Notes: First of all, I would like to say thank-you to everyone who has left a comment. I have tried to respond to each one individually, but for those of you not logged in and for those of you who I missed due to the brain worms, thank you. I never expected this story to be popular, especially because most of it is just the frantic ramblings of my sleep-deprived brain at 4 am in the morning. I am entirely overwhelmed, and to be honest – as you can probably tell from the length of time it took me to update - now I'm terrified of letting you all down further on in the story. Don't lynch me if I do. Or, at least do it painlessly while I sleep.

Anyway, having taken the opportunity to have a quick zoom through the past 6 chapters, I have noticed several glaring spelling and grammatical errors, plus a couple of gaping plot holes. I beg pardon for these, and any that may appear in future chapters – and there will most likely be plenty more of both. Rest assured that when I have finished the story, I will take it all down, check each chapter though and re-upload so that the story is fixed and correct for posterity.

And on a happier note, please see my profile for a link to the first of several fanart illustrations done for this story by the wonderful, spectacular and hyper-talented Jen!

Thanks again, chaps.

Charon

I knew it was all going too well to last. People are fucking stupid, especially when you stick more than a couple of them together; the first sign of trouble and panic breaks out, over-riding any sort intelligence or forethought they might otherwise have had. Fucking herd behaviour. If they had just stayed put! We could have kept hidden, the slaver would have gone back to his little hut and we could have all got out of this without being noticed, and with our heads in one piece. But they fucking got scared and ran – and the guard had no choice but to press that little button on his radio control. It's what I would have done if a mob of crazed slaves were rushing me.

As soon as I knew what was happening, I ran out with the escapees – not to stop their getaway (it was their own stupid fault if they got themselves killed), but to off the slaver before he could raise the alarm. As quick as I was, I couldn't beat the time it took him to press down his thumb, and as I raised my gun, heads exploded all around me. It didn't stop me from shooting the guy in the face, so that by the time I lowered my weapon, he looked like one of the slaves he had just decapitated. There was gore everywhere I looked, although that sort of thing didn't bother me anymore. I'd developed a strong constitution for this sort of thing. Even so, we were royally fucked now - I knew the sounds of the commotion would attract attention sooner rather than later. I grabbed his rifle and ammo and stashed it in my belt. It was time to run.

It was about then that I realised the kid wasn't with me. Stupidly, I had assumed that she would have been smart enough to follow my lead and stay close to me while I navigated through the exploding heads of the escaped slaves – but when I looked around, she was nowhere in sight. That's what I got for assuming the kid was in any way normal. When I looked behind myself to locate her – in sheer disbelief, I might add - she was still in the slave pen, bent down on one knee and trying to diffuse the collar of a terrified looking woman. I swore, and ran back over to her. I had to get her out before this place was crawling with pissed-off locals.

"What the fuck are you doing? We have to get out of here, right now!"

The kid's face was as white as chalk, and she didn't even seem to acknowledge me or what was happening around us. We were alone now in the pen; the slaves whose collars had been diffused had already made a run for it – and good for them. Hanging around now would only get you killed. I could see that the kid was trying desperately to unlock the explosive mechanism in the woman's collar, but the panic and the stress had obviously gotten to her, and she just couldn't make her magic work. The slave was clinging to her, sobbing and screaming and begging for her to help, and I think if I hadn't been there to pull her away, the kid would've happily stayed until they were both mown down by gunfire. But I wasn't going to let that happen, and as bad as I felt for that woman, the kid's life was the only thing that mattered right now. Grabbing her under the arm, I heaved her away from the desperate, clasping grasp of the woman, shoved her assault rifle into her hands, and pulled her along by the collar. She struggled against me with a surprisingly powerful force, but I didn't dare let her go.

"No, Charon-Charon-get the fuck off of me! No! We have to go back! I said I would help- I have to help!"

I'd never seen her so angry. Her cheeks were flushed now and looked like smears of red paint on a white wall. I could see the sweat beaded on her forehead as she struggled against my grip - it was hard to keep a hold of her; she wriggled like an eel and she looked damn near crazy. But she had bought my contract so that I could protect her, keep her safe. That was my overall objective, and it was exactly what I planned to do. I kept my grasp closed firmly on the back of her collar and pulled her with me towards the gate. It was going to make shooting my shotgun considerably difficult – my hope was that we could get out before any of the other Paradise Fallers got wise to what was happening.

Just then, though, a hail of bullets rained down on us from above; I looked up and saw a man standing in the window of the closest building with his rifle trained right on us. Right on cue, the cunt. I threw the kid down behind the shell of an old car, and dived down behind her. She made a muffled little sob as she landed face first in the dirt, but I didn't have enough time to check on her; I fired a few shots back in the direction of our attacker (although, I was near enough useless at this distance) before ducking back behind the car once more to assess the situation as best I could.

I was surprised to find a couple of the slaves we had managed to rescue – evidently, the smarter ones – hiding back there, too. The boy from before was one of them; he motioned to the rifle I had taken from the unlucky slaver who had found us mid-prisonbreak, and I nodded and handed it to him with all the ammo I had found. It was a little unnerving to watch him take the gun and grin like I'd just given him a goddamned Christmas present, but at least he seemed to know what he was doing. Only in the goddamned Wasteland can you find fucking sharpshoorters without hair on their balls. I gave another slave – a man who looked like he might've been in his share of gunfights in his time – the SMG I had taken off of the sentry I killed right at the start of this whole mess. The kid had forgotten to take the weapon from her man, but I don't suppose it mattered much now. We'd need more than a couple of extra weapons to get us all out in one piece.

Thoughts like that I pushed to the back of my head; I had a job to do, and I would do that job until I was incapacitated and unable to perform it any longer - that was just how I was made. Today, my job was saving the kid's ass. I turned to check on her, but she wasn't looking too good. Her gun lay on the floor, forgotten, and she sat slumped on the ground, her body shaking and her head in her hands. I knew this was difficult for her, but I didn't have the time to coddle her right now; I had to get her to snap out of it, quickly. The problem was, I didn't know how to go about it. Comfort had never been one of my strong points. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see one of the empty-handed slaves edging towards her weapon, and I instantly aimed my shotgun at him.

"Touch it, and you won't have to worry about those fucking slavers. I'll blow you to bits."

"Fuck you, crater face. She doesn't need it now, her nerves are shot – she'll be no good with a gun. I doubt she'll even make it out of here alive."

This guy, whoever he was, was starting to piss me off. I guess I probably should have ignored him, but tension was running high and I wasn't prepared to put up with his shit after the kid and I had both risked our necks to help him. He made another movement towards the gun, and I flicked my shotgun around and clubbed him around the face with the butt of it; he went sailing into the dirt and landed with a satisfying crunch. It felt better than it probably should have.

It also had the duel advantage of bringing the kid out of her wholesale freak-out. Upon realising what I had done, she cried out in surprise and nearly stood up - thankfully, I shot out my hand just in time to grab her elbow and pulled her back into cover. More bullets pinged off of the car shell, and everyone ducked lower. I could hear the shouts of more angry residents who were being roused from their slumber. Shit. This was not the time for the kid to go crazy on me, but she apparently seemed to disagree.

"Let go of me, Charon! I have to go find the others, see if they're alright! Some of them had to have made it! I'm not just going to leave them behind!"

They were all dead – deep down, she knew it, but I suppose rationality is the first thing to go when fear sets in, and the kid was afraid. Not of death, I don't think, but of letting everyone down. She began to struggle against me again – I don't know why, I don't even think she knew why, because there was nowhere that she could go – until I reluctantly laid my shotgun down and grabbed her by both of her shoulders. I held her tightly and eventually she stopped fighting me. I could feel her whole body trembling.

"Kid, listen to me - listen! Calm down. There's no one left out there, you know that. It's just us. We have to work together to get out of here, or we'll all be in the shit."

I leaned my face in closely to hers to make her pay attention to what I was saying. The expression in her eyes was terrible; the hopelessness of the situation had brought her to the brink. She had wanted to help these people, and now half of them were dead; I wasn't stupid, I knew how hard this was going to be for her to get over. But right now, I needed her to think clearly. I needed her to survive.

"Come on, kid. Don't let this shit be the end of you. You're stronger than that. I know you are."

Lone Wanderer

I stared back into Charon's eyes and his sincerity, if anything, made me feel even worse. He trusted me, they had all trusted me, and just look at what I had done. Worse than that, perhaps, was my complete inability to cope with my failure: I was a wreck, my nerves were frayed, and I was ready to just lie down and give up. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see the tear-streaked face of that woman I had left behind. I could see the bloody corpses of the slaves who had been killed, their brains splattered across the dusty floor, their jawbones in pieces. Eyeballs, tongues, teeth, all jumbled together in a disgusting mess that stank of gore. I couldn't take it. I was a fucking disgrace. But I knew that Charon couldn't leave without me, and if I gave up, I would be condemning him to death – and he didn't deserve that. I nodded at him slowly and swallowed the lump in my throat. I had to just try to forget my despair, my feelings of uselessness and failure. For the remaining slaves. For Charon.

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Let's just get out of here."

Relief flashed across the ghoul's face as he saw that I had finally come to my senses. He released me from his grip and I fell back down to my knees; my body was still trembling nearly uncontrollably, and all of a sudden I felt overwhelmingly tired. I took hold of my gun and held it with my shaky hands. As Charon risked the chance to look around the car at the amassing slaver forces, bullets flew through the air at us again. We were trapped. We were doomed.

"Right. We can't fight our way out of here. We don't have enough manpower, we don't have enough ammo. We're not that far from the exit, though, and there's plenty of cover between us and that gate. If we get there, we can jam the gate mechanism and get the tits and ass out of here. Everyone who has a gun is going to have to have to provide covering fire. Got it?"

I was glad he was taking control. Ashamed as I was at my incapacity to handle what was happening, it was a relief, for once, to be told what to do. Charon seemed to anticipate this, and played his part wonderfully. I just wanted the whole fiasco to be over; I had started something this time that I simply wasn't strong enough to finish on my own. I couldn't focus; my head swam, my body felt weak, and for a horrifying few minutes I felt as though I might pass out. Too much, too fast, I suppose. Either way, I absolutely disgusted myself. As always, Charon seemed to sense that my thoughts were growing dark, and he interrupted my inner monologue before I had the chance to sink any lower.

"You with me, kid? Hang in there. You stay by my side and you don't do anything stupid, and we just might get out of here in one piece."

Charon

She gave me the strangest look, before nodding and taking a few deep breaths. The look in her eyes told me she was back in the real world again, I just didn't know if it was going to be a flying visit. I edged back to the front of the car; ahead of us by about fifteen or twenty feet was a pile of old sandbags. It was a fair enough distance to make, especially with all eyes trained on us, but it was our only shot. We had to move quickly, before those slaver assholes flanked us and started shooting at us from our exposed side. There were four of us with guns, and three without. This was going to be no walk in the park. I motioned to the boy behind me.

"Okay. We'll cross one by one, create the smallest target possible. Keep your head down and get across as fast as you can. You go first, but wait until they're distracted by our fire. Everyone else – don't waste your shots, we're not exactly rolling in ammo. Incapacitate as many of those SOBs as you can."

The boy nodded, and crawled around me to crouch at the front of the car. Now with a purpose, the kid seemed to pull herself together again. She had the lives of the surviving slaves to save, and it was apparently enough to carry her through. On the count of three, those of us with guns all let loose over the top of the car – and that oddball little boy scrambled across to the sandbags without even needing a signal. He got to the other side without so much as a scratch and it bolstered the rest of us. In quick succession the other slaves followed him, darting erratically while keeping close to the floor to make themselves as difficult to pinpoint as possible. Not that I had time to watch, of course – I shot, reloaded, shot again. Figures crumpled before me, but it still wasn't enough. When it was just me and the kid behind the car, she looked at me and whispered,

"Together."

And that's exactly how we did it. With covering fire coming from behind the sandbags, we let loose and ran to join the others, guns blazing. To her credit, the kid kept firing like a pro - to look at her, you might've thought she had been doing it for years. We both dived behind the sandbag wall, with bullets kicking up the dust at our feet. Fuck me, I was too old for this sort of shit now.

Hidden behind the sandbags, we only had to get to the gate, get it open, jam it shut and get out of here. Admittedly, it was going to be all the more difficult because there was hardly any cover, but the adrenaline was running high from our successes so far. I once again crawled to the edge of the wall to get a look at our destination – but before I had the chance to say anything, the kid beat me to the punch.

"I'll go. I'll go and open the gate mechanism. If it's just one of us alone, I'll be a more difficult target – you guys can cover me."

I didn't like it one bit. It left the kid exposed, and as soon as the slavers realised what she was up to, you better believe they'd all be taking pot shots at her. Nothing pissed those guys off like trying to steal their wares, especially when it was from right under their noses. Hell would have to freeze over before they would let us escape. But she was right – someone did need to open that mechanism, and one person would be easier to cover than a group of us. The kid shuffled on her knees until she was crouched beside me; she gave me a sideways glance, and she looked more together than she had all night. She had stopped shaking, and her gaze was resolute.

"Please, Charon. Let me do this."

Lone Wanderer

I could tell he didn't want me to go, but I had already made up my mind. I had the best head for machinery, anyway. Where another might fumble with the mechanism, I would instinctively know how to open the gate. I think Charon knew there would be no talking me out of it, because he grunted at me, and motioned to the other two with guns.

"Right. This isn't just cover fire this time around – they'll be aiming for her, and we better make sure we aim for them first. You take them out any way you think you can, just stop them from being able to shoot properly. No fucking about. On my mark."

I watched Charon and waited until he had given his signal. He seemed to wait for an unreasonable amount of time before opening fire; I don't know if it was just the adrenaline surging through my body, waiting eagerly to kick into action, or if Charon just wanted to postpone my incredibly risky undertaking for as long as possible. But fire he did, and as soon as the rattle hit my ears (which were near deafened by now, anyway) I sped out towards the gate. Bullets danced with my feet as I ran, plumes of dust spiralled up around me, but I kept my eyes on my destination. I dived for it from at least three feet away, until finally my hands came to rest on the small box at the gate's base - the key to all of our freedom. I flicked a switch to unlock the thing, and then pressed a small, oval button that began lifting the inner gate.

It was about then that I felt a stinging sensation ripple across my arm; I gasped sharply in surprise. A bullet had skimmed me, ripped my leather jacket, but caused no real damage. I would inspect it later – but I felt resoundingly blessed that this was my only injury, and as soon as I was able to, I squeezed under the gate and into the open, welcoming arms of the Wasteland. Crouching behind the wall and peering out, I called back through to alert the others of my success, and sure enough, before the words had even left my lips, that brash little boy barrelled through after me. I fired back at the figures silhouetted in windows and on balconies - we had taken out a surprising many of their number, which, I was sure, was solely down to Charon's efforts. I don't think any of us had expected to put up such a good fight with so few numbers and such a small amount of ammo.

One by one, and with caution now forgotten, the slaves we had managed to rescue ran through the gate and into their freedom. They scattered without a word, but I didn't blame them. So far, I had proved a terrible saviour. I hoped for the best for them in their new lives, and only wished I could apologise again for what I had put them all through. The problem was that now, the only cover Charon had to make his cross was little old me – and I was down to my last magazine. Charon looked at me and I looked back. With the slightest inclination of his head, he rushed for the gate, which was now completely open. I spread my fire wide, and beyond Charon I could see silhouettes jumping down to the ground to pursue us now that our numbers dwindled. It didn't matter, we were nearly safe - but nearly wasn't for certain.

To my horror, mere feet away from me, I saw Charon crumble. My body went cold, the pit of my stomach dropped out. I lost any sort of sense that was still left in me, tossed my gun to the ground, and threw myself back into Paradise Falls to help him. We were sitting ducks, I was sure we were going to die. Over the thunderous roar of the gunfire, I could hear Charon shouting at me – although what he said was lost in the din. Bullets seemed to hit every spot around us, but miraculously managed to miss us. Perhaps Fate was smiling on us, but I had the feeling that the slavers wanted to take us alive. After all, I'm sure they could have put us through things much worse than death.

I dragged Charon through the gate, mustering strength I never knew I had from God knows where, and the second that he was through, I grabbed his shotgun from his hand, and shot the winches that were holding the gate up. It crashed to the ground heavily, dividing us from our pursuers. We weren't safe yet, but it at least gave us relief from the constant bombardment of gunfire.

Immediately, my attention returned to Charon. He was on his side, and blood poured from his upper left leg. My breath ripped out of my lungs in fear and shock, and letting go of his shotgun, my hands fluttered to his wound. Unlike my father, though, I knew nothing about medicine. I couldn't tell how seriously hurt he was, and I once again let panic take hold of me.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod Charon! Charon, please don't die. Please don't die!"

"The only way I'm going to die is if we don't get up and get the fuck out of here! Now are you going to help me, or just sit there with your thumb up your butt?"

I had lost all of my courage again, but nonetheless I threw Charon's arm around my shoulders and together we somehow managed to stand. His body weighed heavily on me, and I could tell he was in a great amount of pain. He fell silent, and we remained as such as we staggered away from Paradise Falls and into the relative safety of the Wasteland. Several times I tried to stop to take a look at Charon's injury, but he wouldn't let me. He said it would be dangerous to stop so close to the scene of the crime, but the entire time we walked, I was afraid of losing him. We kept going until dawn began to break on the horizon, and throughout our slow and no-doubt painful journey, I prayed for Charon's safety under my breath. Faith in a Greater Power was something I had inherited from the mother I had never met, and I desperately hung on to the belief that there was something – anything – watching over us as we walked towards the sunrise. Behind us, we left a trail of blood.

Eventually, Charon grunted at me to indicate that we should stop. There was a large out-cropping of rock, and thankfully, after scouting it I found a small cave hidden from immediate view of the Wasteland. With much effort from both of us, I carried Charon over the rocks and into the cave. Despite the fact it was practically light outside, the cave was still pitch black. I turned on my Pip Boy light and propped Charon against a wall. He was incredibly weak, now, and obviously in unfathomable amounts of pain. For my part, I was exhausted from both my emotional and physical exertions. I didn't know what to do – I just know that I didn't want to lose Charon.

"Still with me?"

"Still here, kid. Can't leave you alone, not even for five minutes. You're too likely to go and act a horse's ass."

Now I had the difficult task of patching Charon up, and I had absolutely no idea where to begin. I was no doctor, not like Dad. He had always held an unquenchable fascination for people and how they worked – for me, it had been electronics, machines and computers. I hadn't taken the blindest bit of notice when Dad had tried to lecture me in the basics of medicine; in my innocence, I couldn't see a time when I would ever need it in the Vault. But now with Charon's stricken form in front of me, and without so much as an inkling as to what to do, I could have kicked myself. What was a recovery position? I'm sure I had heard that term before. And was I supposed to keep him talking, keep him conscious? What about veins and arteries – how was I supposed to stop the bleeding?

Personally, I had always thought the science of people a very imprecise art. Every now and then you would hear a story of a man who would fall 80 feet and survive, or of a woman who miraculously recovered from a fatal illness. Wires and codes and numbers weren't nearly as unpredictable. They were always the same, in every language and in every culture; I always knew where I stood with them. Not so with people. They made absolutely no sense to me. My father, I imagined, would have thought Charon and his ghoul counterparts an interesting medical and psychological study. Maybe they would meet someday – that was if my complete and utter idiocy hadn't killed Charon already. I shuffled on my knees until I sat next to him; his eyes were half closed, but he turned his head nonetheless and did his best to look alert.

"Let me take a look at you."

He grunted, and I took that as a sign that I could continue. My hands were bloodied as I skimmed them over Charon's sopping trouser leg, and I stared at them dolefully – they would, from now on, always be covered in blood, no matter how many times I washed them. I had stolen the lives of the innocent and there was no sort of absolution for that kind of sin. Not for me, anyway. I could never forgive myself.

Charon

The kid pulled the knife out of her belt and sliced open the material of my pants to get a better look at the bullet wound. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I tried to keep my wincing to a minimum to stop from spooking her; as smart as she was, I got the feeling from her tentative handling of my leg and the look of pure horror on her face that she didn't really know what she was doing. She'd never say so, of course, but she still hadn't got a handle on her face, and I could read her like a fucking book.

I bent my head slightly to take a look at the damage – I know I had been hit in the back of the leg, and I could see an exit wound on the top of my thigh. Well, shit. What a fucking mess this was. Blood was still seeping from the wound, and I watched through squinted eyes as the kid removed her jacket and took off her shirt. Gently she lifted my leg, watching me the whole time as if I was going to bite her head off for causing me pain. She was half right – I was in agony, but I was focussing all my energy on not tearing her a new one. Shouting now wouldn't help a damn thing. As the pain heightened, though, it was growing more and more difficult to remain calm.

She wrapped the shirt around my leg, pulled it taut and knotted it. It stung and I clenched my teeth to stop myself from crying out. The pressure felt reassuring, though - at least I wasn't going to bleed to death any time soon. I could see the goosebumps erupt on her skin as she leaned over me, and suddenly became distinctly aware of how cold it was – and, curiously, of the fact that this was the most I had seen of the kid's naked flesh. It reminded me for a split second of that moment together before we had tried to assault Paradise Falls; I suppose it was the shock setting in, doing all sorts of crazy shit to my brain. This day was just getting better and better.

The kid placed her right hand on my leg, above the wound and just below my groin, positioned her other hand on top of it and pressed down hard. I think she was trying to stem the bloodflow, and I if I hadn't been in mind-numbing, agonising torture, I think might've quite enjoyed the hands of a nubile, young woman being in that particular position. Unfortunately, I was in pain, and this last action on her part was the final straw. It just simply hurt too much. I let out an almost primal growl that sounded angrier than I intended, and lost the self-control I had been trying so hard to maintain.

"Fucking hell! Are you actually trying to finish me off? Is that it? It wasn't sufficient that you were stupid enough to nearly get us both killed, now you've decided to embark on a new career as a professional fucking torturer! Shit!"

The second that my pain-induced rage had erupted and I saw the hurt on her face, I instantly regretted it. The kid's eyes widened, clearly shocked at my outburst, and then all I could do was watch, panting, as her whole face, her whole posture, crumbled. She, like me, had obviously only just been managing to keep it together, and now faced with my furious criticism, she couldn't hold on to her composure any longer. She lowered her face to the floor, and although I could tell she was trying to hide it, I could see she had begun to cry.

Oh, fuck. I hadn't meant to upset her – I had been trying to avoid just this situation. Don't get me wrong, I was angry at her, but I really shouldn't have been. She didn't know any better. It was like getting mad your pack brahmin for getting itself chewed on by a fucking Radscorpion. Absolutely pointless. She had thought she was doing the right thing - it wasn't her fault that she knew less about the world around her than a newborn baby. The only way she was going to learn was by experience. But now she was bawling, because of me, and I wouldn't have known what to do with a clear head, let alone half-crazed with pain. I sighed, rested my head back against the cold stone, and said quietly,

"Kid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She didn't look up at me when she spoke, and her voice was quiet and humbled. It was heart-achingly endearing that despite the fact I had just mercilessly ripped into her, and despite the fact she was clearly miserable, she maintained the pressure on my leg. Still trying to save the day, even now. That pretty much summed the kid up right there.

"You did mean it, and it's completely true. I'm a fucking idiot! I got us into this, and it was my fault that all of those slaves were killed, and I got you shot, and now I can't help you! I can't even take the pain away! I just make it worse. I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing. With anything."

The kid usually spoke quickly – especially when she was excited – but this was hyperspeed, and interspersed with trembling sobs. It was difficult to understand what the hell she was saying. What I could understand completely, though, without having to hear her say it, was that she blamed herself for everything that had happened. Not surprising, really. I knew as soon as things went tits up back in the slave pen that she was going to take it badly. She had been foolish, and she had been naïve, but everyone makes mistakes, and if anyone deserved another chance, it was the kid. This wasn't her fault - not really. She had just tried to be good in a world where the word simply didn't exist.

"I know what you're thinking in that over-active little brain of yours. Don't."

"But-,"

"But nothing. This wasn't your fault. You got silly and you got over-confident, but inevitably, it just came down to bad luck. It's like I've been trying to tell you – sometimes, bad shit just happens and that's all there is to it. That's what life is out here, kid. And I bet those slaves you did save won't ever forget you. That was a remarkable thing you did for them. Now how about you stop sulking and see to your ailing patient?"

Lone Wanderer

I had never felt guilt like that before. It was all-encompassing; it made my head swim and my stomach churn. I just couldn't understand how it had all gone so wrong - the good guys were supposed to win, right? Weren't we the good guys? I fucked up bad, Charon knew it and so did I. I deserved his resentment. I simply wasn't tough enough to handle it out here in the Wastes. Let the Overseer lock me up or shoot me in the head or whatever he wanted to do with me. I was just a silly little girl, a coward and a failure, with no chance at finding Dad. I didn't deserve to find him.

My hands remained firmly pressed down on Charon's leg, but sobs wracked my body. It must have hurt Charon, but if it did, he said nothing. I could feel him tense under me, uncomfortable, but try as I might, I just couldn't stop the tears. Self-pity is a powerful emotion to shake off, and I was fully entangled in its cloying hold. I felt like a little kid again – and at that moment, with my hands stashed down the trousers of this strange man, and the blood of innocent people spattered across my clothes, I just wanted Dad to show up and give me a hug. Charon would have to be my substitute, and to my utter surprise, he fulfilled his role unexpectedly well.

With a grunt of pain or exasperation, he leaned forward from the wall and cupped the side of my head gently. He tilted my face up to his and caught my gaze; even with his devastated eyes, Charon possessed an intense, enthralling stare. It was difficult to see him through my tears, and as both of my hands were occupied with his leg, I couldn't wipe them away. With his coarse, rough thumb he wiped the tears from my eyelashes and my cheeks, until I was able to focus on him properly. His expression was almost apologetic, but those strange milky-white eyes of his seemed to look straight through me.

.

"You saved me. I mean, obviously not today because I've got a fucking hole through my leg. But back there, in Underworld. I fucking hated my life working for Ahzrukhal. It was hell, kid. But not anymore. I feel like my old self again. And you did that."

I swallowed, hard. It was difficult hearing my praises when I felt so ashamed of myself. Usually, I would have lapped it up – especially as compliments from Charon were so sparse. But right now, I just wanted to find a conveniently placed hole and crawl right into it. But his attempt at comfort was appreciated, especially because I knew how hard he found talking about his emotions, and I felt engulfed with gratitude not just for this, but for everything Charon had done for me so far. He spoke again, while I was lost for words and before I could think of what to say.

"And you know what else?"

"What?" My voice, when I spoke, was shaky and wet. Charon might have forgiven me, but I was a long way off that yet.

"You look like total shit when you cry. Your eyes puff up and you look like a goddamned bloatfly. Now get to patching me up, like my good girl."

I laughed – a strange little noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and a cough – and I accidentally moved the position of my hands on Charon's leg, He winced in pain, and I apologised profusely. That just pretty much summed this whole debacle up – in trying to help, I just caused more harm. And yet Charon was still able to forgive me, still so patient despite by stubbornness and refusal to listen to reason. I was lucky to have him on my side. Emotion surged through me, but I just couldn't put into words how I was feeling – strange really, seeing as talking was generally all I seemed able to do properly. I slid Charon's hand off my cheek and held it on my own, moving my teary face closer to his as I did so. He looked awkward, but I couldn't tell if it was because of the pain he was in or because of my deliberate closeness.

"Charon. I - uh - thank you. I just want to say - ever since I left the Vault, I've felt like I just don't belong out here. It's just so different, so big, so lonely. But I'm glad I found you that day in Underworld, too. I just – I just wanted to say-,"

"What do we have here, huh?"

We both jumped, and Charon grabbed his gun on reflex. There was a figure at the mouth of cave, outlined by the sun behind it. Charon grimaced and raised his shotgun, but all of a sudden, his expression changed, and if I hadn't witnessed it myself, I never would have believed it. Through the pain, Charon smiled.

"Cecelia!"