It was a white-hot knife thrust firmly in her ribcage, dewing sweat like rain from her skin and pounding her heart a mile a minute. The anxiety rose up, and just as quickly came crashing back down, jolting her from bed as though it were swallowing her whole. Evelyn whimpered in anguish, frantically looking around the unfamiliar room for any semblance it was nothing more than a dream. Her hands shook and her blood boiled; her body quivered; her skin was pasty and moist. She nearly fell to the floor as she began to regain some reality around herself. Her boot laces were left untied and they flapped around her legs as she scurried from the room, hugging her chest tightly as she wandered down the halls.

It was just a dream. It's not real. It's not the end. Go back to bed-

These were the things she would replay through her mind on an endless loop when everything was crashing at her feet. When the nightmares of ferals would consume her flesh behind their gnashing teeth and hollowed eyes. When the dreams of the world undergoing a second atomic flame broiled the meat on her bones and spurted her eyes from their sockets. When she was drowning in a sea of blood trying to swim amidst the headless corpses, only to rise up to a cave in of rocks just as she reached the surface.

"Hey."

She spun around, as frightened as an animal of prey at the sound.

Can held his hands up, a lopsided smile uneasily taking form on his face. "You- uh, you okay?"

She merely shook her head and sniffled.

"You looking for Cross?"

Now she wildly nodded.

"He's down below…you want me to take you to him?"

"Yes please," she blubbered.

They stepped inside the elevator, and when the doors closed and the lights flickered, she felt a new sheen of sweat bead on her forehead and her stomach began to clench. She nearly dashed out when they reached the basement level, and Can pointed to the open doorway on the far end.

The low voices abruptly ended the moment she began to race down the corridor, her boots splashing through small puddles of cold water and her breath hitching in her chest. Charon peered his head around the corner, somewhat aggravated at being interrupted, but the sight of her state of panic made him fully exit the room.

"What is wrong?" he rasped. He gripped her by the shoulders, halting her advancement. A few fingers tucked underneath her chin and slightly elevated it for a better picture of her face. "You are shaking, are you hurt?"

"N-no-" she began, and the merc immediately appeared beside them. Her fingers tightened around him with painful pressure, but he didn't seem to take any notice. "Are you coming to bed?"

Cross kissed her damp brow and exchanged a discreet look with the other ghoul. "Yeah, I'm comin'." He took in the sight of her shiny flushed skin, the way his oversized t-shirt was damp and sticky to the touch, clinging to her curves like a groping hand.

He's the reason you came here.

She was tumbling, spiraling down a black hole. It crashed at her hands and knees; she didn't realize she had momentarily fainted until she opened her eyes.

"This is not normal." Charon widened her eyelids with his index finger and thumb.

The merc was rotating her face around, the grave lines of apprehension buried deep in his forehead and wrinkled around his eyes. "Hey, you alright?"

"No," she croaked, and she tore her head down to cough into a hand. "There's too much I don't remember-"

"She needs a doctor," Charon rasped firmly.

"Ya have any suggestions?" Cross snapped.

"No, I'm fine," she said faintly, but they seemed to ignore her protest as they bickered amongst themselves. She pressed her palms against the sides of the merc's face, swiveling him back around to look at her. "I need to know. I need to know what's going on."

Cross hesitated, his shoulders slumping.

"That can be dangerous," Charon refuted.

"He's right," Cross added quickly. "Baby, tell us what's wrong."

She grit her teeth and screwed her eyes shut. "I don't know what's wrong- there's so many faces, I don't know who-"

"Describe 'em."

A pained whine escaped her lips as she tried to remember. "I…I can't-" A trickle of something wet dripped down her chin. Cross removed her canine from sinking further down into her bloody lip.

"Open your eyes, look at me baby," he murmured. When she did, the entire world seemed to fade away, outshined by the glow of his skin. "It's too soon, alright? Let's give it some time, like ya said, let's give it time, okay?"

She nodded, and he released the exhale he had kept withdrawn.

"C'mere." He picked her up and held onto her tightly. "Aw baby, you're good."

She was still violently quivering, and she buried her head into his neck to smother everything away. "I feel so scared. I can't stop."

Charon tapped the merc on the bicep, holding his arms out for her. "Give her to me. I know what she needs."

"I'm your host, Travis 'Lonely' Miles, and this is…Diamond City Radio."

A fresh stream of warm water was poured over her hair and down her spine.

"How do you feel?" Charon rasped, setting the bucket to the side. He sat back down on his creaky stool, dipping a hand inside to gauge the temperature himself.

"…I didn't think you really noticed, before," she admitted quietly, crossing her arms over the lip of the tub and staring up at him. A warm bath (if the wasteland permitted) and some soothing tunes from her Pip-Boy were always her go-to after a rather traumatic sequence of dreams. "I guess I went through a lot with you, back then."

"It is my duty to know these things," he said matter-of-factly.

She lowered herself down to where the water met her chin. "My duty," she groveled.

Charon snorted, leaning forward and resting his elbows across his knees. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

"Have they been occurring often, since you…" He struggled for a moment to find the right words. "…woke up?"

"They're getting worse," she whispered, almost to herself. "They make it feel like the world is ending, and no one but me knows it."

"The world ended a long time ago," he groused.

She came to the side of the tub again, peering at him with wide eyes. "…what was it like? Do you…remember?"

The ghoul sat upright and crossed his arms in a relaxed stance. "No. I do not." A partial lie, but the tidbits that had been imprinted on his brain were things he never wished to share. "How do you feel?"

Another shrug. "Better." She jutted her chin to the radio he had brought in, the disc jockey's voice akin to white noise. "What's Boston like?"

"It is…" Charon paused. "Crowded."

"What's Diamond City?"

The ghoul shifted his legs out in a stretch. "It is a sizeable settlement. I think you would enjoy it."

"Why do you say that?" She wore a faint smile and lipped at a strand of wet hair.

Charon uneasily shifted his weight and lowered his gaze.

"I didn't know you could get flustered," she teased, her lips pulled back in a grin. "It's so cute!"

"I do not get flustered," he snapped, his deathly serious tone slapping any and all unease away.

The folding screen slid open, interrupting their private moment.

"Okay, most of these should fit ya." The merc dumped a pile of wrinkly clothes near the foot of the tub.

Evelyn reached over, her fingertips gingerly picking up the first article. It was huge. "How fat do you think I am?!"

"That one's obviously mine." He snatched it from her, shaking dust into the air. "And I said most, Christ." ...he liked it when she wore his clothes.

A lacey nightgown of faded red silk was held up next, and she shuffled the straps to make it dance. "Business a little slow?"

Cross furrowed his brow muscles, and Charon held a gloved hand out for the item.

"I am assuming you went through Lydia's things," the ferryman observed dryly.

Evelyn blinked at the scandalous piece of cloth now being set to the side. She couldn't imagine the young woman from what seemed like yesterday wearing something like that.

The merc took ahold of it, and closed one eye as he held it up in the air. "Yeah, we're keepin' this one."

"Ew, no!" she argued, sloshing water around the tub as she sat on her heels. "I don't know who's been wearing that! Or what's on it!"

Cross sniffed it, and shrugged after serious consideration. "Smells fine…don't give me that fuckin' look. It ain't no different from the clothes you're wearin' now and whatever John Shmuck came before ya."

"Then you wear it!"

He narrowed his eyes. "How's the water?"

The question caught her off guard, and she warily looked at Charon. "F-fine."

Cross grunted, and there was a loud zip as he undid his pants. "Scoot over."

A loud sigh exhaled from Charon's lips at the ensued antics of Cross ludicrously squeezing his large frame in beside her, splashing great wakes of water onto the floor. The ferryman stood and grabbed his shotgun, secretly relieved her mood had considerably improved. The merc twisted a dial on the radio, Billy Ward and the Dominos blaring with her laughter.

"I'm a sixty minute man!"

The folding screen was reclosed, granting them some minimal privacy despite the multitude of holes. The audible sound of kissing and her light moaning followed him out of the small department store, and he could only imagine the merc's hands running along the sides of her skin, pinching her nipples and fingering her slowly. It was what he wanted to do, rather than be stepping foot inside his own workspace and finally changing from his dampened clothes.

His armor was hung to dry on a decapitated mannequin in the corner; his weapon was set on a stand to later be deconstructed, examined, and reassembled. Everything was as he left it…including the unopened whisky bottle sitting on a high shelf.

The bottle felt heavy in his palms; he uncorked it and caught a whiff of the captivating aroma, the saliva already lacing across his tongue in anticipation for a drink. A growl began to rise from his chest, and with a snarl, he slammed it down on a workbench table, the lone effort more taxing than he ever realized.

I'll stop when you do.

He didn't need it anymore…there were no more ghosts to be kept at bay, no more past regrets…he had to let them go, even Underworld…it was enough to bury any sort of decent man, but Charon wasn't decent, and he sure as hell wasn't a man. He was a breathing, killing machine of pure destruction and chaotic order, and that was something he had learned to live with a long time ago.

The bottle was back in his hand, and he blinked at it. What could one drink-

Crash!

The clear glass shattered in a glittering display as it was smashed against the wall, and the strong pang of regret fused with satisfaction as he watched the trickle of wasted liquid pool on the floor.

"They call me, lovin' Dan!" The merc's garbled singing voice belted down the hallway, a loud slap of his palm against her ass adding percussion to his tune. "Then you holler, please don't stop!"

He adjusted her weight over his shoulder.

"I'll rock 'em, roll 'em, all night long!"

His hand crept under the shirt she wore, pinching her exposed butt cheek and making her squeak.

"Sixty minute man!"

Cross stepped back inside their room, tossing her onto the bed with all the gentle care of a bale of hay. He was reduced to raspy humming as he shut the door and stripped his pants, crawling in bed and eagerly pulling her (his) shirt over her head. His mouth engulfed around her nipple, sucking on it noisily before unlatching to consume her lips. He held her face with both hands, parting from her slowly while still muttering unintelligible lyrics. A wolfish grin beamed down at her, and he kissed the tip of her nose. There was a thud as he laid back onto the mattress, curling her naked body against his own like it was second nature. Cross wiped at his face, sniffed loudly, and squeezed the skin of her waist.

"Night, kicsim," he drawled tiredly, and he was then fast asleep.

The clambering of metal and curses outside his door awoke him the next morning. For a split second, he opened his eyes and saw the world as it was without her. He was back in the Commonwealth; his crew was making a fucking ruckus in the late afternoon while he tried to catch up on some sleep. He had documents to review, some house calls to collect-

A body shifted next to him, and he looked over.

…he was in the Commonwealth, with the woman who flipped his internal switch from murderous asshole to goofy goon. The irritation melted from his bones as he smothered his face in the crook of her neck and closed his eyes, savoring the happy pings firing off in his brain. His bony index fingertip traced upwards to her nose, poking the tip a few times.

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey," he rumbled, wiggling it back and forth. He propped his head in his other hand, singing a raspy version of Bob Crosby. "And someday, it may be tomorrow."

Evelyn sneezed, drowsily opening her eyes and peering through the darkness of the enclosed room to be greeted by his cheeky grin.

"What time is it?" she whispered sleepily. With a flick of her finger at his forehead, she rolled her back to him and disappeared into her pillow.

"You'll hear a tune."

"Go away goonhead, let me sleep," she muttered.

The heat of his breath washed down her neck. "So wish on the moon."

"That's not how it goes."

"And seek not your fortune, in the dark, dreary mines!"

She burst out laughing. "That's not even the same song!"

A kiss was planted on her shoulder, the scarred flesh from the legionary's spear tenderly caressed. "Let's get up."

"Get up yourself, big baby."

He buried his pouting face in her wild hair. "What's a man got to do to make his own wife get up with him?"

"Let her sleep."

The merc groaned his displeasure loud and obnoxiously, and she finally sat up to smother his face with her pillow. "Oh my God! The entire east coast can hear you! Stop it!"

The heartbroken wailing paused as he cracked an eye open. "You finally gettin' up?"

He received his answer in the form of the blankets being tossed aside and her angrily rummaging around for her clothes. The merc flicked on the lights and repeatedly unzipped her vault suit down to her navel until a fist was driven in his lower gut, and he was left wheezing on the floor. The door slammed shut behind her, and he could hear her stomping down the hallway like a condensed tornado.

Ya sound like a herd of brahmin, he thought dryly. He nabbed at the shirt she had been wearing and opened the door, a happy sigh breathed from his chest. Her scent permeated his sense of smell as he dove his head through the fabric, pulling it tautly over his shoulders to snug his large frame. Cross passed Charon on the stairs; the larger ghoul was wiping his greased hands on a blackened rag.

"You ain't wastin' time." The merc jutted his chin at the ghoul's pastime in weaponry crafting.

"She is feeling better," Charon said simply. He indicated with a nudge of his head to the sound of clattering. "She is going through things."

"Always a lil' fuckin' scav," Cross muttered. He followed the sounds of hmm's and ooh's until he found her, rifling through a crate of some high-tech weaponry. She managed to finagle a fatman free, and he rushed to her side as she stood on her tiptoes for a mini-nuke sitting on the highest shelf.

The ghoul easily reached up behind her, and scooted the nuke to the wall. "That ain't for playin' 'round with. You tryin' to blow this place?"

She blew some curled strands of her hair from her face. "I was going to get on the roof…"

"And what? Give a fuckin' firework show and fry our asses?"

She squinted her eyes and gave him a pointed look with a serious tone. "Isn't your ass already fried?"

"Heh." He grinned, taking her weaponry and setting it on the highest shelf. "You hungry?"

She scratched the tip of her nose and shrugged.

He held her hand in his own. "C'mere."

Ten minutes later and an assortment of boxed goods were set on the counter in the shopping mall's old kitchen display store. Cross pulled multiple items from shelves, scratching his head and muttering to himself as he inspected the contents.

"Usually the fuckin' rookies keep track of this shit," he mumbled as he perused through the fridge. He scratched at his chest as he procured a bottle of brahmin milk. It was sniffed, and promptly emptied in the sink. "Damn…it's been awhile."

Evelyn sat on a cracked leather barstool fashioned around an island that served as a small table. A combat knife was buried to the hilt in one corner, and she wiggled the handle.

"Charon did that." The merc took his lighter to the pilot under the stovetop, bringing a small flame to life. "…pretty sure that conversation was 'bout you."

"And this?" Evelyn pointed to a boarded-up section of the wall that had been blown away.

"Oh…uh…" He scratched his head, and furrowed his brows. "Fuck. I don't know…never noticed it, 'til now." He shrugged, and clacked a pan on the stove. "I ain't got the time to care for half the shit these fucks get up to 'round here."

She nestled her chin in her hands, quietly observing the way the ghoul performed his domestic duties. He was messy, not caring for the spillage of food to the sticky floor or the way he added to a collective pile of dishes on the counter. A chipped plate was grabbed, spun to her spot, and he tipped the skillet to dump its steaming contents before her.

She waggled her fingers for the utensil he held. "Just what all did you put in here?"

"Anythin' not expired," he joked, and when she seriously considered it for a moment, he chuckled and stabbed at a piece of something. "Just kiddin'. It's all expired."

She laughed, her tense demeanor melting into a wide smile and crinkled eyes. "Kiss me."

The fork made a clatter against the plate as it dropped from his hands, the crook of his index finger settling underneath her chin to slightly tilt her forward. Their canoodling was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming to a halt inside.

"My bad," Can apologized when they turned to look at him. He pivoted on his heel to escape the atmosphere before it inevitably grew sour, but the merc whistled at his backside.

"Hey Can, c'mere a sec. That newbie back yet?" Cross half-turned as Evelyn began to nibble on his experimental creation.

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago, ya want to talk to him?"

"Later. I got a job for you two." Cross wrapped his palm around the hilt of Charon's knife, and pulled the blade free from its prison of two years. "I got a bounty I want put out. Everyone in the Commonwealth is goin' to be lookin' for this fuck."