The sheriff had come around later that morning. Charon stood by in the corner, quiet as a ghost, as they conversed about the incident from the night before and his…general presence, amongst the local community.

"There's just been some complaints I've been getting," Simms reasoned. "And frankly, I like to know who visits my town-"

"Charon isn't a fucking guest. He lives here, in our house," she scathed. If she had feathers, they would be more than ruffled. "If people have a problem with that, then they can just fucking remember who it was that disarmed the atomic bomb in the middle of town and who regularly fixes the only water source going around. I've never seen Jericho busting his ass up there, or anyone else, for that matter."

"Hey, if you want to preach you can join the church." Simms raised his hands. "I'm with you, but I'm also here to keep the peace. All I'm asking is that you don't go out looking for trouble, and if you find it, to steer clear." He tipped his cowboy hat to her, and then to Charon before he left. "You folks have a good day, now."

Evelyn sunk onto the couch, curling over the arm on one side and drawing both legs underneath herself, already appearing exhausted by the rise of the sun. She tucked her wild, wavy hair behind one ear and just stared at him with those big blue eyes. He'd looked at her countless times: watched her sleep, checked for injuries, waited for any subtle cue pertaining to an order...but something about her in that instant made him feel a swell of molten heat rise from his chest, crawl up the back of his neck and tighten the muscles in his cheeks- he'd never felt anything like it before. He darkly wondered if it was a sign of going feral. (If that were the case, he'd have to take precautions).

She broke away first, a faint color of rose spoiling the tan on her face, and she became preoccupied with some loose stitching on the hem of her green jumpsuit. He, too, roved his gaze around- the room suddenly felt constrictive- but he somehow found his eyes placed on her again. She could've been painted in that moment, immortalized like the faded canvases he had once seen in the Museum before they had been used as tinder for the fires. It would have been a simple piece with a basic subject; no flowing gowns, ornate jewelry, or picturesque backgrounds of mountains, oceans, or forests. Just a young woman in an oil-stained utility jumper, seated on a ramshackle couch, pulling at a thin thread.

He would have liked to look at it.

"So…" She broke the pregnant silence with an awkward birthing of words. "I know we just got home, but there's still a few things I need to do." She hesitated, as though bracing for the fact he would argue in some way. He didn't; he was tingling with that bizarre feeling again. She continued, "The reason I went to Underworld was to help Murphy get a new dealer for his Ultrajet, since, you know, you killed Ahzrukhal."

The words hit him with all the force of a sledgehammer, knocking the strange warmness from his chest clean out of the ballpark- it was the most unexpected thing he'd ever heard her say. She had returned…to peddle chems?

She licked her lips at the trademark scowl creasing his wrinkles together. "I was just trying to help out with another source. He said he'd give me a cut since I already supply them…it seemed like a good deal at the time."

"Chems will get you killed," he growled. "It is dangerous. I know this."

"I'm not looking to sell them myself!" she defended, rising from her spot. "I was just going to find someone who…" She trailed off, the miniature wheels turning in her mind. "Oh! I should ask Hoff!"

Charon narrowed his eyes to slits.

She bounded to the door. "There's a caravan run today, too!" She flipped through the notes on her Pip-Boy before going to leave. "…aw, it's Wolfgang…Hoff isn't supposed to be here for at least two more weeks, but, maybe…"

She was out the front gates faster than he could attempt to dissuade her next harebrained scheme. The caravan trader- this Wolfgang- smiled as she approached…it was obvious he liked looking at her, too.

(Another name was added to his Might Have to Kill list)

"Ah, if it isn't my fellow traveler." Wolfgang gave a small bow. "A delightful sight for these weary eyes, come, my good Madam, what can Crazy Wolfgang offer you? Some oddities, some ends? Crap, junk, garbage? I carry all sizes."

"Doc Hoff," she replied, crossing her arms.

"Hoff?" He made a show of looking over at his brahmin, the two heads chewing cud simultaneously. "I don't believe I packed him today…"

"Ha ha," she sarcastically quipped. "What route is he on? I really need to talk to him."

"Another one lost to the finer pleasures. Be honest, is it the hair?" He grinned. (His armed escort standing off to the side rolled her eyes). "I'm afraid Hoff's brahmin went lame. He's back in Canterbury Commons until he gets another."

"Where's that?"

"Here, I'll mark it for you on your Pip-Boy."

Charon dwarfed them with his shadow as he closely oversaw the interaction. The trader didn't betray anything other than a nonchalant attitude.

"Bodyguard?" he asked, looking directly up into his face. Charon gave him his best glower for his viewing pleasure. "He is…tall."

"His name is Charon." Evelyn went to take her hand back to her side, but not before her knuckles were grazed by his lips.

Wolfgang winked. "Always a pleasure."

(The list was edited with his name moved to the very top: Have to Kill)

"Um, we gotta go," Evelyn nervously replied as she grabbed at Charon's hand (that was reaching for his neck) and forcibly began to lead him away (more like drag). "I just remembered I have a ton of things to do. Anyways, thanks, bye!"

"Farewell." Wolfgang waved, oblivious to the danger he had put himself in.

Charon kept his head rotated around, lancing hateful daggers at the trader's face until he was out of view. When she finally let him go at her front step, she hissed, "No trouble, remember?"

He merely growled...but then looked down at his palm where hers had just been. It had been so tiny in his own.

The door was left wide open as she went to her room. "I'm going to pack- do you need anything from Moira's before we go?" She stopped halfway up the steps to turn around. "Since I'm assuming you're coming with me."

His mind expeditiously filtered through his organized thoughts of inventoried gear. "I require a few items."

She pointed to the locker. "Caps are in there. Do you want me to, um, come with you?"

He shook his head. "It is not necessary." He watched her disappear, hearing the loud zip of her jumpsuit as she presumably changed. He grabbed the burlap purse of currency and marched straight to the town supply store, ignoring a certain pair of beady eyes watching him pass. He did hear the mumbled asshole, though.

The merc that stood guard in the corner greeted him with the usual- a terse nod- whereas the shop owner always had a too-wide of a smile on her face.

"What can I do for you?" she asked with great enthusiasm.

He felt the urge to squint against the energy she beamed. "Shells. Grenades." He dumped the bag on the counter, pointing a finger at a box of bullets on the back shelf. "Two of those." His eyes looked over the array of items, coming to a pause on a knife she had displayed. "May I see that?"

"Sure! Just don't cut yourself!" she joked, setting out all of the requested items for him to peruse through.

Charon picked up the knife, studied the blade. No chips, cracks. It was of decent quality, (not comparable to his), but still respectable. He set it aside. "I will take this as well."

The bag of caps was a little lighter, but his arsenal was restocked, and that was all that really mattered (in his mind). He deposited her money back inside the laughable security of the locker before getting to work in the spare room. It only took him a few minutes to hone the blade to a suitable sharpness, which he would then test on a scrap of brahmin hide until it melted through like hot butter. He crafted a sheath; basic and plain, but one of durability that would get the job done. By the time he was packed and waiting by the door, she was still in her room, studying the map of her Pip-Boy. He interrupted her deep-set thinking by coming to her side. Waiting didn't normally bother him…but for some reason, he was entirely impatient.

(He wanted to give her the knife)

She looked up at the foreboding presence that filled the room before becoming enraptured by her screen again. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he deadpanned. She was wearing the vault suit…she must really like it, despite it painting the biggest fucking neon target on her back. The knife was thrust between her face and the little lines she traced- he couldn't help feeling extremely annoyed.

She raised her eyes. "…are you giving this to me?"

"I am," he groused through clenched teeth. He dropped it in her lap, and then he planted the tip of his thumb into his neck right below his jaw, pressing on the exposed carotid vein just enough to pronounce it. "Here."

"Um." She blinked as he stomped back out. "Thank you?"

He remained downstairs, arms angrily folded with his index finger tapping erratically at his bicep. He felt much too hot- it must be this new sensation buzzing through his veins. It would have to be brought to her attention, sooner rather than later. It could be dangerous.

Then she came out, the sharpened little toothpick (proudly) displayed at her hip, a sun-faded ballcap on her head, and a blow of (bubblegum?) at her lips. Snap! She looked down at him with a faint smile.

And he suddenly forgot what he was about to say.

She didn't know what to say at this point.

Charon remained an intolerable asshole- more so than ever. Every look she got was a loathing snarl. Every grumble was a thinly veiled curse. Every chance he had, he reminded her that she was the absolute bane of his existence.

Well, fuck you too.

The ghoul kept his distance, not willing to be within five feet of her and sniping the wasteland's grotesque finest with terrifying accuracy. Despite her best efforts at not trying to ruin his life any further, she could feel his eyes, just fucking staring at her. If he had been hoping that she would prove more self-sufficient with the gifted blade, then he was sorely disappointed. She had at least attempted to parry with a feral dog, but once the mutt nearly nipped her, he had intervened and blown it to mist...he didn't let anything close to her after that.

Garbage Burner.

When they arrived at Northwest Seneca under cloudy skies, the previous pile of Talon Company corpses had been picked clean with their bones strewn about. A cracked femur was sent spinning across the courtyard after she had kicked it from her path. As they descended into the metro station, she realized that it was the second time they were here again, together. She almost went to reminisce about it with something along the lines of, hey, remember when I spilled my guts on your shoes, but the cold glare of murder on his face (that seemed specially reserved for her) made her keep the special memory to herself.

Barrett opened the door, whipping his head back with a surprised shout at the uninvited guest at her back. Both had their guns out and leveled on either side of the doorway.

"Whoa, whoa!" Evelyn held her hands up, attempting to soothe the wasteland's fucking ugliest horses. "Charon, don't shoot!"

"What the fuck is this?!" Murphy rasped from behind the safety of his hired gun. "I trusted you, smoothskin!"

"Charon's with me. I hired him," she said calmly, her hand firmly planted on Charon's bicep.

"You ain't going to pull a fast one on us-!"

"Charon, drop your gun," she ordered. He complied, but not without a nasty growl erupting from his chest. She put herself in Barrett's line of fire, keeping a cool poker façade. "Unless you want to go through the hassle of finding your own dealer, you'll get that fucking rifle out of my face."

Barrett looked over. Murphy nodded. The tension was lifted, and the spectacled scientist looked over his glasses at her.

"Who'd you get us?"

The news wasn't well received- the idea of supplying ghoul-intended chems to a smoothskin was an entirely different risk of its own, but with no other option to be had, she got her samples to bring to Doc Hoff.

"Remember, if things go south, you didn't get these from me," Murphy reminded her.

They had then proceeded on the road to Minefield, walking under an angry, green-hued sky to another particular reminiscence of, remember that time you saved my life and fucking robbed me? The fires had long been burned away; the scent of smoke drifted to the four cardinal winds. A peal of thunder vibrated the very air, the severe clicking of her Geiger counter making her heart flutter with panic.

"What's happening?" she asked, her voice fearful, but also awestruck. She looked up to the heavens, the black clouds occasionally flashing neon green. The landscape was quickly overtaken by an early night; a strike of lightning illuminated the world for a split second.

Charon grabbed her arm, directing them to the very house of her first near-death experience. The raider corpse from before was long gone- a black stain of blood through the front door told its own horrifying tale.

Evelyn assessed her condition as the rads continued to build, her blood itchy under her skin. "Fuck- I'm going to need to take some Rad-Away, and I forgot the Rad-X in my locker." She glanced up as Charon blocked the door with a desk. "What's going on?"

"Radstorm," he answered. He turned, and a burst of green light through the boarded windows lit his outline for a moment. "Do you have what you require?"

"No," she confessed. "I don't carry it. Last time it popped in my bag and ruined my stuff. I didn't know radstorms were a thing…"

He grunted, beginning to climb up the stairs. "I shall look around."

The rain began to fall. It battered away at everything on God's irradiated earth, soaking the parched sands with nothing but poison. A lantern was found in the kitchen and connected to a small battery, being placed on a table in the main foyer to provide some warmth in the otherwise gloomy atmosphere. She could hear the ghoul upturn the entirety of the second floor: drawers slamming open, mattresses being tossed, a shatter of a medicine cabinet.

She disappeared into the darkness of the bathroom, where she had once crawled like a wounded animal, barely clinging to the notion of life. She stood in the spot he had, looking down at where she had been, trying to picture the scene through his eyes. A silly girl. A stupid girl. A pathetic excuse for a wastelander. Evelyn-Smell Ya Then-Has An Ugly Face Again! The empty bottle of vodka and expended Med-X syringes were still littered on the floor. The metal shard he had pulled out was picked up, lightly traced over with her fingertips. It seemed like such an insignificant thing to die from- no less fitting for someone like her.

You will die.

Charon came back down, rasping to an empty room, "I did not find any." She heard him walk around in search of her. "Evelyn?"

"Here." She stepped back out into the main part of the house. "Sorry..."

He stared at the thing she held, then turned for the front door. "I shall return."

"No!" She rushed over, reaching for him, making him freeze in place before he could move the barricade. When he looked at her, ever emotionless, she awkwardly explained, "It's just…I'll be fine, until it passes. I don't want you to go out there."

He straightened, tall and unrelenting. "It does not affect me."

She threw her eyes down. "I would like you here."

He was silent for a moment, studying the fragment, and then rasped, "Very well."

The storm continued, every chime of lightning and toll of thunder making her angsty after she had taken a seat on the musty couch. Charon remained off to the side, hidden away from the soft light of the lantern. She gently patted the spot beside her.

"It's better than standing outside," she lamely joked.

He shuffled his weight but otherwise made no intention of moving. She looked down at her hands, struggling for something to say. The fragment was on the end table beside her; she didn't know why she kept it. The cushion suddenly had a severe dip on its right side. He had awkwardly taken a seat, sitting as far from her as possible. A laughable attempt- his size swallowed a good deal of space between them, their knees touching as he spread his legs for comfort. His eyes were focused on the door. She could see the tendons quivering in his jaw as he ground his teeth.

Her voice was a whisper, as though he was something easily spooked. "Why did you save me?"

His fingers began to thrum on the arm of the couch, b-b-r-r-rum, b-b-r-r-rum, but he didn't answer.

"Do you want to leave Megaton?"

His fingers paused. He turned his head. She felt incredibly small under his milky eyes, just looking down at her.

"We don't have to stay there. We can find somewhere else, someplace better." She couldn't tear away from him- there was an irrational fear he'd jump for her throat if she did. "I know you're not happy with me, and until you find someone you want to…be, with…we can leave. Go wherever you want."

If she wasn't beginning to grow delirious from the slight effects of radiation poisoning, she would have sworn on her mother's grave (and perhaps father's) that he wanted to kiss her, that he did kiss her, hot and nasty and with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip, that he was unzipping his massive cock for her to bounce on like a pogo-stick, taking fistfuls of her hair that he pulled on as he heavily breathed in her ear. She didn't really know. The world was too dark for her to see and too muffled for her to hear, so very cold and wet. Maybe…maybe she just imagined it all, in the throes of the storm.