It was morning.

Infinite dust spiraled like small galaxies across the rifts of sunlight that entered the room. A permanently deactivated Mister Handy laid dormant in the corner, the accumulation of filth over its metal casing like a thin blanket.

FUCK! Cross bolted up from the gurney, his head spinning on a dime as he looked for signs of danger in the medical clinic. When he realized his situation, he only growled at his own stupidity and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. His left arm, he noted, was slung. Ugh. At that moment, he didn't know what ailed him more: the massive migraine that was threatening to split his skull, or the fact that he was in this shit-tanked state of affairs due to a single wallop from that smoothskin woman. If he wasn't in so much pain, he would've appreciated her a bit more. A crunch in the back of his mouth brought his good hand up and left him rooting around for a cracked molar. Footsteps on the other side of the door snapped his murderous glower across the room.

What he assumed was the town clinician had come to stand before him, her fissured glasses sliding ever so slowly down the bridge of her nose. She raised a hand to correct them. "Good morning! I'm Doc Sellers. You're a tough S.O.B. to have taken that much damage and be fully conscious, much less up and moving the next day! But with that scar on your face, I'm sure you-"

"Where's my shit?" he demanded sourly.

Doc Sellers dramatically raised a thin eyebrow, her glasses making for their escape. "Well now, you're not going anywhere. I wasn't paid to have you go roaming off and making a mess of yourself again!" The eyewear tinkled as it was reset. "Now lie back and-"

"Who paid you?" he heckled, his good hand cracking into a tight fist.

She only blinked at him stupidly. "Why, Miss Evelyn did, of course! You were in such bad shape you needed immediate treatment, and she kindly offered. I think she felt bad to have put you in such a spot!"

"Where is she?" The ghoul had a mind to hoist the doctor by the collar and wring her around the room, but a female voice redirected his wrath towards the doorway.

"You're welcome," the woman bit out at him, her face set in a scowl. She had her arms crossed; a brunette braid rested over her shoulder. "Just what the hell is your problem?! I gave you the money, and you just attack us-"

The ghoul put his full weight into the balls of his feet and slammed them down on the floor, scaring the doctor as she scrambled to the side. He encroached upon Evelyn, giving her the full brunt of his ire. "I wasn't tryin' to kill you," his throaty voice rumbled. "But you had no right takin' my work after the shit you pulled on me!"

She barked a laugh upwards at him; he was mere inches from her now. The hot wash of his breath flooded down her face and neck. Its effluvium was that of alcohol.

"Your work?! Give me a break! We were just passing through and decided to help." The scathing expression he gave was enough to make most men stutter, but she held his ground with her own. "I didn't happen to see your fucking business card lying around!"

If she hadn't previously displayed what a damn super mutant she was with her strength, the ghoul would have viciously kissed her cheek with the back of his grey hand, but the dull throb from a mending cracked rib changed his mind. He blinked and stared into her eyes. They were an enrapturing blue, and for a split second, he was entranced. With a snort, he felt his fury begin to ebb away, and he backed off. The pretty ones always had his number.

A heavy thud sounded behind the woman, and he just as quickly felt his blood boil anew. Now that they were all in close proximity in a well-lit room, he was able to take in the other ghoul fully. It wasn't an exaggeration when he thought he was towering. No way there are ghouls that fucking tall. Cross himself was a rather large individual, with his height and build usually keeping others from crossing his path, but holy shit!

Charon was his own animal, and the bastard knew it.

A cough in the corner brought everyone's heads snapping around on a swivel. Doc Sellers gave a squeak at the immediate and overbearing attention, nervously adjusting her glasses with twitching fingers. "Could, we- um, all step outside? Please? Except you, Mr. Cross, you need to rest."

Evelyn gave a nod and huffed at him before turning on her heel to plant her palms into Charon's chest. "C'mon, big guy. Doctor's orders." The woman slowly directed her bodyguard through the doorway and into the hall, the crimson ghoul's eyes burning into him like white-hot embers.

Out of years of habit, Cross patted his chest for his pack of cigarettes and uttered a snort when he was only met with bare muscle. His milky hazels flashed at the doctor, who was skittering around the room collecting various things.

"My jacket?" he gruffed out, as neutral as his atrophied vocals could manage.

"Oh yes, here are your things!" Doc Sellers flashed him a nervous smile, erratically flailing her arms as she grabbed at a metal bin full of his gear. "I only ask you to stay another night to let the Stimpaks sort you through, and then you can be on your way!"

He grumbled under his breath while his good hand fumbled around the bin in search of a much-needed smoke.

"No fucking way, come on!"

Smack Smack Smack

"UGHHHH!" Evelyn nearly ripped the Pip-Boy from her arm, wanting nothing more in that frustrating moment than to hear it smash satisfyingly against the cement. "I just had it working!"

A tiny voice of reason in the back of her brain chastised her for being negligent; a small purr of condescension reminded her she knew this was bound to happen, eventually. You should know better. You're smarter than that. A shuddering breath left her as she quickly regained control of her thoughts. She was still riding down the high her temper had lifted her on, and it took all of her self-control to not lay the receding waves of it on her invaluable device.

"Is there a problem?" Charon asked, almost minutely. His voice was completely monotone, as was the usual, but she swore there was a lace of amusement in it.

"This fucking thing doesn't want to turn on!" She gave it another rough bap for extra measure. "How are we supposed to know which way to go?!"

"Maybe someone can repair it," he offered, turning his head away from her. He shifted his weight on his other leg and flexed his arms across his chest, leaning against the corner building of their hotel.

"If you can find me someone who can repair a Pip-Boy in these parts, I'll find you a mirelurk that can sing," she snipped crossly, mostly to herself. It was her fault, plain and simple. Her stupidity had cost them a very intricate map that would have seen them through to Braxton, and if their only consistent source of information was broken...a certain ghoul brushed the forefront of her mind.

Closing her eyes, she gave a very tired sigh and then kicked at a defenseless tin can, sending it whistling through the air. Damnit! The bounty hunter had been more trouble than he was worth. They had trekked through the wasteland in the wake of his trail for months, all for a crumb of information that only he apparently had.

He was infamous in some regions, from what she had learned when tracking him. A damn good shot, and a reliable mercenary that never failed in bringing in his prey. Being a ghoul had only elevated his reputation; most ghouls were regarded with unfair prejudice, but Cross simply strode through the world with his own blood and bullets. The gouging scar over the left side of his face was intriguing on its own- she was surprised he still had his eye.

She rubbed at her temples while she mulled over her thoughts.

"You could've killed someone with that punt," a raspy voice informed her. The grey ghoul had materialized from her thoughts, his walking mirage coming to life through a shimmer of white smoke. Those milky eyes were peering at her critically, and she felt a shiver like cold fingers tracing up her spine.

A mean glare was what she offered him in return. "...may I help you?"

He said nothing, and rather than the angry expression she had come to memorize, he only shrugged his shoulders and winced. A pang of regret thrummed in her heart. She had really laid into him, after all. There was no point in looking to her bodyguard; she knew he would pounce on the broken ghoul if she merely thought the idea.

"I ain't ever taken such a beatin', before." Cross exhaled through what was remaining of his nostrils, an amused glint in his eyes. "'specially from someone so short."

She snorted. "I'm not short; you're just freakishly tall."

Cross puckered his lips on the nearly burnt-out cigarette, the lids of his eyes squinting together and directing his gaze towards Charon. The other ghoul relayed a mental message that only men of their stature seemed to understand.

Lay a hand on her, and I'll snap your fucking neck.

"No, he's freakishly tall," Cross muttered matter-of-factly. Dropping the remainder of his smoke to the ground, his heel went to work grinding out the remaining embers. Mostly out of habit, as there was nothing left to burn in that atomic hellscape. "You from a Vault? Haven't seen someone with a Pip-Boy in a long time." A literal bony fingertip pointed to her left wrist.

"No." She was now reminded of her dilemma, and her brows furrowed in angst. "It's broken, anyway. Which way is Braxton?"

The ghoul's face returned to its usual pissed-off attitude. "Braxton? You're not plannin' on actually goin' there, are ya?" He scratched at his casted arm. Man, it was itching like crazy!

She scoffed at him, "Um, yes? I'll pay you for directions."

Cross turned his grey, bald head at Charon. "That's a ghoul city. You do not want to go there." He looked back down at her. "This 'bout Darcy, still? She's dead. Ain't no goddamn sense in visitin'."

A spark lit in the bodyguard's eyes, and Cross could see the clockwork turning as he came to understand the underlying threat. Charon kicked himself off the wall.

"I have to go, so whether or not you help me doesn't matter, but it would be nice of you if you could just point the way." The woman was either ignorant of his drift, or just blatantly ignoring the dangers.

"No." Both bounty hunter and smoothskin turned their heads to the mountain of a man at their side, his tone leaving no room for argument. Those eyes were smoldering down at her. "We are not going."

Cross gave a smirk. So, the big brute had some brains in there after all.

Her attractive face just gaped stupidly at him for a few seconds while her brain struggled to process. Finally, she snapped her jaw shut with an audible click, and reconfigured her reproachful gaze to him.

"You too?!" she practically cried. "Fine! Fine!" Her hands were thrown up in the air with exasperation, her feet stomping past the towering ghouls that were staring down at her from either side. "I'll just fucking go myself!" she snarled.

One hand clamped down hard on her shoulder while another thrust itself in front of her chest, stopping her in her tracks.

"Evelyn, please." The tone in Charon's voice was pleading, something she had never heard before. It was almost enough to make her pause and rethink her actions, but she had come this far and couldn't stop now.

"If you go there, you will die," Cross told her bluntly. "The ghouls there ain't friendly with smoothskins, trust me, I know." He coughed, spitting the phlegm to the side. "That city is a cesspool for hate."

"Is that why Darcy died?" She spun her face up at him; her braid swung over her shoulder. "Because she simply visited?"

The bounty hunter grunted like he had been struck. He glowered at her, and slowly brought his good arm back to his side. "No..."

"Then why?"

"Why the fuck do you care so much 'bout her?" the ghoul thundered, gnashing his teeth together in frustration. "She's a dead woman; died ten years ago, and ain't lookin' to be gettin' back up anytime soon."

He was startled as tears suddenly began to overspill from her eyes. Ugh, he hated it when they cried.

"It's none of your fucking business!" she sobbed, hurriedly wiping away the floods that plagued her cheeks. "I don't need your advice, or your help! From either of you!" Her smaller hand came up to roughly shove Charon's purchase away, and she stomped down the empty street to disappear from view.

Well, shoot. Looks like I got us lost...again. I guess that's the last time I try to explore without the Pip-Boy! C'mon, let's head back to town and get a beer, and tomorrow I'll screw my head on straight...after I take my shot with that waitress!

A mop of blonde hair, scraggly atop a sunburnt face splashed with freckles and an everlasting grin. Charon grunted at the memory, shaking the boy from his mind. Now wasn't the time or place to be harboring regrets towards his past employer, when he was just struggling in keeping his basic sanity with his present one.

Yo, Charon! Check this out! Wanna see if I can pitch this baseball off that mutant's head? I was the top little leaguer in the Vault, Amata used to say I-

QUIET! He clenched his jaw so hard he almost cracked a tooth. Damn that kid, worming under his skin, infecting him like he had the dozens of countless others back in the Capital. Damn him... damn him for being so fucking selfless, dying for a dream instilled in him by his absent father.

"Charon." Evelyn's voice cut through the fog of his mind like a sharp sword, but she couldn't replace the freckled face from leaving her shoulders. "I am going to Braxton, whether you want me to or not." She had her arms crossed and was giving him that scolding glare, but he could tell she was tired. Exhausted, even. Her puffy eyes and splotched face attested to that. "If you don't want to come, I'll give your contract to anyone of your choosing, and I'll make-"

The sentence never had a chance to finish as the ghoul swiftly came inches from her and engulfed her shoulders with his massive hands. "Evelyn," he rasped, satisfied to see her snap fully to his attention. "I will not leave you; so don't leave me."

The blonde overshadowed her tumble of tawny. Those mischievous brown eyes glinting at him from those deep, ocean blues. The words that whispered off her pink tongue completed the vision.

"Alright, I won't leave you, big guy..."

You and me, the dynamic duo of the Capital Wasteland! Hurry ladies, single for a limited time only!

He gave a shuddering sigh of relief, relaxing his hold on her person and angling away from her.

"Charon, you've never acted like this before...what's going on with you?"

Her eyes were troubled now, and she seemed genuinely worried for him. He sucked in a breath and didn't meet her gaze, reforming that perfect mask of stone.

"You can talk to me, you know."

His tone was kept completely neutral. "When do you wish to leave?"

The words crushed her; he could see it in her face. But it was better for her not to know his issues and conflicting emotions. It could be dangerous- for both of them. The last thing he wanted was to carry her ghost around, too.

"I...I don't know," she answered honestly, bringing a hand up and rubbing the lightly tanned skin on the back of her neck. She lifted her left wrist up at him. "Pip-Boy is still broken, and no one else even knew Braxton existed," she informed him lamely.

A grunt. He was glad, then, for another wild goose chase. Searching for clues on how to reach the city was much better than undergoing the growing dread of them encroaching the place. Maybe she would finally grow tired of the endeavor and give up whatever mission she had tasked herself with.

She bit her lower lip, a sight that warranted more than a few unwanted interests from men in their travels together.

Oh no. It was her dead giveaway for I have an idea, but you're not going to like it.

"No," he grunted.

She gave him a confused expression. "Wh- I didn't even say anything yet!"

He chastised her with a gloved finger. "You're thinking of something unreasonable."

Two hands exploded out to her sides, waving dramatically. "It's not unreasonable, it's a plan!"

Charon expelled an irritated sigh.

"Fuck no."

Cross didn't even want to look at her face. It was dangerous, women asking him for things they wanted. Especially ones that had big eyes and pouty lips, never mind this one still had fucking skin. He flicked the ash of his cigarette into a metal tray.

He rasped, "Go home and forget about her, kid." Easy words coming from someone like me...

"What's your price? 100 caps, 500 caps?" She was rummaging around in her pack. A heavy bag dropped at his elbow. "1,000?"

"Jesus, put that away before someone tries and rob you." The ghoul slid her offer back with his good forearm. "And I said, no. Are you deaf, or just stupid?"

"Neither. I'm persistent."

That earned a cynical chuckle, and he waved her off with his good hand.

She stowed the caps away and hesitated before leaving him alone at the bar counter. "Why did you come out this morning to talk?"

"I didn't," he growled at her. "Doc wouldn't let me smoke in the clinic; you two just happened to be outside with me."

"Oh yeah, three blocks down the street just happens to be outside."

Cross flicked his lighter a few times, watching the sparks fly on the counter. "You're a snarky bitch, you know that?"

A predatory smile glinted at him. It was something akin to a wild cat. "I know."

He mentally groaned to himself, there's no way in Hell I'm stepping foot back in that shithole…but-

"Fine..." He stowed his lighter back into his jacket pocket, the sling for his arm forcing him to drape the one-half over his right shoulder. "Fine...I'll take you to Braxton."

Evelyn's smile grew wider, and she ignored her employee's hand on her shoulder- his way of telling her his feelings otherwise.

She had to be completely crazy.

"So, just a three-week journey, huh?" She twirled a little bit on her toes, then hopped over a piece of concrete. Her energy was completely different from before, almost like she was damn happy to be walking toward inevitable death. "No sweat."

The bounty hunter grunted as he lifted his newly mended arm over his head in a stretch. As he felt the muscles in his neck pop, he gave a sigh of relief and caught the vehement stare of Charon boring into his skull. Well, can't say I really blame the bastard...

"So, how'd she rope you into all this?" the ashen-colored ghoul inquired of his fellow man. Charon didn't answer as he just kept his thousand-yard death stare.

"I hired him," Evelyn offered simply, taking the end of her braid to chew on.

"Huh." Cross reached his hand inside his jacket. "For what? Can't imagine it was for protection..." His ribcage was still slightly tender.

She redirected the conversation, watching the way he lit the cigarette in his mouth. "Is smoking bad for ghouls?" She blinked at him, then looked to Charon. "I've never seen you smoke."

An oversized rock was in her path, and she tripped on it. An oof escaped her lips as she plopped down hard on her tailbone. Charon merely bent down and grabbed her forearm, setting her up easily back on her feet.

It was unexpected to Cross, seeing a smoothskin like herself so comfortable with...with something like that. Like him. It surfaced unpleasant memories, and he shoved them back into the confines of his mind. They had a strange relationship, and he ventured it something to be more than just 'hired help'.

"Do you want one?" He rattled his pack at her, and he received a grimace as thanks.

"Bleh. The smoke usually gives me a headache." A single finger was brought to her lips. "Although, I sometimes like the smell on people. It's almost like it makes them familiar, you know?" She then gave him the widest smile he had ever seen her make, and her sea-sprayed eyes seemingly glowed up at him.

He felt his dead heart give a small thud.

What- NO.

It wasn't his fault; to his credit, he hadn't been around a woman like her in a very, very long time. It wasn't fair! Here was this beautiful creature, treating him like another honest man. Not like a ghoul, or a monster, just...a person, for God's sake.

He mentally chastised himself, she almost killed you, remember? But that sentiment just somehow made it worse. She had twirled around and was continuing on along in front of them, a quiet hum in her throat.

The feeling of inherent danger made his skin crawl, and his head darted around to Charon's face holding the most hateful glare he had ever seen in a man. Those eyes were like pits of blue flames.

The Ferryman of Styx was coming for him.

…but he couldn't help the feeling that was embedded in his chest now, like a goddamn cazador had pierced him in the heart. With a tip of his head back, the bounty hunter exhaled out a long drag and narrowed his own eyes at the ghoul in return.

It was going to be a long three weeks.