Eva's gone.
Charon hasn't seen her in eight days.
She left a note on the table, asking him to stay behind. It was carefully worded to not be a command, the page covered in smears from an old eraser scrubbing out mistakes. He left the paper where he found it, too uncertain about its contents to dwell on it at the time. As her absence grew longer, Charon found himself carefully avoiding it, eyes skimming over the note like it wasn't there. At other times, he'd find himself reading it again and again, searching for some clue as to when she'd be back, if she'd be back.
He couldn't find a thing.
Now it's been two days and Charon is losing his mind. There's nothing to do in this damn house. Without Eva around there is no reason to go outside, no one to interact with.
He used to be so good at waiting, pushing emotion and thought away until he was empty. If he let everything fade to gray, time didn't really seem to exist but now it seems he's grown accustomed to activity. Even during the storm, there was another person around to make the waiting less stagnate. This uncertainty…he can barely handle it.
He's read every faded book they have, shuffled and dealt their playing cards until the corners frayed. His gun is cleaner than it's ever been, every gun in the house is cleaner than it's ever been.
Charon's resorted to pacing, circling first the interior of the building and then the exterior, wandering further each time until he grows tired enough to sleep.
He's thinking about circling this whole forsaken town when he hears something crash inside the house.
It's humiliating but he doesn't notice he's rushed back until he's standing on the front porch, breathing a little faster than he should be. The door is slightly ajar and the unbidden image of Eva stumbling through, slumped over and sick from radiation sickness comes to mind.
The thought is jarring.
Suddenly hesitant, Charon pushes the door open.
Eva isn't home, her pack isn't by the door, her gun isn't in its place. She's still nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, the newly reactivated Mr. Handy is.
It hovers in the kitchen, servers whirling in aggravation at the mess Charon hasn't bothered to clean up.
"I would have guessed you'd be away as well." The robot jostles a dirty dish with one disapproving flick. How a robotic voice can sound so full of disdain is beyond him.
"Has Ms. Eva grown tired of you already?"
The robot tuts at the mess in the sink, whirring just a little faster in annoyance. Charon bristles. Of all the unpleasantness he didn't need, this irritation's reactivation is top on the list.
Charon doesn't bother answering, just shrugs past and heads up the stairs. It must have woken from its sleep mode and without Eva around to restart it, it'll be best to leave it to its own devices.
Still, the last thing Charon wants to do is sit and wait in his bedroom like some lonesome suitor and when he reaches his door, he finds himself hesitating. In his boredom, he has explored every room in this house, searching mindlessly for nothing in particular. They've all be relatively unexciting but there's one spot he hasn't thought to investigate. The room adjacent from his.
Charon eyes Eva's door almost guiltily. He's only been inside the room once but he'd been too focused on his distressed employer to notice more than the bare minimum. As he stares, he finds himself rationalizing. There might be some hint as to where she went, how much longer she'll be gone. He edges towards it, if anything he knows she has a collection of comic books and, while that's not his usual taste, it's better than staring at a wall for the umpteenth hour.
What is he doing, hovering outside her door like some anxious child? It's just a room.
He grabs the handle, a little too hard to be natural, and pushes his way inside.
The air that rushes out smells stale, dusty from being closed up for so long. Charon steps inside, looking around for some hint as to her whereabouts even as he realizes it was just an excuse to enter her room. Maybe he is searching for answers but he knows he won't find them here. She would never leave a note for him in a place she wouldn't expect him to check but, as his eyes pass over each of Eva's possessions, her personal touches, he realizes that this was the place he was bound to end up. Eva has been the only thing on his mind lately, the only thought he can't quite seem to push away. It's no surprise he'd be drawn to her room, the closest thing he can get without her around.
He's been trying so hard not to think about the night before she left. Watching her skin split under his hands, the blood, the puckering of her flesh as the wounds knitted together into scars, all of it has been beating against the back of his mind.
It's the most horrifying thing he's been ordered to do...with the kindest intentions.
Charon's been avoiding the images as much as he can, pushing them away like they're a threat. The last time he saw her, she was more injured then he'd ever seen her but it's her expression he doesn't want to see. That shame, the genuine sadness that her misguided attempt to free him hadn't worked, it was too much.
Yet somehow, the worst of it is the conclusion he hadn't even realized he'd come to. It wasn't something he decided on consciously but, as the days passed and Charon tried harder and harder not to think about her, it became more and more obvious.
He likes Eva.
She's not perfect, not by a long shot, but he likes her anyway. She's the most amiable employer he's ever had, capable and a decent shot. With her, he doesn't have to worry about when he's going to eat next, what horrible new thing he'll be forced to do. Despite everything, she seems to be a decent person.
She's the first person to ever try to break his contract.
That's the thought that he's really trying to avoid, isn't it? What kind of person has he become that it takes the sight of Eva, bloodied and shaking, to get him to stop hating her? That look on her face when she apologized, like she'd failed him. Even if it is a lie, if the bleeding-heart act is just there to help her sleep at night, there are actions behind her words. She tries.
His anger at her still feels real, legitimate. She bought him, he has every right to despise her. Yet if she actually has good intentions, if she at least views him as more than a means to an end, it burns to see how long it's taken him to see it. How long has she been trying before he noticed?
Charon trails a hand over the faded blanket tucked neatly over her bed. It's such an unusual habit that if he hadn't already known she was from a vault, he probably would have guessed it from the sight. Now that he's here, he barely knows what to do. He wanted to address this confusion but being surrounded by the reminder of her isn't helping. Wearily, he drops onto her bed, crumpling the blanket in the process, and lets his head fall to his hands. What is he going to do about this?
For as long as he can remember, Charon has survived off of hatred. The little spiteful rebellions, twisting any order as much as he can, trying to make his employers fail, it's what's kept him going. How is he supposed to act around Eva now? He doesn't know how to leave anger in the past. He's not even certain who he is without it.
Downstairs, a door creaks open but Charon doesn't notice. A robot sputters excitedly and then indignantly, ratting out the enemy ghoul who entered his owner's room without permission.
Charon is too busy thinking to notice. Every little kindness is whirling through his mind now. The blankets in his room, her encouraging him to personalize his space, the attempts to give him what freedom she can, seeing it all in this new light twists her intentions, makes them less irritating and into something too new, too unfamiliar for Charon to know what to do with. On their travels, she asks after his comfort, his hunger, his exhaustion. It's more than he can handle.
Charon is feeling a guilty shame for the first time in a long while and he hates it.
He doesn't hear the footsteps until they are right beside him, doesn't hear the tired laugh.
"Boo."
Charon actually jumps, jerking back at the sight of Eva, clothes torn and hair bedraggled, looking in all the world like his own guilt come to haunt him. His eyes drop to her arm, where her sleeve is ripped clear away, and trace along three brand new scars. They are thick and still an angry red. They must have been deep.
"What happened to your arm?" Here he is, questioning her when she finds him sulking on her bed, but he'd rather address that then what she may be thinking at the sight of him.
Eva looks down, nearly puzzled and lifts her arm higher. He can see the scars twist, almost entirely encircling her. It looks like something had her in a tight grip and refused to let go. He sees flashing eyes and devil horns bursting through a cave wall and knows without asking what caught her.
"Oh, yeah," Eva smirks and bitterly traces her fingertips along the marks. "I think I'm starting to collect them."
Her words force him to look closer. It's the first time Charon has seen her since his attack and it's difficult not to look away. Stretching across her body, peeking out from every hem, over every curve and bone are scars then he can count, most of which he can recall carving into her.
One pale white line, long and thin, runs down her cheek and he remembers curving the tip to maintain the same depth of cut, enough to be classified as 'deep' but not enough to risk her bleeding out beneath him.
He finds three over her knuckles and he can feel the bumps as the knife hit bone. Too many to count cover her arms but he can spot the first cut, can still feel the mania that hit when he broke her skin.
Charon looks back at her face. She watched him look her over, pick out each scar of his own doing. She smiles at him, crooked and faint.
"Hey." Eva steps closer and there's a bright wash of red over her cheeks and nose, a deep burn. "I forgive you."
"I'm sorry I made you do that."
That hurts.
Charon stares up at her, more vulnerable then he can ever recall being. She has caught him thinking of her, has spoken the exact words he needed to hear, words he hadn't even realized he'd needed, and now she is watching him and he is trapped. Trapped in her forgiveness, trapped in her knowing, her understanding.
Trapped by how little he hates her.
"I…" His voice cracks, breaks away.
"I am sorry." Gazing up at her, it feels like benediction, tastes like salvation. He is exposed, defenseless. Everything is out in the light, ready to be burned, and there is nothing he can do but wait.
"For hurting you."
He can't tell if her eyes are pink from emotion or sunburn but Eva's nose crinkles and she steps closer, knees against knees and wraps her arms around him, presses his head tight against her stomach. He should want to recoil. She smells like dirt, old blood and sour sweat but her skin is warm through the rough fabric of her shirt and nothing makes sense right now. Her actions should repulse him, infuriate him but Eva suffered for his benefit, tried to help him, save him like all the others. Treated him like he matters.
Slowly, each tight knot in his muscles releases and he lets his head drop, lets himself accept her comfort.
Light fingers thread through what's left of his hair and he lets his hands rise, fists them tight in the extra fabric at her waist. Later he can pull away, withdraw back to something professional, something that at least resembles what makes sense to him, what he knows but now Eva is back and he needs this.
Hunched over in her little room, held tight by someone so small, too small to fill the space up so completely, Charon accepts.