It's two in the morning, the rain is still pouring outside, and Eva won't stop pacing. Charon is lying on his bed, trying to ignore her. Thankfully, he can't hear her footsteps but she has taken up the habit of tapping her nails against any metallic surface she passes by. Judging by the number of erratic 'tings!', she's found at least seven distinct sounds to make as she circles the living room. If Charon had good luck the rain would drown out Eva's odd percussions but he doesn't and the noises manage to make their way through. He rolls to his side and groans. It's becoming more and more obvious that he doesn't have any luck at all.

The storm has still not let up and the rain has gone from benign to mildly acidic, not enough to cause permanent damage but enough to keep everyone indoors. It is clearly driving Eva insane. Charon doesn't like it either but if anything is going to get to him, it's going to be her. The single taps have changed to drumming, hard and fast and he can't take this anymore.

Charon is out the door before he can rethink it. He finds Eva in her night clothes, dull nails scratching against the rough fabric of the couch, making her way back towards the stairs. She looks up at him and he wonders how many times he has to see her bloodshot eyes before they stop looking so ghoulish.

"It's two in the morning." Charon's voice is empty of emotion, carefully so. He wants to continue with a 'why the fuck are you still awake?' but he bites it back. Those eyes don't hint at an emotionally stable employer.

Eva nods, solemn as a grave, and starts to pace again. He nearly sighs. This is going to be a long night.

Eva continues to make her way around the room. While she looks exhausted, she seems to be filled with manic energy. Her hands tremble across the discolored metal sheeting patching up the door and he can't tell if she's drumming her fingers against it or just shaking too hard for a single tap. She doesn't look his way until she hears the hard thump of the vodka bottle on the counter.

"What are you doing?" Her dark hair is tangled, pushed up on one side like she's been clutching at it. The bags under her eyes look like bruises.

"I'm getting you to calm the fuck down." He drops two mismatched cups beside the bottle and watches her, waiting. He can see her debating, her fingers dancing up her arm and then down again for her to twist her hands anxiously. He's honestly never seen her this worked up and he hates to admit it but it's starting to worry him. When she finally comes to some sort of conclusion through the exhausted fog she's clearly in, her whole body seems to tense and then release. She approaches him cautiously, eyeing first him and then the bottle.

"Are we drinking?" The level of confusion in her tone is almost amusing but Charon just nods and pours a finger into each glass. Silently, he hands one to her and knocks back his own. The vodka is terrible but it's the only liquor in the house and judging by the way she's eyeing her own glass like it's a beast poised to bite, she won't know the difference.

Eva's nose wrinkles as she brings the drink closer to her face and it would almost be endearing if she hadn't just been driving him up a wall for the last three hours. She bites her lip, sucks in a deep breath and, for some reason, squeezes her eyes shut as she quickly tips the liquid into her mouth and swallows. A full body shudder follows and Charon can't help but snort.

"Not much of a drinker?" He deadpans, like it's not incredibly obvious from her reaction.

He's rewarded with a glare and another smaller shiver.

"No." Eva stares down into her empty glass and grimaces. "Dad was a doctor. He always said it's wasn't good for you."

Charon doesn't answer, just splashes a little more vodka into both of their glasses. She eyes him nervously, too intrigued to turn down an interaction Charon has instigated but clearly uninterested in a repeat performance.

"This whole world isn't good for you." Her eyes flicker down towards his hands, his ruined rotted skin and oh, that burns more than any bad booze ever could. He puts the drink to his lips and she follows the motion. Charon is living proof of this noxious wasteland, all the evidence she could ever need on constant display. He swallows and the drink tastes bitter.

Eva's glass is empty when he looks again, her lips twisted into a grimace. She pulls in a breath through her nose and exhales slowly, clearly trying to avoid shuddering again. Her expression is sad.

"How long until I feel better?" She traces one pale finger along the rim of her glass.

Charon shrugs. "It depends."

She pours herself a glass this time, tipping in a small amount, hesitating, then adding a splash more.

"On what?" He can feel her eyes on him, burning like the liquor.

"On how well you handle your booze." He glares before she can start any follow up questions. Eva looks away, almost hurt even though by now he'd think she'd be used to it. Inwardly, he groans at himself. How soft is he getting?

"Or on what's making you feel worse." She smiles at that, a crooked dead little thing that almost looks sadder then her frown. Not worth the effort.

A stretch of time passes where they just drink, standing in her kitchen as the world drowns outside.

"I don't like heavy rain." Her voice is soft. She swirls the liquid in her glass, thoughtful. Charon has propped himself back against the wall, the familiar position and smell of alcohol bringing back some unpleasant memories. Sad drunks were Ahzrukhal's bread and butter and it won't be the first time Charon's listened to a sob story spoken into a half empty glass.

"It was raining my first day in Megaton and it was raining the first time I killed someone." She half chuckles, tipping her glass back and forth slowly. "It was the same day actually."

She looks up at Charon, all the sincerity in the world plain on her face. She's had enough by now that her cheeks are a little flushed but her eyes are still clear, still focused. "I mean, I shot people when I had to leave the vault. I had to but it didn't feel real. I just pulled a trigger and then they were bleeding. I didn't even feel the recoil, I was so scared." She tips a little when she turns towards him and he steadies her without thinking. "There was this man in the bar, practically one of the first conversations I had out here and he wanted me to kill everyone here."

Charon quirks an eyebrow at her, though it's more reliant on his facial muscles then any long missing facial hair.

"High expectations."

She frowns slightly, her brows knitting together in frustration. "He wanted me to set off the nuke."

Charon blinks, waits for her to continue. Was this his house? The man she killed?

"I told him I would. I barely even knew how to talk to a stranger yet and there I was making promises." She looks angry, "I think I was just too scared to say no."

Eva leans against the counter as well, sliding down until she's sitting on the floor, empty glass cradled in her lap.

After a moment, Charon gives in. He's been curious about her levels of success, her mysterious luxuries almost as long as he's known her but Eva looks lost in thought, too distressed with ugly memories to notice she still has his attention.

Charon clears his throat. Then, when she doesn't react, he joins her on the floor, stretching his legs out until they are side by side with hers. The comparison is nearly jarring, she looks so small next to him. It's almost hard to believe that this person, this maddening woman that owns him and occupies so much of his thoughts, pushes into his dreams until her presence is nearly larger than life just from her significance in his, all of that can fit in such a tiny package.

"I'm guessing you didn't follow through." The almost joke falls flat and he stares forward, waiting for her response. He nearly jumps when she responds by dropping her head to the side with a thump, resting heavily on his shoulder. She sighs and he can smell the vodka on her breath.

"I followed him out of town. It was raining so hard he didn't notice me until I was almost on him." Eva drops her glass on the floor, watching it rumble around on the wood until it stands flat.

"My gun was pretty much worthless and I'd shot it at a person what, maybe five times?" She laughs, soft and humorless.

"I ended up jumping on his back like I was a kid and it was a game but I had a knife and it wasn't. It's still the most brutal thing I've ever done."

She pulls away, drops her head into her hands. Her eyes are wide open and he can see they've gone watery though she doesn't seem to notice. Her face is blank, staring at something he can't see.

"He was screaming and I was screaming and I don't know how many times I stabbed him, just that by the end I didn't even feel that tightness before the skin gives. It just sank it." Eva grimaces. "Like meat."

Charon waits for more but Eva says nothing, just reaches up for the vodka and takes a swig, straight from the bottle. She shivers and he can feel it, shuddering all down his side like it's his own.

"So, that's my monologue." Eva smirks and it's so full of self-hatred that it almost hurts to look at. She tips the glass over and pushes. Together they watch it slowly roll across the floor, veering slightly to the right and hitting the stairs with a faint 'thunk'.
The rain pours outside but the rest is quiet.

"So, Charon?" Eva is thoughtfully turning the bottle around in her hands.

"When do I start feeling better?"

Charon doesn't know what to say. The bomb is disabled, everyone in the town knows this except for the raving man who worships it. He looks around the house, at the high-end laser rifle by the door and the deactivated Mr. Handy in the corner, waiting for the morning to come. Of all the explanations he tried to find for her wealth, it wasn't this. It wasn't just some terrified vault dweller desperately killing a man in the rain.

Carefully, almost gently, he reaches out for the bottle and pulls it from Eva's grasp. He doesn't bother pushing her away when she moves closer to him, again dropping her head back to his shoulder. She huddles near him like he's safety, a shelter in the storm, pressing with that almost dead weight in a way only the dying or the drunk can do. He can hear her breathing slow into a steady rhythm and he can't tell if she's passed out or just finally fallen asleep.

When will she start to feel better? When will he? When will all of this?

Charon doesn't know.