The entire weight of the world seemed to crash on her shoulders after a mere half hour of walking toward the next point in Moira's chapter. She rubbed at her eyes and twice stumbled over something, almost faceplanting into the dirt before she caught herself back upright.
The black backdrop of the night did nothing to stimulate her senses; she needed to sleep before they continued any further. A nudge at her shoulder from the ghoul's elbow made her turn her head in the direction he jutted his chin to. The faint outline of a trailer was difficult to distinguish against the contrast of rock formations, and she would have missed it completely if not for her companion.
"Just a few hours," she mumbled as one does when drunk on exhaustion.
Charon briefly poked his head inside and ushered her in, and she had only laid into her pack before completely drifting off with an open mouth and light snore. The break of dawn filtered through her eyelids, waking her from sleep and forcing her to groggily sit upright. A glob of drool stained her skin. Charon was seated in the doorless entry, his gun cradled in his lap and eyes scanning the horrific great beyond of dirt and radiation. He glanced at her as she pulled water and boxes of food from her pack.
"Here," she said thickly, her voice still fresh with sleep.
He wordlessly took it while she dug around for her own breakfast. The time on her Pip-Boy read way too fucking early to be up and alive, but she chewed the bland contents and tried not to notice the dense pressure between them.
"Nova doesn't take ghouls," she randomly blabbered.
When he turned his head, his expression blank and not understanding a word she had just said, she cleared her throat and looked down at her lap full of crumbs.
"The prostitute, back at the bar...she told me she doesn't take ghouls. It's just, I mean, I hope you don't think you're stuck with me, or anything." She tried to muster all of her past insider knowledge into her tone, the false bravado sounding short on her ears. She hoped it didn't on his own (or lack thereof). "I know how it works."
The beating of her heart hurt as she braved a look at him.
"I do not understand," he said plainly.
"You know..." She swayed her head side to side, once again not meeting his eyes. "Having sex, thing."
Charon stood, and the topic seemed to have come to a swift end as he waited for her to do the same. The day passed on, the sweltering heat of the sun casting a shimmer in the air above the lifeless landscape; she pointed to a lone high-rise building in the distance as they came closer to their intended objective. It seemed so very out of place.
"What is that?" she asked, the past few hours of taciturn silence between them having finally been broken.
Charon glanced over, his dusty boots sinking in the sand. "Not safe," he rumbled at her back.
"Yeah, that really answered my question," she muttered.
He either did not hear, or ignored her sarcasm as they came upon the RobCo Facility, the cool air wafting from beyond the opened door making her sigh in relief and eager to step inside. Charon halted her by the shoulder before she could escape the burning on her skin.
"I shall enter." He bypassed her, armed and ever-ready to encounter a fight. He gave her a quick nod of his head to have her follow in step behind him, and she dimmed the screen of her Pip-Boy as they traded the blinding sun for damp darkness.
A skittering across the tiled floor made her latch onto him, and he berated her with a scowl as he rudely shrugged her off. The ghoul then paused in the middle of the room, training his shotgun's line of sight at the sound as it quickly scurried their way. A radroach stepped into the dim lighting under the cracked fluorescents, and he relaxed his stance whereas she grew stiff and held onto him a second time.
He growled and shook her off again. "Do not do that."
She was staring at the bug with the widest eyes. "What are you waiting for?" she whispered.
Charon raised a brow, looking back at the wasteland's most common pest. "My contract entitles you to combat services." He aimed the tip of his barrel at the thing. "That is not combat."
When she didn't move a single muscle (he didn't think she even breathed), he rolled his eyes and moved on without her. Whatever the reason she dragged them here, she was sure to snoop around and pilfer every nook and cranny, therefore he had to preemptively ensure the building was secure.
"Wait here," he rasped, the hissing and waving antennas on the floor being crushed into goo beneath his boot.
The facility was home to nothing but vermin and strewn piles of robotic scrap. He passed the door leading to the management offices, rounding back to the lobby to proceed with his employer. She was not there.
He roved the newly emptied halls, poked his head inside a few spaces. "Evelyn?" he called out, briefly considering that she may have made her departure back outside.
He had opened the door and was about to vacate the building when a blood-curling scream pounded his feet back through the halls, the metal catwalks groaning under the force as he raced towards the sound of certain death. He must have missed an enemy. He did not know if he would make it in time-
The ghoul burst into a room on the factory level, assessing the situation before him at lightning speed. Evelyn was sitting on an overturned trashcan...that was moving.
She caught sight of him as it veered towards the stairs. She cried, "Charon!"
He lifted his gun. "Move."
She didn't need to be told twice. She scrabbled behind him just as the can tipped over, a sizeable radroach crawling away to safety.
Charon slowly lowered his weapon, throwing her a rather dirty look.
"That thing is fucking huge!" she sniffled, trembling all over and hugging herself tightly. "I-I panicked and thought I'd trapped it..."
He released an aggravated exhale through his nose, drilling all of his frustration into the flatness of his tone. "Do not scream for me like that again."
"I was terrified! I didn't do it for fun!" she defended herself with a nasal whine. She looked back to the dark crevice the insect had disappeared through. "...do you think it'll be back?"
His only response was a curt nod of his head for her to continue. With great reluctance, she navigated deeper into the recesses of the building, pocketing anything she could wrap her fingers around until they came to a door.
"Guess the mainframe is through here," she mumbled to herself. There was a turn of the knob and a loud squeal as she opened it, and then she just as quickly slammed it back shut. Her hand came away from the frame, and she backed up a step before looking at him. "I'll wait here."
Charon grumbled sourly under his breath as he stomped around inside, disposing of mutated roaches and territorial molerats with the brunt force of his heel. He wasn't going to waste shells on such insignificant pests. A few Protectrons in sealed units were quickly considered, but they appeared to be inactive.
He opened the door. "It is clear." His head turned to watch her scurry past and proceed to open a vending machine and clean out a fridge. He turned down the offer of a box of snack cakes that she held over to him.
They continued up some stairs, and she sucked the frosting from her fingertips (that made him feel a certain way) as she darted for the control room that he had previously scoped. Her pack made a loud thud after being whisked from her shoulders to the floor, and she dug around all the useless crap she had scavenged for a peculiar item that she held up for him to see.
"Easy peasy." She smiled, attaching it to the mainframe. "I guess this is supposed to like, control old tech or something?"
He didn't pay attention as she continued to ramble and type some keys in. (He really didn't care).
A sudden alarm began to blare, and the pod beside them containing a dormant Protectron hissed as it opened. She looked over, horrified, and he nabbed her by the elbow to shove her back toward the door.
"Go!" he barked, knocking some sense into her empty head as she took his advice at a sprint.
He popped a slug in the side of the robot's dome, shattering the protective glass around its processing unit and spitting smoke from short-circuiting wires. Its arms flailed erratically, the synthesized voice cutting out before it tipped on its side. Another one was at the base of the stairs; he shoved into it with all of his strength to careen it into the wall- the things were suddenly everywhere.
"Go!" he repeated, and she ducked from the laser fire pinging all around the room with just enough ounce of luck to not get hit. He, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. It instantly melted through his leather jacket, cauterizing the flesh as it burned. He ignored the scalding sensation while she burst back into the main hub of the building, his steps inches behind her own.
A loud gasp of realization inflated her lungs as she spun around on the metal catwalk, her eyes bulging with distress. "Oh no, my bag-!"
Charon clipped a new drum magazine on his shotgun and knelt down to scoop her over one shoulder as she tried to run past. The metal bastards were roving the facility like a kicked hornet's nest, enticing him to make an immediate departure. He ignored her squeaky protests and roughly jostled her before making their way down to the lower floors, his palm anchored tightly over her ass to keep her in place.
She clamped her hands over her ears as he fired away with his weapon in one hand, the recoil from its destructive firepower causing his arm to faintly flex with each blast he aimed. The sharp smell of gunpowder made her sneeze, and she bit out a pained cry as something burned across her left butt cheek.
Charon growled at the sharp throb in his brain from the slip-up- she squealed like a stuck pig and wildly kicked her legs as her leather armor caught fire. He smacked at the flames a few times to put them out.
They reached the front lobby without further injury, and he kicked the doors open to the sky of early dusk to retreat around the corner of the building. He set her down, spun her around, and tilted her forward into the wall to grab at the sides of her ass, inspecting the visible scorch mark to proceed with treatment.
"Ow!" she whined, feeling his hands wrap around her waist to begin unbuckling her belt. Her leathers and underwear were shunted past her thighs, ripping some of the melted fabric that had glued to her skin. "Stop!" she choked.
His fingers pressing into the flesh froze on command.
"Fuck." She screwed her eyes shut and dug her forehead into the cool concrete. "How bad is it?" she asked with a shaky breath.
He squinted, judging the depth and measure. "You will live."
A few deep breaths were drawn in, and then she pulled away from the wall, wincing as she carefully pulled her decency back in place.
He grabbed at her hands before she could finish. "What are you doing? You are injured."
"Yeah, I know," she replied with pinched brows. "I'll be okay. Are you okay?" She tried to study him, but it was evident she was distracted by the pain.
He ignored the question. "I have a Stimpak." His fingers were already unlatching a side satchel at his waist.
She caught sight of the wound in his side. "Use it." Her hand stopped him before he could turn her around. "On you."
He stared.
"I'll wait until we get back to Megaton," she painfully gasped with a wave of her trembling hand.
The rapid firing of pain receptors inside of his brain nearly dove his index and middle finger in his eyeball sockets to rip his skull clean off his shoulders. His hand tightened over the stim, nearly shattering it from the pressure he applied.
"I advise you do not," he rasped through clenched teeth. "Let me tend to it."
"I, I can't," she confessed, wincing as she took her first step. "Moira-"
Her back drew flush up against the wall in fear from how fast he descended upon her, his massive frame eating her existence away from the rest of society.
"I will tend to it. Now." His eyes bored into her own, and she faintly nodded. With a spin and second undressing, he poked the needle in her flesh and patiently waited for it to heal. Satisfied (and relieved of the agonizing throbbing in his head), he left her butt naked to the side as he finally considered himself.
His armor was shed, his leather jacket shrugged out of, and his tattered black shirt was raised for proper viewing of the already disfigured skin. It was cauterized, so there was no reason to waste medical supplies. He lowered his shirt and reached for his jacket.
Her hand intercepted him, and he growled.
"Whoa, hold on, you don't have anymore stims?!" She appeared genuinely worried for him, and he couldn't help but resent her for it.
He had two more.
"It will heal," he said evenly.
"But you used one on me!"
"Yes, you were in pain."
"Oh, and like you're not?" she scoffed.
He thought for a moment. "No."
"Well, that doesn't matter!" she snapped. "Use one!"
He scowled, "Is that an order?"
"Ugh!" She threw her hands up, and he hurriedly went about equipping his things as she stomped off in Megaton's general direction. "Fine! Die! See if I care!"
As much as her spite wished to carry her home just to stomp up the steps to her room and slam the door in his face, her stamina wouldn't hear a single word about it. Her noodled appendages carried her as far as the previous night's camping site, and she slumped like a corpse in the corner of the trailer where their garbage still remained undisturbed. Morning came much sooner than she would have hoped for, and she awoke to the bitter smell of cigarette smoke. The weight of her head felt immensely heavy as she lifted it off the cold, uncomfortable floor to narrow her crusty eyes at the lack of courtesy.
Charon was seated, just like before, dragging his lipless mouth on a smoke and eyeing what she herself could not see. He turned his head slightly to look at her while she rubbed at her face.
"You smoke?" she drawled, pulling a few stray hairs from the corner of her mouth.
He exhaled and flicked the butt away. "No."
An ugly snort came between them. "I just stress you out that much?"
There was no answer, and she huffed as she rose and nearly tipped over, her brain not comprehending that it was time to be awake.
"No, no no." She held a hand up as he made to follow her out into the wastes. "I just need to pee, give me, like, five minutes."
He nodded. "Very well."
Her eyes drew to very thin slits. "...you're not taking that literally...are you?"
The lack of a verbal reply, (coupled with his weird, innate paranoia) hustled her feet around a few rocks and scored her a world record for the fastest piss ever made. Her companion was still waiting in place (the big guy didn't so much as blink), and she just sighed at his obedient nature as he followed in step behind her.
She honestly didn't know what to do with him.
The thought plagued her the entirety of the way home. Albeit, he was really resourceful and excellent in combat when it came to saving her burnt ass, but it was, just, too weird. Too unsettling. His contract was a lump of hot coal sitting somewhere in his pocket (for she refused to carry it, hoping he would get the message and just leave).
His obvious dislike for her was demoralizing. The sex they shared was...not what she had envisioned all those lonely nights. She still liked him, but she feared him, too. It felt so utterly wrong to just hand him off to someone else like some unwanted pet...he was a person, but her person, all by a flawed design she had no intention of appreciating. She turned around to face him fully, stopping them in their tracks along the dusty road, looking up into that gruesome visage of distilled wrath. A vintage bottle of corked hatred, violence, and apparently no smoking.
"Do you like, erm, working for me?" she asked. "Have you thought about working for someone else?"
He blinked at her. She stared at the too-cool-for-medical-school hideous sear he bore so nonchalantly.
"Do you intend to pass on my contract?" His voice was so flat, so uninterested. He had to feel some way about it.
"Would you want me to?"
He seemed to think for a moment, and then finally rasped, "You are my employer until my contract changes hands."
"You are so frustrating!" she tersely snapped. "I literally don't understand a single thing about you! What is it that you want?"
He scanned the horizon. He didn't say anything, and it was obvious he intended not to.
"Fine, whatever. I don't really care." This time, her petty behavior blessed her feet with seven-league boots, and the gates of Megaton ground metal on metal as they opened to their arrival.
The massive saloon billboard just up the hill made her heart hammer in her throat and dew sweat on her neck. No one gave them accusatory looks or hushed any whispers as they passed by. She tried to ignore the hot bubbling of anxiety splashing inside her chest as the knob to her house was wiggled. It was locked. Her pack was...still at the fucking RobCo facility. She slowly turned a dirty look to the ghoul, who glowered at her in return.
"You're lucky I have a spare," she bit at him, stooping down to turn over a rock for her only copy. He seemed genuinely surprised.
"I advise you do not leave that there," he rasped with caution.
"Oh, please" she grumbled, twisting the handle and stepping inside. She tossed the key on the table. "Wadsworth, we're home!"
The robot flew down the stairs in such a rush she barreled backward into Charon, who firmly planted a hand on her back to shove her off. Wadsworth waved a few limbs around, not saying a single word.
"Um..." she started uncertainly, "Are you okay?"
The robot ceased its movements and then slanted its optics at the ghoul behind her.
She looked over her shoulder. Charon was already setting his things aside and...running a bath. Cool. (She guessed she would just take one later). ((Inconsiderate Jerk™))
She sighed and began to walk up the stairs. "Did you hang up my vault suit?"
There was no reply, (not so much as a single snark) and she glanced over to her home helper. Again, it waved its limbs around.
"What, did the mainframe get you too?" she half-joked, and then she felt the neuron connections in her brain slowly spark electricity as she observed how it pointed to the ghoul.
I will stay here.
She took a stomping step back down with every word she spoke. "Oh, my, God. You. Didn't."
Charon was busily removing his gear, glancing up at her without a single emotion betraying his face. He neither confirmed nor denied the unspoken accusation.
"You did!" she gasped. "Charon! What the hell?!"
He looked over to the Mister Handy and shrugged, reverting his eyes back to his business. He took a seat to remove his boots, and she watched them being neatly set aside. His pants dropped. Out of deeply rooted civility, she turned away and continued up the stairs, her muted robot close at her heels.
Wadsworth followed her into her room like some sad puppy, performing a silent number with limited features of rotating claws and shifting optics.
She sat on the edge of the bed, chin in her hands, thinking over everything while not thinking about much of anything at all. She eventually laid on her freshly made sheets, staring at the ceiling until she succumbed to a quick nap that felt like literal centuries. Her leathers were stripped to build a micro-habitat in the corner of her room, the vault suit feeling icky despite being clean on her sweaty, unwashed skin. She came down to Wadsworth washing dishes and Charon dressed in the clothes she had acquired for him, his hands meticulously stitching together the tear in his jacket.
He didn't bother to look at her for more than a moment, perhaps assuming she had no orders for him to care to. His fingers dug in a needle, curved it out, and pulled. The strange grace he had was almost awkward to watch- she didn't think someone his size or nature could handle something so delicately.
"Is there something you require?" he asked sharply, his shoulders tensing due to her unflinching stare.
"Where's your contract?"
His fingers stopped their weaving. Without hesitation, he reached inside a hidden breast pocket inside his jacket and pulled out the folded piece of paper, holding it out for her. She took it. It felt dirty, as though the ink would stain through to her fingers and she wouldn't be able to scrub it away.
"What if I ripped it up? Burned it?" she tested.
"I would make another," he said simply. It didn't seem to bother him whatsoever. He then resumed his sewing.
She put it in a small side pocket, making for the door. "I'll be-" The screeching of his chair as he stood nearly rolled her eyes out of her fucking skull. "Oh. Silly me."
Charon zipped up his jacket and clipped his armor back in place. The shotgun (that had been neatly cleaned) was picked up by one hand and attached to its rightful place at his back. She stared at him...she felt sort of, well, sad.
"Let's go," she said a little glumly, and he didn't comment on her forlorn attitude as they left for the saloon.