Something was wrong with him...very wrong. Was it too many spins under the machine? Maybe he hit his head a little too hard, or perhaps the drug was still producing side effects inside his system…

For the life of her, Evelyn could not understand just what the fuck happened to her grumpy ass ghoul. They had left for the ship and to their room, and he hadn't brought up a single thing about their previous shouting-fest. She had expected questions, demands, snarky comments, and snarling reproaches…but he instead just stared at her, totally at ease and without a single care in the world. There was no scowl, visible boredom, or even a general dubious look that seemed to be questioning his life choices...but there was a certain softness to his eyes that made her heart skip six beats and palms sweat and cheeks flush.

Was he broken? Did the implant malfunction in some way?

Great.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Okay… We haven't eaten since this morning," she reminded him. "I can bring something back from the market, if you would like."

"I will join you."

She dumbly pointed to his headgear. "But you won't be able to take off your mask."

"I am aware."

She twiddled her hair around a finger. He was still with the same tender stare, as though she was some fragile creature that the slightest slant of the eyes would instantly incinerate. The proximity of him beside her was closer than normal, and she caught his hand twitching more than once. Something was wrong. "Did you want to go now or-?"

Charon donned his mask, his raspy voice muffled. "Now is good."

The big guy's hand took hers before she even opened the door. Dogmeat loped on ahead, making a hole for them to dive through as they came to the bustling sounds and mingling scents the market had to offer. Evelyn pretended to guide him to a table and chair while Dogmeat plopped on the floor beside them gnawing on his stolen treat, drooling all over the phalanges with delighted growls.

The same server girl from before came to wait on them. "Oh. You're back. It's easy to remember you…well, him, really. Your boyfriend, right?"

Evelyn colored a dark rust, stammering, "O-oh, we-we-well, uh, I mean, it's-"

Charon placed his arm on the table, reaching his fingers across to intertwine them through hers. He squeezed her palm with a gentle sort of urgency, and she felt her heart shoot out of her chest straight to the moon.

Evelyn gushed, unable to hide the sappy smile that rotted her teeth with all of its sugar, "He is."

The woman sighed. "I wish I had that."

Three plates were brought out and set down. Dogmeat inhaled his portion before the ceramic had had a chance to leave her hand, and Evelyn politely waited for her to depart before she made sure no one in the vicinity was listening.

"Do you want me to pack them up?" she whispered like a conspirator.

A shake of his head. He instead reached his free hand up and popped the clasp on the sides, pulling the chinstrap away ever so carefully before grabbing a mirelurk cake and shoving it to disappear inside, bits of crumbs sprinkling the table as he chewed. His grasp on her hand never loosened or fell away as they ate in comfortable silence, and with every soft stroke of his gloved thumb over her skin she felt her insides tingle and melt. They finished and made their way back to their room, her heart singing high amongst the clouds as she came to open the door wide.

A trembling, skinless man, dripping black tar and foaming at the mouth, was standing with his face in the corner. Jericho turned, and his spine cracked as his head flipped upside down to grin at her. "Evelyn, Evelyn," he breathed, his lungs crackling like dry tinder, "You're not getting away this time." He began to take hurried steps towards her. "YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY!"

The door was slammed shut.

Charon rasped at her unexplained reluctance, "What is it?"

She licked her lips, her voice so faint she barely heard herself. "Nothing."

Charon pulled her eyes up towards his. She caught sight of her reflection in his lenses, that small, fragile creature. His thick fingers felt the wild race of her pulse bounding away. "It is something."

"J-Jericho," she whispered, and she altogether felt stupid and terribly frightened at having said his name in the open air.

He squinted under his mask. "Jericho?"

She confessed, "I see him every night, ever since he died…I don't know what's wrong with me."

Charon looked at the door. "He is in there?"

"I-I should probably speak to someone, I thought he would just go away…"

Charon seemed to mull over his thoughts before giving a nod of his head and swinging open the hatch. "Where is he?"

Jericho was back in the corner as before, as though he had never moved. She shakily pointed a finger at him just as he turned again. "There."

Charon said flatly, "Wait here, please."

The ghoul dipped inside, and she only had caught a glimpse of bared teeth and leering, soulless eyes before he shut her out. Dogmeat whined at her side, bumping her with his slimy nose, and she stroked his soft ears to soothe herself.

BANG BANG

Both girl and dog nearly clonked their skulls on the ceiling from how high they had jumped, and she rushed in with a panicked scream in her throat that died at the sight. Charon had his shotgun aimed at the corner, the bulletholes and smoke having replaced her waking eldritch nightmare of a man. He dropped his aim.

"Is he still there?" he asked with all the professional seriousness of a contracted combatant.

Surprisingly, he wasn't.

"No," she said as she rushed to close the door, now mindful of anyone who may have heard the gunshots coming by to investigate.

Charon set his shotgun to the side, beginning to unclip his satchels full of ammo and grenades. "He will not be coming back."

She believed him. "Thank you."

"It is my duty," he rasped automatically. Her heart somewhat sank at the response, but then he removed his mask and locked eyes with her. "As The Boyfriend."

His face was speckled with mirelurk cake crumbs, and she awkwardly informed him, "You…uh…have something on your face."

He lifted a brow and rasped with nonchalance, "It is my face."

"What?! No! That wasn't what I- here." She stepped over and reached up, swiping at the bits of food that Dogmeat hoovered before they hit the deck. "From earlier. Must be the mask."

His fingertips came to press where hers had just been. Someone knocked at the door, and she opened it with the barest of cracks to hide away the seven-foot-tall ghoul. It was the security chief.

"Chief Harkness," she coolly addressed.

He didn't seem fancied with the introduction as he tried to peek around her inside. "We had a report of shots being fired. Was there an incident?"

"Grog accidentally hit the trigger of his gun while setting it down. Sorry. No one was hurt." The lie was as smooth as buttercream frosting, and he ate it right out of her hand.

"Gotcha…you know, you shouldn't give someone with his conditions any sort of weapon. That's just asking for trouble."

"Thanks," she said with minor sarcasm, "I'd be sure and tell him, but he wouldn't be able to hear it."

"Right." Harkness motioned to go. "You all take care now, and no more accidents."

She swung it shut and breathed out a sigh of relief. Charon was still touching his face, his eyes observing how the dog snarfed at the sides of his boots for any hitchhiking morsels.

"I need a shower. Do you?" she asked.

He raised his eyes and shook his head, his hand falling away slowly.

She grabbed a few things from her pack and bundled them in her arms. No one intercepted her steps as she made her way to the facilities. The space was small with a single shower head, leaky and crusted with sediment that hung over a drain in the floor. The shower pole had been robbed of its curtain, and the white tiles covering the walls were caulked with grime. She was careful not to touch anything as she stripped her leather armor and turned the water to full hot.

She scrubbed until her skin tinged an angry pink, her fingers coming to some sort of compromise with the mats and tangles in her hair. The burn scarring her left arm was no less hideous than before, the flaws of once perfect skin reminding her of just how weak she was, how ugly. She pinched and scratched and picked at a recurring scab to unveil the puckered flesh underneath, and she frowned. Amata had been so pristine with her looks, so self-conscious. Evelyn never gave much thought to her own, for why would she have, when everyone her age reminded her there was no need to... It only made her secretly critique and reprimand herself.

You're not good enough. Everyone can see that.

Charon didn't seem to mind her lack of beauty (then again, she didn't know if he really counted), but she liked the way he now looked at her, and so she made sure to unwrap the sleeve of her utility jumper so that the disfigurement was as concealed as could be. She returned to their room and tossed the key aside to find her companion flatly laid out on her cot, his size three times too big as his legs were bent at the knees with his feet flat on the floor. He was stripped down to his usual attire: boots, belt, and noticeable bulge. His eyes blankly stared at the ceiling.

"Umm," she began, "I can get another room, if you-"

"I wish to lay with you," he said, strictly monotone. His eyes roved over to where she was standing, his face so serious they could have been mistaken for conducting a battle plan.

"Oh…" she said quietly. "But it's too small. I won't fit."

Charon moved over half an inch, looking at her again. His words were clipped. "Is this sufficient?"

Not in the slightest- she was going to be sleeping more on him than the actual mat itself. With visible hesitation, she wedged herself between the cold steel of the bulkhead and the rigidity of his body, their heat marrying together in unpleasant harmony as she was careful not to overlay as much as possible with her back flush against him. He didn't seem to mind the contact, and they both stared at their respective spaces in suffocating silence.

Dogmeat circled the floor, huffing aloud as he was left uninvited.

Evelyn turned her head. He was still looking up at the ceiling. "Are you comfortable?"

Charon shifted his weight, the leather of his pants squeaking as he plainly answered, "No."

"Do you want your own room?"

Another, "No."

The seconds ticked on, and she jolted as something rugged and heavy began to comb over her scalp. Big guy was knotting his meaty fingers through her hair, pulling on the strands and nearly ripping them from their roots as he harshly petted her like some damp cat. The finer lengths got caught in the cracked calluses of his remaining skin and the creases of his gloves, and she winced as he was left ignorant of the pain he caused.

"Do you enjoy it?" he muttered lowly as she rolled over to face him.

She said as politely as she could manage (withholding the tears in her eyes), "I'd be lying if I said yes. You're just a little too rough, big guy."

He retracted his hand away completely, stiffening like a slatted corpse beside her. "I see."

"Here," she said a little more gently, gingerly stroking her fingers through what little hair remained on his. "Like this."

His eyes closed and his breathing became deep and slow, and she almost believed for a solid minute he had truly fallen asleep until she carefully pulled away and he fully opened one eye to stare at her.

He questioned, "Why did you stop?"

"Sorry." She resumed her fondling, occasionally curling a strand of hair when there was a healthy enough bunch of it.

He again became relaxed, and she continued to dance her fingertips across the ruined flesh and hard-scabbed chunks until she felt her own eyes grow heavy enough to close.

Charon watched her sleep until she eventually awoke. He had already climbed out without disturbing her and took to cleaning her leathers as best he could, waiting out her rest as he sat in the chair in the corner and smoked. And smoked. And smoked. And-

Damn. Carton was empty.

The lingering haze that began to cloud the room pitched her into a coughing fit, and she waved her hand around to dispel the aftermath of his restless cigarette binge.

"Jesus," she groggily croaked. "What the fuck?"

He stated while he stood to holster his gun, "I cannot go outside."

"I thought you didn't like smoking," she grumbled, sneezing from the dense stench lingering everywhere. She got dressed, taking notice of the way her armor had been wiped down. "Did you do this?"

He inclined his head.

"Thank you," she shyly said. The way her eyes regarded him made his chest flutter with the beating of butterfly wings. "Did you…um, relax, okay?"

"No." He was honest. It had been very uncomfortable. He then added by the crestfallen look on her face, "But I…enjoyed it."

"You did?"

"Yes."

The wavy locks of her hair hid her beaming smile, and he felt a temptation twitch his hand at parting it back to see. She strapped her Pip-Boy in place and began to tap at the screen.

"We're going to find my father. Pinkerton gave me the coordinates for the Vault."

Her father? So the scientist had known his whereabouts... Charon carefully chose his next words. "As you wish."

She seemed unhappy with his response. "That's it?"

"I assume there is a reason."

She watched him like prey does a predator. Unblinking. Rigid. "You're not even going to ask what that is? After everything you've said about him before?"

"No."

"…why?"

This time, he sighed, but it was bubbling with hot vinegar and scalded his tongue as he growled, "Because it is what you will do. It is what you always do. If you wish to find your father, then I will have no choice but to oblige."

She said, looking him dead in the eye, "I'm trying to give you one."

He snorted. If she wasn't so stupid, he might have chuckled at the notion, but she was stubborn, a stain that wouldn't wash out, and she would drag him across the entire wasteland following her little wisps of disillusionments and fantasies, and he would have to follow...but this time, he had decided he wanted to.

That was a choice…was it not? (He didn't really know, and he decided to not care)

"We shall find your father," he finally rasped with assurance.

The steps toward him and the grab for his hands were very much surprising but not unwanted, and he looked down at her as she gave him nothing but grateful wonder.

"Thank you, Charon," she said sincerely. "I mean it…it'll be worth it. I promise."

A promise, something that was as quickly snuffed out as a meager flame in the wind. He only nodded and donned his mask. She upheld her previous one to the boy and bade their farewells before they departed, and the child clung to his legs in a tight hug.

"Goodbye, Mister Scary Guy," he whispered so as not to be overheard.

Charon raised one leg and shook him clean off.

A powerful peal of thunder clapped overhead as they made for the other side of the bridge, and she timidly held out her hand with a question in the crook of her smile. He eyed her palm before going to take it. So very warm amidst the cold. A boom of his own heart beat inside the cage that was his ribs, his nerves electrified and blood tingling. It was a silent walk to their predetermined campsite for that evening, and after they had tucked themselves away to weather the building crescendo in the distance, she sat down beside the great big dog, one hand mindlessly petting its fur while she watched him secure the exit.

He turned to her. She was visibly expecting something. He rasped, "Yes?"

"Are you not cooking tonight?"

He considered her earlier statements about his culinary skills. "No," he said flatly.

"Why not?"

The venom in his voice was much more potent than he meant it to be, and it clearly stung. "You appear to not like it."

"What?!" she guffawed. "Of course I do! Why would you think that?!"

He opened his mouth to nastily divulge her little rattling skeleton, but he instead slowly closed it and narrowed his eyes to mere slits. If she would not be honest and just tell him…then he would make her.

"Very well."

Charon made extra sure to add things he had not considered before, straying from his usual path to concoct something of true disgust and repulsion. He handed her a bowl and sat back and watched with satisfaction as she began to slurp spoonfuls of his vindictive retaliation.

Her eyes grew wide, and she plopped her utensil in its dish. "Oh my God," she breathed, and then she gave him the biggest ear-to-ear smile he had ever seen. "This is amazing!"

He squinted. She was good…he gave her credit for that. She must truly care for these 'feelings' he did not possess. The entire bowl was licked clean by the time he had served the dog and himself. His mouth curled into a grimace at the initial taste…it was foul enough for even him to try and stomach down, and yet she eyed the remainder with hopeful intentions. He grunted and gave a curt jut of his chin to it.

"You may have it," was all he said.

The shack grew quiet and peaceful as she laid beside him, belly full and the dog snuggled at her feet, and he tentatively laid a hand on her hair, just keeping it there, afraid to move the slightest lest he wake her up.