Twelve Years Ago

"You have something you wish to ask of me." Charon turned his head around to peer down at the tanned face of his employer. Even in the creeping darkness of the night falling across the wasteland, it was easy to read his features.

The Lone Wanderer shrugged his shoulders and scratched a few fingers through his dust-tinged blonde hair. He leaned his forearms against the railing, his eyes trained on the bustling evening activity of Megaton down below. The raucous commotion of Gob's Saloon was muffled at their backs just beyond the door, the early celebration in their final battle against the Enclave for the purifier boasted for all to hear.

They were going to win. Everyone was going to come home.

Adam tapped a few fingers against the railing, finally finding his voice in which to address the statement. "…you ever think about, tomorrow?"

The ferryman flit his stern gaze to a sudden movement. The ex-raider filth was stumbling along the rickety walkways, clearly drunk off his rocker and then some. He was of little threat.

"I am prepared for what we are about to face," Charon responded stoically. For him, this was of little difference to all the other asinine missions they had faced and won over the past year. His employer was a busy one, that much he knew for certain.

"That actually…wasn't what I meant," Adam said quietly. He stood up straight, nearly coming to Charon's shoulders. He'd grown into a sizeable young man at just the tender age of twenty. "I meant, do you ever think you'll be here?"

The ghoul fought the urge to shuffle his weight on his feet. He did not like the sting of emotion that question pained in his chest. "Are you considering on terminating my employment?"

"What-no! I just…" Adam ruffled his hair, his habit of uncertainty when it came to plunging into the unknown. "You know you don't have to be stuck with me, right?"

"Where you go, I will follow," Charon rasped absolutely, turning his entire body forward to face him. He crossed his arms, his expression no less than unwavering. "You are my employer."

"But not forever…you get what I'm saying?"

The blunt truth smashed a sledgehammer right down his throat, preventing the ghoul from responding outright. Instead, he gave a low growl and turned back to the nightly activity down in the streets.

Charon snapped brusquely, "I am a ghoul. This is inevitable."

"I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to upset you," Adam apologized as the ghoul withdrew himself. "But when I was trapped at Raven Rock, it just got me thinking, is all."

The recent catastrophe of his employer being taken despite his best attempts at protecting him made Charon inwardly wince. Granted, it had been a couple of weeks since Adam had escaped and blown the facility sky high, and they were well enough distracted with preparing for the upcoming battle for the purifier, but the failure was still just as fresh in his eyes.

"Who knows," Adam suddenly announced in that cheerful voice and plucky attitude, "maybe you'll meet the ghoulette of your dreams and get a chance at settling down on some farm somewhere." He cracked a grin, his white smile flashing in the shadows. "I could picture it now- moving the brahmin out to pasture and fixing shingles on the roof. Doesn't sound too bad, right? You got your pick of the ladies back at Underworld."

Charon snorted, unamused. "I have no interest."

"You say that now, but someone, somewhere…it could happen. The future's always a possibility." Adam clapped him on the shoulder, turning back to the festivities inside the bar house. "I dunno…it sounds like a perfect thing for me, when this is all said and done." He gave a nod of his head to invite him back in for a cold beer, turning the handle and opening the door to the bright stream of light and noisy laughter. "I mean, what's the harm in wanting something like that, you know?"

Charon swept his watchful gaze inside at the bustling patrons, heard the loud ring of the radio, and felt the buzz of the overall optimism for the wasteland's dynamic duo.

For once, he felt it would be alright.

The Present

"I thought you weren't supposed to be up here."

The voice fished Evelyn's nose out of Charon's journal that he had gifted her with. She quickly wiped a few fresh tears from her lashes and set the beautiful book at her side.

"If he honestly thought I would be kept down in that room for the next few weeks, then he's the world's biggest idiot," Evelyn said firmly as she looked out from the sniper's nest to the sprawling city decay beyond. "Don't worry. I won't be up here for long."

Lydia thrust her hands into her back pockets and stepped inside the fortified shack. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Evelyn sniffled, holding the book up for her to see. "Charon basically wrote his entire life story for me…it…makes me sad."

"Can't imagine what kind of life he had." Lydia took a seat beside her, digging a tin of mentats from within a slit in her boot. "I could never get close to him like I can with Cross. He's like a brick wall."

"He is," she agreed. "I think he has to be…for the kind of person he is."

Lydia popped a few tablets on her tongue before snapping the container closed. "Have you ever asked him why he's like this?"

"I have." Evelyn stroked a finger lovingly down the dark blue spine of his journal. "More than a few times, but it was something he didn't like to press…I'm still trying to figure him out."

Lydia eyed the book. "Does it say anything about it in there?"

Evelyn went to answer, but then she paused and furrowed her eyebrows sharply together. "…I'll have to get back to you on that."

"Did you figure something out? You have that face. Cross told me it's your scheming face."

Evelyn lightly laughed. "I don't scheme." She sat back in her chair, slightly wincing at the adjustment in weight. "Ugh. They better hurry back soon. I want this baby out now."

"Cross is probably still arguing with himself on what excuse he's going to use to come back anyway."

"And Charon is more than likely grumbling at him to continue regardless," Evelyn mused, scanning the empty streets for a desperate glimpse of the duo. "I just hope they're smart and stay safe."

Lydia reclined in her own chair, soaking up the warm sun like a languid cat. "I'm sure they're busy busting skulls and kicking down doors. Trust me when I say, I'd hate to be anyone on their shit list right now."

Charon tossed some more fuel onto their campfire, his eyes drawn to the metronome motion of Cross's boot propped over his other foot. The merc otherwise would have appeared to be asleep with his arms folded, shoulders relaxed, and chin tucked to his chest with his eyes closed.

"There are only a few hours until dawn…are you not going to sleep?" the larger ghoul rasped.

Cross released a deep-thinking sigh through his nose, his eyes squinting into the bright color of the flames. "…I should've brought that other crate of water to the room."

The ferryman rolled his eyes, a slight shake of his head as he sat back down. "She is fine."

"I had to stop her from rollin' off the damn bed once-"

"Stop it."

"-what if she can't get up? She's been havin' trouble just-"

"Stop."

"-what if she's-"

Charon tossed a rock at the ghoul's skull, making direct contact with the side of his bald head. "Be quiet." He crossed his arms with a more than usual sour grump. He didn't want to admit it outright, but he was just as concerned. However, unlike Cross, the ghoul knew how to hide his insecurities rather well. "She is never going to be left alone, and she is safe. Get some sleep."

The merc narrowed a glare, rolling onto his side and turning his back to his companion and the warm firelight. His voice carried over his cold shoulder. "Just sayin', it wouldn't hurt to check-"

Charon gnashed his teeth in irritation. "You are the one who wished to be out here!"

"-Stock said she could be due anywhere from a few days to a couple weeks than what he estimated, not like we really know when-"

The ferryman withheld a loud groan. Overly paranoid Cross was somehow worse than mopey grieving Cross, and it didn't help that his assumptions were feeding into his own jar of fears. He was afraid he might begin to strangle the man just to get him to shut up.

"-I mean what if she's havin' another nightmare, and I'm fuckin' not there for her to wake up to?! Stress ain't good for the baby- fuck- I put that jar of tarberry preserves on that high fuckin' shelf, I'm such a fuckin' idiot, she better ask Lydia helpin' her get out of that damn tub- goddamnit- Can don't know she only wants Sugar Bombs in the mornin' and I didn't even check if there was enough fuckin' milk! Fuck- why the hell didn't I put that jar by the bed?! What if she-" A heavy bag landing on his face smothered the rest of his rattled word vomit.

"We are continuing. Let us go." Charon waited with a scowl etched on his face. After the merc begrudgingly shouldered his pack and doused the fire, Charon gave a nod of approval. "She is more than likely asleep at this time…she is fine."

They eventually witnessed the sunrise and felt it creep along at their backs as they navigated the wastes towards their lone lead that they had wrangled from Jolene's bodyguard.

Charon withheld a sigh. The merc wasn't even paying attention to where they were going. His entire duration with Evelyn during his six-month absence was being replayed like an outspoken diary, entire snippets with her almost being relived a second time as he blabbered on and on and on in tedious detail.

"-and after it slipped from her hands to the floor, she just looked at it with the most serious look on her face, sayin', 'it's with the Lord now'." Cross stepped over a rotting log, his mouth moving faster than his feet. "She once went weeks just eatin' mutfruit pancakes. I still can't stand the damn smell of 'em…"

The emergency radio in his jacket pocket was frequently inspected due to his heightened paranoia. They occasionally paused in their journey as he fiddled with the knobs and listened closely for any hint of a broadcast….to which there never was one.

"If there is an issue, we will know," Charon stressed with a snarl after the hundredth stop.

Cross merely pursed his mouth in a hard line and finally pocketed the radio away.

When they sat around their campfire late that next evening, whirling their spoons inside their cans for the remnants of their fireside dinner, they remained silent and content with their own thoughts…until the merc withdrew a handful of polaroids from his pocket, garnering slight curiosity from his companion.

Charon tossed his empty can to the darkness engulfing his broad backside. "What are those?"

Cross leaned into his pack, and expertly flicked a single picture across the way for him to catch. Charon blinked at the image he now held, the sight of their naked smoothskin lover grabbing her breasts and curling some fingers into-

"How did you get these?!" the ferryman snarled, earning a frown from the glowing ghoul. He twirled the image around. "Evelyn would not want these out in the open."

A loud belch preceded his defense. "These are stayin' between you and me."

"I do not want it," Charon snapped as he flicked it into the fire. He ignored the upheaval and crossed his arms. Imagining her in the privacy of his mind was one thing, but to openly indulge made him feel dirty and shameless. Still…he felt the tell-tale sign of his cock telling him otherwise.

"Suit yourself," Cross grumbled as he stood and began to leave the fireside.

Charon sourly stared into the flames as they greedily ate away at the polaroid, curling the edges black before rendering the photograph into nothing more than hot ash. After Cross had finally returned (in a much lighter mood) and had drifted off to sleep, Charon couldn't help but stare at the pile of pictures he had conveniently left aside.

The ferryman stubbornly refused his urges well into the night, crossing his arms and sulking in his place before the enticement was too strong to bear. With a silent slip of his hand, he tucked the homemade porn inside his back pocket and sneaked off into the shadows for some much-needed privacy, ignorant to the cracked eyelid of his employer quietly watching him make his leave. He returned much sooner than anticipated- there had been many different exciting angles to choose from. Charon gave a brute kick at his employer's ankle, earning a muttered 'ow'.

"There are a few deathclaws wandering the area. We should proceed."

Cross grumbled something unintelligible and merely cracked his neck before standing. He looked around for the pile of pornography.

"They will remain on my person," Charon informed him curtly.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

Charon merely waved a hand to dismiss his gripes. "I will return them to you once we are finished and return home."

Cross angrily clipped the remainder of his combat armor together, his face lethal. "There ain't no point about them once we get back!"

"Then I suggest you complain less and consider the job more seriously," Charon stated in his most matter-of-fact tone. "Otherwise, it will be a long journey."

For the first time since they had left the safehouse, the merc kept his mouth shut and just shouldered on without so much as a single glance behind him. Their heavy boots trod across the wasteland on known trails that were regularly patrolled by Minuteman forces, guiding them to a small settlement known to the locals as the Taffington Boathouse. The location had been upscaled into a simple bar and lodging, giving wandering travelers a chance at reprieve between the bigger settlements.

Cross snapped his lighter shut after giving birth to his smoke, his eyes trained on the glowing lights illuminating the place from their end of the road. "We'll hit The Slog once the sun comes up. Don't think Wiseman would 'ppreciate us crackin' that fuck's skull in the middle of the night…Evelyn would be pissed if I couldn't get her anymore tarberries."

Charon gave a single nod of his approval.

They made their way inside the open-aired tavern part of the house, each ignoring the stares directed at their backs. No one gave a verbal opinion about a glowing one or a seven-foot-tall ghoul joining their midst.

Charon absentmindedly rapped his knuckles against the cracked countertops and eyed a piece of paper being sought out from the merc's pack. His employer procured a pen, and he watched him scribble away for a few minutes before folding the letter in his trademark style. A single word was etched on the outside to indicate its recipient- Kicsim.

Cross blew a low whistle to gain the barkeep's attention, holding out the folded paper along with a string of caps. "You guys still got that courier comin' through? Tell 'em I want this delivered to Daisy back at Goodneighbor- say it's from Cross. She'll know who it's for."

When the request was accepted and they were left to themselves, Cross turned his head slightly. "What?"

"It has only been a few days. What is there to tell her?"

The merc shrugged. "Ya know how she is. She loves her little letters."

Charon reached inside his own bag for Evelyn's second journal that was filled with dried flowers. "Yes. She does." He placed it gently on the counter and slid it over to his elbow. "This can keep you better company."

Cross stared at the cover with a look of pensive thought. "…you have the other one too?"

"No. I did not find it."

"Might be for the best," Cross rasped somberly.

Their more morbid thoughts were tucked away after an uproar from across the room lit up the place. They turned their heads to watch a sizeable smoothskin woman smack a man's arm down onto a table, a clear win in a match of arm wrestling. She goaded and grinned at the pile of caps growing at her elbow, taunting the others to try their luck. She provided brief entertainment for those around that had no interest to participate.

"That's a big woman," Cross remarked into his drink.

Charon grunted his agreement. She was someone Evelyn would have loved to challenge. Every bought of arm wrestling always bought the best expressions of sheer surprise and downright disbelief from everyone that contested her. It had always rewarded them with a healthy number of caps, too.

The woman threw her gaze around the room before critically landing it on them. Rather than appear disgusted or redirect her look, she propped a single finger at the ferryman and made a beckoning gesture. Come here.

Cross turned back around and opened the journal before him. "She's damn lucky the wife ain't here," he blew out with a sigh. "Would've gotten us kicked out of the place."

Charon didn't respond to the summons and began to growl lowly in his chest when she approached instead.

"You look like someone who could actually make my night interesting," she remarked with a coy smile. "I win, and you give me that nice shotgun you're carrying, if you win…I'll let you buy me a drink."

Charon set his beer down and plainly stared at her. "I am not interested."

"What's the matter? Too afraid to part with it?" she goaded.

The ghoul just rolled his eyes, gave a terse snort, and they set themselves up at a free table. As soon as they were evenly placed, he slammed her hand down with a little more force than was necessary, rising from his seat afterwards and tossing a few caps down.

"Enjoy your drink," he rumbled.

The woman narrowed her eyes as she cradled her bruised hand to her chest. "Was giving you a shot, stupid ass shuffler."

Charon just cracked his shoulders and turned his back to her. When he reconvened with the merc at the end of the bar, he pulled a glass from over the counter and ordered the top-shelf liquor. "Leave the bottle," he rasped after the whiskey was set down.

Cross momentarily took in the sight of the smoothskin leaving, saying nothing as Charon grunted and poured his first round. The red ghoul downed his liquor and wiped at the small droplets racing down his chin with the back of his glove.

"I do not understand smoothskin women," he bluntly confessed, sloppily pouring himself another.

The merc chortled, and tipped his glass to the side for a taste of the high shelf. "As long as ya understand the one that matters, then there ain't no need."

"…was she, your first?" Charon turned and leaned a little bit closer, his breath soured by his indulgence. "Was Evelyn your first smoothskin?"

Cross remained quiet with his thoughts for a moment before emptying his glass. "Yeah…yeah, she was." He slid the cup away. "At the time, thought I was just a lucky bastard that got a chance at porkin' a beautiful woman."

"You were," Charon rasped icily.

"You know what I mean, damn." Cross shook his head. "But then the novelty wore off…and I realized it didn't matter to me if she was whole or not." He gave a flustered shrug to the questioning look on his companion's face. "I would've loved her if I had met her as a ghoul."

"I sometimes wish she was," Charon confessed.

Cross forced a cough to stem the sudden emotion constricting his throat. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"…I do not know if I would want to."

"Eternity with me that bad, huh?" Cross weakly joked.

A heavy silence weighed on their shoulders, and then Charon uncomfortably fidgeted in his seat. "…do you love me?"

Cross removed his arms from over the counter to lay them in his lap and sit stiffly. There was a hard edge to his mouth, but he didn't refute the question.

"In a couple a weeks we're goin' to be raisin' our child," Cross rasped with absolute certainty as he stood from his seat with her journal held tightly in his hand. He paused before parting the ghoul with his drink. "…let's leave it at that."