Charon laid down with his back against the peeling wall and crossed his legs. The smoothskin and her mutt had fallen asleep an hour ago, and the ghoul had considered staying awake until he had noticed the dog's ears constantly twitched at any sound. Nothing had attacked them yet, so the kid must not have been fibbing about her earlier actions. As it was, he was tired and grateful for the chance to relax for a few moments. Ahzrukhal had forced him into the practice of sleeping in extremely short shifts, and it had been grinding, along with the standing stock still near constantly. The girl had hit far too close to home with the 'diminished' crack she had fired back at him for needling her. He snorted and looked over at the lump on the floor, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

Being stuck in one spot for too long had worn his discipline low. If he was supposed to honourably serve his employer, he wasn't exactly making a fantastic start at it by whipping them into a hissy fit. Obedience was not an issue, would never be an issue, self-control outside of that if it wasn't ordered of him apparently was. It had been a very long time on a very short leash and he was snappish. He considered that he was behaving like an ill-trained animal, and decided that on the whole, he did not care as long as he followed his contract and orders. The smoothskin would get bored and sell his contract off or get herself or him killed, and either way the entire affair would be over. For good or ill. He snorted again, and watched the dog's ears train onto him for a second before returning to their minute movements. Charon contemplated whether her outburst over his contract had been from being insulted or being seen through, and decided he didn't much care about that either. On further deliberation, he decided he didn't much care about anything.

At least it seemed like he wouldn't have to carry the girl entirely. Well repaired armour, weapons in good condition, and the cache had been decently hidden and stocked with small amounts of every necessity. He rubbed a hand over the scratched out panel on his chest. If she was killing mercs she couldn't be entirely hopeless. Most Vault dwellers he had run into during his long life had either been dead, enslaved or blubbering messes who couldn't even handle a .32 pistol. This one seemed to have plans and an ability to execute them, which was definitely new. He had expected to end his life going feral and being tied to the damn wall in Ahzrukhal's stinking hellhole, chained to the corner where he had lived like a dog. If he was to be a dog again for the smoothskin, at least it appeared that this time he would be a fairly loose one, as long as he found some restraint. It couldn't be all bad, working for the girl. It might even be-

Charon shook his head, hard, and shuffled lower. I've had enough of thinking. I've been doing nothing but thinking for half a damn century. Now I want to do some sleeping. He drifted off listening to the kid's quiet snores.


He woke up to her louder bitching. "'Insta-Mash Potatoes, proudly produced by our annexed Canadian allies'. Gee thanks, Canadians." Cort was pouring more dirty water into a dented old pot and battering at the contents with a spoon while she sat on the floor. Her ridiculous hair fluffed up with each jabbing motion. "'Dig In Flavour'. Dig a hole to bury it in, maybe." She looked up and smiled when he shifted against the wall. "Oh good, you're up. You must've been wiped out. It's past noon."

Charon pushed himself up to a sitting position, cracking his neck. "Why did you let me sleep for so long?"

"Because you needed it? You didn't wake up when I let Dogmeat out to go around seven, and that was pretty noisy, so I left you alone and just read all morning. I had to catch up, anyway." She held out the pot and a can of Cram to him when he stood up and stretched. "Here, I ate already. Sorry it's cold, I don't make fires." Charon took the food and sat back down.

"You've been out here how long and are incapable of building a fire?"

Cort narrowed her eyes at him. Here we go again. Not even five minutes. "I am not incapable of anything with enough practice. I just don't like building fires. I can eat everything without making a blazing 'come get me, I'm here' sign. However if your delicate sensibilities require hot food, I'm sure I can make some kind of accommodation. Perhaps we can find a chafing-dish to cart around for you."

"This is just fine, thanks."

She turned away from Charon's sneer as Dogmeat trotted back in the door, carrying a dead radroach. He dropped it in her lap and whuffed. She hugged him and pulled out his bag of treats, giving him one. "Good boy, you knew Momma was still hungry and brought a present, huh?" Cort pulled the carapace off the insect and started scraping the spongy, rust-smelling meat out, eating it off her hand. She looked up when she noticed the ghoul staring at her. "What? You'd prefer the bug?"

"You're eating that raw." He was looking at her speculatively.

"Yeah, I told you. I don't like fires, so I eat it cold. This, molerats, whatever. I got into the habit after an...experience with a Mirelurk. Nothing's really that bad after raw giant crab brains." Cort internally winced over the memory of her first uncooked meal. She didn't like thinking about the particulars of the incident, or the things running before and after it.

"Why didn't you eat this?" He flicked his eyes at the half finished food in his hands.

"I told you, I ate already, and that's yours. I had the same thing earlier."

"But you're hungry." He was still looking at her oddly.

"I'm hungry, not gluttonous. Besides, now I have this." Cort felt her face burning, and turned around. "There's nothing wrong with me eating it this way. Now finish your own food."

Charon did as she said, watching her pull the dog against her and hunch over the rest of the radroach. She had mistaken curiosity for him being caustic again, and he'd managed to make her ashamed of herself for doing something surprisingly practical. He couldn't decide if the sudden wave of irritation he felt with himself was because he felt bad for hurting her feelings or because he found himself giving a shit that he had. Charon pushed the unwanted, unimportant debate with himself out of his mind, put the empty pot and can aside then fell back on the familiar.

"What are your orders for today?" Cort discarded the insect's shell as unobtrusively as possible and turned halfway back to him.

"One, kill anything trying to kill me, Dogmeat or yourself. Two, if I tell you to run, run. Three, if you think I should run, tell me to run. Actually, if you think I'm doing anything stupid, tell me then too, although I'm sure that won't be a problem for you. Four, make sure you stay where I can see you if we're somewhere that hasn't been cleared yet. Five, mind the dog, when he closes to attack and when he starts acting upset. If he's snarling but you don't see anything, the shit's about to hit the fan." Cort pulled her repeater over and started loading it from her pack.

"And our current objective?" Charon rasped, standing up and getting ready.

"We're going into the Museum of Technology to retrieve a satellite dish for the DJ at Galaxy News Radio. It's attached to the Virgo II lunar lander, somewhere inside. We'll have to go through until we find it, then run it up the Washington Monument. Then I get to go back to that bastard Three Dog and he'll tell me where my father went. After that, I don't know. If my life continues to trend as it has been, someone else will extort me into doing something stupid I don't want to do. Same shit, different day." Cort got up and tied the piece of shin guard back over her Pip-Boy, and put her pack and helmet back on.

"Is it wise to cover that? It gives you a tactical advantage." Charon was pushing the panel back over the depleted cache.

"It's too much of a giveaway for the Talon Company. They're all trying to kill me."

"What? You?" He stared at her, incredulous.

"Yes, me." Cort snapped, then sighed. She was not going to start bristling at him without real provocation. "I pissed off someone named Burke, and now I've got a contract on my head. I've already changed the way I look, and the cover will come back off once we get to the Museum. I can still peek under it, anyway. Look, let's just go. I'll tell you on the way to the other end of the station."


Cort gave him a condensed rundown on why she was outside the Vault and what had happened with Burke in Megaton, not feeling like filling in any of the surrounding details. However abrasive he was during down time, he appeared to be completely business once they had started moving, and seemed to be listening intently whenever she glanced back at him. Coming up to the exit, she paused and squatted down to talk to Dogmeat.

"Okay honey, now I want you to shred some legs and distract them okay? Quick as you can, in and out, and keep an eye on where they're aiming."

"You can't seriously expect it to understand you." Charon loomed out of the darkness behind her.

Snaking her head around, she glared at him, infuriated. "He understands me just fine, and has probably brought down more in the past five weeks than you have in the last five decades, if we're not counting piss-sodden drunks. Do not. Insult. My dog."

"Yes Ma'am, is that an order, Ma'am?" Cort bit the inside of her cheek before replying. Not now, not now.

"Whatever turns your crank. Just make sure you aim high since he'll be around knee level. Now let's go."

Cort peeked her head out of the gate and listened, stripping her Pip-Boy open. Nothing close on the screen. Eeling out and around the entrance, she hugged the wall and slipped inside the decaying building, holding the door ajar for Dogmeat and Charon. She looked around, and skittered to one of the large columns dominating the front of the room. Nothing was in here this time, and she took a moment to examine it more carefully. There was a crumpled biplane at the other end of the area, and a balcony surrounding the back connected to two stairwells, one of them destroyed by a collapsed section of the building. Dust floated in the air, lit by an office above. Some parts of the building still had power. Skittering forward to the giant circular desk in the corner opposite the crushed plane, Cort saw a terminal and grinned. Terminals in a museum meant information. She creeped over and checked behind her for Charon. He was still directly behind Dogmeat, moving quietly and looking everywhere, taking her rifle silently when she handed it to him.

"Yes..." Cort breathed, ripping through the categories. She closed it and turned around to take her rifle back, mouthing at her two followers. "West Wing. Up the stairs."

Once on the landing, the first set of doors almost immediately became a dead end. Both entrances to the Hall of Today were blocked by cave ins. Backtracking, Cort crawled past the lit window to a second open corridor and started into the darkness. She had made it partway down the hall before she abruptly stopped, Charon nearly crashing into her. "What?" He hissed into her ear.

"It's shaped wrong. That's wrong, that shouldn't be here." Wildly looking around, she crept forward, patting her toes against the grating the floor had turned into. "It can't be." Cort slapped a hand over her mouth and fizzed crazily. "I'm in hell."

"Be quiet!" Charon moved around in front of her. "You're making too much-"

Several things happened at once. Spotlights flicked on, illuminating them in front of the entrance to a simulated Vault. Cort yelped at being blinded, Dogmeat and Charon both started snarling, and all three were drowned out by the door klaxon sounding, which was suddenly overridden by a very large voice.

"HUMAN. HUMAN WHO TOOK EYE EEEYAAAGH!" Cort sprang up and watched the Super Mutant brute barrelling through the Vault entrance room, amber warning lights strafing over it.

"Oh, boogers."


A Canadian did in fact invent instant mashed potatoes in 1962. I apologize on behalf of my people for anyone who has had to actually eat said potatoes.