Charon

Bones was right. She's unraveling.

But it's too late to turn around. We're too far away, and too close to Virgil to give up now. She doesn't want to stop.

She's drinking, smoking. Not eating a lot. Swearing. Crying for no reason. She's not herself – then again, she hasn't been herself since I started to train her over a month ago.

At night, she stares at where her hand used to be. Rubs the stump, counts the sutures. She says her hand hurts, but there's nothing she can do about it. Sometimes, she'll reach up to scratch her face, and collapse into a sobbing ball of grief.

Her hands were beautiful. Now, one is gone. The other is calloused, covered in the dust and grime of the wasteland, nails cracked, broken. I watch her closely; pull her to me at night to make sure she doesn't try to hurt herself.

It reminds me of how Mallie was in the suite.

About Forty-Five Years Ago

Maleficent

Even if you feel dead inside, you still have a desire to live, even if it means the pain will last forever. The desire to die is less strong than the need to live. Until one day, it isn't.

I'm looking over the balcony at Tenpenny.

"I wonder what it would be like, to jump."

"Mallie, don't say shit like that."

"I wonder if I'd change my mind on the way down."

He sighs, irritated. "I'm sure most people do. They're just not around so you can ask 'em afterwards."

I steel myself. "Only one way to find out, I suppose."

I back up a few steps, sprint, take a flying leap over the railing, and he snatches me out of the air at the last second.

"Are you out of your GODDAMNED MIND?" He clutches me to his chest, tightly.

I shiver in his arms. "You're right."

"About what?"

"I changed my mind."

I once thought that everything about him is hard, strong.

That night, I find something soft, gentle.

I know that he knew I stopped slaving because of him. I didn't tell him why, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure something like that out.

I can't believe I did that. I could've died. I haven't done anything that fuckin' stupid in quite some time, and that's saying something.

We're lying on the bed, side by side. His arm is around my bare stomach, pulling me close to him, absorbing my body heat. I don't wear much of anything these days; I don't leave the suite, anyway. It's easier when I'm naked, to be honest – the heat doesn't have to go through layers of clothing to get to him. I've never seen him unclothed, completely. He showers quickly, changes quickly – but I don't think too much of it. I don't have time for other people's insecurities – I'm busy with my own.

He reaches up, starts petting my hair. It seems to soothe him, and it feels good, so I don't complain. "I could have lost you." He says.

"I'm sorry."

"I know." He stops stroking my hair and puts his arm around me, squeezes me.

"I'm trying to be better." I can't help the frustration that creeps into my voice. I'm not good enough. Never will be. Not after what I've done.

"That's why I –" he hesitates.

I roll over and meet his eyes, press my finger to his lips. "Hush with that."

He sighs. When he said it, he had to know I wouldn't say it back. I don't want to care about anyone. It's easier when you're…unattached.

A large rough hand caresses my cheek, smooths my hair, then pushes my head toward his. He parts my soft lips, his rough and dry, kisses me deeply. When we started fucking, I told him no kissing. I told him that it was a waste of time, didn't do much for me. But this…

When he finally breaks away, he pushes my shoulder, gently, laying me flat on my back.

"Close your eyes," He whispers.

I obey.

His hands trail the length of my body and I gasp, surprised by the gentleness of his touch.

He shifts on the bed, straddles me. He cups my face in hands, brushes my cheekbones with his thumbs. I feel him leave a trail of kisses from my brow to my collarbone. He locks his lips around the soft place where my neck meets my shoulder; flicks it with his eager tongue.

I moan, tilt my head to the side, eliciting a satisfied grunt from him. It's a shock when he disengages. Shifting backward, he begins to nuzzle one of my breasts while gently kneading the other, rolling the nipple between a thumb and forefinger.

He takes my nipple in his mouth, lightly sucking.

I grip the sheets, inhale sharply. He hums with me in his mouth, sending shivers down my body. I lift my head and he gently presses it back down to the pillow as he takes my other nipple in his mouth . "Oooh" I moan, unaccustomed to the sensation, but liking it all the same. I revel in pain, in rough, in rawness. Softness is something new to me.

He moves down my body, trailing soft kisses down to my navel, stroking my stomach, my hips. He sits up, shifts, parts my legs and settles between them. As feel him begin to dip his head down, I remind him with a gentle push away. No. If you won't let me, then I won't let you.

He sighs in frustration, and then rallies nicely – he leans forward, bracing his bulk over me. I can feel the heat of him through his clothing. I can feel his hardness pushing against me, and I moan. I want you inside me.

He takes my ear lobe in his mouth, sucking gently while his hot breaths tease me. If he doesn't take me soon, he'll have me begging for him.

His lips retreat, and I clench inside as I hear the telltale clink of a belt buckle. I lift my head, and he whispers, "close your eyes." He doesn't want me looking at him. Even after I told him that it doesn't matter how he looks, it matters how it feels. My head falls back on the pillow, and I hear a rustle of fabric, then gasp as I feel his warm length brush against the inside of my thigh.

His coarse hands rub my legs, and I tighten them reflexively.

Sensing my readiness, he parts my legs a little more, and enters me slowly, languorously, filling me so gently that I ached. His tender thrusts send waves of pleasure through me, eliciting soft moans. I wrap my legs around him, try to pull him closer, faster, but he slows further, hot breath in my ear. "Mallie…" he whispers, not adding, but implying, I love you. I tighten around him and he shudders, grunts softly. He speeds up, going deeper, harder.

I feel heat gather between my legs, a fire that spreads, a soft cry from deep within my chest, my body bucking underneath his, tightening around him deliciously. A sharp grunt, and his body stiffens above me, as he looses himself inside me.

Breathing heavily, he kisses the tender crook of my neck, and rolls off me. After a minute, he rises from the bed, hitches his pants up, and heads to the bathroom to fulfill his duties – getting me something to clean up with.

That was part of our deal, our "arrangement."

Which had now become a lot more complicated.