Megaton had never looked so fucking beautiful before.
Was it the safety of its looming walls, built upon the remnants of what was once an airworthy ship? Perhaps the allure of the people that dwelled within, offering the utmost basic (but enticing) services such as hot food and cold beer? Or maybe it was due to being the only place in the world she could proudly call her own- it wasn't much, but damn if it wasn't home...that she was currently locked out of.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. She had completely forgotten about her little 'peace offering' to the breathing gun at her back, (he hadn't so much as grumbled unintelligible nonsense since their walk on the roads) and so with a sigh, she turned to finally face the music. "Did you-?"
The key was already inserted and the door swung open. He then held it over for her to take possession of.
"…thanks," she awkwardly said. No terse nod, no Neanderthal grunt, no smoldering glare. He was so passive it was like he wasn't real- the headless mannequin had had more life to it.
The light switch was flipped on. Wadsworth was docked at its station, but it was obvious the good little house bot had performed its duties impeccably during her absence. She unshouldered her still-sopping wet bag by the couch before plopping down on the broken springs. Charon remained standing in the open doorway, staring at her.
Her hands nestled under her thighs, the suit cold from being damp. "Are you coming inside?"
He rasped, almost robotically, "If that is what you wish."
No fucking way. Forget the Ninth Circle- Charon must have come straight from the Tenth.
She wiped at her eyes. "Oh my God- you know what I mean."
The door closed. He now stood inside, staring at her. There was no holding back the groan of frustration as she untangled her tousled hair from its fraying braid. Ouch. The gash on her head needed tending to, and it only added to her irritation.
"Can we please not go through this again?" she pleaded.
If she was hoping for the usual dour response, she was shit out of luck, for he gave a single nod, placed his bag down, and then left the house. There was a loud creak from the frame- he was leaning against it while standing guard outside. She didn't even try to pop open that can of pickled worms as she applied a stim to her injury and just went straight to bed, the exhaustion deep within her bones overlooking the dirt behind her ears and the light ticking of built-up rads in her system.
The raider crawled into her dreams, snaked a mottle tongue down her throat and decayed before her very eyes. His skin sloughed off, wet and sticky and rank as he choked her screams with it. His eyes were glowing, his teeth were pulling out her hair before the world suddenly became very bright. The holey sheet was soaked- her body odor was atrocious enough to pucker her own nose. She smashed the heel of a palm into her eye and tried to slow her breathing, looking over to the permanently defective Mister Handy at her bedside.
"Hey, sorry," she slurred. "…I'm okay."
The robot blinked an optic and then awkwardly laid a claw (in what she assumed it thought was tenderly) on the top of her head.
pat pat
It accidentally ripped a few hairs out before floating away.
Evelyn tiptoed out in a fresh green jumpsuit, throwing the tattered blue and gold in Wadsworth's bin for a good scrub and repairs. The door to the spare room was wide open- he wasn't inside. (He wasn't even in the house). The tiny space felt incredibly too big without him, so she closed it to grant privacy to his things. She came down and noticed her gear had been hung up and laid out to properly dry sometime in the earlier hours of the morning.
"Thanks, Wadsworth," she causally remarked as she went for the fridge…there was a new handle on it. Hmm, weird.
There was no food...she honestly didn't know what she had expected. The caps in her drawstring purse were light, but it was a minor concern considering it would be replenished after the haul she'd sell to Moira. Her hand hesitantly wrapped around the doorknob, let go, took a firm grip, and came back off. She instead raised a fist and knocked, quietly. (She felt like an idiot). It opened, partly, to Charon's face halfway in the crack.
"Um…" she began. "I need to go out…please."
(Please?)
Like a secret password- open sesame! -she was granted full passage through her own door to the bright light of the sun and the hot wind. She mumbled a thank you before stepping past and making her way down the hill with Charon at her heel. The only decent food in all of Megaton was wafting a palatable scent up her nose as she took a seat at the outside bar of The Brass Lantern. Jenny Stahl ambled down from another customer at the far end, her face screwed up in displeasure as though she smelled something terrible.
"Hi Jenny." Evelyn smiled. "Can I get the brahmin special? Two?"
"Fifty caps."
Evelyn halted from forking over the egregious charge. Did she hear that right?
Jenny rudely held out a hand. It was very unlike the previous occasions when she had ever ordered from her. "I charge double for ghoulfuckers and shufflers." Every word came out as a nasty flick of dirt in the eye. "You're lucky I'm even serving you."
The settler at the end chuckled into his beer.
I didn't raise you to be this way- you know better.
But Butch called me ugly and made everyone laugh at me. They spit on me. I don't know why they don't like me. I just want them to like me. I just want to have friends.
You have Amata. Isn't she your friend?
Evelyn glanced over her shoulder to Charon standing a few feet to the side, his hands behind his back and his eyes always carefully watching her for a sign, any sign. She then really looked around, and she saw it. The loathing, the scrunched-up faces like they'd just stepped in shit. The muttered curses, the whispered jests- get that fuckin' zombie cur outta here, one's damn already enough. Charon ignored it all. It was like he didn't even notice, but he did; he always did. She had been walking blind with her hands clamped over her ears, the ignorance made from the little world she had kept herself in. The Brotherhood didn't have a problem with ghouls…everyone did. It was near impossible to miss the animosity towards them after the scales had fallen from her eyes.
"You know what?" Evelyn cheekily smiled, whisking her purse back into her pocket. "I'll hang on to these. You're a fucking bitch, no wonder Leo uses."
Jenny's face dropped, appalled, as though she'd never expected the polite, keeps-to-herself vaultie to ever say such a heinous thing. Her face grew red, then purpled as she scathed at her retreating back. "Don't ever think you're welcome back at my stall!"
They kept moving. People stared and gossiped and pointed all the way to the saloon until they were hidden away from the peeping crowd. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness, a face from what felt like centuries ago being the first to greet her.
"Hey kid," Nova called over with that sultry flair. She was standing behind the counter, counting caps into a register. Her eyes flitted between the two of them and back to the door. "Gob with you?"
Evelyn came to the front while Charon took to the wall, his arms across his chest. "He's still in Underworld." She then quickly rushed at the lift of an eyebrow, "It's a long story, but he said he'll be back soon."
Nova looked at the ghoul. "You still working here?"
Charon didn't reply, and Evelyn answered for him with, "No. He's…with me. Again."
"Alright." Nova shrugged. And it was left at that. "Need something?"
Reassurance. Validation. A hug. A glass of water. New socks. An orgasm. A good, long cry. A simple kiss. (Maybe not all in that order).
"Food. Whatever all my caps will get me."
An armful of assorted cans, boxes, meat wrapped in brahmin skin, and bottles of soda were inventoried and put away in the comfort of her tiny kitchen. Evelyn tucked her loose hair behind an ear and took out a pan as she looked to the front door. He had gone back to his post outside, leaving her to the privacy of doing whatever the fuck she wanted…a quiet, distasteful meal (the leftovers placed in the fridge), a nice bath (the soap was gone, again?!), and a long nap (more like, an early bedtime).
Another night, another dream, another sunrise. The extra food had been left untouched. There was no evidence of another bath having been run. She chewed a strand of hair and stood awkwardly in the middle of her own house, staring at the door. She wrote in her journal- doodled a little comic of Charon chasing Wadsworth on every little corner of each page, the stop-motion animation brought to life after she flipped through it. Ate a snack. Had another long soak. Studied the ugly scar on her thigh from the Minefield fiasco. Marveled at the work Wadsworth had put into her leathers- they were like new! She eventually just stared at the closed-off space he would've normally been in.
Knock Knock
The front door opened, again with only half of his stony visage visible. She twirled a curl around a finger. He somehow felt so intense whilst being perfectly flat.
"Can you come in? Please."
He obliged and closed the door behind him, his arms crossed and face impassive as he looked down at her. Her eyes gravitated to her shoes, unable to meet his cataract eyes.
"I'm…sorry, about the other night. I didn't mean to lose my shit at you." Phew. What a big girl moment, britches pulled up and ethereal father proud. She glanced at him for a reaction.
He somehow wore an even more deadpan expression than before.
She weakly tried again. "Um…I noticed you haven't eaten anything."
Nothing. Fucker didn't even blink.
"Do you, like, want to at least talk about it?"
An animation to his face- his mouth moved. He rasped flatter than the midwestern plains, "if conversation is what you wish, then I shall provide it."
Her hands flew to her hips, her temper taking her attempt at any sort of repentance and smashing it underfoot.
"Okay, I've forgiven you pretty easily for everything up to this point," she seethed. "Not only did you get me kicked out of Underworld, but you also tried to kill Winthrop- who was my friend- and now I can't even go back to GNR for anything because Three Dog may or may not, be dead. You've hurt people, and now you're being a total dick to me because I, what? Yelled at you to take care of yourself? How is that in any way fair?" There was nothing but silence on his end, and she threw her hands up. "Well?!"
He leaned forward, just the slightest, but she couldn't help but instinctively cower. He rasped, "You did not yet wish for conversation."
"Ugh! Fuck it!" The scavenged loot was shoved inside her bag. "I'm going to Moira, maybe then I'll get some conversation."
A gloved palm immediately landed on the doorknob before she could open it. "I am employed for your safety."
She could've taken her eyes out of her head to roll them across the floor. "I'm not going for a job, just want to sell all this stuff." He didn't let her through. "Seriously?! What, do you not believe me?"
"I will oblige if that is what you wish."
"Are you expecting me to order you?" she loudly gasped, stabbing a finger in the air at his face. "You can't keep me a prisoner in my own house!"
Charon raised a brow, as though the notion was wholly absurd. "You are my employer, I will-"
She cut him off by spinning around to stomp up the stairs. "You know what? Do whatever the hell makes that little brain of yours happy, cause God knows I sure as shit don't."
She then slammed the door before giving him a chance at another sarcastic reply. Her bag was thrown in the corner before she took a seat on the edge of the bed (too angry to notice that it didn't squeak). This was far from the first time she had been sent to her room, but it was the first in which she had put herself in it. When the boredom became too much she quietly peeked back out- he was gone, but not really.
"Wadsworth!" she whispered with urgency. "Come here!"
The loyal little bot did as commanded, slanting an optic at the conniving energy she flaunted about as she smushed her face against a hole in the corrugated paneling to peep outside, her eyeball twisting around for a better angle. The bed frame was pushed from its spot, and she drew an invisible square on the wall for the Mister Handy to take note of.
"I need you to cut a hole here for me," she said.
By the time her Pip-Boy eventually came to read seven in the evening, she was left with exactly one hour before Moira closed for the night.
She lifted the escape flap, closed it, bolted the small latch down, and tugged on the knob. The hinges held, and although they weren't completely aligned, they did their job. Perfect. She grinned at Wadsworth, and if optics could speak, they would be telling her she was the densest Madam he had ever come to serve.
"Dad could never keep me in my room. I took apart an entire section of the paneling and would sneak through the wiring in the walls till I got to the vents…probably not too smart, now that I just said that out loud." Wadsworth only shook his three heads. She dismissed his condemnation with a curt wave of her hand, hoisted her full pack on her shoulders, and cinched the straps down tight. "Wish me luck!"
The timing was perfect. The wait for night to fall had proved wise in that no one noticed the smuggling vaultie crawling out of the side of her house like a worm from a mutfruit. She threw a leg over one of the many water pipes snaking around the town, the settlers going about their lives with nary a clue of the person shimmying just above their heads. She slowly inched along before being able to grab ahold of a metal railing to hoist her bag and then herself over, her feet on the catwalk within minutes of her initial escape. She patted the dust from her clothes and threw a thumbs up to the robot that had been watching her through the improvised window. Wadsworth closed the secret passageway, and she was off.
Craterside Supply was full of smoke. She wafted a hand through the air, coughing into her elbow and escaping back outside to allow it to dissipate.
A distorted voice called to her from the back. "Aw, shucks, sorry about that! You can come in now!"
When the air was breathable again, she reentered. Moira came over behind the counter, a gas mask fitted over her face.
"Well hey there! Haven't seen you in awhile!" she happily greeted from within her containment suit.
Evelyn looked over to her hired gun in the corner- he too had a mask on. "Uh, what is-?"
"Woops!" The mask was unlatched and lifted over, a few sweaty stray hairs flying around her flushed face. "My latest batch of Nuka-Cola fizzy bombs hasn't been working out so well lately, which, if you're interested-"
Evelyn heaved her bag on the countertop between them. "Sorry, I was actually just looking to trade some stuff." She glanced over at the merc undoing his own safety attire, his manner entirely unfazed by the day-to-day antics his eccentric employer got up to.
The random junk was happily scooped into a metal bucket. "Aw, well that's too bad…"
Evelyn couldn't help herself as she pocketed the sweet load of caps into her purse, the burlap edges all plump and fat from their filling. "…you talked about Rivet City before, right? Like, go there, find out its history?"
Moira beamed. Hook, line, sucker. "I think it would be a swell addition to the Survival Guide! You know, learn about how to rebuild society with old tech and so on, and Rivet City would be the perfect example of that. Here, if you want, I can mark it on your Pip-Boy, just in case you think about it!"
"Okay." She reached her left arm over. Charon was going to be so pissed (but only if he ever found out...). "Thanks."
Moira snorted. "Oh no, thank you!"
Evelyn left and stared at the little marker on her screen. Dad was there…at least, he should be. She had become so engrossed by the indicator that she almost failed to notice she was walking up the steps towards the front door of her house...and grumpy-ass guard dog. Woops. That would have been unpleasant. She dipped back under the railing of the catwalk and onto the water pipe she had used as a homemade jungle gym, heaving herself up and beginning the journey back to her room. It was much more difficult, the strenuous effort of fighting gravity and her body's weight making her sweat and curse the entirety of the way. When she got to the top, she straddled the pipe, wiped at her forehead, and pushed on the hatch- it was locked from the inside. She tapped on it.
"Wadsworth! It's me!" she whispered.
It unlocked and the little door was swung inward, revealing a face that she most definitely had not been expecting.
"You have returned," Charon rasped, his statement a non-withheld accusation.
She gasped, pitching backward from the unwanted surprise and feeling her body fall through empty air before he shot an arm out to grab at her, pulling her through as though she weighed nothing.
"Ow, ow, my arm- hold on!" She was tossed onto the bed, bouncing off the mattress to hit the deck. "Ow!"
For a very brief second, she noticed a hint of pain across his face before he sharply shook his head. He then turned, closed the makeshift escape route, bolted it, and slammed the heel of his boot down on the lock. It warped and snapped, rendering it completely fucking useless. All of that hard work, gone in an instant.
"Hey!" she protested, but when he wheeled around on her she shrunk back and snapped her yapping trap shut.
"That was very stupid," he snarled. "If you had been injured, I would not have known."
"I came back just fine!" she growled in return. "You can't just box me in here because you're a paranoid, sulking brainwashed slave-"
"I am not a slave," he rasped with an underlying threat to his tone, taking a few steps forward.
"-who doesn't know how to communicate their feelings like normal people do. Guess what, big guy? You're stuck with me because I'm stuck with you. You want to be with someone else? You know you don't have to ask, but if you want to be here, with me, then you have to give me some space."
His fingers kept twitching at his sides, his tone so dry it put the Sahara to shame. "Was my post not suitable for your space?"
"You know what I mean!" she practically shouted, their bodies now mere inches apart. "I had said I was sorry, what more do you want from me?!" His burning eyes snapped over to the bed, and she meanly laughed up at his face. "Are you serious? That's it?! Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not really in the mood for sex when you already keep fucking me over!"
Knock Knock
"Ugh!" She stormed out and stalked to the front door, opening it with a bite of her teeth at the throat of the unwanted guest. "What?!"
The waft of alcohol was so potent it nearly knocked her off her feet. She leaned away, breathing through her mouth to stem the stench.
"Now really isn't a good time," she tersely addressed the drunken ex-raider at her doorstep. She didn't have to look behind her to know Charon was breathing down her neck to stare at the man- she could feel him. "Go home, right now."
The door was swung shut, but a boot dipped its path to prevent it from closing completely. Jericho leaned into the open frame, halfway inviting himself inside. The neck of a whiskey bottle was precariously held between two fingers, slowly brought to his cracked lips as he eyed her from head to toe.
"Everyone knows," he slurred, squinting his blackened eyes up at the menacing figure behind her. He popped a shit-eating grin, as though the ghoul was on the other side of a sheet of glass; a zoo animal kept in its cage. "Zombie."
"Jericho, leave," she threatened, "and don't ever come fucking knocking at my door again."
He held up his hands, the liquid sloshing around in the bottle. "Jus' tryin' to place nice, doll."
"Play nice with your friends, assuming you have any." She pushed him out, but he grabbed at her forearm and pulled her towards himself. Her eyes widened with alarm, but not for her own safety. "No, don't-!"
Jericho squeaked, (a strange sound for a grown man of his nature); a cheeky mouse caught in the snare of a wrathful lion as he was forcibly removed. Charon tucked her back and rammed the butt of his forehead against his own, breaking the man's nose. Jericho grunted and stumbled, realizing the error of his ways a smidge too late after the ghoul wrapped a gloved palm around the backside of his head and slammed it into the railing, the loud metal ting reverberating in the air. He crumpled to the ground, the used and abused whiskey bottle rolling away, and Charon simply went to close the door. Jericho's leg got caught in the frame, and so Charon swept him over with the side of his boot like tidying dust under a rug. The body slowly slid under the rails, slinking into the darkness as it tumbled down the hillside.
He was then able to successfully close the door, turn back to her (as though nothing else had just taken place), and declared, "if there is nothing else you require, then I will resume my post."
"…is he dead?"
He reopened the door just enough to crane his head out, studying something for a moment. "I do not think so."
"Are you going to stand out there all night again?"
A simple nod.
The sigh that left her was enough to inflate the house and float it up to the starry sky. "If Simms comes around...just come get me." She then hugged herself, chewing her lower lip and stalling for something profound to say to amend their earlier argument. She came up with nothing and finally relented with, "At least eat something, or take a bath, or whatever. You live here too... it's my place as much as yours."
She went for bed, not witnessing the way he looked at her as she walked upstairs, not hearing the creak of her door in the early hour of the morning, or noticing the vault suit being laid out on her desk just before she awoke, the fabric thoroughly cleaned, and the tears perfectly stitched.