That night we set up to crash in the skeleton of an abandoned farm house and I got a little too drunk and hounded him with so many questions he actually lost it and yelled at me.

"Why don't you back off and leave me in peace for a change, kid!" he snapped before shambling away where he could keep an eye on me when I fell asleep.

He always called me "kid" in what I thought was the most patronizing and condescending manner, so like a kid I persisted with my random questioning until he exploded at me and left me chewing my lip in frustration. I didn't know how I was going to get anything out of him beyond the obligatory civility that my holding his contract commanded, and in my young, nihilistic mind I was determined to push things until they burst forth, for better or for worse.

Just add psycho, alcohol and a road too long.

We were squatting a dilapidated tent and I was talking at him again at a mile a minute as twilight started to envelop the Wastes like a dingy blanket.

We sat on rocks, I shakily trying to put my assault rifle back together and he hunched over, deftly maintaining his shotgun (as he did like clockwork) and any other weapon I put in front of him.
Before I could stop myself from saying it, there it was hanging in the air like a bloatfly for all to see.

"Wanna knock boots?"

He looked up, his eyes wide and his jaw slightly slack.

"What." He said.

There was no way he couldn't have heard me.

It had seemed like a good idea a millisecond before I let it escape and now I felt like I was dying a thousand deaths of embarrassment. Since my vault days I have viewed men as weak creatures to be toyed with for fun and profit. You could hook them with no more than a lame suggestion that maybe something may happen to get what you wanted and then not give them so much as a peck on the cheek if you didn't feel like it. Or you could let them climb on top of you for a few minutes, a laugh

(and sometimes their undying affection.)

But this was no mere man to be toyed with and that's why I felt so damned by him.

I found myself wishing intently for a 'Gwai would pop out of nowhere (as they tend to) just to clear the air in case he called my bluff. I unconvincingly focused on my cleaning gun and turned on Galaxy Radio. But Oh no, Charon wasn't going to let that one fly without making me squirm just a little bit.

His voice was low and he spoke slowly like he was uttering a threat.

"What. Did. You. Say?"

Each word a command in itself, driven home by his incontestable gaze.

"I said I like mut-fruit." I said quietly.
Good job. Real smooth.

"Yeah. Thought so." He said under his breath before
before turning his attentions back to his gun.

But I wasn't going to let him go either.

"What do you mean you thought so?"

"I said be quiet!" He snapped before muttering a string of curses to himself that I couldn't discern.
Bickering like old farts.
At least it was something I reasoned. Better than silence.

"Hey. Charon. Don't worry about it, okay? I'll just be a good girl and shut the fuck up."
I snapped back.

I tried to remain silent by drinking more vodka but I lacked the self control to hold my tongue.

"I've tried so hard not to be an asshole to you but you've done nothing but give me flack since the first word I ever uttered to you!"

"Who, may I ask has been giving who flack?" he said receding back into his patented brand of caustic respectfulness.

"I obey and that is the end of it. I lay down my life and do what you command. How is that flack as you call it? If you have a problem with something that I am doing, perhaps you should -"

"Oh no you don't. Don't poke me with a ripper and tell me it's foreplay. You're not a robot and if I thought you were brainwashed to the point of being braindead I'd treat you as such!"

He just looked at me.

"Charon. I could really just use a friend out here."

He opened his mouth to reply but I caught it before he could say it.

"And do NOT do that thing you do where I ask you to do something like a person and you tell me you'll do it because it is what is asked of you because it is what I will and all that.

You said yourself that I don't own you. Man up and just level with me for once!"

I absently fidgeted with a loose flap on my boot and he threw me a roll of duct tape to fix it.

"No! Godamnit! You're not allowed to be nice!"

I whipped the tape at his head, he caught it without batting an eye and tucked it neatly into his rucksack.

We both brooded in silence for what seemed like a very long time and
then he leaned forward and held out his hand.
I drew back slightly, shocked at the sight of him, leaning towards me, his eyes trained on mine, his hand outstretched towards me.
Did he want me to take his hand? My heart skipped a beat and my rifle sagged to the ground as I loosened my grip on it. He leaned forward and reached between my boots, nudged my leg out of the way and picked up the rifle. He leaned back and finished reassembling it while I sat there like a dolt.

Silence ensued until he broke it, speaking in that civil voice of his.
The one that was as grating as it was placating.

"I am not deaf you know. I heard what you said loud and clear.
If it is your wish to be on friendly terms with me you should know that I do not appreciate being taunted. "

"Whta..tvr." I mumbled darkly, taking a long slug from my bottle..

"Oh no. I'm not letting this slide, kid" He said

We both stewed in silence for a moment until he extended his arm and snatched the bottle away from me which delighted me to no end because he had taken something on his own volition that wasn't a weapon. He poured the vodka into his mouth as if it would be unthinkable to touch his lips to the same thing that would touch mine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like he had before.
When I took back the bottle from his open palm my fingertips brushed his leathery hand ever so lightly but he pulled his arm away as if he had touched an open flame.

He yanked up his shotgun again and began to take it apart, even though it had just been maintained.

"You don't think I got chatted up at the Circle from time to time?"

He said gruffly, fussing over his shotgun as he tended to
"Always promising, never delivering. It's not me you broads want, it's something else, and I'll be fucked if I know what that thing is." "

"Who said I wanted you?" I said quietly

"Come on!" He bellowed, slamming his shotgun back together again.

"You ask me if I want to screw and then try to cover it up with some bullshit?
A man knows when he's being strung along. Don't play dumb with me, kid."

I passed the bottle back to him and he snatched it, poured a shot or three down his throat.

"I don't care if you touch the bottle you know. We're not in grade school, I know you don't have cooties."

"As you wish." He said coldly.

His reply infuriated me to the point that I didn't realize I had leapt up to kick him until I felt the ground disappear from beneath me as I landed on my spine with a humiliating yelp.

I saw the moon appear between my ankles and looked up to see Charon's shadow looming above me holding the foot I had gone to kick him with.

He let go of my foot, threw a blanket over my head and shuffled away to sleep upright on a rock leaving me crumpled on the ground like so much Wasteland debris.
I sat there feeling sorry for myself for awhile, trying to get the Wastes to stop spinning and then finally blacked out at some point, peeking at his stately silhouette from underneath the crusty blanket he had so sanctimoniously defeated me with.