It took all the power he had not to react when he saw the familiar dark figure enter the bar, looking a little more vibrant than when he had last seen her, but still identifiable as a vaultie. Her skin had lost the pallor of illness she had kept, and her hair seemed to have more sheen, though it had been braided tightly against her scalp in neat rows, cascading down her back to fizzle out shortly above her shoulders.
Her eyes found his the second she stepped into the bar, a small smile flitting across her face for only a brief second before she set herself back to a stoic expression. Ahzrukhal's eyes lit up at the sight of her sitting down at a bar stool, young and naive looking despite her false confidence. His employer was no fool, reading people was his game. Despite whatever facade the Gemma tried to portray, her shoulders were set just a tad too tightly, her jaw deliberately held high and clenched.
There was no sense attempting to listen to their conversation across the bar, particularly because Gemma seemed to be talking primarily with her Pipboy. Ahzruhkhal was unable to understand her sign as easily as the people in Megaton, apparently. He seemed out of his game, unable to read tone or facial expression when looking only at a screen of text. His fingers thrummed across the countertop, a nervous tell in their rhythm. Both subjects of the conversation told a story in the line of their bodies, and Charon did not like what he was seeing.
By the end, both Gemma and Ahzrukhal seemed satisfied. The former a quiet satisfaction, while the latter was positively glowing with malicious energy. His eyes narrowed, and flicked to Charon in his corner, mouth quirking up in a lopsided smile.
He called his bodyguard over with a flick of the wrist, a sign he'd drilled into Charon's vocabulary on the second day of possessing his contract. Containing a groan, the ghoul wandered over and took care not to pass too closely to Gemma, lest he give off some sign of familiarity.
"Charon, my loyal employee! Meet your newest coworker! She's going to be gathering some…. Supplies, for me, I want you to accompany her on her first few runs, to make sure her performance is satisfactory."
Gemma turned to him with a smile, but was quickly cowed by whatever she read in his face. The show must have impressed his employer, because the man laughed and leaned over to clap Charon on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, little lady, he's more bite than bark. But he's a well-trained mutt and he only bites when I tell him to. So long as you and I are good, you and Charon won't have any problems."
Gemma guessed at whatever charade Charon was playing, and managed a weak nod while keeping her eyes wide. Privately, on the corner of her mouth Ahzrukhal couldn't see, her smile turned up the edge of her lips in jest, eyes bright under the dusty lights of the Ninth Circle. Charon growled, and the smile disappeared.
"Now, now, Charon, play nice. You two are going to be working together, after all," Ahzrukhal laughed, delighted.
Gemma snapped her eyes back to Ahzrukhal, and lifted one shoulder in question.
"Yes, yes, you might as well set out now. I'd like this matter resolved as quickly as possible," the bartender said, making a shooing motion with his hands.
Gemma set out without further comment, clutching her pack tightly to her back, fingers white across the strap. She had a limp in her step that hadn't been there the last time Charon had seen her, and there was a scar across the back of her neck, sloping down beneath the material of her leather armor. All things considered, she looked good for a vaultie who had attempted to waltz into downtown DC. Much better than the last smoothskin passing through Underworld had fared.
Charon waited until they were a turn away from the main stairwell, and grabbed her shoulder hard enough to bruise, loosening only at her slight gasp of pain.
"What the hell are you doing here, smoothskin? I didn't make myself clear when I left?"
Gemma shrugged his hand off her shoulder and turned, leaning against the wall with an air of nonchalance, expression soft.
"Ahzrukhal is going to suck you dry and toss you to the ferals, kid, you don't know what you're getting into."
His only reply was a tap on her temple and a circle in the air, a knowing smirk on her face.
"You have a plan? What the fuck are you up to?"
Gemma grinned and leaned in to bump her shoulder against his arm, her smile growing and mischief lighting in her eyes.
"This isn't a game!"
Charon's anger did little to diminish her grin, but she did have the decency to look a little guilty at least.
She circled a finger over her heart, then crossed it and gestured to him then herself, smile turning softer and the curve of her body leaning more into his own.
"That's all you can give me? Just to 'trust you'?"
A resolute nod was the only reply before Gemma turned to lope down the steps, something in her pack jingling as she went.
Far from reassured, Charon followed her closely, watching as she navigated Underworld with apparent ease, stopping into Winthrop's usual hangout.
"Ah, smoothskin! Nice to see you again! You got another haul for me?"
Gemma nodded excitedly, already dropping her pack to dig out a neatly packaged stack of scrap metal, which looked far too large to have comfortably fit inside the now half-collapsed bag.
"Not much luck, huh? That's alright, we all know you don't really need the caps anyway," Winthrop said with a wink, taking the metal and passing back the twine that had tied the pieces together. The twine disappeared into a pocket on the pack, and then Gemma shouldered it once more.
"That's eight pieces, so that's eight caps. Want it now or can I get it to you with your next load?"
Winthrop laughed softly when Gemma slashed a hand through the air and shook her head, giving the handyman a thumbs up.
"Thanks, girl. Add it to my tab, you're a right up gal," he replied.
Gemma nodded, then shot him a finger gun and a wave, shifting the pack on her shoulder and setting back down the hallway they'd come from.
"Take care now!" Winthrop called after them, earning another smile and wave of acknowledgment from the kid before they turned a corner and were out of sight. The main doors loomed before them, and Charon instinctively shifted his shoulder to test the weight of his shotgun. As usual, it was fully loaded.
Gemma fell into step beside him, pulling open one door with a groan from the old wood. The outer museum was considerably darker than the inside of Underworld, the silhouette of the mammoth casting ominous shadows across the ground at their feet.
"Heya Gemma! Heading out again already?"
Charon turned to find Willow waving at them from across the hall, her gun held loosely in her hand. She turned her gaze to him, smile turning harder as she watched them advance closer.
"I see you decided to go ahead with that crazy plan of yours. I don't like it, kid, but I know there's no stopping you. Just promise you'll be careful, alright? Carol would have a warrant on my head if she thinks I let you walk out to your death."
Charon wasn't quite sure what to make of all this information, or the easy familiarity Gemma had apparently already cultivated with the ghouls of Underworld. Willow alone was a hard sell on most smoothskins, having tasked herself with keeping bigots from coming to their city looking for trouble.
He didn't see what sign Gemma made in return, but apparently it was enough to make the ghoulette smile.
"That's the spirit!"
Gemma bid her farewell with a sloppy salute, which Willow returned with a tight one of her own, the formal motion well-rehearsed. They walked away with no further conversation, but Charon felt Willow's eyes on his back until they walked through the outer doors of the museum, and out into the wastes.
Someone had cleared the mutants that normally congregated in front of the buildings crowding the streets, and recently too, judging by the smell of decay still hanging in the air. It was hard to tell without close inspection what exactly had killed most mutants, but blast marks on the ground and a few sliced limbs and heads suggested someone with grenades to spare and some sort of melee weapon. Knowing the weapons most available in the Wastes, Charon could only guess it was a machete.
Despite the lack of apparent danger, Gemma kept her movements to the shadows, cocking her head whenever the wind carried a sound in their direction. Charon's ears weren't as sensitive as they had once been, which he accounted to a lack of actual ear lobes, but he managed to catch most of the sounds that made her grip her gun tightly in its holster. A car explosion, somewhere off in the distance. The growl of a wild dog a few alleys down, which she skirted carefully. It was a stark contrast to the kid he'd met just outside the vault, with her heavy steps and uneven footing. It'd only been a month or so since he'd last seen her, but apparently Gemma had managed to hone her survival skills. It didn't hurt that apparently someone was cleaning up the streets, too. It'd make passage for everyone easier. Perhaps caravans would even pass through Underworld more often because of it, if the team kept their work up.
Falling into step in her shadow seemed natural to Charon, though they'd never technically faced combat together. Most of his employers were right-handed, so covering their left flank was typically the best strategy. But there was no pull of the contract between their bodies, no hidden command to protect at all costs. Ahzrukhal had, in a roundabout way, ordered him to protect her. But the unspoken command was not to allow her to abandon whatever task he'd sent her on.
They wandered for hours without so much as a glance at each other, though Charon kept the kid in his peripheral at all times. Every so often she would tense, stopping momentarily to scope the horizon before continuing on, sometimes directing them to shadows or into a path behind the skeletons of cars.
They were heading in the general direction of Megaton, though not the most direct route. The lack of clear orders was making the base of Charon's skull itch, but there was little he could do if neither Gemma nor Ahzrukhal bothered to inform him of their arrangement. He'd find out regardless when they reached whatever destination Gemma had in mind, but until then, he was in the dark.
They continued down the streets until the buildings of downtown DC were just husks behind them, darkened in the twilight like looming monsters on the horizon. Gemma finally slowed her pace when they neared an old decrepit shack seemingly in the middle of nowhere, thrown together by a group of raiders or a caravan for semi-permanent shelter at one point. The roof was caved in on one part, and the door was nowhere to be found, but the fire pit in front showed signs of frequent use, as well as the footprints etched into the dust around the shack.
Gemma stopped a few feet from the door, scanning the surrounding area before smacking an elbow against the frame, sending something scurrying away. For a moment, Charon braced for attack, but Gemma simply threw her pack down and dropped into a dirty mattress into the corner.
She patted the mattress beside her, eyes on Charon expectantly.
He was loathe to let down his guard in this unfamiliar place, but it seemed quiet enough and the kid obviously frequented this area. Her easy actions spoke of force of habit, of a loose routine she'd formed on previous trips here. For the first time, Charon found himself wishing he had tried to listen to the gossip at the bar, to hear exactly how long she'd been visiting the place before she finally visited the Ninth Circle.
A series of clicks caught his attention, and he lowered himself to the mattress as he watched her type away furiously at her Pipboy, biting absent-mindedly on the inside of her cheek. With a look of exhaustion, she passed her arm to him, awkwardly cradling her left arm across her body in order to steady the screen. Without thinking, Charon caught her wrist and brough the limb closer to him, eyes focused on the green letters that glowed dimly in the dark.
I'm sorry I couldn't find a way to warn you. There was no way to get you away from Ahzrukhal without raising suspicion. I'm doing some "errands" for him collecting caps from people who owe him, but before I tell you anything more, I need to ask. Are you allowed to lie to your employer?
Her earnest eyes were on him, and he released her arm with a heavy sigh.
"No, I cannot."
She nodded sadly, as if she had expected this answer. Her finger found its way to her lips, and she drew an X across her mouth a soft shake of her head.
"If you cannot tell me, answer me this at least, smoothskin. Whatever you are doing, did you think this plan through?"
He expected a grin, or a shrug, some sort of mischievous sign from her. But to his surprise, Gemma's face sombered and she nodded slowly, eyes fast on his. The motion soothed some of his frayed nerves, showing at least that she took this seriously.
This whole situation was fucked ten ways to Hell. He'd never wanted to see her again, have rather kept her as a pleasant memory than to ever see her be the subject of Ahzrukhal's sneer. It seemed she knew about the contract, but he found himself wanting -neeeding- to explain the whole situation to her.
"If Ahzrukhal orders me to hurt or kill you, I will have no choice but to do as he asks. Do you understand the nature of my contract? I cannot refuse an order made in combat, and will give my life to protect that of my employer."
The words were hard to force out. Truthfully, it was odd to be talking to this extent after so long of being a mindless attack dog. His voice was rougher than usual, parched as he was from his days in the bar and their long walk through the dusty wastes.
Gemma nodded once more, a look of understanding on her face. She reached out a hand towards him slowly, giving him ample time to duck out of its path before her fingers found his shoulder, and squeezed softly through his worn armor. The contact lasted only a few seconds before she dropped her hand, using her left to cross her heart again and point towards him. Charon couldn't help but tense at the gesture.
"You shouldn't trust me, kid. That's my point."
Her hand went back to her heart, laying flat over her armor for a moment before she motioned outwards again, palm down as though smoothing wrinkles from a sheet, or stroking an animal. Her eyes sparked confidently as her hand dropped gently into her lap, fingers relaxed.
"If you say so, smoothskin."
A firm nod marked the end of their conversation, and she leaned forward to drag her pack closer to her, rummaging around in the innermost pocket before dropping a bottle of water and what appeared to be dried molerat meat into his lap. She leaned against the wall with a clone of his meal in her own lap, and a box of snack cakes between them.
"I'm alright. Save your food," Charon argued, trying to pass the meat back to her. But she frowned and shook her head vigorously, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and pushing his extended hand back into his torso. A quick look to her face told him that there was no point arguing, he'd learned in their brief stint as roommates that there was no point in arguing with her.
They ate in companionable silence, both of their guns in easy reach of their legs, taking turns pulling smashed cakes from the box between them and scraping the mess off the wrappers with their teeth. Charon had barely swallowed the last sip of water from his bottle before she was pressing a new one into his hand, concern written in her face.
"No, kid, I can't drink all your water."
Gemma gave him a look of exasperation and popped the top off the bottle, holding it out once more, gesturing between the bottle and the exposed flesh of his forearm.
"Can't find any water that isn't irradiated?" Charon asked, finally accepting the bottle and swigging it back. He'd missed it in the first bottle, but there was the slight tingle of radiation just as she'd pointed out. There was no sense saving this water, any wanderer with a pot and access to the river could boil a batch of irradiated drinking water.
She gave him a one-shouldered shrug and knocked back another sip of her own water. When there were only a few sips left in the bottle, she pulled a dingy bottle from the side pocket of her pack, snagging out a scrap of bandage before popping a pill into her mouth. A cringe was enough to tell him that the taste was bitter, before she drained her bottle with a grimace. Between the shape of the pill and the obvious bitter taste, he could only assume she had swallowed a Radaway tablet.
After taking a moment to return the rest of the snack cakes and the bottles to her pack, Gemma gave him a warm smile before dropping carefully onto the mattress in full, pressed against the wall with a machete stuck in the crack at her side, ensuring there was plenty of room for him to stretch out beside her. Charon knew her too well to not understand this silent invitation, but he had no intention of resting in an unprotected location. He shifted down the mattress until he was just below her feet, and leaned against the wall, shotgun draped across his lap. His vigilance was rewarded with another exasperated sigh, but the kid still curled her feet closer to her, to leave him more room to rest against the wall. Before long, her breathing evened out and her hand loosened around the hilt of her machete, fingers dropping an inch down its smooth surface.
No stranger to long watches, Charon settled in for a long night, watching the stars through the hole in the roof. A sudden movement at his side caused him to stiffen, but it was only Gemma stretching out in her sleep. Socked feet burrowed under his thigh, leading him to absently wonder when the hell she had taken her shoes off. He almost shoved her legs away, but the contented huff she gave at burying her feet under the warmth of his backside wiped those thoughts from his mind.
"Fine, smoothskin, have it your way," he muttered under his breath, the corners of his lips curling minutely.
The hours passed pleasantly enough. Gemma no longer moved aside from a few small twitches, fingers never fully leaving the hilt of her blade.
At some point after the moon was no longer visible through the hole in the roof or the open doorway, Gemma woke with an obnoxiously long yawn and sat up like some unseen force was slowly pulling her into position. Her eyes were still heavy, but still she pulled her feet out from beneath him with a sheepish look and waved her flat hand over the surface of the bed insistently, pulling out of place with her machete pressed close to her hip.
"I need to keep watch," Charon said, knowing full well what her reply would be.
Gemma fisted one hand on her hip, and used the other to point at the mattress, rising on her knees to crowd him away from the foot of the bed.
A part of Charon still wanted to refuse. He didn't split watches, not trusting his companions enough to keep him safe if danger approached. But he recalled blacking out in a raider camp, and waking up in a doctor's clinic with her at his bedside, miles from where he had fallen. The trust between then spanned long silences spent in her living room, in her sharing food and water with him with relentless insistence, in wandering into Underworld with unknown intent but somehow reassuring him despite the vagueness of her "plan". The peace between them didn't come from a contract, and somehow that made all the difference.
True to character, he shot her a glare as he stretched out on the mattress, feet hanging off the edge in his worn boots. Gemma gave him a second to get comfortable, and then leaned against the wall over his feet, sitting far enough forward to give his legs enough room between her and the wall. Her warmth pressed against his legs felt good against the cold night air, and he could no longer fault her for unconsciously seeking warmth in her sleep.
"Goodnight, kid," he grumbled, turning into the wall with nothing but a fresh-from-the-vault teenager between him and the dangers of the wasteland.
Strangely, it was the best sleep he'd had in weeks.