The metallic smell of blood; the sour tang of sweat. Drips at his feet. A weight pressing against his chest. Rapid, tense, small fingers digging into his sides, stained with slaughter. He lowered his chin to her head, and then a little further, taking an inhale of her smell that was so distinct.

The wasteland was unkind- he knew that. He knew it damn well…he was a reason for it to some he'd come across. The woman shaking in his arms was a direct victim of his own self-centered compass. He kissed her forehead, watching her eyes close and face nuzzle away inside the security of his shirt, seeping her own iniquities to soak through to his skin. If only he could hold her like this from the world forever- how simple that would be.

He would never let go.

"My wife," his voice rumbled, and he turned his head to level a single look at the ghoul eyeing her with a certain shrewdness. "And that's all anyone needs to know."

He felt her head peer over his arm, studying these new faces behind the sanctuary of himself. She was still trembling, so terrified of demons that he could never put a bullet through or lay a fist into. He wanted to wash the mar from her skin and whisper sweet things to ease her mind.

"If someone's got a problem with that, you send them straight to me." Cross's tone made the threat clear.

I won't be sending them back.

Hancock swept his hands casually inside his frock coat pockets; an attempt to ease the atmosphere with a display of cool indifference. "Cleaning house isn't real necessary…was just a little curious, is all." There was a brief twinkle to his eyes, a glimmer of stars tucked away in the dark-blue velvet of the late-night sky. "Nice look, by the way. Had some thought of going on the wayside myself, someday."

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat." Everyone turned to the synth standing in the otherwise empty alleyway, a stenciled eyebrow skirting alongside the ridge of his watchful eye.

"Heh, it wouldn't be my first time," Hancock rasped. His pitted fingers skirted the tip of his tricorn hat. The woman standing beside him folded her arms in a more relaxed stance.

"And most certainly not your last…" Valentine mused, the lilt of his voice implying a shared joke between old friends.

Evelyn blinked at the synth as he tipped his hat to the rest of the small party. A thin, white curl of smoke coiled under the brim; his glowing yellow eyes were unblinking, unnatural. He was unlike any synth she'd ever seen.

"The name's Nick Valentine, I'm a detective out of Diamond City," his voice was cool, slightly demure with a hint of a sharp edge. "But I suppose you already know that, hearing how you came looking for me. I apologize, normally I'm the one hot on the trail."

She stared at his robotic skeleton of a hand coming up to rummage inside his trench coat- a notepad was flipped open, and he tapped a pen free from the coils.

"Not here," Cross rasped coldly. "Not today."

The luminosity of Nick's eyes shifted as they flit back down to her, an inaudible whir ticking behind his optics. "Alright."

Evelyn shifted with a slight pull from his flush grip. "Cross, it's okay." Her half-lidded eyes observed the two colorful characters exchange further pleasantries as a hot breath whispered down her neck.

"Not here," he repeated in a low rasp. When she questioned him with a look, he pressed his cheek against her own to utter words only she could hear. "Trust me, alright?"

She nodded as he began to tug her away back to the entrance of the Memory Den, Hancock's astute gaze glowing under the brim of his hat as they passed. Whispered rumors and watchful eyes of the strangers at their backs brought back a flood of memories of her earlier travels when she had finally been freed of Darcy's chastising reign regarding her supernatural strength.

Evelyn, they will fear you. They will not understand.

Solitude had become her best friend; a lone wanderer walking the wastes with nothing but bruised fists and a disdain for Thomas's abandonment and broken promises.

Cross's fingers cupped underneath her chin to raise it slightly for her to address the question on his face- she had unintentionally been clutching his hand with bone-breaking pressure.

"Sorry," she mumbled with an automatic release.

He said nothing; no complaint about the pain or a reprimand for her carelessness. He stepped inside the doorway, blowing a low whistle and summoning Charon's looming shadow almost instantly. They conversed in low, hushed tones- too quiet for even her ears to hear. A faint grasp held her elbow. Charon had been speaking to her, and she forced herself to focus on his question.

"What?" she breathed.

Charon narrowed his eyes slightly, discarding his unanswered question as he half-turned back to Cross. "Very well." His gloved palm moved from her arm to cup her cheek, his hard demeanor softening as he looked down at her. "I will take you home."

"Is Can okay?" she asked, worry nuzzling her lower lip like a security blanket.

Charon untucked it with a thumb. "Yes. He will be fine."

"I fucked up, didn't I?"

"No."

Cross's fingers began to slide from between her own. "Get some sleep kicsim."

Evelyn held on before he could fully retreat. "Wait, where are you going?"

Charon's hardened scowl deterred some unwanted stares at their backs as the merc leaned close down beside her.

"I got to take care of some things here." The rough exterior of his mouth grazed her brow, and he disrobed his jacket to swathe it around her shoulders. "I'll be home 'fore ya know it, alright? Let Charon take you back." Her lips parted, unsure and ready to protest, and he reached inside his jacket for the crinkled magazine he had found earlier. He presented it to her curious fingers with a wink. "Knew you'd appreciate the finer print."

A full-blown kiss erupted on his lips, tempting him to forgo his business altogether.

"Hurry back," she said softly, and then she was the one to pull away when he wanted nothing more than for her to stay close.

His hands sunk in his pant pockets as he watched them disappear around the bend, Charon's formidable stature and intimidating reputation lending to an easy departure from Goodneighbor's streets. A few minutes of watching a drifter scraping the perp's gooey remains from the sidewalk provided some mild amusement as he waited for Nick Valentine to come strolling back into the open.

"Valentine," he uttered lowly. The synth turned his head. Cross gave a discreet nod, heralding back inside the Memory Den. "You're goin' to tell me exactly what Darcy's lookin' for."

This time, it was her thumb.

The brittle fingernail peeled from her skin just as all the others had done; it fell unceremoniously to the floor, a cracked shell littered with the other remains. A piling graveyard of her former self.

It had been her last one.

Scratch scratch scratch

Russel mindlessly flayed the skin of her elbow with blood-tipped fingers, peeling the flesh away like some form of decay. But to what purpose did it have? Everything beneath it was just rot.

She had heard the ghouling process was a painful one. It was something ghouls seldom spoke of- the ooze, the deterioration, the smell. It was nothing she had been too interested in before her solo mission amongst the Black Cazadors, when she had first laid eyes on the man she was meant to betray. Cross had genuinely terrified her in that first moment; she had been seated across his desk like all the other applicants before her, undergoing a silent interview with just the calculation of his eyes. She didn't know what he had seen to make him take her under their wing as a new recruit…she wondered what he would see now, if he could.

Perhaps he would have reacted the same as she had. Terrified.

The weight of her skull made a thud against the metal plating of the room she was confined to. She didn't know how many days had passed at this point, for what did it matter? There was no escaping this small corner of hell; she'd tried. There was food when it was served, a toilet with no decency of privacy, and a small cot that was just as uncomfortable as the floor itself. No one had explained how long she would remain here as her humanity slowly sloughed under hands and to her feet. No one seemed to care.

Russel wormed herself as close as was physically possible in her corner, and the door to her cell opened. A dark-skinned man with a stunning smile stepped inside, his skin as flawless as his charm.

"I do not believe I have made my acquaintance yet, have I?"

They came around a bend. Water lapped at the crumbling brickwork lining the Charles River, creating a soft lulling sound for those who were quiet enough to listen. She brought the ferryman to a stop as she overlooked it.

"Sorry, it's just," Evelyn began weakly. Charon stared down at her as she refused to continue, and she wiped the leathered sleeve of the bomber jacket across her cheek. "I think I would take that night back in that shithole bar swamp any day over this."

He glanced over the water. "Would you have done anything different?"

"No…I guess not," she said softly, and she met his eyes. He tugged her along. "Would you?"

The question halted their journey a second time, and the ghoul had a far-off wander to his gaze, the glow from tobacco smoke and buzzing from mutated insects alive in the air.

"I do not know." His eyes slightly squinted.

If he were given the choice all those years ago, there was no doubt in his mind he would have taken a hold of her hand and whisked her away to the far stars, away from everything with nothing but himself…but now he had become accustomed to a faint tug in his chest, an anchored waypoint that was so distinctly Cross. Now, if given the chance to alter the past…he did not think he could.

"Are you afraid of this woman?" he rasped, and she appeared taken back by the question.

Evelyn looked down at the red stain smothered on her hands. "I want to know why Cross is." She slowly curled them into fists. "I think he always has been. I want to know what Darcy made him do...why he killed her."

"Made him do?"

"She's all I've known." Her eyes were somber as they flit to him. "And then she wasn't…I know the hold she can have on someone. Did he…ever talk to you, about her?"

"He did. I believe that is something for him to discuss." Charon gently cupped her elbow. "When is the last time you have eaten?"

Evelyn began to twine her hair through her lips and shrugged. "Nice change on the subject, big guy."

He snorted, and his hand traveled a little further, the curve of her ass filling the mold of his gloved palm as he gave a firm squeeze. "We may speak of other things, if you wish."

A yellowed envelope was set on the table between them, the bulk inside providing little clue as to its contents. There was nothing written to address its recipient.

Cross jutted his chin at it while the synth worked up a cigarette. "This from her?"

"It is," Valentine affirmed. "It's actually for you."

Cross leaned back in his seat, regarding the unknown contents with suspicion. He thrummed his fingers on the table for a few moments, and then looked around the empty establishment with its hollowed memory loungers.

"Why were you lookin' for my wife at the Memory Den?"

"I wasn't. I was looking for you," Nick drawled smoothly. "Heard you were a frequent patron and rumored to be back in the Commonwealth. Was as good as a lead as any."

With some trepidation, Cross took the package between his hands and slowly turned it over, tearing the paper apart with his bony fingertip and squinting inside. A single holotape laid in his palm, and he rubbed at his jaw with a look back up at the detective seated across.

"That's it? Just this?" Cross questioned gruffly. "And she said nothin' else to you?"

Valentine shrugged his lighter back inside. "She wasn't a very sociable woman-"

Cross muttered a single yeah, I know under his breath as he rotated the holotape around in his hand.

"-but she was pretty adamant in getting this to you and ensuring your wife was no less than safe." His shoulders raised up in a tented shrug beneath his trench coat. "I didn't expect you both to be so hot on my heels, or aware of the fact I was working this case."

"She wasn't lookin' to meet with Evelyn," Cross stated more as a fact than a question.

"As far as I know." Valentine nodded. "She only asked for me to bring her to you…guess she hasn't heard the celebratory news." He gave a point of his metal skeletal finger to his wedding band.

Cross dropped the holotape carelessly on the table, leaned back in his seat, and rubbed his hands down his face. What the hell did this blonde ghost from his past want from him? But who was to say it really was Darcy, or perhaps someone pretending to be…

He picked the holotape back up.

"Finger yourself," he commanded in a sharp, husky rasp.

The smooth and worn leather of his gloves roved over the soft skin of her breasts as she executed his demand. Two smaller fingers inserted inside the slick and warm crevice of her cunt, lazily pumping away as her attention became fixated on the giant ghoul keeping her pinned against the crumbling brick wall in a narrow alleyway.

Charon's attire below the belt was quickly undone, his mounting anticipation more than obvious. She removed her fingers and cupped them over his chin and into his mouth, grasping his tongue with a little more than pleasurable force.

"Too bad we didn't do this a long time ago," she mused as he growled under her dominating nature.

He removed her tangy taste from his mouth with a fierce grip around her wrist, nearly slamming it into the brickwork above her head.

"You would not have been able to handle it," he stated flatly, and as she scoffed in disbelief, he ripped her pants past her thighs and spun her around, taking her from behind with all the grace of a heated animal.

"J-Jesus," she panted, soon becoming lost in the midst of his skin slapping against her own and their labored breathing easily giving away their position.

It was easy to forget the world like this. Feeling the heft of his hand pull at her ass for easier access, the curl at his mouth as he bent down for a frantic kiss, the absolute devotion from his body and mind as he allowed himself to simply be in the moment with her and brave themselves to the dangers around them. She tilted herself to the tips of her toes, arching him deeper inside that both appreciated with a respective moan.

"God, right there Charon, oh God," she cried out, and his armor clinked together as he quickened his pace, spurred on by the ecstasy pouring from her lips. "Fuck, yes."

He was right. She wouldn't have been able to handle a sexual relationship with him in the past- it would have proved too distracting, too good, as they reveled in the dance of bloodshed by day with mind-numbing sex by night. Charon didn't need intimacy around her…he just needed her. But that was all in the past, and they were now both staring through the same window.

A loud grunt, followed by a final push as he braced her into the wall with his thighs. She felt him pulsate around the blood pounding through her inner walls, and with some careful thrusts of her own, she eased out a few more groans from his lips that she drank with a smile. He finally removed himself, deftly tucking his slick and flaccid manhood to lie flat with the rest of his armor. She turned around as he brushed a hand down his arm and eyed her condition for a moment.

"You should dress quickly. I heard some footsteps not too far from here," he rasped, all business.

She rolled her eyes and held her hands up towards his face. "Kiss me for a minute, you oversized paranoid weirdo."

A snort, but he crossed his arms and merely stared down at her. She wiggled in protest with wide eyes, to no avail.

"This is not a game," he chastised, and she was transported to the many days they had spent in each other's sole company. "I will be more than happy to oblige when we are back at the safehouse. It is dangerous out here."

Her breasts jiggled as she curtly waved her hands around. "You were just fucking my brains out a second ago!"

"That is different."

"How?!"

A growl snapped out at her, and he went to reconstructing her decency himself. "Do not argue like a child."

She laughed in complete incredulity at the situation, swatting his hands away and going to her knees. He rubbed at his eyes with a disgruntled sigh.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a no-nonsense sort of tone.

She didn't respond as she unzipped him to carefully fish out his dick. Even when it was soft, it was huge in her hand. He stared down at her with a hungry tint to his eyes, and when she softly sucked his tip and ran her tongue down his shaft, it twitched against her face. She dribbled spit into her palm and began to stroke him, his cock now bulging with veins and stiff under her touch.

She winked. "I mean, we can wait until we get back…if you want."