at her. Half of him wanted to wake her up, tell her she was having a bad dream. But no. He had already been becoming uncharacteristically comfortable around her. She was making her way too deep inside him. He didn't feel safe with it.

"I said no!"

She kicked her leg in her sleep, and Charon became worried. What goes on in her head?

"Get him Charon! Get him! Where you goin'? I said get him!"

She tossed her body over, waving her fist. Charon couldn't help but laugh loudly. He had never seen a spectacle like it before, some girl screaming in her sleep like she was. Eventually she stopped, and Charon felt it was safe to return to his post of staring out the hole in the wall. Maybe that's why she never slept and took off at odd hours of the night. She simply had bad dreams and wanted to avoid them. She shouldn't take off like that. Whenever he woke up and he found she was missing, something happened inside him. He became enraged and confused, worried and…sad. He felt he did not know what to do with himself. It had nothing to do with the contract, he knew better than to lie to his own mind. He always found her, though. Whether she was just taking a stroll, or cooking up a scheme to die, he always found her.

It bothered him greatly she still carried that pain with her. That despair that drove her to madness. He figured getting her that fucking piano might help calm her down, make her settle in and become more comfortable. At least, that's what he hoped. I cannot bear to think what would happen to me, if anything were to happen to you. He stared at her, knowing he had to keep his distance. Back in Megaton he let himself slip, his emotions got the best of him. It will not happen again. He would not let himself forget his place, his job, anything. He would submerge and fore himself to forget all he had been feeling. Even though deep down, he loved every minute of it.