Cross exited The Third Rail, his mind a haze through which a single river of thought flowed.

Okay Bobbi. What's the deal?

Oh, come now Cross. You don't take me for a gal who wants for nothing now, do you?

He snorted to himself. It would appear the news of his permanent resignation from the Black Cazadors was all but smoke in the wind now. Everyone wanted something done- or someone dead- and they were all knocking on his door again. But he didn't have the time for that, or the interest.

He wanted someone dead…perhaps more than a few.

The holotape burdened his left back pocket, in more ways than one.

Some hesitant footsteps drew his head around. Can was standing a few feet to the side, his shoulders slumped in defeat and forehead creased with apprehension.

Did say I'd have his head, Cross thought dryly. He thumped a palm down on the young merc's back, nearly spasming him to the ground.

"How ya feelin' Can?"

"G-good, Boss," he gasped.

"Alright. Let's get back."

Can spun his head to the sound of a shovel scraping the leftovers of the gore into the gutters. He'd only caught a brief glimpse of the action, but the sight would be forever embedded in his brain. He wasn't able to identify who had shot him…but he was grateful it had been himself and not the wife of the man that could snap his neck with one hand.

"Boss, did you…did you know she could-?" He gave a jut of his chin to the carnage they were now leaving behind.

"Yep." Cross wistfully wished he had grabbed his smokes out of his jacket as he inhaled a second-hand cloud on the way out. "Found that one out the hard way."

On extremely cold nights, he could still feel the dull ache in his chest.

"Is she why you…came back, like that?" The question of Cross's condition was an itch Can had been dying to scratch, and he was sure it would be the rest of the crew's, too. The ghoul had survived countless wasteland battles and suicidal contracts, and in less than a month, returned like some reborn specter fit for children's nightmares.

The gate clacked shut behind them as they began to traverse down the rubble-strewn alleyway, passing a Minutemen patrol with an indifferent nod in kind.

Cross squinted his eyes at the low-hanging sun. "Partly."

The two walked along in mutual silence for the remainder of the trip until they rounded inside the security of the safehouse.

"Something smells good." Can took a noisy inhale of the roasted smell coming from the kitchenette department store. "Woo! Must be nice having a wife that cooks."

Cross snorted to himself as he rounded inside. "Yeah, it would be."

He didn't forget her failed attempts at making something over a fire with limited ingredients, and she had the audacity of accusing him at being a shit cook.

"-they were so creepy! Trust me, you would have shot them on sight," Evelyn blathered, completely engrossed in her storytelling to the ghoul that was standing by the sink and rubbing a rag over a pan as he watched her consume his impromptu dish. "I played the handy dandy Black Widow card. Totally fell for it."

The ferryman ceased in his cleaning. "You did not." The scowl in his voice carried across the room.

She took a mouthful of the reheated beans and began to saw off a piece of fried cram. "What?! It's not like you were around. I had to do what needed to be done. It's not like I would actually let anything happen. Gross." She sniffed haughtily. "Oh! And then I came to this place called The Cascades, have you ever been there?! It's huge!"

"It's like, so fuckin' big," Cross mocked as he sat down beside her and stole her fork with a generous serving. "I don't think it'll fit." He chewed on her food as she sputtered and flamed an embarrassing shade.

"I never said that!" she snapped, attempting to swipe at her stolen utensil.

He easily held it back from her reach. "Didn't say ya did." He winked with a devilish smirk. "Cascades, huh? How was Beatrice doin' anyhow-?" She rose from her chair and began to stomp away, and he swiveled in his seat. "Aw, baby, I was only kiddin'."

"I'm going back to that Paladin," she seethed before she left.

Cross looked up to the ghoul shaking his head at him. "What?" He then proceeded to finish her plate. "How come ya never cook for me?"

Charon relocated the dried skillet to a high shelf. "You are capable."

"What? And she ain't?"

The ferryman leveled a look, and the merc just blew out a sigh with a low yeah, you're right.

Cross shifted in his chair as he procured the holotape burning a hole in his back pocket. He slid it across the table for Charon to take notice of and forced his hand not to shake.

"Meet me downstairs."

Evelyn dumped the remaining bucket in the newly cleaned tub for a nice and relaxing reprieve. The stiff fabric of her bloodied shirt began to travel past her navel, but then it was just as quickly put back into place. The merc could more than make up his mean jest to her, and she quickly set off to invite him before the water became too cold to enjoy.

The kitchen was now a ghost town. Their bedroom was empty. Charon's workshop was void of any usual grumpy mutterings. She bit her lip and folded her arms as she pondered, and then the sight of the elevator reminded her of the building's remaining levels. With a ding, she exited to the basement floor. Cross's voice drifted from his open doorway- she kept her steps painfully slow in an attempt at being sneaky. Charon was sure to be inside, and she was determined to scare the ghoul at least once in their lifetime.

"-you saw her back there. I don't know if she could handle it. Ya know I ain't doin' this cause I don't trust her, but, damn, I honestly don't know what else to do."

Evelyn forced herself as close to the wall outside his office as she recklessly dared, now remaining hidden for a different reason entirely. She knew it! Cross was keeping secrets from her! It didn't so much as make her feel betrayed as it did borderline furious. How long were they going to play this game? Until this was all over…or perhaps, never?

"I do not think it wise to continue this way. I have told you before, she will leave you if you are not honest with her."

"I ain't lyin' to her, and I don't intend to…but…goddamnit, she's my fuckin' baby. I just want to keep her safe."

"Keeping her safe and withholding information are two different things. I have already had this discussion with her. She was not happy."

"So, what, we goin' to tell her what that fuckin' crackpot in Underworld told you?"

"That is different," Charon growled. "That will place her in danger. We will not speak of it."

Cross sighed. "Okay, look, we'll listen to this first…and then we can go from there."

The seconds ticked by into minutes as the silence stretched between them. Evelyn chewed her lower lip in mounting apprehension, the beat of her own heart loud in her throat.

"Very well."

Some shuffling, a click, and static filled the air.

"I know you wouldn't have believed it unless you heard this personally." Darcy's voice flowed by like a stream of cool water. "You broke your promise to me, but that's all behind us now."

Evelyn clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. What the fuck was this?!

You fucking talked to that synth without me?! She screamed inside her skull. Her fingers smothered against her lips as she screwed her eyes shut and listened to her dead mother's voice given life again after so many years. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry-

"If Nick Valentine did what was requested of him, then Evelyn should be in your care. If she isn't by the time you are listening to this- you need to find her. You must keep her safe. Once you have ensured that to me…come meet me in Sanctuary. Come alone. Do not tell Evelyn any of this…the less she knows, the safer she will be."

Another click, and the recording stopped.

Evelyn carefully retraced her steps back to the safety of the elevator, too shocked to listen to the debate being picked apart. Once the doors had closed and the metal box began to make its way up, she cried into her hands.

Everyone and all their little secrets. All of them about her.

She sluggishly dipped herself inside the tub, her loud sobbing reduced to pitiful sniffles as she went on autopilot and pretended there wasn't a single thing wrong with the world. It was all picket fences and lemonade stands, children playing in the safety of their yards and parents watching on happily from behind streak-free windows. She dunked her head and listened to the sound of her blood pumping through her ears. She would never know a world such as that. She emerged, took a deep breath of air, and watched the tidal wave of crimson-soaked waters slosh around like an angry sea inside its ceramic prison. She dried, dressed in her change of clothes, and made her way up the stairs.

The merc finally came back after she had crawled into bed.

"You asleep?" he asked quietly.

"Almost." She scooted further down inside the warmth of the sheets, listening to him shunt off his boots and strip his pants to the floor. He snaked in beside her, lovingly kissing her neck as his hands roved mischievously on their own. She stopped him, too cold inside to feel his passion.

"You okay?" he rasped.

The question almost made her bark out a bitter laugh, but she feigned a smile instead. "Yeah…just a long day."

"…you want to talk about it?"

Now she fought back the angry flood of tears threatening to spill from her eyes. The tightening of her throat made it suddenly very difficult to breathe.

"Make love to me," she whispered, the soft velvet of her lips brushing his rough, cracked exterior. "Please."

Her mouth made a move for his own, but he tilted back from her reach to speak to her with his eyes. He didn't say anything, no words to address her obvious torment. She only looked upon him with an indescribable sadness; she looked how he had felt all those years ago before he had met her. The sight of her naked skin was always a private pleasure that rippled him with want, but at that moment, it felt wrong.

She climbed towards him, offering herself like he was an altar to be worshipped upon. Every pull of her tongue and bite of her teeth felt so fraught, as though she was attempting to convince him he wanted her.

"Evelyn," he rasped as he held her away, his hands cupping her fingers. "Baby, what's goin' on? What're you doin'?"

"Don't you want me?" she shakily asked, the tears so thick in her throat but void on her face. "Do you…not?"

"That ain't what I'm sayin', and you know it," he said firmly.

"Then kiss me," she breathed, and she closed the distance before he could refute. It was needier than before, something he instinctively couldn't ignore. He wrapped one hand behind her head while the other grasped her waist, and he was soon dragging his tongue between the valley of her breasts and nipping her perky buds.

She moaned, high and sweet as he raced up between her folds, pressing firm and hot until it met with her clit. He tongued and teased and circled the nub until it became swollen and pained for desperate attention, and she could hear his hand jack himself off as he watched the need on her face and listened to the sounds of her breathy whimpers. He pulled away, still slowly stroking himself.

"Fuck," she gasped, her own fingers coming down to rub small circles over her drooling sex. It wasn't the same texture as his rough hands or experienced tongue, and he overturned her to sink her stomach into the sheets. His mouth gently kissed the legionary scar on her shoulder blade, tenderly leaving a trail across her back and up the side of her neck.

Her wrists were brought together over her head and clasped tightly under one palm, and she felt his weight engulf her entire body as he pressed himself close. His face flushed alongside her own as she sunk her chin into the mattress, the hard tip of his cock pressing itself inside making her cry out.

"God I love this fuckin' pussy," he said thickly, his words washing hotly over her face. "Fuck."

Their wedding bands shined under the faint light of the tableside lamp; her fingers curled the sheets into her palms as he grinded his hips powerfully against her. Those three fingers were gently tracing the length of her body and coming to grasp at her waist. She twined the topside of one foot around his calf.

She was so lost in the harmonic vibrations rippling from her sex that everything took on a lustful, dreamy sense of wonder. He felt just as much a part of her as he felt completely foreign, some ethereal entity granting her this delicious sensation of complete euphoria.

She twisted her head to the side, a bead of sweat trickling down her neck. Her lips brushed the leathered skin of his cheek. "I love you." They parted to grant a kiss, and she felt his rhythm quicken and his grunts become heavy. She opened her eyes to him staring back at her.

"I will always love you," she whispered.

The sucking sound of his cock ramming her pussy began to intensify while the grip of his hand holding her wrists hostage became tight. He released her waist to grab her face instead, kissing her so tenderly she felt her entire body bloom hot as she grew faint. He tucked himself as close as he could without crushing her, taking both her hands under his own and twining their fingers together.

"Goddamnit, fuck." He bottomed out with a loud smack on her ass with his hips, the pulse of his load blowing inside making her whimper with pleasure. They remained in their positions for a few minutes while they cooled down, his thumbs making long strokes against the sides of her palms. "Sorry…got too damn excited."

"It's okay," she said breathily, delivering a soft kiss to his jaw.

Those bells that felt like prickles on the backside of his neck were ringing again. He carefully eased himself off and to her side, propping one elbow up to rest his head in his hand. Scarred fingertips stroked down the length of her spine.

"What're you thinkin' 'bout?"

Her lips slightly parted as she looked at him, and then she turned her head the other way. "A lot of things…"

"Like?"

"…silly things. Things that don't make sense."

He stopped at the base of her neck. "What sorta things?"

She shrugged. "Things I don't want to think about, anymore."

Something in the tone of her voice made him clench up; it was as though she was saying goodbye.

"Hey." He rolled her over to face him, her face ruddy with grief. "You can't say shit like that and not tell me what the fuck that means."

"I think I just need some sleep," she said softly, and she passively stared at the wall as he tucked her close to his body before she could vanish like a dream.

"...you want to go again? Promise I won't disappoint," he joked with a sad, thick rasp. "Baby, I'm sorry."

She closed her eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Let's get some sleep...it's been a long day."

She indulged herself in the sensation of his hands caressing her skin; she didn't know what he could possibly be thinking. Her mind was on the cusp of nothing until he finally fell asleep, the weight of his body sinking into her like an old ship resting in shallow waters and soft sands. With cautious ease, she untangled herself from his limbs and began to crawl out of bed, but the merc cracked an eye open as she nearly found freedom at the edge. The shuffle of her clothes being put on made him roll over.

"Goin' somewhere?" he drawled drowsily, watching her shoulder the duffel bag bulging with her wares.

She froze, and then continued cinching the strap down. "I can't sleep. I'm going downstairs to hang out with Charon for a bit…I'll come back once I'm tired." She wiggled her bag. "I want to show him what I found."

"You sure you're okay?" Now both of his eyes were staring at her, and she had to muster all of her courage to meet his gaze head-on.

"Yeah. I'm okay." She held his face between her hands and bestowed the most gentle kiss she had ever given, and she felt his hands hold on to her body with religious devotion. "I'll come back, okay?" Now the thickness of her emotion was creeping up in her voice, but he must not have heard it, for he closed his eyes with a rumbling sigh.

"Trust you know your way," he joked sleepily.

Yeah, I do, she thought, and then she kissed his forehead before he rolled back over.

Charon could be heard welding something together in his workshop with the low hum from a radio playing, lending for an easy departure as she made her way towards the entrance. Her hand settled on the latch, and she looked over her shoulder for a few seconds.

I'm sorry Charon…I never was very good at staying put.

And she was soon gone.

Ding!

"Eighth floor."

Roman exited the elevator, the blood still stiff on his pants and boots still caked with mud from the harbor. Dried pieces of it left a small breadcrumb trail behind him, leaving a brown powdered line right to Carol's doorstep in the old-world hotel. The door was slightly ajar, making him freeze instantly. Carol never left the door open.

He unholstered his gun, placed a hand on the frame, and silently widened it to allow himself inside.

The smell was the first thing to assail his atomic flayed senses. If he hadn't become so accustomed to it, he would have perhaps ended up retching over the side of the balcony railing. Bits of broken glass crunched under the tread of his boots; there was blood smeared along the walls. A fallen lamp from the nightstand was still flickering; Carol's decomposing body was seated in a chair in the middle of the room, her black eyes sunken in as her mouth hung askew in a silent scream.

Roman stowed his gun away, and immediately began a search of her body for his contract.

It was gone.

He swept the entire room, now becoming increasingly paranoid as his brain howled at him to find the contract, find his new employer. Ensure their safety to the best of his capabilities…he glanced back at the mottled corpse. Carol had assumed she was invincible, even when he was not around to protect her. He selfishly took a small joy in her death. It did not cause him pain. He would not mourn her.

A piece of paper nailed to the wall across from the bed caught his eye- he did not recognize the handwriting, but the message was clear.

I'm your employer now. Meet me in Sanctuary. I'll come to you.

Cross wearily reached out, stroking his hand along the empty side of the bed for the warm body he craved. When there was nothing but air, he cracked a bleary eye open and turned over, reading the time on the clock Evelyn had scavenged from their night on the town.

It was well past noon.

With a yawn, he sat upright and scratched at his elbow, fumbling towards the bathroom for some morning relief. He was mildly surprised he hadn't woken up when she had come back at some point or when she had left to greet the day, but then again, he was perhaps more distracted than he realized. He finished lacing up his boots and carried his jacket down the hall with him, poking his head inside Charon's workshop.

The large ghoul was absent.

Can was found inside the common area, reading a Grognak comic fully splayed on the counter as he chewed away on a bowl of sugar bombs.

"You know where Charon ran off to?" Cross rasped as he peered inside the fridge.

The young mercenary didn't raise his eyes as he shook his head. "Nah, sorry Boss." He turned a page.

Cross left the room without enjoying a meal. He stepped into the elevator and ascended to the rooftop, but Evelyn was nowhere to be found. The ghoul practically combed the safehouse until he concluded, (not without some painful heart palpitations), that she must have accompanied the ferryman on his errand run. The merc secluded himself in his office, refreshing the terminal box for any word from Lydia. There was still only nothing. Now he was getting pissed. If he had to make the leg up there just to get her to fucking speak to him…

The holotape was replayed behind a closed door lest Evelyn returned and overheard. They had come to the decision it was perhaps best she was kept in the dark, at least until they had more information to go on. If this was a trap, he didn't want her within a hundred miles of it. The information Bobbi No-Nose had disclosed to him was chewed over as he pulled out old files. Sinjin had been rumored to have been working as a low-class mercenary for a small ghoul sanctuary somewhere down along the bay. It was the only lead anyone had been able to find, and he once again found himself wearing bounty hunter shoes.

"Want the job done right, got to do it your fuckin' self," he muttered as he closed the filing cabinet.

The day seemed to drag on between this information he was sitting on and Evelyn's absence. When his bones ached from being in his chair for too long, he moseyed back upstairs, his heart beating abnormally fast at the thought of her return.

They were still gone.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he stood over their bed. What the hell was she thinkin' 'bout last night?

He wasn't sure where to start with the conversation...the merc glanced at the nightstand and the dogeared page inside the magazine he had given her. He then had an idea, and the next thirty minutes sought to him bustling around a few local settlements until he finally found a bottle. The Slog was a little bit of a hike, but there was always some form of guarantee their wares were sure to be somewhere close by. Can returned with his earlier tasking, handing over the collection of mutated flowers he had plucked. He briefly watched the merc fuss over the arrangement, reorganizing the colors and stripping the brittle leaves from the stems.

Cross's growl snapped him from his staring. "What?"

"Uh, nothing, Boss," he said uneasily. "Just...uh...never seen you like this...before."

"It goin' to be a problem?" the merc rasped dryly.

"No Sir." And Can left the ghoul to his planning.

A box of snack cakes paired the newly crowned tarberry wine nicely on the small table in the sniper's nest, the bouquet a final touch to the display of gifts. Cross nervously rubbed at his jaw as he went back down to wait for her return.

Charon was found to be disassembling a minigun on his workbench and too engrossed to notice his presence, so Cross immediately bounded up the stairs to his room. His hand settled on the frame of the door, widening it for a peek inside.

"Hey, I want to show ya-" He ceased his words. He had been speaking to an empty room.

He came back downstairs and searched the kitchen and bathing area, and finally pulled the ferryman's attention from his work.

"She on the roof?" Cross rasped. At least she would find his surprise.

Charon quirked a brow muscle, wiping his grease-stained hands on a rag. "I do not know. I have just returned."

Cross disappeared as he went for the elevator, but the phrasing of Charon's words made him stumble back inside. "Wait…was Evelyn with you?"

"No," Charon rasped uncertainly. The two ghouls stared at each other for a moment. "I had assumed she was with you."

"I haven't seen her since…" He rubbed at his head. "Last night."

"Last night?"

"She fuckin' said she couldn't sleep and came down here with you! I thought she was with you all day!" Cross felt his chest seize. "Jesus, please fuckin' tell me she came down here."

Charon angrily threw the rag aside as he reached for his armor mounted on the wall.