The first incident had been dealt with a broken arm. He had simply reached over, taken the man's wrist under one huge palm, and cleanly snapped the bone in three places.

The second time, he'd curled that same hand into an iron fist and dealt a solid blow to some scum's face. The nose had crunched like an empty can underneath the heel of his boot, squirting blood all over his glove and forearm to serve as a macabre warning to others who even harbored such thoughts.

The third one, he just shot.

After that, she complained about his 'overbearing nature', stating I'm more than capable of handling creeps myself, Charon! He had just rolled his eyes but toned it down a notch…or at least, he tried. Most men only had a primal desire for their most basic needs: food and sex. He himself was a man, but his desires had long been locked away so that he may only serve those of his employers. He hadn't had a female employer in an extremely long time. He had forgotten just how much of an extra pain in the ass it was.

He had sharpened her hand-to-hand combat skills, (which were next to nonexistent, as she mainly just punched everything), and kept a keen eye out for those that sought to take advantage of her. More than a few 'free' drinks were taste-tested, and then promptly chucked at the perp's skull. He had forbidden her from wandering around at night on her own; he always sat close by her side whenever they had made camp with a wandering caravan.

Charon never had an issue with his worst fear…and then the merc had come along.

How trifle all of that seemed, now.

He had been so ready to defend her, to take a life if necessary. All of those past instincts of being her deadly, staunch protector had come rearing to their fullest the moment she had screamed, the second she had been sitting there, so afraid. He was ready to live with the consequences his contract would wield against him in retribution for harming his employer. Without hesitation, he would have easily taken Cross's life a second time, no matter if it cost him his own.

Charon had already hurt her in that way once…he was going to ensure no one else would ever have the chance to. He was going to rip Sinjin's spinal cord straight through his throat.

The journey back to Starlight Drive In was quick with his fast pace. The bartender had been replaced with a Mister Handy, so he continued up the stairs to where he had found her…where it had happened. Where she had felt the need to give herself in a way that she should never have considered. The evidence of their scuffle had been wiped down and removed; the chairs reseated to their designated positions. He sat down, heavily, and stared at the dark stain of her blood ingrained in the wood. It would perhaps be there forever, soaking through as a sole reminder of what she had done…of what had been done to her.

A crinkle of paper was in his hands. Out of all the little notes she had gifted him, squirreled away in his workshop like some childish game, this one he could not bear to part from. An ugly rendition of an already hideous cat, drawn with exaggeration, but almost perfectly resembling that warped photograph she used to carry.

He first stormed through the tiny brothel that had curtains rather than doors.

"Whoa, hey man!"

"What the fuck!?"

Charon cast aside every startled face and racial slur thrown at his back as he searched for his target. His mind was an echoing beat of one simple word, and it threw his world in a shade of scarlet red.

KILL. KILL. KILL.

His shotgun was tightly clenched in one hand; no one dared to confront him head-on as he thundered through the settlement, blind to his one true objective. He kicked the doors in on sleeping patrons; he snarled at a roving sentry that had finally aimed a gun at him. Sinjin was nowhere to be found- he had looked at every face, combed through every corner.

The ghoul was long gone.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!" he bellowed to the cold night sky.

He told me he would wait for me.

The ferryman's steps took him back on a straight course to her.

The candles were dying; the room was more shadow than it was light. He snuffed them with his fingertips, one by one, as he slowly came around to crouch beside her. Cross didn't even stir from his presence, but his fingers were holding her to him with an instinctual possessiveness, and his chest occasionally glowed with every beat of his heart. Charon reached out to touch her face, and she breathed in deeply before opening her eyes that held a dreamy glaze.

"You're ash and salt," she whispered, and her eyelids closed as she turned her back to him to be consumed completely in the merc's fold.

He told me he would wait for me.

Suddenly, he stopped.

The faint light over the sign Sanctuary Hills greeted him after he crossed the wooden bridge. Much like Starlight Drive In, the settlement had grown exponentially since his last visit over a year ago. Where there had previously been no settlers of any kind, (besides a lone Mister Handy floating around quietly going about its Pre-War duties), there was now a structure three stories tall, established caravan lines, and a slew of settlers that had comfortably made the Pre-War town their home. Charon bypassed trader's stalls, garden patches, brahmin pens; neon signs indicating which pleasure was sought brought him to the Sanctuary Sundown, the first motel he would conduct his search in. A single desk housing a terminal greeted him as he stepped inside the remodeled Pre-War home, his fist nearly smashing the service bell.

"Just hold your brahmin. You know what time it is?" An older woman stumbled out from the first room, giving him a cross look telling of interrupted sleep as she waddled over. "Rooms are full."

The ghoul straightened to his full height. "Darcy Lackins. Is she here?" When her lips pursed in a thin line, he gave a glance down the hallway behind her. "She is expecting me. Cross."

His impersonation paid off. With a peeved huff, she reached for something underneath the desk and motioned for him to follow. "...she ain't here."

Charon looked down the quiet avenue; a streetlamp flickered and buzzed. He kept his steps quiet, too quiet to be considered normal for a ghoul his size. They stepped between some large hedges around the backside of one of the Pre-War homes, navigating through a tiny maze of razorgrain that grew as tall as his head. She fiddled with a key into a padlock that kept a chain snugly in place over a cellar door, and he gave her a questioning look.

The woman heaved the doors open and motioned for him to step down inside. "It's what she wanted. Don't worry, I won't lock you in there..." She pointedly looked at his shotgun. "Not like it would do much good."

He stepped down, and she closed the doors behind him. It was dark, and musty. The smell of old hay brushed his senses, settling in his nostrils and coating his tongue. The ghoul's boots made a loud thud against the dry earth underneath his feet, and he roved his glowing eyes to better take in the space he had entered. A single lamp wavered meager light around the room, just enough to outline the figure seated in a chair in the corner. She wore a simple garb of a settler's outfit, her snow-white hair tucked neatly into a braid at the base of her neck. Even dressed in rags, Charon did not know such beauty existed in the wasteland…she looked nothing like Evelyn.

"Who are you?" Her voice was soft, almost like a cool touch from a spring breeze. She didn't appear to panic at his late-night entry.

"You are Darcy?" he asked, taking a few steps forward until the fall of light fell on his broad shoulders and back. It completely engulfed her in shadow. "Evelyn's mother?"

She was quiet. "I am."

All at once, a flood of anger raged through him. A sudden spout of word vomit threatened to burst from his chest, but he tightly worked the muscles in his jaw as he grit his teeth.

"You are the reason for all of this," he hissed.

Her piercing eyes seemed to be studying him, looking for something. "Is she safe?"

Charon turned slightly to the side, looking down at the empty bedroll on the bare floor. He didn't know how to answer that question.

"Where is Sinjin?" he rasped.

Darcy stood from her seat, unafraid of this massive ghoul and the weapon he carried. "Is she safe?"

"Evelyn is of no concern to you," he stated flatly, and he once again squared himself straight. "If you had loved her…you would not have left."

The cold façade she wore cracked into a sheet of regret. Charon took a step forward, leaning his head down slightly and lowering his voice an octave.

"Where. Is. Sinjin?"

"I don't know who you're referring to," she snapped. Her trembling fingers came up to stem the grief at her mouth. "Is Evelyn alright?!"

Charon looked for any hint that she may be lying, but he found none. With a snort, he took a step back. "She is with Cross."

Her eyes closed, a breath of relief exhaling into the room. "Thank God."

"You trust him?" He eyed the young woman. Most definitely a synth. "After everything he has done to you?"

"Who are you?" she countered.

Charon didn't respond right away. Who exactly was he? He didn't wear a matching band on his finger, he couldn't, and he was not tied to her with his contract. She simply didn't want it; she refused to take ownership of it, anymore. The term of lovers seemed too shallow…they were much more than friends, companions, partners…

"I…" He licked his lips. "I am someone who wishes to keep her safe."

His eyes had strayed back to the bed; he watched himself make love to her.

"You love her." It was a statement rather than a question. Her eyes had followed his own.

"You do not know where he is?" Charon turned away from the scene of her fingers gripping his forearms and her legs twined over his backside.

"No. I don't know who he is. What does he have to do with Evelyn?"

Charon's face blended back into the dark abyss of shadow; he didn't answer her question. "She is looking for you. She knows you are here."

Darcy's pale skin blanched into a tinge of blue. "She…she cannot find me. Do you understand? She cannot-"

"She has risked everything for you!" Charon snarled, and he felt his fury give birth once more. "I lost her at Braxton, because of you! I lost her for ten years because you were selfish! She should have never gone searching for him! You should have never held on to her as you had! She would be happy, without someone like me in her life. Without all of this!" His chest heaved as he stalked around the cellar, not taking his burning eyes from her as he watched her like one would with prey. His lips curled into a grimace, his expression ugly and bitter. "I hate you, for what you have brought on her. I hate you, for sending her to me. I hate you for giving me no choice but to love her."

He was staring down the barrel of his gun, the well familiar crook of it nestled in the worn padding of his armor and his callused finger placed so expertly at its trigger.

A single nod was all he was given, but he wasn't asking for permission.

A clunk of his boots hit the floor back in the little cabin they were seeking shelter in. His shotgun was nestled by the doorframe; his armor was settled on the skeleton of a sofa. The combined weight of the three of them made the bedframe groan considerably.

Evelyn rubbed at her eyes as he traced his ashy fingertips across her shoulders. Charon pulled her face close for a kiss, and he felt new life breathe through him with her sigh.

The strands of gilded hair were woven like threads of a tapestry through his fingers; he was unbearably gentle, parting piece by piece as he slowly untangled the small knots with a tender tug of his bony fingertip. In a past life, he had been content to watch his wife brush through her golden locks with a silver hairbrush while they listened to the evening program on the radio.

It was more than strange upon waking to her ghost this morning as she stood by the window, and only until she had turned to put his mind at ease, did he feel a tremendous wave of guilt consume him. It wasn't remorse at hoping that perhaps he had woken from a long, and terrible, nightmare- he had to send a prayer of apology to Amelia, for he could not bear the thought of living on this earth without Evelyn anymore. He would endure the bombs falling all over again if it ensured she would be there, waiting for him.

The remaining portion of hair was swept over the greenish hue of skin around her neck. He had planted a kiss on every part of her that he had come to inflict; all of the seething anger and bitter loneliness she had kept locked away for so many years were now set free to the open sky, purified by the sunlight. He would never touch her in that way, ever again…but there was no need to. Like an infection between them, their grievances with the other had been opened and cleansed. She now looked at him in an entirely new spectrum, as though some secret part of herself had come breaking to the surface.

When Charon had returned and began to make love to her, he left them alone in the room to smoke on the porch. The air was breathable- healing, almost. He let him fill the molds of that very last thing she needed to be completely whole. A marble statue without any cracks. When they had finished, he came back upstairs, and it was the first time he had ever shared a bed with another man. She perfectly fit the space between them that they had kept distanced from themselves, and they each placed a hand on her as though she were the vital link keeping everything together.

She raised her palm out of the water, and he leaned over her as he traced a thumb tip along the lines in her hand up to the readorned ring on her finger.

"Do you think it's possible?" she asked softly, feeling him draw a small circle over her wrist. "…what I am?"

"I don't know," he rasped just as faintly. He brought her pulse up to his mouth, sweetly kissing a trail down the length of her forearm.

"Do you want it to be?"

He was silent, much longer than she anticipated him to be. He stroked her hair, kissed her temple, cupped a breast. When she turned around to face him, the water in the lake rippled around them.

"No," he finally answered. "I ain't that kind of man anymore…I made my peace with that."

"Would you want a child?"

The sound of water splashing echoed around them. Charon had dropped the armored chest piece he had been cleaning down into the murky depths. Loose silt swirled around it, but he didn't reach down to retrieve it. He was completely entranced by the question she had spoken.

The expression on Cross's face changed violently, going from one of utter calmness to straight fury. She didn't apologize or withdraw; she knew the ire he felt wasn't directed at her. Instead, he retreated with a turn of his head towards the shoreline, his eyes searching for something that she could not see.

"I already have what I want," he rasped.

"But you do," she pressed as her own voice grew thick. "You've been wanting it just as much as I have. I feel it every time. You've been secretly hoping, regardless of knowing how painful it is." Her hand reached out to grab at his own. "It's okay to want it."

He let her hold him despite how much it burned. He stood still in that cold water, despite how much he wanted to take her against the rocks and tell her, yes. He met the look in her eyes, despite how much it rolled him under that deep tide that he wouldn't surface from. There was no lie to be told. He'd been foolishly hoping that perhaps some part of her could fix the part of man he could never hope to be. It was a pointless faith to worship; ghouls were only remnants of what their former humanity used to be. They were fire and water; incompatible, in the end.

"Do you know what you asked me, after I had woken up from that vault?"

His voice broke; he couldn't help but begin to cry. "N-no."

"You asked me if I ever thought about having a baby. I told you I did, at another time, and that it didn't matter because I have you…" She held onto him just a little bit tighter as he smothered his other hand over his face, his shoulders wracking and eyes screwed shut. "You've been thinking about it ever since D.C., haven't you?"

He shook his head and continued to sob.

She licked the salt from her own tears that dipped into her lips. "It's what you've been too afraid to tell me, when you made love to me that last night." With a step forward, she drew herself close, the weight of her breasts flush against him as she embraced him. "I know, because it's what I was wanting too."

"No, no- this ain't fair, this ain't fuckin' fair," he blubbered. "You…you can't do this to me, Evelyn."

"What's so bad about wanting it?" she asked softly.

"Because no one is fuckin' owed anythin'," he gasped. "And I sure as shit don't deserve somethin' like that."

"What if we are only owed that in what we reach for?" she whispered.

"That ain't how the world works."

"Because the world is broken!" She motioned to the ever-growing wasteland on the horizon. "Nothing about this world has ever made sense, or fairness, to anybody! The world has never worked. The people living on it do. Look at us." She gently lowered his face down to hers, the heat of her breath ghosting his mouth. "I'm a test subject hopelessly in love with a couple of ghouls. I'm a walking cure for those I care about the most." She kissed him. "I'm the luckiest girl in the world to be loved by men that've done so much for me. So why can't I do the same for you? Why can't I give you that? Why can't I make this world work for us?"

She held onto the sides of his face, effectively trapping him there with the intensity of her stare. "I saw them, Cross," she whispered, as though she were recounting a beautiful dream. "They were so perfect."

He stumbled back a step, breaking from her hold. "Stop it."

"He was every part of you that I love so much."

"Evelyn, you're being cruel," he rasped with a slight wobble.

"He looked just like his father." She said it with so much emotion he let out a pained moan.

Charon snapped a warning growl. She had gone too far.

"Stop it!" He came within inches of her, the water rippling around him violently. "Look at us. We are ghouls. The world has made us this way, and there is no going back. If a child is what you wish, you will have to…suffice, with someone else."

It was the last conceivable thing on his mind; the most absurd notion to be entertained. It was downright forbidding, ultimately unattainable, and completely out of left field. Charon didn't expect to find love again after two centuries…he most certainly did not expect this.

"But I don't want anyone else's," she breathed out seductively. "I want both of yours."

Charon angrily tossed the brush he had been using to clean his armor off towards the shoreline. "You know that is not possible."

"But what if it can be? What if I can cure you? Wouldn't you want that?" Her eyes were begging, and the ferryman had to turn away lest he give in to her wild fantasy. "I would never have to worry about you ever going feral. I would give my own life for a chance at that."

"That is the price you pay for being with a ghoul," he said thickly. "As is mine watching you age while I never will."

"Are you going to stand there and tell me to fucking just accept something like that, and watch you lose your mind?! To-to have to put you down, like some rabid fucking animal?!" she sobbed in defiance.

"Yes," he rasped firmly. He swaddled his hands around her shoulders as she looked up at him and cried. "Evelyn…"

And then he saw it. A little girl with all the pieces he loved most of her, sprinting off barefoot across the desert sand and half-feral, smiling her mother's smile. She was perfect. She was everything he could not be...and he suddenly wanted nothing more.

A fierce sob growled through him. He let her go, his feet sinking into the soft mud beneath the waters as he retreated.

"You see her too," she said faintly.

"No," he gasped. He didn't want this desire. He didn't want this insane attraction that was all too alluring. It was a simple dream to be had, nothing more. He shook it off, coldly. "I killed Darcy."

The declaration had drawn an eerie stillness across Walden Pond. When nothing was said, he turned to face their impending wrath. Cross was staring at him, void of any emotion. Evelyn's chin quivered, and then she smiled.

"It's okay, Charon," was all she said.

The ghoul hadn't realized he had been shaking until he looked down at her small hand placed on his chest. His mouth felt dry; he wanted to retch and scream and run far away all at once. He had murdered someone who wasn't a threat- he had cut off the only thing they had for a lead. Consumed by his despair and rage, he had taken her life, and then returned to make love to the woman he was so desperate in running from and coming back to.

"Evelyn," he choked out. "I-"

"It's okay," she murmured. "You did what you had to."

But when he looked over her head to the man standing a few feet away, soundlessly watching him, he didn't feel so sure.