Tonight's dream is calm. Eva is pressed into her usual corner of the couch, feet tucked away and fiddling with her pip-boy. Charon can hear the Mister Handy cleaning upstairs, the whir of its fans almost soothing as it drifts down the stairs to mingle with Eva's quieted radio.
It feels domestic, sweet.
He joins her on the couch, curls around her like it's second nature. She shifts to lean into him, rests her head on his shoulder, eyes still fixed on the pip-boy screen. He doesn't understand why she looks so focused, the screen is nothing but static.
"I don't know where we are." She's biting her lip in frustration while she twists the dial, hard enough to break the skin. Two drops of blood hit the screen, bleed through the glass, staining the static. She tries to whip it away but the glass cracks, suddenly old and tarnished, the face of a broken clock.
Upstairs, Charon hears the Mister Handy start to tick.
"The map isn't working, Charon." Eva says his name like a question, lilting up and fading into more static. She tilts her head towards him, mouth twisting, still bleeding. Her eyes are nothing but dark holes. Gaping. Empty.
Charon saw it coming, knew deep down what he would see when he looked at her.
He strokes her cheek gently, suddenly so incredibly sad. Not disgusted or horrified, just painful, heavy sadness. Carefully, he pulls her closer, tucks her blind eyes against his chest, runs his fingers through her hair. He tries to hush her when she starts to cry, sharp jolting sobs into his chest, but his voice is nothing but the whisper of spinning fans.
"No matter what I do, I can't make it work." Eva's fingers knot in his shirt, split the fabric, dig into his flesh. Behind him, the Mister Handy gasps in pain.
"I don't know where I am." She's trembling now, first just light tremors and then violent, shuddering like she's going to pieces. He holds her tighter, presses a dry crackling kiss into her hair. It tastes like ash, falls away beneath his lips. He knows what's coming, can feel it in his very core, but it still hurts when she shatters. There is no gore this time, nothing but broken bone, dry and sharp, shards digging into his throat, his hands.
Charon is alone on the couch, surrounded by pieces of her, fragments. He picks up the pip-boy, turns it in his hands until he can see the screen. The static grows brighter, louder. It sparks, a perfect burst of dazzling white. The screen goes black.
…
The dream stays with him through the morning. The breeze is a whirring fan, the crunch of sand under boots as rough as bone against bone. Lo drums her fingers as she plots their route. It fades into a steady ticking.
Kay sits beside him and pops a Nuka cola against her boot, the sizzle the same tone of a sputtering screen. He looks away, doesn't want to dwell on it. Dreaming about Eva always leaves him vulnerable and Lo can spot it in an instant. It's best if he can just push it from his mind, push her from his mind.
Instead, he focuses on the horizon, tries not to notice the last few wisps of sunrise lingering in the clouds. He lets his eyes glaze over, the world blur into nothing.
He's facing the outskirts of camp so he doesn't see Kay's head explode.
He feels it.
Warmth splatters the back of his neck, sticky and horribly familiar. He whips around just in time to see Kay hit the ground. Half of her face is gone, her jaw hanging crooked, snapped by the force of the bullet. The rest is nothing but a mess of gore spilling out onto the dirt beneath her.
Behind him, Lo snarls. The others are stumbling to their feet, grabbing for their weapons as they eye their surroundings. Most of the area is flat but there are vast hills to the east, covered with just enough dry brush and stunted trees to easily hide a sniper. Dee and Voge rush towards the corpse, Dee is crying, wailing beside her, but Voge has gone still, clutching at Kay's hand. Charon can see the muscles in their back tense, knows the scream is coming before it rips out of them, pure agony.
Charon doesn't bother to move. Kay's blood is drying on his skin, slowly growing cold in the still chilly morning air. A week ago, he may have relished the sensation but now it's just unpleasant. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, stares at the deep red seeping into the cracks in his skin. Disgusting.
Lo is gathering her people, shouting orders to search the perimeter but pauses when she notices his lack of reaction. Her eyes go cold.
"You." She storms over, slipping a switch blade from a pocket in one fluid motion.
"Did you know anything about this?" Her already deep voice is low, scratching out of her with bared claws.
Charon stares her down, notes the tick under her left eye, the way her fist tightens around the handle of a knife she slips from a pocket without a thought, second nature. She knows just as well as he does that she can't use that knife without losing her favorite new possession but Lo looks unhinged. The entire time he's been with her party, no one has died. A few have come close, Samson seems to make a habit of it, but she hasn't lost a single member. The raw fury rippling through her body is telling.
Maybe the intense loyalty the others feel for her isn't one sided after all.
Charon doesn't answer, dares her to attack. Just one cut and he can fight back. His contract will be up for grabs after Lo is dead, there's no way he's escaping this caravan today, but damn would it feel good to watch her die. She's seething but he just stares her down. Slowly, trying not to hope, he grins.
There's no actual pleasure behind it, the corpse at his feet is just one of eight he wants dead, but he knows it's just the thing to send her over the edge. Lo taunts with smiles, grins like she knows when and how you'll die just by looking at you. It's her favorite intimidation technique and having it reflected back at her? She just might snap.
"You…" She hisses, throws the blade hard enough to embed it deep in the wood to the left of his thigh.
"You are going to go out and find whoever shot Kay and you will bring. It. Back." She stalks towards him until he's forced to crane his neck to maintain eye contact. Every muscle in her body is tense and Charon can feel just how close he came to having that knife buried in his throat. It's surprising how little the thought frightens him.
Lo looks furious that she has to restrain herself, hands working at her sides like she's struggling not to reach for another weapon. Charon's grin widens, daring her, but she just steps back, a snarl low in her throat and gestures at Jess to search the north side of the hills.
"What if I can't find them?" Even as he asks her, he's standing and reaching for his gun. The contract is struggling with him but it was an endless order, if he never locates the sniper then he can never stop searching. He has had experience with endless orders before and he knows to avoid them when he can. They are a special kind of Hell.
Lo glares, perfectly aware of the slip and clearly wanting to let him suffer. She grinds her teeth, looks away.
"If you don't find It by tonight, come back to camp. Immediately." She spins, pointing one callused finger to his chest. "But you fucking try. Nothing is to slow or impede your search. Got it?" She spits the question, teeth bared, almost feral.
Charon blinks, steels the disinterested expression he wears so well back into place. "Got it."
He hitches his rifle onto his shoulder and turns towards the hill, stepping over the slumped corpse just to rub dirt in the wound. Dee is quiet now, brushing a bloodied lock of hair off of the half of Kay's face that is still intact. Voge glares at his side, watches
Charon with pure hate when his boot deliberately crunches down on a chunk of Kay's skull.
Most of the company doesn't know what to think of him but it's clear he's made at least one enemy today. Charon doesn't acknowledge the stare, just grinds his heel harder into the dirt and moves on. The air is starting to warm, the morning sun baking heat into the already dry earth. His contract is burning in the back of his skull, tugging him forward, tightening his grip on his shotgun, dragging his eyes across the horizon.
Charon couldn't care less who shot Kay but his orders do.
…
The hills are sparse when he finally reaches them. Several long-abandoned mole rat dens cut through the first few, the old occupants having chewed their way through both the earth and the foliage. Charon nudges one of the fresher mounds with the barrel of his gun but nothing emerges. Molerat are territorial and he'd rather fight them now then have them become aware of him once his back is turned. The top of the mound crumbles but after a beat, with no response, he moves on.
He traces his way through the hills, checks every divot, behind every bush, but finds nothing. Finally, two hours into his search, he stumbles onto an abandoned campsite hidden between two large boulders. There's no fire, unless the shooter was completely oblivious to the danger just ahead of them they wouldn't have risked a smoke trail, but there's remnants of a meal. A half-eaten can of Pork n' Beans lays on its side next to a dented tin cup filled with still damp herbs.
He stays bent over that cup for as long as Lo's orders allow, pulling deep slow breaths in and out as he tries to push a very specific night from his mind. The image of an almost kiss, budding attraction and misinterpreting signals, it seems so unrealistically romanticized. He's starting to wonder how such a different section of his life even came to be.
Charon stands, contract pushing him onward. Someday, years from now, he's certain Eva will seem like some strange dream, a fantasy he made up to escape from the empty stretch of these endless years. If it wasn't for Lo, he'd like to enjoy the time while she still exists in reality but, with an employer on the hunt for any hint of weakness, her fading away can only help.
Still, even knowing it would be best if Eva just became something out of an old dream, Charon is careful not to tip the cup as he passes by.
…
Evening comes quickly enough without any more signs of the sniper. The order has been building up, getting urgent as the day goes on, pushing first logic and then basic thought from his mind. Once night hits, it's like a curse breaking. The blinding drive disappears, released by Lo's reluctant stipulation. Charon nearly falls, knees going weak at the sudden relief. The pounding in his head, the heat prickling his skin, burning needles in his joints, the agony of motion that somehow grow worse with inactivity, it all vanishes.
He sighs, turns to make his way back to the campsite just in time to see a figure dart into a small patch of trees.
For a moment, Charon freezes, his specific instructions burning in the front of his mind but it's night so he's free to ignore the shadowy presence still hesitating behind the grove. They don't move, hidden mostly by a larger tree trunk but he can just see the hint of something peeking around to watch him.
He should go, has to go but he slows his walk as much as possible, makes his way by the trees as closely as he dares, not wanting to scare off whoever is watching him. When he's close enough to hear the faint snap of a twig as the sniper shifts, the restrained gasps of attempting to quiet heavy breathing, he risks it.
"They're slavers." He hisses it as loud as he dares, hoping no one in the camp has come looking for him. Lo may not be able to hurt him but her sadism is creative, she could find another way to get revenge if she finds out what he's about to say.
"They are heading for a small settlement north of here by about two days." The figure doesn't respond but they don't try to run either so it's good enough. He's still walking, can't stop and it's clear he'll be out of ears reach soon. He raises his voice, reckless
but willing to take the risk.
"They have a fortune in caps. Even more in chems." The person in the grove leans slightly after his voice, clearly straining to catch every word.
"If you attack, kill them all." The orders are pulling, rebelling at his slow pace. He manages one last sentence before he's too far away to stay discreet.
"I will do everything in my power to help."
The figure nods, nearly imperceivably, and turns, sprinting away on silent feet.
…
By the time Charon makes it back to camp, it's completely dark. A fire has been lit in the center, large and crackling, but the seven figures surrounding it are subdued. Kay's body has been removed and dirt has been kicked over a majority of the blood stains where she fell. He can see Lo, standing closest to the fire, strong square features highlighted by the flickering light. When she spots him, she turns, striding forward with all the calm grace of a deathclaw stalking its prey.
"You come back empty handed." She 'tsks' quietly, like he's a child who's failed to follow instructions. Once she's just in front of him, she stops. She is close enough to count her scars, smell the campfire smoke already imbedded in her clothes.
"You were awfully disappointing today, Charon." She isn't smiling, isn't playing. It's the most serious he's ever seen her and it's terrifying.
"I got a little mad at you today but you and I both know where that knife was headed." Without her habitual smile, Lo's eyes go dead, cold and unseeing.
"I can't hurt you. I would never hurt you." She lifts a hand to stroke his cheek, emphasizing 'never' as her calluses catch on his pocked skin.
"I wouldn't want to lose my favorite new toy." Behind her, Dee and Voge step forwards. Dee's grieving has faded, replaced with a hatred mirrored on Voge's face.
"But I can't speak for everyone. We all lost someone today but these two?" She shakes her head, for the first time her flair for showmanship showing through her mournful veneer. "I don't think these two have ever been just a pair."
Lo turns to them, points at both Voge and Dee in turn.
"You do not have permission to hurt my new favorite." She looks back to Charon, her usual smile subtle but back in place.
"See Charon?" In the shadows, she is nothing but eyes and teeth, glinting white in the moonlight. "I watch out for my own."
She pats his shoulder as she steps by him, heading away from the fire and towards her personal tent.
"Good night."
Charon can hear her footsteps, the soft swish of her tent flap closing behind her, just as Voge's fist slams into his gut.