The blatant staring made Evelyn wish (for the hundredth time) that she was wearing anything other than a vault suit. It attracted unwanted attention like moths drawn to flame; she was presumed prey, too naïve to know this way of survival, too fainthearted to kill for her preservation of self. She would return those unblinking stares with a hard one of her own, a reserved challenge to anyone who may be stupid enough to try their luck.

She wasn't some fucking vault dweller-

The skin of her knuckles was carved from marble; the death-tight grip she wrung the straps of her bag with was threatening to tear. Just what was her life? Was she from a Vault? She had gone to Braxton searching for answers...and all she received were more questions.

Okay, X-17. Hold still.

You've taken my whole life from me.

And, now, I'm going to take yours.

She was panting, suddenly dropping to one knee as her vision grew dark and the pain behind her eyes returned with a nasty sort of vengeance. And just as before, it was gone. She took a moment, rubbing at her brows with mud-stained fingers. Who was that? X-17? Is that...me?

Drip

A cold drop of rain splashed the backside of her neck, snaking under her collar and down her spine.

Drip drip drip

Those not provided shelter under canvas tarps built as makeshift tents were left to their own devices from the storm. Evelyn drew the large hood of her jacket up, hiding her dirt-streaked face as she wandered the dirt roads of this new location- The Cascades. It was once an old-world resort, now refurbished as one of the numerous wasteland settlements. The five-story hotel loomed over the decrepit, crumbling lodges that more resembled tombs in a graveyard, their church ominous in the background. Settlers were heavily garbed in whatever clothing they could find; nail-bitten fingers poked through gloves; shawls hid away wary eyes. The winter cold was descending upon the eastern coast; the skies were growing dark with the inevitability of rain.

Why couldn't she have woken up just some months prior?!

No one offered her a word of advice, or even an attempt at swindling something. She walked, unbothered, through the soon-to-be swampy streets as she entered the resort. Most of its windows were boarded or shuttered close, but the drifts of light from inside were a sort of comfort from the cold November rain. The architecture was something of another time; she could only imagine how beautiful it must have been when it was still whole and breathing. With a pang in her heart, she wondered if Cross had ever visited this place, his wife on his arm and ignorance of the things to come. The man standing behind a desk to her right had nothing but a blank stare as she approached.

He was droopy in face, and almost light purple from how pale his skin was. He eyed her. "Business?"

Evelyn paused before him, politely clasping her hands. "Offer any rooms?"

A snort: it was so airy, almost like a puff. "Of course." He eyed her again, taking in the vault suit exposed behind her open jacket. "How long?"

"Oh, uh, one night-?"

Another snort. "I meant, how long on the surface?" Those watery eyes took in her face.

"I'm not a dweller," she retorted, her hands slowly going to her hips. "And I'll take one night."

He seemed a bit taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. "Very well. Fifty caps."

Fifty caps?! That was practically robbery! A terse sigh escaped her nose, and she set her bag on the floor to retrieve her stash, now dangerously light. She would have to settle for sleeping under the stars again after this.

The man caught her furrowed surprise. "No complaints."

A ghost of a smile graced her lips, and as she traded over her dwindling currency, she saw a ghoul twice his size, a cigarette at his mouth, and a permanent scowl in his expression.

Fifty caps, no complaints.

"Your room." A small key was given in exchange, and he gave a point to the second floor. "If you are in need of some nightly company, you can make your way to the third floor. They serve all...flavors, there."

Ghouls.

Cross was probably definitely here at some point-

A thought buzzed inside her skull, and she bounded up the staircase. It was stuffy, warm, and dark. Evelyn was met with a skimpily-clad woman as she rounded the stairs onto the third floor.

"Hey honey, looking for something?" The woman winked, and Evelyn took a deep breath. That was a lot of stairs!

"Do you serve ghouls here?"

The question threw the prostitute for a moment, but she smiled regardless. She was missing a tooth. "Down the hall. Door to the right...asking for a friend?" she said a little teasingly, but Evelyn brushed her off, bounding down the hall.

A knock at the door, and she stood back as it swung open.

"How may I-oh." The ghoul woman tucked a canister of Jet behind her back. "What do you want, smoothskin?"

"DoyouknowaghoulbythenameofCross?" The question was said so fast the ghoul just blinked. Evelyn fidgeted her hands. "Sorry, um, Cross. Ghoul, bounty hunter? Have you ever...worked with him?"

A raspy laugh met her ears. "Who is he to you? I don't talk about clients."

"Please, he's...a good friend of mine. When was the last time you saw him?" Evelyn gave the most hopeful smile, and it was so genuine the ghoul faltered for a moment.

"I-uh-" She glanced back down the hall before ushering her inside. "I'm charging you for this, just so you know." She pointed to a chair, to which Evelyn immediately took a seat after unshouldering her bag. "Drink? Jet?"

"Um." She eyed the selection. "No thank you."

A wheezed chuckle. "A polite smoothskin." The ghoul took a seat on the edge of her bed, crossing her legs and tightening her robe about her. "So, Cross, huh? Yeah, he's come around. I think the last time I saw him was...two years ago? Little more?"

There was a thud of her heart. Not quite so recent, but better than a decade. "R-really?!" The implication of his visit made her falter. "Was he...okay?"

"He was mean." The prostitute reached a hand over for a packet of cigarettes, holding one out for herself. After a moment's thought, Evelyn took one, handling it like it was made of glass. "Haven't actually worked with him for a long time now...he's different."

"How so?"

A match was struck, the flame held out for Evelyn to light her cigarette with. She took a small inhale and coughed. She didn't crave the smoke...but the familiarity of it was overly tempting to hold on to.

"I tried to say hi, but he shrugged me off like I wasn't worth a damn." She inhaled, drawing the tobacco cloud deep inside her lungs. "Haven't heard about him since."

Evelyn sat there, secluded with her private thoughts for a few minutes as she tried to commit this information to memory. What was the ghoul up to since she'd been asleep?

"Uhm." Evelyn flicked the ashes into a tray the ghoul held out for her. "Was there, by chance, another ghoul with him?"

"There wasn't."

A pang of disappointment.

"How often does he come through?"

The smoke was savored for a few seconds, the curl of smoke drifting from the holes in her cheeks. "It was just that one time...you sound like you're looking for him."

"Something like that." A small smile, and she placed her half-smoked cig in the tray. She dove into her bag for her caps, but the ghoul waved her off.

"You didn't stay too long...besides, you look like you could use 'em." She pointedly took in her filthy appearance, and Evelyn sheepishly grinned.

Evelyn took her pack by the straps and went for the door. "Thank you."

"Hope you find what you're looking for." The ghoul rasped from the dim haze of her room.

Evelyn paused in the open frame. "Me too."

They briskly walked down the brightly lit hall; her low heels made a repetitive click, whereas his were nearly silent. Much like the ferryman, Roman could be eerily quiet.

Carol was busily fuming and snapping her jaw shut against her own outbursts. She had not taken to Evelyn's continuing existence well. She had rounded on him, so much fury in her eyes that he hoped for a brief moment she would strike him. A single slip-up, and their contract would be broken. All he needed was for her to lose enough composure, and then he could really choke the life from her veins. Instead, she had simmered herself down enough to assess her predicament. He expected the plethora of questions, but he had received none. She had gotten dressed and made her way for the lab. She was going to ask him.

There was a terminal in place, and she clicked a few keys to allow them access. The double-wide doors made a shush as they closed back behind; Carol hissed, garnering the attention of the elderly man seated in his wheelchair. The woman attending behind him gave no hint of emotion to their admittance.

"What the fuck, Liam?! She's alive?! Did you know?" Carol snapped her beady eyes to the most beautiful woman either ghoul had ever seen. "You're not doing this for her, are you?! She's a fucking synth!"

Liam calmly folded his dark hands in his lap, turning his head slightly to address the woman behind him. "Darcy, may you excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course, love." The blonde-haired woman bent slightly, delivering a soft kiss to his withered skin with pale lips. "I will be continuing the doses when you are finished."

She seemed to glide out of the room. Roman couldn't help but watch her go; she was very eye-catching. Carol growled at his disloyalty to her.

"You men, brainwashed or not, are all the same. Animals." Carol crossed her arms, fingers tapping at an elbow. "Why is X-17 still alive? Why was I not informed? How long are you planning on keeping her down there?!"

Liam stared at this muddled mess of a woman. Where there used to be soft curls of hair, were now stringy patches that more resembled dried grass. Her skin had long since flayed away; her nose, her ears, her lips- the saddest regret Liam had for this hellish resemblance of a woman was her eyes. The very essence of her once sweet soul, banished by the burning blaze of the wasteland. He still remembered the very first day they had met at the Vault-Tec screening process. A week, before they all signed their very lives away to sleep in a tomb beside the other, complete strangers woven together for the sake of science, for the sake of humanity... Only, a few of them had to sign those away, too.

Madame, excuse me, but do you know where I can find the Vault-Tec informational hall?

Oh, I'm sorry! But I'm actually lost as well! I...I was hoping to ask you.

Well then, why don't we take this little stroll together? Hmm? Two of the country's brightest are sure to make do, aren't we? I'm Liam.

It...it is nice to meet you, Liam. I'm Caroline...but please, call me Carol.

But this ghoul was not that same woman, and for all of the years Liam had witnessed pass by, he knew she would never return. Carol was dead, both physically and spiritually. There was only this angry thing keeping the ghoul beside her on such a tight leash he could practically see the line attached.

"So Roman has told you." A patient stare was delivered to the stoic ghoul poised behind her; his hands were relaxed at his sides, his expression forever void.

"He didn't tell me shit!" Carol seethed, approaching the man with a hateful glare. "I want answers, now. I left her to die down there-"

"Which we had already discussed was the very wrong thing to do," Liam reminded her softly, shifting his elbow to rest against the arm of his wheelchair. "You had told me it was a mistake, that she couldn't be contained. I had only discovered her survival in these recent years myself, after Roman told me."

Carol slowly swiveled her head on her shoulders to look back, and Roman feared for a moment it would snap right off. "You told him?! You bastard-!"

"It was not without persuasion," Liam noted.

Her head swung back around at lightning speed. "What the fuck did you give him?!"

"That is between himself and me, and I will not have you meddle with that." Liam raised a brow, and Carol spat angrily to the side. "I will know if you do. I do not need to remind you how much you depend on this facility."

"I brought you the fucking perfected strain, and you're going to treat me like shit?"

"You brought me a sample of the perfected strain. The living host would have been preferred for the actual study. To which we have Roman to thank for, don't we?" A white smile was directed at the blue ghoul; he returned no such gesture.

Carol scoffed, sulking to the side as she stared at the assorted monitors of various feeds along the wall. "So, what? Is she just going to rot down there, then? What's the fucking point of it? How the fuck do you know she's even still there?"

"I have someone keeping an eye on the Vault...he's very good, and will bring her here when she wakes up."

"Those things don't have a fucking alarm bell on them, Liam. You'll be dead and she'll still be cooking." Carol went to reach for a cigarette in her pocket but quickly halted herself. A scientist never smoked within the labs.

Liam turned his head to a monitor; Darcy's synth was busily transferring liquids between two vials. "The world may surprise you."

Carol waved a hand tersely. "Who is it? Who did you send down there? A synth?"

"Indeed." Liam observed his perfect love now pinning her hair back in a meticulous braid. She was unaging, ever beautiful...and always will be. "One I believe she will most agree to."

When they parted, Evelyn's head tilted to the side as he softly kissed her pulse, her eyes half-closed to the sensual sensation Thomas imparted to her. There was a figure observing them; her eyes widened. It was Cross.

His apparition was sitting on the edge of the bed; he was half-naked, his expression smoldering and his forearms resting over his knees, rubbing his large hands together as he just stared at her making love to the ghoul on the floor that was not himself. Those eyes were sunken, his left one nearly dipping into the ravine of his scar running down the side of his face. They were glowing, hot, burning orbs watching this man kiss her lips and wrap his hands around the naked skin of her back. He was furious.

"Stop, stop, sorry, sorry-"

She held her hands to his chest, shaking. Tears sprung in the corner of her eyes, and she exhaled deeply over him. A glance back. Cross was pointing two fingers directed at the backside of Thomas' head, his thumb aimed high to the sky as a makeshift gun. He clicked it.

Thomas gave her a look of concern, and then exploded.

...

Thud

Beads of sweat clung her hair together in messy clumps; her naked skin was slick, the bed she had fallen out of was a violent state of strewn sheets and a ripped pillow. She wiped her hand across her forehead, face screwed shut in despair as she focused on cooling herself with deep breaths. The urge to vomit bubbled hotly in her gut, and she stumbled to the grimy bathroom to retch into the toilet. Spittle drew from her lips, and she half-laid there, her eyes swimming like hot, churning pools. Another wave overcame her, and she vomited the remains of her dinner. The tangy sick of Instamash made her dry heave. The toilet bowl made a slow flush, the swirl of her stomach contents splashing as it swirled away. She wiped her lips, settled onto the floor against the sink, and stared at the crimson figure in her open doorway.

Are you well?

No, I-uh-you don't have to be in here. It was just a nightmare.

Does this happen often?

...more than I care for it to.

She stood on wobbly legs, brushed her teeth with soft bristles vigorously, and stepped under a cold spray of water. She broke out in goosebumps. The drain gurgled at her feet. Her hair darkened and fell like a velvet curtain around her face as she bowed her head. Rough fingertips stroked down her spine; a kiss was planted on her shoulder.

We've been in here awhile... C'mon, you're gettin' prunier than me.

A massive hand groped her thigh from behind, reaching upwards to rub her sex teasingly.

Although, it is easier to clean up in here...

A close of her eyes, and she lost herself to the feeling of Cross' body heat staving off the water's chill, the sound of the shower muffled as he breathed in her ear.

Take that fuckin' cock baby-

The shower was shut off, almost angrily. She was very much aware of the blood pounding through her groin, her nipples perked tightly. The ebb of her nausea was replaced with the rising lull of her lust; Cross was the one man she had consistently had sex with in years. It was hard not to succumb to his deviancy in bed- he got her every time. The heat of his gaze, smoldering and almost in awe, looking down at her as she orgasmed always melted her very bones. He would look at her like she was something on display, rare and untouchable.

I fuckin' love that face you make. Was what he had told her, when she had shyly questioned him about it. Goddamnit, now ya have to take off your clothes. I need to fuck you.

A loud groan left her lips; her body was strung tight like a lute, waiting for the sweet release of that high note to sing her into ecstasy. She didn't feel the urge to satisfy herself; it wasn't the same in comparison with him. She dried, changed into her damp suit still frigid from its wash, and packed her things. That prostitute had given her confirmation Cross was still alive- he was out there, somewhere, and being a total dick by the sound of it. She was going to find him...and fucking swing a fist at his dumb fucking head when she did.

The merc no longer asked for any more stories. He didn't cry, mope, or even mention their end destination. The recruit was all but forgotten; Cross didn't have any other wet dreams pertaining to Russel. He no longer pictured her face when he stepped into the cold shower; he didn't even touch himself. There was a callous hardness to him, a frosty chill resting on his shoulders that Charon didn't want to perch his hand on.

They continued forward. The Commonwealth was now at their backs, the steam rising from the old paddleboat they took passage on as it made gentle wakes through the salty ocean. It was quite a voyage to Port Stein from Boston, dependent on the sea state, but it was better than risking the travel through the uninhabitable New York by foot... It would not do much good to visit Evelyn's burial grounds if they were to need one themselves.

The merc settled himself on a seat on the topside decks, watching the water and the infinite stretch it carried. The hum of the motor and the lull of waves soothed his tired mind, and he soon found himself dead asleep, his arms crossed, chin tucked to his chest as he leaned against the other ghoul providing support beside him. Charon merely rose a brow muscle at the utter laxness of his employer, but leaned back in comfort all the same. The merc needed the sleep...he had not been getting very much of it, for a very long time.

...

Cross was standing on the top of a grassy hill; it was a field of gold, gently flowing back and forth like an ocean of wheat. A turn of his head. Evelyn was lying flat on her back, staring up at the endless, crystal-blue sky. It was all a giant sphere, one knew not where it ended...or where it began. There were so many stars. He came to sit beside her, and she sat up on her elbows. She was completely naked, with her long hair thrown over one shoulder, and she blew a strand from her nose. It fell back, and he gently stroked it from her face, tracing her lip before he brought his hand back to his side.

"You are a big fucking baby," she told him, smiling that winning smile.

He felt no sadness or any hint of remorse. She wasn't dead; how could she be, when he was cupping the side of her face with his palm?

"Mhmm," was all he told her, and he groped her breast.

"Pervert," she laughed.

"Mhmm," he repeated, rolling over her to lay on top. "I love you."

"I love you too," she said a little sadly, reaching up to caress his brow. A fingertip traced down his scar, and she craned her neck to plant a soft kiss on his jaw, a hum in her throat.

He tasted her lips; they were sweet. His flesh was bare against hers; she was riding him. Their fingers were interlocked, the waves of their lovemaking dancing in rhythm to the sea around them.

When the merc awoke to a darkened sky and a cold nip in the air, he instantly forgot his dream, but he sat there, relishing in the feeling of complete peace he found himself in. He readjusted his weight a little, not realizing in his half-lucid state that he was still leaning against Charon, and drifted back off to that serene world.

Evelyn was there, waiting for him to take her hand, as though she always had been.

Port Stein.

A pink tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth, a scratch at her head. That old ghoul had scribbled the words Patuxent River out just on the edge of Maryland- a dashed line hugged the coast, passing the states of New Jersey, New York, and Rhode Island, all the way to Boston.

Once you clear through The Cascades, you have two options. A long haul you have no business considering, or a ferry. Last I heard, it still runs. Don't know how long it takes, or what stops it has, but I've heard it goes clear all the way up to the Commonwealth...why are you trekking that way again?

With her thumb and index finger, she measured the distance from Braxton to The Cascades, and then swiveled on her thumb tip to only come about halfway to Port Stein. It was as uneducated a guess as any, but she figured the distance was perhaps twice what she had already traveled. Ugh. She subconsciously dove her hand inside her bag, her fingers meeting the crinkled packet of her last snack cake. With a pout, she withdrew. She wasn't that hungry, and needed to ration supplies again... Or get a gig before she cleared out of town. She tapped her foot to an invisible beat against the bedframe she sat on, staring blankly into nothing.

Cross had been here...he was alive (as far as she knew), if she could find him... And then what? A pat on the back? A few drinks to catch up? An awkward hug and a stony smile?

Well, it was nice seein' ya. Catch ya 'round, sometime!

Stop doing that! She scolded herself, refolding the map. You won't know for sure until you actually see him...

What if Cross had been cold to the prostitute because he already had another woman?

The thought dropped a stone in her gut. Wouldn't he have gone back to his lecherous ways? A total drunk with a mean mouth and an insatiable need to have someone close? It's what he did for two hundred years...why would he stop after she was gone? What if he had fallen in love with someone else-?

Stopstopstop-

She cradled her head in her hands, hyperventilating through the cracks of her fingers. Her heart rate had been nothing but strained ever since she woke up in that pit; there was a pulse deep inside the base of her skull, pounding away with the threat of a migraine. The sound of someone knocking on her door forced her to take a deep breath, lift herself straight to regain her cool composure, and throw the frame open.

Cross was standing there, his cowboy hat tilted back and an easy grin on his face. "Hey, baby."