Lydia clicked the dialogue box closed on her private terminal. So far, no progress had been reported on Russel's whereabouts. Granted, Can and the newbie had only checked into the safehouse a mere few days prior; she knew she shouldn't expect results so quickly.

Walsh gave a quick rapt of his knuckles on her doorframe. "Hey, the lads are headin' to the taphouse. You interested?"

Lydia tapped at a few broken keys. "Go for it. I'm going to finish patching up Ol' Bolt, anyways."

"You and your bloody robots," the ginger merc muttered, but he left her to her solemn contemplation.

The compound was, for once, quiet. Not even the wandering soul of Charon's irritated mutterings and the scratching of Cross's pen in his ledger stirred within its fortified walls. She found herself standing in his old office, hoping this was all just a really bad dream, and that he would be sitting there with a scowl on his mouth at having her interrupting his work. Even his worst days were still his best- she didn't care that he was a grumpy old ghoul, for at least he was still there.

He taught her how to shoot, how to stitch up a bullet wound, how to buy a girl a drink and make the first move. He put an iron fist in any creep that got too close, showed her every secret there was to playing pool. He'd reset a broken arm, get supplies for her time of month, and always make sure she was okay.

…he really loved Evelyn, to let it all go. If things had only turned out differently that night…too many imagined scenarios formed in her mind on nights like these. They were something warm to hold when the thick fog rolled in and cast a chill under her skin.

A beep from the tracking sensors on a turret began to echo. She listened with some half of mind, and then just as quickly as it began to build, it stopped. Lydia blew out a sigh, finally leaving to make good on her intentions. Ol' Bolt was lifeless in its station- the assaultron had taken one too many bludgeons to the chest from an angry super mutant on their last job. Cleaning house of a small mutant infestation was something Cross would have never considered unless the caps overcompensated for the waste of time…and here she was, taking whatever outfit they could get at this point. Their side of the world was beginning to slow down after the year of tumultuous events in the Commonwealth- she didn't make a show of leaving the compound and hitting up all the shady market deals as her predecessor had done.

Lydia smacked her goggles to her face, and again heard a turret whine at its station…on the other side of the compound. Whatever was crawling around wouldn't be left alive for too much longer if it kept trying its luck. Gearbox and Disco were patrolling the grounds…which reminded her of Disco's misaligned tread; she should be fixing that, too-

An explosion shook the very foundation she was standing on, and she unclasped her headgear to wildly look around. What the fuck was that? It had to be another faction finally making its move- besides her and Doc Stock, the team was gone. Lydia punched Ol' Bolt's panel shut and flicked the power on. The assaultron glowed red as it came online, and she rushed out the room as another earth-trembling quake rolled the ground. The sentries could be heard blaring their synthesized threats, and the onslaught of missiles firing squealed into the night.

She jumped the steps two at a time for access to the roof, sprinting past their old physician as he left his room.

"What in the world is going on?!" he shouted over the screaming of gunfire.

"Get down to the basement!" Lydia barked. "We might have to make a run for it!"

"Where is-?"

"Now!" she shouted.

Doc Stock grew as white as his hair, carefully making his way down the steps as she ran up. The door to the roof flung open as she burst outside; a footlocker was quickly opened to reveal a night-vision scoped sniper rifle.

Shit! Whoever was knocking on their door had come with a Fat Man. The sentry bots were crumpled in a fizzled scraping heap; the assaultron could be seen sprinting through the haze of smoke and fog.

Where were they, and just how many?! She wildly roved her scope around, looking for any sign of the invading forces- a body, big, quick on its feet and evading a blow from Ol' Bolt. The marine layer was too thick to discern just who it was…but they were the only individual she could make out.

No way could one single person do this much damage.

Her finger came up to grip the trigger- the shot missed, and their head whipped up. Now they knew where she was. They disappeared before she could reattempt a second shot- she would have to sprint down into Charon's workshop, get that thermal scope he had been working on-

Another explosion sounded off just to her right- the supply warehouse was no more. Everything was going up in flames, right before her eyes, everything he had worked so hard for…and she fucked it up. She never wanted all of this- she never wanted to be like him-

An anguished scream of frustration and hopelessness belted from her chest. She sprinted back down the stairs, holding onto the wall as another rumble shook the east side of the building. If she was going to make a final stand, she had to act fast before the power blew.

Doc Stock was waiting in his designated place inside the neon-red subterranean floor level. The old man didn't have the chance to change from his nightly attire; he wrung his wrinkled hands together as she procured a small pin from around her neck and placed it inside the fail-safe.

She hesitated with her hand over the button, glancing over to the team's medical professional.

He nodded. "Was looking for a warmer climate, anyhow."

Lydia graced a small smile of relief. You made your choice Cross…so here's mine.

The button was pushed.

An alarm began to blare. The two quickly made their way down the escape tunnel that would lead them to the sewer grates in town. Lydia slammed the gate closed behind her, praying whoever was on their tail would be caught in the aftereffects of the blast. Cross's final words echoed in her heart; the irony was not lost on her.

You're a good kid…you'll do right by the crew. Okay? So…don't blow the place with me gone.

Was it always this difficult to concentrate, before? Cross popped a stick of gum in his mouth and chewed it slowly, leaning back in his chair and staring at a hole in the ceiling. A second attempt at business was made; a folder was opened, some documents were read…his ledger was still wet in some areas; Charon's ratty contract had been carefully hung to dry; there was still no message back from Lydia...she was more than likely mad at him.

Technically, he couldn't work under these conditions…he'd already given Can the information he wanted to be put out, so, theoretically, there was nothing else to really do until he figured out a solid plan of action.

Yeah.

The button in the elevator was punched, sending him upwards to the main lobby. He bumbled around, attempting to be discreet and appear busy as he walked by Charon's workshop more than a few times.

"If you are going to be distracted," the ferryman rasped without turning around. "I suggest you be quieter about it."

Evelyn turned her head and flashed a wide smile, a smudge of grease smeared across her nose and cheek.

Charon held his palm out to her expectantly. "Focus."

"Sorry." She handed over the empty shells he was busy crafting.

Cross stepped inside, waggling his fingers inside his jacket pockets. "You busy?"

"Are you not?" Evelyn teased. "You look bored. Is running a mercenary outfit not all it's cracked up to be?"

The merc shrugged, sidling over and finally putting his hands around her waist. He tugged at the zipper of her suit a few times. "You want to come downstairs, keep me company?" He waggled his brows, and Charon rolled his eyes.

Evelyn swatted away his incessant pawing. "You're the one who told me to stay up here! Said I would be too distracting."

"Yeah, well…" The zipper made a slow journey down to her breasts. "I lied."

Charon grumbled something sourly and turned to his employer. "She will still be here when you are finished. I suggest you return to your work."

"I'm only askin' for twenty minutes," Cross grouched, the zipper making its way past her navel. It was halted above the dark hair of her groin. "It'll be quick."

"I want to go outside." She took repossession of her decency, much to both of their verbal displeasure.

Cross rubbed at the back of his head. "I'll be back downstairs."

"Hey, wait, that's so not fair!" His hand was swiftly grabbed before he could leave.

"It ain't about what's fair," he growled, his thumb making long strokes across the back of her hand. "This city ain't safe-"

"I can't be cooped up in here forever!" she complained, tucking his palm snugly between her breasts. "And I'm obviously not going to be alone-"

"No." Cross retracted his hand away. "That's my final word on it."

"Ugh!" She stamped her foot and crossed her arms, turning to the stoic crimson ghoul. "Charon!"

They were both staring at him with entirely different expectations, and the ghoul muttered under his breath as he continued in his craft. "He is right. This city is dangerous-"

"But-!"

"-but," Charon relented, "you will never leave my side for any reason deemed unnecessary, do you understand?" He then looked down at her current attire. "I advise you do not wear that- it will draw attention."

"I'll go get dressed!" She grinned, bounding from the room with her hair streaming behind her.

The ghoul bodyguard shrugged at his employer's seething glare. "This is the best compromise."

"What the hell are you thinkin'?!"

"I am thinking rationally," Charon stressed the word, his voice calm and stance unwavering. "We have concluded they were able to locate us from the synth module you kept, and for all they know, she may have died in that crash. Sinjin will be found, and in the meantime, I will keep an eye on her."

"You think I ain't comin' with ya?" the merc growled with an edge of warning.

"You are not," Charon replied nonchalantly, as casual as commenting on the weather. He held up a hand before the ghoul could explode in a pointless tirade. "There is work here to be done- Lydia still has not responded. You are simply too distracted with her, and a diversion will keep her occupied. I will take her to Diamond City for a few hours and then return. It is the safest settlement."

"Peh," Cross grumbled. He groaned, and then thrust a finger at his companion's face. "I want her back by six. If you're even a fuckin' minute late, I'm draggin' her ass back myself."

"Then you are welcome to carry all of the books she will most likely find," Charon mused.

Evelyn twirled back inside, beaming from underneath the brim of a ballcap. "Okay, let's go!"

Cross took one look at her outfit, and snapped a glower back to Charon. "I'm fuckin' comin'."

Charon snorted, assembling his own armor and holstering his shotgun. "You will live."

"Are you too busy?" Evelyn tapped her fingertips together, unaware of his commitment.

The merc grabbed her breasts over her skintight midriff top, giving them a fond squeeze. "Fuck…no."

"He is," Charon replied, giving her a light push back out.

"Don't get too lonely, old man," she whispered to Cross as she waved her fingers.

"Can't ya just stay?" he moaned. "I'll even let ya take the Fat Man on the roof."

Charon grabbed at her elbow and disentangled the merc from her. "You will not. Come."

The merc followed them like a beaten puppy, kissing her lips and murmuring bribes in hopes she would stay behind. Only when the door was slammed in his face and they were left to themselves, did Charon feel he could finally breathe…until he turned around to find an empty space beside him.

"Evelyn!" he barked, and she froze in step at the edge of the parking garage. "I will take you back."

"Do not make me carry you!" she groveled as he stepped up beside her. "So! Which way?!"

The ghoul pointed down the avenue on their left. "Be cautious."

"I don't like the look of this place," she mocked, not noticing the aggravated twitch of his brow muscle. She bumbled along, occasionally having his hand settle on her shoulder to force her feet to freeze. It would seem the ghoul didn't forget the small signals they had incorporated in their partnership all those years ago.

He guided them through the remains of an office building, and she immediately took to pilfering through every nook and cranny.

"I have promised Cross I would return in a few hours." He gave a pointed look at her hands digging through a box. "We will not be late."

"He gave you a curfew?" she questioned a little meanly.

"Not me. You."

A scoff. A trinket of jewelry was held up to the late afternoon light, and promptly stowed away inside a pocket. "We never got our gear back, huh?"

"It is still in D.C." Charon shifted his weight, turning his head to a distant sound. "Is there something you require?"

She appeared sad for a moment. "No…it's just…" She shrugged her shoulders lamely. "My journal was in there…both of them."

Charon did not think the loss would be as devastating as it was when it made his heart thump painfully. He coughed in an attempt to nudge off the feeling. "I am sorry…perhaps we can return for it, someday. I am sure it will still be there."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." She held up a broken pocket watch, and shook it before holding it up to her ear. "…Cross really doesn't want to tell me what's going on."

Charon stared at her silently for a few minutes, observing the way she blew the dust off the cover of a hardbound book. Only when her eyes met his with expectance did he break away.

"It is for good reason…"

"And what are those reasons?" she asked plainly, her face indifferent. "You can't bullshit me. This is all my fault-"

Charon snarled, kicking over a desk to create a billowing plume of dust and unpleasant raucousness. "If you do not wish to see Diamond City, then we can return now."

She snapped the book she was perusing through shut and placed it back on a shelf. "Fine, keep the truth from me. It's all anyone's been doing my whole life. It's just no different than Braxton."

Her forearm was snatched up in a vice grip, and she squirmed with discomfort from the pressure Charon held onto her with.

"No, this is nothing like Braxton," he rasped. "This is your life we are staking, every day, in this city. I know you are…frustrated, but so are we. We cannot forgive ourselves for what happened in that city, for not being there, for you. We are trying to amend that."

Evelyn wrenched her arm free, and for once, didn't escalate the situation. Instead, she sullenly withdrew and just hugged herself, taking a step back from his towering presence.

"Whatever you say, Charon," she mumbled quietly, her eyes drawn down.

Any other period of his life with her, and he would have breathed a sigh of complete and utter relief…but this felt wrong. She always had to make her point, always had to fucking argue with him because her spiteful and petty nature told her to. This was unlike her normal attitude. It made him feel alienated from her; they could have passed off as complete strangers at that moment, and it made him reach a hand out to graze her skin for his own reassurance.

She didn't react with the usual adoring glow in her eyes or the nudge of her small smile. Her expression was completely somber, almost cold, and she eventually turned her head away from his touch.

"Not right now. Let's keep going. Anything could have heard that sound you made." Her bootheel made an indent in the wood as she spun around, and he was left with his hand still hovering midair, his fingers curled as they had been around her cheek.

They clenched into a tight fist and were dropped down to his side. He continued to lead them onward; he paused a few times, struggling to find the words to reconcile, but they never felt like the right ones to say.

The midwinter sky was growing dark, making the 'Great Green Jewel' of the Commonwealth a bright beacon for easy directions.

A young kid on a soapbox was shouting about the latest and greatest, waving a crinkled newspaper to read all about it! A butcher was hacking the hocks off a brahmin carcass, tossing the pieces to slobbery dog jowls sitting patiently to the side. The lights strung all around the buildings and overhangs were beginning to glow in the early evening dusk. A drunk was stumbling through the streets; some kids ran by playing tag, fumbling over each other.

A few people who caught sight of Charon halted in their steps to turn and watch him pass. Whether it was perhaps due to the intimidation of his size, no one verbally called him out or asked him to leave. A few ghouls gave a single nod as a friendly greeting, but he didn't pay attention to any of it.

Evelyn felt his eyes boring a hole through the base of her neck. She was being unfair, but in all justness, so was he.

Secrets didn't make anyone any friends. Her entire life had been built on this carefully constructed lie, a veil so thin everyone was scrambling to stitch it back together before she could take a peek at what was lying underneath. Darcy lied to her in the guise of being her mother, Thomas lied to her in the guise of being a lover, and Cross just lied. Charon never lied…he never kept secrets. His past was one thing, just like her own, but he never withheld information about her. He now seemed to know more about her than she did herself, and it was completely unjust. They said it was in the name of caution, but that, too, was just a shallow fib.

It was in the name of their own fears.

He seemed to grow bitter about her distance from him; he leaned against a steel pillar rather than take his usual seat beside her at an outdoor eatery, tapping his index finger against his bicep and scowling at the general crowd.

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?"

"Er, what?" Evelyn was so caught off guard with the question she forgot all about their argument. The robot continued its motion of stirring a large ladle in an equally large pot.

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?" it repeated.

Charon grumbled something, procuring a bag of rolled-up caps from a satchel at his side. He set the money down, not explaining the situation as she stared on in perplexity. A bowl of steaming noodles was set before her, and she blinked. Charon turned his head away, almost like a sullen teenage girl, and she spun her back to him with an equal air of rage. She set her toes on the footrest of the empty seat at her side, observing the citizens go about their daily lives and the homes they had built here.

Charon was right. She did enjoy this place…and now she felt guilty of her actions towards him.

She slurped a few noodles down her throat before a hulking figure plopped in the seat beside her, nearly tumbling her back to grant them space.

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?"

"Yeah yeah," Cross rumbled, slightly shifting the hood of his thick leather duster back to wink at her. "Havin' fun yet?"

She coughed on her inhaled soup broth, and the merc thumped his palm on her back.

"C'mon. It ain't that bad," he joked. "Noodles are the best thing 'bout this place." His own bowl was set down, and he rummaged through his pockets for some caps. "Ah, shit. Hey." He gave a nod to Charon still standing off to the side. "Can ya spot me?"

The ghoul rolled his eyes and tossed the caps over, and the merc squished her cheeks together in one hand and kissed her lips. A customer seated across from them looked on with blatant disgust.

"What are you doing here?!" she whispered vehemently. She glanced around for any sign of a public panic at a glowing ghoul taking residence in their town...but no one really seemed to pay any attention.

"Ready to go home yet?" He wolfishly grinned. A hand snuck down to squeeze the inside of her thigh, pooling that familiar heat that made her swoon. He brought his mouth closer to her ear, grazing the lobe with his tongue. "Let me put my tongue somewhere else."

He pulled back and winked with a cheeky smirk, and she leaned away to grant herself some air to breathe and think.

I hate how you do this to me. Despite every nerve ending in her body telling her to pack it up and head for home, she crossed her legs underneath herself and resumed scarfing down her meal. The merc didn't appear offended by her rejection, and he just shrugged and began to enjoy his own bowl as she continued looking around. A head of blonde-white hair caught her eye, and she dropped her utensil as she stared at the woman walking briskly around a bend.

Both ghouls raised a brow as she stood, and then she was suddenly sprinting, dodging the evening crowd as she chased after that beautiful ghost. She must be going mad, at this point. Who was to say all of this was even real?

Cross, Charon, Thomas…Darcy.

Maybe she did die down there, maybe this was all still a dream. It had to be…why else would no one tell her anything if it would just disillusion it all?

"Darcy!" she cried out down that lonely alleyway.

Cross was ready to pull at her elbow before he halted in place at the call of her name.

There was no one there. A flickering neon-sign reading Valentine Detective Agency buzzed in reply to her hysterics.

"I saw her! I saw her! I know it was her!" Evelyn blubbered in delirium. She paced down the empty alleyway, peering around every corner for any trace of her. Her hand went to turn the handle of that little detective shop.

"Hey, hey!" Cross grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly, attempting to shake some sense into her. "Look at me baby, look at me! There's no one there! She's gone, she's dead. You know that."

"But I saw her! It was her!" she cried. She thrashed in his arms as he began to drag her away. "Darcy! Darcy!"

"Evelyn, stop it!" Charon rounded her into a small nook, away from the prying eyes that had heard her above the din of the city noise. "There is no one here but us, you are imagining things."

"Am I going crazy?!" she sniffled, rubbing brusquely at her eyes and moaning into his arms. "I swear I saw her!"

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Cross rasped lowly at his elbow.

"Agreed." Charon nodded, herding her through the backway as they discreetly left the city.

She was a howling mess, lamenting her insecurities and troubling woes to the world before the merc finally placed a hand over her eyes and flushed her body against his own.

"Just listen to my voice, can ya do that?" he rasped calmly.

She hiccupped and nodded; a loud sniff of snot sucked back up her nose.

"You're okay, you're alright, I ain't goin' to let anythin' happen to ya, you understand?"

Evelyn, do you fuckin' understand?! I need to hear you say it!

She gasped and began to sob again. "I'm not okay! I'm not okay!"

"Baby, listen, listen to me, just listen." She felt his hot breath warm her lips as he bent his knees to come close. "Just listen…okay?"

"…okay," she bawled, unable to control her crying hysterics.

"No one in this world can touch you with me holdin' on, alright? Ya feel that?" He took ahold of her hand and held it to his chest; the deep, rhythmic pulse of his beating heart slow and steady. "Just hold onto it, alright? When you're ready to move on, we'll go, but for now, just listen."

She did as he suggested, but a slight spike of fear pinpricked her spinal cord at the thought that she was perhaps in danger, that perhaps they were wasting time, that perhaps she was a crazed mess of a wastelander and was soon to be discarded along with all of her problems. When her chest began to contract at an abnormal rate again, she felt his mouth press gently against the side of her face.

"Breathe with me." He took a deep breath, and she attempted to mimic his rate. "There ya go, nice and slow."

When she settled and began to quiet, she tucked her arms inside his jacket to wrap around his middle. Cross revealed a starry sky after he lifted his hand away, and she blinked through her blurry lashes at how infinite and everlasting it was.

"You ready to go home?" he rasped, his hand rubbing broad strokes up and down her spine.

She tucked her face inside, hiding from the entire world to lose herself inside his smell and heat. "Just a few more minutes…and then I'll be ready."

"Take all the time, baby...we ain't goin' anywhere."

By the time the seventh finger dropped to the floor, Sinjin got the answer to his first question.

"She's-she's," Carol keened, writhing in her chair like some possessed vessel. "Pre-War! A test subject, you fucking bastard!"

"Don't fuck with me," Sinjin growled close to her ear, laying the edge of his blade against her last middle finger. "Who is she, and what the fuck does everyone want with her?!"

Just as the initial slice met the resistance of bone, she screamed.

"It's the truth! She is! We all are! All of us, from Vault 91! She was the only successful subject we had-!" The blade cut in further, and she thrashed against the restraints.

"What were you testing for? What is she? Some kind of goddamn cure?" Sinjin grabbed the remaining hairs on the backside of her skull, slamming her head into the chair. "Look at me while I'm fucking talking to you!"

"She's-she's…" Carol licked her nonexistent lips, the blood staining the remainder of her front teeth. Her eyes rolled over to him, and they drew down to slits. "How did you know that?"

"Answer the fucking question." The blade was traced along her collarbone, and it slowly began to dig inside while she continued to scrupulously stare at him.

Her legs strained against the rope bound around her ankles. "It's a three-phase virus! A serum Vault-Tec was producing, in preparation for when the bombs fell!"

"Well it's a little late for that," he growled meanly. The blade retracted, hovering above its next intended site menacingly. "What kind of virus? Three-phase? What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It has three strains," Carol croaked, her breathing labored and senses dulled from the pain. "Three different effects that rewire the human DNA- she adapted to all three, a perfect mutation."

"That's why she's so strong," Sinjin said more as a statement than a question. "Someone's little science experiment..."

"Yes," she wheezed. "That's the first strain- increased strength and durability."

Sinjin tipped the point of his knife at her eyeball, and leaned in close. "What're the other two?"