Charon's armor looked new, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.
Sadie had fixed it up by hand. She'd washed off layers of grime, buffed out the scratches, replaced clasps and broken hinges and countless other markers of neglect. He didn't ask her to, but she'd gone and done it anyway. She stood a few feet away, watching, as he put the last few pieces on.
"So, what do you think?"
Charon fiddled with a strap, cinching it against his skin. The armor didn't quite fit now that she'd swapped out some odds and ends, but that wasn't the problem. Something else irked him, a jolt of discomfort, and he couldn't put a name to it.
"I thought you deserved something nice," she said. "I thought about buying you a whole new set, but this suited you so well... So..."
She trailed off, and when he said nothing in return, she chewed her lip, waiting. Sadie had a habit of looking him in the face, and as always, the longer she stared, the more exposed he felt. Charon realized all too late that he'd been scowling.
"Was that okay?" she said. "That I messed with your things? I thought you wouldn't mind, but it's fine if... If you'd rather I hadn't."
"It is alright."
She frowned skeptically, then looked away, her arms crossed tight.
"Are you sure?"
He wasn't, but he nodded anyway. He could sense her agitation, and he didn't want to make it worse. She never lashed out at him, never raised her voice. She never even came close, yet he found himself bracing for it all the same.
"Fuck," she breathed. She scraped a hand across her head and paced to the side. "You know... I... I probably should have asked first."
She turned toward him. Charon startled and took a step back. Perhaps it was the width of her stride, the suddenness of it, that spurred him. Perhaps it was just dumb instinct. In any case, it wasn't warranted, and he wished immediately that he could take it back.
Sadie froze, at first rigid with surprise. Then, her shoulders sank, her face contorting with a pained acknowledgement.
"Shit," she said. Her voice cracked, falling to a hoarse murmur. "I'm sorry. I'll take it down a notch."
She backed away, then plunked down at her workbench, rubbing her face with her hands. Charon felt a hot flush of shame. Sadie wore her frustration on her sleeve, she always did. But she never let it get the best of her. He knew that. He knew her.
"Please," he said. "Do not worry about it."
Sadie pressed her lips together, staring at the wall, then gave him a weak smile.
"You know I'm not great at that. But I'll try."
She reached for her favorite rifle, where she'd propped it against the workbench, and laid it across her knees. She fiddled with it for quite some time. Charon sank into the armchair nearby, at a loss for what to do. He settled for taking stock of his ammunition, picking through shells and sorting them into piles. It was a mindless task, and it didn't make the silence between them any more bearable.
"It... It must have been like that a long time," she said at last. "Your armor, I mean."
She spoke in a half-whisper, breaking the silence as gently as she could. Charon hesitated. It wasn't a question, but he felt compelled to answer anyway.
"Yes," he replied. "As long as I can remember."
Sadie drew in a sharp breath, as if she had something else to say. Charon glanced up at her. He expected to meet her eyes, expected her to speak, but she didn't. She frowned at the gun in her lap, cradling it, polishing the stock with a needlepoint stare reserved only for moments of extreme care.
She ran her fingers along it, tracing the surface and searching for imperfections. She'd done the same with his armor. Charon shifted, suddenly aware of how intimate a gesture it was. This collection of straps and buckles was as much a part of him as his contract, the only possession aside from his shotgun that truly mattered to him.
He ran his hand over the plate on his shoulder, unsettled by how smooth it felt to the touch. He'd memorized the flaws she'd stripped from the surface. Little pits chronicled every cigarette Ahzrukhal ashed on the leather, every despicable order Charon had no choice but to follow. Each gash, each bullet hole, reminded him that he was disposable. In one simple gesture, Sadie had done away with all that. The abruptness of it stung.
Charon looked at Sadie. She was so often the source of this wrenching feeling, this sense of being torn in two. She saw the weight of his past on his shoulders. She wanted to relieve him of it. And despite everything she'd done for him, he wasn't quite ready to let it go.
Sadie sat beside him at Gob's Saloon that night, staring into her drink with a more dour expression than usual. They stayed like that for a while, until the quiet between them chafed just a little too much.
"I'll be back," she said. "I'm going to talk to Nova."
She made her way across the bar, shooting a furtive glance at Gob before turning her back. Sadie did this often, when she felt Charon needed some space. She'd sensed some camaraderie between him and Gob, and made a point not to tread on it.
When Sadie stepped out of earshot, Gob walked up and leaned in on his elbows. Charon looked forward to these moments, found comfort in them. The time he spent with Gob wasn't nearly as fraught.
"You look spiffy," Gob said. "Finally feel like fixing yourself up a bit?"
"Sadie did it."
Gob stepped back and crossed his arms.
"Please tell me you said thank you."
Charon sighed. He didn't know how to explain any of it, so he settled for the simplest version of the truth.
"I was... not sure what to say," he said haltingly.
Gob rolled his eyes, and Charon grimaced.
"No surprise there," Gob said. He looked at the table by the stairs, where Sadie sat with Nova, their conversation a mystery. "Well. That explains the brooding, I guess."
Charon scowled and scratched at some dried up gunk on the bar top, thinking. Gob never hesitated to point out Charon's shortcomings, though he'd stopped short of telling him what he did wrong. He'd taken to letting Charon fill the silence, let him sort out the answers for himself.
"You think..." Charon began. "You think I should do something for her. In return."
"Wrong," Gob said flatly. "She's not that kind of person. She doesn't want anything from you. Try again."
Charon grit his teeth and bit back a growl. He still couldn't see things the way Gob did. There were too many twists and turns, too many situations he thought he understood until the last possible second. After a moment, Gob's expression softened, and he leaned in again.
"Alright," he conceded. "I'll give you a freebie, this time, since it's not really that simple. She's being nice to you for a reason. She wants you to trust her. She wants you to like her."
"I do."
"Then tell her," Gob said. He jabbed his index finger on the bar top for emphasis. "Tell her until you've hammered that into her brain, please. I've never seen her fret so much about anything in years."
He straightened up, turning as a few customers approached the bar, then looked back at Charon one last time.
"I'd like my friend back, preferably without the stick up her ass," he said. "So do us all a favor, and say it out loud."
With Gob busy and little else to distract him, Charon puzzled over it. He didn't think something this obvious needed saying. Sadie had to know by now. He had every reason to feel grateful, every reason to trust her. But separating reason from instinct was simpler when she wasn't next to him. And she always picked up on his tension when they were alone, noticed every twitch in his posture that he couldn't control.
He worked up the courage to look her way. She'd been staring at him, and when he caught her eye, she glanced back at Nova. After a moment, she stood and made her way to the door. Sadie paused halfway and looked back at Charon, a silent question on her face. It was a request for his company, a quiet ritual he'd come to expect on nights like these. He gave her a soft nod in reply and followed suit.
She held the door for him, waiting. He didn't realize how oppressive the saloon felt until he stood out on the balcony with her, the door shut behind them. The cool air and the quiet was a welcome change. Sadie pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She handed him one, lit it for him, her hands cupped close to shield the flame from the breeze. She lit her own before he could return the favor, a small but defiant act of chivalry.
Charon settled against the railing, but Sadie stayed rigid, staring over the balcony at the crater below.
"You'd tell me, right?" she said. "If I really crossed the line?"
Charon balked. He didn't expect such a pointed question. He tried to read her stormy expression, but his eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dark.
"I am not certain what you mean," he said hesitantly.
Sadie sighed.
"If... If I did something you didn't like," she said. "If I... Overstepped. If I made you uncomfortable."
She closed her eyes, waited for him to speak. He stole a glance at her, as he often did, as if examining her might reveal something he'd missed, something more sinister he'd foolishly managed to overlook. He never found it. She was all sinewy muscle and battle scars, her expression severe. But behind that was a softness, a painful sincerity he'd sensed from the very beginning.
"I often feel uncomfortable," he admitted, at last. "With you. With... this."
She furrowed her brow and took a drag off her cigarette.
"What can I do to fix that?" she asked.
"Nothing. I think this feeling is... necessary."
Sadie looked up at him, taken aback.
"What do you mean?"
"I am... In debt to you. For everything."
As quickly as she looked at him, she turned away. She flicked her cigarette hard, her expression darkening.
"No," she said quietly. "You're not. You don't owe me a damn thing."
Charon put both hands on the railing, steeling himself. Sadie was typically stern no matter the circumstance, but this time, he felt he'd said something wrong.
"I meant... I meant I am grateful," he said.
"That's what I'm afraid of."
She drew in a sharp breath, as if he'd twisted her arm. Charon gripped the railing tighter.
"I worry," she said. An edge made its way back into her voice, a hint of frustration that made her speak louder and faster with every word. "I worry that you won't say what you want. That you won't tell me what you need, because you think I've already done enough for you. You think you have to suck it up. And that's not fair. You're my friend, Charon. You have to-"
She cut herself off. Sadie still struggled with those too-direct phrases, the kind that snatched Charon's agency away. She drew in a breath, steadying herself for a moment.
"I wish," she said quietly, "That you would be honest with me."
"I am trying."
She bit her lip and said nothing. Charon knew she wanted to talk, but she'd stopped herself deliberately. She'd given him a chance to keep speaking, and he forced himself to dredge up the words.
"I trust you," he said. "More than anyone I have known. I am more comfortable... than I have ever been."
She relaxed, if only a little.
"I'm... I'm glad," she said. "But... I want you to be happy. Actually happy. Not... Happy on a relative scale."
"I am happy with what I know," he said. "You are kind to me. You are good to me. And I am... getting used to it."
She took another drag, then sighed, letting out a big cloud of smoke. Then, she reached out to where he gripped the railing and placed her hand on his. Charon blinked at her as she lifted his hand from the railing. It felt odd - she'd reached out to him before, touched him before, but nothing more than a brush on the arm or a brief hand on the shoulder. Gently, tentatively, she weaved her fingers between his. Her hand felt rough. Her knuckles were dark with scars from old fistfights, her fingers all calluses and cuts. The only thing free of blemishes between the two of them was the bracer strapped tight to his arm.
Perhaps Sadie had given him something he didn't know to ask for. He was grateful that his armor didn't remind him to pull back, grateful that these pieces of leather and canvas didn't contradict his decision to trust. She'd given him a little bit of freedom, a way to move forward, if he could just muster up the courage.
"Is this alright with you?" she asked.
She looked up at him, and he gripped her hand tighter. He found her proximity comforting, the brush of her hand against his a welcome warmth. That sensation kept him in the present, kept him from thinking too hard, kept him from dwelling too much on what used to be.
"Yes," he said. "It is."
A/n: Thanks for reading! Your feedback makes my day, so I'd love to hear what you all think of each chapter and each new development. And as always, constructive criticism is welcome, especially when it comes to syntax/writing style and pacing in general. Thank you all for taking the time to r/r :)