"Hon, it's almost nine! Breakfast is downstairs."
The curtains were whisked back with a loud swish, enveloping the room in bright sunshine. A man groaned from beneath tousled sheets and a lumpy pillow. The woman wearing a soft yellow dress began fluffing her own and setting it in place before casting the blanket aside for the world to greet her husband (who was still half-asleep).
"We're going to be late. Come on!" A loving rub along his muscled shoulder; a squeeze of his elbow. "Today's the day!"
Another groan, and the drowsy sleeper slowly sat upright, wiping at his face with both hands. Ten fingers, lightly tanned skin, calluses under his palms…whole. He lazily climbed out of bed, clambering to the bathroom and bracing himself over the sink. The taps were spun, cold water was splashed over the stubble on his jaw (he'd have to shave), and he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.
"Good morning, Mum! I went ahead and brought the paper in…before the neighbor's dog got a hold of it again…"
"Thank you, Harold. Do you mind cleaning the kitchen this morning? We're scheduled for that appointment."
"Not a problem Mum! Leave it all to me! Did Sir wish for some breakfast before I go about-?"
"He'll be down in a minute. Actually-" A click of low heels paused at the end of the hallway. "Honey! You better be getting dressed!"
…
The side of the bed was cold.
Five minutes passed as Evelyn struggled to roll out (amongst the imprisonment of an assortment of pillows), another five passed on the toilet (which she was likely to revisit within the hour), and a full ten was spent trying to lace up her boots (that were becoming increasingly uncomfortable). There were somehow another two months to go before she popped, and she didn't know how it was physically possible for her to get any bigger.
The journey down the stairs proved to be an arduous excursion. She leaned against the corner of the elevator for support as it made its journey down to the basement level, and she soon rounded the corner into Cross's office while her chest puffed with strenuous breathing. She came around the side of his desk and rested a hand on his shoulder, studying the map and the small black markers littered around the Commonwealth. A recent one had been set over some lettering inscribing Kingsport Lighthouse.
"…was it him?"
Cross released a heavy sigh. "No." He bitterly ground his jaw, the muscles straining from the pressure. "He's a smart bastard…I'll give him that."
"Are they going to continue with the bounty?"
"Nope." Another sigh, and the merc leaned back in his chair. "Lost more than half their guys on that last lead…the rest ain't up to the chase."
Evelyn counted the possible 'Sinjin Whereabouts' they had explored over the course of the past half-year. "I didn't think he'd be so hard to find with that big of a price on his head."
"He wouldn't be…for some."
"And you already know my answer, so don't even try."
"Baby, I've been doin' this-"
"Longer than you've been alive," she mocked in a voice that rivaled a croaky ghoul. She turned away to the side, mindlessly perusing through a file containing all the pertinent information they had collected on the ex-raider. "If we're going to have this argument again-"
Cross rubbed at his eyes. "It doesn't have to be an argument."
"You're right, it doesn't," she snapped a little too forcefully. "Because we're not having it."
The merc growled at her instant dismissal; he spun around in his chair, quickly reverting to his old persona as a cutthroat mercenary leader. "I'm tryin' to do what keeps you safe, and I've given the others a chance at somethin' that should've been sorted out a long time ago-"
"You're not going," she interjected with an imposing authority he had come to witness only a few times. "Send the next batch of cocky gunslingers. I don't care."
"He's runnin' these guys in circles," Cross bristled with a low, dark undertone. "He knows exactly what he's doin'."
"And all the more reason for you to not go!" she exasperated with a thrust of her hands in the air.
The merc stood from his seat, slamming a fist on the table. He pointed a finger down at the map, his voice rising with each word he spat out. "It's all the more reason for me to go! Fucks like him don't just fuckin' play this cat and mouse crap for shits, Evelyn! He's stallin' for somethin', and I need to know what!"
"You need to hunt him down so bad you would risk yourself for it?!"
He stepped up close, clouding her under his dark shadow. His voice dropped to a cool whisper. "He knows everythin' there is about you. I would risk everythin' for this."
"Even your own child?" The words slapped him hard across the face, and he took a step back. "That's what you're putting out there if you go! There's a chance you won't come back-!"
"This is the fuckin' wasteland. There's always a chance I won't come back."
"I know."She licked her lips, and furiously wiped at a stray tear. "…I've already lost you once." The atmosphere between them dropped, and she spun around to leave the room.
Cross set his hands to his hips; his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Evelyn-"
"I don't want to hear it," she sobbed.
The sound of her pain clawed his ribcage from his chest. Their arguments were only getting worse- it didn't help that Charon wasn't around to mediate lately. Cross was steadfast in his logic, whereas she was driven solely by emotion. The ghoul had quit cold turkey once again after she had delivered her miraculous news to him…but the days were growing longer, and he found himself fiddling with a pack he had stowed away in the sniper's nest on the roof.
An itch under the skin on the backside of his neck was festering; blistering and scalding up his skull and down his spine that he couldn't scratch. It was an infection of unfinished business, of years of being unable to find his prey when he'd sunk his teeth into everything else and ripped it apart. He had everything he had ever wanted, and he was so afraid of losing it that it was beginning to haunt his dreams…he had to make sure it didn't haunt his reality, too.
Cross glanced down at the assorted markers, the failed expeditions reported back to him. Something was brewing in the Commonwealth, something that had even stirred the attention of the Minutemen's General. Cross hadn't been surprised when the Mayor of Goodneighbor requested his presence to address the issue, but he would be lying if he had expected to find the General there, too. That had been weeks ago…and no one was still any closer to smoking out the rat bastard.
The desk became littered with paperwork. There was something there…something he couldn't quite make out, but every instinct in him knew it wasn't right.
A paper flew from his hands. Smoothskin trafficking here.
Another went fluttering like a sail in a breeze. Chem operation there.
They all pointed to the same name. They all had some relation to the same puppeteer pulling their strings from the shadows.
Sinjin.
The file was slammed shut; he left in a whirl of frustration at being unable to just march out there and figure it out his goddamn self. The desk was left in its disorganized state.
He nearly burst through the elevator doors after he ascended to the rooftop. The packet of cigarettes was swiped down from its hiding spot; he perched a foot on the edge of the roof as he lit up a smoke and stared over the few lights illuminating the remains of Boston.
The access door creaked open on its hinges- he didn't have to look to see who it was.
"Nights are getting warmer." Lydia unfolded her arms to pluck the cigarette for herself. She brought it to her mouth, squinting her eyes at the engulfing darkness surrounding them. "You shouldn't be smoking these."
Cross carried a nonchalant air as he was traded back the remainder of his smoke. "I just came out for some air."
"Yeah, how's that going for you?" She gave the ghoul a once over. "Been getting air for weeks now, doesn't seem to be doing jackshit."
"It's nothin'," he rasped tersely, a warning creeping in his throat to let the conversation die.
"Oh my God, you are the absolute worst at keeping your mopey crap to yourself. Evelyn wanted me to give you space, but-"
Cross angrily flicked the smoldering butt off the side of the ledge, turning to her with seething hostility. "Stop talkin', kid."
"-it's been days, Cross, weeks! Evelyn didn't have to live with that brahminshit side of you for all those years, but with the way things are going, she's catching up pretty fucking quick-"
The merc abruptly bypassed her as a rude interruption to finally make his way back to bed. Evelyn had replaced the warmth and bulk of his body with a pillow; she didn't turn around to watch him enter. The mattress shifted under his weight as he took a seat. She wouldn't look at him- the cracks in the opposite wall were much more interesting.
He rubbed at the backside of his neck; his hands were always rough, from when he was still smooth-skinned and forever on afterward as a ghoul. They had cracked skulls, ripped apart bare flesh, toiled and heaved and laid the brickwork of his life in the post-apocalypse. They settled in his lap; his palms raised to the sky. There wasn't a piece of a woman he hadn't touched; a place he wasn't unfamiliar with. How he loved to use these hands in choking the life from a man to then drawing forth a woman's most personal pleasures. These were her hands.
They hadn't made love in weeks now…he had just brushed it off as her being too tired and him being too distracted, but with the slick still glistening between her thighs and the sheets still damp, it was all too obvious they both were a lie.
"I'm sorry," he said. It felt awkward. It shouldn't have, he never felt flustered with her…but here he was, uncertain of what to really say. "I know I keep sayin' that, but…when this is finally all over-"
"I'm tired," she dismissed him brusquely, her tone stony and indifferent.
"I don't want to leave," he rasped with exasperation. He halfway turned, resting a palm over her waist. It could have been his mind, but he swore he felt her tense away from him just the slightest. "But I don't know what else to do. Tell me what I should do."
"We've overtalked this." Again, no opportunity for giving way to middle ground. "I don't see a reason in continuing to."
At this point, he would've snapped in some way, and she would have thrown it right back at him. Then she would have stormed from whatever room they were squabbling in, and he would have either gone downstairs to fume or the roof to conclude another way of approaching the subject.
"I'm only askin' for a little time-"
"And I've given it to you!" she snarled, the first to break. She carefully sat upright- he went to help her without hesitation as he always did, but for the first time, she brushed him away.
They were both arguing the same conclusion.
I don't want to lose you.
His eyes swept around the room. For the past five years, it had been nothing more but a convenient place to sleep when his back grew too sore from sleeping on that shitty cot in his office. It had a creaky bed, a steam trunk full of porn he sometimes jerked to, and a sad, depressing vibe lingering in its walls.
There was now a bassinet- handcrafted and pieced together with the utmost love from his own bare hands. A corner of a baby blanket peeked out from under the lid of the steam trunk; a pile of children's books was stacked on the shelf. There was now a dresser swimming with gowns and shoes. A rocking chair settled in the corner that he had combed tooth and nail of the Commonwealth to find. There was so much life in this room that he would have never recognized it from before. It was swollen with her, just as golden and glowing as the bump she carried.
He plopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. When a little time passed, he felt her snuggle beside him, their shoulders touching and eyes trained upwards. Her fingers wriggled through his own, lifting his palm up to view the wedding bands that bound them together in matrimonial harmony.
Her voice was faint and strained with heavy emotion. "…you'll be back, for when the baby-?"
Cross expected to feel that sudden exhale of pure relief when that olive branch extended, but as he took it with a tender kiss on her lips, he felt nothing but dread. He really didn't want to leave, after all.
Twelve Years Ago
It was like waking from a dream, or a trance, rather.
Charon did not sleep; hadn't for decades now. He hadn't experienced dreams in what felt like an eternity, but he did not need to. The wasteland itself was a living nightmare, sometimes too surreal to be believed…other times, too hellish to be endured.
"Hey." Someone was addressing him, speaking like one would to a wild animal, trying to soothe. It was Quinn, an underlying wobble to his rasp as he kept his hands raised. I am not a threat."You okay, Charon?"
And just like that, at the sound of his name, the ghoul blinked and looked around himself. He was back in The Ninth Circle; it was completely destroyed, as though a mini radstorm had swept around the room and wreaked havoc to prove its prowess. Chairs were reduced to tinder, tables were splintered and crumpled in half; more than a few gunshots had been blown at the variety of booze on the shelves, their wasted poison now dripping small puddles on the floor.
Charon didn't understand. For once, he appeared genuinely troubled and confused. "I…I did this?"
How did he end up here…he had just been-?
The last memory he had made him stumble; the invisible, yet powerful force of trauma driving the behemoth of a ghoul to his knees. He gasped, trying to draw in air to his lungs when only pain staked itself in his throat. His hands began to violently shake; he screwed his eyes shut, blocking out the sounds of that purifier and the overwhelming blast of radiation melting his insides. His hands clawed at the remainder of hair still clinging to his scalp- this wasn't real, this had to be a dream, they were going to come back, he was going to go home.
"Something must have happened…"
"Where's the kid?"
"Maybe he's going feral."
A small crowd had gathered around the double doors to witness the spectacle of a ghoul that had carved himself as somewhat of a legend in the Capital Wasteland. The heroic status he had been elevated to in relation to the Lone Wanderer had been spread far and wide for all ghouls to take a private pride in…the ferryman had grown into a sort of celebrity back at Underworld, and…now…
"Is this yours?" Quinn had taken a knee a few feet from the shuddering man. He delicately held up a faded and crumpled piece of paper in one hand.
It was his contract. He had dropped it the moment he had stepped inside…he remembered that now.
"Yes," Charon rasped between clenched teeth, a broken sob lodged in his throat. He smothered his mouth with a swipe of his tongue, wetting his lips to deliver that same mantra that had been drilled into his head for over two centuries…why wasn't it coming to him?
The trader ghoul stowed it discreetly in a front pocket, his knees creaking as he went to stand. "Let's take this over somewhere else, alright? Somewhere quiet…" He turned around to the ogling eyes still watching from the safety of their sidelines. "You folks have anywhere else better to be? Get out of here."
They departed like mice. Pattering feet stumbled down the stairs and through doors, excited whispers and baseless rumors filling the concourse like a buzzing hive.
"Come on, let's get-" Quinn had gone to put a hand on the ghoul, but a sharp snarl made him think twice about touching the man.
No, that wasn't right…he couldn't harm the employer…could he?
Charon got to his own two feet, a completely defeated slump to his shoulders and a dull glaze to his hazy blue eyes. It was a sharp contrast to the ghoul that had just walked through these halls a few weeks ago, bold, and dangerous with an almost smug air about him. A simple husk followed Quinn down the stairs and straight to The Chop Shop.He stood against a wall, his eyes drawn to the ground and his mouth set in a hard line. He wasn't really there…but he had no other place to be, anymore. He didn't notice the drift of bodies join them in the room, the voices tuned to a low murmur.
He couldn't find any fire within him to care.
"I've never seen him like this before," Carol rasped quietly to the small committee that had been summoned. "Something must have happened."
"Did he say anything to you?" Doctor Barrows folded his arms and looked expectantly at Quinn.
"No…he was just carrying this." He held up his contract for all to see. "And then…just started shooting."
Barrows took the paper in his hands, studying it with minor interest.
"Should we ask him?" Tulip suggested with a hint of optimism.
They all turned their heads to the ghoul in question, and then quickly back away.
"He wasn't much of a talker, anyway," Willow muttered under her breath as she went to light a smoke.
Barrows quickly snatched her cigarette while simultaneously handing the contract back to Quinn to burden. "He can't stay."
"What?!" Carol guffawed in shock, one hand pressed to her chest in utter surprise. "We can't just send him away! How can you say such a thing?!"
"He's lucky he didn't kill anyone," Barrows said with a warning, speaking of the incident as though the perpetrator wasn't a few feet from them. "Whatever trouble he's in, he's not bringing it here."
"How crass of you-!"
"This place is the last sanctuary for ghouls in the Capital Wasteland," Barrows interrupted with a firm tone. "He's been mixed up with the kid for the last year- he doesn't belong here, not anymore. Don't think I haven't forgotten what he was like under Ahzrukhal…the residents don't feel safe around him."
Everyone drew quiet to their own thoughts on the matter for a few minutes. Tulip meekly roved her head back around to the big ghoul.
"But where will he go…?"
Quinn blew out a troubled sigh as he looked down at the paper in his hands. "I remember Ahzrukhal saying something about a contract. I think this is what he meant…with what this writing says, I think he'll go anywhere it does."
Everyone turned to stare. Charon didn't raise his head to meet them; he was barely propped against the wall, a lifeless puppet awaiting a pull of strings.
Carol gave the ghoul one final look before turning back to Quinn. "I…I think I know somewhere he can go."
The Present
He had her spread wide, his fingers creasing deep indents in the creamy skin of her supple thighs. His eyes were flitting down to her breasts bobbing up and down, up and down, with every stab he impaled her with. The length of his engorged, veiny cock would reappear for a split second- slick with her- and then just as quickly disappear. She brought a hand down to feel the motion of himself entering and leaving her body; he pulled out, his weight and girth slapping against her clit and oozing hot fluid down her skin. His own hand was now coming up to rub at his blood-red tip; a guttural moan escaped him; he pumped faster, drawing closer and closer to the edge-
A loud grunt escaped the bite of his lip as a splurge of seed splattered against the crumbling brick. When his fantasies began to fade and the blissful tremors stemming from his groin began to dull, he frowned down at the white residue coating his hand and went about cleaning himself.
Not even a two day's journey remained before Charon was finally home to her. The months of trekking across the wasteland with nothing but the summer radstorms and countless abominations of the atomic hellscape's finest had kept him company on his road to D.C. and Braxton. With his innate paranoia finally laid to rest, he was now becoming increasingly flustered with excitement that he had never experienced before. There were jitters invading every nerve ending in his body, and at first he had assumed he was stricken with something more borderline feral, but then he realized they only intensified the more he thought about her.
The ghoul was so unbearably happy to be going home; to a warm bed, her excited ramblings and sarcastic quips, and (even worse) her shit attempt at trying to cook something worthy of being edible. It didn't crack through to the surface, so to outsiders, he may appear apathetic, or furious…but on the inside, he relished in these new ambiguous and molten warm feelings coursing through him.
The thought of sex (he now realized just how much he had taken a nightly romp for granted) blinded his rational instincts with those of frenzy; he had never been one to touch himself and explore that solitary intimacy before. There was always something to be done, and the environment was never lenient for such a private pleasure.
The ferryman zipped up his pants, readjusted his codpiece, and shouldered his duffel bag before continuing on his way. Supplies were restocked at a cobbled-together settlement; a stalking yao guai was killed, butchered (for what little space his pack allowed), and enjoyed over the lick of his nightly campfire. He pushed himself a little bit harder when Boston's skyline came into view; Cross's old mantra was ringing through his head with every step he forced his tired body to take.
Bath, booze, and a bang.
Squelch squelch squelch
The worn tread of his boots squished black water and mud in a straight trail from the door to his workshop. A locker squealed on its hinges as it opened; a pair of (clean) clothes was snatched from the top shelf. The waft of aromatic soaps made a casual whiff past his nostrils; the ghoul had never before had someone take such attentive care of his laundry.
After six long months, it was good to be back.
Charon stripped his soiled armor and listened to the music drifting from his workshop as he drew himself a bath. It wasn't enjoyed for nearly as long as he had anticipated it, he was more than eager to see Evelyn after being away for so long. The ghoul took the stairs two at a time, slowing as he crept closer to her open door; there was a low hum in her throat, a few words of an old song whispered to herself. She had her back to him, a pile of folded laundry neatly arranged on the bed. He couldn't help but watch her, his sense of urgency dissipated.
Evelyn tucked an organized pile of shirts close to her chest, only to turn around and drop them in a fright. "Charon! Jeez, you scared me-!" The large ghoul immediately bent down to pick up the mess, but she drew herself close to him with her arms around his sides. "I've missed you so much!" she wailed into his freshly laundered shirt.
He didn't know what to say- he didn't know what to do.
"You are…" He gave a blank stare as he took her in. Her belly was huge, as though she had stuffed an entire melon under her shirt. It put his absence into perspective. "Big."
"What the hell does that mean?!" she cried hysterically, removing her hands from him as though he were a leper. "BIG?! You, you asshole-!"
He pulled a card from Cross's hand and kissed her into silence, worming his tongue past her muffled sobs and salty tears until she calmed down enough to eagerly kiss him in return. She took a seat on the edge of the bed with a tired huff, beginning her theatrical blabbering while he tidied her previous jumble off the floor and opened the steam trunk at the foot of the bed. A teddy bear sadly exhaled its squeak as he picked it up. The porn had long been disposed of and was now replaced with a variety of children's items. The duffel bag he had brought home was now being inventoried by her excited ooh's! and delighted this is so cute! Children's books in decent enough shape (with but a few pages either torn or missing completely), baby clothes with heavily faded designs, and a new assortment of toys were added to the never-ending collection. He leaned over the bassinet Cross had designed and built to her wishes, reaching a hand inside to swipe a thumb over the scraggly stuffed cat that was its sole occupant. She came beside him and twined an arm around his own, her head leaning against his bicep as she continued to chatter away incessantly and catch him up on the recent events he had missed.
Charon withdrew his hand, turned his head, and deeply inhaled the scent of her hair as he kissed his bumbling idiot's forehead.
It was good to be home.