Six Years Ago
"Watch where you're walking, fucking shuffler, or I'll-"
"To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day,"
A solid fist came up to interrupt the man's insult; Cross's punch to the caravan guard's mouth dislodged a few front teeth. The barstool where his ass had once been sitting was now spinning wildly in circles; a loud hack retched from his chest as a tooth itched his tarred lungs.
"Hardly spoke to folks around him didn't have too much to say,"
A young woman with a mop of dark hair dove behind the bar counter. Wood splinters flew, dust from brickwork wafted, glass from broken beer bottles were crunched under the worn tread of heavy boots. Lydia made herself as small as possible inside a cupboard while the shootout cried on.
"No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip,"
A scrape of boots along the wooden floorboards; a strangled gurgle as another guard was lifted by the neck in a single crimson hand. A crack! Cross took a knife straight to the hilt in his side.
"For the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip,"
The counter just above her head shook with a loud thud. A lifeless body slowly tumbled over the edge to hit the floor beside her, his glassy eyes and gaping mouth urging her feet to move. Lydia ducked from the squeal of bullets peppering the alcohol display. Wafts of numerous poisons sucked the air from her lungs.
"Big iron on his hip!"
The bounty hunter unsheathed the blade from his flesh. With a flick of the handle, he gripped the tip between two fingers and sailed it across the room to sink in another's throat; the man giving chase behind Lydia dropped.
All was suddenly quiet. Thin beams of light streaked throughout the room, showcasing the chaotic display under golden rays. Charon slammed his gun down on a table.
"We cannot keep doing this!" he barked.
Cross lifted his crimson-soaked shirt, observing the depth of the injury in his side and ignoring the complaint.
Charon snarled, advancing on his employer much like he would an enemy. "This is the third time to have happened! You are being too careless!"
Careless. Reckless. Irresponsible. These past four years were some of the worst he's ever endured, and he simply didn't care.
"We cannot keep doing this," Charon repeated, much more calmly than before. He was…tired. "Whatever it is you are looking for here, it is gone."
Cross bellowed a warning growl, stalking towards the front door. "Don't."
"No, you cannot walk away from this!" Charon curtly waved a hand around the room. "Evelyn would not want this!"
It was the first time her name had been breathed in the air between them, no less painful than that night they had wailed it to the smoky, ember-filled sky.
Another fist went sailing directly at the ghoul's jaw. Charon didn't register the hit; the merc was unbelievably quick despite his injury.
"Stop it!" Lydia screamed, and soon she was cowering behind an overturned table, helpless in watching the ghoul's trade blows.
Charon pelted the grey ghoul so ruthlessly he was surprised his skull didn't crack, but he just kept coming, taking blow after blow after blow…as though he didn't want him to stop. As though he wanted him to push just far enough over the edge…
"She is not coming back!" Charon shouted, holding onto the bounty hunter's duster like it was the only thing keeping him alive. "Evelyn is gone! This will not bring her back!"
And then, a guttural cry. Those large grey hands that, moments ago, were trading fierce blows were now clinging to his companion with sudden desperation.
"It isn't fair! It should've been me!" he sobbed, his raspy heartbreak chipping a piece of Charon's resolve away. "God, why wasn't it me?!"
"Because nothing is owed to us," Charon rasped thickly. "To you. To me. To…to her."
They both stood there, a solid statue holding up a crumbling one. Lydia picked up Cross's cowboy hat, gently wiping the dust and blood from its sun-stained brim. When the merc collected himself and wiped at his tears, he took the offering and set it back atop his head.
"You're right," he croaked, dislodging the knife from the caravanner's throat. A pool of blood trickled around his feet. "I ain't owed anythin'."
...but there was someone who was.
The Present
"C'mon Stock, we can't stop now!" Lydia placed her shoulder underneath the old physician's arm, forcing him to keep up with her grueling pace.
"Lydia, I can't keep this up!" Doc Stock wheezed; his usual sallow face tinged dark purple. "I only need a few minutes, girl!"
She reluctantly complied after listening to his rib-cracking gasps. With a deep scowl, she helped him rest against a guardrail and armed herself, too wired and paranoid to succumb to his own advice.
Her footsteps paced through the dense layer of fog, whirling it around them like some mystical barrier. It was a double-edged sword, helping shroud their position as well as blinding them to any prospective dangers. Charon practically disappeared in the elements here- she wished more than anything he was there with her, now. A shadowed entity guiding them through.
The whole team had been…decimated. After narrowly escaping the rumbling tunnels and coming to the drop point, she collected as much gear as she could manage from their covert lockboxes and made the chase for the others.
…whoever had tagged their base, had gotten to them first.
Lydia wanted to scream; she wanted to cry. She wanted to wake up in bed and have Cross pounding at her door, curtly chastising her for leaving those damn synth pieces everywhere again. She wanted to be in the Mojave, buying that pretty waitress a drink for the first time. She wanted to be in their bed, tangled in sheets and her long caramel hair, giving one too many awkward kisses that bloomed fireworks in her belly. She wanted to be a snot-nosed whiny kid, thinking she knew everything there was to the world, until some asshole ghoul came along and blew a shot through her angsty perspective.
A hand gently settled itself on her shoulder. "It's okay girl…you're okay."
Lydia turned her puffy face, unaware she had been sobbing her heart out. She wiped a hand across her eyes, her chin trembling violently as she nodded.
They had to get to Boston while they still had time.
"No," Evelyn gasped, smooshing his face away before it could consume her. "I need a break; I can't feel anything anymore."
Cross cheekily grinned, playing with her perky right nipple. "Want to make a bet?"
She merely flopped down on the mattress, and was promptly asleep. The ghoul scratched his head as he tilted it to the side. They'd been at it for awhile, sure, but he didn't feel tired…
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, looking down at the neon thrum of his internal glow streaming through his veins. The howling of primal desire was but a caged beast behind his eyes; violence, sex, the overwhelming urge to dominate everything and anything through blunt instinct alone thrashed inside his chest, twitching his fingers and pulsating his heart.
He glanced back at her peaceful face, sighed, and laid down beside her. For as cognizant as he was, he would rather lay there quietly and watch her dream than be secluded in his cold, damp office knowing she was here. He didn't know how much time had passed before she awoke from a nightmare- he murmured soothing words and kissed her lips to usher her mind back into sleep once more, whisking the hair from her cheeks as she curled into him like his body was the precipice of tomorrow.
The overwhelming urge to pack their bags and head west hammered him like a fucking nail straight down from the head. He already had the place in mind- a little house tucked away behind the purple plateaus and endless clear sky, a spot he had sometimes fancied as being his eventual retirement for when his bones were too tired to walk this earth any longer. A small town without a name. A fitting place for an old ghoul vying to live a more honest life…if not for the occasional trips to the strip, that is.
Never, not once, did he imagine there would be a second person sitting on that front stoop beside himself, not even if that woman was a ghoul. But here he was, shirtless and enjoying a smoke, polishing his gun in his hands with the occasional creak from the rocking chair beside him, her nose so deep inside a book he would probably have to go fishing for it.
She'll be wearing those long flowy dresses to escape the heat and walking around barefoot in the evenings when the sand was cool. God, he'll make love to her every day, under the stars, the moon, lapping at her skin like a refreshing drink of water. She'll have so many fucking books- where the fuck are they going to put them all? He would have to have that discussion at some point…it'd been so long since he'd just been…normal. A husband loyal to his wife and the duties bestowed upon him.
Remember our deal.
He instinctively gripped her close. They couldn't leave, not yet…not until he pounded that final spike in that coffin. He just needed a little more time; it wasn't going to be long now. Sooner or later, they would know she was here if they didn't already. They'll come for her…and this time, he wasn't going to hesitate.
He was going to become the worst part of man, and then bury it along with all the others. No one would rise from the grave he dug, and he didn't care who he put in it.
…even if it was himself.
She stirred, too warm from his radiating body heat. He slowly disentangled himself from her damp limbs and carefully rearranged her into a more comfortable position so as not to wake her once more. He dressed, flicked the light off, and quietly closed their door.
Now wasn't the time to be dreaming whimsical fantasies. He had one final job to do, and by God would he-
A sudden banging of metal reverberated from Charon's workshop. Normally the man was so quiet Cross wouldn't have noticed his return for hours. Cross stepped inside, observing how the big ghoul nervously turned from rifling inside a metal bin. Charon, nervous?
The merc went to comment on the uncharacteristic nature of his companion, when he spied a little pile of strewn paper littered on his workbench.
"Fuck are those?" he rasped.
Charon immediately collected himself, visibly cool and callous. "Nothing."
"Sure don't look like it."
"It is nothing," he growled.
Cross squinted his eyes at a scribbled drawing. The correlation clicked. "Did she fuckin' write you notes?"
"Get out."
Cross complied, making his way back to their room with more than jealous airs.
"How come I didn't get any?" he demanded after slamming the door open.
She bolted from bed at his sudden intrusion, wildly looking around the room in pure confusion. "What?"
"The notes, where's mine?"
She crossed her brows, looked down at the sheets, and then back up to his aggravated glower. "What?"
"You left Charon a shit ton of notes. Why's that bastard more deservin' than me? I'm the one fuckin' married to ya."
Evelyn blew out a breath and rolled her eyes, curling back into the warmth of their bed. "Oh my God!"
"Don't remember him carryin' all that crap back."
"Oh my God!" she repeated with exasperation. "Go away! Go be busy. I'm trying to sleep!"
The covers were rudely ripped from her body, delivering a little squeak from her lips.
"It's fuckin' noon. Ya goin' to sleep the whole damn day?"
She growled and got to her knees; his eyes instantly snapped to her bouncing boobs.
"You are the world's biggest, most annoying fucking baby!" With a terse sigh, she rose from her reprieve and began to dress. Cross placed the toe of his boot over the hem of her vault suit, keeping it bolted to the floor. She snapped her head up. "And you seriously wonder why I left him notes?"
Now his whole sole came to overlay the blue fabric. She snarled, throwing her hands in the air and nabbing at her shirt instead. It was filched from her palm before she even had a chance to throw it on.
"Stop it! You're being a brat!" she scathed.
Another shirt was swiped; a pair of pants were tossed on the highest shelf. By the time her socks were locked shut in the steam trunk and her boots were lobbed into the hallway, she was nearly bent over with laughter. Her anger had broken into a fit of giggles at the absolute ridiculousness of it all, and she slumped against him as he still just stood there with one boot on top of her suit.
"What am I going to do with you?" she said breathlessly, wrapping her arms around his middle and giving a squeeze.
His hand nestled in her hair, and he drew his mouth close to her own for a kiss. "This."
"Heya Boss!"
Evelyn squeaked, breaking her lips away and hiding behind the ghoul for some decency. Cross sighed in irritation and turned to the interruption standing in their doorway.
"What Can?" he growled. The young man was just standing there with his jaw slack. Cross shoved him into the hallway and shut the door behind himself. "What? You better have a damn good reason comin' in here."
The young man coughed nervously, taking a few steps back from the stifling cloud of the merc's anger. "We got word on your guy." He handed over a folded letter.
Cross read the note in haste, a snarl curling on his lip. The summons from his informant was crushed in his fist. Of course she knew something about it. He rubbed at his eyes, cracked the door open slightly, and stuck his head in. "Stay here. Can'll keep ya company. Don't do anythin' stupid while we're out."
It was promptly closed before she could ask a single question, and he hurried down the hallway with Can at his side.
"Anythin' happens while I'm gone, it's your head. Ya understand?" Cross gave the kid one of his best glowers.
"Y-yes Sir."
"Good." The merc thumped a palm on the kid's back, nearly tumbling him over.
Charon was contemplating over something on his workbench, and he hastily stowed it in a container as the merc rounded inside.
"We're headin' out-" Cross began, taking pause at the sight of Charon's abnormal behavior. "Fuck is it now?"
"It is nothing," Charon countered flatly.
The ghouls found themselves in a stalemate for a few minutes, until the merc grumbled under his breath and waved his delivered message.
"We're goin' to Goodneighbor."
By the time Evelyn had finished her treasure hunt for her clothes, the ghouls were long gone. She pouted at the empty space in Charon's workshop- she didn't even get to talk to him before they left.
"Where did they go?" she asked Can who was awkwardly standing off to the side. "Did something happen?"
"Goodneighbor. Guess someone knows about the bounty he put out." He shrugged. "I don't get much detail myself, least, not from her."
"Her?" Evelyn questioned, already making way for the front door.
Can jogged ahead to block her path. "Whoa, hey now! Where are you going?!"
Evelyn went to step around, but he mimicked her action. Her hands went to her hips. "Are you seriously going to keep me here? I'm not a prisoner! I can leave if I want to."
Can held his hands up in a defensive manner. "I don't think that's a good idea. Sorry, but, I don't want to turn into paste if he finds out something happened to you."
She rolled her eyes. "He won't kill you-"
"With all due respect, you don't know him like I do."
"No, you don't know him like I do," she huffed. She assessed his unwavering stance. "I'm going out. You can try to stop me, or…you can come with me. Your choice."
Can scratched at the stubble on his jaw. "You know I'll be sticking my neck out for you."
Evelyn scoffed and waved a hand. "Trust me. It'll be fine."