Evelyn slept for a whole day.
He had secured them inside of an old metro station; his gun was kept loaded and his mind was kept clear. The bottle was put back on the shelf and he busied himself by tending to her. He helped her strip out of her clothing and his hands soothingly washed the blood from her body. He then paced up and down the tracks as she remained almost…dead, to the world, nestled inside of her sleeping bag.
A fire in a barrel crackled loudly to the side.
He didn't even smoke.
When she finally lifted herself from her cocooned inhabitants, she drowsily looked around and rubbed at her eyes. "Ch-Charon?"
"I don't think he would be too happy with me right now." A joke. It sounded phony to his ears.
Her eyes focused, and her blissful expression melted him. "Cross." She held her hands out to him, and he crouched down so she could grab at his face. She pulled him into a kiss, and he gladly returned it. She then pushed him away and smacked him. "You fuck. How did you not see those two fucking goons?"
"Could ask you the same question." He rotated his jaw in its joint, the hit smarting him. He darkly chuckled; at least they were back to normal, again. He tenderly whisked the stray hairs from her face, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What? You goin' to hit me again?"
She sucked the air between her teeth. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
His fingers froze. "Like what?"
"Like you've never seen me before."
It took him a moment to process the meaning behind her words, and he just shrugged his shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace. When his body began to shake, she enfolded him in her pale arms and breathed hotly against his neck.
She muffled into his shoulder. "I guess you're stuck with me for a little bit longer."
When she had passed out in his bed, he was unsure of what course of action to take.
The ghoul had no need to ever actually use his room; a table and access to facilities were all he really required. Irene seemed unmindful of the fact that he was a permanent insomniac…although, sometimes he wished he wasn't. The prostitute dozed away after their short, burst sessions over the course of the night, and even though he felt satisfied- he was still overall restless.
The morning light began to filter through the drawn shutters, and he quietly gathered his things to make his leave.
Campbell only arrived a short twenty minutes later in the lobby. "Have yerself a nice night?" he drowsily drawled.
The ferryman said nothing but made a move for the door. The mercenary stifled a yawn into his hand and followed suit.
Lydia watched the two walk down the main street from behind the ratty curtain of her room, the painful thump of her heart beating away at the cage of her chest. Overly callused hands for an overly young woman ran through the prickly hair she needed to shave; brown eyes flitted to the clock beside her- it was early.
She was not expected downstairs for a few more hours. A hot meal, a nice shower, some more minutes spent in a comfortable bed…
The room key was left at the counter with the morning attendant, who gave her a sidelong glance. Words consisting of thank you and I'm sorry came to the tip of her tongue, but they just didn't feel appropriate. A loud sniff, and she burst through the front doors, giving cautious chase to the two strangers.
Charon was the first to take notice of their stalker- he didn't even bother arming himself, a nasty glare was enough to halt her in her tracks.
The crunch of Campbell's boots trudging through the dry brush came to a halt; the dirt shifted beneath his weight as he slowly turned to take view of their guest. A light-haired eyebrow raised as his hungover brain muddled to place her.
Charon growled warningly, causing her to startle backward.
The wiry mercenary had a visible lightbulb. "Did I not pay my full due or something?"
A slow shake of her head, and she avoided the ferryman's glower. "Are…are you- following them?"
"Who?" Campbell asked.
Her fingers twiddled at the fraying hem of her shirt; it was suddenly the most intriguing thing for her to behold. "Evelyn…and that dumb ghoul."
Campbell exchanged a glance with his companion, and he crossed his arms down at her from his spot on the slope. "They friends of yours?"
A shrug as she looked out to the wastes. Unexpectedly, she became very defensive and prickled. "I can pay you what I have- it isn't much, but I'm just looking to…talk, to them." Her eyes held a great deal of wariness as she returned them to the mercenary. "You won't even know I'm here."
Campbell let out a breath, followed by a dry laugh. He rubbed one palm over his mouth and gave a shrug in return. "Need to talk to them that badly, huh?"
The head nod was hesitant, at first, but then it grew vigorous. "I won't be a burden- I swear- I can-"
"No," Charon's garbled voice interrupted, and he simply turned his back to her and walked away.
Lydia gaped at him stupidly, her brows forming together harshly as her temper washed over her timidness. "What do you mean, no?"
The ghoul let loose a very irritated sigh, pivoting on his heel and towering over her. "No." He then pointed back in the direction of the outpost. "Go back, it is not safe."
"Fuck safe!" she growled at him, her body cowering away as he took a step towards her. The pissed-off expression held. "I-I just…look, do you at least know where-"
The ghoul reached back for his shotgun and she gave a yelp, scrambling from view.
Campbell gave a disheartened shake of his head. "Was that really necessary?"
"She will die, otherwise," Charon grumbled, squinting his eyes at her retreating figure. "Let us continue."
"So much for that, then," Campbell muttered to the ghoul, stealing a glance back to the small head that suddenly disappeared behind the formation of rubble. "Think she'll stop?"
It had been nearly eight hours of travel, and the ferryman just snorted. The girl was not their issue…and it would be entirely her fault if she were to end up being killed- just a damn kid, probably around the same age…back when he had first stridden through those double doors, back in Underworld.
A loud, obnoxious sigh. The night was drawing close, and the dangers would be prevalent. She appeared unarmed, underfed, hell, her damn clothes- it was going to be a cold night.
Campbell turned at the sound of Charon's footsteps coming to a pause; the ferryman was glaring at their hidden pursuer. A few moments passed, and she cautiously peered over. Charon held out one hand and turned the palm towards the sky, beckoning her forward with two fingers.
A cautious step, followed by another, and soon she was within grabbing distance. His long reach ensnared her in an iron grip, and she began to scream until he shook her like a ragdoll. When he stopped, she stared upward, drowning in a dizzying spin.
He released her and she fell to her knees. It was almost a play-by-play of how he had met the Lone Wanderer, and the irony was not lost on him.
"Go home." His words resurrected themselves from those years ago, and it was almost déjà vu for the ghoul.
"Don't have a home," she recited perfectly, completely unaware of the string she was pulling from his past.
Charon gave a snarl; one smoothskin in his life was bad enough as it was, but two-
He growled at her. "You are stupid."
The ferryman had lied. He was stupid. The smoothskin, whose name he had not cared to remember, was now curled up close to the side of the campfire, twitching in her sleep to the sounds of the nightly wildlife surrounding them. She was in a flight-or-fight response constantly, he had come to realize, and he discovered she was actually quite smart.
She was almost the exact opposite to Evelyn personality-wise; reserved, watchful, scared…but what she lacked in reckless abandon, she made up for with tactful sense. The cogs were spinning wildly behind those bright eyes; she was studying them, always on the edge. Even as she slept, he had no doubt she could wake herself at a moment's notice and be at the ready- whereas Evelyn would require a solid boot to the face before she would register the danger.
A memory of her being awoken to a radroach crawling over her sleeping bag; the hysterics of that night made him inwardly smile. His thoughts now dwelled onto his employer, as they so constantly had as of late, and he stared off into the night, subconsciously hoping to see something that was not there.
The crows were busy desecrating the bloated corpses by the time they emerged into the sun, Evelyn had paused and blinked at the dried pool of dark blood that belonged to her.
Cross would not meet her eyes, and he did not care to narrate his inner monologue about their previous night. She only pursed her lips and began to stroll past him, taking a moment to pause and smack his ass before she continued. He growled in surprise, startled, and she winked at him.
"Better me than Charon." She stuck her tongue out; he quickly hustled himself towards her and she cried out a yielding plea.
They stopped for the afternoon in an abandoned freighter; he had stepped up inside the rusted-out semi and whistled at her. With a raised eyebrow, she seized his outstretched hand and he effortlessly lifted her along behind him.
"Are we hiding from something?" she asked, setting her pack down and rubbing at her shoulders. He was scratching at his bald head as he threw his own bag to the side. "Hello?"
He grabbed his binoculars and studied the area outside for a moment; she took a seat atop a metal container and drank some water. When he returned, he turned down her offer of hydration.
"You're goin' to need it more than I do."
"I am?" She sucked on the bottle noisily, inhaling some water as he began to strip. With a cough, she thumped herself on the chest and watched him kick off his boots and jeans, his erection flinging against his stomach. "Uh-are…now?!"
She covered her mouth with her free hand and laughed, but he didn't seem offended. "We couldn't have done this earlier? We're parked in the middle of fucking nowhere- I'm still tender from being shot, and you're just expecting us to fuck after all that?"
"We're the only souls for miles-"
"Yeah, uh huh, a testament to the other day."
He ignored her. "-and I ain't goin' to mess with you down there. Now finish your drink and take off your top."
She tilted her head back in surprise at his commanding tone. "Excuse me?"
"You deaf, or stupid?"
Those blue eyes formed into slits, and she spun the gears in her brain trying to decipher his behavior. She then cracked a grin and chucked her empty bottle at him. It rolled harmlessly at his feet. "Are you trying to make me angry on purpose?"
He sighed and rubbed at his face, and she knew she had him.
She quickly worked at the buckles of her clothing, stripping herself bare despite his demands. She caught his glance at the blooming bruise developing across her inner thigh, and he angrily looked away.
"Sit." She pointed to a crate, and he complied.
She came to kneel between his open legs, playing with him for a while with her mouth. His hands fondled at her breasts in a comfortable mannerism, and when he was close, she removed herself and leaned back. When she had no intention of finishing him, he glowered at her.
"Oh? Someone's mad?" She smiled widely, and he wrapped his hands around the back of her head. "Whoa, Eastern Cowboy, you better remember whose mouth that dick is in." She gave a canine grin. "I wasn't going to leave you hung and dry, Jesus. You act like the world is ending."
"I'm goin' to remember all this the next time," he threatened, his fingers massaging the base of her jaw. She shrugged, swirling her tongue along his tip before removing herself again.
"So-"
"Fuckin' Christ-"
She then produced a lot of spit and dribbled it between the valley of her breasts, leaning her body forward and encompassing him between them. She worked into a smooth rhythm, and he flushed his forehead against hers as he came.
She stood away and swiped at the semen that was dribbled all over her chest and neck; she flung it at him, laughing as he dodged to the side. "I was only giving it back to you, you big baby."
They cleaned up and dressed, deserting their temporary love shack for the next town ahead.
"Would've hated to been that person," Campbell sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Charon was crouched, his ruined fingertips grazing along the dried flakes of blood along the pavement. It was old, but it was a lot. He prayed whoever it belonged to, wasn't Evelyn. He leaned over the decaying remains of the bodies nearby and squinted; there was a perfectly clean shot to the forehead in both victims.
It was them.
Lydia dimpled her chin with a look that said not our problem, who cares?
Charon whirled his head around, his fingers picking up two small bullets. Depending on who it was that got shot-
He growled at the implications. The bounty hunter must've gotten complacent if he had not seen the danger from a reasonable distance. If it was Evelyn-
Serrato flashed through his mind, and he angrily tossed the bullets to clink along on the asphalt. Without a word to his companions, he followed the faded trail of crimson into the metro tunnels, both acquaintances shadowing him.
A barrel with ash. The dirt had been greatly disturbed by the subway tracks, but there were no bodies, and he finally forced himself to leave.
