Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gal only finds Underworld because of the ghoul smoking outside the building when she stumbles past, dodging nailboard blows from an especially quick Super Mutant. The ghoul watches them dance, raising her rifle when Gal darts her way. She lowers it again when Gal sends the mutant crashing over the lip of the metro entrance and continues puffing on her cigarette. Gal peeks cautiously down at the mutant and shoots it through the head, just to be sure, before she approaches the woman in armor.

“You must be lost.” the ghoulette says between breaths of cigarette smoke. Her face is nonchalant as Gal joins her in leaning against the stone. She offers Gal a smoke, shrugging when Gal waves it away and slides down the concrete to sit on the ground. The air is cool this time of night, but she's only just feeling it after her playtime with the Super Mutant.

“Nah, I just like taking midnight strolls. I find the nightlife to be soothing.” Gal says dryly in response, balancing her assault rifle across her knees. The wall feels cool against her back.

The woman snorts, amused. “Another smoothskin with a deathwish... welcome to the Mall, tourist.” she jibes as she puffs on the cigarette. Her relaxed stature is completely at odds with the ruins around her. Gal can see something large and hulking across the way, and she knows the ghoulette sees it too, but her weapon stays at her side regardless.

“Me?” Gal says, giving her a look. “You're the crazy one standing out here smoking a cigarette with super mutants running around. At least I was shooting things!”

The ghoulette shrugs. Her cigarette is burnt down to the filter, so she stubs it out under a booted toe and lights another. “Those knuckledraggers? Nah, they don't bother us Ghouls. Maybe they see us as kin or something.”

They wait in silence for a few minutes, until the ghoulette's second cigarette is just ash under her fingertips. Gal's happy to be stationary for a minute, so she takes the chance to rub at the dirt and sweat on her face. The woman stubs her spent butt out against the wall and flicks it out into the abyss that surrounds the metro entrance. The butts lying around the area tell her her companion doesn't do much sweeping.

“You live around here?” Gal asks. The ghoul nods and jerks a thumb at the entrance to the Museum of History behind her.

“Underworld. Ever heard of it?” Gal shakes her head. “It's city full of ghouls, down in one of the exhibits in the museum. We've got a hotel, couple bars, even a doctor who'll fix you up if you can manage to not be an asshole human while you're here. Head straight past the skeleton and the hairy thing to the door in the far wall.”

Gal nods and pushes off the wall, resettling her pack on her back. “I'll be sure to keep my asshole comments to myself. Thanks, Miss...?”

“Willow.” the ghoulette says with a bark of laughter. The amusement makes the exposed muscle along her jaw tighten and shift. “No Miss. Til next time, sight-seer.”

Gal gives her a wave in farewell and pulls the heavy museum door open so she can slip inside. The directions were spot on; past a giant reptile skeleton all in pieces and a large four-legged beast covered in hair, there's a giant skull set in fake stone with a door under it. The text about the door reads 'Underworld Journey.' Thinking she's on the right track, she pushes the door open and walks into Underworld.

The inside looks just like every other museum she's visited since leaving the vault. But with the people inside, milling about and chatting in groups, it looks like it might have two centuries ago; bustling and full of tourists. The only difference is, these tourists have patchy heads of hair and their skin is ripped and sagging. There's not a single person in here who's not a ghoul. As she makes her way through the front lobby, men and women passing through and lounging against the walls give her all sorts of glances: curious, suspicious, blank, wary. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck rise, to feel the weight of so many gazes on her, but she pretends she doesn't notice as she glances around for a place to stay.

Her first stop is at the hotel on the second floor, Carol's Place, because it's late and she wants to know she won't be sleeping curled up in a corner if she can help it tonight. Carol herself is manning the desk, looking drowsy. She perks up when Gal enters the room and inquires about a bed politely. 

"Don't get many of your kind around here. Not for the last... well, five years or so." Carol says conversationally as Gal scrounges around for her bag of caps. She'd seemed surprised when Gal asked about a room.

Gal finally finds the bag and counts out 120 caps, as promised. The bag looks a lot smaller after she's parted from that 120, but only because she's got a lot more stashed away. Better not to flaunt your wealth out here. People start thinking it might be worth it to put a bullet in your head.

"I'm from west a ways. A place called Megaton." she stops and thinks for a minute. "Actually... do you know a guy named Gob? Gobtholomew? He told me he was from here."

Carol's eyes light up.

"You know my Gob? He's my son! Well... not really, ghouls don't really work that way - how is he? He's been gone about fifteen years now." the look in Carol's eyes is bright and fond, and it makes Gal's stomach roil a bit to think of taking that away from her. She clears her throat and tries not to make it sound like she's lying through her teeth.

"He's ... working in a bar. He seems to like it okay."

Carol smiles and moves from behind the bar to lead Gal to her room. She seems more relaxed now.

"That's wonderful! He always was a strong boy, my Gob. I worry about him out there in the Wastes but it looks like I've been worrying for nothing. Oh, wait 'til I tell Greta... well, then again, maybe I won't." Carol stops in front of a bed surrounded by flimsy privacy screens and gestures. Gal had been hoping for a real room, with some privacy, but privacy's a hard thing to come by nowadays. Still, it's a bed, and it looks relatively clean and not covered in bodily fluids, so she counts that as a win.

"Do you think..." Carol says hesitantly as she watches Gal dump her pack at the foot of the bed, "if you are headed back to Megaton anytime soon... would you mind carrying some letters for me? I've been wanting to write, but it's hard to find someone headed that way."

Gal smiles at the ghoulette, who's wringing her hands in the folds of her dress.

"Yeah, of course. It's not problem at all. I'll be here a few days, I think, so that'll give you time to write out whatever you want to send."

She doesn't expect to find herself suddenly pulled into a tight embrace. Carol hugs her like she's the last person on Earth, head buried in her shoulder. Gal can only awkwardly wrap her arms around the ghoulette's torso from this angle, but the touch isn't unpleasant. It's been a while since someone touched her that wasn't trying to murder her.

Carol gives her one last squeeze and lets go with a little laugh.

"Sorry, dear, I suppose I got a little carried away... well, I'll make sure to get those letters written as soon as possible, and consider your room paid for for as long as you're staying. No buts," she says sternly, wagging a finger when Gal opens her mouth, "I insist. Now, can I get you anything else before I close up for the night?"

Carol assures her that her things are safe in the room; nevertheless, she secures her pack to the bed frame with a cable lock after the woman leaves to go to bed. It's not the most secure method but she doesn't have much other choice and she's tired of lugging the heavy damn thing around. Gal looks at the bed with longing, wanting nothing more than to pass out on it fully clothed, but she resists the urge tiredly. She needs to prowl around some and get a feel for the town before she blinks and her throat gets slit.

Underworld is small, much smaller than Megaton, but busy. She'd seen a shop and some bathrooms on the first floor, and maybe a doctor's area as well; the top is where Carol's Place is located, and what looks like another bar called Ninth Circle. She's the only human in a sea of ghouls, but that's not surprising to her. After she's shed her armor, pulled on some (relatively)clean clothes, and shoved a pistol through her belt at the small of her back, she goes out in search of alcohol. People are still wandering through the halls, though it has to be close to 2 AM, and there's a few drunken patrons scattered along the hallways, deep in drunken sleep. The ghouls here are dressed in regular pre-war era clothing, and not armor, which is a good sign. She crosses the top floor, skirts a stumbling ghoul, and pulls open the door to the Ninth Circle.

The inside is dingy and filled with smoke that sits bitterly on her tongue. Across the room, a bar takes up most of the corner, and tables are scattered throughout, half-filled or sitting empty at this time of night. There's a man standing behind the bar, wearing an ill-fitting suit and pouring shots for a trio of women with a leer on his face. He's got strange, exotic features that make her lip curl a little bit. Still, when she bellies up to the bar and slaps some caps down for a whiskey, he pours it and shoves it at her with little ceremony. Gal tosses the whole thing back, orders another, and takes it back to her table to nurse as she people watches.

These are the first ghouls she's met besides Gob from Megaton and the occasional wanderer out in the wastes. Gob is quiet and constantly afraid of punishment from his keeper if he's caught talking instead of working; nevertheless, they've had plenty of conversations and she considers him a friend. So it's easy for her to look past the nightmarish features and see the normal people underneath. There's quite a few ghouls in here, some in small groups, some alone. The owner watches them like a hawk. A man stumbles in, already in his cups, and slaps some caps on the bar. Another man, almost freakishly tall, leans against the wall, a shotgun slung across his back. He too watches the patrons carefully; hired muscle, likely. It's a pretty normal scene for any bar.

The drunk man is arguing with the owner now, who seems to be refusing his money. After a few loud outbursts and some whining, the owner locks eyes with the bouncer and motions him over. Without a word, the bouncer strides over to the drunken man, grabs him by the arm, and drags him to the door. Caps spill across the floor as the man protests feebly, but the bouncer simply tosses him out the door without ceremony and shuts it behind him. Then he returns to his place on the wall.

He stays there, motionless, for the rest of the time that Gal spends in the bar. She finishes her second whiskey, orders another, and watches. There are no more incidents, and the drunken man's rude exit doesn't seem to shake up the other customers too much. They ignore the bouncer as if he is not there; his stare, clinical and blank, sweeps the room occasionally and then returns to staring straight ahead.

Halfway through the second whiskey, Gal feels the fatigue catching up with her and slams the rest of her drink down. She leaves the empty glass on the table and heads for the door, head pleasantly fuzzy and light. As she leaves, though, she swears she can feel a heavy stare on her back.

–

Gal rolls out of bed the next day about noon, groaning. Her back and shoulders ache from the heavy pack she'd hauled into Underworld, but she takes a med-x and the pain eases. Feeling grimy, she steals 15 minutes in the bathroom to scrub herself down and wash her hair so she can start taking care of business.

Wandering the wasteland can be both lucrative and dangerous. Gal has a good eye for picking out hidden caches and it doesn't hurt that she knows her way around lockpicking. Unfortunately, she's not the only one that is looking for some quick money; this is the first time in ages she's rolled into town without some heavy bandages and bruises. Still, she's got some cuts and scratches to wash out, and she spends a few blissful minutes stretching so she can enjoy the burn in her muscles.

Feeling much cleaner, she grabs her pack and lugs it down to the general store to begin haggling over her prizes. Underworld doesn't get many visitors, which is lucky for her; the owner, Tulip, is willing to give her more than fair prices on everything she's brought and she walks out with enough ammo and provisions to last her through her next foray into the wasteland. She makes another deal with one of the residents for any scrap metal she picks up. After she deposits that squarely in her room, Gal borrows a workbench to do some repairs on her weapons.

Then she takes a nap. This is a tradition.

When she wakes, it's around 8 o'clock in the evening. She doesn't have much more to do before she takes off again into the wasteland, but honestly, she's really just enjoying the vacation, so she heads to the Ninth Circle again to drink her way through a few more glasses of whiskey.

It's much the same as it was the first time. The bartender is leaning on the bar again; when she walks up to him to order her first drink, he gives her a shameless look-over that makes her want to punch him in the face. Unfortunately, she wants the whiskey more, so she reins in the impulse.

"Welcome back, smoothskin. What can Uncle Azrukhal get you?" he says with a greasy smile. He leans over the bar and into her space.

"Whiskey. No ice." she says shortly. When she hands him the caps, his fingers linger on her palm so long she's half afraid he's going to try to do something weird like kiss her hand. He doesn't, luckily; just pours the whiskey and hands it over. She resists the urge to shudder and takes it to an empty table in the corner when she can keep an eye on him.

She has more time today so she goes slow on her drink, watching people come and go from her little corner. She's becoming more familiar with the residents of Underworld; she spots Patchwork, the drunk who'd been thrown out the night before, and Winthrop, who offered her the deal on scrap metal. Her silent bouncer is there too, wearing a hole in the wall again. His eyes move over the patrons restlessly, but they never meet hers even though she's outright staring. The armour he's wearing looks old and worn, almost falling apart at the seams.

Gal watches him quietly and thinks about how the straps of her pack dig into her shoulder, and what it would be like to have someone to split the weight with. Someone who's handy with a gun and more intimidating than a short girl who looks younger than her 20 years (not that she can't be intimidating on her own, but it takes a lot more effort). She'd thought before about hiring Jericho from Megaton, but she doesn't like the way he looks at her and she wouldn't trust him alone in the Wasteland as far as she could throw him. No one else she's met so far is willing for the job. Since then, she's sort of given up on finding a companion, but she thinks that any merc who can't afford to fix his armour could probably be enticed by the thought of a steady paycheck.

The next time the bartender takes a bathroom break, she takes her chance. Gal figures that while he's gone, she can inquire whether he'd consider a change of occupation and get an honest answer. Quickly, she jumps up from her table and crosses to the bouncer.

He fixes his gaze on her as she approaches, but she can't read anything in his stare. He is incredibly tall, with ice blue eyes and patchy red hair. Even leaning against the wall, she gets the sense that his laxness is a farce and he's only waiting for a reason to pull his weapon. He reminds her of some fierce animal from the wastes in a group of unsuspecting rabbits.

She only gets close enough that she can talk to him comfortably; any closer and she'd have to tilt her head up to speak to him. That's not a good way to inspire confidence as a potential employer. This close, he's even more intimidating, and not just because the shotgun on his back is almost as tall as her.

He cuts her off before she's able to make a sound.

“Talk to Azrukhal.” he says shortly. His voice has the raspiness that she's found is common in Ghouls.

She opens her mouth again, and again, he cuts her off.

“Talk. To. Azrukhal.”

She purses her mouth, turns, and goes back to her table. That same stare falls heavy on her back, but when she turns around, he's again staring at the far wall as if she'd never approached. Azrukhal, the owner, comes back, settling behind the bar, but she doesn't move.

When she goes back to the bar for a refill, Azrukhal offers her free drinks if she'll spend the rest of the night in the bar with her shirt off. She tells him to go fuck himself, and he tells her he'll give her a hundred caps to take her shirt off just for him. She thinks about throwing her drink in his face but decides it would be a waste of whiskey.

Throughout the night, Azrukhal makes a few remarks to his bouncer that needle her skin as well. The tall man is stone-faced through all of them, proving that either Azrukhal is an equal opportunity asshole or the treatment is common for the bouncer. A few more drinks on her part and someone tries to swipe a bottle of vodka from behind the bar while Azrukhal's away. The bouncer breaks one of his fingers and sets the bottle gently on the bar. When the ghoul swings a wild blow at his jaw, the bouncer breaks a finger on the other hand and drags him from the bar with it. His screams of pain echo through the bar, but just as before, the bouncer doesn't say a word, doesn't make a face, and doesn't do anything more but throw him out the door.

Azrukhal laughs as the bouncer returns. “About time you made yourself useful. I was thinking I meet need to... find something for you to do.” he tells the red-haired man from the safety of the bar. The bouncer does not grace him with either a reply or a look as he returns to his post.

She finishes her last drink and stumbles back to her room to pass out. She hasn't given up on her idea yet; she's just regrouping for the next attack. Her old self would have never planned to travel out into the wasteland with a stranger at her back, but her new self is far more adventurous. If she had another person to help haul her finds, she could stop living cap to cap and maybe make some actual profit. It would make her feel much safer at night as well, to have someone to stand watches with. Most people in the Wastelands are just trying to get by and make a quick buck, but she thinks she can convince this man that helping her out is a good deal.

Besides, Azrukhal is a dick.

–

The next day, she visits the Chop Shop for medical supplies, repacks her bag, and eats a leisurely breakfast that isn't Cram or Pork 'N' Beans. Then she heads to the Ninth Circle to see whether or not she's leaving with a partner.

The red-haired bouncer is standing outside the bar when she approaches. He gives her that same intense stare, but doesn't say a word. When she moves for the door, he blocks it immediately, and she nearly runs headfirst into his chest.

“I'm here to see Azrukhal.” she tells him. He looks at her a minute longer, then gives a short nod. She doesn't waste her breath waiting for verbal permission.

Inside, Azrukhal is restocking the bar, humming tunelessly to the radio. The tables are a mess and there's a chair laying in pieces in the corner. Clearly, things had gotten out of control after she'd left last night.

Azrukhal turns at Gal's entry and gives her a sleazy smile. The corners of his strangely-shaped eyes crinkle and the muscles in his jaw pull tight.

“Well, well, if it isn't my favourite smoothskin. You're getting to be my best customer.” he says, as if he'd forgotten all the nasty things he'd said to her last night. Inwardly, Gal rolls her eyes, but she gives him a small smile to keep him sweet. She's gotten good at playing people since she left the Vault and she thinks that will come in handy here.

“What's with your lackey outside? Does he ever sleep?” she asks innocently, leaning on the bar.

He snorts and picks up another glass to dry. something crusty lines the bottom.

“That's Charon. He's my... loyal employee.” at her questioning look, he elaborates. “I hold his contract, which makes me his employer. He will do what I ask, when I ask, without question.”

This, to her, sounds a little more like forced servitude than voluntary service. It makes sense from what she knows of their relationship, though. If Jericho were bouncing for the Ninth Circle, he'd never put up with the shit that Azrukhal says to Charon. Gal frowns, glances over her shoulder. Charon is still standing outside the doors. If he's listening, he gives no sign of it.

“That sounds too good to be true.” she answers carefully, to appeal to Azrukhal's business sense. He snaps up the bait without a hint of suspicion.

“Charon grew up around a very interesting group of individuals. They... well, I guess you say that they brainwashed him. He is absolutely loyal to whoever holds his contract. Unfailing, unflinching, until the day that employment ends.” he says with a hint of smugness. Something in his voice makes her skin crawl.

Nevertheless, she thinks that his words must be true. Charon was certainly unflinching when he broke those two fingers last night, and he hadn't even twitched at the few times Azrukhal had called him an ugly motherfucker.

It throws a wrench into her plans though. She was expecting a willing companion, not a brainwashed giant. Charon doesn't look like a simpleton but she doesn't know what she'll do if she has to spend all her time explaining orders to him. Then again, a contract-loyal simpleton sounds better than a regular merc for when she's sleeping in an abandoned house somewhere, all alone with him, so this could be a good thing. She pastes on a slightly conspiratorial smile and nods along.

“Why all the interest, smoothskin?” he asks as he stacks the glasses behind the bar and mops up the rinse water. A bug of some sort skitters through the water, and Azrukhal smooshes it with his thumb. She thinks about the best way to approach the subject and decides to barge right in.

“I want to talk to you about his contract. I'm interested in buying it.”

Azrukhal smirks at her and steeples his fingers, leaning his festered chin on them. Gal's pretty sure there's still bug shit on them. She leans back a little bit, not liking the sour smell he gives off when he's too close, but tries not to be obvious about it.

“Would you, now? He's a highly valuable asset to me and to the Ninth Circle. What did you have in mind?” he asks, all fake innocence and naivety. It grates on her nerves but doesn't show in her face. She's starting not to give a shit whether Charon's brainwashed or not; she just wants out of this conversation, and possibly to have the chance to put her fist into his face without Charon breaking any of her fingers.

She lowballs him on the first offer, knowing he'll balk. “I'll give you 1,000 caps for it.”

Azrukhal outright laughs at that, as she suspects he would.

“That's an insult for such a fine worker. I think you can do better.” he tells her.

“2,000.” she counters.

This, he mulls over much more slowly. 2,000 caps is a lot of money for a business owner, enough to keep him running for a month or two at least. She sees the way his face changes and knows he will accept. She'd been prepared to go higher, so silently she sighs in relief; this is already a significant chunk of her emergency fund. Still, a helping hand is worth it, and there's a lot of him to help.

“I suppose that could work... yes... yes. Here's the contract.” Azrukhal agrees. He digs a folded piece of heavy paper out of the breast pocket of his overcoat and holds it out, though he doesn't let go when she reaches for it. “And I'll take my payment in full.” he adds pointedly, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. She digs out the bag of caps and slaps it into his hand, and he lets go of the contract.

Azrukhal smiles that sleazy smile again and tucks the caps into his suit, and just like that, Gal has a plus one.

“I'll give you the pleasure of informing Charon himself.” he says. With that, the conversation is done. Gal has no more reason to act sweet, so she turns and leaves without another word. It's amazing that the conversation has ended without any mention of her taking clothes off.

When she exits the bar, Charon is still leaning against the outside wall. She can't tell from his blank face if he's been eavesdropping or not. When she stops in front of him, however, he spots the folded contract in her hand and blinks.

“I'm your new employer.” she tells him, though it clearly isn't necessary. He pushes off the wall and fixes that gaze on her again. It's intense and searching, and it leaves little doubt in her mind that he's a simpleton. What makes him loyal to the contract, then, she doesn't know, but inwardly she's a little relieved.

“Please, wait here.” he tells her. “I must take care of something.”

Before Gal can say anything, he turns and strides off into the bar. She suspects that he must need to fetch his things or have some last words with his former employer. As she turns to lean against the doorway, watching, her new partner heads straight for Azrukhal, who looks up at him with a satisfied smirk. He asks Charon sarcastically if he's come to say goodbye; Gal wonders how he will answer.

“Yes.” Charon says. Without hesitation, he pulls the shotgun from his back and shoots Azrukhal in the chest. A red mist rises in front of the ghoul, and slowly, he falls backwards onto the grimy bar floor and out of Gal's sight. She knows without a doubt that he is dead, but Charon pumps the shotgun and takes another shot. Then, without another look at the corpse he has made, he slings the shotgun across his back and crosses to where Gal is standing in shock.

She blinks at him, once, twice, but Charon's steady gaze does not falter.

“Was that...necessary?” she asks him.

“Yes.” Charon says shortly. Gal looks at the now-empty bar one more time and takes a hesitant step backwards. She can see a spray of blood coating the glasses Azrukhal had just washed and left to dry on the counter. Something wet clings to the wall above the bar.

“Let's go.” she says. Charon follows without comment.

She leads them quickly down the stairs and to the front door of Underworld, nervous about the reaction to Azrukhal's death. She doesn't want to stick around and find out what might happen to the two of them if someone takes offense. People are only just beginning to enter the bar as Gal and Charon let the door to Underworld shut behind them; then they are alone, but for the skeletons and the great beasts of old standing guard in the giant room, ancient and half-decayed. No one follows them.

“I hope not all your contracts end like that.” Gal says as they walk, wondering if she's made a mistake in hiring this quiet, violent shadow.

The words ring out across the quiet room, echoed by their footsteps. Charon's are surprisingly quiet for such a large man; he makes less noise than Gal does as she walks. The silence is a little eerie.

“He was an evil man.” is the only reply she receives. She supposes it is somewhat a relief; if Charon had hated his old employer that much, and still had waited to kill him until after his contract had changed hands, that is a good sign she is safe as long as she holds it.

She imagines that when she loses it it will probably be because she is dead anyway, so it does not really matter.

When she pokes her head out the front door of the museum to search the area, Charon automatically brings the shotgun to his shoulder and covers the other side of the door. Willow, smoking a cigarette in her usual spot against the wall, raises an eyebrow at them and tells them it's all clear. She doesn't ask about Charon, but she does give Gal a strange smile.

When they're finally on their way, she tells Charon that they are headed to Rivet City. She doesn't tell him why, and he doesn't ask. Charon walks just ahead of her and about ten feet to the right, his eyes constantly searching the area for threats. He's much better at this then Gal is. For the first few hours that they are together, they travel in silence for most of the way, stopping at a few abandoned houses to forage. Gal's attempts at conversation are met by short answers; he makes no attempts at conversation of his own. Charon follows her orders without comment or complaint (not that they've been difficult - 'look through boxes and find anything useful' is pretty straightforward). A few times, she feels the heavy weight of his stare on her back, but when she turns, he is always looking the other direction.

When they encounter a pack of mole rats in one of the houses, he rushes forward, shotgun at the ready, and blasts the first one right in the face. It falls to the ground with a pained squeal. He reloads and sets the shotgun to his shoulder, waiting for another to get into range.

Gal isn't used to fighting with an ally, so at first, she's unsure what to do. Finally, she sweeps right to flank the group of rats, using her assault rifle to thin the group before it reaches Charon. The approach works well; rat after rat goes down in sprays of red. None of them get close enough to take a swipe at the pair, and they even both come out of it free of blood.

Charon uses his shotgun like an extension of his arms, looking more at home sighting down the barrel than he does foraging for stimpaks or caps in dusty containers. It's a well-kept weapon, if old; the metal of the barrel gleams, the handle scratched but lovingly oiled. Looking down at her dirty, banged-up Chinese Assault Rifle, she's a little jealous.

After the fighting is done, Gal looks through the dirty window of the abandoned house and notes the setting sun as Charon kicks through the trash on the floor.

“Let's stop here for the night. It's getting late.” she calls over her shoulder. She searches around for something to pin over the window, finds a ratty blanket, and begins to put it up. Light can be deadly at night in these abandoned houses, if the wrong things are lurking outside when you're sleeping. When she turns around, Charon is slicing through the thick hide of one of the mole rats with his utility knife, searching for the edible meat inside.

Gal joins him on the floor, drags another mole rat close, and begins doing the same with her own combat knife. Rats are fatty and the hides are tough; it takes considerable sawing and digging to find anything worth eating. Nevertheless, they are able to get a good pile of meat collected and they drag the gutted corpses outside so they won't stink up the house.

The rat meat goes on some old wire hangers over a fire in the house's fireplace, with a pot of water to boil for some instamash. Gal searches the rest of the house for any more useful things, does a little victory dance when she finds a fully stocked first aid kit, and returns to find Charon dragging a mattress into the center of the room, well away from the bloody mess the rats had made. She gives him a questioning look.

“It is safer to rest here, as there is only one entrance. Would you prefer it back in the bedroom?”

She shakes her head, so he leaves it lying on the floor and goes to mix the instamash. He scoops most of the pot into one of the instamash boxes and tops it with charred rat meat. That box goes to Gal; the one he takes for himself contains only rat meat, which is strange, but she doesn't question it. Charon then settles himself across the room, in a corner that leaves him able to see the front entrance.

The silence does not seem awkward to Charon, but Gal is used to speaking when another person is in the room. The problem is, she doesn't know what to say. Charon has done what she asked silently and without question, but he hasn't spoken unless spoken to and she is not sure he will react positively to the questions she wants to ask.

So instead, Gal pulls the contract from her pocket and unfolds it carefully, wondering what it will tell her about her silent protector. The paper is heavy and thick, and feels worn around the edges; the front is covered in heavy black script. However, no matter how long she looks at it, she cannot make out any clear words. The ink has blurred over time, and there are streaks of dirt and blood across the surface, so it might as well be written in a different language.

“I can't read this.” she tells Charon, looking up from the contract. He is watching her intently, the empty instamash box hanging loosely from one hand. He's finished in record time.

“Can you tell me about your contract?” she asks when he makes no move to clarify.

He leans forward and throws the instamash box back into the dark recesses of an empty room, then pulls his shotgun against his lap and begins dismantling it piece by piece. She thinks at first that he won't respond, but finally he does.

“You may command me to fight for you in combat. You may command me to perform services, such as carrying your salvaged items or preparing food. Physical violence invalidates the contract.”

It is a veritable speech, from what she knows of her companion. But it tells her little that she doesn't already know. There's clearly a lot more written on the faded contract in front of her, but Gal decides that since she doesn't plan to ask him to do anything crazy, it doesn't matter much. The folded paper goes back into her pocket with care.

“You're quite the chatterbox, you know that?” she asks him, finally turning her attention to the food at her elbow. The charred meat is surprisingly tasty, especially paired with the bland instamash, which she normally avoids like the plague. She doesn't usually bother to heat up whatever counters as dinner when she's traveling, so the hot food is a nice change.

Charon tilts his head in acknowledgment of her statement, but keeps his focus on his weapon. She sees in the care he takes with cleaning and polishing why his weapon looks so well-maintained.

“If you wish to have a conversation with me, I will do so. Most of my employers preferred that I stay silent in the performance of my duties.”

Gal scrapes the last of the instamash from the box, licks her spoon off, and sets the greasy box to the side. The spoon goes back into her pack for later use; silverware isn't always easy to find in the wasteland.

“Nah, I wouldn't want you to strain yourself. How about this – I'll just talk whenever I feel like it, and you can nod once in a while and pretend you're listening. Eat the rest of that mash, while you're up.” she replies. Then, with a yawn, she flops down on the mattress in full armour and sets her assault rifle off to the side, in reach if she needs it.

“Wake me up in a couple hours to take watch.” Gal tells him, shutting her eyes and relaxing as if she's drifting off to sleep. She can hear the quiet sounds of Charon cleaning each piece of his weapon, and though they are soothing, she forces herself to stay awake. She tracks him as he puts out the fire, uses the bathroom, and reassembles his weapon, then turns her thoughts to route planning to keep herself awake as he settles in to keep watch.

Her new companion comes well-recommended, but she's not stupid enough to take a snooze around a man she barely knows. She has absolutely no guarantee that a ridiculous little piece of paper will keep her safe from the behemoth of a man that's followed her out into the middle of the wasteland, alone.

Gal dozes for an hour or two before the quiet sounds of footsteps bring her back to full wakefulness. Keeping her body still, Gal listens carefully to the footfalls to determine whether she needs to grab her rifle and defend herself, trying to keep her breathing as light and steady as possible.

The footsteps head away from her, and then front door of the house opens and shuts again quietly. Gal frowns and opens her eyes slowly, searching for any sight of Charon in the darkness. She had expected an attack of some sort, not that he would just run off. She is debating going after him, wondering how she will keep him from leaving, when a shotgun blast cuts through the silence of the night.

Gal tumbles off the mattress and scrambles for her rifle, cracking the door to survey the area before she runs blindly into a potentially dangerous situation. She can see a figure standing in the gloom, gun up against his shoulder, and she sees more movement in the dark, but before she can do more than crouch down and bring her rifle up, the shotgun cracks again and the moving figure slumps to the ground. Gal exits the house slowly, rifle at the ready, and approaches the figure with the shotgun.

Charon is standing over the body of a dead raider. A baseball bat is still clenched in his fists. A few feet away, another figure in raider armour has fallen face-first into a pool of his own blood. Charon sweeps the darkness once more and, spotting no more enemies, lowers his gun.

“What the fuck, Charon? Why didn't you wake me?” Gal hisses at the ghoul, keeping her voice low in case more raiders are in the area. Still, even as she's thinking about giving him a piece of her mind, she kneels down by the first raider and rifles through his pockets.

“You did not command me to.” Charon replies, pulling a bag of caps from the corpse of the second raider. He tosses it to Gal, who catches it and tucks it into her pocket with a sigh.

“Did you see any more?” she asks. At the shake of his head, she turns back towards the door and motions him inside with a jerk of her fingers, wondering if he's stupid or just sullen and obstinate.

“Alright, look,” she says after they are settled back in their room, “If shit's hitting the fan, and I'm asleep, or doing something, or just don't notice, you have to let me know. They could have snuck in here and killed me, or killed you, and I wouldn't have even known.” she says. Charon has settled back into his place, back against the wall, shotgun slung over his shoulders. If he resents being chastised, he doesn't show it.

“I will do as you command.” he replies shortly, giving her that blank, unreadable stare again. Gal sighs in frustration and rubs at the corners of her eyes, certain now that she has made a mistake. How is she to get anything done if she can't even get this man to talk to her? Gal considers smacking him across the side of the head, but he told her specifically that violence wasn't allowed. Probably just for this reason.

“Well,” she starts again after a minute, “I don't want you to feel like I have to give you an order for you to make a decision on any little thing. You've done this before, I'm sure, so either ask me a question if there's a situation you're not certain of, or if there's no time, go ahead and make an educated decision on what to do. Got that?”

Charon's face does not change at all, but Gal swears that she sees a hint of smugness in his eyes as he replies.

“I will do as you command.”

Gal huffs out her frustration and lays back down, determined to get some sleep out of this if it kills her. She no longer fears attack or abandonment from this frustrating man; what she does fear is that she may throttle him with her own hands if she has to take another night of frustrating, useless answers.

Chapter Text

Charon wakes her up as promised sometime in the middle of the night and she takes watch, bleary-eyed and yawning. Gal orders him to sleep but has to clarify when he lies down next to the mattress as if he intends not to use it. Charon takes no offense and simply lays down with his back to her, the slope of his body suspiciously relaxed. She doesn't believe for a minute that he's asleep. Gal leans against his spot on the wall and pops the top on a Nuka-Cola. The soda helps her wake up so that she can think about her next move.

She imagines that they will reach Rivet City late today, tomorrow morning at latest. There, she needs to find Doctor Li, who can theoretically tell her where her father is, since Three Dog didn't really have any concrete answers for her. It's already been months since he left the Vault; she sometimes fears she's chasing a ghost, but it is the only purpose she has, so until she is convinced her father is dead, she'll keep looking. She just hopes that there's no problem bringing Charon into the city. Most people in the Capital Wasteland seem to walk the other way when they see a ghoul, but there's a chance they'll refuse her or her companion entrance to the city, if they're bigoted enough. She hadn't thought about that much when she'd taken the contract.

Gal counts the spots of mold on the ceiling until dawn breaks and begins to slowly lighten the room. When she judges that there is enough light to travel by, she leaves her post and goes to wake her companion.

Charon rolls over and jumps to his feet before she's anywhere close to him. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself; the sound of water hitting porcelain reaches her ears from inside the room.

“Good morning to you, too.” she tells the shut door, shouldering her pack with a rude sound.

They leave the room as it is; it's not as if there's anyone around to care. She's made a crude pack for Charon from a tarp and some leather belts; she resolves to buy a real one in Rivet City because she can't imagine that one is very comfortable. She doesn't regret the lighter pack on her own shoulders, though.

They make good time again, despite having to skirt several raider camps and a few groups of super mutants, and reach the edge of the river by mid-afternoon. She's been told that Rivet City was located in the ruins of an old aircraft carrier, which she can see beached up on the shore, but she can't see any entrance.

“How do we get in this thing?” she asks Charon, without expectation of an answer. He glances around.

“There is a tall metal structure there.” he says, pointing towards what looks like the exoskeleton of a building. “Perhaps we could see the entrance from the top.”

“Good idea.” Gal says, somewhat surprised at the suggestion, but she heads for the construction site anyway. She's eager to get up and out of the area. The Super Mutant sightings have made her nervous; she's not certain they could take out even one, let alone a whole group. They climb the structure carefully, wary of the rust.

At the top, they find a dark-haired man sitting up against a metal sheet. His eyes are tired. He makes no move to draw on the pair, so Gal approaches him warily with her rifle at the ready. Even when she stops directly in front of him, he just closes his eyes.

“Are you here to kill me, stranger?” he asks in a raspy voice.

“No,” she tells him, “Actually, I was going to ask for directions. To Rivet City.” She lowers her rifle to add truth to her statement.

“Do you...” the man stops, swallows, and tries again. “Do you have any water?”

Gal slings her pack off, digs through the supplies, and throws one of her precious bottles of purified water to the dehydrated man. He catches it, but just looks at in in disbelief, then looks back up at her.

“...I can just have it? For free?” he whispers desperately, his hand trembling slightly.

“All yours.” she says, crossing her arms while she waits patiently for him to finish the bottle. He twists the top off quickly and brings the bottle to his lips. After a few large gulps, he chokes and has to stop drinking, pounding himself on the chest to clear up the cough. Then he goes back to slurping down the water and empties the bottle in a few short seconds.

The man looks at her, and for a minute Gal is afraid he's going to do something crazy like jump up and kiss her feet. He is absurdly grateful for this bottle of water, but his dry lips and fevered look tell her he has a good reason.

“You... you saved my life, stranger. Thank you.” the man points off to his left at a white box hanging on the metal wall of the structure. “Press the button on that intercom and tell them you want entry to Rivet City. They'll move the bridge around for you.”

“Thanks.” Gal says warmly. She doesn't have any more water, but she tosses a box of Dandy Boy apples into his lap anyway. “You need to get out of the sun or you'll just get dehydrated again. Take care of yourself.”

Charon is already standing by the intercom, waiting for her before he pushes the button to signal the bridge. When someone answers, she tells them she is looking for Dr. Li, and they grudgingly send the bridge around, causing the structure to vibrate slightly as it moves.

Charon glances at her while they are waiting. His stare is as blank as always, but like his other looks she can sense that there is some feeling there.

“Got something to say?” she asks. Charon looks away.

“That was a waste of water.” he replies. The bridge snaps into place with a groan and they are able to start across to the deck of the giant ship.

Gal snorts at his pragmatism, but she's not surprised. Charon seems like the type of person that would find a little kindness unreasonable.

“It wasn't a waste to him.” she tells him. They reach the end of the bridge, where a sentry is standing guard in front of two heavy metal doors.

“Hold it right there.” he orders before they get two steps onto the carrier. Gal stops obediently, annoyed but smiling her agreeable smile.

“You didn't say you had a zombie with you.” he growls, gesturing to Charon with his rifle (as if she would be confused about who he was referring too). Gal glances at Charon but he doesn't seem to take any more offense to the slight than anything else said in his presence.

“He's my companion.” she says to the guard, digging out a bag of caps for the bribe she knows will be necessary. “He's not dangerous.”

She tosses him the bag, and the sentry catches it and carefully opens it to examine the caps inside. He doesn't look convinced, but a hundred caps is probably a lot for a sentry, so finally he sets the bag down and motions them in.

“If he causes problems, it's your ass, not mine.”

Gal gives him a dirty look as she passes but she doesn't want to sabotage her chances at getting into Rivet City, so she keeps her mouth shut.

Rivet City is small and claustrophobic, with thin hallways and tiny rooms. She is half afraid that Charon will get his broad shoulders stuck in a corridor; the mental picture is enough to surprise a laugh out of her.

She nearly gets them lost looking for a place to stay, even with the signs posted in the stairwell, but they eventually find the Weatherly Hotel and get a room from the blessedly bias-free Mister Gutsy at the counter.

“This room has only one bed, I trust that is acceptable?” the Mister Gutsy asks with a whir. He's clearly not programmed to reply with discriminatory remarks in the presence of a ghoul, which is reason #87 Gal likes robots way better than people.

“You don't have any others?” she asks. The robot swings its body back and forth in semblance of a head shake, so she sighs and takes the key it produces with no further complaint.

The bed is big enough for two, with a little room left over. Gal dumps her bag to one side and motions him to do the same. She knows that she needs to go find Doctor Li, but she can't help but flop back on the bed for a minute, groaning at the softness of the mattress on her bruised, achy body. It even has sheets and a blanket, which is a nice change from the dirty, sometimes bloody mattresses or the cold hard ground that she's been sleeping on ever since she left the Vault.

“This is nice.” she tells Charon, who has taken a seat at the table in the corner and is staring at the blank wall. “Do you care about sharing a bed? It's pretty big.”

He looks over at her and blinks once. “I will do as you command.”

Gal rolls her eyes and sits up to begin shrugging her armour off, dumping it on the floor in a heap.

“You may regret that statement when you wake up and I'm drooling on your pillow or something.” she says drily. “Turn around.”

Charon takes it a step further and retreats to the bathroom while she strips her shirt off and shrugs another on, wishing she had time to just jump into a bath right here and now. But she's eager to see if Dr. Li has met with her father, so once she's done changing and scraping her hair back into a rough ponytail, she lets Charon know she's done and quickly shifts all off their sell-able items into her pack so she can stop by the marketplace if she has time. With Charon by her side, she'd been able to salvage much more valuable items, which meant that for the first time since she came to the Wasteland, she might have a little money to spare.

Charon is slurping water directly from the rusty faucet in the bathroom, which makes Gal frown in confusion. She checks his pack over and notes that he doesn't have any water bottles; she hadn't thought to give him any, and he hadn't asked. Come to think of it, he hasn't asked her for anything yet, and they've been traveling together for a day and a half already. He hadn't brought anything with him but whatever he had stashed in his clothes and his rifle.

He hadn't eaten the instamash she'd dug out last night either, though he'd heaped her dish with it. He'd automatically laid down on the floor when she told him to sleep, instead of the mattress. And then he'd watched her give out a bottle of purified water to a desolate man in the wasteland after having none of his own all day and walked into the room to drink out of the rusty bathroom faucet.

She suddenly gets the sense that what she'd taken for obstinence was something very different. Different and more gut-roiling.

“Charon,” she calls carefully, “I'm splitting the food and water with you in case you want some.” she takes an assortment of food and shoves it into his pack with a couple bottles of water, hoping that's enough of a go-ahead for him to actually take advantage. “I'm going to the Science Lab to meet with Doctor Li, and then I'll probably go to the Marketplace.” she continues as she dons her own pack and shoves her pistol down the front of her pants. “You can hang out here and do whatever, I don't think I'll be gone that long. Take a bath or a nap or something.”

He nods once, which is good enough for her. She shuts the door behind her, wondering again if he will still be around when she comes back, and takes off for the Science Lab, hoping that Dr. Li has good news for her.

–

Dr. Li's news about Gal's father is good in that he is alive, but frustrating in that she was heading the wrong direction; her dad had left Rivet City days ago, headed for the Jefferson City memorial. If she had known that while she was in Underworld, she might have been able to catch him, but for now she's still chasing a specter. Still, it's good to know that he's alive and well, and her stop in the Marketplace is very lucrative. A few patrons and shopkeepers have heard about her companion and give her unasked-for opinions of what they think of 'brain-eating zombies', but she gives one a piece of her mind and the other accidentally trips over her foot, and after that they keep their opinions to themselves. She even has a special surprise that she hopes will cheer her stoic companion up.

“Charon?” she calls through the closed door, knocking for good measure. She imagines he would just give her that blank look if she walked in on him naked, but she's only slightly familiar with male anatomy and doesn't want to give that information away by doing something embarrassing like blushing or staring. Gal wonders briefly if penis size is related to height, then has a cruel thought about its condition which she mentally kicks herself for. Clearly, she needs to spend some time at the bar and find a guy to take these randy thoughts out of her mind. Maybe when they reach Megaton, when she has a room to herself, she can do something about that.

Charon is sitting in the same chair when she walks in, though his clothes and the patches of hair on his head are damp with water. So he's followed her advice and showered. She remembers that he does not have another set of clothes with him and vows to make sure he finds some tomorrow. She's not sure if he even had anything else to bring from his old haunt, but regardless, it's her responsibility to take care of him and wow that's a weird thought.

“Unfortunately, we've got some ground to cover tomorrow.” she says as she enters the room.

“We have to go west to the Jefferson Memorial. But, in other news -” she digs around in her pack and pulls out two warm, covered containers, “I got a good price on our salvage and picked up some dinner! Iguana, beans, and some snack cakes for dessert. Oh, and here's your pay.” she pulls out the bag of caps she's counted out and tosses it to Charon, who catches it reflexively.

Charon shakes his head and sets jangling bag on the table, pushing it away from him.

“I do not require pay.” he tells her, to her surprise.

Gal raises an eyebrow. “You don't require pay? That's part of the contract? What do you live on between contracts, then?” she asks, setting the containers of food and the box of snack cakes on the table between them. She had assumed that she would cover the costs of room and board for him as long as she was employing him, but she hadn't imagined that he would refuse payment. She had been steadfastly ignoring the information she'd received from Azrukhal about Charon's circumstances, but it was difficult to ignore the signs when he refused to ask for basic life-sustaining necessities and told her that past employers literally ordered him not to speak.

“I have never been without an employer.” he explains, reaching for the containers. He sets one in front of her seat and takes the other for himself. Spoon appearing from the recesses of one of his pockets, he begins eating the steaming mess mechanically.

Gal bites down a sigh of frustration and goes back to her pack, hoping her other surprise will go over better. If it doesn't, she's indulging by herself and she's not going to feel bad about it.

“Well, I also brought back beer and whiskey. Is alcohol consumption part of your contract?” she asks pointedly. She carries the six pack and the bottle of liquor over to the table and screws the top off the bottle, splashing a few fingers into a glass. It goes down her throat with a pleasant bite and the taste of fire.

“I will do as you command me.” Charon says robotically between bites of his dinner. It seems to be his favourite phrase. She resists the urge to smack him in favour of pouring more whiskey and pushes the rest of the alcohol towards him.

“I command you to decide like a grown damn man if you want alcohol and then drink it. If you don't want it, there's water in your pack, and I'll get drunk all by myself and you can stay grumpy.” she growls. Then she uncovers her food and starts eating with gusto, because they hadn't stopped for lunch and she's pretty sure her stomach is eating itself.

Charon pauses for a moment, then pulls a beer from the six pack and pops the top off on the edge of the table. When Gal looks up from her food, the bottle is empty, and Charon is reaching for another. She hides her satisfied smile in a large chunk of iguana.

They eat and drink in almost companionable silence for a long while. Gal drinks half the bottle of whiskey probably faster than she should, and Charon kills the six pack with her blessing and starts helping her with the whiskey with no more prompting. She tries to be sly as she watches the way his exposed muscle shifts when he swallows, but the more alcohol she drinks, the worse she knows she is at hiding her curiousity at the medical wonder that is a ghoul.

“How long's it been since you had a drink? Bet Azrukhal didn't part with any of his liquor for you.” Gal asks with a boldness she doesn't have when she's sober. Charon takes a swallow of his drink and sets his glass down heavily; she thinks he's also pretty buzzed, but it's hard to tell.

“A long time.” Charon replies. Gal gives him a look that says she isn't humoured by his brief answer. He must be feeling pretty good, because he elaborates without any more prodding from her.

“When I was employed by Azrukhal, I was on duty whenever I was not sleeping. There was not time to drink. It has been... a long time.” he says. Gal suddenly gets the feeling that he may actually not be able to remember the last time he drank. She is suddenly glad that she thought of this.

“How many... employers have you had?” she prods, forgoing her empty glass to drink straight from the bottle. Life is too short to bother with cups, she thinks, especially because she thinks it might have broke when she missed the table and threw it on the floor.

“Dozens.” he replies. “I have been bound by my contract for most of my life. Ghouls live very long lives.”

Gal takes another drink and pushes the whiskey back towards him under the guise of getting him to help her with the bottle. In truth, she's hoping he will finish it because she's drunk just under two thirds of the bottle by herself and more seems like a bad idea.

“That's ironic. Seems like that much radiation would do the ossopite. The op – opposite. G'on, take a drink, I don't have cooties.”

He does, and when he goes to return the bottle to her, she waves it off hazily. Gal notices that Charon is swaying slightly, and she silently gives herself a point for not being the only drunk one at the table. Even though he can still say words correctly. She'd be worried if he could down a six pack and a quarter bottle of whiskey without being affected, freakish largeness aside.

“Does it hurt?” she asks suddenly. “Being a Ghoul? Looks like it would.”

Charon opens his mouth slightly, then upends the bottle over his mouth and drains it in one long swallow. She swears that he is either putting off the question or gaining the courage to answer it, but she is too drunk to regret asking it. She will regret tomorrow.

“The process is... painful.” he starts, fingering a patch of exposed muscle on his forearm. “The body begins to decay, but eventually, the radiation reverses the process. It cannot repair the damage that has been done, but it stops the destruction of the cells. I do not feel pain now unless I receive a fresh wound, just like a regular human.”

“Huh.” Gal says loquaciously. Her drunken mind tells her to reach out and feel his arm, but her sober mind is present enough to remind her this is a bad idea, so she keeps her hands to herself.

“D'you wanna ask me a question?” she says, propping her head up on her hand to keep her curious fingers busy. “Go on, ask me something. Anything.”

Charon gives her that blank look that is not blank. She is beginning to think that it is his cover up for his private thoughts, perfected over who knows how much time of servitude. He stares at her for a few long moments, enough that she begins to squirm uncomfortably in her chair under the scrutiny, though she fights the urge as long as she can. Charon can probably smell fear, like a wolf. He can probably-

“Why did you buy my contract.” he asks flatly. She starts at the sudden, almost accusatory question, then grins woozily.

“For the conversation, duh.” she replies, unable to resist the urge to mess with him a little. His flat look is unamused.

“Okay, okay, geez, cool it. I needed someone to help me carry my stuff and to watch my back in the wasteland. Trying to make it by yourself is rough, and I'm not very experienced. And...” she takes a deep breath, “I just... din't like the way Azrukhal talked to you. You're pretty good at the blank face, but I figured if I was you, I'd be miserable, working for a dipshit like him.” she grins again, thinking of Azrukhal exploded on the ground. “I think I was right.” she finishes.

Charon doesn't smile or blink or do anything to betray his feelings, but she thinks she sees his shoulders relax the barest fraction. He gets up almost immediately and begins gathering up the trash on the table, wobbling only slightly as he bends over the table.

“You may need an army to carry all the things you wish to salvage.” he says as he dumps the trash into a crate in the corner that works as a trash can. She stops and gapes.

“Was that... a joke?” Gal says incredulously. Charon busies himself lining up the packs and moving her armour from the middle of the floor, and does not reply.

She laughs and abandons the table to stumble towards the bed. When she flops onto it, it's with all the grace of a two-legged cat, but the pleasantness of the pillow mushed under her cheek keeps her from caring.

“All right, smartass, I'll make sure your pack is heavier in the future. Now let's get some sleep, since you drank all the booze, you lush.”

He slides in to the bed obediently with no more smart remarks, leaving a good foot of space between her and him. She gives him the blanket and wraps up in the sheets, closing her eyes so the alcohol can lull her to sleep. She knew when she received the contract that Charon wasn't really a robot, she muses, but she never thought he could be funny.

Chapter Text

They get up the next morning, Gal groaning from the assault the bright light makes on her eyes. If Charon is affected by a hangover, he doesn't show it. Gal in contrast finds no shame in nearly braining herself on the wall and sucking down a few bottles of water like a camel. Then she injects herself with a med-x and sighs in relief as the pounding in her temples begins to ease.

They restock on supplies before they leave, including a spare set of clothes and a real pack for Charon. She demands he put them on so she can see about repairing his armour as well. It's hard not to giggle when she sees how short the trousers are on him. Apparently they don't make clothes for men who are pushing almost seven feet tall anymore. He stands still while she examines the clothes, but when she crouches over to tug on the bottom of the trousers, he jerks his foot back reflexively, nearly causing her to fall over.

“Quit twitching, you tall thing.” she chastises, flicking his boot with her fingers. “I'm not going to molest your ankle or anything, I just want to see if these can be let out any.”

Grudgingly, he slides his foot back into place, and Gal makes a silent note to herself that he doesn't like to be touched. She checks the hemming on the trousers with extra care not to brush his skin.

His armour comes back in much better shape, having been pretty worn from his time with Azrukhal, and she gets her weapons looked at as well just in case. Charon assures her that he can repair his own weapons, so she buys the kit and the spare parts that he recommends and lets him get to it. She also splits her stimpacks with him and gives him stern orders to use them if he gets injured.

They head west towards the Jefferson Memorial, going slowly because the traders in Rivet City have told her that the area hasn't been explored in a long time, and they're not certain what dangers they'll encounter. The caution aids them when they nearly stumble right in to a group of Super Mutants who are being strangely quiet, but they still manage to get the jump on them and take them out with the aid of multiple grenades. The gear that super mutants carry makes up for it; she walks away with several hunting rifles and an assault rifle, though she has to leave a shiny-but-heavy minigun behind.

The trip takes two days altogether. There's no missing the Memorial, though; it's a mass of bright white stone, surrounded by fence and scaffolding. Giant pipes snake their way into the main entrance, barring entry, but after some searching, they find a smaller entrance to a gift shop that might have another way in.

“There will likely be more enemies here.” Charon cautions as they approach the entrance. Gal nods in response. When they reach the door, she grabs the handle and he slides in to place, shotgun at the ready, in case there's something waiting for them behind the door.

She swings it open quickly but stops it from slamming against the wall, so no creepy-crawlies further into the memorial are alerted to their presence. The door swings open to reveal a long corridor, and something down the way, large and hulking, ducks out of site.

“Shit,” Gal says lowly, and Charon ducks to the other side of the door, because his shotgun will never reach the super mutant that's hiding down there. The first doorway is at least 20 yards down the hallway, way too far to make a run for it.

A few shots ping off the walls inside. Gal fires a few back but she knows they won't hit. The mutants have the upper hand; they are defending their territory, and Gal and Charon need to get in, so it's going to be far harder for them than it will for the muties. They're at a stalemate.

“Any other ways in?” she asks across the doorway. Charon is mirroring her pose, back flat against the wall as the bullets ping along the walls and come flying through the open doorway.

“No.” he replies with a grimace. She doesn't know why she asked; she knew the answer already.

“Shit.” she curses. “Any suggestions?” she asks desperately.

Charon ducks his head in and nearly gets it shot off in the process. He flattens back against the side of the gift shop and takes a deep breath.

“Throw a grenade. Not too hard or it'll roll right past him. Then we rush the hallway, so they can't pin us down at this doorway again.”

Gal fumbles a grenade from her side and pulls the pin, careful to keep the lever depressed. She lobs it gently down the hallway, keeping as much of her body behind the safety of the hallway as possible. A few moments of silence, then a deafening explosion goes off. Hot air and a few pieces of debris blow past them through the doorway.

They rush the doorway as smoke courses through the corridor. No more bullets fly, so Charon starts forward, hugging one side so Gal came cover him with her rifle. There's a piece of mutant leg lying in the hallway, bleeding sluggishly onto the floor.

The hallway diverges off to the left and the right where the body of the mutant lays, shrapnel sticking from his torso and arms. They can see no immediate threat in the area, so Charon stands watch while she frisks the corpse.

When more gunshots sound off to the right, Gal tumbles back to the safety of the upper corridor, Charon slinking beside her in a much more dignified manner. Only a few bullets come their way, and when she peeks her head in again she sees there's an automated turret engaging a group of mutants. They're raging at it, but it's clearly winning the battle, which is good for her and Charon.

Mounted to the wall just before the doorway is a computer monitor. The screen is intact, so there's a chance it could still have juice. If she can access the protocols for the turret, she can get it to help them out and maybe they'll come out of this mostly intact.

“Charon, cover me!” she hisses to him, “I'm going to hack that turret!”

He bellies up to the lip of the door while she works the computer frantically, inputting commands as fast as she can. A lot of tech knowledge was lost in the war 200 years ago, so any computers still left working had been rewritten in simpler programming for the use of wasteland tech-heads like Gal to mess with. The Memorial clearly used to be well-kept, because the defenses are more sophisticated than she's used to, but she is confident she can figure out the password, given the time.

She's never tried it under fire though.

A bullet grazes her ear, and she hisses in pain and ducks her head. She has to continue typing and keep her cool, or they're going to get fucked up. She sees the turret turning towards Charon out of the corner of her eye just as she hits the enter key; it chimes her success and rotates back towards a super mutant, releasing a barrage of bullets. The super mutant roars in agony but goes down.

The room is chaos. Mutants are swarming everywhere, trying to shoot down the turret, taking potshots at Charon and Gal. It makes them easier targets for the pair, so Gal is able to take a few down with sprays of bullets. Charon ducks through the doorway, keeping to cover, and blows the head of one mutant straight off its shoulders.

Something slams into Gal's arm, hard, and her arm begins to burn with an intensity that makes her scream in pain. She nearly drops the rifle when her arm stops responding but manages to catch it at the last second without shooting her foot off. She rolls forward, behind a pile of sandbags, and scrambles for her pistol. The rifle's useless now that she can't use her right arm. Shaking with pain, she steadies the pistol on top of the sandbag barrier and takes aim at the mutant that had snuck up behind her, struggling to aim with her left hand.

Still, the shot takes him in the shoulder, and luck draws the turret to him before he can retaliate against Gal. The turret makes mincemeat of his chest. He shakes the floor as he hits it, rifle clattering next to him.

Her vision is swimming with the pain of holding herself up with her bum arm. Gritting her teeth, she searches the room, but Charon takes out the last mutant as she watches, so she is able to slump down and cradle her arm, trying to blink back involuntary tears.

She hates being shot. That's a baby thing to say, but she usually doesn't have anyone around to hear her whining as she treats her wounds.

Charon searches the immediate area, deems it clear, and crosses to Gal. His sharp intake of breath tells her that he has noticed the way she's bleeding all over herself. Kneeling next to her, he pulls a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and holds it in front of her face.

“Bite down.” the ghoul commands. “It'll keep you from making noise.”

Gal does as she's told, grinding her teeth into the dirty cloth as Charon gently moves her arm so he can examine the bloody hole. The burning is painful, but she is able to grit her teeth into the handkerchief without making much noise, and she takes advantage of that.

“The bullet passed through.” he tells her. She sighs in relief. She doesn't like people digging around in her arm, even if it's so she doesn't die. She can't imagine Charon's giant fingers being any good at delicate jobs like bullet removal.

“I need to make sure the building is clear. You must stay here. I'm taking your rifle.” she shakes her head no, but head shakes must not count as a real order. Charon binds the wound quickly with a bandage from their supply to stop the bleeding and tells her to stay where she is. He rigs his shotgun up quickly with a tripwire for one entrance, then digs in her pack for her stash of frag mines to cover the other door. Then he disappears.

Gal is left with her pistol awkwardly balancing across her legs. The bandage on her arm is welcome but causes a hard throbbing that leaves her light headed. She hopes Charon is quick, but the minutes drag on, and the quiet and lack of movement leave her with nothing to focus on but the pain. At one point, there is gunfire, and Gal almost jerks to her feet. She can't pass through the safety measures that Charon has set, though, so she settles back and prays. The silence is oppressive.

After what feels like decades, the sound of heavy footfalls alert her to someone approaching. She jerks to the ready, pistol aimed at the doorway where the mines are set, and hopes that it is not more super mutants.

“It's me.” Charon calls before he rounds the corner. Gal sighs in relief and lowers the pistol, and Charon quickly disarms the mines and scoops them up, setting them down next to Gal's pack.

“The area is clear. I need to treat your wound.” he tells her.

She groans, knowing this will hurt. “Sorry, wasn't watching my six.” she apologizes. He doesn't acknowledge her statement and goes straight for the bandage. Unwinding it, he crouches close to see the hole.

Gal is suddenly aware of how big Charon really is, as he attempts to curl his bulk in by her side to examine the damage. It's like having a yao guai in her space; she knows that he is not dangerous, but some feral instinct in her wants to shy away from his largeness and protect itself. Gal resists the urge lest he take it the wrong way and lets him prod the wound lightly, trying to keep her hissing to a minimum.

“It passed through muscle only, which is good. Once it's disinfected, most of the damage can be healed with a few stimpaks.” he says. His hands on her arm are large and strangely warm, warmer than she thought they'd be. The palms feel rough against her skin.

“There's some vodka in my pack.” she pants. “That'll work.”

Charon reaches out and snags the top of her pack with one large finger, dragging it around her body so he can pilfer it for the vodka. “It will suffice. Do you wish to bite down on the handkerchief again?”

She shakes her head, so he uncaps the vodka and pours a generous amount on the wound. The pain makes her want to cry out again, but instead she bites her lip and slams her fist into the sandbag wall behind her repeatedly until it subsides. He prepares a stimpack and injects it just above the site of the wound, and after the initial pinch, the pain begins to dull. She can see the meat in her arm knitting itself back together as she watches, which is both morbid and fascinating. Charon waits for the healing to slow, then injects another stimpak to continue the process. When that one is done, the wound is just a puffy and tender scar.

She knows she stills needs to let it heal, so she uses her left hand to push to her feet, stumbling slightly from a sudden bout of dizziness.

“Thanks.” she says, leaning heavily on the sandbags while her balance catches up to her. “That would have been a bitch to do myself.”

“It is my fault you were injured. Next time, you should send me ahead of you so I can clear the way and ensure your safety. “ he replies, replacing the mines in her pack and picking both packs up.

Gal gives him a flat look. “That's not going to happen. I'm not going to sit around while you put yourself in danger for my sake. That's not why I hired you.”

Charon pauses right in the middle of disarming his shotgun trap. It is just for a moment, but she notices, though he tries to hide it by pretending that he is checking his firearm. Gal wonders how often people have used him as their personal robot bodyguard without any concern for his safety. Judging by the scars that she has seen on his intact skin, it has been a common occurrence. She's certain Azrukhal would never have risked his own skin when he had Charon to do it for him.

The thought makes a flash of guilt run through her. She is not Azrukhal, but that doesn't change the fact that she bought Charon's contract and dragged him in to danger for her own selfish reasons. It has been easy to forget that he is bound to obey any order she gives. She's pushed the thoughts away after quickly making peace with it during her talk with Azrukhal, but now that she has time to do some reflection, it's there in the front of her mind.

A contract is a fancy word that usually means services rendered over a period of time for equal pay. There's no period of time on Charon's contract. He doesn't receive pay. He doesn't choose his employer. He throws himself into danger for her because she owns a little piece of paper that she can't even read. Charon may call them 'employers', but there's a better phrase for it.

Slave owner.

She's not certain what about this situation causes her to suddenly come to terms with this, but the realization turns her stomach. She wants desperately to vomit. She owns a slave. She owns another human being.

Charon is watching her carefully. She finds that she is bracing herself heavily on the sandbag wall, so she tries to straighten up and push the nausea down. Now is not the time to think about this, not while there's work to do. Maybe, if she's lucky, she can find a nice little corner somewhere to beat herself up in and regret her foolish choices. Shaking her head, Gal turns to head further into the gift shop.

“Your wound will take a few hours to heal completely.” Charon says from behind her cautiously.

Gal shakes her head. “If my father is here, I need to find him. I can't waste any more time.”

They comb the shop in silence, finding several first aid kits to raid and a wealth of weapons and ammo left behind by the super mutants who have no more use of them. At the very back of the shop, there is a door with a sign next to it that proclaims it leads to the 'rotunda'. Gal nods to it, and they repeat the same scenario as with the first door.

Inside, there is only one super mutant, which seems an easy task compared to the chaos they'd faced before. Gal pins it down while Charon slinks in, gets close, and blasts it in the face. The mutant crashes backwards to the ground and rolls off the walkway, lifeless.

They listen carefully for any more movement, but there is nothing. Still, they are careful as they ascend the metal stairway and patrol the walkways, looking for signs of life. All is quiet.

Gal searches desperately for any sign of where her father could be, and finally stumbles on a few unmarked holotapes lying on top of a machine. She gathers them carefully and heads back towards the gift shop so she can listen to them in safety.

“I need to see if there's anything on these. Can you keep watch?” she asks, though the dark recesses of her mind remind her that it's not really a request. Charon just nods and sets the frag mines up again, settling at the opposite entrance with his shotgun.

She does not realize she's holding her breath until she hears her father's voice and lets out a sigh of relief. Gal has been too busy to realize how much she misses him, but his warm tenor brings a gush of emotion up that makes her throat seize up.

He has been here, and left again. Most of the holotapes are dedicated to his 'Project Purity', which Gal knows is the quest to create pure water on a large scale for the wastelands. The Jefferson memorial had been their research grounds, before her father left with her to take refuge in Vault 101. He is looking for something called a GECK, which can 'create life out of pure lifelessness.' That sounds far-fetched to Gal, but her dad is a smart man and if he believes that it exists, she can believe it too.

Gal has always been close to her father, being the only family she had growing up. He knows her better than anyone else in the entire world; he understands her dry sense of humour, and why she kept it hidden around the other Vault residents. He knows about the time Butch put her up against a wall, and how she'd kneed him so hard in the balls he'd cried. Butch tried to tell him it came from rough-housing with his gang, and her dad had told him that if it ever happened again he wouldn't have anything left to get hurt. He always supported her overt interest in tech, even though the G.O.A.T. had assigned her the job of 'clinical test subject' and she'd been teased for the tinkering she was always doing on her Pipboy.

She also knows, though, that he never really understood some parts of her. Like how she hated the Vault, telling him that she was 'festering and rotting' every day that she spent in class learning how great the Overseer was. That makes more sense now, knowing that neither she nor her parents were Vault-bred. And he never knew the depth of the pieces of herself she'd kept hidden when he begged her to try to fit in, the things that have made her wildly successful in the Capital Wasteland. There'd been a type of catharsis the first time she'd told someone to go fuck himself, though taking care of the resulting rage had involved a lot of blood and some retching on her part.

She hopes that her father will still be proud of her when she strides in with a rifle in her hands and blood on her boots.

Luckily, he gives her a direct clue to his next destination: Vault 112, west of a place called Evergreen Mills. She knows that someone in Megaton has mentioned it to her and that it is a few days travel west of the town. She decides that they will head back to Megaton to rest, restock, and get better directions. The trip will take the better part of a week but she feels safer in Megaton than anywhere else, and better, she will not have to pay for a room or sleep on a bloody mattress.

“Hey, Charon,” she says, looking up at her companion, “it's getting late, is this a safe place to -”

She stops when she notices a large, dark blotch of blood on the back of the ghoul's armour. Blood isn't uncommon on their clothing, but it would be difficult to get it on the back. Besides, it's hard to miss the giant piece of something sticking out of the skin beneath his ripped and dirty shirt, leaking sluggishly still.

“Holy shit!” Gal exclaims, jumping up to her feet. Catching herself just in time, she stops well away from Charon and examines the wound from a distance, keeping her hands to herself. It appears to be a piece of rebar, likely driven in by a super mutant or a misstep during the chaos of the first fight. That means that it's been in there for at least an hour or so, the entire time they were searching the rotunda and trudging back here to listen to the holotapes. It's still bleeding freely, though Charon gives no sign that it pains him.

“Why didn't you tell me you were injured?” Gal demands, a tinge of anger in her voice.

Charon keeps his gaze focused down the hallway and shrugs. “It is not impeding my ability to protect you. I had planned to remove it when we were in a safe area and you had no need of me for a moment.”

If Gal hadn't already been feeling bad about her stint as a slaver, this would have driven the point home. The minute she'd had an injury, a measly gunshot wound, he'd rushed to her side to fix it, while she whined about the pain. She feels the sick, nauseated feeling rise again in her stomach, and stomps it viciously back down so she can focus on the task at hand.

“Come here. I thought I told you to tell me about things like this.”

Charon turns and approaches her obediently. She cannot believe the calmness in his face because there is a giant piece of fucking rebar sticking out of his back.

“You instructed me to ask you if I was unsure of what my orders were, and to make my best judgment if the situation did not permit asking. In this case, as I could not remove it myself immediately and it was not causing any degradation in my abilities, I chose to wait to remove it.”

“Wrong judgement. We're taking it out. You're going to have to take your armour off.” she says firmly. She points to a mattress on the floor and Charon sits and reaches for the buckles to his chest plate. Kneeling in front of him, Gal bats his hands away and reaches for the buckles herself, ignoring the way he stiffens in her presence. She knows that he doesn't like her being this close, but she's angry and frustrated for a multitude of reasons.

Gal holds the shoulder plates of his armour with one hand so once the straps are loose, they won't fall and jostle the wound, then lifts the whole piece carefully over his head. Then she reaches for the connected chest and back piece. The rebar has stuck in a space between the two pieces of armour, so she doesn't have to worry about trying to cut it off, which is relieving.

“Lift your arm a little. I don't get it, Charon, at first I thought you were just being sullen but I can't imagine you moving around with a wound like this just to be obstinate. Why didn't you say something? The worst I could have said is 'suck it up, buttercup.' Which I would NOT have, by the way.”

Charon stares directly ahead, refusing to meet her eyes though she's crouched right in front of him. Everything, from the set of his mouth to the angle of his torso, is rigid and unmoving.

“You have given me little guidance in the performance of my duties.” Charon says roughly as she carefully removes the chest and back piece. “In such a case, it is necessary for me to revert to the orders of previous employers to determine my course of action. In most cases, my employers preferred for me to secure their safety before I administered self-aid.”

Gal looks at him in shock. Her hands drop to her sides.

“Are you telling me...” she begins slowly, “that the majority of your masters allowed you to walk around with serious, possibly life-threatening injuries, so that they would be SAFER?”

The shock in her voice is apparent.

“Yes.” Charon says shortly.

Gal shakes her head, unable to speak, and moves behind him. From the waist up, the only thing he is wearing now is a thin black t-shirt, the hole around the wound ragged and torn. The set of his shoulders stiffens as she moves out of his direct sight.

“I think I can lift your shirt over the rebar, which'll be easier than cutting it off.” she tells him, to warn him of what she's about to do. “Hey, it's good we bought you a spare set of clothes, huh?”

The joke falls flat in the seriousness of the situation. Sighing, she picks up the hem of his shirt and begins lifting it towards the wound so she can pull it off without snagging it on the rebar.

Though she doesn't so much as brush his skin, Charon flinches so hard that she nearly recoils, but she manages to keep her hands steady and not tug on fabric. She stops and waits for him to stiffen again, and carefully maneuvers the shirt around the metal. When the shirt is over his head, she lets go so he can slide it off completely. He balls it up and holds it with both hands tightly; a nervous tic, she thinks.

“I want you to lay down on the mattress with your arms at your sides. It'll make it easier for me to take the rebar out without causing any more damage.” she tells him, moving away.

“This is unnecessary. I am able to tend the wound without aid.” Charon says tightly. It is the closest he has come so far to refusing an order and it pains Gal to force him into anything, but she knows the only reason he's refusing is because he dislikes her closeness, and that's not a good enough reason for her to let him traumatize a wound that is already so serious.

“You can't even reach it, and if you pull it out at that angle, it'll cause more damage. Lay down and let me do it, I'll make it quick.”

She imagines that she can see the muscle fibers in his back straining to disobey, but he lays face-down on the mattress without another word. Still, he turns his head to the side so he can watch her every move, and though she's pretty certain that she's safe, it feels a little like approaching a poisonous snake that's poised to strike.

Gal fetches the first aid box and sets everything she'll need out in a neat line, so once the metal is removed she can work quickly and not prolong the pain. When she's ready, she turns her body to Charon and drops a piece of clean cloth on his back to stanch the bleeding after the rebar is removed.

“I'm going to give you a dose of med-x to dull the pain, then I'll need to put a hand on your back when I remove the rebar so I can minimize further damage. Once it's removed, I'll clean the wound, apply stimpacks to the trauma site, and keep pressure on it until the bleeding slows.” she tells him in her best professional voice. It sounds like what her father would say, in her place. She knows Charon is familiar with the first aid process but in his case especially, it's important that he anticipates her actions. She knows that he could buck her off with little effort and she's not entirely sure he won't.

Gal gives him the med-x injection with no problem and waits a few minutes to let the anesthetic take hold. She gives him a verbal warning that she is going to remove the rebar, then sets one hand firmly on his lower back, giving him a moment to adjust to the touch before she continues. He is still as stone under her fingertips, but she finds that his skin feels... different than she'd thought. It's tough, like old leather, and the patches of bare muscle have a dry, fibrous feel, like a million pieces of small, warm wire. Nothing is soft or wet, and she mentally slaps herself for subconsciously believing Nova's quips about ghoul flesh being squishy. She should know better, but in some ways she is unconsciously a bigot like anyone else.

Carefully, she wraps her hand around the rebar and pulls it out in as straight as a path as she can. The bloody piece of metal is at least five inches long. Charon lets out a muffled groan of pain, but he doesn't try to push her off or move away, which is relieving. Before the wound can well up too much, she presses the clean cloth down on it, throws the rebar off into a corner, and grabs for the uncapped vodka. Charon hisses when it hits the wound, but he keeps still below her hands, which is a blessing. Keeping her pace as quick as possible, she moves to the stimpacks, trying to hurry to spare him any more discomfort. The stimpack goes directly into the muscle above the wound, and she holds pressure on the puncture while she waits for the flesh to knit together so he doesn't experience any more blood loss.

“You okay?” she asks her patient.

“I am fine.” Charon replies, though his eyes are screwed shut. She wonders if it's the pain or the touch that causes that. She's never met someone that resists touch so violently, but then, she knows nothing about the life Charon's led. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that with masters like Azrukhal, there's any number of reasons that someone would shy away from skin-on-skin contact.

The wound takes three stimpacks in total before it becomes just a red, raised scar under her hands. The minute she lifts her hands away, Charon pushes up from the mattress and darts away. She'd expected no less, just turns to the first aid kit and packs it all back neatly, giving him the privacy he appears to be looking for.

By the time everything is put away, Charon has redressed, redonned his armour, and is again standing watch at the unprotected entrance. Gal gets the distinct feeling that whatever headway she thought they'd made yesterday is gone with the rebar she'd yanked out of his back. The air between them is frosty, and Gal is unsure what to do.

“If you wish to stay here for the night, I will take watch.” Charon calls.

“Yeah, okay.” Gal agrees, laying her rifle alongside the bare mattress and curling up. She faces away from Charon and stares at the wall, trying to sort through the events of the day. Her slave has been injured due to her selfishness, and he believed that she did not care enough to even let him stop and tend to it. Her own arm throbs still from its bullet hole. Her father is still somewhere in the wasteland, lost and alone, and all she can do is chase his shadow and hope.

Chapter Text

The trip to Megaton is awkward and full of silence. Gal has them pass through the Arlington Library, which is just west of the Jefferson Memorial, in order to finish her research for Moira's book, and both are nearly shot by the Brotherhood of Steel on entry to the building. Still, a Brotherhood scribe offers them 100 caps for each intact book they find and that does a little to brighten her spirits. She finds everything that Moira has requested, receives 800 caps for the books, and moves on.

When they encounter their first batch of feral ghouls near Hubris Comics, she is at first afraid that Charon will refuse to fight, but he mows the ghouls down like any other enemy, face blank. She wishes he were easier to read, but the most she's gotten out of him since the incident at Jefferson memorial is one word answers and a few terse questions about orders.

They stumble into Megaton on the fifth day, dirty and tired from the long journey, but luck does not let them slip into her house unnoticed. When they reach the beginning of the downward slope into Megaton, she notes that Sheriff Simms is waiting at the bottom of hill, arms crossed in a way that she knows is not good.

“Afternoon, Gal.” he calls as they approach, his voice calm but wary. He's got his hat tipped down to cover one eye, but like always, his beard is groomed neatly and the sheriff's badge on his chest is polished to a shine. Gal has a lot of respect for Simms, and that's the only reason she doesn't blow past him and straight to her house to pass out.

“Hey, Sheriff. Good to see a friendly face.” she says back, forcing a smile. He returns it politely but looks immediately to Charon, as she knew he would. Simms isn't one to beat around the bush.

“Who's this tall drink of water?” he asks. Gal blesses him for his tact.

“This is Charon. I hired him in Underworld to help me with salvage and to watch my back.” she replies, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. She had not thought about whether Megaton would object to Charon's presence, but she is suddenly worried that Simms will tell her Charon isn't welcome. Sure, there's one ghoul in town already, but that ghoul isn't toting around a combat shotgun, looking like he's capable of massacring the town if he gets the itch.

“A merc, then.” he says, slowly. Gal doesn't correct him. “You a troublemaker, Charon?”

“Talk to Gal.” Charon says shortly, which makes Gal wince. It is the same phrase he'd used on her, the first time she'd tried to talk to him. A reminder, though she doubts he meant it that way. Still, it stings.

“He's not going to cause any trouble.” Gal tells Simms, praying that he believes her. “If he's not with me, he'll be in the house, so he won't have a chance to.”

Simms looks Charon up and down one more time, but nods eventually. Gal breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“You've done a lot for this town, Gal, so I'll take your word on this one. But the first sign of any trouble and it's on your head.”

Gal nods, with a real smile this time. “I understand, Simms. We'll be good.”

When she moves to walk past him though, he grabs her arm lightly and she stops in confusion.

“Gal,” he says softly, tipping his hat towards her, “People are gonna talk.” When she gives him a questioning look, he glances from her to Charon and raises an eyebrow. She catches his meaning.

“People talk about Gob and Moriarty too.” she replies coldly, pulling her arm from his grasp. “And I've seen how much they've done about that. I'm not worried.”

Simms shrugs, but lets her go.

When she's finally able to close her front door behind her, a load lifts off her shoulders that she hadn't noticed was there. She drops her pack in the front room and collapses on her couch, hearing a whirring come down the stairs.

“Good afternoon, madame. It is good to see you.” Wadsworth says primly, stopping in front of her.

“Hi, Wadsworth.” she nods towards Charon, who is standing in the corner of the room, pack dropped next to hers. “This is Charon. Can you make up a bed for him in the spare room?”

“Certainly, madame. It is nice to meet you, sir Charon.” Wadsworth says formally with a jerky bow. Charon doesn't reply. Pleasantries finished, Wadsworth whirs upstairs to prepare Charon's room.

Gal lounges for a moment more, then pushes herself up, ready to get rid of the grime that's covering her from head to toe. Taking real showers may be the best part of coming home, next to sleeping without one eye open and walking around without her heavy armour on.

“Charon, I'm going to take a shower. Make yourself at home. There's water and beer in the fridge, and food if you're hungry. That room Wadsworth is making up is yours.”

Charon nods, so she rushes past him up the stairs and into the bathroom, relieved to have some time to herself without his gaze prickling the hairs on her neck.

She strips her clothes off and steps into the tub, sighing in pleasure as the hot water hits her back and runs in rivulets down her neck. Hot water is a pleasantry that she's only found in Rivet City and here in Megaton so far. She sometimes feels that she drags her weight in scrap metal back to help fix Walter fix the water pipes around Megaton, but since she started giving it out of the goodness of her heart, her water heater conveniently has stayed in tip-top shape, so she keeps doing it.

She lets the water run for a little while before she starts scrubbing down, enjoying the way her skin pinks and her fingertips prune. Once she's relatively clean, she sinks to the bottom of the tub and pillows her head on her knees to do some thinking.

She needs to face the heavy piece of folded paper in her pocket. Gal is not usually prone to jumping into things headfirst, but she has on this one, and now she finds herself in a mess of a situation that she's been steadfastly ignoring. She can't keep treating Charon like a ticking bomb about to go off, and every time she thinks of the circumstances of his employment, her stomach roils with guilt. It doesn't help that their relationship involves ignoring each other for long periods of time and flinching when they're within five feet of each other. Gal doesn't look forward to going back to wandering alone, but she resolves that she has to give Charon his contract, or she'll regret it every second of the rest of her life.

And if he leaves, he leaves. She's okay with that.

She's not attached to him at all.

Gal eventually drags herself from the shower so Charon can have some hot water too and realizes that in her haste, she's forgotten to bring spare clothes into the bathroom. Quietly, she wraps herself into a towel and pokes her head out the bathroom door, but Charon is nowhere in sight. She sneaks into her room quietly and dresses in a tank top and pair of sweats, then pulls Charon's contract from her armour and steps out to find him.

He's not downstairs or in his bathroom, but the door to his new bedroom is shut, so Gal knocks quietly and waits for an answer. After a moment, Charon pulls the door open and looks at her impassively. He's stripped his armour off too, leaving his t-shirt and heavy canvas pants. The blown-apart shotgun on the table tells her that he's indulging in his favourite past-time.

“Hey,” she says awkwardly, clenching the contract in her hands. “Can I... come in?”

Charon just moves out of the way. Gal sits down in the chair wedged in the corner of the room and gestures at him to sit on the bed, trying to think of the best way to broach the subject.

“So, I've been thinking...” she starts when Charon has settled, “and I'm not comfortable with the terms of your contract. Since I hired you, things have been awkward and difficult, and...” she stops, unsure of what to say next. She's got the gist of the conversation down, but it's proving more difficult in reality than theory.

Charon takes her silence as an opportunity to speak.

“It is your right as my employer to sell my contract at any time to a person of your choosing.”

Gal eyes widen, and she shakes her head furiously, realizing that he's misunderstood her intentions completely.

“No, Charon, that's not – that's not what I meant at all. I'm not selling your contract to anyone. I -” she takes a breath, “I want to... give it. To you. Your contract, I mean.”

She has known Charon long enough to detect a glimmer of surprise in his eyes, but it is masked quickly. Still, he is silent for a long moment.

“I cannot accept it.” he says. She waits for elaboration, but none follows.

“Charon, this isn't a charity thing, or, or some type of trick or something. I really -”

“I cannot accept it.” Charon says firmly, cutting her off. “You do not understand. I am required to be in the service of another. I cannot hold my own contract.”

She puzzles over this, confused. Charon himself sounds convinced of what he is saying. She isn't sure if it's the 'brainwashing' talking, or if there's something else at work here.

“So if it was burned, or destroyed? What happens then?” she asks.

“It does not matter.” the ghoul says, shaking his head. “The paper itself is unimportant. Even without a physical contract, I would still be in your employment until you die or transfer my contract to another. You would simply have to designate another document to act as the contract.”

“I don't understand.” Gal says, frowning. “Why do you have to be in service to someone? What is stopping you from... being free?”

Charon's mouth twists, as if he is reliving an unpleasant memory.

“My training is not merely psychological. It is much more complicated than that. Even I do not understand the full extent. But the bottom line is, you must keep me in your service or sell my contract to another. There is no third option.”

Gal bites her lip and lets that sink in. She is foiled at every turn by this enigma of a man, who has been forced to endure decades of enslavery. He constantly catches her on the wrong foot, through no fault of his own, and she finds herself scrambling to keep her balance. The possibility that Charon literally couldn't be freed had not occurred to her, but she doesn't think he would lie about it. Not if his freedom was being handed to him on a silver platter.

If her choices are to keep him, or sell him, that's really only one option. Gal knows she is not perfect, but even though she's never thought of herself as a slave owner, she knows there are other line she will not cross.

And she will not take the chance that Charon's new master could turn out to be Azrukhal 2.0.

“....I understand. I'm sorry to have made this so difficult on you. If this is the way that it has to be, then I want to tell you this.” Gal stands up and sets the contract carefully in her place, then drops to her knees in front of him. He goes to stand, startled by the sudden movement, but she keeps him in place with a look.

“I will not sell your contract. I will not put you in danger while I keep myself safe. I will not demean you or let others do so. I will listen to your words and I will give you what you need and what you ask for. If you won't accept pay, I'll keep it for you.

“And in return, I command that you are always honest with me. If you're hurt or need something, tell me. If you have advice, share it. And if I ever ask you to tell me something or do something that you're uncomfortable with, let me know. I'm not telling you to refuse orders!” she says hurriedly, seeing the way his eyebrows crease, “I'm telling you that if an order doesn't sit well with you, you can let me know, and I'll rescind it. Is that... is that fair?”

For the first time since Gal met Charon, she can see a plain emotion on his face. He is stunned. She thinks that she has done well, though she fumbled here and there. He opens his mouth a few times before something finally comes out; she laughs inwardly at the idea that he is lost for words.

“That is... fair.” he stops and licks his lips hesitantly, his large hands scrunching the fabric trousers. “May I... may I have some time to... think about this?” he asks softly.

Gal smiles and nods, pushing to her feet.

“Of course. We'll be in town a few days so there's no rush to get anything done. I'm gonna whip up something to eat; I'll leave it on the counter for you in case you get hungry later.”

She shuts the door behind her softly and pads down the stairs to the kitchen, waiting until she is alone before she does her victory dance. This is not what she had intended when she started the conversation, but despite the hiccups, she is happy with the outcome.

She is happy. That counts for a lot.

–

The usual process of selling loot and fixing gear is done by mid-morning the next day. Moira is ecstatic to finish her survival guide; she actually pulls Gal into a fierce hug and then apologizes for the fact that she smells like vinegar and gun oil (Gal's given up on asking about her 'experiments' – she just smiles and nods while Moira rambles about them most days). She drops her supply of scrap metal off with Walter, visits Gob and Nova at the bar, and says hi to Maggie Creel, who proudly shows her the BB gun Billy has given her. Charon stays in the house; she's unwilling to answer any awkward questions about him just yet. The only one to make a comment is Jericho, but he talks out of his ass no matter what the topic is so Gal ignores him.

Charon sticks to his room for the first day, but after that he comes and goes freely, eating and drinking from the fridge and doing small jobs around the house while she lounges. She feels a little guilty for not stopping him when he tackles the laundry but since she HATES doing laundry, she just makes sure the fridge is constantly stocked with beer and doesn't comment about how quickly it disappears. Other chores that he does could be handled by Wadsworth, but she thinks that it satisfies him to have work, so she lets him. Gal has no such need to keep herself busy; she does the work she needs to do, then spends two whole days lounging on the couch and reading old Grognak the Barbarian comics.

Their last night in town, Moriarty is off somewhere doing business. Gal takes advantage of his absence and brings Charon to the bar to meet Gob and Nova, thinking that some Ghoul company might lighten Gob's spirits. Gob's been looking ragged around the edges since she's been back and she hopes to herself that it's not because Moriarty caught him talking to her instead of washing the dishes a few days ago.

“Gal! Boy, am I glad to see you!” Gob says cheerfully when she walks in the front door, his lips twitching upwards. Nova is nowhere to be seen, so she's probably with a customer. Gal takes a seat at the bar and motions Charon to sit down next to her.

“Gob, this is Charon. I'm not sure if you two met while you were in Underworld, Gob.” she says casually. When she sets her elbows on the table, something sticky catches her right arm; she makes a face and shifts it, unwilling to complain because she knows it will be Gob that has to clean it up.

Gob swallows as he looks at Charon and quickly looks down at the section of bar he's been wiping down. She can tell by his body language that he's happy to see her, but the happiness is tempered by the nervousness Gob exudes when faced with other people. To him, every new face is another chance to get struck or belittled.

“Yeah, I remember him. He was Azrukhal's bouncer when I lived in Underworld.” Gob says hesitantly, keeping his eyes away from Charon. He pulls a beer from under the bar and twists the top off for her, knowing that's what she'll order.

Gal huffs at the mention of Charon's old employer as she accepts the beer that Gob hands her.

“Yeah, that guy was a dick. Kind of like your boss.” she replies cheerfully. At his questioning look, she nods for him to get Charon a beer too; his treatment of the situation tells her that he's aware of the circumstances around Charon's employment, though he's clearly still timid around the big ghoul. In this case, Gal doesn't blame him.

“Was?” Gob questions as he pops the cap from the second beer. She smiles at the question, and looks at Charon expectantly. He has the right to break the news, she thinks.

“Azrukhal is dead.” Charon explains simply, after a long pull from the beer.

Gob's eyes widen in surprise. He turns to look at Gal. She sees the question in his eyes, and shakes her head to let him know that she isn't the culprit.

“It wasn't me. Charon's contract wasn't in my hands five minutes before Charon tells me he has something to take care of. Turns out he was taking care of pumping Azrukhal full of lead.” she says cheerfully. At one time in her life, she could not have imagined talking so plainly about someone being murdered, but Wasteland Gal has grown up in a lot of different ways. The least of which is the silent satisfaction she feels at the sleazy ghoul's death.

Gob and Gal chat more between his duties serving the other patrons. Charon is silent, as usual, but he does trade a few sentences with Gob about Underworld and how his mother, Carol, is doing. Gal has a bundle of letters from Carol to give Gob, which she does as she remembers to. This brings a real, undimmed grin to Gob's face. He folds it and tucks it tenderly into his pocket, thanking Gal at least five times in the span of five minutes for bringing to him.

On their second beer, Gob goes to wipe down some tables, and Gal, feeling frisky, slides her eyes over to Charon. When he's looking the other direction, she pours a little beer into her hand and flicks it at his exposed neck, causing him to flinch and turn back around. He knows immediately that it was her because she can't contain her laughter. She's not sure what about today has got her feeling so bold, but the R 'n' R combined with her successful talk with Charon has given her sense of humour a healthy boost.

Before she can react, he picks his beer up and taps the mouth of her bottle with the bottom of it. Foam gushes up through the opening of her drink and boils over. Gal lets out an expletive and immediately brings the bottle to her mouth, trying to suck up the foam before it makes a huge mess all over the bar and her lap. Charon snorts and she glares at him, though she knows she'd be laughing if she didn't have the bottleneck shoved in her mouth to stop it from making a mess.

“What the fuck is this? Another fucking zombie in Megaton? We gonna have to build you guys a crypt to sleep in, or what?” says a voice behind Charon with a sneer. Gal turns, still trying to keep the beer under control, and sees a burly man belly up to the bar next to the Ghoul, his face ugly. He snaps at Gob expectantly like a dog, and Gob obeys with a bowed head.

“Get me a whiskey, shuffler. And don't fucking try to water it down either.” the man orders. Gal bristles at the derogatory comment.

“You ought to watch your mouth, asshole, or someone's gonna wash it out for you.” she says coldly, beer clenched in her hand. She had expected a little more time before someone started shit, but she's made a promise to Charon that no one will treat him like a second-class citizen, and she doesn't intend to break it just days after she's made it.

The burly man smiles at her meanly. She recognizes the smug look in his eyes. It's the one that says Gal, as a woman, is not much better than a second-class citizen to him either. She's hit men for less in her time outside of the Vault.

“Well, look what we have here, a big bad zombie protector. Why you protecting them, doll?” he asks, reaching for her hand. She pulls it out of reach and he smiles at her again. “Bet you've got a rotten cunt from bouncing on this braineater's dick, huh? Since no man would touch an ugly bitch like you.” he says. Gob's reappeared with the whiskey, but he just stands there and looks back and forth, unsure of what to do.

Gal smiles coldly at the burly man. “Charon, go outside.” she tells her companion. “And stay put. Don't come back in.” If Charon attacks this man, it spells trouble for him, but she has a little more leeway to teach him manners. Charon nods and heads for the door, though he takes his time, as if reluctant to do so.

She takes the whiskey from Gob and smiles again.

“Put this one on my tab, Gob, for my friend here.” she says. Gob nods, confused, and Gal looks back to the burly man, who is smirking in satisfaction. She turns to him and throws the whiskey in his face.

He roars with rage and reaches for her. She's already up and out of her seat. She skips into the center of the room so she's got so space to fight and waits for him to charge her, as she knows he will. There are morons like him all over the wasteland. She knows his type.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Gob flee for the front door, but then she focuses back on the task at hand. The man comes at her fast, throwing a punch right at her face that might have blacked both eyes if it had landed. She avoids it easily and snakes her foot out to catch his; he stumbles and goes crashing into a table. When he gets up, he's more cautious, seeing that she isn't as weak as she looks, and circles her, looking for his way in.

The few other patrons in the bar are whooping and hollering. None show any intention of stepping in or going for help. The burly man lunges in again, and Gal ducks, slamming her shoulder into his chest to throw him backwards. He doesn't move as far as she anticipates. Another blow catches her on the jaw. Gal snarls and brings her knee up and around, smashing it into his unprotected groin. The burly man howls and crouches over, giving Gal a chance to back up and regroup.

She doesn't need to. The door crashes open. Through it storms Sheriff Simms, Gob trailing behind him uneasily. That was fast, she thinks. She wishes she'd had time to get a few more blows in, but backs off when Simms gives her an expectant look. He takes in her bruised jaw with a critical eye and then looks to the burly man, who is still crouched over and heaving, his face twisted in rage.

“What's going on here?” Simms asks the onlookers.

“This guy here made some comments about the lady's companions and her... sexual inclinations, so she threw his drink in his face.” says a man at one of the tables, pointing to the burly man and Gal in turn. “He got mad and threw himself at her, and she busted him up good.”

She's pretty busted up too, in truth, but she'll take the win. It's not the sympathetic story she was looking for, but Simms seems willing to pin the blame on the other guy by the way he turns to the burly man with a frown.

“Johnson, this is the third fight this week. Since you can't keep your fists out of people's faces, I'm giving you fifteen minutes to pack your stuff and get out of town for a while. If you can find a way to sort out your problems, I might even let you back in.”

Johnson snarls and goes to speak, but Simms cuts him off quickly.

“It's not a suggestion, Johnson, it's an order. You now have fourteen minutes. I suggest you get moving if you want to leave with more than the clothes on your back.”

Johnson gives Gal one last look and stumbles out the door. Simms turns his attention to Gal and looks her over. She smiles sheepishly, rubbing at her bruised jaw.

“I told you people would talk.” he says. She shrugs.

“Doesn't mean I have to let 'em. Life's hard enough for some people without self-involved assholes making it harder.”

There is a thud from outside. Simms frowns and turns for the door. Gal is right on his heels, hoping Charon is alright.

She needn't have worried. Outside, Johnson is laying unconscious on the ground, a knife a few inches from his fingertips. Charon stands impassively next to the door, looking up when Simms and Gal emerge.

“What happened?” Simms asks, toeing the dead weight on the walkway.

Charon looks at Gal for permission to speak. She nods and notes that she will have to tell him he's allowed to speak freely to people besides her.

“He tried to gut me. I knocked him unconscious.”

Simms sighs and rubs at his eyes tiredly. In this moment Gal doesn't envy him the title of Sheriff. She thinks about telling him he should be glad the man is just unconscious and not dead, but it doesn't sound like the right thing to say if she wants Charon welcome in town.

“Well, it looks like he's gonna have a rough time in the next week without any supplies. Don't suppose your bodyguard could help me out carrying him up to the gate?” Simms asks with a glance at Gal.

Gal grins toothily.

“I don't think Charon would mind that at all.”

Charon hefts the unconscious man over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The knife may or may not end up in Gal's pocket when Johnson is tossed unceremoniously through the front gates and left.

–

That night, she has strange, hazy dreams where a man lays her out on the bed and makes love to her. His touch is electric and the warmth in her abdomen grows with each soft brush, until she's keening and begging with every breath.

When she looks up at his face, his nose is missing.

She jerks awake, breathing hard still as the dream swirls around her mind. The spot between her legs aches fiercely and twinges with pleasure every time she adjusts her hips. It should have been a nightmare, but her body isn't seeing it that way. Shuddering quietly, she tugs at the damp fabric of her shorts. Even the whisper of the fabric against her thigh makes her sigh in pleasure. It's been a long, long time since she's been this turned on, and that was with a partner in bed with her; she's never been this aroused by a dream EVER. She's not sure what to make of it. Gal chalks it up to her self-induced dry spell and lays back, hand sliding down her body. The outside world's policy of taking pleasure where she can get it is something she'd picked up right away; still, with Charon sleeping in the other room, she has to bite her lip to stifle her moaning. Nothing would be more embarrassing than the ghoul barging in on her with her shorts down around her ankles.

When the noseless man comes to the front of her thoughts, she pushes him away and focuses on other fantasies, with men who are whole and strong and blue-eyed, just as she has always liked.

Charon wakes her up early the next morning to start for the Vault. She drags herself downstairs blearily, trying to buckle her armour and tie her boots at the same time and almost falling face-first into the kitchen counter. Charon hands her a Nuka-Cola without comment, but she swears the side of his mouth twitches.

According to the citizens of Megaton, the way to Evergreen Mills is due west, about a four day hike. There's little in between, but the 800 caps from the scribe at Arlington Library ensures that they'll be alright on money until they return, as long as nothing crazy happens in between now and then. Gob and Nova watch them go from the front of the bar.

She can feel the difference in the air between her and Charon on this trip, compared to their trek from the Jefferson Memorial. He's freer with his words and more relaxed, and he even walks within arm's reach of her a few times during the trip. Gal bumps him in the arm with her elbow a few times when she makes jokes, but doesn't push her luck otherwise.

Her jaw swells from the blow Johnson had landed during their scuffle, and she talks funny for a few days, but it eventually heals and all is well. Gal catches Charon staring at the bruise a few times, but his face is unreadable as ever. She doesn't ask.

“So I guess I've never told you why I'm on this crazy journey in the first place, huh?” she says conversationally one day as they're strolling through the wasteland, keeping an eye out for raiders and wild dogs.

“You are looking for your father.” Charon replies, scratching absently at his neck as he scans the area.

“Well, yeah,” Gal says, nodding, “But that's not the whole story. I was born in Vault 101. My mom died in childbirth, so it was just me and Dad for 20 years. He was a scientist and a doctor for the Vault, but before, he lived in the Wasteland working on something called 'Project Purity'. Growing up in the Vault, we were always told that it was impossible to live on the surface and that the radiation was too dangerous. It wasn't until my father left during a radroach infestation that any of us realized that wasn't true.”

“Your father never talked to you about the outside world?” Charon asks. Gal shakes her head.

“No, I had no idea. I thought he'd always lived in the Vault, and nobody told me otherwise.”

“So what made you wish to leave?”

Gal shrugs and adjust her pack on her shoulders. “Dad always had this idea when I was growing up that I was safe and happy, but... to be honest, I hated the Vault.” she says honestly. “Amata was my only friend, and even she was hard to get along with sometimes. I was tired of living life for safety instead of happiness, and I didn't want to follow the narrow path they tried to assign me to. Besides... Amata told me that the Overseer was planning to kill me to make an example, so I couldn't have stayed anyway.”

Gal is surprised to find that her throat has closed up a little, and she swallows heavily. She thought that she had come to terms with her escape from the Vault, and the callous send-off she'd received, but it appears that isn't the case.

“Your father could not have known what they would attempt to do.” Charon says quietly. It sounds strangely like sympathy to Gal, and marks another side of Charon that she did not know existed. She nods, afraid to speak.

“Anyway,” she says, when her voice is back under control, “My father is trying to restart his project from 20 years ago. I want to find him and see if there's any way I can help. I'll follow him to the edge of the world if I have to.” She looks up at her companion and bumps his elbow lightly. She thinks if she does any more talking about her own sad past, she'll do something embarrassing like start crying.

“What about you, big guy? Want to share anything about your past?”

He shrugs. She doesn't push, having intentionally phrased the question so he could refuse if he wanted, and the silence draws on for a little while. Finally, he speaks.

“I grew up in Texas, down at the bottom of what used to be the United States. I had an older brother and sister. I... don't remember their names. My sister was in the Army, and I always looked up to her, so I enlisted when I was 17. Spent some time in China. I had just gotten back when the bombs hit. My family.... didn't make it.”

Gal stops and looks at him in amazement.

“Holy shit. You were alive when the bombs hit? That makes you over 200 years old!” she exclaims.

“I told you, Ghouls live a long time.”

“So what did you do after that?” she asks, avoiding the subject of his family. She doesn't want to pry into anything that will make him clam up again; she's amazed at how much he's already told her.

“We took shelter at Fort Meade, where I was stationed, but I was above ground for long enough to receive a damaging dose of radiation. That is what started the ghoulification process. After that, the US military attempted to retake control, but they were too few and far between. Eventually, it collapsed, and I began working for other employers for the first time.”

That means that whatever process caused him to be bound to a contract happened in the military, Gal muses. She imagines the US military had several secret programs in place that no one would ever find out about, but she can't imagine why they would need soldiers who were controlled through pieces of paper. The military didn't draft people in that time, so soldiers must have already been loyal to the cause when they joined.

For whatever program Charon was involved in, the military needed people who couldn't say no to their demands, she guesses. And if those things were something a loyal soldier would have refused even in defense of their country, they must have been bad.

Charon must spot something, because he throws his arm in front of Gal, catching her attention and bring her to a halt. They've come to a rocky cliff. From what she can see over the edge, there's something down in the gorge that isn't natural.

Charon and Gal go to a crouch and approach the edge of the cliff carefully. Below them spreads a fortress, teeming with people going back and forth between buildings. There are fenced in areas all along the edges of the gorge, holding more people, and in the middle of the group of buildings, something roars from behind raised walls.

“This must be Evergreen Mills.” Gal whispers to Charon. He nods in agreement, and they watch as a figure, made small by the distance, drags another through the camp and shoves it into one of the fenced areas. It falls to its hands and knees and stays there, and the other figure leaves.

Gal pales when she understands what is going on.

“It's a slaver camp.” she whispers, feeling cold as she watches the slaves mill about in their 'pens'. She isn't surprised that the raiders are selling people, but the realization is so sudden that it's like a slap in the face. Gal thinks back to the day she left the Vault, how she had wandered aimlessly and stumbled upon Megaton, and shivers at how easily she could have ended up down there, naked and afraid.

“We should leave this place. It's dangerous to stay here.” Charon admonishes. Quietly, they back away from the edge and skirt around the camp, keeping a careful lookout for scouts or groups of slavers.

When they are a safe distance from Evergreen Mills, Charon stops her and nods to a small hill a ways away.

“May we stop for a minute?” he asks, the real question plain. She nods and turns to keep watch as he disappears behind the hill, though she's pretty certain they're in the clear. Nobody had marked anything on her map this far out, except the garage, and she's not even certain where that is.

She is wondering why Charon is taking so long when, quick as a snake, a hand wraps around her mouth from behind and another traps her arms to her side. She shrieks out of surprise and struggles to bring her rifle up, but the arm around her torso is too strong. She thinks it is a man, judging by the height and the coarse hair on his arms. He jerks her left and right bodily, trying to make her drop her rifle, which is clutched desperately in her right hand. She manages to hold onto it, lets it slip so she's holding it by the barrel, and swings it up as hard as she can, letting the buttstock smash whoever is holding her in the face, and with a curse, the arms around her loosen enough that she can struggle out. Somewhere nearby, something explodes, but before Gal can bring the rifle up to her shoulder, there's a pinch in her neck and her world whites out. She can feel herself falling, but everything is black before she hits the ground.

–

Gal comes awake all at once, dazed and confused because she doesn't remember falling asleep. She's laying on her side. One cheek is smashed into the dirt, and her arms are stuck to her sides, immobile. The inside of her mouth as dry as sandpaper and takes like dog shit. She tries to think back through the haze in her mind, eyes still shut, and remember what happened for her to be waking up like this.

She and Charon had found Evergreen Mills, walked around it, and were on their way to find the garage that housed Vault 112. Then, Charon had to piss, so he'd gone off behind a hill while she stood watch. And... someone had grabbed her. She fought them off, heard an explosion, and after a pinch in the neck, she'd blacked out. Now she was here.

The pinch in the neck was indicative of a syringe, she thinks. There must have been some type of sedative in it. That explains why her mouth is dry. She thinks with a sudden pang of terror that they hadn't avoided all the slavers from Evergreen Mills there and they are trapped there now. It doesn't line up with the fact that her arms and legs are trapped, though. The slaves in Evergreen Mills were in pens, but free to move around.

“That bitch fucked me up good.” a raspy male voice grumbles, nearly startling her into flinching. She estimates that it's good ten feet away.

“It was fuckin' funny to watch you get cracked in the face, man. Good thing I was there to save you from the big, bad little girl, or she'd have kicked your ass.” a second voice says from the same direction. Gal cracks her eyes a little, trying not to let them know that she's awake but needing to see her surroundings. Two men are sitting at a table in the middle of the shack. One is holding a Brahmin steak up to his eye while the other digs through a pack. She thinks that these are the two that caught her, judging by the location of the large bruise the man is nursing. She searches quickly for Charon and finds him duct-taped to a support beam for the shack, his head lolling on his chest bonelessly. She can see his chest rising and falling, so she knows that he is still alive. Still, one side of his face is drenched in blood and he definitely looks worse for the wear. The right side of his armour is singed, possibly from the explosion she'd heard.

“Well, this is what those assholes get for booting us out of the Mills. They never would have found that little cunt there. They'll be regretting it when our slave trade's as big as theirs, won't they?” the first man snickers, then lets out a grunt of pain and presses the meat more firmly to his eye.

“What about the zombie? He looks like trouble. Doubt we could do much with him and he's fucking huge. We should probably just shoot him.” the second says, motioning towards Charon. Her breath catches in her throat, but the first man shakes his head, shutting the idea down. She notes that it's her pack that the second is going through, dumping everything on the table in front of him as he pulls it out. She finds herself oddly angry that he's messed up her packing, because she's taken great pains to make sure everything's in the right order and the weight is distributed evenly.

“Are you crazy? You know how long those fucking things live? You could use him as a pack mule for the next few DECADES. Big guy like that can probably carry a shitload of stuff.”

The door to the shack slams open and another man strides in, kicking it shut behind him. Gal's heart sinks a little; she's hoped that these two were the only ones they'd have to face, but if there's a third, there could be even more outside, leaving them outnumbered. There seems to be some deference from the other two towards this one, judging by the way they stop talking and regard him silently.

“Is she awake?” the third man asks, pointing at Gal, and she quickly closes her eyes, doing her best impression of a corpse. Something scrapes across the table. Heavy footsteps come her way, then she's grabbed roughly by the ankles and pulled forward. She opens her eyes reflexively; the third man is sawing through the duct tape on her ankles with the knife she'd taken from Johnson, which he must have picked up from the table. When the duct tape is cut through, he grabs her by the hair and drags her into the center of the room. She tries to kick him, but he backhands her across the face and she slams into the floor, stars in her eyes.

*************************************************************************(Skip to the next set of asterisks if you don't want to read the sexual assault scene)*************************************************************

The other men watch impassively as the one before her unbuttons his pants and shoves them down around his hips. Knife held in one hand, he pulls his penis out and strokes it roughly. It stiffens quickly. Gal tries to catch her breath and begins searching frantically for a plan of escape. She feels like time is moving double speed, and she's scrambling to catch up. She knows what is about to happen if she doesn't figure something out. But there's not much she can do, with her arms still trapped at her sides.

When she tries to crawl away, the man grabs her by the hair again and drags her to her knees, his angry red length in front of her face. She goes to bite, but he yanks her head out of range and presses the knife to her throat. She can feel a trickle of blood running down her neck from the bite of the blade.

“None of that, sweetheart.” the man says in an oddly kind voice that makes shivers run down her spine. “Open your mouth or I'll cut your throat right here.”

When she refuses, he presses the knife harder, and the trickle of blood intensifies. She has no choice. Trying not to sob, lest she cut her own throat, she opens her mouth and the man shoves his dick down her throat, sighing in pleasure.

“That's it, baby,” he moans, as if she's his girlfriend and not his rape victim, “Suck on it, now, real hard...”

She is gagging, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he eases the pressure on the knife so she doesn't die in the middle of his blowjob. The meat in her mouth tastes like salt and something rancid, enough to bring bile up her throat that she has to choke back down. The other two men are whooping and laughing. She hears a raspy, angry roar, and thinks that Charon has woken up; blinking through her tears, she can see him struggling furiously against the duct, his eyes locked onto the man who is clenching her hair, groaning in ecstasy.

Gal's wondered before about what she would do in this situation, especially since she came to the Wasteland, and whether she would choose to be used or be killed, if it came down to it. It's not the first time a man has tried to force her, but none have ever gotten past unzipping their pants before she's punched them, shot them, or in one case let them get mauled by a Yao Guai. But there's no option to kill this man in front of her. Her only hope of rescue is right beside her and unable to help.

She makes her decision. She will not be used like this. She would rather die.

Tensing her jaw, she bites down as hard as she can. The taste of blood fills her mouth, making her cough, and the man above her screams. But he does not slit her throat; instead, he panics and drops the knife. With both hands he scrambles for her face, trying to force her to let go of his half-bitten-off cock. She takes her chance and explodes upwards, catching him beneath the chin with the back of her head, and he falls backwards and away from her. Gal knows she will never reach the knife with her hands strapped to her sides, so she kicks it desperately at Charon, hoping that he will be able to free herself in time to save her.

The two men who were seated at the table jump out of their seats and head for her, both holding a pistol. She panics and darts behind a cupboard. They must still believe that they can take her alive, because neither takes a shot, choosing instead to rush her from either side. When the closest one is in range, she drops to one knee. Shooting forward and heaving her body upwards, she manages to throw him on his ass. She runs past him to the other side of the room.

Rounding the table, Gal knocks it over and crouches behind it. Gunshiots splinter the wood and explode around her. She knows she cannot protect herself anymore, not with her arms bound like this; her last hope is Charon, and she has no idea if she kicked the knife anywhere near him.

There's a crash, a thud, and a few more gunshots ring out. Something else crashes to the floor. Gal takes a chance and peaks out around the edge of the table to see what is going on. Charon stands above the man who'd assaulted her and points a pistol at his sniveling face, the duct tape that had bound his torso still clinging to his clothes in ragged strips. He pulls the trigger; the man's head bounces once, and his body goes limp. The other two men are laying on the floor in pools of blood already, their eyes glassy.

Gal lets out a sob of relief. The sound of silence in the small hut is joy to her ears. As she goes to stand, though, she stumbles and falls onto her side, her body shaking with adrenaline. From above, a shadow darkens her face; she winces and curls into a tiny ball, but gentle hands hold her still and slice through the duct tape holding her arms, leaving her free to push herself up from the floor. Charon lifts her to her feet and holds one hand to his lips, then points to the door. He is telling her that he is going to check their surroundings for more raiders. She nods, wipes at her eyes with her sleeve, and he slips out the door, leaving her alone with the three corpses.

One of the men sitting at the table has been shot at least six times in the chest. The man with the black eye is now missing his other one, brain matter splattered across the wall and floor behind him. When she stumbles over to the body of her attacker, she sees that his face is frozen in an expression of pain and fear. His penis is half separated from his body. The ragged, bloody edges remind her forcibly just how it got that way, and she loses control of her nausea. She vomits all over his corpse, pauses, and vomits again, as if her body is trying to expel what he'd forcibly shoved into it.

********************************************(End of the sexual assault scene)*****************************

When Charon comes back, he finds her leaning on the upturned table dizzily. The area around the shack must have been clear, because he opens her bag and shoves everything on the table back into it. Then he crosses and picks his up as well, before slinging an arm around her shoulders and helping her make her way to the door.

There is another shack directly across from the one they've just exited. Charon leads them to it. When the door is shut behind them, he throws the packs into a corner and leads Gal to one of the beds tucked up against the wall. Gal is shaking, the scene replaying over and over in her mind though her eyes are open. She had just been thinking about how close she could have been to becoming a slave, and then... then she'd almost been raped. With two other men watching.

With two other men LAUGHING. And probably... waiting for their turn.

A scabbed arm, thick with muscle, appears in her range of vision. It's holding a bottle of water. Charon is sitting next to her on the bed, looking hesitant and uncomfortable. Before Gal can get herself under control, she finds herself buried in his chest, arms thrown around his neck and face buried in the crook of his shoulder. She clings to him for dear life, unable to do anything but sob loudly and tighten her grip. She thinks about how close she'd come to being under the dead man in the other room, being split apart from the inside out, and cries harder.

Charon stiffens under the assault for a few long minutes, but eventually he throws the water on the ground and puts a hand on her back awkwardly. His touch is warm even through her armour.

“You are safe now.” he tells her, cautiously rubbing her shoulder blade with a large hand. His touch is light at first. It firms the longer she cries, until both hands are locked around her torso and the heat of his body is enveloping her. She can feel the stiffness in his body but she can't bring herself to pull away. The minute she tries, panic sets in and leaves her clinging even harder and shaking like a leaf.

“Thank you,” she whispers between sobs, “Thank you”.

“You are safe now.” he repeats. For some reason, this makes her cry harder. She cries until her chest hurts, until her body clenches painfully with each sob and her eyes are red with irritation, but even when the sobbing subsides, she doesn't let go. The memory of what just happened comes unbidden to her mind again, but she can't cry any more, so her body hiccups and dry heaves a few more times before she's able to get it under control and calm down.

Charon licks his lips and looks down at her as he continues to stroke her back and she tries to slow her breathing.

“Do you wish to... would you... would you like some water... Mistress?” he asks, stumbling over his words. She nods numbly, so he reaches for the forgotten bottle of water, twisting the cap off and handing it to her.

Gal takes a drink, swishes it in her mouth, and spits it out over her shoulder and straight onto the floor. Charon doesn't comment. She does this twice more, then drains the bottle and throws it away. When Charon shifts his weight under her, she realizes that she is still sitting on his lap, and she scrambles off quickly, letting her fingers bunch up the fabric of her pants instead. She has crossed a line that she set for herself by touching him, but she doesn't care, and if he does, he's not saying or showing it.

He doesn't ask her if she's alright, because they both know she is not.

“You saved us in there.” he says instead. Gal brings her legs up to her chest and hugs them, staring at the wet floor in front of them.

“Had you not kicked the knife to me, I would not have been able to free myself.”

Gal nods numbly, her throat tight. Her head is aching from the crying.

“If you hadn't... if you hadn't stopped them, they would have...” she can't finish the sentence, can't even finish the thought. A warm arm wraps around her back, and Charon pulls her into his side in a firm squeeze. She relaxes under the unbidden embrace.

“Don't think of it. It did not happen, so it does not matter. You saved our lives in there. That is what's important.”

Gal thinks of the man who had dragged her to her knees, the way he had looked after she bit down, and suddenly she is laughing, big guffaws of laughter that shake her torso just as her sobs did. Charon looks at her worriedly, and she shakes her head because she can't yet speak through her laughter.

“I... He... I bit that guy's fucking DICK OFF!” she says with a peal of laughter. She thinks of way he had sniveled when Charon shot him in the head and laughs harder, suddenly finding the whole situation hilarious. There's a bit of hysteria in her voice, but she pushes it away and focuses on how good it feels to laugh.

When Charon's fingers squeeze on her arm, she looks up and finds that the corners of his mouth are curled up, though he is trying to hide it with his other hand.

They choose to stay in the shack for the night, though the sun is barely setting when Gal and Charon finally leave the bed. Charon cleans the wound along his temple and Gal repacks her things, strapping the knife that had saved them along the side more as a symbol than anything else.

When it is time for Charon to take first watch, Gal clears her throat to get his attention and rubs her neck awkwardly. He stops with his hand on the door and looks back at her.

“Charon, could you... do you think you could keep watch in here tonight?” she asks hesitantly, feeling foolish because she knows that she is safe either way. Charon turns from the door, crosses the shack, and sits on the edge of the bed she is laying on, shotgun slung across his lap.

“I will stay here.” he says softly. She smiles and asks him to wake her up in a few hours to switch out, and scoots forward so she can feel the heat of his back on her legs, just inches away from touching.

Charon lets her sleep the whole night through. When she opens her eyes in the morning, he is sitting on the edge of the bed, shotgun slung across his lap, watching the door with patient eyes.

Chapter Text

They comb the wasteland for a few hours the next day before they finally find Smith Casey's garage. It's the only building left standing in the area, and it's got four or five rusted cars sitting in front of it, in case they needed further proof that this is what they were looking for.

They enter cautiously, but the only inhabitants are a few radroaches and molerats. Gal and Charon clean them out quickly and then look over the clutter in the garage.

“There's supposed to be a way in to the Vault somewhere in here.” she says. Charon heads for one side of the room, so she moves to the other and begins searching methodically, looking for anything that might be an entrance or a switch. She has to kick through some piles, but luckily nobody's been in here a while, so everything is dried out and dusty.

Gal is inspecting the wall, looking for cracks, when something that sounds like metal groaning begins to sound inside the room. She turns and sees a pair of metal plates sliding back in one side of the floor. When they stop moving, it leaves a large hole in the floor of the garage that leads to a stairway. She lets out a whoop of excitement and heads toward it.

“There was a switch over here.” Charon says as she joins him at the top of the stairs.

“Good find.” she tells him. “Let's go. Hopefully he's here.” Sending up a silent prayer that her father hasn't left yet, she and Charon descend the stairs and push the door open. She's really fucking done with wild goose chases.

The minute the door whooshes shut behind them, Gal feels a strange sense of claustrophobia that she's never experienced before. She has to stop for a minute and take a deep breath, but bracing herself on the wall just makes the feeling worse, so she moves to the center of the walkway. The metal hallway feels as if it's shrinking around her, and she's forgotten what the constant rumble of machinery feels like as it shakes her body.

"Something wrong?" Charon asks, turning around when he realizes she's not following. She shakes her head and takes a hesitant step forward.

"Nah, just been a while since I've been underground. It feels different after you've seen the surface." she replies, trying not to sound shaken. In that moment, Gal desperately wishes to return to the open skies of the wasteland and feel the breeze on her face. She reminds herself that she spent 20 years of her life in a Vault just like this one and pushes the feeling away. When she strides down the hallway, the walls still look like they're moving, but her steps are surer. Charon doesn't question it.

She expects to be stopped at the entrance off the Vault by a guard when the entry door pushes back and rolls out of the way, but the maintenance room is completely empty. She knows that some Vaults have been abandoned or emptied, but this one is clean and the air still has the stale, somewhat plastic-ey taste of recycled oxygen, so she doesn't think this is the case here. Everything is tidy, and she doesn't find any dust when she drags her finger over the machinery. Someone's keeping it clean, but she's not sure who.

They make their way through a few winding passages, looking for any sign of life. The first moving thing they find in the Vault is a Robobrain, whirring quietly in front of a hallway as if it was waiting for them. Both Charon and Gal reflexively bring their weapons up to take aim at the robot but when it makes no move to attack, they relax.

“Welcome to Vault 112, resident! According to sensors, you have arrived 202.3 years behind schedule.” the robot says. Gal raises and eyebrow and looks at Charon, but he looks as confused as she is.

“Please redress in your Vault-tec issued Vaultsuit before proceeding.” the robot continues. She thinks that it gestures to her. There is whirring and some light blinking.

“I, uh.... I don't have one.” she tells it, wondering if they'll have to take it out to move forward. She supposes it could be possible that the maintenance halls are manned exclusively by robots; Vault 101 had only received their lone Mister Handy, but other Vaults were more well-equipped and funded than they had been, so it's possible.

“I am authorized to distribute a new one.” the Robobrain replies. It scans her from head to toe with a blinding red light, then pops open a hatch on its metal torso and hands her a folded vaultsuit, identical to the one she'd worn in 101 but for the number on the back. When she takes it, the door on the Robobrain's torso snaps shut and it rotates its body out of her way. It pays no attention to Charon. The ghoul turns towards the wall without prompting, allowing Gal to strip and pull the suit on quickly.

Once she's done, she piles her stuff into a corner of the room, keeping her rifle and her pistol, and motions for Charon to do the same.

The feel of the rough fabric against her skin is familiar and foreign at the same time. She strokes the sleeve absently and looks down at her body, noticing the way it fits differently due to the physical changes she's gone through since coming to the Wasteland. She's gained a lot of muscle since her days in the Vault, from carrying salvage and the constant physical exertion of fighting, and the added amount of walking has stripped a layer of fat from her that she had never noticed. Her shoulders are broader, her legs thicker, and the fabric is tight around her biceps where before it was loose everywhere. She feels a little naked without the weight of armour.

“Is something wrong, Mistress?” Charon asks, snapping Gal out of her thoughts. She frowns at the address; she'd noticed it the first time the day before, but she's certain he's never called her that before. In fact, she can't think of a single time he'd ever referred to her at all, besides the time he'd directed Simms to speak to her.

She chooses not to comment it on it and shakes her head, heading for the door.

“No, just thinking, sorry.”

They descend a staircase and come to a long hallway with windows set into one side. There's a weird feeling of familiarity mixed with the foreignness of the vault that makes her think a Tunnel Snake or a Security Guard is going to round the corner any minute, but no one ever comes. Gal presses her face to the glass and sees a large room with a machine in the middle stretching from the ceiling. Giant pods surround it like spokes in a wheel, attached with metal pipes and hoses. She's never seen anything like it before.

“Come on, let's go see what those are.”

The pods are much bigger up closer, standing a few feet higher than Gal. They're mostly glass encased in metal framing. Wiring comes from each and disappears in to the floor below. The first is empty inside, but she can see a padded seat, which tells her that whatever these strange things are, they're meant for humans.

The next one she moves to has a resident. A middle-aged man is seated inside, head nestled against the headrest and eyes closed. She bangs on the glass but he doesn't move.

“There is a screen here.” Charon says from the front of the pod. Gal joins him and looks at the computer screen mounted across from the pod, seeing what looks like a medical readout of the inhabitant listing name, heart rate, and blood pressure.

“This is where all the residents are.” Gal says in realization. “My dad must be in here too!”

She turns and darts to the next pod, searching frantically for the familiar face of her father. She finds him in the same sleeping state as the rest of the Vault dwellers and checks his vitals quickly, relieved to see that they are mostly normal besides an elevated heart rate. With a sigh of relief, she rests one hand on the glass and studies his face. He looks well, better than she'd hoped. His cheekbones stick out a little more starkly, and the skin under his eyes is a bruised-purple colour, but he's still got all four limbs attached and his hair is the same tousled mess as always. And he's alive.

Her father is alive.

“These appear to be virtual reality pods.” Charon says from behind her, stopping a few feet from the pod that she's plastered up against like a starfish. He glances at the man inside for a split second, frowns, then goes back to inspecting the computer on the front. His expression looks... off.

“Virtual reality? What does that mean?” Gal asks, frowning. It sounds like something out of a comic book. There doesn't appear to be anything keeping her father or any of the others inside the pods, no restraints and no IVs, and yet none of them have responded to any stimuli. So whatever's happening, it's outside the scope of her (admittedly limited) knowledge.

“Virtual reality systems put the user in a sleeping state and inject them into a false reality that's normally controlled by the software of a computer network. They were common before the Great War. I didn't know that they were still in use.”

Gal traces a finger down the glass of the pod and looks longingly at the closed eyes of her father. “So how do I get him out of it?”

Charon shrugs. “I don't know. I was only ever a participant, I didn't run the show.”

“Well, if it's run by a computer network, there's probably an administrative computer somewhere that has control. Help me look. So you've used one of these things, then?”

They circle the pods together, trying to find a maintenance panel, but come up blank, so Gal picks a staircase and heads up to see if maybe there's a separate room that the 'virtual reality' is controlled from.

“They were used in our training, back when I served in the military. Safer to teach soldiers to shoot in a VR pod, because they can't actually injure anyone if something goes wrong.” he stops for a minute, and Gal doesn't miss the way his mouth twists. “Used for other training too, in different military occupations.” Charon tries to hide it, but there's a strange note in his voice. There's more to the story that he's not telling.

She weighs the pros and cons of asking about his past, and decides to go for it. “What exactly did you do in the Army anyway?”

Without warning, Charon halts in front of her, and she has to throw her weight backwards to keepfrom crashing into his back. “None of your fucking business, smoothskin.” he hisses at her in a tone she has not heard before, callous and angry. The words are so sudden and unexpected that they hit her in the face like a physical blow.

Charon is moving forward again before she recovers, and she rushes forward to catch up with him, a little stunned by the emotional response. Charon's normally hesitant about shutting down her inquiries, and he's never gotten angry about a question before. What about his military service could merit that type of response, she has no idea.

“Okay, geez, sorry I asked. You see anything up there?” Gal asks, choosing to drop the subject. The route they've taken dead-ends into the Overseers Office, so she busies herself tinkering with the access computer, catching the suspicious look Charon gives her from the corner of his eye. He clearly expects her to push the issue, and she takes a little delight in robbing him of the satisfaction of being right. Once she's gotten to know him, he's not as hard to figure out as he tries to be. She doesn't want him to know that she knows that, however.

Finagling entrance to the Overseer's office is easy as pie. The password to is completely randomized, which is far less safe than people think and super exciting for techheads like her. Gal has the login cracked in 15 minutes with the updated programs on her Pipboy, and the door to the Overseer's office slides open with a satisfying whoosh.

“Easy peasy. Let's go see what's going on in here.”

Inside, they another VR pod installed right in the middle of the room. An old, bald man, skin sagging on his jowls, rests inside. His eyes are closed like the other vault residents, deep in virtual reality.

“That must be Dr. Braun!” Gal says excitedly. “If he's in the simulation too, it's probably controlled from the software inside, so that's why we haven't found any external computers with release commands.”

She stops and thinks about she just said, and freezes once she realizes what that means.

“So I'll have to go in. To the simulation.”

Going into the virtual reality simulation screams 'TRAP' to her instinctively. She has no idea what's going on inside the vault resident's heads, so she'll be jumping in blind if she tries it. She hadn't been far behind her father, considering she'd missed him at Rivet City by a matter of days, but there's no reason he should have been stuck in this thing for this long. If she goes in, and can't figure out how to get back out... well. She might get stuck permanently too. Still, she's been a computer whiz since birth; if anyone can figure out how to end the VR system, it's her, and she's not just bragging. Choosing not to isn't really an option anyway, because it's basically the same as leaving her father there to rot, and she'd do a lot worse than brave some stupid simulator before she'd ever do that.

Maybe they're taking a virtual vacation, she thinks longingly. Warm beaches, blue waves, all those things that didn't exist anymore - it could be that all she has to do is convince her father to ditch his tropical paradise and his Vault 112 friends and nothing bad will happen at all. Too bad she doesn't believe that for a second.

They make their way back down to the main room, and Gal locates an empty pod. She can't help but look one last time over at the one she knows houses her father. It's difficult to be able to physically see him again, after all these months, and still have him so far away.

“Do you want me to wait here?” Charon asks as she strips off all her essentials. He appears to be back to his stiff speech and quiet demeanor after his rude outburst. Gal isn't sure whether she's glad he's talking to her or disappointed that he's not expressing his real thoughts anymore; she wonders how long it would take before he will do both at the same time, if ever.

“It shouldn't take long, right?” she asks, booting up the lounger from the terminal on the front. “I mean, you're the virtual reality expert here, but since human brains work even faster than computers do, I assume whatever I need to do in there won't take long. Can you handle being alone for fifteen minutes?" she jokes, not surprised when Charon just nods in response.

Halfway into the lounger, she stops and looks back at him, waiting patiently beside the pod for his master to return.

“I know you're really worried about my safety and whether I'll come back to you,” she says to him with a teasing smile, “but trust me, I will. So no crying, now.” Charon gives her a flat look, and she climbs into the pod and settles in to the chair, letting the door whoosh close behind her.

Just before it does, she hears Charon's reply.

“I'll do my best to keep my heartbroken sobbing quiet.”

And with that, she falls into the simulation.

–

Dr. Braun's version of prewar living is horrific. Everyone is too nice to her, and even though she's three feet tall and spouting curse words like a fire hose, all they do is give her stern looks and tell her to clean up her language. When she tells them they're in a virtual simulation, they mutter politely that she shouldn't make up stories and look at her like she's batshit crazy.

The simulation itself is small; it's only one circular street, with a playground in the middle. There's a weird fuzziness to the landscape in the simulation. It doesn't look quite realistic enough, but her brain is sort of forced to accept it as reality and the paradox gives her a headache.

She takes a minute to sit on a fence and think through how a program to control the simulation would be integrated into the simulation itself. Most programs like this have a user interface or at least a command prompt or something to input commands, but there's no way to trigger one here since she doesn't have a physical keyboard to type on. Following that logic, any type of failsafe program to end the simulation would have to be physically located in the simulation or started verbally. She hopes for her sake it's not verbal programming, because she could never figure that out on her own, but she's pretty confident that it won't be. Verbal programming had only ever reached rudimentary stages at best and it would be highly unstable on a size this large. It's always possible that interpretive dance could be involved but she's considering that a last resort.

That means that somewhere in this simulation is a physical location or object that can be used to start the failsafe. She just has to figure out where it is.

Changes in the baseline are always a good place to start, so goes on the hunt for anything unusual to point her in the right direction. All of the residents but one are dead ends; old lady Dithers tells her about an abandoned house on the street, which could be a lead. The little girl on the playground, Betty, sounds like she might know something that Gal doesn't, but she wants Gal to play some game with her that involves making a kid cry. Gal's not interested in finding out where that would lead if she doesn't have to. 

Gal finds the abandoned house after some searching and pushes the front door open carefully, knowing there could be safety measures in place to keep people away that don't have proper access. Nothing happens, but she notices the difference in the house immediately, compared to the rest of the simulation. This house is dirty, dark, and filled with broken furniture, where the others were bright and picture-perfect. Nothing about it fits into the simulation, and she can think of no reason why it should exist except possibly to house something else... something like a failsafe.

From there, the it's easy to find. Braun must have been very confident that his residents would never want to leave their virtual world, because it's as easy as tapping some random objects in the room that let out chiming sounds; when she hits them in the right order, they make a little melody, and a monitor slides out of the wall.

She pulls up the interface and taps through the menus quickly. There's not much here; the largest set of data is a group of logs written by Dr. Braun that she stops to read.

They make her stomach churn, each worse than the last. The information stored on the computer makes it clear that there's no sandy beaches in the vault 112 residents' future. Seems that originally, the VR simulation was set up to be a haven for the residents away from the Capital Wasteland, but Dr. Braun's highjacked it and made it something else. Something worse.

It's become a sandbox torture room with no physical limits.

Gal swallows down the queasiness – she doesn't want to wake up and find she's drowning in vomit – and searches quickly for the failsafe. There has to be one written into the system, even if Dr. Braun didn't ever intend to leave the simulation.

She finds it after only a minute of searching. The whole program is written for someone that's not computer savvy, clearly - all it takes to activate is one click of a button.

One click of a button that will deposit Chinese soldiers into the simulation and allow them to gun down every single person inside. Resulting in their very real death.

The cost of activating the failsafe is the life of every person permanently plugged into the system.

It makes sense now, she muses, why the failsafe program is so poorly hidden. Dr. Braun didn't need to worry about his personal torture dolls finding their way out of the simulation – they can't leave. Not alive.

She stays frozen, hands hovering over the keyboard, for a long time. Gal has watched innocent people die before, even accidentally contributed to the deaths of a few. But she's never wiped out a whole group of innocent people with the press of one button. The amount of power in her fingertips is staggering and even more nauseating than Braun's sick experiments.

She goes back through the computer's files, looking for any other option, anything besides letting them be gunned down. There is no option. Even if they're released from their captivity, their bodies have deteriorated so much that they wouldn't be able to move anymore. Dr. Braun has turned off the routine physical therapy exercises that each resident was supposed to be receiving to keep them functional and healthy, not wanting them to be unplugged from the system and reminded that there is another reality out there. She would have to rewrite all the programming into the computer system to force it to release them, and she doesn't have the knowledge or the skill to do that. Even if she spent months in here, there's no way she could save them.

Their only options are prolonged, repeated torture at the hands of a sadistic scientist, or death.

Gal takes a deep breath, finds the failsafe option, and activates it as quickly as possible, so she doesn't have time to think about it anymore. After a few moments of silence, someone in the street screams and there's the sound of gunshots.

Gal rushes to the door of the house and peeks out carefully. Chinese soldiers have appeared from thin air in between each of the houses. They rush into the suburb, rifles at the ready, and one by one the residents of Vault 112 are gunned down screaming.

Gal watches Timmy Neusbaum scramble down the street, sobbing, before red blossoms on his back and he thuds to the ground. She ended up making him cry after all, she guesses. It doesn't mean much that her intentions were good when she sees the bodies of the residents lying lifeless in the streets.

Besides Gal, there's only one person that the soldiers aren't chasing through the neighborhood, and she's standing in the middle of the playground, fists clenched tightly. The ribbons in her hair have fallen askew. Gal ducks through the doorway and makes her way to Braun, ignoring the dog next to her that barks at Gal wildly.

“It's over, you sick fuck.” Gal tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. “These people aren't your fucking playthings anymore.”

“Do you understand what you've done?!” Braun rages, his heavily accented, masculine voice sounding strange coming from the body of the little girl before Gal. “You've ruined everything!” he stomps his foot down, just like a little girl throwing a fit, and Gal takes one menacing step towards him. Braun holds his ground for a minute before Gal grabs his small, girlish hand and breaks a finger.

“Oh, trust me Braun, with the things I've learned about you, I have enough motivation to ruin a lot more. Now, tell me what I want to know.”

–

She doesn't remember the simulation ending. Gal drifts back to herself slowly as something above her makes a whooshing noise and cool air brushes across her face. The drugs that have been pumped into her system leave her woozy, and the light is bright against her sensitive eyes. She lays there for a minute, then with a jolt remembers who is – should – be waiting for her.

“Dad?” she calls hesitantly, bracing one hand on the edge of the door to steady herself as he crawls out. She nearly lands on her face anyway.

Charon hasn't moved in all the time she's been gone. He approaches cautiously when she stands shakily, eyes sliding over her body to check for injury. Her heads spins a little as she leans against the pod, but it passes quickly enough.

“How long was I out? Have you seen my dad?” she asks in a rush as she lets go of the pod to stand upright.

“Ten minutes. No other pods have opened yet.”

As if to refute his point, the sound of air being displaced sounds from across the room, and Gal takes off, almost stumbling right into another pod. She pushes herself off and finds the one containing her father, which has split open just as hers did. The others are beeping frantically, trying to call attention to the individuals inside, but she knows there's nothing to be done for them now.

James is already heaving himself out of the lounger when she finally stumbles up to him, looking as groggy as Gal feels. She immediately rushes to steady him so he can step carefully onto the floor without falling.

“Dad? Are you okay?” she asks worriedly, one hand under his shoulder to help him stand. She knows that he's been in the lounger for much longer than he has, and though he's been getting all the nutrients he needs from it, he'll be weak from the lack of movement. His arm feels thin under her palms, thinner than she ever remembers it being, but when he grabs her shoulder, his grip is firm.

James turns and blinks at her, as if he cannot believe his eyes.

“Galina? Milaya maya, what are you doing here?” he asks incredulously.

She gives him an earsplitting grin and throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing with all the strength she has. It must be a lot, because he grunts and wraps his arm around her too, kissing her on the forehead just as he did when she was little.

“I came to find you. It took a lot of legwork, but I found your holotapes in the Jefferson Memorial and followed you here. I'm so glad you're okay, Dad.”

He gives her another squeeze, then pushes away from her, hands on her shoulders. His face is tired and the lines around his mouth are heavier, but he still looks good. Actually, he could probably be sick and emaciated and his face would still look good to her. 'Alive' is more than she really could have hoped to ask for, after months of searching.

“Galichka, I don't understand. You should still be in the Vault. How did you get out?” he asks, the skin between his brows creasing in worry. He's always done that when he looks at her, a tic she can remember since she was very small.

“I...” she swallows, looking away. She knows she has to tell him, but she doesn't want to. He'll blame himself, even though it's not his fault. He couldn't have known.

“Amata helped me escape. The Overseer.... he killed Jonas, Dad. And I think he was going to kill me too. I couldn't stay.”

She sees that her Dad is momentarily speechless. One of his arms drops from her shoulder, balls into a fist at her hip. Her father has always been good about controlling his anger; it usually comes out in his sharp tongue rather than his actions, a trait that she's picked up from him.

“Galya... milaya maya... I'm so sorry. I thought you would be safe there. If I had known...” he trails off and grits his teeth, but Gal smiles at the familiar endearment. Russian people are not well loved in America, even 200 years after the war, and James has always been firm about keeping their heritage to themselves.

So she goes by Gal and not Galya or Galina, and she tells no one about the nights she and her father have spent making borscht out of canned cabbage and ground brahmin meat and singing nursery rhymes in Russian. It feels good to embrace it again.

“It's okay, Papa. You didn't know. And I made it out safe. I've been looking for you for months now, and I've done okay. I'm glad you gave me that BB gun for my tenth birthday, though.”

Her father smiles down at her and goes to pull her into another embrace, but she sees his eyes dart to something over her shoulder.

He tenses and goes for the pistol at the small of his back, and Gal bats for his arm, but he squeezes off a shot before she can yank his arm completely down.

There is a grunt of pain behind her. Gal wrestles the pistol out of her father's grip before she turns to check on Charon, afraid he will shoot again.

“Dad, what the fuck are you doing? Stop!” she exclaims, resisting as her father attempts to push her behind him. She keeps her hold on her pistol and turns to see Charon leaning heavily on a VR pod. His left leg is stained with blood from the knee down.

“Galya, get behind me, that man is dangerous.” her father says tersely, eyes locked on Charon's. Charon glares back at him, but doesn't raise his shotgun, for which Gal is grateful. She can only handle one person shooting at a time when she's unarmed and trying not to hurt anyone.

“I know he's fucking dangerous, Dad, he walked all the way here from Rivet City with me. Charon, are you alright?”she gives her father a dirty look, shoves him backwards, and approaches the ghoul. The pistol goes down the front of her bra because she doesn't have a waistband to hold it in.

Charon is leaning all his weight on the piece of machinery, his teeth gritted. He pushes off the VR pod and tries to take a step, but his leg nearly buckles under him. Gal catches him by the arm and struggles to hold him up; she's strong, but he's heavy and far larger than she is.

A hand grabs her arm and before Gal can do anything, Charon has his shotgun pressed into her father's chest, a low snarl coming from his mouth. He's handling the shotgun easily with one hand, she notes. The look that he gives her father is pure loathing. It's not the look he gives threats to his safety, it's the look he gave to Azrukhal the moment after he pumped him full of lead.

She looks back and forth between the two men, confused.

“Can't help but shoot me full of whatever shit's on hand every time you see me, can you smoothskin? You gonna call this one 'science' too?” the ghoul growls, finger resting warningly on the trigger. Gal grabs the barrel, pushing it away from her father, and then pushes her father away from Charon so she can insert herself bodily between the two men. From the look on their faces, she can't trust either one not to shoot first and ask questions later.

“Charon, stop it. Dad, what the hell is he talking about? You two know each other?” she asks, looking back and forth between the two of them as they stare each other down.

James nods, but his eyes don't move. She's never seen this much anger on his face, not at anyone. Before this moment, she would have called her father a calm person, but no longer. He looks as if he wants to tear Charon limb from limb.

“Yes. He tried to infiltrate our lab years ago and steal the secret to Project Purity. He killed one of my best scientists in the attempt.”

“And that's the whole fucking story, huh, smoothskin?” Charon snarls back immediately. He tries to swing the shotgun barrel back towards James, but luckily Gal is in the way. Her arm trembles as she struggles to keep him from getting any closer to her father.

“What about the part where you locked me up and shot me full of drugs for your precious project, or the part where you nearly killed me trying to figure out the secret to ghoul regeneration?”

Gal sucks in a breath at the accusation, looking to her father for verification. The guilty look on his father is all she needs. Gal shoves him away and turns to Charon.

“Sit down so I can treat that. And please don't shoot my father, even if he is an asshole.” Charon obeys, but the shotgun doesn't leave his hand and his eyes don't leave James' as he slowly lowers himself to the floor. Gal sighs in relief when he finally settles back against the base of the lounger. At her prompting, he stretches his injured leg out in front of him. The blood is still leaking sluggishly, leaving a wet trail along the floor.

“Gal -” she hears from behind her, a plea to listen.

“Nyet, Papa.” she says firmly, refusing to look at him. “Leave. I'll come find you later and we'll talk.”

There is only silence, and then the soft trudge of footsteps away from the pair. Gal pushes angry thoughts of her father away and kneels in front of Charon to focus her attention on the gunshot. There's no exit wound, so she knows she will have to dig the bullet out, but luckily they are in a safe place so she doesn't have to worry about watching their back as she fixes Charon up.

“Will you tell me what happened? When you met my dad?” she asks as she digs through their supplies to find what she needs. She's cautious that he will snap at her as he did earlier.

Charon watches her inject a syringe med-x about the trauma site with hard eyes, but he nods.

“Azrukhal heard about the project. He thought if he could offer booze made from purified water, he'd become a rich man. So he sent me to the Jefferson Memorial to find out the secret. Obviously, there wasn't anything to find, but I was caught by a scientist working late. I killed him.”

Charon makes no excuses for the murder, doesn't pretend that he was forced to or even say that he regrets it. That's one thing Gal respects about Charon; the few times he's shared information with her, he hasn't whitewashed the things he's done, good or bad.

He grunts when she goes fishing for the bullet, and outright roars when she pulls it out. His knuckles turn white on support strut he's gripping. She lets the round clatter to the floor and scrambles for the bottle of vodka.

“When... when the scientist tried to shoot me... it woke up the other scientists in the building.” he says haltingly, taking a deep breath as she rinses the wound. “They trapped me in the room, sedated me with some kind of gas. I was there for a month. They thought if they could figure out what makes ghouls expel excess radiation, they could apply it to the purifier and do the same thing to water. That, or they were just pissed about their colleague and wanted to put me through some real pain.”

The child inside Gal wants to tell Charon he's a liar, and that her father would never do such a thing. She's always looked up to James as the standard of what right is; he's encountered a lot of bad situations, working as a doctor in the vault, and she'd never seen him sacrifice his morals, ever. She can't imagine him doing experiments on a live person, even one he considers a murderer.

Then again, there is a lot she doesn't know about people. Especially ones in the Wasteland who have nothing left to lose.

Especially her father, who hid his whole life from her and pretended that his whole world was Vault 101.

“How did you escape?” she asks as she covers the wound in gauze and wraps a bandage around his shin to keep it in place. She wants to give him another stimpack, but they're running low and she knows there's a good chance they'll need them on the way back to Megaton. Charon bends his leg experimentally and grunts in approval.

“Tore a covering off a duct. I ended up burning all the skin off my hands and knees going through a heater system, but I made it back to Underworld mostly in one piece. Azrukhal... wasn't pleased.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Gal mutters, getting to her feet. She holds her hand up when Charon moves to follow her.

“No, stay. I'm going to get my stuff so we can camp out and let your leg heal up some. And to talk to my father." she takes a soft breath and rubs at the side of her neck in guilt. "I'm...sorry he did this to you.”

Charon shrugs gruffly. “Not your fault, smoothskin. And it's not like it's the first time I've been shot, especially with you around.”

Gal smiles lopsidedly at his quip and leaves him leaning against the pod to search out her father.

He hasn't gone far. She finds him in the Overseer's office, gazing in at Dr. Braun as his eyelids twitch and jump. James' face is a little pinched, as if he's deep in thought, and his hair is even more tousled, probably from running his fingers through it.

“Dad.”

The pinched look disappears, and James turns to look at his daughter. His face is hard, but after a minute, it crumbles into something softer and more remorseful.

“Galichka, I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

Gal shrugs.

“Yeah, I should have told you I was with someone. But... experiments, Dad? On a human being? How could you?”

The last part comes out less harshly than she wants it to. Her father crosses the room and collapses in the chair near the desk, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. His face is pale and drawn, and his hair is streaked with more silver than she remembers. The guilt weighs on him like another fifty years of life; it hunches his shoulders and makes the circles under his eyes as dark as ink.

“I'm not proud of it, lapushka." he says. His eyes lift up to hers, but lower again, as if he can't bear to see whatever her gaze says. "But...I couldn't stop thinking of all the people I would help if I could make Project Purity a reality. I thought, if I could find a way to make the purifier work... well, I thought it would be worth it. I made a lot of choices then that have haunted me. Maybe...maybe that's another reason I escaped with your mother and you to the Vault. To get away from those memories.”

At his admission, a little of the anger in her drains out. She sits on edge of the desk and puts her hand on his to let him know that he's forgiven. He rubs his thumb along her skin mindlessly, and even though this has thrown a wrench in the works, she can't suppress the little surges of joy she still gets at seeing her father, alive and well.

“I've done some things I'm not proud of either, Papa. We'll figure this out. Just... give me some time.” Gal says quietly. Her father nods and smiles up at her wanly, squeezing her hand.

One hand reaches up to cradle the side of her face, and she closes her eyes and breathes in his warm scent, medicinal like his work. When she was little and he was working late in the clinic, she would take his lab coats into her room at night so she could snuggle with them as she slept. Even now the scent soothes her and makes her feel safe.

“I should have known my daughter would never be happy rotting away in a Vault. There's too much of your mother in you for that.” he says softly. She smiles and shakes her head.

“Too much of you, too. You were never happy there either.”

He frowns. “I had hoped you wouldn't notice. I suppose that's asking for a lot.” he swallows and looks down, suddenly uncertain. “Milaya, I meant what I said before about your companion. He's dangerous. If we hadn't trapped him in that room... I think he would have killed us all. I'm glad that you have backup out there, but he could really hurt you. He's not just an ordinary mercenary.”

“Papa...” Gal sighs, pulling his hand from her face. She expected this, even before the showdown in the main room. To a stranger, Charon looks like a feral animal, wild and dangerous; even worse, her dad has seen the results of his work, and that makes it even harder to explain away. She doesn't want to tell him about the contract, and not just because she's ashamed of it. Telling anyone else about it feels like wronging Charon. It's not her secret to share.

“You have to trust me on this one, Dad. There were... extenuating circumstances when you met him before. I've been traveling with him for a while now, and I know he won't hurt me. In fact, he's saved my life a few times now.”

James looks at her for a long moment and lets out a deep breath.

“Well, I suppose you're told old for me to boss you around anymore. Just promise me you'll be careful.” she can see that he's not satisfied, but he's never treated her as a child, and she's happy that he's not going to start now. Sshe nods, and he pushes to his feet, running one hand through his silver-streaked hair.

“I have to get to Rivet City to meet with Madison. I'd really like it if you came with me, Galichka. We could use your help.”

She shakes her head slowly.

“I will, Dad, just... not right away, okay? I need to sort some things out, and Charon needs time to rest. We'll head there once I'm finished taking care of things, okay?” She knows that James hears what she's not saying, but if he's upset about it, he doesn't show it.

Instead, he sweeps her into a bone-crushing hug and kisses the top of her head again. She tells herself that she's too old to cry but there's maybe a few choked sobs at the feeling of her dad's arms around her again.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, dorogaya maya. Never forget it. I'll be waiting.”

Together, they make their way to the Vault entrance. Gal digs out some supplies for him, wrapping them in an old handkerchief so he can tie the bundle to his belt. When he hugs her one last time, she gets an involuntary surge of fear that he's leaving again, even though it's her choice not to join him. At least this time she knows he is going, instead of waking up to find him gone. Still, it's hard to swallow when he walks away, his pistol in one hand.

When the Vault door shuts behind him, Gal wipes away the tears she hadn't been able to suppress and makes her way back to Charon.

She sees the glint of confusion in her eyes when she walks in alone. She slides her eyes away from his and sets her pack down next to him so she can dig through for a couple bottles of water.

“He left. I told him we'd catch up with him.” she tells the ghoul, her tone flat in the effort to keep her throat from closing up. Charon accepts the bottle of water she hands him readily.

“Good riddance.” Charon says between gulps of the water. She kicks him in his good leg half-heartedly but can't find it in herself to be really mad. Most people usually have a little more say about getting shot, so she figures she's getting off easy.

“I thought we should stay the night at least, to let your leg heal some.” looking up, she eyes the VR pod they're seated under, remembering what each one holds inside, and makes a face. “Maybe... not in this room though. I'm not a big fan of sleeping with dead bodies if I don't have to.”

-

Charon soaks his leg in irradiated water on and off through the evening, and by morning the bullet hole is healed over. Gal thinks about going directly to Rivet City, but they have a lot of salvage to sell and they're low on medicine, so she knows they'll need to stop in Megaton first. That's what she tells herself as she plots the route on her Pipboy.

The truth is, though, that she's still trying to figure out this new man that she calls father, one who experiments on people and fights his way through the Wasteland with only a pistol and a lead pipe. She needs some time to mull things over, and she tells herself that there's really no hurry; the search for a G.E.C.K. could take months, and there may still be work to do after it's found.

Neither of them are the same person they were when they were in the Vault together. Or, maybe, they're both just learning things about each other that have been hidden for a long time. But, then again, perhaps that's for the better. Maybe it was time they really got to know each other, and not just the faces they put on in the Vault.

If there's one thing the Wasteland is good at, it's stripping away people's fake exteriors and leaving the real person beneath exposed. But that's not always a bad thing, she thinks, sneaking a glance at the red-headed ghoul a few yards to her right. Sometimes that turns out for the better.

Chapter Text

When they set out the next day, they take even more care than before traveling through the Evergreen Mills area. Gal tries not to let her fear show, but Charon still sits closer to her during watches than before, and she's secretly grateful. They run into no more trouble than usual, though. She hopes her dad has the same smooth sailing to Rivet City; then again, it could be possible that they're having such an easy trip just because he's cleared the way.

Charon starts acting strange on the way back, though. She doesn't think he'll ever be a chatty Cathy, but there are times where they have real, normal conversations without her feeling like she's physically dragging the words from his mouth. Then, like a switch is flipped, he stops talking to her completely, except to ask pertinent questions or give information, and she's left wondering if she's done something wrong. Even his manner of speech changes; when he is feeling good, he's got a dry sense of humour that startles laughs out of her on a regular basis, but when he clams up, his speech goes back to the oddly formal tone he'd used right after she bought his contract. She practically gets whiplash from the constant temperature change between them.

She doesn't want to say anything though. Even if they are infrequent, the civil conversations she has with him are the highlights of her day. Charon has a lot of knowledge to share and when he offers it, she sucks up his advice like water to a sponge and applies it whenever she can. The subtle lip quirks that denote his smile become more frequent. He even shoves her into a bush one day, and the feel of his fingers makes her shoulder tingle for the rest of the evening. So she decides that whatever is going on, it can wait until Megaton; the Wasteland is not a safe place to be on uneven ground with your companion.

Gal's strange dreams become more frequent after the time in Vault 112. It takes an embarrassingly long time for her to figure out what the missing limbs and ruined skin means, but the day she does, she has to keep her mouth shut for 12 hours straight because she can't even look at Charon without flushing. If the ghoul senses something strange, he doesn't mention it. Still, it reinforces her reasoning to stop in Megaton, because she's clearly suffering from lack of human contact and she needs to rectify that before something really embarrassing happens. She's pretty sure she's already made some noises in her sleep, but knows that Charon wouldn't ever bring it up.

They are just a couple hours from Megaton when Gal's Pipboy lets out a strange chime. She stops and fumbles with the dials, looking for the source. Charon, in one of his cold, silent moods, stands next to her and doesn't speak while she fidgets with it.

“Vault 101 distress signal? Shit.” she curses. The path to her old home is just up the road, maybe fifteen minutes away. Quickly, she tunes in to the signal and draws in a quick breath when a familiar voice starts speaking.

“-ike you left home a long time ago, but I know you'll still out there. I just hope you're still alive to hear this. Things got worse after you left. My father's gone mad with power... if you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help stop mine.”

If it were anyone else, Gal might have just turned it off and kept going. But she knows what the tone in that voice means, she's heard it a million times before and there's no way she can turn her back. Gal listens to the rest silently, and when it finishes, she flips the signal off.

“That was my best friend, the one who helped me escape.” she tells Charon. “I have to help her. Her father is crazy - he's always been crazy, and he's in charge of the vault. If he would kill Jonas just because he helped my father...” she leaves the rest unsaid, and without hesitation turns in the direction of the Vault entrance. They can make it in ten if they hurry.

Amata is pushy, and overbearing, but she and Gal were always there for each other when they were growing up. Amata kept watch while Gal practiced her hacking skills on terminals throughout the Vault, and Gal let her shoot her BB gun so often that they were practically equal in skill by the time Gal left. They'd scoured every inch of the underground prison they called home together, and once or twice one of them had punched a Tunnel Snake for the other, which is a big deal when your age bracket only includes ten people or less. And even though the Vault residents had chased her out spitting and snarling, they're like family to her. She can't let them suffer, not when she has a chance to do something about it.

They reach the entrance in record time. The old, bleached skeleton is still lying in the doorway when she leads them through the wooden door in the hill. It had scared the shit out of her on her way out of the Vault, but now she barely pauses when one of the dry bones snaps under her boots.

When the reach the giant circular door, Gal pauses and turns to Charon, taking in his appearance.

“The Vault residents have never seen a ghoul before.” she says hesitantly. “I know you get shot at on a regular basis anyway for being a ghoul, but I have no idea what's going on in the Vault and I don't want you to get shot down here just because someone's scared.”

“Do you wish me to stay here?” he asks, painfully formal. She sighs at the cold treatment but shakes her head, choosing instead to sift through her pack for something to disguise his features.

“Here, put this bandana around your face and wear this hat. That should be enough, if they don't look too hard. But stay close to me, if they see a giant strange man walking around they'll probably either attack you or piss themselves in fear.”

Charon, as always, obeys without question. Gal enters the password on the control pad and steps back as the door is pulled out of the way. There is a strange sense of nostalgia as she traces the steps of the panicked path she'd taken out of the vault, and suddenly she feels young again and scared, vision dizzy from a concussion and clutching a stolen pistol in her hands. The soft crunch of boots behind her remind her that she is not that ignorant girl anymore; she is a different person now, wiser and stronger, and she has nothing to fear here.

Her concerns about the Overseer are confirmed when she stumbles on the first body. Jim Wilkins lies in a puddle of fresh blood, the front of his vaultsuit ripped apart by bullets. He can't have been dead more than a few hours. His sister Janice lays further into the room, her body similarly posed. They were Officer Wilkins' kids; neither one was a troublemaker, and Gal feels a pang of loss at seeing them dead.

When they reach the next room, they're stopped by a security guard in full battle rattle. He points his pistol at them, shouting at them to stop, but once he sees Gal's face he lowers it in confusion.

“It's you! I hardly recognized you from all the dust and grime out there.” he says, looking at Gal in wonder. The comment makes her wipe at her face self-consciously. She nearly smiles at him but remembers the dead kids in the other room and schools her face into impassiveness.

“Gomez. Jim and Janice's bodies are in that room. What the hell is going on down here?”

His eyes go wide and he holds a finger up to his mouth, gesturing her frantically to quiet down.

“Don't shout. If anyone catches me talking to you down here, I'll get in a lot of trouble. The night you and your dad left, everything went crazy. Between the bugs and the confusion, we lost a lot of people. When your dad opened up that gate, he let loose a whole lot of crap, if you'll pardon my language.”

Gal already knows that a lot of people blamed her father for the Overseer's batshit crazy actions, but that doesn't mean she'll let it slide. She flushes at the insinuation and jams one finger into his chest, her eyes hard.

“My father has nothing to do with whatever fucked up situation you're in, Gomez.” she tells him, emphasizing the curses. “He chose to leave and the Overseer chose to shoot someone because of it, and I was almost next. Now tell me what's going on.”

“Alright, alright, calm down, Gal.” Gomez says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Look, after your father left, a lot of people started thinking he had the right idea. The Overseer didn't like that one bit, and started cracking down on that sort of thought. Some of your old friends think it's the right idea to open the Vault and start interacting with the outside world. They probably want to have a word with you, if you have the time.”

Gomez stops and glances at Charon, who is standing behind Gal like a tall dark shadow. She sees the nervousness flicker in his eyes, but Gomez has always been good under pressure.

“Look, out of respect for your father, I'll let you in, and I won't tell anyone I saw you. But just you, not your friend there.” he gestures at Charon with his pistol.

“You won't have to let us anywhere, Gomez. Sorry...in advance.” In one fluid motion, Gal brings her weapon up and buttstrokes Gomez on the back of the head, catching his as he slumps bodily to the floor. Gal and Charon drag the unconscious man into a corner and lean him up against the wall where he'll be safe and out of the way, then carry on. It's better this way – now Gomez can say confidently that he didn't let them in, and he'll have the bruise to prove it.

When they reach the next floor down, they find old Officer Taylor standing behind a makeshift barrier of overturned tables. Freddie Gomez is standing on the other side, staring the old man down with an angry glare. When Freddie takes a step forward, Taylor draws his pistol and points it at Freddie in warning. The Tunnel Snake takes another step forward and Taylor fires, missing him to hit the metal wall instead, but it's enough to shock Freddie into retreating. He takes off into the Vault and Officer Taylor lowers the pistol with shaking hands.

“I tell you, I didn't meant to fire at him, but I never know when those rebels are going to do something dangerous.” he says in a quivering voice. Taylor has had memory problems since she was young; she doubts her remembers that she ever left the Vault. He should have retired years ago, but the Vault didn't have enough security guards to let him. She smiles at him, hoping he won't try to shoot either of them, and creeps past.

The Vault is in complete disarray, like she's never seen it before. Tables overturned, belongings spilled out on the floor, broken items everywhere – it's as they're in the middle of a warzone. Every once in a while they stumble upon a body. Gal stops at each one, unable to stop the flow of memories when she looks at their faces. There were plenty of people she didn't like in Vault 101, but none of their lives should have ended like this. The Vault was supposed to keep them safe. It wasn't supposed to turn into the same war that was raging on the surface.

She leads them through the Vault, darting this way and that to avoid the residents. She doesn't want to hear any more people blame her father for the mess they got themselves into and she knows they'll blame her too. She can't help but give Charon anecdotes as they creep through the rooms, little snippets of her personal history that she'd thought she'd forgotten. Her tenth birthday, when Andy the Mister Handy smashed her cake into a mushy pulp; the hallway where Gal nearly made sure Butch never had kids after he tried to put his hand up her shirt; the maintenance closet where she and Amata got drunk for the first time. Charon stays characteristically silent, even when old Mrs. Hudson suddenly stumbles through a door and right into him.

It's just her luck that she runs into the person she wants to see least before she's able to find Amata. Butch spots them before they're able to get away and barges over. His face is set in a familiar sneer. He looks much worse for the wear, jumpy and tired-eyed, but Gal knows that's never stopped his sweet personality before. Maybe she's done a lot of growing up since she left the Vault, but he looks much younger than she remembers him looking before. Skinny, too, and the lack of facial hair seems now almost alien in a world where razors are a luxury. His hair is doused in pomade, as always, but it looks greasy and limp, like he hasn't showered in a few days.

Butch looks her up and down and scoffs, but the huge bags under his eyes make him fairly unintimidating. His quick, slightly nervous glance at Charon doesn't help.

“Look who came waltzing back into the Vault. You've got some balls, coming back here after everything you and your dad stirred up.” he says, taking a threatening step towards her. Charon steps forward without prompting, grabs him by the jacket collar, and slams him into the wall; Butch loses his superior gaze quickly and blanches when he sees the peeling skin on Charon's hand.

“Don't talk about my dad that way, Butch. Where's Amata? I need to talk to her.” Gal asks him. She chooses a little guiltily to let Charon play the silent bodyguard, but he seems to enjoy throwing people around occasionally so maybe it's alright.

“Okay, okay, let me go, geez.” Charon drops his hand from Butch's collar and Butch brushes his shirt off, trying to regain his composure. “Amata's down in the clinic. But listen – you gotta help us get outta here. You gotta help ME get out of here. I figure, you're a goody-two-shoes, you're gonna help Amata out anyway, right? Let me tag along.”

Gal can't help but let out a knowing sigh. He's as abrasive as he's ever been, but she's not surprised by his request.  Butch has always chafed under the heavy hand of authority. As a kid he dreamed of finding something tougher, scarier, more dangerous than Vault life. At least, that's what her father told her when she used to come home crying because of something he did, talking about what a jerk he was. He doesn't know what he's asking for. Which could be a good thing for him, she reasons, since he could be a huge baby when he wasn't trying to be big and bad. She thinks with only a little vindictiveness that a few run-ins with raiders or radscorpions will temper his attitude some.

“Deal.” Gal says. “I'll help you, if you stay out of my way. Let's go find Amata. And don't antagonize Charon, he'll squash you like a bug.”

Butch looks at Charon and pales a little at the look he receives in return.

There's only a few more twists and turns to the clinic. When they enter, Amata is sitting on an exam table up against the wall, knees hugged in to her chest. She has her head buried, so she doesn't look up at them until the door whizzes shut. Her eyes pass over Charon and Butch with uneasy confusion, but when they come to rest on Gal, Amata nearly sprints across the room and grabs her wrists, shrieking in delight.

“Oh my god, you're back! You got my message and actually came back!” she exclaims. Her eyes tear up a bit and the grip she has on Gal's hands is bruising. “Everything's gone crazy since you left, and now that you're here, you can set things straight.”

Gal gets a little sense of relief out of Amata's happiness at seeing her again. It's been long enough since she left that she wasn't sure Amata wouldn't get angry and try to hit her with something (Amata gets violent when she's mad, and there was one concerning incident with a wrench a few years ago). Embarrassingly, she feels her own eyes get a little wet and a heaviness settles in her chest when she looks at her best friend. She looks just the same, proud and independent under her excitement, shoulders always straight under the weight her father places on her. Gal swallows the heaviness and shakes her hands to get Amata to slow down and pay attention.

“It's good to see you too, Amata. What happened here? Why does everyone want to leave all of the sudden?”

Amata lets go of her hands and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Gal thinks it's meant to be intimidating, but it looks more like Amata is hugging herself for support. Her mouth tugs into a thoughtful frown.

“It's my dad. After you and James left, he just... went crazy. I found out that he'd been lying to us this whole time about opening the Vault – the Vault used to be open, but for some reason they closed it again and pretended it never happened. And now that we know he's been lying, he still won't let us make our own decisions. We don't want to leave the Vault, we just want to open it for trade and exploration. But he won't listen, not even to me.”

“Your dad's a fucking pussy.” Butch sneers, stepping up from behind Amata. “He's scared of the big bad wasteland, thinks something's gonna come and eat him if he opens the Vault. He never should have been Overseer in the first place.”

Amata whirls on him and takes a few menacing steps forward. Her green eyes glitter like emeralds.

“That's rich coming from someone who's always talking a big game about leaving the Vault and never does it. Do you always run away scared like a little radroach, Butch, or do you just look like one?”

Gal cuts Butch off with a look, before they can get into it. She realizes the power dynamic has shifted a lot since she left; before, Butch would never have listened to Gal about anything. And Amata has always tended to assume that if she can't do something herself, no one else can it either. But now, she silences an argument with a look, and both of these headstrong people look to Gal as if she's the answer to their prayers. Nobody from the Vault, except maybe her father, had ever looked at her like that before. It strikes her again how much she has changed since she left the little, backwards world of 101.

“Maybe I can talk to him." she concedes carefully. "He listened to me once, maybe he'll do it again. Butch, you stay here.” she commands. “I'll come back for you.”

“Hey, what about your creepy diseased friend? You gonna have him put the Overseer up against the wall too?” Butch asks. She doesn't think he's honestly trying to be offensive, he just doesn't know how to shut up sometimes or use his words properly. Still, Gal turns and socks him in the jaw once, hard enough for him to let out a grunt of pain.

“He's not diseased, Butch. He's a Ghoul. And if you plan on living in the Wasteland, you've gotta learn how to keep your metaphorical foot out of your mouth or someone's going to do it for you in the literal sense. Now shut up and stay here before I decide I don't want to help you after all.”

That's enough to shut the boy up. He looks at her in shock as he cradles his jaw, but she ignores him and heads for the door, Charon trailing after. They leave Butch and Amata in the clinic and head to the Overseer's office.

“That was unnecessary.” Charon tells her, referring, she thinks, to Butch's comment. It's the first thing he's said since they stepped inside the Vault.

“No it wasn't. Butch is a dick. Shit, get back.” together, the two of them duck inside a room while another security guard passes by. They keep quiet as he prowls the hallway, only emerging when he's turned a corner and been gone for a good few minutes.

“Come on. Butch has to learn how not to be an asshole to everyone if he wants to make it outside. Plus, I know you would just beat him to a pulp if he pissed you off, but I'd never forgive myself if he said something like that to Gob or Carol and made them cry.”

Charon shrugs, dropping the subject. She doesn't know if he's convinced.

The entrance to the Overseer's office is blessedly unguarded when they reach it. Gal turns on the security monitor and inputs the password. It hasn't changed from the last time she snuck in here, tracking her father's footsteps, which is a surprising oversight for the man inside. She's never liked him, but he's always taken his job seriously. To overlook something as simple as changing a password is unlike him.

The Overseer is standing at his large circular window, looking down on the Vault below. When he hears Gal's footsteps, he turns. The pistol that Gal carries in one hand makes him step back, but he relaxes when she holsters it.

“Done with the dust and ruins of the Wasteland, are you? Thought you could just slink back in, like a teen missing curfew?” he sneers. He has a long, crusty cut on the side of his face that looks like it was made recently; connected to the rebellion, she assumes. His vault suit is wrinkled, as if he'd been sleeping in it, and she doesn't miss the half-dozen or so coffee cups that litter his desk. He's clearly been in his office a long time, working or making plans or possibly just trying not to get killed. 

The look he gives her hasn't changed much in the time she's been gone. He's always hated Gal. He thought she was the bad influence behind Amata's actions, the reason that Amata snuck out at night and drank in storage closets and lost her virginity at sixteen. Gal may have encouraged some of those behaviors, but that wasn't the reason Amata did them. The reality was that Amata resented her father's heavy hand in her life, and did everything she could to defy him; Gal sometimes thought that the reason she and Amata were so close was because the Overseer hated her so much.

“Hardly." she replies coolly. "I've made a life out there, I'm not planning on coming back. And if something doesn't change, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who will make that choice.” If anything, his frown gets even deeper at that.

“I won't risk all our lives for a few people's passing fancy of taking a Wasteland vacation. Many of us lost a loved one the last time the Vault was open, I won't let that happen again.” he says firmly.

She admires his sense of righteousness, even if she thinks he's wrong. He has made some hard choices in his life that didn't benefit him, because he thought they were the right thing to do; she clings to that now, knowing that if she can just find the right words, he'll agree with her.

“Overseer, you know that you can't stay down here alone forever. You don't have enough people, and more are dying every day because of this rebellion. You don't have a doctor anymore. What are you going to do if people get sick? Even with your security, you can't hold them here forever. And if you don't compromise with them, they won't open the Vault just to trade or do a little traveling. They'll leave. Permanently. And that includes your daughter.”

She hopes that bringing Amata into this will force his hand, and for one second, he wavers. Then his eyes catch on something behind her, and he lunges forward. He grabs the bandanna around Charon's face and yanks it down, gasping when Charon's ravaged face is revealed.

“This is what waits for my daughter if I let her leave this Vault.” he says in a shaky voice, drawing back from Charon as if he's afraid he'll catch some type of infectious disease. “You bring this creature in here and attempt to convince me that everything on the surface is safe for my people? You're delusional.” The last word is spit out so viciously that Gal knows she has lost. The Overseer will never listen to her now.

Charon steps forward suddenly, tugging the now-useless hat off his head and tossing it to the floor.

“Gal is right.” Charon says, stopping Gal in her tracks. She looks at him in confusion, but he doesn't acknowledge her as he continues to speak. “My condition is a result of having no safe place to go when the bombs hit 200 years ago. If I had a place like this to return to, it would not have happened. They are safer here than on the surface, that much is true, but that's not what they want anymore, and they don't trust you. You cannot control these people any longer. Either they will fight their way out, and be defenseless against the dangers of the Wasteland like I was, or your guards will shoot them and everyone from Vault 101 but you will be dead. Those are your options if you stay this track.”

The Overseer falls silent in the face of this, a troubled frown on his face. Gal crosses her fingers at her side and hopes. The silence stretches on a few long moments; Gal can practically hear the gears turning in the Overseer's head.

“...you're right. We don't have enough people. We won't last another hundred years, whether or not we get supplies from the outside. But maybe if they contact the outside world, they may be able to save themselves.”

“So you're going to allow them to?” Gal asks hopefully. The Overseer shakes his head tiredly.

“No. I'm stepping down as Overseer. This goes against everything I ever wanted for my people, and I don't think I'm the best choice to lead anymore. But Amata...” he stops, and the side of his mouth quirks up fondly. “I can think of no one better to take my place than my daughter."

He takes one step towards the door, stops, and looks back at them coolly. "I … trust you two will see yourself out?”  Then he strides out before she answers, saving her the necessity of lying.

They stand in awkward silence for a minute, trying to give the Overseer time to reach his daughter before they return to talk to Amata.

“Thanks...for that.” she says finally. She's not sure how to say, 'thanks for talking civilly to a man who basically called you a monster.' “If you hadn't brought him around... I would have had to kill him. I'm glad it didn't come to that.”

“Would you have done it?” Charon asks, his tone harsh. The reasonable man that just talked the Overseer down is gone. She stiffens, but can't blame him for being angry. She didn't even defend him.

“Yes, I would have.” she replies firmly. “He would have shot more innocent people. And Amata would never submit to being under his thumb again. So you're right, either they would have been ousted out into the wasteland with no idea how to survive, like I was, or they would have all died. I would never let that happen to her.”

Charon snorts, seeming disbelieving. She wants to argue, but this isn't the time or place. Instead, she sets off for the clinic, judging that it's been enough time that she can avoid running into the Overseer again. Charon follows, silent as always, but she can sense the anger flowing off of him even without seeing him.

When they reach the clinic, Amata is sitting at one of the desks. Her hands are propping up her head as she studies the floor, clearly lost in deep thought. Butch is leaning up against one wall; he feigns disinterest at their arrival but shifts uneasily when Charon's shadow falls over him. The overseer is nowhere to be found.

As Gal stops before Amata, she looks up and breaks into a grin from ear to ear.

“Gal, you did it! I just talked to my dad. He said he's stepping down as Overseer and letting me take his place. I don't know what you said to him, but thank you.” she pulls Gal into an embrace and Gal buries her head in the crook of Amata's neck, smiling at the familiar scent of her best friend. She's missed it more than she realized.

“Well, it wasn't me, really, it was my friend Charon. He convinced your dad it was a good idea.”

Amata freezes against her and too late, Gal remembers that Charon isn't wearing the hat or bandanna anymore. She cringes.

Amata looks at Charon with wide eyes, then with clear effort, she swallows and pastes a smile back on her face. She looks Charon right in the eye as she speaks.

“Then thank you, Charon. You've saved us all. We owe you.” she doesn't offer to shake hands, but the words and the eye contact are more than most can manage, especially for someone who's never seen a ghoul before. Charon just nods in response. Amata turns back to Gal and the smile slides from her face. Her shoulders square up, and Gal recognizes the look: it says Amata is about to say something that Gal doesn't want to hear. 

“Now that everything is sorted out, there's just one more thing that has to change...there are still a lot of people who blame you and your father for what happened, Gal, and I don't think they'll change their minds anytime soon."

Her eyes, seemingly of their own free will, drop from Gal's and settle somewhere over Gal's shoulder. The uncharacteristic display of timidity sends a chill up Gal's spine.

"Gal, I have to ask you to leave.”

The words hit her like a bag of bricks. Gal takes an involuntary step backwards and tries not to let her mouth drop open in shock.

“Amata, I came back to help you. People tried to kill me the last time I was there, and my father's still out there in the Wasteland and needs my help. But the minute I heard your message, I came back. And now you... kicking me out?” she says, disbelieving. With every word, Amata's face reddens, and she struggles to lift her eyes back up to Gal's face.

“I'm sorry, Gal. You're still my best friend, and you didn't do anything wrong, but... the situation is so delicate right now that having you around, even just to visit, might set somebody off again. We'll eventually open the Vault for good, and start trading and exploring, but we need some time to regroup and fix everything that's happened.”

Gal reaches for her hand, but Amata steps back out of reach. The message is clear. Gal lets her hand drop and watches her oldest, strongest friendship crack into pieces.

The hurt crystallizes and hardens as she looks at her former best friend, turning into something much more hateful. When she clenches her fist against her leg, she can feel the way it trembles finely. Amata doesn't buckle, just looks at her silently, waiting.

“Fine.” Gal hisses. “We'll leave. I wouldn't want your precious fucking Vault residents to have to step outside of their comfort zone and stop blaming other people for their own failures. Just don't expect me to come running if you fuck everything up again.”

She spins on her heel, not allowing Amata to reply, and strides to the door. Charon follows, as always, and after a minute Butch joins them, looking surprisingly uncomfortable with the scene he'd just witnessed. Gal doesn't bother to avoid anyone anymore; she stalks through the confused residents, ignoring their comments, heading straight for the Vault door with no detours. Nobody gets in her way. Even Old Man Taylor keeps his mouth shut as they pass by, thought he shrinks back from Charon like he's a Deathclaw.

Gal stops grudgingly when they exit the Vault to let Butch adjust to the sunlight and the wide-open sky, but then they're back on the road again. He tries for ten or fifteen minutes to answer questions. When all of them go unanswered, that approach is abandoned. Then Butch dares to ask for his own weapon and Gal shuts him down, telling him to stay between her and Charon and keep his mouth shut. He does both with no more whining; every noise he heads in the Wasteland makes him jump.

The hike to Megaton does little to lighten her mood; Charon is similarly quiet, and snaps at her no less than three times for recklessly rushing after an enemy. Butch proves himself completely useless in a fight; he runs into her, flees towards the attackers, or takes cover and refuses to come out until well after everything is dead and rotting in the sun. Gal tries to apologize for the everything that happened in the Vault, but Charon throws the apology back in her face, which makes her even angrier. At any other time, she'd be happy he's abandoned his stoic facade but it's one more thing than she can deal with right now.

When they finally reach the walled city, Gal lets out a long and audible sigh of relief. Crazy Wolfgang and his caravan are standing outside by Deputy Weld, and his grinning face is enough to make her shoulders relax a fraction. Wolfgang watches Gal approach and gives her a friendly wave, undeterred by her dark face.

“Hey there, Gal, anything Crazy Wolfgang can help you with today?” he asks as they stop before his caravan. He's unmoved by the dark cloud that hangs over their party, running his hands through his thick dark hair to make it stand up on end like he always does.

"Not unless you want to trade for a punkass barber with no survival skills except a foul mouth." she says sarcastically, shooting Butch a dirty look. Butch makes a face at her but jumps when one of the Brahmin's heads bumps his arm.

Wolfgang turns to the person in question and gives him a once over. His long, unkempt hair isn't enough to distract Gal from the calculating look in his eyes. The 'Crazy' in front of his name is an affectation that he uses to make more money, Gal knows; it makes him seem harmless and approachable, two good traits in a trader.

"Actually, I was just at Rivet City a month ago, and they were telling me that they're short on barbers. It'd be a good place for a Vaultie too, not so many biggies and baddies to fight off. Ey, boyo?" he directs to Butch. The Tunnel Snake is too busy staring at the two-headed Brahmin in horror to realize he's being discussed.

Gal digs out her bag of caps and counts out a handful, smiling at the way Wolfgang squirrels them away instantaneously. The exchange of money clues Butch in that something's happening, and he looks from Wolfgang's face back to Gal's with furrowed eyebrows.

What? Are you fucking serious, Gal, you're not leaving me with some guy I don't fucking know! I don't even have a gun!” the Brahmin licks his hand and he jumps about twelve feet in the air. Wolfgang lets out an amused snort, and his bored guard gives Butch a dry look. Butch doesn't dignify either with a response.

Gal sighs and gives him a tired look. “I'll give you another 300 if you'll give him a weapon and teach him how to shoot."

She digs out the rest of the caps, drops them into Wolfgang's hand, and presses some into Butch's as well. Butch's fingers tighten reflexively around them, but he's giving Gal what's almost a wounded look, as if he can't believe she's doing this.

"I don't even know where the hell Rivet City is, and that damn cow-thing probably has some type of disease and it licked me - hey, get offa me, what're you-" Wolfgang grabs Butch by the sleeve and drags him away, giving Gal a wave with his free hand. Butch gives Gal one last desperate look and she returns at him with an innocent smile, wiggling her fingers as she watches him go. He jumps when Wolfgang slaps his Brahmin on the ass to get it going and is already asking questions at a million miles an hour as they head off into the Wasteland. She's not sad to see him go; he had been a pain in the ass the whole time she was in the Vault, and she doubts the Wasteland will change that about him. Maybe if he'd spent more time talking to her when they were younger, and less trying to extort her for comics, she'd been letting him stay in Megaton with her and Charon, but the absolute last thing she wants is to wake up to the Tunnel Snake bitching that the water tastes funny or that the food is gross.

He's a damn good barber though, so she suspects that he'll be fine.

The short trek up to her house is even quieter with Butch gone, and not in a good way. Gal's good mood at getting rid of Butch disintegrates almost immediately with her companion's blatant cold shoulder; he even goes so far as to barge in the house in front of her, nearly knocking her over in the process. When the front door of Gal's house closes, Charon drops his pack in the corner and rushes for the stairs. She bets he's intending to hide in his room, away from his big, bad employer. Gal is tired, angry, and frustrated with his hot and cold attitude, and she thinks that now they're back home, it's time to get the bottom of it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she growls. Charon doesn't respond or even turn around. She wants to chase him up the stairs, wants to grab him by the elbow and shake some answers out of him, but she knows that's not really her talking, and it wouldn't help anyway. Honey over vinegar and all that, or at least that's what her dad taught her.

“Charon, stop.” she commands in a firm voice, loud enough that he can't pretend not to hear her. He freezes on the top step, one hand on the rails.

"Come here.”

Stiffly, slowly, the ghoul turns around and trudges back down the stairs. His face is sullen and angry, which she reminds herself is a good thing; if he's showing his feelings, that means that maybe he'll talk to her honestly instead of hiding behind his blank mask. It's a big step forward that he's expressing emotion at all, so she hopes that addressing it isn't going to cause him to clam up again.

“Tell me what's wrong.” she demands when he stops at the foot of the stairs. He clenches his fists, a low grumble in his throat. He's trying to intimidate her, but she is not cowed. She knows Charon, knows his limits, and she trusts him. More than anyone else in the Capital Wasteland, she trusts him.

“It's none of your fucking business, smoothskin. So keep your perfect nose out of it.” He moves back towards the stairs and she shakes her head in warning.

“Don't touch those stairs. You're not going anywhere.”

With a growl of anger, Charon snaps. He slams one massive fist into the wall, leaving a dent the size of her head in the thick sheet metal, and spins to attack the shelves, knocking books and trinkets to the floor as it crashes down. He doesn't touch the stairs, as commanded, but everything else in his wingspan is suddenly in danger of being destroyed. A toy car, thrown to the ground, rolls past her foot and bumps into the door, and a cracked vase that had come with the house shatters against the kitchen wall.

Shocked, Gal moves forward, unthinking, and reaches for him, desperate to calm him down before he hurts himself or breaks anything else. Charon turns back to the bookcase, possibly intending to pick it up, so she grabs for his arm. As she reaches forward, he twists. One arm pinwheels back towards her face while he's looking the other direction. The back of his hand catches her across the cheek and physically lifts her into the air, throwing her backwards. The resulting impact with the floor knocks all the breath out of her, and for a moment, Gal stares at the ceiling as she wheezes, unable to move.

She lays there for a minute, gingerly reaching to check her head with one hand, and finally sits up with a groan. Her breath whistles a little on each inhale.

Charon is frozen in place. His eyes are wide, wide enough to see white around each iris, and he locks on her bruised cheek with what she swears is a very real look of terror.

Chapter Text

Charon is frozen in place, his eyes locked on Gal's cheek where he's struck her. She's still flat on her back on the floor. Her cheek stings like a bitch, and she has to take short, shallow breaths while her body recovers, which makes her ribs ache. The things that have been knocked off the bookshelf come to a stop; then, to settle the incident, one more book falls from the shelf with a loud slap.

She doesn't usually catch him staring at her (though she can tell he does it, by the way the hairs rise on the back of her neck), so she's unnerved by the way he's doing it now. She slowly climbs to her feet, cradling her sore cheek with her hand, and smiles carefully at him, hoping that will convince him that she is not angry about the accident. Charon doesn't move, except to tilt his head as she stands so he can keep his eyes on her.

“Hey, big guy, you really need to watch where you're swinging -” she starts, taking one step forward. The sentence breaks off as Charon turns on his heel and flees for the back storage room. He nearly runs into a shelf in the process but pushes off with a stumble and ducks around the corner, out of sight. His uncharacteristic clumsiness makes Gal's mouth go dry. Something is very, very wrong. Slowly, she crosses to the storage room and peeks her head around the corner, a little scared of what she might see.

Her ghoul is backed flat up against the shelves, his breath quick. His hands are splayed against the cans of food behind him, scrabbling as if looking for a way out. When Charon locks eyes with her, she sees a rush of terror take him over. His pupils dilate rapidly; his body shivers as if he's cold, knocking boxes of instamash and cans of pork and beans off the shelves to roll around his feet.

“Charon...” she says softly, stepping in to the storage room. As her foot crosses the threshold, Charon's whole body flinches. He tries to take another step backwards, but steps on a can instead. He hits the ground hard, and it's only a split second before he's sitting up and scooting back against the shelves, as far away as he can.  The paradox is so strange that it makes Gal blink once, twice. He is the very picture of a scared little boy, trapped in a man's body, and it shakes her to the core because she does not know what's happening.

“Charon, what's wrong?” she asks, daring to take another step into the storage room. When he doesn't answer, she continues moving forward and stops just shy of his still body, unsure of how to handle the situation. Should she comfort him? Talk him down? Why is he reacting this way in the first place? Has his accidental blow to her cheek caused some sort of fearful reaction?

“Physical violence invalidates the contract.” she remembers him saying suddenly, the first time they had discussed his terms. At the time, she'd taken it as a warning not to strike him(not that she ever would have), but now she thinks maybe it goes both ways. Maybe violence on his part nullifies the safety he has from his own employers. His violently fearful response weaves tendrils of dread through her core, and she thinks of all the times that she has asked him about his training, and he has refused to answer.

“Charon, I'm going to touch you.” she says in warning. He flinches again.

She moves to the side of him and lowers herself to the floor, so she can scoot up with her back against the shelf next to him. Boxes and cans are gently pushed out of the way so she can settle comfortably, shoulder touching his shoulder, aware of his feelings about physical contact but knowing he needs some type of comfort. Gently, she pulls her legs up so she can wrap her arms around them and settle her head on top. It's almost a mirror image of his pose, but hers is relaxed, comfortable. Even the nudge of her armoured shoulder against his causes a flinch that wracks his whole body.

“Charon, I'm not going to hurt you. It was an accident.” she says softly, leaning into him a little bit. "I mean, I wish you hadn't almost destroyed my bookcase but I was thinking bed without supper or something." The joke falls flat and Gal realizes she really sucks at comforting people. She shuts her mouth. Instead, she just lets her shoulder rest against his and looks straight ahead, waiting for him to calm down. They are silent for several long moments.

Then, fraction by fraction, Charon relaxes under her touch and lets his arms slide down around his knees the way hers are. His head stays bowed, and she does not move. Finally, his eyes flick over to her, so quick she almost misses it. His knuckles are white against the dark fabric of his trousers, and his body is still stiff and unyielding, but he's no longer hiding his face. She thinks that's a good sign.

“Tell me why you reacted that way.” she demands. He swallows, making his adam's apple bob. It takes him several long moments to speak.

“The physical violence clause in my contract prevents me from intentionally harming my employer, but the scientists who built me were aware that accidents could still happen, so they had to condition me to avoid the unintentional harm of any employer. The conditioning was... harsh.”

Gal presses her lips together as he speaks. She tightens her grip around her legs, and she can feel the line of tension in his shoulders.

“What did they do to you?” she asks, afraid of the answer.

“It was... different every time. Sometimes they beat me. Other times they commanded me to do things that violated my moral code. Once, when I accidentally broke someone's arm, they stripped all the skin from my right arm with a scalpel, and let it heal back naturally. I still had skin back then to lose." he stops and swallows. 

"It was... not always about conditioning either. Sometimes, it was just about punishment. Entertainment.”

Gal physically shudders.

“No wonder you don't like being touched. I wouldn't let anyone come within a mile of me if I'd gone through something like that.” she mutters. She feels him shrug, and turns her face up to lock her eyes with his, straining her neck to do so.

“I'd never hit you, Charon. I want to think that you know that and it was just a response, but in case you don't... I would never do those types of things to you.”

Charon doesn't reply, sliding his ice-blue eyes from hers and focusing on the mark on her cheek. The bruises she's acquired on their trip to Vault 112 have been numerous, and she likely looks like a human rainbow with all the colours on her face right now. Her ear is still healing from where she'd been grazed by a bullet at the Memorial. Charon takes all this in, and slowly, the line of his shoulders begins to slope. But abruptly, he stands instead, nearly knocking her off balance and into the wall.

She holds back a yelp and watches him retreat to the doorway of the storage area. He doesn't exit, just stops and rests one hand on the doorway. They stay in silence for a moment. Gal realizes eventually that Charon isn't going to speak. 

“So, do you want to tell me what's been up with you lately? You've been acting weird since we found my dad.” she asks hesitantly. The situation feels a little unbalanced with her curled up on the floor; Charon towers over her even more now.

Charon shakes his head – then sighs and nods.

“I... you have to understand. I have had employers for most of my life. And most of them have not – been like you. To some, I was a weapon, others, a plaything, but at the most I was never more than an object. A few weeks of freedom doesn't balance out a lifetime of killing on command. ”

He is now leaning on the doorframe as if it's the only thing holding him up. The slope of his body suddenly looks tired, as if he's letting out a breath she didn't know he'd been holding. She's known that he is a good actor, but she didn't know that the acting had taken such a toll on him.

It takes her a minute to digest that sentence and understand what he's saying.

“You think it won't last.” she says. He nods and turns his head to look at her. The expression in his eyes is challenging.

She stumbles up to her feet, feeling like she needs some more height for this conversation. Her scrambling knocks a box of Sugar Bombs to the floor, but she ignores it.

“Charon, you're not a weapon, or a plaything, or a tool to be discarded when you're not useful anymore. I've never given you a reason to think that you were.”

He snorts, clearly not believing her.

“Have I?” she asks in challenge.

His eyes narrow, the set of his shoulders becomes more aggressive. The anger that she's seen in spurts for the last week comes back in a flash. He whirls around to look at her. His hands grip the doorframe with white knuckles, and the exposed muscle of his neck practically vibrates with tension as his mouth opens.

“I've known you for two weeks, smoothskin, and you've treated me well, better than I'd hoped for. But I've been alive for two fucking centuries, and you're not the first that's bought my contract with 'good intentions'. Intentions that don't last. Nowadays, life isn't about doing what is right, it's about fucking survival, against all odds. And when it's your life against the 2000 caps you spent for me, you'll snap your fingers and point, and I'll go get pumped full of lead and be done with this shitty, miserable life.”

The silence is palpable. Gal gapes, speechless. Even when he has snapped at her before, his voice didn't sound like this. She's pretty sure that it isn't just his time with her talking - it's the whole 200 years that he's been tied to the contract. It hurts, that he still doesn't believe her. Then it morphs into anger, at the face that he's blaming her for the things others have done. She's done everything she can think of to prove she's different, and sometimes it feels like tiptoeing through landmines, but she's done it for him. And he still doesn't trust her. After months of traveling together, doing everything she can think of, she's still sitting on the same platform as Azrukhal.

“You're wrong.” she snaps back. “I would never do that to you, or to anyone else. I'm doing as much as I can, Charon, I'm trying to make this shitty world a better place, but I'm just one person. There's only so much I can do.”

Her words start off harsh, but they become softer as she goes on, almost desperate. Everywhere she goes in this place, people have unreasonably high expectations of what she can do. Save this person, protect this town. Solve this problem. Get rid of this pest. She's a 20 year old vaultie, not a hero. She can't fix everyone's problems. She can't even fix the one she's got right here.

Charon stalks back over suddenly, looming over her with his hands curled into fists and his mouth twisted in a snarl. She knows subconsciously that he can't hurt her, but the primitive instincts in her tell her to dart for the door and don't look back. The less primitive, colder side of her tells her to assert her dominance and tell him to back the fuck down. She swallows that back too because she will not shut Charon down when he's only just started to show her his real face.

“And what have you done, little girl? Who have you saved in your selfless travels through the wasteland? You paid a measly sum of caps so I could keep you from dying out in the wasteland, not to help me. You saved your father because you wanted him to come running to your side and protect you. You saved your precious vault because you thought you'd be safe there, and when you weren't, you let yourself be chased back out like a stray dog, back to the safety of Megaton.” Gal tries to keep up a blank face, but her chest is hurting and her breaths are shaky, because there's some truth to Charon's words. She wants to tell him to shut up, but she won't.

If she makes him stop speaking, she will have to admit he's right.

“And what about the people who can't help you, smoothskin? What about the slaves in Evergreen Mills? Or your friends in the bar? You're not sticking your neck out to save them, I see. Not when it means you could actually get hurt.”

That's too far. Gal looks away from the blaze in his eyes; her breath catches in her throat, her eyes hot and watering. She couldn't speak to defend herself even if she wanted to. One hand in his chest to ineffectively push him away, she stumbles past and to the entrance to the storage room.

He's right, of course. 

Just before she leaves, Gal stops and looks back at him, trying to glare through the water in her eyes.

“You're not wrong.” she says with as much force as she can muster. “But you will be. I promise you, you will be.”

Charon sneers at her as she leaves him in the darkened room. She ignores the ache in her chest and the mucus dripping from her nose and digs through her pack for the first aid box, then sticks a handful of cutlery in a stack of glasses to bring it up to her bedroom. Charon goes past as she has her back turned. There's a thud, and then some metal creaking behind her, and when she turns to look, the ghoul is swinging one leg over the railing on the second floor with ease. She guesses guiltily that her order not to touch the stairs is still in place. Charon disappears into his room, slamming the door, and then there is silence.

She pretends she doesn't care about that and brings her makeshift work materials up to her own room, pulling the door shut behind her. The cutlery clatters against the glasses from the tremble in her hands, but she ignores it.. Then she spreads the contents of her armful of supplies across the desk, chems rolling off every which way due to her shaking, and finds what she needs.

And Gal vows as she breaks open vials and measures liquids and powders that Charon will know the next morning that he is wrong about her.

–

When Gal steps outside the next morning, there's a crowd gathered outside Moriarty's bar. They form a semi circle around the entrance. Some people are muttering lowly to each other, but it's impossible to make out what they're saying. Gal makes her way up to the building and pushes through a few people to the front, where Deputy Weld and the Mister Gutsy from the armoury are holding back the crowd. She can see Gob and Nova inside with Sheriff Simms, but Moriarty is nowhere to be seen.

“What's going on?” she asks Billy Creel, who's standing standing there thoughtfully with his arms crossed.

“Sounds like Moriarty kicked the bucket.” he replies. “Simms said it looked like heart failure, but he's questioning Nova and the ghoul anyway. Thinks it might have been foul play.”

Gal's heart drops into her stomach and she darts under the arms of Deputy Weld before it can push her back into the crowd. Inside, Simms is facing down Gob and Nova, his lips set in a hard line; Gob is nervously wringing his hands while Nova faces Simms down with her hands on her hips, looking taller than her five feet and change.

“Simms? Is Moriarty really dead?” Gal asks breathlessly. The new voice startles Simms. He turns in surprise to look at her, then sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Yes. Gob came and got me this morning. He told me he found him dead in his bed. Doc Church is looking at him now.” He looks back at Gob, who ducks his head. “Gob, you sure you don't have anything to tell me? Everyone knows you and Moriarty weren't best friends.”

Gal puts on a confused face, as if she's wondering why Simms would ask such a thing. “Billy said it was heart failure. So how could...?”

“Heart failure can come out of the right mixture of chems too, Gal. And Gob's got the most to win if Moriarty shows up dead. No offense, Gob, but it's hard to believe that Moriarty turning up dead right after he gives you the beating of your life is pure coincidence.”

Gal turns back to Gob and sees that it's true; Gob looks like a real trainwreck. Once of his eyes is swollen shut and a ring of ugly purple bruises encircles his neck; even his posture is pained, though he's trying his best to stand up straight and pretend he's okay. One leg is bent, as if he can't put any weight on it. Gal kicks herself for rushing in without at least seeing Gob and Nova first; otherwise, she would have known to wait. Now Gob has a clear reason to have killed Moriarty and it's all her fault.

Gal opens her mouth to claim responsibility when Nova cuts her off.

“It can't have been Gob. I would know, he was with me all last night after Moriarty beat him.” she says sharply. Gob's eyes widen and he looks at Nova in surprise.

Simms scratches his cheek and looks doubtful. “Now, Nova, I know you mean well, but that's not really -”

“That's not what I mean, Simms.” she replies. “I was with Gob last night. You can test me if you want. But it wasn't him.”

“Nova -” Gob starts hesitantly, reaching his hand out towards Nova.

“No, Gob.” she says, quieting his protest. Her eyes go soft and she puts her hand to his cheek, thumbing the swollen, dark skin under his eye tenderly. “It's okay. I don't care if they know.”

Simms is looking torn as he glances back and forth between Gob and Nova. Gal knows that Simms is a good man, and he's never condoned the way Moriarty treated Gob or Nova, but he is also a man of justice, and she knows that if he found out Moriarty's death wasn't natural, he would do the right thing. He won't let this go down without a fight. She hadn't expected any of this when she'd put her plan into action last night.

The door of Moriarty's room on the second floor opens, and Doc Church comes down the stair to the gathering, wiping his hands on an old rag. His face is as sour as ever. Doc Church is hot and cold in how he treats the residents of Megaton; he's done Gal good and bad turns in equal amounts, so she doesn't know what he will say about Moriarty's cause of death. Her poison was nearly flawless, but she also knows that if anyone can detect a poison, it's Doc Church. And it would be no skin off his nose to tell the Sheriff, either.

“Relax, Simms,” the doctor says, gruffly, “the ghoul's clean. Looks like Moriarty's diet of whiskey and Jet finally caught up with him. I'll get some men to help me bury the body.”

The atmosphere in the room calms down considerably after that. She sees the relief in Simms' eyes, though he does his best to hide it. Turning to Gob, he extends his hand and, when Gob clutches it reluctantly, gives it a firm shake.

“No hard feelings, I hope. Just doing my job.” he says. Gob nods, with a relieved smile, and Simms slaps him on the shoulder gently. “Well, seeing as Moriarty didn't have any family that I know of, and you've been working there long as I remember, I think it's only fair the bar goes to you. We'll make sure it's noted on all the paperwork.” He tips his hat to the stunned ghoul and turns towards the door. The crowd shrinks back as he exits, allowing the door to shut behind him. She can hear him outside talking to the crowd, probably explaining what happened.

The words strike Gob almost physically. Even though it must hurt with the way his lower lip is swollen, he gives Gal and earsplitting grin and turns and grabs Nova around the waist. She shrieks in delight when he twirls her around, then leans in to wrap her arms around his neck when her feet hit the ground again. There's some kissing, and Gal thinks it's time to make her swift exit, but before she can someone grabs her shoulder and pulls her around.

Doc Church's eyes bore into her relentlessly. She tries not to squirm under his accusing gaze.

“Takes some real medical experience to make a heart failure like that happen. The kind that Gob doesn't have, but a doctor's daughter might.” he says softly. Gal freezes. She's caught.

She doesn't regret it, though, even if it ends badly for her.

“...I had a debt to pay.” she says honestly. She thinks of the look in Charon's eyes as he towered over her, lips curled back in a sneer.

Doc Church looks at her for a moment longer, then huffs softly and lets go of her shoulder.

“Yeah. Me too. Don't let it happen again.” he says sourly. Turning on one heel, he stalks towards the door and exits the bar.

Gob and Nova are left staring at Gal, who swallows nervously and pastes on a smile.

“Gal... you...?” Gob asks, arms frozen around Nova's waist.

“Moriarty had a heart attack. End of story.” she says firmly. The more it's spoken of, the more likely the wrong person will hear, and then their story will be blown. Gal couldn't stand if that happened to her friends.

Gob shuts his mouth agreeably, but before she can argue his arms are around her shoulders too, squeezing her gently. She returns the hug, smiling at Nova over Gob's shoulder, and receives a saucy wink in return.

–

A group of men come and take Moriarty's body from his room to bury it outside the town. Gal cracks the safe for Simms so he can look through Moriarty's documents and get the bar signed over. She also helps Nova strip the sheets on her old bed and the ones from Moriarty's and burn them in an old barrel outside. Nova tells Gal with glee that she's retiring; though Gob will officially own the saloon, he wants Nova to help him run it and she agrees excitedly. She even asks Gal quietly to help her dispose of her jet stash. She doesn't it need it anymore, she says, with a look at the bed that had served as her 'workplace'. Together, they also throw out all the liquor Moriarty has pissed in and start giving the whole saloon a deep cleaning, scrubbing years' worth of grime and who knows what else off the floor with buckets of water and abraxo. The work is hard, but satisfying. Gal can't help but smile every time Gob stops and looks over the bar with pride.

Gal is on her knees, scrubbing a particularly sticky patch, when the door eases open. Charon strides in and glances over the bar. His eyes stop on her with a hint of relief. She waves awkwardly, feeling guilty that she didn't tell him this morning where she was going, but she's still a little angry over their fight last night so she doesn't say anything. Nova gives Charon a friendly smile from where she's wiping down the bar; Gob's disappeared into the back to determine how they're going to restock their liquor. Neither knows where the giant bruise on Gal's cheek came from and she plans to keep it that way.

“What's going on?” Charon asks, stopping in the doorway so his boots don't muddy the wet floor.

“Moriarty died last night of heart failure.” Gal replies, giving him a significant look. “And since he doesn't have any family, Gob owns the bar now. I'm helping them do some renovation.”

Charon gives her a long look that she can't decipher. She glares back at him for a minute, then goes back to scrubbing the floor, feeling a vicious surge of satisfaction. She's ashamed that it took Charon's outburst for her to help her friends, but it feels good to know that she'll never see the bloom of a bruise on Gob's face or Nova's jet-glazed eyes again. Even just knowing that she'll never have to hear Moriarty's stupid Irish accent as he's berating his workers is enough to make her smile a little.

After a moment, Charon strips off his boots and socks carefully and sets them off to the side of the door. His feet resemble the rest of him; one side is stripped of skin, leaving smooth muscle that flexes in interesting ways as he crosses to where Gal is working. He's missing a toe on his right foot. Stopping, he bends over to push his trousers up a little further and then sinks into a graceful crouch.

“Hey smoothskin,” he says, picking up a spare scrub brush and tackling another section of floor by the bucket, “Sorry about... what I said last night. I was too hard on you.”

Gal shrugs and smiles at him, to let him know he's forgiven.

“No, you were right, and I'm glad you said it. I got so caught up trying not to sink to the level of the people around me that I convinced myself I was doing all I could. And I wasn't, not by a long shot.”

Charon quirks his mouth in that small smile that she's still not used to seeing.

“Hell, smoothskin, we might make a real wastelander out of you yet.”

“That's not what you were saying when I blew that mutie's head off right before he smashed yours in.” she snipes back, letting out a bark of laughter when he 'accidentally' sprays her with water. She soaks his right pant leg with a splash from the bucket and ignores the satisfied look Nova is giving the two of them from behind the bar. Just like that, everything's fixed. It feels like Charon's letting her off too easy; then she remembers what Doc Church and his helpers are doing right now and thinks maybe the trade was fair.

Gob pokes his head in from the storage room and smiles at Charon, crouched on the floor next to Gal. It's a far cry from the wary look he normally gives her companion, which tells her he's still floating on cloud nine about the whole thing. He's got a bucket of paint in his hand and a paintbrush in the other.

“Hey, Gal, do you think Charon could help me out with the sign out front? I want to paint over it, and he's the only one tall enough to reach.”

“Ask him, not me.” Gal says simply, looking back to her scrubbing. The heavy gaze on her neck makes her ears burn.

“...I can assist you.” Charon calls to the other ghoul. Gob joins him at the front door and once Charon has his boots back on they go outside to fix the sign.

There's silence in the bar for a moment, as Gal and Nova both scrub at the gunk all over the bar. Gal's glad the lighting inside is too dim to really see what she's doing. If she knew what she was scrubbing up and getting all over her hands and knees, she'd probably need counseling. Some of it is even chunky, and it's bad enough to just pretend that it's dropped food.

Nova looks infinitely more excited to be covering herself in questionable materials than Gal is. She's always been pretty, but the smile on her face makes her beautiful, even with the dark circles under her eyes. Gal figures that some of that smile comes from being free of Moriarty, and a life of prostitution, but when she sees a dark patch on Nova's neck, she's reminded that some of it may come from...somewhere else.

“So, you and Gob....?” she asks casually, giving the woman a conspiratorial smile.

Nova blushes and nods, but a smile blooms on her face at the same time. Gal's already noticed that her meager belongings have been relocated to Gob's room sometime between her arrival and now.

“Yeah. Me and Gob. You know, I've been thinking about it for a long time." Nova huffs out a sigh, and looks thoughtful for a moment. "Gob's – he's the only guy who's ever treated me like a real person, knowing what I do – did – for a living, you know? And after Moriarty beat the shit out of him last night, I just... I just wanted to make him feel better.” she lets out a giggle, sounding all the world like a teenager in love. “I know I said a lot of cruel things about him being squishy and all, but let me tell you... boy, was I wrong.”

"Whoa, whoa, that's more than I want to know, thanks!" Gal says with a laugh. Nova rolls her eyes.

"Good. It's about time my sex life wasn't the whole town's business. I can't wait to see the look on Jericho's face when I kick him out of the bar." she says with glee. "So, what about you and Hunky McMuscle, then? Ever thought about seeing how big his... feet... are?” Nova asks curiously after a minute.

Gal turns to throw more Abraxo solution onto the floor to hide her flush. Her mind instantly races back to the noseless man in her dreams, tall and red-headed and built like a tank. “It's not like that. I mean, I've seen him shirtless a time or two, but only because he was bleeding out and about to die.”

Nova stops and gives her a look.

“So you're telling me you've NEVER thought about it. Not even once.”

Gal ducks her head and just like that, Nova knows. She's unstoppable when it comes to getting information, so Gal wasn't really expecting to win this battle. Then again, she didn't really want to keep it a secret. It's nice to share with someone who wouldn't look at her like she was mentally deranged.

“So, what are you going to do about it, then? I bet it's been a long time since tall, dark, and handsome has played hide the sausage.”

Gal's smile slides off her place and she looks back down at the bristle brush in her hands, turning it over and over to give her something to do with her fingers.

“It's just not that easy. He's... under contract to follow my orders. And I wouldn't want to think that he was doing it just because I commanded him to, you know? It wouldn't be right.” She goes back to scrubbing the floor.

Nova ponders that for a minute. She imagines that Gob's explained Charon's contract, what he must know of it, to her.

"Makes sense. That would be a rough situation to be in. You're a better woman than I am, though. I'm not sure any moral crisis would keep me off that." she teases. "I'd probably let him bleed to death by accident if it was me trying to patch his wounds with him shirtless."

Gal feels a little shame when she thinks about the looks she's sneaked but pushes forward anyway. "Just so you know... you could do a full load of laundry on those abs.”

Nova loses her composure and has to set her rag down. Her shoulders shake with laughter. It's enough to get Gal laughing too, with a little bit of relief mixed in with the happiness.

Both girls go quiet as the door opens again, smirking at each other across the floor as Gob and Charon trudge back in. Charon goes back to helping Gal with the floor. Gob pulls Nova aside to discuss replacing the whiskey and scotch they've thrown out, and they bicker good-naturedly about how much of Moriarty's incredible stash of caps to spend to stock up.

With the four of them working, it takes only a few more minutes to finish. It looks brighter somehow in the room, and a little warmer. She's sure some of it comes from the bar being clean, but she thinks maybe a little comes from the two new owners too, who are laughing and slapping each other on the arm with dishtowels.

“Well, what now?” Gal asks, bellying up to the bar. Nova sits next to her, and her hand slides along the bar unconsciously with a hint of possession.

“Now,” she says with satisfaction, “we get sauced. On the house.”

They do just that. A little ways into their third beer, Charon goes back to the house to break into Gal's stash of whiskey. Gal knows it's a terrible idea to mix beer and liquor, but she does it anyway, and so does everyone else. Somewhere after their first bottle, Gob grabs Nova around the waist and they dance around the bar to the Fox Boogie while Gal claps in time. She thinks later in the day she ends up dancing on the bar, but she can't remember. There's definitely a lot of laughter, maybe some drinking games, and something Charon says to her makes her lose her shit around the third bottle, but she also loses her shit when she trips and falls on the floor, so he really could have said literally anything.

Eventually, Gob and Nova get really handsey, nearly knocking the radio off the bar, and they stumble upstairs to Gob's room, luckily before any clothes come off. Gal and Charon take that as their signal to leave. Gal nearly pitches herself off the side of the walkway, but Charon snatches her back at the last minute, and she bumps into his side, giggling. Together, they make it to the house without any more near-accidents. Wadsworth greets them at the door, but Gal waves him off and looks at the stairway, somewhat intimidated by the idea of taking all those stairs all the way to their rooms.

A thump behind her distracts her, and she turns to see Charon lying flat on his back on the floor, groaning in pain. She giggles again and tumbles to the floor next to him.

“Good idea. Waaaaaaaaaay better than stairs.” she snorts.

“You'll be – oh fuck, that hurts – you'll be sore when you get up.” Charon grunts, slinging one arm across his eyes. Gal puts her arms over her head and rolls towards the couch. When she's in reach and able to sit up, she snags two pillows from the couch and throws one at Charon, who despite his inebriation catches it in one hand right out of the air.

“We'll be sore if we fall down the stairs too. Better to be sore down here together.” she stops and thinks about that. “Wait, that came out wrong -”

Charon hits her in the face with the pillow to stop her talking. “I know what you meant, kid. Don't sweat it.”

With a smile, she wiggles her body up to Charon and throws an arm over his torso. The muscle of his bicep is a far better pillow than the one she's snagged from the couch, so she leaves it lying next to her and breathes in the leather and copper sent of him. There's a distant alarm bell in her head about something she's doing, something that she shouldn't be doing - but it doesn't seem terribly important at the moment.

“Is this okay?” she asks sleepily, hoping he won't say no. She's entirely certain he'll have to push her off if it's not, because she doesn't think she can move. Charon stays quiet for a minute. Then he hesitantly wraps the arm she's laying on around her shoulder.

“Yeah, it's okay.” he says quietly. Gal barely hears him, already drifting off. She thinks she feels fingers carding through her hair, but she's too drunk to remember.

Chapter Text

“Shit shit shit shit shit-”

Gal ducks behind another rusted car, panting as a volley of bullets rip through the air where her head had been. The sound of them ripping into the side of the vehicle rings in her ears as she scrambles for a fresh magazine. She peeks over the hood of the car and lets loose a few more shots, then ducks back down and looks frantically for Charon. He's nowhere in sight.

There's at least ten raiders baring down on them from the front of the junkyard. They'd nearly been gunned down in the middle of the open ground that the raiders are currently occupying. Their only saving grace is that they have the cars to hide behind, but somewhere between running for her life and ducking volleys of bullets, she’s lost Charon. There's at least a hundred different hidey holes in this place and once the raiders reach the junkyard, she could come face to face with any of them and get her face blown off.

Grimacing, she pulls the pin from a grenade, cooks it for a few seconds, then lobs it right in the center of the raiders. It takes the group a few seconds to react, but once they’re scattering, she’s able to pop up over the hood of the car and take a few shots. She can see as she’s shooting that the grenade puts two out of commission, and Gal gets another in the head, but that still leaves seven more to deal with, and it was her last grenade.

Gal sinks back down behind the car. A racket from behind her makes her whip around with another silent curse. A black and grey blur is running straight for where she’s hidden, barking and snarling viciously. She tries to bring her rifle up to take aim, but before she can, the dog is on top of her. Then it’s up, springing over the hood of the car, leaving her wide-eyed and unhurt. On the raider’s side, someone starts screaming.

She takes a chance and peeks out towards the raiders. In the middle, one of the men is one the ground, screaming in pain. The dog has his teeth sunk into the man’s arm, and when it whips its head back and forth, blood flies in all directions. Gal takes careful aim and gets the screaming man in the head. The dog immediately notices his prey is dead and springs for another raider.

The attack from in their midst makes the raiders scatter in confusion. One girl sees the dog coming for her and shoots wildly. She hits another raider in the chest and both go down. Gal lays some covering fire for her newfound friend and finally finds Charon, mirroring her position over the trunk of another car.

“Don't shoot the dog!” she yells to him. He nods and signals to her to keep shooting. While the raiders are distracted, he slides out from behind the car and sprints to closer cover, where his shotgun can be more effective. The mutt knocks another man down and rips out his throat; a girl next to him turns her pistol towards the dog but Gal gets her in the chest and she drops the weapon. Charon gets two more right in the gut. Finally the last one, alone and surrounded, goes down as he’s backing away from the snarling mutt. The sound of silence rings through the open space finally, and Gal takes a minute to sigh in relief before she crawls out from behind the vehicle.  

The mutt goes straight for her, but at a trot, not a run. When she raises her rifle in warning, it sits down about ten feet away and makes a strange noise in the back of its throat, tail wagging.

“What's it doing?” she asks, giving it a strange look. It tilts its head at her in response.

“He's whining. Seems like he's friendly.” Charon replies. He walks up to the dog and kneels in front, holding one large hand out to its blood-stained muzzle. Gal winces, and waits for the attack, but it just sniffs Charon’s hand delicately and then licks it. The dog’s tongue leaves a streak of bloody saliva along Charon's palm, but he doesn’t seem to care. When he fishes a piece of iguana meat from his pack and holds it out to the mutt, it takes the meat carefully from his hand and snaps it down.

“He won't hurt you, kid. Come here.” Charon calls, looking suspiciously amused at Gal’s hesitance. Gal approaches cautiously and crouches down next to Charon, eyeing the mangy dog with suspicion. Her experience with dogs is that they bite hard and go for the throat;. She didn't even know they could be friendly.

“Here, feed it to him.” Charon says, passing her a piece of the meat. Gal holds it out to the mutt and snatches her hand back when he tries to take it from her. The meat drops in the dirt but the dog gobbles it up anyway with another tail wag.

“Good boy.” Charon says, strangely gentle, and scratches the mutt behind its ears. The dog is pretty big, probably 60 or 70 pounds, and it doesn't look as mangy up close as she'd thought previously. It has a short, mottled black and brown coat, and there's something blue around his neck. Charon grabs it and examines it for something; Gal can see there's a word scratched into the fabric.

“Your name is 'Dogmeat'?” Charon asks the dog. It barks back at him and Gal nearly falls on her butt. “What a fucking terrible name. You have owners around here, Dogmeat?”

Gal doesn’t really expect anything, but the dog turns and trots off like it completely understood what Charon had asked. She shrugs and gets up to follow it, Charon close behind. As it navigates the junkyard, it looks behind itself every once in a while to make sure they are still behind it.

“How did you know it was friendly?” Gal asks.

Charon shrugs.

“Everyone used to have a dog before the war. My family had one too. A collie. I loved that damn dog, but it died with my family in the bombing. We had them sometimes on deployment in China too – just strays that followed us around because we'd feed them.”

The dog leads them through the junkyard to the back fence. When they round another stack of junk, they can see a gathering of lumps in the middle of an open area - dead wastelanders, covered in gunshot wounds. They don’t look to be very old yet, as the blood around them is uncongealed and bright red. The dog paws at one of them and whines. Gal drags the pack nearest him over and goes through it, pulling out a tarnished metal bowl with ‘Dogmeat’ written on the side and some cans of Cram.

“Sorry, boy.” Charon says, leaning down to scratch the dog's rump. The dog doesn’t turn his head from his previous owner, but his tail twitches a bit. “Well, maybe you can come with us.”

The stiffening of Charon’s shoulders is slight, but noticeable. It’s clear he spoke without thinking. She’s still having to guess most days when he’s hungry, or thirsty, or hurt, so she knows he’d never be so bold as to ask for something like this. It’s a small enough thing to give back to him, a dog that can clearly take care of himself.

“Yeah, of course it can.” she says quickly, before he can shut down. “I mean, as long as you know how to feed it and take care of it and stuff. I don't know anything about dogs.” She kneels next to the mutt and carefully scratches it on the back, trying not to flinch when it sticks its nose in her face. It's kind of cute, she thinks, except for the blood and pieces of skin caught in its ruff and the way it had almost torn one guy’s arm from his body.

Charon doesn't say thanks, but the small smile on his face as he frisks the bodies is enough for her.

--

The dog turns out to be worth his weight in gold. He's the smartest creature she's ever known. She can show him an object, tell him what it is, and then, when she asks him to look for it, he'll fetch it for her. He's ferocious in a fight, and loyal to a fault. Charon takes Gal’s comment about looking after him more seriously than she’d imagined - feeding him from his own meals, petting him absently at night, even teaching him tricks that are both amusing and potentially life-saving. Dogmeat sometimes pesters her when he’s hungry, but it’s Charon that he goes to for affection, laying his head on Charon’s lap and looking up with big mismatched eyes until the ghoul scratches his back.  Gal hates to be jealous of a dog. But it’s hard when Charon falls open like a book for their four-legged companion but still treats her like a ticking bomb.

She spends a lot of time feeling guilty for avoiding her father. James would have reached Rivet City weeks ago. At first, she could justify putting it off for supply runs, or much-needed rest time, but now it’s obvious to everyone around that she’s stalling. Even Simms had mentioned the last time he’d saw her that it’s been a while since she was off on some crazy quest. Multiple times, she opens her mouth to tell Charon to pack, that they’ll leave in the morning… but she never does.

After her father, another thought nudges at her mind constantly, refusing to be forgotten. Nova gives her a knowing smile every time Gal walks in the bar with her trusty companion behind her. People, usually travelers passing through that don’t know better, offer varied and interesting insights on her and Charon’s relationship when they see them together, which always ends in Gal cracking skulls (except for when it ends in Charon doing it, because Gal’s earned herself another black eye or busted nose). The thing is, on the ground level they’re not wrong. She’s been dreaming about him for months now, more than once woken up panting, and it’s impossible to just chalk it up to her dry spell anymore. Now she's feeling something else happen when she looks at him – something deeper and not as fleeting. It's impossible to push away at night. She can't help but watch him sleep, his face slack and unusually open. She feels little jolts when she touches him too, bandaging wounds or careless brushes as they make meals, tingles alone her spine that are thrilling for different reasons than just sex.

She knows subconsciously what this feeling is, but slams the lid on it before it can be named.

Charon's eased up too since their fight in Megaton. He almost never resorts to his blank face or his overly formal speech unless they're in the presence of others. He never touches Gal, not unless she's injured and needs treatment, but he doesn't flinch when she bumps his arm or brushes his hand, and that's a huge step. They haven’t gotten drunk and wound up on the floor again, but things have been – nice.

Still not nice enough for him to accept pay, though. Or for him to speak without that pause, that sideways look at her that’s about permission. He gets most comfortable in Gob’s bar, when he’ll dump rowdy patrons on their ass like an afterthought, but it’s probably just muscle memory from working for Azrukhal for so long.

And that's the real reason she won't face this strange feeling inside her. No matter how many beers they have together, or touching moments, or how many times she gets him to crack that half-smile, none of it is really of his own will. Charon can't make his own decisions in regards to his employer, because he’s a goddamn slave. So if she jumps in his lap and kisses him full on the mouth... well. She can't be certain that reciprocation isn't the product of some misplaced sense of duty instead of real emotion.

There's no innocent way to bring it up either. It's not like Gal can just say, 'Hey, hypothetical question, are sexual favours to your employer part of your contract?' without sounding like a real creep. Besides, she's not even sure Charon does sex. He’s never looked at a single person as anything but a potential threat, which is pretty much the opposite of sexual attraction. The one time Charon went anywhere without Gal, when she ordered him to take some time to himself, he went to the bar, had a beer, and came back without talking to anyone but Gob. She knows, because Gob told her.

“Hey, are you gonna eat?” Charon asks her, startling her from her thoughts. A hand appears in her vision and nudges the bowl in front of her closer. The mix of instamash and cram inside looks even less appealing now that she’s let it get cold. That’s what she gets for worrying about things she can’t change.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking.” she says, crossing her legs on the sofa and spooning up some of the mush. They're staying the night in Bigtown on the way back to Megaton. She hadn't expected much more than a floor space or mattress from the teens who run the town, but Red had given them the keys to a whole spare house all to themselves. She has a sneaking suspicious it might have something to do with keeping Charon out of sight and mind, but since no one voices that she doesn't have to break any kneecaps.

“You need to eat more. You're losing weight.” Charon tells her with a pointed look. He's become strangely overprotective of her health in the past few weeks, trying to give her the lion's share of the food and hunting out blankets for her to use when they camp in the Wasteland. She's not sure where it came from, but she doesn't mind. She's always been prone to forgetting about eating.

“Aw, it's like you care, Charon!” she teases, slipping a piece of her apples down to Dogmeat below the kitchen counter. She's no longer afraid of feeding the dog treats straight from her fingertips, even when she feels his teeth brush against her hand. “You didn't use to mother me about my food, you know.”

“You are my employer, it is part of my job to watch out for your well-being. And before, I didn't know that you would give the majority of your to the dog instead of eating it yourself.” Gal snatches her hand up sheepishly, caught red-handed, and begins to eat dutifully, so Charon doesn't try to hold her down and force feed her or something. She's not opposed to the being held down but food in bed doesn't really do it for her.

They fall into a companionable silence, like most nights when they’re staying somewhere semi-safe. Charon has taught Dogmeat several tricks, and Gal runs him through them for some extra training with bits of Cram as a reward. They're working on playing dead still, which they think will work well as both a decoy and in case Dogmeat is in real danger. Charon repacks his and her packs, readjusting the weight distribution and making sure important items are reachable on the top. He's also surreptitiously taken to carrying more weight than Gal, which she had vehemently protested in the beginning, but she can't deny that there's probably a huge difference in the amount of weight they can each carry comfortably.

Once all the necessary work is done, Gal pulls a rolled copy of Grognak the Barbarian from her pack and flops down on the couch to skim through it for possibly the six hundredth time. She has a whole stack of them at home. This one is her favourite and goes with her pretty much everywhere nowadays. After Charon pronounces the packs acceptably arranged, he sits on the other end of the couch and starts disassembling his shotgun for nightly cleaning. Another thing that has changed between them; Charon no longer feels the need to find the furthest corner of the room from Gal and sit there. Gal flips through the pages lazily, Charon cleans his weapon, and Dogmeat flops down in the middle of the room to sleep. It is surprisingly domestic.

“You must have read that damn comic ten times by now.” Charon says with a quick glance at the cover of her issue. She shrugs and smiles.

“I just like big men, I guess.” she replies. If it was anyone else she was talking to, it would be construed as flirting. But even if her intention is to flirt (and it is), she’s pretty sure Charon won’t take it that way. If she has to travel with a man she has a strong attraction too, she might as well push the boundaries a little, since she can't do anything else. So far, she hasn’t gotten much more than a weird look.

Across the couch, Charon's fingers stop moving. She winces inwardly, wondering if this time she gets called out. He doesn’t look angry though, more like…like he’s struggling with something.

“There's something you need to hear.” Charon says softly, looking up at her. His tone of voice tells her that whatever it is, it's important. Gal closes the comic and sits up to give Charon her full attention. He looks away before he starts speaking.

“The first night you came into the bar, Azrukhal took a liking to you. When you came back the second time, he started...making plans.” Charon's voice is carefully devoid of emotion, but if Azrukhal has something to do with it, she knows it's not good. At least it’s not in reference to her awkward flirting attempts. Though she guesses that means he’s not going to profess his undying love to her.

Hey, it could happen.

“What kind of plans?” she asks, turning her thoughts back to the situation at hand. A line of unease appears in Charon's shoulders.

“…he needed some extra money to cover expenses at the bar. If you had come in another night, he planned to...keep you there. Force you to stay. He doesn't use them much now, but he's got a lot of contacts in Paradise Falls.”

Gals frowns. “Are you saying he wanted to sell me into slavery?”

Charon grunts an affirmative. She nearly says something else, but stops when she sees he's not done.

“That's not all, either. He wanted me to -” Charon stops and inclines his head, rubbing at his eyes with a tired hand. It's a surprisingly honest gesture from him. “-he was a sick bastard. And he didn't give a shit about other people's consent to sex. He said it'd been a long time since he'd seen a naked girl that wasn't a ghoul, and he planned on changing that.”

Gal sucks in an involuntary breath. Her throat turns into a hard lump that she can't swallow down, and a chill starts up and down her limbs. She’s not sure what about the idea of being raped is so much more terrible than being sold into slavery¸ but just thinking of Azrukhal’s face after that little revelation is making her stomach turn.

Realistically, it was impossible to meet the late bar owner for more than five minutes and not know he was probably involved in some sick shit. She’s always felt safer in populated areas though, places like Underworld and Megaton, so she’d seen his sleazy smile and dismissed it as harmless. Thinking back to Underworld, though, with tall silent Charon standing intimidatingly in the corner and everyone else nervously changing the subject any time she mentioned the 9^th Circle…

She was wrong. She was very wrong, and she hadn’t known it at the time.

 “He was going to rape me. And then sell me into slavery.” she says, needing to confirm what she thought Charon was saying. The uneasy line of his shoulders tells her that she's got something wrong. After the silence stretches for a few long minutes, Gal averts her eyes from his face so he doesn't feel pressured speak. The ghoul is clutching at the couch cushions again so hard his knuckles are white. It betrays his nervousness though his face is impassive.

“No.” he admits. “His dick stopped working years ago. His radiation poisoning fucked him up bad, and eventually he just couldn't get it up. So he started living vicariously through other people...especially ones he could order around. It was a past-time for him, and punishment for me. Kept me from getting too complacent, he said.”

There’s a strange expression on Charon’s face as he stares across the room. It looks a little bit like shame. He’s dancing around the subject, but Gal figures out what he’s saying. It’s a hundred times more nauseating than thinking of Azrukhal’s ugly face anywhere near her body.

"He was going to have you rape me while he watched. That's what you're trying to tell me.” Charon doesn't answer, but she knows she's right. “So what happened? Why didn't he?”

The change in subject seems to loosen Charon up a little bit, but he still won't look at her. Maybe that means they’re over the hump of this difficult conversation. She imagines the spot on the wall that he's staring at so intently smoking and sizzling, the wallpaper going grey around the edges.

“You offered him for my contract what he was going to sell you for. He hadn’t needed me for years, he just liked having me throw people out on their asses. And he knew that Carol liked you, so it could have been a problem once people noticed you had disappeared. It was easier to make the money off me than go through with it. But he would have. If you hadn't bought my contract.”

Gal’s not sure what to say to this. She knows she can’t say, ‘well, glad that didn’t happen’ with any semblance of a straight face. She suspects that breaking down into a sobbing mess would be detrimental to the sudden honesty that Charon is exhibiting, so that’s out too.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks instead. It’s strange of Charon to volunteer this information out of the blue, especially considering Azrukhal’s dead and clearly can’t hurt anyone anymore. She can’t really think of a good reason why he would share.

Charon looks at her now. There's a sudden hardness in his eyes that takes her aback a little. It’s a very cold look.

“Because you needed to know. If Azrukhal ordered me to force you, I would have done it. And if he had ordered me to kill you, or sell you into slavery, I would have done that too. You forget that my loyalty is not to a person. It's dangerous for you to do that.”

The conversation makes sense suddenly. It’s a warning

Gal frowns. Charon’s right – there’s a little piece of paper stuck in a tiny pocket in her shirt that dictates who he works for. And she guards it carefully, protecting it with her armour, keeping it close to her heart, because the truth is that the minute someone else touches it, the Charon she knows is gone. She’s sort of accepted that her idea of Charon liking her, even a little, could just be a foolish daydream, but her subconscious remembers and keeps the contract safe.

She realizes with a start that she has one hand flat over her left breast, over the spot where the contract lies.

But then, she thinks about the fact that he’s giving her a warning. Sure, maybe he likes the freedom she gives him, the respect, and he doesn’t want to lose that because she made some stupid mistake and lost his contract. But she’s pretty sure that’s not what’s going on here. And if he’s taking the time to warn her with the (high) possibility of it blowing up in his face, well…

Maybe he does like her a little bit after all.  

She knows that she's fighting 200 years of Charon being used and abused by people. He thinks of himself as a weapon, like a shotgun or a knife, but even after all her time in the Capital Wasteland Gal still doesn't have the capacity to think that way. He’s a killer, and a slave, and he’s done things that she would condemn other people for, but he’s not a thing. He’s a person. And she’s pretty sure that he’s a good one, when he’s allowed to make his own decisions.

“Well. This doesn’t change anything.” she says firmly, scooting closer to him. “Being ordered to do something like that – that’s not who you are. You don't make someone a rapist by holding a gun to their head and forcing them to commit the act. And if you were a bad person, Azrukhal wouldn’t have used…that…as punishment.”

Charon growls low in his throat, frustrated, and stands up slowly, putting himself in front of her on the couch so he looms over her. He has the act of intimidation down to an art. Taking one step forward into her space, he raises one hand as if he's going to strike her.

She punches him in the face.

The way that Charon's head turns is more from shock than any force behind the blow. She doubts he will even bruise. Still,  he still looks shocked. Before he can recover, she slides out from where he’s standing over her on the couch and pushes to her feet, arms crossed. She hopes she looks more confident than she feels, because her knees are feeling a little bit weak and the self-preserving side of her brain is telling her that she didn’t think this through enough.

Charon has probably killed employers before who made the mistake of hitting him. So if he really wants to rip her apart, now is the perfect time. She will show him that she is not afraid of him, even without his chains.

“Physical violence invalidates the contract.” she says, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “So go on, if you're such a bad person, here's your chance. Hurt me. Kill me. Show me how dangerous you are.”

Charon turns his head towards her slowly. A dark glint in his eyes makes her breath catch. She probably looks like she’s about to faint on the spot (probably because she is, and crossing her arms and glaring is not going to counteract that).

Dogmeat must woken up at the sound of Gal’s fist hitting Charon’s face, because he whines from behind her, dismayed at the tension between his two masters. Charon stares her down, letting the trembling in her body work itself up to a real shiver, and then moves.

He sits down on the couch and picks up a piece of his shotgun. Brush in one hand, he begins scrubbing at the caked-on carbon as if he’d never stopped, shoulders relaxed and legs splayed out.

“You’re fucking crazy, smoothskin.” He says. And that’s that.

She falls bonelessly back onto the couch. Dogmeat trots over, still whining, so she gives him a scratch under the chin to let him know that everything’s okay. The silence is forcedly pleasant, but she’s not dead and that’s always a good way to end the day.

She picks the Grognak comic up, stuffs a pillow under her head, and stretches out along the length of the couch. After a moment’s hesitation, she shoves her bare toes under Charon’s leg and revels in the heat he gives off. He doesn’t react.

 “Yeah, well, we’re two of a kind then, huh?” she says, flipping back to the spot she’d been reading before their altercation. It’s a two-page spread of Grognak ripping a lion’s head straight off his shoulders. Grognak is awesome.

Charon snorts and keeps cleaning. If the presence of Gal’s feet under his leg bothers him, he doesn’t show it. They stay like that for an hour or more, and somewhere between Grognak saving a tribe from certain death by vicious lions and his daughter appearing from the wilds to rejoin her father, she falls asleep.

–-

They do a few more runs out into the Wasteland. Gal doesn't explain the obvious way she's avoiding meeting with her father, and Charon thankfully doesn't ask. Dogmeat earns Brahmin steak for dinner for the rest of his life by mangling the hand of a raider who nearly puts a bullet in Gal's skull. Luckily, he's content with Cram because they don't actually have Brahmin steak to feed him, just endless praise and scratches that make his leg shake like mad.

They help some at Gob's Saloon when he and Nova get overwhelmed. People are more grateful about Moriarty's absence then they are upset by the bar being owned by a ghoul, so business is great. Nova tells Gal that the experience has manned Gob up too; Nova fakes helplessness occasionally when a drunk gets too handsy just because she likes the way Gob tosses them out of the bar for her.

Gal gives up on getting her and Charon separate beds wherever they go after the fourth or fifth time they get drunk and fall asleep next to each other. She lets Dogmeat sleep between them to keep her lonely-octopus tendencies at bay and thanks whoever created people for female anatomy because Charon sleeping with one hand curled around his weapon is surprisingly sexy. Once or twice she wakes up with her arms around a warm body and smiles, thinking it's Charon, only to get licked in the face. It gets a half-smile out of the ghoul and that's almost as good.

They even bring back enough salvage that Gal can start keeping her own little stash in the house, stuck under a floorboard. The bag isn't nearly as big as the one she keeps for Charon, who still refuses pay, but it's enough to cover a month of expenses and it's more spare money than she's ever had in her life. She shows the ghoul where she hides it, despite his protests that he doesn't need to know.

A month or so after the trip to Vault 112, she decides it's time. Charon comes back from Gob's to find her spreading supplies across the living room floor. She's got spare clothes already rolled up and padding the bottom of each bag, and she's debating the placement of medical supplies and ammo when he crouches down next to her to inspect.

“Put the ammo on the top in the main compartment and keep all the meds in the smaller pouches. Now that you've got those new ammo pouches you won't need to reach it so quickly.” he advises. He doesn't ask about the trip at all, but she knows he's guessed.

She does as he advises and keeps a few stimpacks out to go in trouser pockets for emergencies. The magazines that will go in her ammo pouches are already loaded so the rest of the packing doesn't take much time. She's always been light on supplies in order to maximize salvage space and she's kept that up even with Charon there.

“What's-his-name gave me some letters for you.” Charon says conversationally as they tighten down straps and check weight distribution. Dogmeat steps over the pack that Gal is working on and shoves his face into hers. She laughs and pushes him out of the way.

“Gob told me he wanted me to carry some letters for him to Carol. Think things have cooled down enough for us to go back to Underworld?” she gives up on moving Dogmeat, since she's done with her packing anyway, and starts scratching his back. When he wags his tail, it hits Charon in the face. The ghoul pushes the dog into Gal and she falls back onto the floor, Dogmeat crashing down on top of her in a warm heap. Charon snorts as the dog simply makes himself comfortable and Gal goes back to scratching him with a smile.

“They've probably gotten over it by now. Wouldn't have taken so long if you weren't such a troublemaker.” there's a note of humour in his voice as he stacks their packs back against the wall. She feigns mock outrage at his accusation.

“I am not the one who shot his former employer full of holes and fled the scene. At least I had the decency to make it look like an accident when I decided to murder someone in the name of good.”

He cocks an eyebrow at her and heads for the kitchen. She hopes selfishly that he's making dinner, because she has become very comfortable on the floor and isn't looking forward to getting up for any reason, but her stomach is also rumbling.

“Too bad Church wasn't fooled.” he says as he starts pulling food out of the fridge.

“How'd you know about that?!” she says, sitting up suddenly. The movement knocks Dogmeat to the ground, and he lets out a sharp bark of annoyance. Charon doesn't look back from his spot in the kitchen, but she sees the way one side of his mouth tilts upwards.

“It's my job to know these things. How else am I supposed to keep you out of trouble, smoothskin?”

She gives his back an unimpressed look, but he doesn't reveal his secrets even though her glare is spot-on. Sighing, Gal flops back down on the floor and pillows her head on her hands so she can stare at the ceiling.

“For the record, your insolence is coming out of your pay.” She tells him. “Unless you’re making mac ‘n’ cheese, in which case I will forgive you.”

“You ate it all.” He replies. “There’s only instamash left.”

Gal makes a face and sits up, and then sees the familiar green box in his hand and realizes he’s pulling her leg. She tries to glare, but ends up laughing instead.

Chapter Text

The trip back to Underworld goes smoothly, minus a traumatic incident where Gal nearly falls off a cliff. Willow is smoking in front of the building, as always, and Gal finds it funny to note that her face is just as impassive now as it was when Gal was playing tag with a Super Mutant. Thankfully, this time her only shadows are Dogmeat and Charon. Willow does glance at Charon quickly, with a strange look on her face, but it's only for a moment.

“Tourist. Didn't expect to see you back here.” she says, nearly conversationally, as Gal stops in front of her.

Gal smiles, shrugs. “The hospitality's hard to pass up. Plus, Carol makes a mean Brahmin steak.”

That gets a wry smile out of Willow, and she waves them in with one hand. “You got that right. Try not to kill anyone this time.”

Gal frowns at the accusation, but lets herself be herded into the museum without comment. She still gives Charon a scathing look as they pass the reptile and hairy thing towards the Underworld entrance.

“How come everyone keeps blaming me for your itchy trigger finger?” she grumbles, stopping so Dogmeat can sniff at the bone pieces laying on the floor. He tries to pick one up, but it's nearly as big around as his head and probably twice as heavy.

Charon snorts. “Trust me, smoothskin, coming from Willow, it's a compliment. She hated that bastard too. Everyone did.”

That was the impression Gal had gotten too. It says good things for their reception, but she's still cautious as they enter the town.

Underworld hasn't changed any since she was here a month ago. Winthrop accepts the gift of scrap metal she brings him with good grace, looking only slightly nervous at Charon's proximity. Patchwork stumbles into her and slaps her on the back with a tipsy smile. Carol one-ups everyone, though, when she rounds the corner to pull Gal into a tight hug, and then does the same to Charon. The uncomfortable look on Charon's face nearly makes Gal lose her composure, but she hides it behind a polite cough. Really, she's not surprised; Carol is the friendliest person she's ever met, and she treats Gal like some type of saint ever since Gal agreed to carry her letters back to Megaton.

“Good news, Carol.” Gal says, once the greetings are done and they're seated in the dining area, steaming plates of food in front of them. “You remember I told you Gob was working at a bar, right? Well, he owns it now. The owner died, so the sheriff of Megaton gave him the rights to the whole place.”

Carol claps her hands together in glee, and even Greta lets out a surprised huff in response. Gal's already given her the packet of letters from Gob, but she'd set them aside to eat dinner with them.

“That's wonderful!” Carol says, her eyes lighting up. “I always knew he'd do well for himself. I mean, I worried, you know – it's a tough world out there for us Ghouls – but Gob's always had a strong spirit.”

Gal smiles, happy that she's able to bring even more good news back to Underworld. “There's more! He's got himself a girlfriend. Her name is Nova.”

If anything, Carol's smile gets bigger. Gal hadn't told her about Moriarty and Gob's situation when Carol had asked on her first visit, but Gal was pretty sure that Carol suspected it wasn't all sunshine and butterflies for him. So it feels good to tell Carol about how pretty Nova is, and how she helps to run the bar (the details of her previous employment are best left unsaid, Gal thinks) and how crazy in love the two of them are. Carol makes Gal promise to tell Gob and Nova that they should come visit when they have the chance, so Carol can meet Nova, and Gal tells her that she'll happily escort them the minute she has time.

“So are you staying the night, hon? We've got plenty of beds available.” Carol asks after a while. Empty plates lie in front of all of them. 

Gal nods, feeling the strain of the hurried pace they'd taken to Underworld. It's left her tired and achy. He won't say it, but she knows Charon is worn out too; he'd insisted on carrying all the scrap metal, and she'd caught him rubbing at his shoulders a few times where the straps had clearly dug in from all the extra weight.

“Yes, we'd like one. A big one, if you've got it.” she replies, distracted by shouldering her pack. She nearly misses the strange look that Greta and Carol give her, but doesn't miss the awkwardly long pause. Did she say something wrong?

“...Just one?” Carol asks after a minute, glancing between her and Charon with undisguised curiousity. Gal understands the sudden, awkward silence finally and tries not to let out a sigh. Somehow, she hadn't been expecting that response from the Underworld residents. Still, Carol doesn't look put off by the suggestion, only confused.

“Yeah, I make good money off my salvage but you've got to save where you can, right?” she says in explanation, ducking her head to pat Dogmeat awake. On one hand, it feels like she shouldn't need to explain her relationship with her companion to anyone, because it's not their business; on the other, Greta and Carol surely know about the contract, and she respects them and doesn't want them thinking she's taking advantage of someone who can't say no. Then again, why does everyone assume that people can't share a bed without jumping on top of each other? The whole thing gives her a headache.

“Well, if you think you're paying full price after all you've done for us, you better think again, dear. Take any bed you like.” Carol says with a warm smile, as if she's put the whole matter to rest. She gives Gal's shoulder a squeeze and picks up the dishes to carry into the kitchen.

It's only a short jaunt to the sleeping area from where they'd been eating. Gal dumps her pack quickly beside the biggest bed in the room and turns back, intent on helping Carol with the dishes as a thank you, when she notices that Charon hasn't followed her. Frowning, Gal heads back up towards the front, stopping when she hears a low voice around the corner.

“-taking advantage-”

“What my employer chooses to do with me is no one's business.” Charon growls back quietly. She peaks around the corner and sees Greta standing in front of Charon, her arms crossed and her eyes hard. Charon is mirroring her stance.

“So you're telling me that you're okay with playing whore for her? She get off on knowing she's the only choice you've got or something?”

Gal isn't surprised when Charon grabs her by the shoulder and shoves her into the wall. Greta, to her credit, doesn't let her expression change, though her hands do grab for Charon's arm reflexively.

“Continue to speak ill of my employer and this discussion will get much less comfortable for you.” Charon says icily. Gal can see a vein in his bicep pulsing. Greta doesn't let go.

“You never would have stood up for Azrukhal like this.” she points out, the tone in her voice unreadable.

“Azrukhal used me as a thug and a killer. Azrukhal never treated my wounds with his own fucking hands when I was injured doing his dirty work. He also never tried to free me by giving me my own contract.”

There is silence.

“...she did that?” comes the answer, quiet and somewhat incredulous.

“Yes.” Charon says shortly, letting go of her neck. “She also risked her life and her home to free Carol's son from his abusive owner. She sent him into heart failure and was nearly outed by the town doctor. If she'd been caught, they would have exiled her. So whatever grudge you have against her, stop pretending it's because of me, and keep your damn mouth shut.”

Gal notes that he says nothing about his own role in that scenario, of the fight and how he'd pushed her to take a chance by accusing her of sitting back and doing nothing. She's a little bit grateful for that. Greta's never liked her anyway, and she knows that the fact pains Carol. It wouldn't be bad for Greta to think a little more of her. 

“...well, she got Azrukhal out of the picture, so I suppose that's good for something.” Greta admits grudgingly. “It's hard to keep customers when girls are disappearing left and right.”

Gal involuntarily draws in a sharp breath, but she claps her hand over her mouth almost immediately. Hopefully they didn't hear. It's not been that long since she and Charon talked about this exact same subject; she'd just chosen to forget that he'd told her she wasn't the first.

“...I should go. I can't keep her waiting.” Charon says, clearly as uncomfortable with the subject as Gal is. Gal takes that as her sign to disappear and rushes back to the bed, sitting down and shoving her hands into her pack just as Charon appears. She thinks she's in the clear.

“You heard.” ...or maybe not.

“You're kind of scary sometimes, you know that?” she tells him in an obviously joking manner, attempting to steer the subject into less dangerous territory. Charon fixes her with a hard look, and she sighs in defeat.

“...how many girls?” she asks eventually, patting the spot next to her to signal Charon to sit down. He does so reluctantly, leaving a few feet of space between them as if he's afraid she'll bite.

“Eight.”

Gal tries not to let the shock show on her face, but she's pretty sure she fails.

The room goes silent for a moment.

“...Where are they now?”

Charon fixes his gaze steadily at the wall.

“They were all taken to Paradise Falls. Most are probably sold to different masters now. Or dead.” his voice sounds a little hopeful for the second option. Isn't that a bitch, to wish for someone's death because the possibility of life is so much worse?

“With them...did you have to...?” she can't manage to say the words out loud, but Charon gets the meaning anyway.

He tilts his head.

“...I don't really want to talk about it.”

The words are stunted and a little cautious. He expects her to push the issue, or demand that he answer, even though she'd told him before that she'd respect any order he didn't wish to fulfill. So, even though she really wants to know, she drops it, and flops back onto the bed.

“Well, I think it's bedtime.” she says with a very real yawn. Dogmeat is already fast asleep on a rug on the floor, so she doesn't bother him to get him to jump up on the bed. “We'll head to Rivet City tomorrow.”

Charon lets out a grunt of approval and starts unlacing his boots. When they'd first start sleeping together (and shit that leads her brain to bad places), Charon had stayed fully dressed, just taking off his armour and boots while he slept. She'd been half-certain he didn't even sleep, too unnerved by the thought that Gal's pinkie might accidentally touch his elbow or something. Now he's comfortable enough to strip down to his undershirt and pants with no reservations. She knows that he'll put his pistol under his pillow so it's in easy reach, and he'll lay down on his back with one arm draped across his stomach, and somewhere in the night, his right sock will come off. Something about all this knowledge feels very intimate to her. She wonders how long it's been since another person knew him like this. Probably decades.

Definitely decades, since she'd deduced already that Azrukhal forced him to sleep on the floor.

“You know, you could have just told Greta we weren't sleeping together.” she says conversationally as she stares at the ceiling, feeling warm and drowsy under the wool blankets piled atop the bed.

Charon lets out a grunt from the doorway, where he's turning out the light. After a moment of silence, the side of the bed depresses and she feels him roll into bed, yanking one of the blankets over himself. They always sleep with separate blankets, so there's no chance of contact in the night.

“It wasn't her business. She's too nosy for her own good.” he grumbles. He shifts a little bit and making the bed shake.

“...have you ever had an employer do that to you?” she asks, aware that she's stepping into risky territory again.

“Nah, all my employers have been male. You're the first girl I've ever had. Azrukhal tried to... loan me out a few times to some willing ghoulettes, but his instructions were always too vague, and they weren't desperate enough to let him stand in the room and order me around.”

She lets out a soft laugh, picturing Charon standing awkwardly in his corner of the bar, trying unsuccessfully to fend off a fawning admirer. It's easy to imagine; clearly he was a looker in his day, and he's a looker even now, for a Ghoul. He gets a lot of nervous looks everywhere they go, but he gets some interested ones too.

“Guess that icy glare can't keep all the girls away, can it?” she teases gently, knocking him in the side with her blanket-covered elbow. She can almost feel the look he gives her, though she can't see anything in the dark of the room.

“Sounds like something in your brain got knocked loose today, smoothskin. You better get some sleep or you'll start speaking in gibberish soon.”

She thinks about retorting, but her eyelids are getting heavy, and she's having a hard time thinking of anything witty to say back. So instead she lays back and lets her eyes flutter shut, giving in to sleep.

–

“Dad!”

James turns from his conversation immediately. The moment his eyes light on her, his face breaks out into a warm smile. She skips down the stairs, meeting him in the middle, and lets him wrap her up in a warm hug and kiss the top of her head. It probably looks childish to the scientists gathered a few feet away, but she doesn't really care. It's hard to remember now why she'd waited so long to come back to him.

“I was starting to think you'd never come, milaya.” he murmurs into her hair, before reluctantly letting her go. She flushes.

“I had a lot of things to do before I could head here. Sorry.” she lies. He accepts the vague answer with good grace and glances up to her shadow, who's standing just behind her right shoulder, as always. She expects a chilly reception, but her father surprises her by offering Charon his hand with a polite (if a little forced) smile on his face.

“Thanks for escorting my daughter. It makes me feel better to know she's got someone watching her back out there.” he says honestly. Charon stares at his hand for a long minute, but finally takes it for a brief shake. Gal notes that though some of the others clearly recognize Charon, none of them are saying anything about it. She suspects this is her father's doing and thanks him silently. This is the dad she'd grown up with, the one that always does the right thing, even when it's personal.

“Have you guys set up in your lab yet?” she asks, before the moment can go on too long and turn sour. James shakes his head.

“No, we had to do some clearing out before we could deem it safe to live in again. Though it seems like someone did a pretty good job when they went through there not too long ago...” he says with a conspiratorial grin towards his daughter. “Anyway, we're planning on heading back in the morning. Are you able to come? I could use your smarts on some of the computer systems.”

She nods her head eagerly. The chance to get her hands on some tech again sounds like a real treat. Then she remembers her shadow and his past there and stills. She hadn't noticed it the first time through, but looking back, she realizes now that he'd been unusually tense while in the memorial. As if he'd been having some flashbacks. 

When she looks at him, his expression is carefully blank. She takes that as a bad sign.

“We've got some restocking to do, so we're going to head down to the marketplace now. Do you need anything?” she asks. Her dad smiles and shakes his head.

“Nyet, dorogaya. I'll see you later. Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Ya tozhe, Papa. Uvidimsya.”

James joins his posse of scientists again and immediately launches back into an argument over a set of plans that makes absolutely no sense to her. She shakes her head fondly and motions Charon back towards the entrance.

On the way out, she spots an old man standing next to the door, looking at her intently. Gal doesn't recall seeing him on her last trip here, so she gives him a small smile. Still, she jumps when he grabs her arm on the way out the door and steps into her path. His grip is strong for an old man.

“You there! What are you, some kind of lab assistant?” he asks sternly. “No, you look a bit more... weathered.”

He continues before she can ask him exactly what he means by that comment.

“Are you by any chance for hire?”

She doubts that he would call her 'weathered' and then attempt to call her a prostitute, so she's relieved but not certain what he's looking for. He seems impressed by Charon, though.

“Depends on what you're looking for.” she says noncommittally, gently pulling her arm from his grasp. He doesn't seem put-off by her standoffishness; to the contrary, he smiles as if pleased.

“To the point. I like that. Well, as it turns out, I've misplaced some very sensitive 'property'. An android. Do you know what an android is? No, I imagine you don't.”

Something about this rings a bell, so she ignores his jibe and his subsequent prattling and tries to remember what it is about this that sounds familiar. Something about a holotape...

That's right, a holotape. She can't remember exactly where she'd found it, but she does remember what the man had said. He'd been looking for a plastic surgeon and a tech-head for something, ones that could be discrete. She hadn't given it much thought at the time, since she'd had no more info to follow up on, but she remembers it striking her as odd. What does someone in the Wasteland need plastic surgery for?

Unless he was being hunted by someone. Someone like the man in front of her. And someone that needed their face and circuitry messed with that much would also need a very capable scientist, one who could both understand advanced scientific hardware and human biology.

She could think of another person who could benefit from that type of knowledge.

“You'll help me find this android, right? I know he's out in the Capital Wasteland somewhere.”

Gal snaps back to the man in front of her and nods before her brain catches up.

“Uh... as long as you're paying I guess. Sure.” she says, to cover her slip. The man, Zimmer, doesn't notice, just gives her a satisfied smile.

“Excellent! Locate my android, and you won't be disappointed.” he says, with a tone of finality. She takes that as a sign to slip away and does so before he can talk her ear off again about his 'property'.

“You're going to hunt this android down?” Charon asks cautiously. There's the slightest hint of displeasure in his voice. She shakes her head and heads for the marketplace, glancing back at Zimmer out of the corner of her eye.

“Not interested. It just reminded me of something... a holotape I found somewhere about the same man, I think. If the man on that tape was this android, he's looking for someone to mess with his brain circuitry. Someone who could implant a Circuit Neuralizer to reroute his memories. And if this scientist is advanced enough to do that...” she says thoughtfully, trailing off before she can finish.

It's a long shot, and Gal has nearly no data to go on, but it's worth looking into, at least.

“Let's get our salvage bought, then we'll talk about it.” she says, turning her mind back to the task at hand.

Victoria Watts appears when they're selling off the last of their chems to the Cantelli couple. She waits patiently while Gal concludes their business, and doesn't flinch when Charon turns his intimidating gaze on her.

Gal has never seen this woman before in her life, so she's a little confused when she turns to face her and gets a hard look in return, one that she's pretty sure she's done nothing to warrant. Rivet City is full of random people today that are demanding her attention, and it's a bit disconcerting.

“Can I... help you?” she asks uncertainly, quirking an eyebrow when the woman puts one hand on her hip and pokes Gal in the chest.

“Yeah, you can. Tell me something. You don't seem like a bigot -” here she nods her head at Charon - “so is there any particular reason you're planning on hunting down an innocent android for Dr. Zimmer who's only crime is wanting to be free?”

Gal blinks at her. She hadn't noticed the woman lurking in the science lab when she and Zimmer had had their talk, but she must've been; there was no other way she could have known about their deal. That, or she'd been hiding in the vents or something; from the evil eye she's giving Gal, there's a chance she's a little crazy.

“I – no, that's a misunderstanding. I agreed, but -”

“But what? Is it the money? Or you have something against synthetics?”

Victoria is clearly not an easy person to get along with, Gal reflects.

“Look, lady,” Gal says tersely, “I have my own reasons. I'm not gonna turn anyone over to anyone. I just want to know who the brain surgeon was that that android talked to, so I can talk to him myself.”

Watts narrows her eyes, unconvinced.

“That's it? You just want the name of the scientist?” she asks. Gal nods.

The woman looks at her a minute longer, then digs in the bag at her side for something, pulling out a small circuitboard that she shows to Gal.

“Let's make a deal. This is an internal component of the android Zimmer's searching for. Don't ask how I obtained it. You give this to Zimmer and tell him the android's dead, and I'll tell you the name of the scientist. When Zimmer sees it, he'll go back to the Commonwealth and leave the poor soul alone. Deal?”

Gal pulls the circuit board from the woman and examines it carefully. It's advanced, far more advanced than anything she's seen in the computers around here. That makes sense; it would take far more advanced tech than she's ever seen to create an android.

“I'll do it.” she says, “on the condition that you tell me the name right now. I need to see him today, but I promise that as soon as I'm done, I'll deliver this to Zimmer.”

The woman doesn't seem convinced, but she nods anyway.

“His name is Horace Pinkerton. He lives -”

“-In the bow of the ship!” Gal finishes, smacking herself in the forehead. “Of course! Why didn't I think of that? Charon, let's go, it's a bit of a trek to his lab. I'll give this to Zimmer right away, don't worry.”

She leaves Watts in the marketplace and heads for the door, stuffing the circuit board in her bag to deal with later. Watts must trust her, because she doesn't follow.

Gal weaves them through the various levels of the aircraft carrier until they're able to get outside and head towards the bow. Just two steps out the door, though, she feels a touch on her shoulder and stops.

“Hey,” Charon says, removing his hand as soon as she turns, “what is this about?”

Gal waffles a little bit, trying to figure the best way to say it. She doesn't know if Charon will respond positively to what she's asking of him. But she's got to try.

“It's about you. About your contract, and what makes you follow it.” she wilts a little bit under the intensity of his stare, but keeps talking stubbornly. “I was just thinking... if he can figure out what causes you to have to follow your employer, maybe... you know, maybe he can reverse it.”

He stares at her, unblinking, the lines of his shoulders frozen. She starts to rethink her decision a little bit, getting nervous the longer he stays quiet.

“I mean, if you don't want to-”

“No. Let's go.” he says shortly, turning to continue down the walkway. She blinks and then hurries to catch up.

“Uh. Okay. So...you're lucky, the last time I came down here it involved a lot if swimming and possible almost drowning." Gal says conversationally as they head for the back door to Pinkerton's lab.

"What's almost drowning to a vault kid is probably a regular day for the rest of us, smoothskin." Charon says drily, keeping a look out as Gal turns to the door and slips a bobby pin and a screwdriver in to the lock. Gal shoots him a dirty look, but it doesn't have much real heat in it.

"Better watch it, mister, or I'll make you take that route while I stay up here, high and dry." She mutters. Charon doesn't seem terribly worried that she's serious, which is good. She'd rather not find out by comparison how terrible she really is at swimming.

Once she gets the door open, she inspects the room over carefully from the doorway, looking for traps. "Last time I was here I almost got blown up like three times, so be careful."

Charon looks the room over quickly.

"There's a shotgun trap in the corner." he points out, "a tripwire here at the door...that's a possible grenade bouquet over there.... Seems pretty standard for someone who knows what they're doing."

"Yes, thank you, Argyle. Any more insights?" Gal asks him sarcastically as she bends down to disarm the tripwire.

"Getting blown up hurts." He adds helpfully. She snorts and continues working.

When they make it through the room to Pinkerton's lab, Gal is greeted by a pistol to the face. It's eerily reminiscent of the first time she was here, just from the wrong door. Pinkerton doesn't look much changed; he's still old, grey, and angry at being disturbed.

"You again. What do you want this time?" He growls, poking her in the cheek with the pistol. Charon shifts behind her and she waves him down before he does something crazy like break the old man's arm. He didn't shoot her last time, and even though he'd told her to never come back, she's pretty sure he won't shoot her today.

"Dr. Pinkerton. Sorry to bother you again, but I heard through the grapevine you have some experience with neuroscience. That true?"

He lowers the pistol, but doesn't move to let them in.

"Maybe. What business is it of yours?" He asks warily.

"We need your help. My friend Charon has a condition - he's..." Here, Gal stops and looks to Charon, asking silently if it's alright to share. Charon nods once, and it seems sincere, so Gal continues. "He's bound to a contract that forces him to obey his employer without question. He doesn't know what the exact process of his conditioning was, but he says it's not just psychological. We want to know what's causing it, and if its reversible. Can you help?"

Pinkerton cranes his head to look at the ghoul over Gal's shoulder with a strange expression.

"Charon, your name is?" He asks. When Charon nods, Pinkerton smiles, as if the admission pleases him.

"Yes, yes. I think I can help you. Come in."

They step into his lab and follow him to a large white machine up against one wall. It has a round opening lined up with a table, and a user interface nearby hooked up to several monitors. It's clearly prewar tech of some kind, but it's remarkably intact. Gal has no idea what it does.

"Lie on this table and stick your head in the opening. What happens if you disobey an order?"

Charon drops his pack and slowly lays down on the table. His shotgun stays in his hands. Pinkerton goes to the user interface and flips some switches, causing the machine to light up and make a soft whirring noise. Gal doesn't miss the way Charon flinches at the sound of the machine.

"Head pain. If I resist long enough, it knocks me unconscious. When I wake up, the pain continues until the order is rescinded or I carry it out."

Pinkerton nods, as if this is all normal information to him, and starts messing with the machine. Gal, after a moments hesitation, sidles up to where Charon is laying and hovers at his side, wondering if there's something she can do to help.

"You okay?" She asks softly. Charon shrugs, causing his armor to shift under her fingertips. His face is hard to read.

"Its not the first time I've been laid out on a table so someone can look at my brain." At Gal's hard look, he sighs. "It was a joke, kid. I'll be fine."

"Keep still!" Pinkerton admonishes sourly from the user interface. "We're about to start the test."

Charon gamely slides his head into the machine opening and closes his eyes. When Pinkerton hits another button, the whirring in the machine gets louder for several minutes and lights begin flashing on the user interface. After a minute or two, the whirring dies down.

"You can get up now." Pinkerton says. Charon nearly leaps from the table.

Gal peeks over Pinkteron's shoulder at the computer that's hooked up to the strange machine and studies the screen. Several black and grey pictures pop up, clearly showing the outline of Charon's head with a mass of grey inside it that she realizes must be his brain. It's fascinating. She knows that before the war, this kind of technology was common, and she's seen plenty of dead brain matter in person. Seeing a real, working brain on a computer screen is completely different.

Pinkerton starts pointing to different areas of the images and remarking on them. "No damage to the brain, which is good after two hundred years of servitude. You can see the areas that have been stimulated by your ghoulification – here, and here - interesting... And I believe...this is your culprit."

He points to a dark spot in the middle of the grey mass, a few inches behind Charon's eyes. It doesn't look any different than the rest of the dark spots in the picture, but she's not the neurosurgeon, so she stays quiet.

"This is the section of the brain that houses the amygdala. It's responsible for fear-induced conditioning and emotional learning. This is what causes automatic responses to outside stimuli - like when an abused woman automatically shrinks away from her husband's hand. I don't have the equipment to do any deeper research, but my assumption is that this spot is a piece of hardware that stimulates the amygdala when you are given an order. Follow it, and nothing happens. Refuse it, and pain is produced. It's really very ingenious."

On the scan, the spot is tiny, probably no bigger than her pinkie nail in real life. The idea that something so small can cause that kind of pain and suffering is sickening. She has no idea how someone would even get that thing in there... but she can imagine that if someone had fiddled with her brain like that, she wouldn't have gamely laid down on a table and let herself be subjected to a machine test like Charon just had.

"So...can you remove it?" Gal asks after a moment. Charon is still studying the image, and it's clear that he's not going to say anything any time soon.

Pinkerton looks at her as if she's crazy.

"Not a chance of that. After two centuries, it's quite connected to the brain and probably completed surrounded by tissue. Any attempt to remove it would cause irreparable brain damage and likely death. There's a chance that it could stop working on its own, however. The hardware likely wasn't meant to last this long, but then, that group always was full of overachievers, weren't they?"

This last sentence is aimed directly at Charon. Gal furrows her eyebrows and begins to ask what he means, but stops when she sees the look on Charon's face. He's gazing at Pinkerton steadily, his eyes hard. Pinkerton, ever the crotchety old man, doesn't seem to be fazed.  He does drop the subject though, whatever that subject was.

"So, a contract, huh... Don't suppose you'd consider selling it? I could learn a lot, studying his condition." Pinkerton says conversationally as he shuts the machine down. Gal rolls her eyes behind his head, unsurprised.

"Absolutely not. He's the only thing keeping my ass alive out in the wastelands. Plus, I kinda like him." She says drily.

Pinkerton lets out a long suffering sigh and shakes his head, as if he'd expected Gal to foil him on this. Gal understands that look because he'd gone on a tangent about how much he hated people during her last visit. It was long and rambling, and mostly involved how little care people in the wasteland had for science. Despite his clear disdain for human life, Gal kind of likes him; he values everything on a scale of 'how much will it further my work' and discards the rest. Considering that it seems his work occasionally does some good for people, there's something to admire in that.

"Well, if you won't give me his contract, then I have something else to discuss with you about your last visit here. In private, if you please."

Gal lifts an eyebrow. Pinkerton had been seething with disinterest and disdain when she'd come round asking about Rivet City's history last time. He'd also told her flat out that he'd shared everything he knew thank you, and pretty much shoved her out the door.

“Charon? Could you wait outside? This probably won't take long.” she tells him. He nods, but his gaze is still on the computer screen, staring at that tiny dark spot, as if he can't look away. She can see the disappointment in his face. Guilt surges through her, that she got his hopes up on such a long shot and let him be shot down. She should have come alone. She'd been so excited to maybe find a solution that it didn't occur to her what damage it might cause if there wasn't a solution to be found.

Once Charon's safely outside, the heavy steel door shut behind him, Pinkerton moves to a filing cabinet and begins rifling through one of the drawers.

"So... You want to talk about River City?" She asks carefully.

Pinkerton lets out a rude sound and continues digging through the drawer.

"Not in the slightest. I simply thought it would be better to bring this up without your servant here. He looked to be testy."

"He's not a servant. And bring up what?"  Gal asks, coming to stand behind him so she can peek into the drawer.

"This."

Pinkerton pulls a fat file from the drawer and shoves it into Gal's chest, forcing her to catch it reflexively. "Read it. You'll see what I mean. At least, if you're not a moron you will. Offer stills stands on that contract, once you're done."

Gal frowns, but she glances at the folder and takes it anyway, settling at a desk in the corner to flip through it. The front has a piece of paper with bright orange stapled onto it and the words 'TOP SECRET' printed out, with a warning label beneath. The file itself is worn, dirty, and torn, and the pages inside smell musty.

She flips the folder open to the first page. There's another top secret label, this one with a lot of confusing nonsense words after it, and an official looking stack of papers. Whatever this is, it was clearly important to someone at some time, for all the care they took at putting warning labels all over it.

Gal lets the folder drop from her hands. It makes a loud smack when it hits the table, and a page comes loose from the brackets at the top. Even though she's already read all the information on the pages twice, she can't help but glance at random parts of the journal over and over again. It's as if she  can't pull her eyes away. The plainness of the manila folder and white pages give little hint to the monstrosity that's strewn across the pages.

All of it makes so much sense. Charon had hinted a little of it to her - that he was military before the Great War, that he had been stationed in China. The journal didn't even contain very much detail, but it's enough to get a rough idea of just how horrific Project Styx must have been. She'd never considered that there might have been more Charons out in the world - but then, now she knows there aren't. The rest had died, or killed themselves. And the scientists probably wouldn't have had time to start a new round of tests - the Great War would have put a stop to that.

She flips to the next page and finds a data sheet, clearly photocopied from a file.

Following it is a long list of certificates and awards that mean nothing to her, but look very impressive. But what really catches her eye is the picture in the upper right hand corner - because it is a picture of Charon before the ghoulification.

He looks exactly like she would have expected him to. The photo is in black and white, but she can imagine the red in his hair, cropped short on the sides and longer and tousled on top. He has sharp, fine cheekbones and a strong jaw, though he's clearly younger in the picture and therefore a little more slender. His eyes are bright and piercing. Overall, though, even though it's clearly a professional picture, he looks more relaxed and less ...hard in the photo. He looks like your average young man, proud and stern and maybe even a little cocky.

Her hearts twinges a little when she thinks about what took that look away from him.
The rest of the pages contain details about the other test subjects; HADES, CERBERUS, PERSEPHONE, and DANTE. There's no more information about Charon.

She coughs a little bit, to ease the lump in her throat, and looks up at Pinkerton. He's made himself busy attending to something, but he looks up when she does, as if he can sense her gaze.

"Well?" He asks shortly.

She swallows.

"Uh... Thanks. For this. I... didn't know. Not really. Do you... want this back?" She offers him the papers, but he waves them away.

"Keep them. They're just a printout of my digital version. Have you changed your mind? Two hundred years of conditioning is a long time."

"No." Her voice wavers a little bit, so she tries again. "No. Charon has been through enough scientific testing. He deserves better. But thanks for the information. And for the brain scan."

Pinkerton lets out a huff and goes back to whatever he was doing before.

"You're welcome. Try to wait at least a year before you bother me again."

Gal doesn't bother answering, just folds the papers and secures them carefully in an inside pocket of her pack.

She thinks about showing Charon what Pinkerton gave her, but now that she's read it, it feels like a gross invasion of his privacy. She should have waited and let him tell her on his own. Or not tell her at all, because it was his right to keep his history to himself if he wanted. She feels a little ashamed of her actions, even though it was in the course of trying to do the right thing for him.

When she exits the lab, Charon's waiting for her, leaned up again the wall. She can see the unusual tightness in his shoulders. When she approaches, though, he pushes himself off the wall and waits for her to start walking, as always.

Gal rubs at the back of her neck, thinking of the papers in her pack nervously.

“I'm sorry. I thought... I should have...” she offers haltingly. She's not sure what to say.

Despite her lack of eloquence, Charon shrugs, as if he hadn't just been told that the curse he's under is irreversible. In this moment she admires his stoicism – she knows in his place, there's no way she could keep calm.

“I didn't expect much.”

She gives him a tight smile and takes it for the clear dismissal it is. They turn towards the walkway and head back in the direction of Rivet City. It's just now turning evening, the sky painted with bright streaks of red and orange.

“Hey. Smoothskin.” Charon says softly from behind her. Gal turns to look at him.

“It doesn't matter that he couldn't help. You tried. So.... thanks.” he says quietly, the corner of his lip quirking up.

She feels herself smiling back unconsciously, and the small upturn of his mouth make her insides warm. She motions him forward, and they walk side by side back to Rivet City.   

Chapter Text

That night, while Charon is bathing, Gal repacks all their gear, shifting everything she’ll need for the trip to the Jefferson into her own and giving Charon the bulk of the rest and a decent bag of caps. She prepares herself for the explanation she’ll have to give when Charon checks the bags, but for once he doesn’t and so she’s free for a little longer.

Gal, Charon, and Dogmeat meet her father and the team of scientists outside on the deck of the aircraft carrier early the next morning. A few of the scientists are holding the leads of pack Brahmin loaded down with supplies and instruments. Her father gives her a grin and a fierce hug when she stops in front of him, and to his credit gives Charon a friendly nod. Charon doesn’t return it, but that’s alright.

“I can't believe we're finally finishing this, lapushka. Are you ready to go? I think we'll leave in a couple minutes.” he says. Gal smiles up and him and holds out a hand.

“Just one minute, Papa. Charon,” she says, turning to him and digging an envelope out of her pack, “I missed this letter when I gave Carol that stack from Gob, and I feel bad keeping it. I need you to take it to Underworld for me. Stay there until I come pick you up, I imagine I'll be headed out there for a supply run not too long after we hit the Jefferson Memorial.” she sticks the fat envelope into his hand and gives him a little wave.

He stands there uncertainly for a minute with his eyes on the envelope. Then he looks up at her, and there’s a clear question in her eyes. She nearly cracks and gives the whole thing away, but remembering the look in his eyes when he’d first seen James at Vault 112 steels her resolve. After a minute, he grunts and turns.

“Got it.” he says, unusually coldly, and disappears off into the Wasteland. There’s no goodbye. Gal feels a little pang at watching him go, but it’s only because she’ll miss him. She's not worried about his safety; she knows he'll make it to Underworld just fine.

The errand is bogus. There is a letter in the envelope to Carol, that part is true, but it's not from Gob. It's from Gal, begging the ghoulette to front Charon room and board for the time Gal is gone, until she can return to pay. She sees no reason to drag Charon back to the Memorial when it will only bring up bad memories for him; in addition, there's no reason to scare the scientists with his presence. They've kept their distance so far, but she doesn't believe it'll last forever. Besides, other than providing some extra security, Charon won’t have anything to do there anyway. Gal will be working on tech with her father and won't be in any danger.

It doesn’t soften the loneliness in her chest when she sees his retreating back.

At her feet, Dogmeat whines low in his throat, staring out after Charon just as she'd done. He paws at the air and then drops to the ground, wiggling as if he's in pain. Gal crouches down and buries her hand in his ruff to calm him.

“It's okay, boy. We're going back to him, don't worry.” she says. Even though she's the one that decided to keep him, Dogmeat has really always been Charon's dog, so she's not surprised by his distress. Dogmeat whines again and pushes his head into her hand to seek comfort. She gives it to him, as best she can, with headscratches and gentle words. Dogmeat doesn’t stop staring until Charon’s completely gone from view.

The trek to Jefferson, slow as it is with all the moving parts, gives her plenty of time to catch up with her dad. He tells her in detail about what he'd done since he left the Vault; she fills in the gaps for him for her own story. He's always told Gal that he's proud of her, but there's an extra twinkle in his eye now when he says it, and she thinks that it's because he's seeing himself in her thirst for wandering. She keeps back only the bare minimum of details – Moriarty's death at her hands, her own terrible experience with the trio of slavers, and Charon's contract. Her dad is just as aware as she is of the dangers of the Waste, but that doesn't mean he needs to know that her blood is on other's hands, or worse – that other people's blood is on hers.

When they finally reach Jefferson, a group of them does a sweep of the area to make sure it's clear, and then people are everywhere, setting up equipment, bickering over small details, and impatiently demanding to know where certain items are. Her father and Doctor Li are at the center of it, cautiously checking the water purifier for damage piece by piece. Even though it's nearly midnight, sleep doesn't appear to be on anyone's mind.

Gal assigns herself to tech detail and begins work on the security cameras that are still operable in the area. Once they're up and running, she resets the remaining turrets, posts clear warnings to make sure no one accidentally stumbles into their path, and begins creating accounts for the scientists so they can access the computer system. Most of the network is still intact; clearly, no one with any level of computer expertise has been through the area since Project Purity was abandoned the first time. It’s a little bit of a relief because she’s gotten rusty.

It's four AM when a heavy hand falls on her shoulder, interrupting her work. When she looks over her shoulder, her father gives her a tired smile and nods his head towards the designated sleeping quarters.

“Get some rest, milaya. We'll start again bright and early tomorrow.”

Slowly, she levers herself out of the chair and gives him a wan smile. The bright light of the room hurts her sensitive eyes as she readjusts.

“Alright, Papa. Thanks for letting me tag along to help out.” she replies as they make their way down the hallway.

Her father snorts in amusement at the statement.

“We'd be lost without you, Galichka. You're the only one that can navigate these piles of junk. I should have -” he stops and sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “I should have brought you with me when I left 101. I'm sorry for that.”

“Don't be. I'm over it. Like I said before, you couldn't have known what the Overseer would do.”

He smiles at her and wraps his arm around her shoulders, and for the first time, it's just like it was before, in the Vault. Her and her father, together, happy.

It takes three days to get the programming for the water purifier back up and running. A lot of it is just replacing old computers that were too worn out to work, and then networking them in. Though the work is repetitive, it's still what she loves to do best – programming is her favourite hobby, and one she doesn't get to do much of in the wasteland. While she's working, her father plans with Dr. Li and the others, outlining what they would need to do to continue the Project.

She finishes the code mid-afternoon with a rush of satisfaction that she hasn't felt in a long time. She isn't sure what time she'd gotten up this morning, but it had been early, and her only breaks had been for the bathroom or a hasty meal, so it feels good to get up and stretch out her aching joints.

“Papa. The code's done. You should be able to boot up the purifier now.” she calls into the other room. Her father pokes his head around the corner and smiles as she pops the joints in her fingers one by one.

“That's great, Galya. We're just about ready to do that, just one more thing to take care of. Do you have some time to help out?”

She nods, so he wanders into the room and sits down across from her at another desk.

“We've been unsuccessful getting the pumps to drain. I know you're not an expert with those kinds of repairs, but could you take a look down there? I'd send someone else, but... they're too scared of getting their lab coats dirty.”

Gal smiles at the familiar joke. He'd always been proud of how willing she was to get messy. Killing radroaches, shooting her BB gun, helping in the medical lab – Gal never had any of the hang-ups other girls her age did, and it delighted James.

“I'll see what I can do.” She tells him, and gets up to do just that. Dogmeat, tired of drowsing in the corner of the room with nothing to do, follows her eagerly.

Daniel looks up from his workstation when she walks through the next room and gives her a dirty look.  She's not exactly sure what his deal is, but considering she's here for her father and not for Project Purity, she doesn't have to care. She returns the look and keeps going before he can say anything. Dogmeat must give him a look of interest, because Daniel backs down and ignores her.

Everything's going well so far, according to her father and Dr. Li – they're just now getting to the point that they can actually start working again, instead of cleaning up the mess of 20 years of abandonment, but Dr. Li says that everything is in remarkably good shape. Gal doesn't really understand most of their long, technical scientific conversations, but her father looks – happy. Focused.

She thinks Charon must have figured out now that the whole thing was a ruse, if he didn't guess right away. She wouldn't really expect him to scare the information out of Carol, but Greta would tell him with glee, she bets. She doesn't know whether he'll be angry because she lied or relieved for some time to herself. Either is better than bringing him back here, though. Not now that she knows what it means.

The entrance to the pipe she's looking for is shut off in a small room. The grate's partially bent rusted as hell, and the smell coming from it is not inspiring. Still, it's not the worst she's ever smelled either, so she sighs and heaves the grate open.

“Looks like you're staying here, bud, unless you've grown some opposable thumbs recently.” she tells Dogmeat, who's sniffing around the entrance to the pipe curiously. “Stand watch, will you?”

Dogmeat gives her a short bark in reply and she swings herself down onto the ladder.  It's slick with something dark and unnameable, but she ignores it and starts down anyway.

The ladder leads down to a large, empty pipe that has dozens of wires flowing through it above her head. Thankfully, it's empty, which keeps her from slogging through anything questionable. Gal follows the pipe carefully down to another grate and finds an open space on the other side, covered over with wire. The grate on the other side is locked, but there's a knob set into the wall that looks like it might be part of the problem.

Gal's not really a master plumber so her plan here is just to turn things on until something works. She's cautiously hopeful that she can do it without killing anyone in the process.

She has to smash the knob a few times with her rifle to shake off some of the rust and get it to turn, but finally it begins rotating with a grating squeal. She's trying to turn it, inch by stubborn inch, when a strange sound draws her attention upwards.

It sounds mechanical, and it gets closer and closer, though nothing comes into view. She's got her rifle into her shoulder and is ducking behind the network of pipes when something swoops in from the sky, as if to perch on the landing in front of her.

Whatever it is, it's large, metallic, and the amount of dust it kicks up has her coughing and swearing as she struggles to keep it in her sight. The faint sounds of voices reach her, and when she can finally see again, the machine is taking back off into the sky and several large, hulking shadows are racing away from it.

“Shit. That can't be good.” she curses, abandoning her task. The Jefferson isn't exactly a beacon of interest around the Capital Wasteland, so anyone random appearance of large, armoured people spells bad news. Especially ones that have giant, flying vehicles at their disposal. Gal knows that there used to be a lot of flying vehicles, planes and helicopters and the like, but she'd thought that kind of tech was lost. Apparently not.

In her haste to scramble back to the lab, she slips on the wet metal and slams her cheek right the corner of a pipe. Stars explode behind her eyelids, and she has to stay lying on the ground for a minute, waiting for the excruciating pain to dull before she can get up. The skin is already hot and swollen by the time she makes it back to her feet, but it's the least of her worries right now.

The knob has closed the grate she'd entered into and opened the one that was previously locked. She has no idea where's she's going. She has to navigate through another empty pipe and drop through a series of ledges before she reaches any type of open area.

Before she drops down from the pipe opening, though, she catches movement out of the corner of her eye and freezes. Someone in heavy, metallic armour is crossing in front of her, a laser rifle held loosely in his grasp. She doesn't recognize the armour or the weapon, but whoever it is, they don't look like they're here for a friendly conversation.

The armoured person spots her, and she ducks back into the safety of the pipe just in time to dodge a scarlet laser, which burns a hole into the steel to her right. She can see that the guy shooting at her is stuck behind a chain link fence, so she takes a few wild shots to throw him off his guard and then throws herself out of the pipe and skitters into a hallways, out of range. She can hear his boots clanging as he sprints back the way he came, probably to come find her.

Once she's able to take a breath, Gal realizes she recognizes the area around her and breathes a sigh of relief. The area around her is clear, for now, but she doesn't see any of Doctor Li's scientists either and that's worrying.

She's come out just down from the sleeping area, which is where her extra mags are stored, so she heads for it both to search and restock. When she peeks around the corner, though, another goon in heavy armour is already poking around the bunk beds, looking for prey.

The first shot of her assault rifle gets him right in the side of the head. It's enough to throw him off balance, but there's no hole. Swearing, she quickly takes aim again and this time he goes down like a sack of potatoes. The helmet comes loose when his head hits a footlocker and rolls to Gal's feet. She picks it up.

“Enclave?” she says to herself quietly, tracing a finger over the inscription on the inside. “Like the... radio station?”

The most she knows about the Enclave is that Nathaniel Vargas from Megaton thinks they hung the moon and their radio station is total shit. Everyone she knows has always assumed it's just an old recording, left somewhere to loop until the equipment fails. There's a man on the station that claims to be the president of the United States, but the Wasteland, or any other part of the country, hasn't had one of those in at least a century. Maybe more.

Whoever they are, though, there's only one thing they could be here for, and they don't seem keen on getting it the diplomatic way. Gal snatches the dead man's rifle and his mags and takes a moment to hurriedly don her mag belt before she heads for the rotunda, hoping she's not too late.

When she enters the gift shop area, she spots Dogmeat backed into a corner by another Enclave soldier.  A well placed shot knocks his rifle out of his hands, and then Dogmeat's got him by the arm. While the soldier tries to fight him off, Gal closes the distance and jams her rifle up under the edge of his helmet. The laser rifle fares much better against this armour than her assault rifle did.

“Come on boy, we need to check on Dad and the others. Be careful.”

Fighting through the gift shop is a slow and painful process. She has to be extra careful because she hadn't stopped to throw on her armour before setting out, and so she's completely exposed against a foe that looks sort of like a walking tank. More than once, she finds herself shouting to a presence that isn't there before she remembers that Charon is in Underworld, too far away to help. One shot manages to graze her on the forearm and she nearly drops her rifle when the searing pain from the burn hits her. She holds on and gets the owner through the hole between his chest plate and his shoulder plate.

Finally, Gal makes it to the rotunda and nearly throws the door open in her haste to make sure her father's safe. She can see Doctor Li up the steps, looking through the glass into the work area. No one's holding a gun to her head, which is good. Gal runs up the steps and joins her, Dogmeat at her heels.

“What's going on?” she asks breathlessly. Doctor Li glances at her and just jerks her head towards the glass wordlessly. Gal looks inside and her stomach drops.

James is standing inside, facing the glass with Dr. Li's aid to one side. They're flanked by more Enclave soldiers, and standing with his back to Gal is another man in a white leather trench coat. His rifle is holdstered at his side, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous-looking.

“Your claim has no authority here.” James says quietly to the man. Gal tries the door switch, but it's locked from the inside and she can’t override the locks from this side.

“I'm going to have to ask you to leave at once.”

The man tilts his head, as if that's funny to him for some reason.

“Am I to assume that you are in charge?” he asks, with a hint of humour in his voice. When James confirms, he continues. “Then I repeat, sir, you are hereby instructed to immediately hand over all materials related to the purifier.”

His voice has a weird twang to it, a strange accent that she's never heard before. She hates it. It and his stupid trenchcoat and his stupid soldiers and why can't she get through the door -

“I'm sorry, but that's -” the man cuts her father off before he finishes.

“Furthermore, you are required to assist Enclave scientists in assuming control of the administration and operation of this facility at once.”

James' shoulders slump a bit, but he goes on resolutely. His calm under pressure would be admirable if she wasn't busy freaking out.

“Colonel – is it Colonel? - I assure you that the facility is not operational.” he explains. “It never has been. I'm afraid you're wasting your time.”

The debate goes on and on and on. James never loses his cool, but the man in the trenchcoat only gets more frustrated. Gal punches buttons, and claws at the door, and even nearly tries to shoot through the glass, but no one pays any attention to her. Dr. Li just stands there dumbly, watching, doing nothing to help.

Then, right before their eyes, the men in the trenchcoat draws his weapon and shoots Janice Kaplinski right between the eyes. She doesn't even have time to make a sound before her body slumps to the floor. To her left, Dr. Li lets out a wail of shock.

“I suggest you comply immediately, sir, to prevent any further incidents. Are we clear?” the man says sternly, as if scolding a child. The gunshot freezes Gal right in her place.

“Yes, Colonel.” James replies, acid in his voice. “Give me a few moments.”

“Dad.” Gal says despondently, watching him turn and cross to a panel. “Dad, what are you – Dad, no please, don't -” she reaches out to bang on the glass, but a thin arm stops her. Gal turns to see Dr. Li, her face wet with tears but her eyes stern.

“Don't. They'll shoot him. We can't help him, Galina.” she says. Her grip on Gal's arm is tense but weak as a baby bird's, no match for the muscle that Gal's put on from roaming the Wasteland these past months.

“Don't tell me what to do, he's going to – he's going -” she's cut off by the sound of something exploding. Every person inside the glass flinches, and the man in the trenchcoat looks around wildly, before he starts coughing. The soldiers in the armour sway and fall, and the man clenches his throat, but it doesn’t seem to help.

The effects of whatever James has done are just as potent on him as everyone else. Gal watches as her father staggers his way over to where she is, catching her gaze through the glass.

“Run.” he says simply. He has to lean on the glass to keep himself upright. Her geiger counter starts ticking as the radiation seeps through the chamber.

“Dad – please, no, don't – I -”

“RUN.”

“Papa, I – Ya tebya lyublyu, Papa nyet  - pozhaluista -” she sobs, pounding on the glass in vain. Her father staggers, falls to his knees, but he lifts his head up again so he can look her in the eyes again.

“Ya tozhe, milaya. Always. Now ru....” his voice peters out, his eyes close. Slowly, his body sways to the right and then slumps to the floor over the legs of the man in the trenchcoat. He doesn't move after that.

Gal lets out a scream of desperation and launches herself at the door, but it doesn't even budge under her weight. Her geiger counter goes wild with the proximity to the dangerous radiation. She doesn't care. If she can just get the door open – if she can find a way to get him out – he'll be okay. She knows it.

He has to be.

That thin arm grabs her bicep again, and it's weak but somehow with the strength of her whole body Dr. Li manages to pull Gal back and away from the glass. Gal gives her a scathing look, her eyes full of tears, and Dr. Li's are red and swollen too but her mouth is set in a firm line.

“We have to get out of here. They'll be coming for us next. We have to evacuate!” Dr. Li tells her. She tries to tug Gal towards the entrance but Gal digs her feet in and refuses.

“No, my father – I have to save him, what are you doing he's dying in there -”

“He's already dead, Galina, there's nothing you can do. And you will be too if we don't leave right now.” she says cruelly. “He told you to run, now run.”

Gal takes one more look at her father, slumped over on the floor like any one of the corpses she's seen in the Wasteland, and it's enough to make her gorge rise. She doesn't want to vomit, it feels like the wrong thing to do, so she looks away and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“You're right. How do we get out of here?”

Her vision starts going hazy as they make their way back through the gift shop, and she has to remind herself to focus on what Doctor Li is saying or she just tunes her out. All she can think about his her father, gasping, coughing, collapsing slowly to the floor. It circles her head. It doesn’t leave when she rounds a corner and nearly runs headfirst into an Enclave soldier, or when she trips and slams into a piece of equipment, or even when a stray bullet embeds itself into the wall inches from her right eye. And it only gets fuzzier.

Doctor Li, telling her about an escape tunnel. Her, being pulled off Daniel because of something he said, his eye swollen from her fist. There are more Enclave soldiers at one point, and ghouls at another, and she remembers running out of bullets and clocking one in the face with her rifle.

Then there's sunshine, and the sometimes-sweet, sometimes-sour smell of the Wasteland. She remembers a large courtyard, with more people in metallic armour, and a growing sense of rage, and then there's nothing.

–

Gal wakes up with absolutely no recollection of where she is, or how she got there. Her head throbs, especially at the right temple, and her eyes are crusty and hard to open.

She's on a bed, fully clothed, in a room that she's never seen before. When she panics and swings out of the bed, there is a sharp yelp and Dogmeat jumps to his feet and out of her way.

“Oh, shit – sorry Dogmeat. Are you okay?” the dog shakes and then looks up at her, tongue wagging in a relaxed manner. He’s the forgiving type. “Good. Sorry. Do you know where we are, boy? How'd we get here?”

“You're at the Citadel.” someone says from the doorway. Gal jerks her head up, already reaching for the ammo belt that she’s not even wearing, but the woman at the door holds her hands up in a gesture of peace. She looks familiar; it takes a moment for Gal to recognize her, but then images of super mutants and GNR come floating to the surface and she remembers her name.

“You came here with Doctor Li and her team. You were a little out of it, you jumped on one of the recruits and we had to knock you out. Is your head okay?”

Lyons strolls into the room and pulls a cabinet open. In it, she finds a bottle of water and twists the top off before handing it to Gal. Gal drains the whole thing and gives Lyons a grateful look.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry, I was just a little shaken up. My… my dad…”

Lyons cuts her off before she can even begin to verbalize it.

“I know. I’m sorry. He was a great man. But because of him, you were able to save the lives of five people who can still do a lot of good for the world. He sacrificed himself for his cause. You’d do the same.”

Gal gives Lyons a disbelieving look, but the blonde woman doesn’t even falter.

“Don’t look at me like that. You ran up to a behemoth and shot it in the face with a Fat Man. You’re crazy and you know it.”

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of Gal, and it feels wrong but also eases the pain a little. She doesn’t know Lyons very well, but she likes her.

“So what are they going to do? Will they be able to continue Project Purity?”

Lyons shrugs.

“Doctor Li said your father had some idea of how to get the purifier working. She said the Enclave doesn’t know yet, but she wants you to meet with Scribe Rothchild about it. You know, when you’re ready.”

When she’s ready.

Lyons doesn’t mean anything by it probably, but the phrase angers her for some reason.

When she’s ready? When she’s ready?

When do you become ready to get over the death of a loved one? What, is she just supposed to decide to be okay?

It’s like the image of her father, staring out from that deathtrap of a sealed room, is seared into her brain, because every time she closes her eyes she can see it, the concern in his face, the resolve in the set of his mouth, the way his shoulders shook as he coughed. You don’t just get over that. Not in a day, not in a year, not in a lifetime.

Lyons must sense that she said something wrong, so she mutters something about having to go and backs out of the room quickly, leaving Gal angry and teary-eyed.

There’s only been one constant person in her life in all her twenty years. Only one person that she could laugh with, cry on, talk to, even yell at on occasion, knowing that none of those things would drive him away. Gal doesn’t make friends easily, and even less so out in the Wasteland, and that’s why she needed her father. That’s why she threw everything away and followed him for weeks, across a broken land filled with things just waiting to kill her.

And it’s fucking cruel of the world to give him back for a month, just to snatch him away again. Permanently, this time.

She regrets wasting so much time in Megaton, after the events at Vault 112. She regrets not talking to him about this foolish dream, convincing him to stay somewhere safe like Rivet City so they could be together again and read to each other from old tattered books and putter around in the medical lab and speak in Russian just to make other people annoyed.

On some level, she regrets not being a good enough daughter to make her father want to stay.

She realizes that somewhere in the last few minutes she’s picked up a lamp and thrown it against the wall. It’s sitting on the ground, broken in half, the bulb shattered into a million pieces. If anyone heard the noise, they’re not stupid enough to come bother her about it. When she reaches to clean up the mess, a piece slits the palm of her hand open. She sits down hard and cradles her bleeding palm to her chest. Holding back the sobbing is impossible.

She’s not sure what time she woke up, but it’s getting dark out when she finally finds her way back into the courtyard at the center of the Citadel. She stops someone and asks where to find Scribe Rothchild, and they point her to the Bailey, so she wanders in that direction. She has nothing with her but her rifle and empty mags, and she’s sure her face is red and puffy, but she holds her head up anyway. It must work, because no one bothers her.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing Rothchild says to her is how sorry he is for her loss. She restrains herself just barely from punching him in the face. When she changes the subject for the third time, he finally gets the hint and guides her to a computer that he says will have the information she needs.

It’s hard to remember what exactly it is she’s looking for through the haze that’s clouding her mind. She has to steel herself to focus, to forget what’s making her so upset, and with enough force of will, it works. She finds a log of every Vault in the area and combs them, one by one, until she finds one that was issued a GECK. In fact, there’s only one, one Vault out of dozens that could be their salvation.

When she goes back to Rothchild with her information, he shows her the location of the vault on a large holomap. Rothchild informs her that the Vault is surrounded by lethal levels of radiation. He tells her there may be another passageway through a place called Little Lamplight, and she knows where that is because she’s talked about it with Red before, about how everyone in Bigtown is just a throwaway from Little Lamplight and she has no idea how she’s going to convince them to let her but she has to find a way. Nothing matters right now but finding the GECK, and finishing what her…

...well. Finishing Project Purity. That’s the goal.

Her head feels thick, like she has to swim through some strange mental haze before she can complete any thought, and the ache in her temple is starting to spread to her whole body. She thinks it must be fatigue, mixed with grief. She doesn’t really care. It’s not going to stop her from doing what she needs to do.

She turns and leaves Rothchild abruptly, and he stops talking in the middle of a sentence but just lets her go without a word.

She has no armour, no supplies, no bullets. Just an empty Chinese Assault rifle and her lucky knife strapped to her side and maybe two stimpacks that had been shoved into pockets. She nearly makes it out the gate before Doctor Li stops her to press a pouch full of caps into her hands. Gal accepts them numbly and buys herself a cheap chest plate and fifty rounds, then heads right back for the door, even though it’s fully dark outside. The thought of trying to sleep is for some reason terrifying.

When she’s safely out the front doors, she turns to head west, towards Megaton, towards Little Lamplight, but something grabs her pants leg and she stumbles. When she looks back, Dogmeat is gazing at her solemnly.

“Dogmeat? What’s…?” she starts. Dogmeat lets go of the fabric and dances back a few steps in the opposite direction. When Gal turns back to continue heading west, he grabs her pants leg again, and again backs up a few steps when she turns to glare at him.

“Okay. Okay, boy, you lead the way. Why not.” she sighs finally.

The mutt lets out a victory yip and trots off to the north, looking over his shoulder ever few minutes to make sure she’s following.

If she’d ever doubted that Dogmeat was the smartest creature she’d ever met, that doubt is put to rest during this trip. Despite her stubborn commitment to her goal, it’s all she can do to put one foot in front of the other, let alone watch out for danger. Dogmeat does all the watching for her; he leads her around nests of radscorpions, raider camps, and even a passing pack of feral ghouls. When she stumbles, he’s there to stick his nose in her face, her hand, even her ear if she’s not responsive enough, and that’s enough to get her up and going again.

She vaguely notices that they cross a bridge, and she gets fuzzy idea that they’re heading back to DC for some reason. What could Dogmeat want in DC? She senses that there’s something missing, something she should be remembering, but it’s not Little Lamplight and it’s not Vault 87 and it’s not a GECK, so it can’t be that important.

After a while, she realizes she’s shivering, and she’s getting tireder and tireder. She supposes that being knocked out doesn’t provide the same type of rest that real sleep does, and now that she thinks about it, she can sort of see the sun poking over the horizon so she’s been up a while. Her throat is killing her, but she forgot to bring any water so there’s not really anything she can do. She thinks she tries to drink some out of the river, but Dogmeat drags her away before she can get so much as a sip.

Gal comes back for a brief moment when she slams face-first into something hard and ungiving, and falls painfully onto her back. A shadow comes over her face, blocking the sunlight that’s been straining her tired eyes. She’s not able to focus enough to see what it is.

“-oothskin, you alright? You don’t look so good. Hey. HEY.”

Something slaps her across the face, and she tries to retaliate but raising her arms is suddenly difficult. Her rifle is tugged from her fingers, and she can’t even muster the courage to fight it.

“Shit, this is not good. Hey dog, if you understand me, go get Charon. I’m gonna drag her inside.”

No one has to put a finger on her to knock her unconscious this time. She does it of her own free will, silently thankful for the relief from her pounding temples and aching throat.

--

For the second time in as many days, she wakes up in a bed, with no recollection of how she got there. If anything, though, she feels even worse; her whole body aches, her throat feels like sandpaper, and she’s cold, cold down to her bones. Her brain feels fuzzy still and she can’t open her eyes against the blinding light streaming down.

“Kid? You awake?” someone asks quietly. She turns her head and cracks one eye the slightest bit, just enough to see. Charon is sitting in a chair a few feet away. Dogmeat is laying at his feet, but when he realizes Gal is awake he jumps to his feet and trots over so he can nose at her cheek.

“...where am I?” she mumbles. The three words grate on her throat and force a long, wet cough from her lungs.

“Underworld. You told me to stay here and wait for you, remember? Then you and Dogmeat came stumbling up yesterday and you collapsed right in front of Willow.”

Oh. Gal remembers something about that, flashes of memory here and there, but most of the process is blank.

She opens her mouth to speak again and coughs instead. A moment later, the pillow under her head is rising, helping her to sit up a little, and a glass is being held to her lips.

“Here. You need to drink this.” Charon says. Gal complies and sips at the water weakly. Some of it slops past her lips and dribbles down her chin, but she’s too grateful to care. It’s the best water she’s ever tasted.

Charon helps her finish the glass in a few gradual sessions, then lowers the pillow back onto the bed.

“You hungry?” he asks. Gal shakes her head.

“No. ‘m cold though.” she replies. The corner of Charon’s mouth twists, and without warning, he brushes the hair from her forehead and holds the back of his hand to her skin. His touch is like a furnace. She wants to latch onto his arm and never let go.

“You’ve got a fever. I’ll bring you another blanket.” Too soon, his hand is retracted and Gal’s forehead feels even colder than before, if possible. She dazes for a moment and then Charon is back with two more tattered blankets, which he spreads over her and tugs up to her chin.

“I think you may have the flu. Does your throat hurt? Any aches or pains?” he asks clinically, though his hand is still absently smoothing the blanket over her shoulder.

“Mmm. All of the above.” she mumbles. He snorts and fiddles with the edge of the blanket again, tucking it under her arm.

“Well, I’d say whatever you were doing stumbling back here at six o’clock in the morning, it was probably enough to get you sick. Go back to sleep, I’ll get Carol to bring you some soup later.”

Charon goes to walk away from the bed, and Gal catches his arm without thinking before he can get too far. He turns back, surprised.

“Charon…” she says softly. “Charon, my dad… he…”

Her companion’s eyes go soft at her unfinished sentence, and she thinks that somehow he already knows.

“Go to sleep, kid. We can talk later.” he admonishes quietly. Gently, more gently than she can fathom, he separates her arm from his and tucks it back under the blanket, like a father putting a child to sleep.

Gal wants to protest, but even the last five minutes of just being awake has drained her. She falls asleep again immediately.

Over the next few days or so, she sleeps on and off, waking up mostly to eat and use the bathroom. Carol is almost always present as soon as or right after she opens her eyes, often with a bowl of soup or some tea for her to consume, and she stays and strokes Gal’s hair or pats her hand until she slips under again. Charon is there too, but he mostly just sits in the chair a few feet away and quietly cleans his shotgun or armour. There’s a length of time where he’s gone completely, but she forgets to ask why every time she sees Carol.

When she wakes up on the fourth day of being bedridden, she opens her eyes and doesn’t have to close them again against the glare of the lights. She’s able to sit up mostly easily, and though she feels weak, she manages to totter to the bathroom and back without much effort.

“Hello, dear, how are you feeling?” Carol asks, popping her head around the screen divider just as Gal’s sitting back down on the bed.

“Way better. Thank you so much for taking care of me, I would have been mutant meat without you and Willow.” Gal says gratefully. Carol shrugs the comment off, but her cheeks flush a little bit with pleasure.

“I’m just glad you made it all the way to Underworld. Who knows what would have happened if you’d collapsed on the way here?” she says, handing Gal a glass of water. Gal gulps it down thirstily and, like magic, Carol produces another and switches it out for the empty glass.

“I’m pretty certain Dogmeat would have dragged me here himself. He half-did anyways.” Gal assures her. Dogmeat, laying on the end of the bed, thumps his tail at the praise and crawls up to sprawl next to her so she can scratch his ears.

“Where’s Charon?” she asks after she’s halfway through the second glass of water. Carol stops and tilts her head in thought.

“He was running some errands this morning, but I think he stopped to have a drink at the bar a few hours ago. You’ll probably find him at the Ninth Circle. I’m not so sure you should be walking around yet, though.”

Gal stands up and bounces a little to see how she feels.

“I’m doing a lot better, thanks to you, Carol. I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not that far.” she stops and looks down at the clothes she’s wearing, then sniffs at her sleeve and makes a face. “Maybe I’ll take a shower first though. I don’t want to kill anyone with this stench.”

Carol laughs and leaves her to bathe. She balks at the thought that she’ll have to put these dirty clothes on again, or wash them and wear them wet. However, when she reaches the bathroom, there’s a pair of trousers and a long-sleeve shirt laid out on the sink, both in her size. Probably Carol, she decides, happy to accept the hospitality.

Even though she’s feeling much better, the hot water feels great on her chilled skin. Her throat is still a little scratchy, but the steam seems to soothe it some as well. She’s only been that sick once in her life - right after she’d left the Vault, when she’d spent a whole week curled in a corner in the communal housing in Megaton. Any type of infectious disease had been carefully controlled in the Vault, so no one could get sick, but out in the Wasteland germs were everywhere, and it had taken her body a long time to toughen up.

When she’s finally wrinkled up like a prune and ready to get out, she dresses in the laid-out clothes and heads for the Ninth Circle to find her companion. Charon is exactly where Carol said - sitting in the corner at a table with a beer in one hand, a small book laid out flat on the table. He’s writing in it with a nub of a pencil, but looks up when he hears the door creak.

“Hey.” she says, looking around the empty bar. Someone had clearly cleaned up after Azrukhal’s unfortunate incident, but it feels as though it’s been abandoned since then. Everything is dusty and stale-smelling.

Charon doesn’t say anything, but he shuts the books and tucks it back into the front of his armour. Gal takes a seat across from him at the table.

“Where’d you get the beer?” she asks curiously. She can see there’s several more bottles on the floor next to the wall, probably empty ones he’d drank earlier.

Charon shrugs. “Azrukhal had his own supply locked up in the back, better than the slop he served everyone else. I took the key after you bought my contract, so it’s just been sitting here.” He gives her a sideways look. “I’d advise you to drink water instead, if you’re thirsty.”

Gal laughs a little at that. “Okay, thanks for the advice, Mom. I don’t think I could handle a beer right now even if I wanted one. My throat still hurts a little.” she falters for a minute, and rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. “Thanks for, you know… taking care of me. I’d be pretty lost without you.”

Charon takes a swig from his beer instead of replying and looks away. She’s not offended; he’s not very good with praise.

“Do you, uh…do you want to talk about it?” he asks stiltedly. Gal tries not to let it show, but her shoulders hunch up a little bit and she has to take a long, deep breath to keep her throat from closing up. She’s not delirious anymore, but the wound is still raw.

“Do you know that radio station that always plays the patriotic music? Enclave radio?” Charon nods. “Well, I always thought it was just an old looped recording, but… it’s not. They’re real. And they came to take over the purifier. I was trying to fix a pipe for my dad, but when I came back…” she has to stop and take a breath. Tears threaten the corners of her eyes, but she pushes them back stubbornly.

“When I came back, they were holding him at gunpoint inside the rotunda. They shot Doctor Li’s assistant in the head when he refused to help them. So he did something to the purifier, sabotaged it…and it killed him. Him and the Enclave soldiers both.”

There’s a long silence, interspersed with Gal’s attempts to keep her breathing under control. Charon doesn’t push or prod, just sits quietly and waits for her to continue, which she is endlessly thankful for.

“Doctor Li knew about an escape tunnel that we could take. She led us to the Brotherhood of Steel’s stronghold and convinced them to let us in. They were able to help me figure out what we need to finish the purifier.”

She remembers now, stumbling out of the Citadel with nothing but a shitty leather chestplate and a handful of bullets. She’s lucky she didn’t die, as unprotected as she was. It was an incredibly stupid move.

What she’s going to do now, stranded in Underworld with absolutely no money to her name, she doesn’t know. She’s already living on Carol’s hospitality, having promised her that she’d pay it all back, but now she doesn’t have a way to. She’ll never make it back to Megaton like this, even with Charon at her back. She can maybe scrap together a few caps doing odd jobs for Winthrop or something, but it’s not going to be enough.

“All my stuff got left at the Memorial.” she confesses finally. “All I have left is my rifle and my knife. I don’t even think I have any bullets. I’m not sure how we’re going to make it back home.”

Charon gives her another sideways, unreadable look, and drains the last of his beer. He deposits the bottle next to the others, neatly lined up against the wall on the floor.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” he says noncommittally. “We’ll figure something out.”

Then he gets up and heads for the door quickly, leaving her alone at the table.

“I told Willow I’d help her with some work. I’ll be back later.” he says cryptically. He disappears before she can question him any further.

Gal sits by herself in the bar for a few minutes longer, miserable, before finally shuffling to her feet. With nowhere else to go, she heads back to Carol’s morosely, trying to think of anyone else she could beg in Underworld for a few caps or some work. She knows Carol would probably lend her the money, but she’s not even sure Carol has the money to lend. Gal’s pretty convinced that a bed and breakfast in a ghoul-run city doesn’t make much profit.

When she slips back through the stands that surround her bed, there’s a large mound of something laying on the bed that wasn’t there when she left. When she reaches the bed, she finds a shiny new leather chest plate stacked neatly on top of a full pack, with matching leg and arm plates and her ammo belt laid out on either side. The pack is filled with food, more ammo, medical supplies, and a spare set of clothing that matches the ones she’d lost. The empty magazines in her ammo belt have been refilled, and there’s a new set of grenade pouches attached to the front. She hadn’t even noticed her belt had gone missing.

One of the empty pouches on the outside of her pack holds a folded up sheet of paper with something scribbled on the inside.

‘You told me I could spend my pay on whatever I wanted. No whining.’ it reads.

It’s everything they need. Hell, the armour is even better than what she’d had before, and there’s no duct tape on it anywhere, which is more of an improvement than she even could have asked for.

Gal sits down on the bed, stroking the chest plate for a little while and reading the note over and over again. She doesn’t even try to keep the sill grin off her face. And, well, maybe she cries a little bit too, but there’s no one around to see.

Chapter Text

“Fuck no, I’m not letting you in. You better just turn around and go back the way you came.” the little kid in the helmet says from his spot up on the barricade. At any other time, this whole situation would be laughable. Her and Charon, stopped in their tracks by a kid that looks all of eleven.

If only there weren’t two more kids with rifles pointed at their heads at nearly point-blank range. If only Little Lamplight wasn’t built in a cave with only one entrance, and that one entrance wasn’t guarded by a pig-headed ‘mayor’ who kept calling them weird names and telling them to fuck off. Then it might have been hilarious.

Right now, it was frustrating.

Mayor MacCready still has his two guards aiming their rifles at her and Charon and is waiting patiently. He doesn’t seem like he’ll change his mind anytime soon. Charon is silent, probably near as frustrated as she is.

Gal sighs and resists the urge to rub at her temples or throw something. There’s got to be something she can say to convince MacCready, she just has to figure out what it is.

“Look, we just need to pass through into Vault 87. We’re not sticking around. How can I get you to trust me?” she asks desperately.

MacCready crosses his arms and frowns.

“Why should I trust you? I got no reason to. You mungos are nothing but trouble, and I ain’t gonna let what happened to Sammy and Squirrel happen to anyone else.” he says with finality. Gal, though, stops and considers that statement. Sammy and Squirrel? It sounds like there’s a story there that may help them out.

“Why? What happened to Sammy and Squirrel?” she asks innocently.

“Them and Penny got themselves caught….by mungos, just like you. Slavers, from Paradise Falls. I told them to watch out, but the stupid kids didn’t listen.”

Paradise Falls. Of course it would be Paradise Falls. What the hell is she supposed to do in Paradise Falls?

Well. It’s not like she has much of a choice.

“What if I go and help Sammy and the others?” She asks. “Then will you trust me?”

The mayor gives her a look of surprise. She guesses that parental instinct isn’t very big in the Capital Wasteland anymore.

“You’d do that?” he asks hesitantly. Then he schools his face back to a scowl. “Maybe… if you bring them back, I might let you in.” he finishes.

Gal nods, tries not to seem unsure.

“I will. Count on it.”

She turns and heads for the entrance to the cave, Charon following faithfully. But as soon as they’re out of ear- and eye-shot, he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“This is a stupid idea. You’re going to get killed. Do you know how big Paradise Falls is?” he says quietly. His palm is warm, even through her shoulder pad.

Gal shrugs. She’s aware it’s a dumb idea, but it’s the only one they have. She isn’t giving up on her father’s project, and if this is the only way to carry it out… well, she’ll just have to figure something out.

“I have to try. And it’s the right thing to do anyway. They’re kids. I don’t even want to know what a slaver would want with a bunch of children.”

Before she can starting walking, Charon catches her by the arm and stops her again. That’s twice in the last ten minutes that he’s touched her, and it’s making her a little nervous. If he’s willing to touch her over it, it must be a really bad idea.

“If this is about what I said before-” he starts.

“Wha- no. Charon, this has nothing to do with that. Well, I mean, it sort of does, because you were right, but I also have no choice. To get to the GECK, I have to get into Vault 87, and to do that I have to go through Little Lamplight. And to do that, I have to rescue these kids from Paradise Falls.”

“You’ve never been to Paradise Falls, Gal, you -” he stops and blinks, then continues on hesitantly. “You don’t stand a chance. What happened near Evergreen Mills - it’ll happen again. And you won’t be able to save yourself this time.”

Obviously, the thought of a repeat of Evergreen Mills is terrifying, but the way her name rolls off Charon’s tongue is more distracting. She realizes that she’s never heard it directed at her before. Charon calls her Gal when he’s talking to other people (which isn’t often to begin with) but he never addresses her as Gal.

It makes her feel a little warm inside.

“I...I have to take that chance. You’re right, I’ve never been there. But… you have. We can come up with a plan. I know it.”

Charon growls in frustration, low in his throat, and clenches one fist next to his thigh.

“What the fuck do you expect me to do? March you in and sell you?”

Gal thinks that over, and then smiles.

--

“If you don’t fucking start walking faster, you’re not going to be able to walk at all.” Charon growls at her, prodding her in the back with his shotgun to get her to pick up the pace. Gal stumbles, and nearly falls on her face, but she manages to catch herself so she doesn’t end up in the dirt.

They’ve passed two groups of slavers on the way to Paradise Falls already, so she’s glad they decided to start the act early. Walking with her hands tied behind her back is more difficult than she’d thought, and it makes her nervous not to have a rifle at the ready. They’re almost to Paradise Falls though, so she’s feeling relatively safe.

“Yeah, try me, you ugly son of a bitch.” she mutters, only half-acting. Charon had shoved her so hard earlier in front of a group of slavers that she banged up her knee while falling, and it stills throbs a little. He’d told her straight out that he didn’t want to do it, and they’d nearly had a full-fledged fight about it(okay, it was pretty much a full-fledged fight), but finally he’d relented and told her what he knew about the Falls. It was enough to hatch a decent plan, but it’s starting to sound less and less great the closer they get to the front of the settlement. It doesn’t help that Charon’s refusing to talk to her.

She tries to wipe the sweat and dirt off her face with her shoulder, but she can’t reach. Her wrists are aching from the restraints. Dogmeat noses her arm and whines a little bit, but she just knocks him out of the way and ignores him. He’s supposed to be Charon’s guard dog for this little scenario and the tension between Charon and Gal is really confusing him today.

“Last chance to change your mind.” Charon says lowly from behind her, once they spot the sandbags that mark the entrance to Paradise Falls. Gal nearly stops in place, but forces herself to keep going. They have a good plan, and there’s nothing to worry about.

There’s a drainage gate in the bathroom in Paradise Falls that drops into a sewer. Charon isn’t exactly sure what’s down there, but he knows that it has an exit outside the borders of Paradise Falls, and the bathrooms are close enough to the slave pens that they can sneak into them fairly easily, once they get the gate open. All she has to do is pick the lock with one of the bobby pins in her hair, and get the kids to the grate without being seen. She’s got a knife in her boot in case of emergency, and she’ll have Charon watching out for her on the outside, making sure the guards are incapacitated or away for their escape.

It’s not foolproof, but it’s good.

He sighs behind her and grumbles under his breath, but one hand snakes around her bicep so he can steer her towards the gate guard, a man with close-cropped hair and worn armour. The man eyes them with a look of disinterest but Gal can see the gun in his hands, waiting to come up.

Charon stops her about ten feet away and lowers his shotgun.

“I’m here on slaver business.” he says shortly, as if the sight of him dragging her around, wrists bound, needs any explanation. Still, it makes the guard wave them forward so he doesn’t have to yell.

“Yeah, I remember you. Been a while though.” the guard says gruffly. Then he swings his head to Gal and looks at her dirty face appraisingly. “Prime merchandise right here. Better than that ugly bitch you brought in last time.”

Gal has to duck her head to hide her anger. She knows that Charon, behind her, is as stone-faced as ever. He won’t give them away, but she doesn’t have as much experience acting, so she needs to be careful. She guesses that mauling the gate guard would blow their cover.

“The last one still brought in 500 caps. I’m expecting at least a thousand for this one.” Charon replies, shaking her by the arm. The guard nods and smiles slightly, eyeing her in a way she doesn’t like.

“Easy. If you plan on renting her out, let me know.” he offers, one eyebrow raised. The words make her stomach turn. She has to dig her fingernails into her palm to keep her breathing steady. Still, she doesn’t want to seem weak either, so she glares at the guard and lurches forward, which earns her another rough shake from Charon.

“I wouldn’t try it. I’m only her selling her because she bit the dick off the last one that tried. She’s a fucking hellcat.” Charon says nonchalantly. It sounds very real, his feigned disinterest in her well-being, and she doesn’t like it. This whole conversation is making her regret this plan and they’re not even through the front gate yet.

The guard looks at her again and seems somewhat impressed. “Well, someone out there will be willing to fix her attitude problem. They usually change their tune once you knock a few teeth out. I’d get your money out of her first though.”

Charon shoves her into movement and starts past the guard, causing her dirty hair to fall over her face in one big tangle. “Yeah. Thanks for the advice.”

To her, he says in a low voice, “Are you convinced this was a stupid idea yet?”

Gal is very, very convinced, but she doesn’t answer.

There’s a maze of metal barriers and cars leading to the entrance of Paradise Falls, what looks like a set of bus doors or something. They head towards that, Gal shuffling brokenly and Charon pushing her along. Halfway there, the doors open and a man comes stumbling out, nearly crashing into a sandbag wall. He looks around frantically and darts towards Gal and Charon.

He makes it almost all the way to them when something goes wrong. There’s a flash of red light, and some beeping, and then his head explodes and the body flops to the ground, spraying blood and bits of brain everywhere. A spatter of blood catches Gal on the cheek and makes her wince.

They’re still standing there in shock, looking at the corpse, when another man coming striding up and kicks it over, grimacing. It’s easy to identify which is the slaver and which is the slave; the corpse on the ground is wearing more dirt than cloth, and the man standing in front of them is decked out in full body armour and carrying a rifle.

“Stupid shit.” he grumbles, wiping the blood off his boot on the corpse’s shirt. “He knew the damn collar would blow. Now someone’s going to have to clean this shit up.”

He looks up and eyes Gal. “You bringing this one in for sale? Follow me, I’ll get you a collar and show you where the pens are.”

“Collar?” Charon questions. It sounds casual, but a sweat is breaking out on Gal’s forehead. This wasn’t part of the plan. They were supposed to be able to pick the lock and head straight for the exit. How are they supposed to escape with a bomb strapped around their necks?

“We started using them a couple years ago. Too many smart ones slipping out while we weren’t looking. They go off at a certain distance from the Falls. And they’re tamper proof too, so don’t try anything, bitch.” he directs to Gal, shoving her in the side with the butt of his rifle. She staggers, but Charon catches her gently by the neck and pulls her upright again.

They’re trapped. It’s too late to turn around now; if they do, they’ll never be able to rescue Sammy and Squirrel. Evidently, Charon knows it too, because he follows the slaver reluctantly through the door to Paradise Falls, hand still wrapped around her neck.

It looks exactly like she’d expect it to. Dirty, worn down, and covered in trash. The whole place gives off a bad vibe, as if you could tell exactly what they do here just by the atmosphere. If the atmosphere isn’t enough, the skulls mounted on posts and fences help.

People are milling out, most in armour and armed to the teeth. Gal looks around discreetly, trying to memorize the place in case she needs that information later. There’s a building down to the left, just after the entrance, but she can’t tell what it is. To the right, there’s a clinic. They stride past both and through another gate, passing a group of people on the left roasting a brahmin. People pay no attention to the dirty blonde-haired waif, but they watch Charon carefully, hands never far away from their weapons.

Ahead and a little to the right, she spots a fenced-in area, which seems to be what they’re heading for. Charon taps her on the side of the neck and she looks to her right, spotting a doorway further down from the fence. It must be the bathrooms that they’re going to use to escape; he was right, they’re not far. That’s a relief.

“So, you looking to sell her to Eulogy or what?” the slaver asks, stopping them in front of a locked cabinet. He pulls a set of keys from his belt to unlock it and swings the door open, revealing a pile of collars, some of them still bloody. The smell nearly gags her.

“No. My employer sent me to do an exchange. He needs a male to help him around the bar. This one’s useless for hard labour. So I’ll be sticking around a day or two, finding one to take back.” Charon answers steadily. This is part of the plan too; he needed a reason to hang out for a while and be seen at the slave pens in case he needed to coordinate with her. Otherwise they’d look damn suspicious.

The slaver pulls a collar from the pile - free of blood, thankfully - and hands it to Charon. Just for show, when he goes to snap it around her neck, she struggles and tries to pull away, but even if she were really trying it would only take him a minute to wrap one muscular arm around her torso and hold her still. The collar goes on and then he lets go. And just like that, she’s trapped here. With no backup plan.

“Hold her here for a few minutes, I’ll get someone to arm that collar and then you can throw her in with the others.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, Charon wraps his arm around her again and drags her back up against his chest. She’s having a hard time remembering this whole scenario is fake, and it’s all she can do to keep from flinching when his hot breath brushes her ear. She supposes that the way she’s leaning out of his presence makes it only look more realistic.

“I didn’t know about the collars.” He whispers. “I’ll have to do some digging and see if I can find a way to disarm them. I’ll come back later tonight and let you know.”

“Okay. That will give me time to talk to Sammy and Squirrel.” she feels the tenseness in his arm and takes a chance to squeeze his gloved hand, wrapped firmly around her bicep. “It’s okay, Charon, there’s no way you could have known. We’ll figure this out, no problem.”

She catches sight of the guard and doubles her fake attempts to get free, going so far as to viciously punch him in the shoulder and attempt a kick at his knee. Charon growls and wraps her even more securely and she is going to have to find a way to make up for all this touching that she knows he doesn’t like doing. Probably some pretty bad memories too. She’s a horrible person.

“I think she likes you.” the slaver says nastily as she struggles. “Her collar’s armed, you can dump her in the pen. Eulogy wants to talk to you about the exchange.”

Charon nods, picks her up off her feet, and carries her after the slaver. Once he’s done unlocking the gate to one of the fences, Charon tosses her in like a sack of potatoes and then they’re gone.

Then she’s alone in the middle of a slaving encampment with a bomb strapped around her neck and nothing but a combat knife.

Gal has to take a moment to breath, and keep herself from freaking out. Their plan is totally bust if they can’t find a way to get these collars off. At that point, the best she can hope for is that Charon says none of the others will do as an exchange and manages to get her back out again, but even if he does, they lose any chance of rescuing Sammy and Squirrel. Gal needs them to get to Vault 87, it’s true, but also, the idea of kids being sold into slavery for who knows what purpose is horrifying. Maybe it’s par for the course out here, but she’s not going to let that happen.

When she’s calm again, she gets up and starts looking around the area. She’s alone in this pen. There’s another to her right, also empty, and one to her left. All three are basically large rectangles with dirt floors; there’s a door at the other end, but she doesn’t head for it just yet.

There are three small figures to her left, in the first pen. Two are watching her with curiousity, and the last is curled up in the corner, head resting on her knees. Once she’s sure no one is near enough to eavesdrop, Gal makes her way over to the divider and waves at them.

“Hey! Come here.” she says softly. One of the boys walks over cautiously. He’s got sandy blonde hair and a deep tan, and he’s not wearing any shoes. He stops just shy of the fence, well away from her, and gives her a suspicious look.

“What do you want?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Are you Sammy? Or Squirrel?” she asks. The look of surprise on his face tells her she’s found them.

“How’d you know our names?” he asks harshly.

“Mayor MacCready sent me.” she explains quickly. “We’re here to rescue you - me and the guy that’s with me.”

The kid blinks, and then turns to the other boy and motions him over.

“Squirrel! Come here! This mungo says she’s here to bust us out.”

The other boy walks over just as cautiously. He looks a little older, with a buzzed head and a bad sunburn on the tip of his nose. Both are wearing dirty outfits, ripped and torn in several places, but they don’t look too bad off.

“ You’re busting us out? Well, what’s your plan then?” he asks, clearly not believing her.

Is everyone in Little Lamplight this jaded? She’s met Super Mutants that were friendlier than these kids. Well, maybe not Super Mutants, but it would be nice for one of them to stop treating her like the enemy.

Then again, considering their plan is all shot to hell now, maybe they’re right to be suspicious.

“The guy that tossed me in here is on our side. Our plan was to have him distract the guards, I’d pick the lock to the pens, and then we’d escape out a drainage gate in the bathrooms. But we didn’t know about the collars so that threw a kink in our plans. Any ideas?” she asks.

Squirrel gets a thoughtful look on his face and nods.

“Not a bad plan for a mungo. I’ve got the collars figured out - they’re turned on and off by a terminal network, and there happens to be a terminal in our pen. Only thing is, it’s not attached to the network. If your friend can get on the terminal in the boss-man’s quarters and update the network settings, we can turn the collars off from in here and get the fuck out.”

Gal considers that. She’s never seen Charon touch a computer, but it’s not a hard task. All he would have to do is open a couple menus. This could work.

“Okay,” she says back lowly, “when he comes back I’ll tell him to do that. Are there only two of you?”

Squirrel and Sammy start to shake their heads, but something spooks them and they jump back from the fence and dart away. Gal does the same instinctively, and when she turns, she sees that another slaver is hauling someone up to the pens.

Just as they did with Gal, he unlocks the gate and throws the slave into Gal’s area, leaving her heaving in the dirt without a backwards glance. The woman doesn’t even try to get up, just lays there as Gal watches the slaver’s retreating back. Once he’s gone, Gal makes her way cautiously over to the other woman and crouches down next to her.

“Hey, are you okay? Hello?” Gal asks carefully. The woman is thin, with tangled black hair, and she’s wearing only a white shift and a pair of tattered sandals. When she looks up, Gal sees that one of her eyes is blackened. She looks like she’d be pretty, if her cheekbones weren’t jutting out so harshly and she didn’t have such dark circles under her one good eye. Gal thinks she could probably wrap her whole hand around her wrist, with inches to spare.

The girl doesn’t say anything, just looks at her dumbly, and then tears start sliding down her face. She doesn’t make a sound, just sits there and cries silently, her shoulders shaking a little.

“Uh… okay, well, let’s get you up and comfortable somewhere, okay? I’m going to pick you up now.” Gal says awkwardly. Slowly, trying not to spook her, Gal hooks her under the arms and lifts her to her feet. It’s like picking up a small child; she weighs almost nothing, and she barely reacts to Gal’s touch, allowing Gal to wrap her arm around her torso and walk her towards the closed door. Gal pulls it open and shuffles her charge inside.

The inner room isn’t much - just bare concrete with some dirty mats laying around, but it’s out of sight of the rest of the slaver camp and Gal figures that would make her feel better. She leads the woman to one of the mats and helps her sit down on it, back against the wall. The woman is looking down at her knees now, tears still trickling down her face. Gal thinks about trying to comfort her, but it’s strange when it’s a stranger, so instead she just settles down a few feet away and leaves her be.

It’s 45 minutes before she says anything. Gal’s got her hands wrapped around her knees, reviewing the plan, when she hears a soft sound.

“Thank you.” the girl whispers. Gal looks up to find the girl wiping at her eyes with one thin wrist.

“Hey, no problem.” Gal replies softly, smiling. “I’m Gal, what’s your name?”

The girl gives her a faint smile back; it’s not even really a smile, but she tries.

“Sophia.” she says, rubbing at her cheek. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long. Just earlier today.”

“Oh.” Sophia says, and something about that wipes the smile off her face again. “This is my fourth time here.”

Gal tries to keep the shock off her face but she’s not sure she’s successful. The girl probably doesn’t even notice; she’s looking down at her knees again.

“Four times? How?” Gal asks quietly.

Sophia shrugs. “Dunno. Someone buys you, keeps you around for a while, and then trades you in for the next best thing.”

An awkward silence follows. Gal has no idea what to say to that. Sorry? It’ll get better? She feels almost guilty that she’s here on a lie, living the life for a day and then disappearing back to her life of freedom. She can’t even imagine what this girl has been through, a delicate flower with a black eye and a thousand-yard stare. She’s only probably Gal’s age, maybe a little younger.

She can’t leave her here. She’s not going to leave her here.

They sit in silence for a little while, and then start talking again, a little bit. Gal avoids any and all questions of how she ended up in Paradise Falls, other than to say she was captured and brought straight here. She tells Sophia that she’s been working on a project, looking for a part, but that’s it.

“What about you?” she asks hesitantly.

The black-haired girl frowns, and looks away, staring out at the empty room.

“My family was killed by Super Mutants a few years ago. They caught us by surprise at dinner time; I was in the basement, looking for something, so I heard them… killing my family. I hid until the Super Mutants were gone and then left. A settlement took me in, and I thought I was safe… until I woke up bound and gagged. That’s how I ended up in Paradise Falls the first time.”

Sophia doesn’t talk much about her time after that, and Gal doesn’t push.

“If I ever see that man’s face again, I’m going to kill him.” the black-haired girl says, with a note of anger. It’s the first emotion she’s shown for the whole talk. The rest of her sentences had been delivered in monotone, as if she were retelling a story that she wasn’t particularly interested in.

It sounds like a coping mechanism. Gal knows all about those.

Something rattles outside, and Gal remembers with a start that she’s supposed to be waiting for Charon to come back, to talk about the plan. She climbs to her feet and heads for the door, grateful that Sophia doesn’t make any move to follow her.

The sun is low in the sky when she emerges. Gal guesses they’ve been in Paradise Falls for five or six hours now; her stomach grumbles pitifully and she wonders when the next time she’ll get to eat is. Even Cram is sounding good right now.

Charon looks up at her from right outside the gate, Dogmeat at his feet. Dogmeat gives her a short bark in greeting when he sees her, but Charon has his head turned in conversation, so Gal clamps down on her unconscious smile and backs up against the wall as if she wants nothing to do with them.

“You don’t have any males here at all?” Charon is asking the man behind him. When the other steps up, Gal sees that it’s the slaver from before who had helped fit her collar.

“Got one. He’s in the Box right now though. Only Eulogy has the keys so you’ll have to talk to him if you want to see the bastard.” the slaver replies. Charon grunts in response.

“I’ll look at the kids. Maybe one will be big enough for what I need.”

The words send shivers down Gal’s spine; she knows Charon is acting, but he’s doing it so damn well it’s unnerving. The slaver certainly buys it; he lets out a snort and leaves. Gal waits until he’s far away before she approaches the front of the pen.

“Find anything out?” she asks lowly.

Charon shakes his head. “No. Nobody knows a damn thing about how the collars work except Eulogy Jones, the head of Paradise Falls. But I checked the drain in the bathrooms and it will still work.”

Gal nods and motions him over to the corner of the pen where it meets Sammy and Squirrel’s pen. Only Squirrel is still outside, eyeing Charon suspiciously from a distance.

“Squirrel! Come here!” Gal calls, waving him over. He does, but stops well out of reach of Charon.

“Squirrel, this is Charon. He’s helping from the outside. Charon, Squirrel told me that they have a terminal inside their living area, but it’s not connected to the network. If you can get on Eulogy’s terminal and update the network settings, they can turn off the collars from there and we’ll be free to escape. Can you do that?”

Charon thinks it over, and then nods.

“Computers aren’t my strong suit, but I can figure it out. Can you walk me through it?”

Squirrel starts talking before she can, running through the steps he’ll have to take at the speed of light. He lives up to his name well. Still, Charon nods like he understands, and asks a few questions, so Gal’s pretty sure he’ll be fine.

“-so once you’re done, come back here and let me know, and we’ll disable all the collars. Then we’ll get the hell out of here.” Squirrel finishes.

“It shouldn’t be hard, with only three of you.” Charon replies, nodding thoughtfully.

“Four.” Gal blurts out without thinking about it. Squirrel and Charon turn to her, and Charon raises an eyebrow.

Gal flushes.

“Look, they brought another girl in, and - I can’t just leave her, okay? She’s been through here four times. ”

Squirrel rolls his eyes. “If we take too many people, we’re gonna get caught, you stupid mungo.”

Gal opens her mouth to reply, but she’s cut off by a new face. A dark-skinned girl appears behind Squirrel and interjects as if she’d been there all along. She has jagged bangs and a stubborn set to her mouth.

“Well, if you’re going to help her, you have to help Rory too. He’s locked up in the Box.”

Charon huffs in annoyance.

“Look, we’re not here to free all of goddamn Paradise Falls. The more people that get in on this, the more likely someone gets caught and we’re all fucked.”

The girl glares at him, not at all cowed by the six foot plus armoured ghoul standing in front of her.

“ I’m not leaving without Rory, and that’s that.” she says stubbornly.

“You’re so stupid, Penny, just leave the stupid Mungo-” Squirrel interjects, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up, Squirrel, I’m not leaving him -”

Then Gal figures it out.

“Wait. Listen.” she says. All three of them turn to look at her expectantly.

“Charon, they already know you’re looking for a replacement. Tell them you’re picking what’s his name- sorry, Rory-” she corrects when Penny glares at her, “and then while you’re walking out the front gate, we’ll get to the bathrooms. It’ll all work.”

“Forty has a key to the Box, and so does Eulogy Jones.” Penny adds.

Charon’s brow creases, and he starts to say something, but before he does a sound behind him catches his attention. Without turning back around, he waves them off with one hand and casually backs away from the pens.

They scatter, and Gal sees that a man in a red suit is strolling past the area, casually glancing over at the pens. She doesn’t know who he is, but Charon nods respectfully to him so she figures she doesn’t want to catch his attention. Instead, she slips back to the side of the building to curl up and waits. The man’s eyes light on her for a minute, but then he’s gone.

Someone comes by around dusk and throws trays of food at all of them - three for the Lamplighters, two for her and Sophia. She examines it closely, but can’t figure out what the glop is supposed to be, so she turns her nose up and gives it to Sophia. Sophia eats both portions without comment. Then she wanders back inside; when Gal checks on her later, she’s sleeping on one of the straw mattresses, curled up like a kitten in as tight a ball as she can manage. Gal can see the individual bumps of her spine.

About an hour later, Sammy slinks up next to her and shoots her a grin.

“Your zombie got into the terminal. The collars are disarmed.” he tells her, before slinking away again.

“He’s not a zombie!” Gal shoots back, but Sammy is already inside again. Her hand unconsciously flies to the collar; it feels a little looser, she thinks, though she knows that’s ridiculous.

It’s full dark when she sees Charon again. She can just make his silhouette out in the moonlight. He glances over at her, makes eye contact, and gives her a sweeping motion, in the direction of the bathrooms. Then he’s gone, into the night like a ghost.

Gal glances over to the Lamplighter’s pen. Sammy is sitting watch just like she is, though he’s dozing up against the fence.

“Sammy. Sammy.” she hisses, nearly causing him to fall over when he jolts awake, “Go get the others, it’s time to go.”

“Okay. I’ll get Squirrel to unlock the gates.” he whispers back, before disappearing into their side of the building.

Gal turns back to her little room and darts in quickly. She crosses to kneel next to Sophia and shakes her shoulder lightly. The way Sophia flinches and pulls away instinctively makes her jerk her hand back.

“Sophia, wake up, come on, we’re leaving.” Gal says urgently. Sophia sits up and rubs at her good eye sleepily.

“Leaving? What?” she asks, her voice drowsy. Gal grabs her under the arm and pulls her to her feet; Sophia stands without protest but still gives Gal a strange look.

“Come on, we don’t have much time. We’re escaping. We have to go, now. ”

Sophia doesn’t ask any more questions, just follows Gal quietly out the door and to the front of the pen.

Penny is up against the front fence, peering out into the gloom. She turns back and gives Sammy a thumbs up; all three of them head for the gate. Gal does the same with Sophia. When she pushes it experimentally, it swings open with no trouble.

Sophia grabs at her arm and shakes her head frantically when Gal looks back, pointing to the collar around her neck.

“Don’t, the collar - we can’t -”

“Don’t worry about the collar. They’re disarmed. Now follow me.” Gal murmurs back.

The Lamplighters are already a few yards out towards the bathrooms, so Gal races up to catch them, keeping an eye out for any slavers. The area is silent as a ghost town. Sophia follows silently, though she still seems unsure.

They catch sight of Charon in front of a radiation shelter halfway to the bathrooms. He’s only recognizable by his height; the gloom makes it difficult to see anything, both a help and a hindrance to their escape effort. He fiddles with something on the side of the shelter, and the door opens up with a whoosh. A figure stumbles out and crashes to the ground. Gal sees Penny lunge for the pair, but Sammy catches her and pulls her back before she can take more than a few steps. Charon helps the figure to his feet, and is talking lowly into his ear and guiding him back towards Paradise Falls’ entrance when he fades from sight.

Her heart thunders with each step, so loud she doesn’t know how no one else can hear it. Sophia clings to her left arm but keeps silent as they move, so Gal doesn’t mind too much. Their little group makes it to the door of the bathrooms, and then Gal pries Sophia’s fingers from her arm, draws her combat knife, and pushes the door open.

The slaver inside has a shotgun in one hand, but Gal is on top of her before she can even come close to using it. Gal slashes at her throat, but the raider growls and grabs her wrist. They wrestle for a minute, the slaver scrabbling for something at her side, but then she suddenly has a Lamplighter dangling from each arm and jerking at her hair, and Sophia is prying her grip from Gal’s wrist. The slaver is no match for the five of them together; Gal slits her throat and ducks the blood spray, and together the five of them let the gurgling corpse slump to the ground. She has a moment to worry about killing someone in front of three kids - but all of them are already looting the corpse for anything useful, so Gal forgets about feeling bad and picks up the shotgun. Then they shove the corpse up onto the toilet and lock the door, so it hopefully won’t be found any time soon. The blood isn’t much of a giveaway, considering half the bathroom is already covered in rust red.

Quickly, they drag the lid off the drain and peer down into the darkness. Gal can just see the bottom of the sewer; it’s a short drop, not even five feet. She motions the other four over and moves so Sammy can drop down.

He hits the bottom with a yelp, then crawls out of the way so Penny can go next. Squirrel follows, and then Sophia swings her legs over and prepares to drop down. Before she does, she looks up at Gal and grabs her hand, cradling it between both palms. Her eyes are full of tears.

Gal gives her a reassuring smile and sandwiches one thin hand between her own.

“It’s okay. Go ahead. You’re not ever coming back to this fucking place.”

Sophia nods, takes a deep breath, and drops down into the sewer. Then it’s only Gal left in the bathroom.

She hasn’t heard any signs of life outside the bathrooms, but still, she scoots over to the drainage gate and throws her legs down, pulling the top over as close as possible so she can try to slide it on behind them.

She gets up to her hips before she catches. The hole hadn’t looked small with the Lamplighters and Sophia slipping through, but she’s a different story. A wiggle gets her a few more inches, but then she’s stuck again.

Hands grab her calves and yank, and Gal twists as much as she can to help. Two yanks, three, and then her hips are through the opening. The rest of her makes it through easily and then she’s crouching in a cold, wet tunnel with the others, though she thinks her pants have ripped. Gal reaches up and slides the cover back into place, then tentatively starts forward after the others.

It’s as quiet as death in the tunnel. It seems that all of them are afraid to speak; the rustle of their clothes and the occasional clank when someone runs into something already feels too loud, as if it will alert the slavers just above their heads. It’s too small to stand up, and narrows so much that they eventually have to crawl; Gal wonders in a flash of horror if it will become too small for them to get through, but it never shrinks that much. Still, the cold atmosphere and the hard metal of the pipe leave her aching and bruised. She keeps bumping into Sophia, in front of her, but the other girl never says a word.

It feels like ages before the journey ends. Then, suddenly, the little convoy stops, and Gal can hear Sammy struggling with something up ahead. He grunts a few times, and then suddenly there’s cool, fresh air flowing into the tunnel, and she hears the sounds of someone banging around, as if they’re levering themselves out of an opening.

One by one, they climb out of the exit. Gal jerks when she hears Penny’s soft exclamation, but then she hears a soft, unfamiliar male voice, and realizes it must be the other slave - Rory, who had been with Charon. A tightness in her chest eases, realizing that means her companion is most likely safe.

When it comes to her turn to exit, she crawls out slowly, trying not to bang up her bruised body any more than it already is. Sophia helps her out onto flat ground, where Penny is embracing a dark-haired man and Sammy and Squirrel are rocking back and forth on their heels, clearly eager to escape out into the wasteland. Charon and Dogmeat are nowhere in sight.

“Rory? Where are the others?” she asks. The dark-haired man peeks up at her and then looks over his shoulder.

“The guard to the entrance didn’t believe about the trade. Your man had to stash the body, but he told me to come wait for you guys so you wouldn’t get worried.”

Gal finds herself nearly knocked over by a small body, and looks down to find Sammy attached to her hip, arms thrown around her waist. Penny joins him almost immediately; Squirrel doesn’t hug her, but he does give her a big, honest smile.

“Thanks for getting us out of there, mungo.” Sammy says, giving her waist one last squeeze. She wraps one arm around him and Penny each and squeezes back before they let go. That’s the first moment that they really look like children again, instead of tiny, swearing adults. Every bruise, every unsure moment is worth watching them claw at their collars and tear them off. When everyone has removed the bomb from their necks, Gal takes them and tosses them behind a bush.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Squirrel says, already over the touching moment. Penny and Sammy nod, and Rory goes to join them, but not before giving Gal’s hand a warm squeeze.

“I’ll go with them and make sure they make it there okay. Thanks for your help, stranger. I’ll never forget your kindness.”

Gal smiles, and offers him the shotgun. Rory takes it with a grateful look.

“Stay safe. You’ll need this, we’ve got plenty of weapons and ammo stashed away not far from here. You three, I’ll see you soon at Little Lamplight.”

All of them nod, and then they’re slinking away into the darkness, leaving her and Sophia alone by the grate to wait for Dogmeat and Charon.

Not a second goes by before Sophia takes Penny and Sammy’s place, clutching at Gal’s front and burying her face into Gal’s collar, sobs wracking her thin shoulders. Gal starts, but wraps her arms around Sophia and lets her cry. She remembers doing this not long ago to another person, and how good it felt to simply be held and comforted, allowed to bask in the knowledge that things would be okay.

“You’re safe now. No more slavery, no more collars, no more dirty straw mattresses.” she soothes, smoothing Sophia’s tangled hair and trying not to wince at her iron grip. No more anything else , either, she thinks grimly.

A rustle behind her makes her start, and she’s turned with her combat knife at the ready almost instantaneously, before a black-and-grey blur launches itself at her. Dogmeat slams right into her legs and nearly bowls her over. Gal lets out a breath and leans over to scratch his back, noting his bloody muzzle, which he rubs all over her trousers in happiness. Another sound, and Charon appears behind the dog, looking unharmed except for a gash across his jaw. He looks wary but his shotgun is strapped across his back.

“Hey. The others already left for Little Lamplight, it’s just me and - “

“ You. ”

Gal turns.

Sophia backs away from Gal and raises a pistol up to point at Charon, her face twisted and hateful.

The barrel of the gun settles right between his eyes.

Chapter Text

Gal freezes, confused.

“What? I don’t -”

She takes a step towards the black-haired girl, but Sophia swings the slaver’s pistol towards her and stops her. Gal gave away the only firearm she had, and Charon’s is slung across his back; there’s no way he can get to it in time. There’s nothing they can do. As soon as Gal stops moving again, Sophia lines her sights back up on Charon, finger resting warningly on the trigger.

“I told you if I ever saw him again I’d kill him. Looks like I’m getting that chance.” the girl says coldly.

Gal turns to look at Charon. He looks completely dumb-founded, one hand still raised in the air. His gaze is locked on the black-haired girl, eyes full of sorrow.

“Sophia.” he says quietly.

Charon was the one who brought Sophia to Paradise Falls. Sophia is one of the eight girls Azrukhal doomed to slavery.

Sophia is going to kill Charon.

Gal swings around and looks at Sophia pleadingly, her heart in her throat.

“Sophia, please, don’t - you don’t know the whole story - Charon -”

Sophia cuts her off without even glancing her way. “I know about the contract. And it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what he did.”

“She’s right.” Charon agrees. “It doesn’t.”

The words make Gal’s heart physically hurt, at the same time it makes her veins flood with anger. Charon doesn’t even try to defend himself. He lets his hand lower and just stands there. His eyes lower, like he can’t bear to look at Sophia anymore.

“Sophia, Charon didn’t have an option. He was as much a slave then as you were five minutes ago. Nothing he did to you was his own choice - Sophia, please don’t kill him, please - “

Gal realizes that she’s crying halfway through her speech. It becomes hard to talk through the tightness in her throat. She wants to throw herself in front of Charon, or take the gun out of Sophia’s hand, but she’s scared out of her mind that it will make the girl pull the trigger. The whole scene goes hazy before her as she furiously tries to blink back tears.

Behind her, Charon bows his head.

Sophia doesn’t look at her at all. Time seems to slow down, but even as it does, Gal can’t think fast enough of a way to stop what’s about to happen. There’s nothing she can do.

Nothing.

Sophia grits her teeth, tears sliding down her own cheeks, and squeezes the trigger.

There’s a small click. Sophia looks at the unloaded pistol in disbelief. Then, as if her legs can no longer hold her, she slides to the ground and starts sobbing, slamming one small fist into the dirt. The pistol lands beside her.

Gal lets out a long, shaky breath, tears still sliding down her face. It’s nearly enough to sap the strength from her own legs, but she stays standing somehow. She wants to do a thousand things at once - to slap Sophia for daring to pull the trigger, to sink to the ground and embrace her instead, to hug Charon to remind herself that he’s not dead, he’s not dead.

They all go silent for a moment, Sophia’s sobbing the only sound. It seems loud to her, loud enough to attract attention, and she remembers suddenly that they’re in the middle of an escape attempt.

“Gal. We have to go.” Charon says. His eyes haven’t strayed from Sophia, but he’s at least unslung his shotgun. It’s the only movement he’s made since Sophia pulled the trigger.

Gal nods, unable to speak. Sophia doesn’t react when Gal moves towards her. Wordlessly, she crouches down and once again pulls the broken girl to her feet, letting Sophia lean on her and cry, almost carrying her. Dogmeat, ever the forgiving type, paws at her leg and whines in solidarity. Together, they move away from the walls of Paradise Falls, towards the safehouse where Charon and Gal had stashed their belongings.

Charon bolts away from the pair like they’re poisonous. It seems hard for him to take his eyes away from Sophia, but he wants to be near her even less, so he moves ahead of them twenty feet or so and starts scanning for threats. They’ve already wasted enough time lollygagging by Paradise Falls; they need to get out of the area before the slavers send out a search party. That’s what she and Charon are focusing on; Sophia just buries her head in Gal’s shoulder.

The house they’d stashed their belongings in is a few hour’s south of the Falls. It’s a silent walk, marked only by Gal’s rumbling stomach and Sophia finally letting go and walking on her own. Charon doesn’t look back at them, not once, but the lines of his shoulders are tense the whole trip. Sophia goes from burying her head in Gal’s shoulder to watching him like he’s a snake about to strike. The tension is killing Gal.

They arrive. Charon pushes the door open, shotgun at the ready, and goes to sweep the area. Gal starts to follow him, but Sophia stops in her tracks. Gal looks back and sees that her eyes are wide and frightened.

“No.” she says, looking at the open door. “No, I’m not going in there.”

“Sophia, come on. We can’t stay outside, it’s too dangerous.” Gal says soothingly. Sophia shakes her head, her dirty hair swinging back and forth.

“I’m not going in there with him. He could…” she stops, unable to continue.

Gal puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Sophia, I own Charon’s contract now. He can’t hurt you. I promise.”

The girl eyes Gal suspiciously, but it’s gotten cold out and she’s shivering in her thin shift. Slowly, unwillingly, she heads for the house. Gal follows her with a sigh of relief. She’s not sure what she would do if Sophia refused their help. She can’t just let her wander out into the Wasteland by herself.

Charon calls that it’s all clear. When they walk into the front room, he’s pulling their packs out of the steamer trunk they’d been stashed in. Sophia creeps in, takes one long look around the living room, and darts to an open door. It shuts behind her with a click.

Gal watches her go, and sighs.

She turns to her stack of armour and dresses slowly. She’s still covered in dirt, but they can’t fix that until they’re back in Megaton. Charon clears the middle of the room of debris and digs out some dinner to set out on the table. He very carefully doesn’t look anywhere near the locked door.

Gently, Gal pulls the bag of brahmin jerky from his fingers and goes to work opening it. His silence is not unusual, but it is heavy.

“Charon.” Gals says lowly, fiddling with the tie. “It’s not your fault.”

The ghoul just sets an opened box of apples down and doesn’t say anything.

“Charon.” she says again, abandoning her task. “Seriously. It’s not your fault. Nothing you did under contract is.”

Slamming the box in his hands down, Charon looks up at her. His eyes are hard.

“I doomed eight women to slavery, Gal. And that’s not even on the top of the list of things I’ve done.  It doesn’t make it any better that someone told me to do it. They’re there because of me.”

“Seven.” Gal counters. “One of them is in that room. She’s worse for the wear, but she’s alive. And she’s alive because you helped me get into Paradise Falls and break her out.”

If Charon were the eye-rolling type, he’d be doing it right now. As it is, she senses the exasperation in him anyway.

“I helped you get into Paradise Falls because you fucking ordered me to. So then her being saved isn’t my doing either.” The sarcasm drips from his words. He nearly tears the next box in half as he’s opening it.

Gal smiles. “No, I didn’t order you, and you know it. You knew it when you told me what you knew about the Falls, and when you agreed to the plan, and every moment you were in there. You know that I wouldn’t have done it if you really didn’t agree. But you did agree, because it’s the right thing to do. So stop blaming yourself for what Azrukhal made you do. You’re as much a victim here as anyone else he wronged.”

He doesn’t look, but he does jerk his head towards Sophia’s closed door.

“Yeah. That’s what she thinks too.” he says shortly.

Gal looks over at the door and sighs.

“She’s as stubborn as you are.” she agrees. She hesitates, but asks anyway, because it’s important to know. “Did you have to… with her…”

Charon’s shoulders stiffen. This time, he looks away, towards the closed door. After a few moments pass, Gal realizes he’s not going to answer.

If she’s reading the look on his face right, he doesn’t have to.

She abandons the bag of jerky on the table and retreats to a sofa in the corner of the room instead. Brushing some plaster and debris off the cushions, she curls up on one side and looks pointedly at Charon, patting the space beside her.

“Come here.” she says softly.

Charon throws the last box onto the table and stalks over. He stops just in front of her, looming, but she just purses her mouth and pats the sofa again, until he relents and grudgingly sits down.

She twists so her back is to the arm of the chair and she can face him, legs crossed on the sofa cushion. Gently, she clasps his hand between her own two and pulls it over to rest on her knee, thumb sliding along his skin slowly. His hands are as rough as the rest of him, pitted and gnarled, muscle visible and shifting as his fingers move. He looks down at their joined hands uneasily, but doesn’t pull away.

“Listen to me.” she starts. “No matter what happened, it’s not your fault. You’re as much a victim as she is.”

Charon’s hand tightens around her own painfully.

“Say it all you want. It doesn’t make it true.” he say shortly. His hand pulls from hers, and he gets up and walks back to the table without a backward glance.

Gal watches him go with a heavy heart. She wants to push the subject and keep telling him he’s wrong until he actually believes it, but all of them are tired and hungry and she’s feeling more frustrated and angry at the two of them than understanding. That’s probably a sign that now isn’t the time to push it.

So instead she takes a box of apples and some jerky and goes to knock on the closed door.

“Sophia?” she calls tentatively. “You hungry? I’ve got some dinner for you.”

She hears some movement behind the door, but it doesn’t open. Gal knocks again and waits patiently.

The door doesn’t open.

Gal sets the food down next to the door and sighs.

“I’ll leave it right outside for you, okay? Make sure you eat.”

The door doesn’t budge as she walks back to the table, but sometime between her laying down to catch some sleep and being woken for watch, the food disappears.

--

The next morning doesn’t fare any better. Gal, grumpy from lack of sleep, spends her watch time sleepily trying to think of a way to help Sophia and Charon out, but she doesn’t find any solutions. Charon tosses and turns all night; he finally wakes up an hour and a half before she’d been planning to wake him and stalks into the bathroom silently, clearly having given up on sleep. Sophia doesn’t emerge at all.

Finally, when they’re all packed and ready to get underway, Gal knocks on her door and calls out to her. Sophia cautiously cracks the door, peeks out to see where Charon is, and then glues herself to Gal’s side again, just as she’d done yesterday. Absolutely no change. Gal wants to scream, but instead offers her a box of Sugar Bombs and they head out.

“I think we should stop by Big Town, since we’re in the area. They might need some of the stuff we’ve salvaged.” Gal mentions, a few hours later. Their trip has been blessedly quiet so far.

Charon grunts in response, the sound making Sophia’s grip tighten on Gal’s arm. She’s possibly even jumpier today than she was yesterday. Whatever she’d done last night, while she was locked up in that room, it hadn’t allowed her much rest. The circles under her eyes are darker, like bruises.

“What’s Big Town?” she asks quietly. She still speaks like she’s afraid someone might hear.

“It’s a settlement just down the road. Pretty small. Everyone’s friendly, though.” Gal gives her a reassuring smile, but Sophia just slides her eyes away and ducks her head.

They hear the gunfire before they see it. Cursing, Charon and Gal duck behind an abandoned house, Gal dragging Sophia with her. Charon, back to the rotting siding, peeks out around the corner quickly and ducks back into safety.

“Super Mutants. Again. They never fucking give up.” he curses. Gal kneels down next to him and glances out herself. At this distance, it’s hard to tell how many there are, but there’s enough to mean big trouble.

“Shit. We’re too far away.” she says. Charon nods.

“We can make it over to the playground and take cover there. That will put us in range.” he suggests. Gal nods an affirmative and turns to lock eyes with Sophia.

“You should stay here.” she says, but Sophia shakes her head resolutely.

“Are you kidding? What if they come back this way? Or there’s more?” she says, not unreasonably. She looks plenty scared, but her shoulders are resolute. And she’s handled herself well in dangerous situations so far. She’d be more protected if she were close by.  

“Okay. But stay close and don’t get shot, okay? We’re going to sneak over there so we’re in range to take them out.”

Charon leads, quiet as a whisper as he creeps across the open ground towards the cover of the playground. It seems impossible that something so big can be so quiet, but Charon’s boots barely make a sound over the gravel and dried grass. Gal, behind him, is more noisy but her sneaking has gotten much better in the last few months, thanks to her ghoul companion. Sophia, in her sandals and thin dress, might as well be a shadow behind her.

Most of the Super Mutants are dashing for the entry bridge to Big Town, but a couple are across the playground, trying to squeeze through a gap in the rusty, stacked car wall there. None of them notice the trio creeping up on them, and they make it to the safety of a large piece of playground equipment without notice. It’s some type of big vehicle, like a squashed sphere on stilts, with a slide coming out one end.

Charon locks eyes with Gal and tilts his head towards the two Mutants on the edge of the playground. Then he pulls a grenade from his side and points at the other group. Gal moves herself to the edge of their cover so she has a clear shot at the two and watches Charon toss the grenade gently towards Bigtown’s entrance.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand…

Just before the grenade explodes, she whips around the corner and opens fire on the Super Mutants. She catches one in the shoulder, and then rips into his chest when he turns towards her before he can bring his rifle up. The other is half-wedged between two cars. He flails, trying to get unstuck, but she gets him right in the temple before that happens.

Charon’s grenade is less successful. It damages only one Mutie, but it does get their attention, and half of them turn towards the playground with roars of surprise, while the others rush the entrance with even more fervor.

Gal darts from her hiding spot further into the play equipment, so she and Charon are spread a bit apart, and waits for their adversaries to come to them. They have the advantage now; they have plenty of solid cover, while the Super Mutants are left out in the open and flanked on two sides.

What they really should do is find cover first; instead, they come straight for them at max speed. Gal sees a couple with nailboards, a couple with hunting rifles, but no miniguns, thankfully. They take a couple potshots as they’re moving, but those just thunk harmlessly into the side of the equipment or into the ground.

Gal leans out, takes aim, drops one with a hit to the eye; Charon blasts another with his shotgun, stopping it in its tracks, but not downing it just yet. The ping of a round on the metal near her shoulder makes her draw back into safety.

Sophia is behind her, glancing out from behind the other side of the structure they’re hiding behind. She pulls back for a moment, then darts out from safety and takes off running.

“Sophia! Shit,” Gal exclaims, leaning back out to take a few more shots. One hits in the shoulder and causes the Mutant to drop his nailboard. Charon takes advantage of his pause and blasts him in the chest.

They take another down together, but the last is nearly to Gal’s hiding spot when shots ring out from somewhere on the right. The Mutant turns to look. It’s just enough time for Gal to bring her rifle up and put two through his belly. The Mutant looks back, confused, and then crumples. His head clangs against the steel side of the slide. With the way his guts are hanging out all over the place, Gal thinks he probably didn’t even feel it.

They waste no time turning their attention towards the other Mutants. A few are laying dead in front of the bridge; the rest have ducked behind the sandbag walls and junk piles surrounding the entrance. Gal thinks she spots Red hiding behind a house, and somebody else toting a hunting rifle as well. There’s blood covering the ground on Bigtown’s side that can’t belong to a Super Mutant.

The Muties are protected by their cover from Bigtown’s residents, but not from Gal and Charon. Together, they mow the remaining Mutants down with little trouble. Sophia appears on Gal’s right, solving the mystery of where the extra shots had come from; she has both hands wrapped around a revolver, and though her stance is clumsy, Gal sees two of her shots lodge in a Mutant’s chest. They’re not quite killing blows, but Charon’s follow-up once the Mutant sinks to his knees, clutching his chest, is.

Then, there’s a fearful scream that causes her to whip around. Gal goes pale as one of the Super Mutants from the playground staggers up and swipes at Sophia with a nailboard. Sophia tries to duck out of the way, but it catches her across the shoulder and flings her through the air like a ragdoll. She comes down onto the dirt hard, and doesn’t get up.

The Super Mutant, covered with blood, collapses before Gal  can react, but she puts two more bullets through his head just in case. Then, she runs towards Sophia’s prone body, heart hammering.

Charon reaches her first. Without pause, he kneels down next to her and gingerly runs his hand over her shoulder, stopping when she whimpers in pain. Gal sees as she comes up on Sophia’s other side that it’s sitting funny and her whole bicep is bruised and bloody. She’s still breathing normally, if hard, and her eyes are focused. A pretty good outcome for a one-on-one match with a Mutie.

“Was it your bad side?” Charon asks confusingly, but Sophia nods, as if she knows just what he’s talking about.

“Think it’s dislocated.” Sophia replies, her voice taut with pain. She tries to shrink back from Charon when he reaches out again, but cries out again and goes still when it jostles her arm.

“We have to get her to Red. Hold her arm and try to keep it still.” Charon orders. Gal carefully slips her fingers under Sophia’s arm, being careful of the bruising, and lifts it as Charon lifts her body, so that it’s not left to swing freely and cause more pain. She almost thinks about offering to carry her, knows she could do it, but Charon picks her up like she’s a fine piece of china and cradles her gently against his chest, and she must be in too much pain to care because she doesn’t react. Together, they walk slowly towards the Bigtown entrance.

Red is kneeling down next to a body when they enter the town. Gal blanches, but then relaxes when she sees Dusty’s eyes are still open. He has a massive bloody hole in the muscle of his quad; as Gal watches, Red presses the handkerchief from her forehead to it and wraps it with some strips of cloth to keep it in place. His faceplate is cracked. He grimaces as Red and Shorty haul him to his feet in preparation to drag him back to her clinic.

“Good timing, you two.” Red says, before looking back. “Oh - three. Who’s this?”

“This is Sophia. We think her shoulder is dislocated. Can you look at it?”

Red smiles, as Gal knew she would, and jerks her head back towards her clinic.

“Of course. Let’s go.”

They tramp through town like the world’s slowest, saddest parade, while the rest of the Bigtown residents start hauling the Super Mutant corpses away from the entrance and cleaning up the blood. The sight of Bittercup stumbling out of  the sleeping area, only just now aware that something happened, makes her want to laugh and roll her eyes at the same time.  

“Didn’t think you’d remember.” Sophia mutters. She winces a little when Gal jostles her arm by accident.

“Be hard to forget. You could pick up a toothbrush wrong and hurt your shoulder. Have you been doing your exercises?” Charon replies, maneuvering carefully through the front door of Red’s clinic so as not to bump his cargo.

“Yeah… they help a lot. This is the first problem I’ve had in a few years.” Sophia replies. Red points them to a mostly-clean operating table and then turns back to Dusty, who’s bleeding at an alarming rate from the bullet hole in his leg.

“Gal, can you help me out?” Red asks as she carefully unties the bloody strips of cloth from Dusty’s leg. “I’ll see to Sophia’s arm but we need to take care of Dusty first. He can’t sit guard duty if he bleeds out.”

Dusty smiles faintly at the joke and reaches up to push his helmet off. It clatters to the floor and rolls a few feet before stopping.

“I’m thinking it’s time to get some other people on the roster, Red. You want to volunteer?” he asks. When Red pulls the bandana from his leg, he lets out a string of curses.

“Yup… it’s still in there. Grab the alcohol, will you, Gal?” Red directs.

Gal glances back at Charon and Sophia, but they’re talking in low voices now, and while the atmosphere isn’t exactly friendly, it seems okay to turn her back for a moment. She’s not sure what changed exactly, but she’ll figure it out later.

It takes several long minutes of Red digging in the wound to find the bullet. Dusty watches for a moment, while Gal holds the edges of the wound apart, and then his eyes roll back in his head and he passes out cold. Red scoffs good-naturedly and starts dabbing at the wound with a piece of cloth and some alcohol before fetching a few stimpacks.

“He does that every time. I don’t know why he bothers watching.” she comments, watching the tissue start to knit back together as she injects the contents of the stimpack. “Dammit, Dusty, this is going to take at least three stimpacks, you jerk. Can’t you get a smaller injury once in a while?”

There’s a cry of pain from behind them. Gal whirls around to see Charon grasping Sophia’s wrist, pulling it out from her body slowly. There’s a popping sound and then her shoulder joint snaps back into place. Charon grasps her elbow and folds her arm across her torso gently.

Red, done with Dusty’s leg, crosses to examine Sophia’s shoulder, nodding in approval.

“Good work. You’ll need a sling or something for a little while as it heals. I’ll give you some Med-x for the pain.”

The minute Red steps in, Charon moves back and out of the way, but he keeps his eyes on Sophia. Gal moves closer too, handing Red the syringe of med-x when she asks.

“You’re a pretty good shot, Sophia.” Gal says, smiling down. Sophia makes a face at the feel of the needle sliding into her arm. “Maybe you should be the one carrying the assault rifle.”

“Can I have your armour too?” Sophia asks. She lets out a little chuckle when Gal narrows her eyes and puts one protective arm over her chest plate.

“I want to keep the gun.” she adds softly, as Red settles her arm into a makeshift sling. Then the two of them help her sit up and slide off the table. Despite all the bruising, she seems steady on her feet.

“Not -” Gal eyes Red surreptitiously, and changes her words. “Not if you’re going to use it.”

Sophia looks over at Charon, watching him as he presses rounds into Gal’s spent magazines. The look in her eye is strange, not soft, but not the hard hatred from yesterday either. Her hand comes up to rub at her shoulder unconsciously.

“...no. I won’t.” she agrees. If Charon hears, he doesn’t make any sign of it.

Gal shoulders her pack and looks back to Red, who’s eyeing them all weirdly, but wisely chooses not to say anything about it.

“I think it’s probably time to take a breather after all that excitement. Do you mind if we spend the night, Red?”

Red snorts good-naturedly and mops her sweaty brow with the bloody handkerchief, leaving a streak of red where the sweat was.

“I guess that’s okay, since you saved our butts and all. Again. Come on, we’ll set you up in that empty house again.”

Chapter Text

Sophia still disappears the minute they step into the house, but when Gal tries the door this time, it’s unlocked. She doesn’t go in, just wanders back to clean her rifle and then scrounge up the dinner for the four of them from what’s left in their pack. They’re getting really short on supplies. Luckily, Megaton is just a short trek away.

Red hangs around for a while and chats with Gal. She laughs at Gal’s retelling of her run-in with Mayor MacCready and assures her that he’s that prickly with everyone, which does a little to mollify her. Gal writes down a short list of supplies Bigtown needs, promises to swing by on the way back through, and then Red takes her leave.

“So what was that all about? With you and Sophia?” Gal asks casually as they’re dividing up their suppers. Dogmeat gets the last can of Cram, to his delight. He respectfully leaves half of it for Gal until she wrinkles her nose and toes the half-consumed can back towards him.

“She has a fucked up shoulder. Got it when her family was killed by Mutants. When I was working for Azrukhal, I gave her some strengthening exercises to do so she wouldn’t injure it again.” Charon says shortly. Gal knows he wouldn’t have replied if he didn’t want to talk about it, so she pushes a little further.

“Sounds like you guys were close. She was there a while?”

Charon shrugs.

“A few months. The Mutants were all over the place for a while, so it wasn’t safe to leave Underworld with a human. Azrukhal locked her up in one of the back rooms and left me to take care of her. But no, we weren’t...close.”

His movements are stiff and unyielding as he tosses the last of the cans of food on the table. When he thinks Gal isn’t looking, he sneaks a glance at the shut door. For just a moment, there’s a flash of emotion in his eyes.

It’s pain. Deep, gut-wrenching pain, and sorrow. And… a little bit of longing. It makes her chest tighten, and her stomach clench, hard enough that she can’t breathe for a moment.

Oh. Oh.

Well, that’s interesting.

She pushes one of the plates of food towards Charon and nods her head towards Sophia’s room.

“Do you want to take it to her?” she asks gently.

The ghoul gives her a long look and snorts.

“Hell no. I’m the last person she wants bringing food to her. You do it.”

With that, he picks up his own plate and retreats to the couch to sulk, effectively ending the conversation. Gal hadn’t expected much better, but she still sighs in disappointment as she picks up the plates.

“Sophia?” she calls as she stops in front of the door. “I’ve got dinner. Can I come in?”

There’s a rustling, and the sound of footsteps, and then Sophia cracks the door and looks out at her. She spots Charon, hunched over his food on the other side of the room, and gives Gal a small smile before moving to let her through.

Gal sets the food down on a coffee table and drags it over to a couch in the corner of the room so they can sit together and eat. Charon sometimes needs space when he’s dealing with issues, and she thinks this is one of those times. Sophia is the opposite; Gal thinks that she is enjoying having someone around who actually gives a shit about her.

“Sorry for the weird dinner, we’re almost out of food. But we’ll have enough to get us back to Megaton tomorrow where we can stock up.”

Sophia looks at the potato crisps, brahmin jerky, and flatbread, and laughs slightly. She sinks down in the place in front of her plate and pulls the food into her lap so she can nibble at it.

“It’s better than that slop they gave us in Paradise Falls. You looked like you were going to vomit just looking at it.” Sophia teases her. She’s borrowed a hairbrush from somewhere and managed to tame her black locks a little bit. She’s used a piece of string to pull it all back and keep it out of her face. It makes her skinny frame look even tinier.

“I have a refined palate, as you can see from this spread.” Gal says grandly, picking up a potato crisp to illustrate.

They fall into silence for a minute as they both devour their dinner. Gal realizes after the first bite just how hungry she is, after their mad flight from Paradise Falls and the long journey after. There’s been too much fighting and too little sleep. At least she’s not stuck in a cell with a bomb attached to her neck anymore, so she supposes that’s worth a little bit of hunger and tiredness.

She finishes off the food in less than five minutes, and wishes ruefully that they had more to go with it. Well, they’d be in Megaton tomorrow, and she could eat herself into a coma if she wanted. She probably would. Enough for a good nap, at least.

“What’s going to happen when we get to Megaton?” Sophia asks quietly, breaking the silence and Gal’s rambling thoughts. Leaning forward, she sets the now-empty place back on the table and sneaks a glance over at Gal. The question sounds tense, like she’s expecting a bad answer.

Gal figures that with everything that’s happened to her since her family died, she has every reason to.

“I have a house there. Charon and I can’t stay, we have to get back to Little Lamplight for… something… but my friend just inherited a bar and he might need some help running it. I mean, if you want to stay. If not, we’ll make sure you get wherever you want to go.”

Sophia doesn’t look convinced. Gal thinks she’s probably looking for the catch. She doubts Sophia is used to people helping, just to help.

“You don’t have to make any choices now. When we get to Megaton tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to Gob and Nova, and you’ll have a few days to decide. No pressure, okay?” she says gently, placing a gentle hand on Sophia’s thin shoulder. Sophia smiles wanly and nods, cradling her injured shoulder to her chest.

“You’ve been really nice to me, and I’m grateful for that. It’s just… weird. For me. I’m not used to it. So I’m sorry for being so...”

She gestures to the door and then looks down, embarrassed. Gal snorts and leans back into the couch cushions, pulling her feet up to cross under her.

“Don’t be sorry. I would have been way more suspicious, in your place. You saved our asses in that fight today. And I know that it’s hard for you, with… you know… with Charon with us, and all.”

Sophia’s back goes rigid with the mention of his name. Gal can almost sense the battle warring inside her; the part of Sophia that tried to shoot him in the head, versus the part that trusted him to fix her shoulder. Earned trust versus forced betrayal. She sneaks a glance at the door, her shoulders relaxing a fraction when she realizes it’s still firmly closed.

“What has he told you?” she asks tonelessly.

Gal shrugs. “I know he worked for Azrukhal for a long time. Azrukhal kidnapped eight girls while Charon was there, and made Charon take them to Paradise Falls to be sold. He didn’t give me any details, but… he said that Azrukhal would sometimes make him do things to the girls. As punishment.”

Gal tries to deliver all this as factually as possible, but she trips on the last part and has to work hard to keep her voice from wavering. The subject has so much attached to it now - the assault near Evergreen Mills, the short time in Paradise Falls. The look of shame on Charon’s face as he told her about his past. The look on Sophia’s now.

This is what she left Vault 101 for. This world, full of hate and suffering. It’s almost not worth it.

Sophia is looking down at her lap now, picking at the fraying hem of her dress. They really have to get her something else to wear, as soon as they’re back to civilization.

“I know it was punishment. It’s different...when they don’t really want to do it. I didn’t know that then. But I do now.” Sophia replies, drawing her knees up to her chest. The look on her face is distant, like she’s in the middle of a memory.

“I know what you said before. He had no choice. And then… well. He tried to help me. He tried to stop it. But he couldn’t. And so… I can’t forgive him. Even if it wasn’t his fault. I can’t.”

She tries to hide her face, but not before Gal sees the tears leak from the corners of her eyes. Her shoulders tremble finely. When Gal reaches one hand out to wrap across them, the shaking intensifies. Sophia leans into Gal’s side bonelessly and Gal lets her, petting her hair and rubbing her good shoulder. She thinks of the desperate look in Charon’s eyes, and the haunted one in Sophia’s, and thinks that this broken thing between the two of them isn’t going to heal in a day. It may never heal.

It’s not Charon’s fault, and it’s not Sophia’s. It’s the whole damn world’s fault, for pushing the two of them into this fucked up situation against each other. Gal is stuck in the middle, and all she can do is be there for someone to lean on. It isn’t enough.

They don’t talk anymore. She stays there until Sophia stops crying, and then until she falls asleep. Only once Sophia is huffing soft, even breaths against Gal’s shoulder does she slide out from under her gently and let her stretch out on the couch. She covers the dark-haired girl with a blanket and leaves her to rest.

Charon is still sitting on the couch, staring into space when she emerges. He’s thrown his dirty plate off into the corner, and it’s clear that he’s keeping watch, but his mind is somewhere far away and unpleasant. When she closes the door behind her, he starts and moves to get up.

She motions him back down with a wordless gesture, and he obeys. Tiredly, she picks up the sleeping bag that’s been thrown across the designated sleeping mattress, drags it over to the couch, and sits down next to him. Before he can move, she stretches down the length of the couch and pillows her head on his thigh. The sleeping bag gets pulled around until she’s comfortable, and then without a word, she throws her arm across his lap and settles.

Charon doesn’t question it. Unlike most days, though, at her careless touch, he relaxes into the cushions like a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. She mumbles something about being woken up for watch, and falls asleep with his fingers tangled in her hair.

--

They make it back to Megaton in record time, by mid-afternoon. All of them are tired, grouchy, and hungry (with the exception of Dogmeat, who is unnaturally happy all the time). The familiar sight of Megaton’s walls and Deputy Weld makes Gal finally slow down and take a breath, knowing that she’s just a few minutes away from the comforts of her little house.

“Thirsty partner? Try Gob’s Saloon. Coldest drinks in the Capital Wasteland!” Weld calls out helpfully as they pass. Gal smiles at the mention of Gob, waves to the sentry above the gate, and waits patiently as the steel walls creep open. Sophia is behind her, looking around cautiously. She inches closer to Gal as the gates open farther and farther.

“Welcome to Megaton.” she says, as the town appears before them. It’s busy, like it always is in the late afternoon; people glance at them, sometimes wave, but few even notice the new face in their midst.

Confessor Cromwell smiles and crosses to them, but Gal waves him off hurriedly, assuring him she’ll stop to say hello later. Then they’re up in the catwalks, passing old Nathan Vargas on the way. Sophia shies away from anybody that passes their way, but looks around curiously as they navigate the town.

“Here we are.” Gal announces happily as they reach the front door of her house. Charon unlocks the door and pushes it open for them. “Home sweet home.”

As always, the first thing she does is pull off all her armour and her pack, and dump them in a messy pile in the corner. Then she collapses on the couch with a pleased sigh.

“It’s not much, but it’s got two bedrooms, a kitchen, and water. Hot water.” Gal says dreamily to Sophia, sinking further into the couch cushions. Sophia joins her after a moment. She’s understandably quiet but doesn’t seem ready to disappear just yet.

“It’s also got shelves.” Charon says with a tone of amusement in his voice, picking up her armour and depositing it in its spot on the shelf next to his things. “And clothes.” he says pointedly, though he doesn’t glance at Sophia. Gal groans, but pushes herself off the couch anyway.

“Yeah, okay, I’m a bad hostess. Come on, Sophia, you can borrow something of mine until we can get down to Craterside Supply and fix you up.” she says, motioning towards the staircase. Behind her, she hears the swing of the fridge door, and knows Charon is going straight for the beer. He’ll leave the bottle caps sitting on the counter, because for all he gripes about her leaving her armour laying around, he has messy habits of his own.

“This is my room. I figure you can use it while we set up something more permanent.” Gal says, squeezing into her little space and going for the dresser

“I don’t want you to move out of your own bedroom for me. I can sleep downstairs in the living room.” Sophia offers hesitantly as Gal paws through stacks of shirts, looking for something that will fit the smaller girl. Gal isn’t too big herself, but she still has some roundness left over from her easy days in the Vault, and she’s been getting three squares a day since birth. Sophia looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal in ages.

“Nice of you to offer, but I know without a doubt you’d get exactly zero sleep down there. Plus, then Dogmeat would be out a bed and he’d be miserable.” she jokes. Finally finding something that looks vaguely the right size, she pulls out a shirt and pair of pants and inspects. The pants will need a belt, but she’s got plenty of those. She even owns a few without bloodstains.

She pushes the drawers shut and hands Sophia the clothes. The dark-haired girl’s face is mostly blank, but Gal sees a little bit of insecurity, and even some traces of fear. In a lot of ways, Charon and Sophia are two sides of the same coin; good people in bad situations, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Sophia, seriously.” Gal says, putting her hand on Sophia’s shoulder, “You’re welcome here indefinitely. I’ve got more than enough space. Maybe it’ll get me to start on some renovations that I’ve been putting off.” She of course hasn’t been making renovation plans of any kind, but it seems to set Sophia at ease, so the little lie is worth it.

Gal leaves her to change and heads back downstairs. Charon is settled on the couch, beer in one hand, with Dogmeat sprawled down the length of the cushions and enjoying some ear-scratching. He gestures to the counter; there’s another open bottle waiting there for her. She takes it, drains half in one long gulp, and slouches down next to him.

“I told Sophia she can stay as long as she wants.” Gal says carefully.

Charon shrugs noncommittally, and doesn’t look at her.

“I didn’t ask you because I’m 99% certain you don’t want to just toss her out in the streets. But if she makes you too uncomfortable…”

Charon turns to Dogmeat and starts scratching his belly. Dogmeat’s hind leg scratches at the air uncontrollably, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth in pure doggy pleasure.

“It’s your house, smoothskin. So you decide who stays here.” she gets back, vague and devoid of emotion.

“It’s your house too, Charon. Unless you’re planning on leaving sometime soon. You get a say in what goes on here.”

There it goes again; that sense of eye-rolling, even though Charon has his face turned carefully away from her.

“She needs somewhere safe to stay. So let her stay. I’ll sleep out here.” he offers.

Gal frowns down at the cushions and pats them questioningly.

“I already have dibs on the couch. Besides, that would be way more work, moving her into my room and then me into your room. So leave everyone where they are and I’ll enjoy this comfy spot.”

Gal flops down the length of the couch, meaning to support her point, and curses when her head smacks a lumpy spot instead of soft cushion. Okay, so maybe the couch isn’t so great. But that’s okay, it’ll do in a pinch. The other one on offer from Moira had had some very questionable stains on it, so Gal thinks this one was the lesser of the two evils.

Charon half-smiles as she wiggles around, trying to get comfortable. Then he gets an uncomfortable look on his face.

“We could...the bed in my room is large. Enough to share, anyway. That would be better than this damn thing.” he says, pressing down on one of the other lumpy spots in the cushion. Gal glances up at him and is surprised to see a tinge of pink in his cheeks, between the spots of ripped skin. Who’d have thought gentlemanly gestures were so hard for Charon? She resolves to get that response out of him again, because it’s fucking adorable.

“You don’t mind? I mean, we do it all the time on the road, but I know you like your space.”

He shrugs again, his typical non-response.

“Yeah. But it’s different with you.”

Gal has a hard time clamping down on her smile after that remark.

--

They putter around in the house for a few hours, Charon being productive and cleaning weapons, and Gal mostly moaning about the last of food and playing with Dogmeat. When Gal checks on Sophia, she finds her fast asleep on the bed, looking unusually content.

Charon is out talking to Moira, stocking up on essentials, when Sophia finally pads down the stairs, looking more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than Gal’s ever seen her. She still looks around carefully, but being in a proper town seems to have put her at ease.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty. What’s up?” Gal greets from where she’s mending a shirt on the couch. Sophia stops to pet Dogmeat for a minute but smiles up at Gal.

“Thanks for the room. It’s nice.”

She crosses over to the couch and settles herself in against the cushions. There’s a beat of comfortable silence as Gal ties off the end of a stitch.

“So… I was thinking we could hop over to my friend’s bar tonight and say hi. I think he’d be interested in giving you a job. He needs someone to help out with serving and brewing. What do you think?”

Sophia looks uncertain, but nods.

“I guess I have to pay my way somehow, huh?” she says, her voice quiet.

Gal looks up, and at the look on Sophia’s face, immediately abandons the shirt and scoots over next to her to put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not like that, Soph. If you want to take some time and just hang out, that’s okay. You can lay on this couch for the next three months if you want to. But I think getting out and about and making some friends will help, you know? Plus, as much as I’d like to, me and Charon can’t stick around. We’ve got something we have to do.” she explains. And though she gets that an experience like Sophia’s probably makes you want to hide away forever, she really does think that Nova and Gob will help. Neither have been quite in Sophia’s position, but they’ve had similar experiences and Gal has no doubt they’ll offer her a shoulder to lean on.

“Yeah, okay. It would be nice to have something to do. Do you want to go now?” Sophia asks hesitantly. Gal grins and grabs for her boots.

Sophia’s only seen a little bit of Megaton, just the route from the entrance to Gal’s little domicile, and she seems fascinated by the town now. It’s not too late, so people are still out doing their business, and most stop to say hello to Gal and ask who her friend is. The world being what it is nowadays, most don’t blink at Sophia’s tight-lippedness.

When they walk into the bar, they’re greeted by the faces of the 8 o’clock regulars. They’re mostly people looking for a bite to eat and a brew after work. Around ten, they’ll trickle out as the night owls show up. Walter raises a fork in salute to Gal and stops her for a moment to ask about scrap metal, and Gal promises to drop it off first thing next morning.

“About time you came back!” someone calls as she finishes up with Walter. She turns, and is immediately folded into an embrace by Nova. Gal laughs and squeezes her back, careful not to bump the beers she’s carrying.

“Good to see you. You look great!” she says as Nova pulls back, and it’s not a lie. The Nova that stands before her is, possibly, even happier than the one she’d seen in the aftermath of Moriarty’s death: ruddy-cheeked and smiling, smelling of hops and spices. Her hair’s grown out a little bit since Gal last saw her. They’d stopped in briefly in between James’ death and the trek to Little Lamplight, but it was barely long enough to say hello. She’s looking forward to getting to sit down and have a real conversation.

“And who’s this? You trade in for a newer model?” Nova asks, peeking around her shoulder at Sophia, who’s standing a ways away, looking uncomfortable.

“Hah, no, Grumpy is at Moira’s picking up supplies. I’ll bring him by maybe tomorrow. This is Sophia. She’s going to be staying at my place for a while. And she’s looking for work, if you have a spot open?” Gal says hopefully. Nova looks her up and down carefully, one hip cocked to the side. The conclusion she comes to seems favourable.

“If you’ll vouch for her, that’s good enough for me. God knows Gob won’t say no, he’s been complaining about needing help since Moriarty kicked the bucket. Go say hi, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Nova moves off to deliver the beers and Gal gestures Sophia over to the bar. They take two empty stools on the end. It’s not two minutes before Gal’s pulled to her feet by her next favourite saloon worker. Gob looks just as happy as Nova does, and the difference in his demeanour is marked. Now that he’s a businessman, he’s taken to dressing up while he’s at work. Today he’s wearing a pair of dark grey slacks and a white button-up, bringing out the blue of his eyes.

“Where have you been? It’s been ages!” he admonishes, moving back behind the bar once the pleasantries are done. She notices that his fingers still run along the wood unconsciously, just like they did right after Simms gave him the deed.

“That’s what Nova said,” Gal replies, laughing. “Can we get a couple Nuka-Colas? I brought a friend with me. This is Sophia.”

Gob, bolder now but still nervous around new faces, smiles shyly at Sophia. She smiles just as hesitantly back. Gal thinks they’ll make great friends, if they ever manage to start talking to each other.

“This is Sophia, our new helper, you mean.” Nova corrects, swooping in. She gives Gob a peck on the cheek and smiles at him. “Gal wants us to hire her. I’m sure you’re entirely against that.”

“Really? That would be great! Not that I’m complaining or anything, but business has been so good that we can barely keep up!” Gob says excitedly as he cracks the tops on the colas. Sophia looks more happy to get her hands on a Nuka Cola than she was to be rescued. Though Gal guesses that happiness was tempered by her attempt to shoot Charon.

“We’ll come by tomorrow morning then? You can show her the ropes.” Gal suggests.

Gob agrees with a wide grin, and then gets back to work as someone down the bar calls for a refill. Nova takes the empty stool next to Gal and elbows her in the side conspiratorially.

“How’s you-know-what going with you-know-who?” she asks subtlely, with raised eyebrows. Gal gives her a look and takes another sip of her drink.

“It got complicated.” she says back cryptically. Nova looks puzzled, but catches on when Gal tilts her head towards Sophia. The girl is looking off in the opposite direction, thankfully, and doesn’t catch the conversation.

“Old flame?” Nova asks lowly. Gal shakes her head.

“Old crush. And worse.” she sneaks a glance towards her companion to make sure she’s not going to listen in, but there’s no chance of that. Maggie Creel has materialized in the spot next to Sophia and is jabbering at her a mile a minute, and Gal knows from experience that it takes full concentration to keep up with Maggie. Sophia looks nervous for a moment, but her shoulders relax after a moment and she tilts her head forward to let Maggie touch her hair. The girl squeals in delight and lets a few locks of the thick curls fall through her fingers.

“Charon and I ended up at Paradise Falls to rescue some kids - long story, tell you later - and the past came back to haunt him. Turns out his old boss was into kidnapping, but Charon got to do the transportation.” a second pointed look at Sophia gets the message across. Nova looks genuinely shocked. Her gaze on Sophia this time is much more thoughtful.

“Well. That sounds like an awkward trip back. We’ll take good care of her, don’t worry. I can already tell Gob likes her.” Nova replies. Gal gets a sudden surge of warmth for the short-haired woman and can’t resist reaching out to squeeze her hand in thanks. Nova lets her for a minute, returning Gal’s smile, then bats her hand away.

“Enough of that. No free trials - and no paid ones anymore, either.” she says with a wink. Gal rolls her eyes and pushes her empty cola bottle away so she can slide out from the bar.

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re a one-man woman now, Nova. No need to keep rubbing it in. You ready to go, Soph?”

Sophia nods, says goodbye to Maggie, who seems to have latched onto her like a limpet, and they make their way out of the bar together.

--

Later that night, after a good meal that isn’t premixed and in a box and some quality snuggle time with Dogmeat, Gal retires to Charon’s room and falls into the bed with a flop, content to stare up at the ceiling for a minute. Thank you, hot water. Thank you, good food. Thank you, clean clothes and soft sheets…

Soft and fragrant, she finds, when she rolls over to bury her nose in the pillow. Charon is still downstairs doing something, so she’s got the room to herself to appreciate the size of the bed for a minute. It smells like rust and warmth, something earthy. It’s going to be weirder than usual sharing a bed this time, she thinks; this time, she’s in his private space, in a bed that belongs to him and surrounded by things that are his alone. Well, technically, the bed used to be hers, and most of the things in here are things she’d given him, but still.

Charon’s room is neat, unsurprisingly, and sparse. He keeps his armour and most of his gear downstairs. His shotgun, of course has a place of honour near the head of the bed. There’s a shelf that contains some odds and ends - cleaning supplies, a few books, things he’s picked up in their travels. At the desk in the corner, a small black book sits on the middle of the table-top, a pen tucked between the pages. When Gal swipes her hand under the pillows, she finds a 9mm under his.

It feels… well, intimate. She’d thought maybe coming in first would cut down on some awkwardness, but it really doesn’t. Her brain keeps screaming at her that there’s only one way to explain a woman sleeping in a man’s room, in the same bed, and it doesn’t listen when she explains that this is an exception.

Also, even though they share beds often, it’s always on the road. That means that they’re basically fully-clothed. At home, Gal has a soft set of pajamas that she’d scrounged from an abandoned department store - a tank top and pair of shorts. She’s wearing them now and suddenly wonders if that’s a bad idea. Should she have put on something less… revealing? It’s not like they’re lingerie or anything, but she doesn’t know anything about the etiquette of sharing a bed with a man in a strictly platonic way. Is there a pamphlet for this?

She doesn’t, for that matter, even know what Charon sleeps in. He goes into his room fully clothed, and comes out of it the same. Had she bought him pajamas? Oh geez, what if she hadn’t? What if he’d been sleeping in his regular clothes this whole time, too embarrassed to ask for pajamas?

Or even worse. What if he sleeps naked?

Gal tugs the sheet over her hips, feeling suddenly nervous and really vulnerable. She imagines Charon coming through the door, shutting it, taking off his clothes piece by piece… on one hand, it’s pretty enticing, but on the other, Gal’s experience with naked men is limited and she’d probably embarrass herself.

Deep breaths. Men don’t platonically share beds with women and then decide to sleep naked. That would be weird. So Gal doesn’t need to freak herself out about this. She does, however, think she needs to put on some real pants, instead of these shorts. And maybe a shirt. A long-sleeved one.

Before she can put this plan into action, the door creaks open. When Charon sees her lying in his bed, blankets half-pulled up, he stops and blinks with one hand still on the doorknob. For a long minute he doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, sorry, I was, uh, pretty tired.” Gal says awkwardly, dragging the blanket up to her armpits. Anything to break the silence. “I’m regretting giving you this bed, the twin I have just can’t measure up.”

Speaking of measuring… her brain adds unhelpfully, trying to drag her eyes somewhere they don’t need to go. It’s like the scent of Charon, wafting off his sheets, is clouding her good sense. This was a terrible idea, why isn’t she downstairs on the couch.

“Try sleeping on a twin when you’re my height, smoothskin.” Charon replies, finally turning his eyes away from her and moving over to the dresser in the corner. There’s the metallic sound of a buckle coming undone, but just before Gal totally loses her mind, Charon drops his pants to reveal a pair of black shorts underneath, blessedly long and baggy. She’s not going to survive this night at this rate.

The flick of the light switch surprisingly makes the whole situation easier. If she can’t see the room around her, it’s easier to think of it as just any old time they’d shared a bed. The only thing working against her is the smell of the sheets.

There’s no window in Charon’s room, so except for a thin line of light at the bottom of the door, the darkness is absolute. She starts a little when he flips up the edge of the blanket. He slides under quickly, adjusts, and settles back into the mattress with a brief sigh. Gal can very much feel the warmth of his body radiating out towards her, and it matches the warmth burning in her cheeks.

There’s silence for a little while. Gal can’t see anything, though she’s turned towards Charon. But she’s so familiar with him, with the way he moves and the way he sleeps and how he looks when his eyes are closed and he’s drifting, that it’s like she can see everything anyway. One hand draped over his stomach. Foot moving restlessly, trying to dislodge the sock that he never takes off before bed but always loses in the night. Surprisingly long lashes dusting his cheeks, invisible unless you’re close enough. They’re ginger, just like his hair.

She wants to reach a hand out, or scoot closer, or something, but she’s quite aware what a bad idea that is.

She wonders if Charon thinks of her, laying there in his bed, and wishes she were Sophia. If she were, what would he do? Pull her close and let her lean her head on his shoulder? Slip a hand under the hem of her tank top? Maybe he’s wishing right now that he were curled up with her, sharing slow kisses with their legs tangled together under the blanket.

Gal experiences a feeling at this moment that she’s never felt before. It’s like a sharp pain in her chest that constricts her breathing, but after a moment it fades to a dull ache, throbbing and uncomfortable. The giddy nervousness of sharing a bed suddenly becomes a terrible sensation, nearly unbearable. She stays rooted to the spot only because to do otherwise would require crawling over the very thing she doesn’t want to touch.

It’s love, she thinks. Unrequited love, to be specific. Love that always sits right on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for the right words to come. Love that leaves her standing at the window of some warm, softly-lit house in the dead of the night, hand eternally poised to knock as she shivers in the cold.

All that sounds really poetic, but it’s the closest she can come to describing this feeling inside her. What was that riddle Mr. Brotch had told her? How do you reach a destination when you can only ever go half as far as you did the minute before? Yeah, that’s what it feels like.

Letting out a sigh, Gal turns and buries her face into the pillow, breathing in rust and earth. Long after the man beside her is fast asleep, the slight puffs of air from his breathing a slow rhythm, she’s still awake, warm and yet feeling strangely cold.

Chapter Text

They stay a few days, more to get Sophia settled than for the rest. Gal is itching to get back to Little Lamplight and through to finding the GECK. Even though her days are spent helping someone else, every hour she spends not finishing her father’s work feels like a betrayal. But there are clothes to buy, and people to introduce, and Gal wants to make sure Sophia gets through a couple days of work with no incidents. Nova, bless her heart, staunchly refuses to let her do any serving, well aware of the lewd comments and grabby hands that come with that line of work. Instead, Gob teachers her the ins and out of the still, and before long Sophia is soaking corn, bottling beer, and rolling out barrels with the best of them.

The hollow ache in Gal’s chest dulls during the day somewhat, but it seems to be here to stay. If anyone was else in the house was in their right mind, they might have noticed, but Sophia and Charon struggle just as hard to adjust. Sophia tenses any time Charon appears in the main room, and Charon, now somewhat displaced, spends a lot of time out running errands. Gal basically moves into the living room so that everyone has their space, and she doesn’t mind it so much.

When they leave, Gal sees both the sadness in Sophia’s eyes and the relief. She’s grateful at least that throughout this whole mess, she and Sophia have managed to stay friends. She hopes that doesn’t change.

The heavy pressure of the situation doesn’t register with her until they walk out the front gates of Megaton. She suddenly feels a dozen pounds lighter as she and Charon settle into their usual traveling routine, unconsciously glancing over shoulders to confirm each other’s location, Dogmeat darting back and forth between them or disappearing into the bushes.

It takes them just over two days to get back to Little Lamplight. Those two days are blessedly easy; they take out some ghouls, a few molerats, not much else. Trouble almost picks up near the old fort on the way, but they skirt it successfully and before they know it, they’re winding through the entrance to the cave. Just as before, Dogmeat whines and balks at the entrance, so Gal digs out his water dish and a can of Cram and leaves it for him behind a bush. It’s not far to Vault 87 from Little Lamplight, according to the map, and they’ll be coming back out this way anyway, so there’s no harm in letting Dogmeat stay out here.

“You again.” MacCready says as they come to a stop in front of the barricade. He doesn’t sound any friendlier than before.

“Yeah, us again. A deal’s a deal, MacCready. We got Penny, Sammy, and Squirrel out. Now let us through to the Vault entrance.” Gal says firmly. The kid grumbles, but gestures to someone anyway. With a rusted screech, the gate begins to raise and they walk through and into Little Lamplight.

Mayor MacCready appears in front of them before they get too far in. He looks absurdly small in comparison to Charon’s bulk, but to his credit, he doesn’t even blink as he cranes his neck up to glare at him.

“Welcome to Little Lamplight. Thanks for saving Sammy, Squirrel, and Penny, but remember we’re still keeping our eyes on you, and if you step out of line we’re still going to blow your fucking heads off. Got it?” he growls. Gal’s already noticed that there are still rifles pointed at them, and MacCready is standing well out of grabbing distance. These kids are way smarter than she’d given them credit for. No wonder they’ve lasted so long.

“We got it, Kujo. We’re just passing through to the Vault, remember?” Gal reminds him.

MacCready snorts. “Good luck with that. The only way to the Vault is through Murder Pass, and there’s monsters in there. Big ones.”

Murder Pass? Monsters? That doesn’t sound fun. She shares a look with Charon.

“What kind of monsters?” he asks. MacCready rolls his eyes.

“What, you think I asked them to fucking tea? They’re monsters. Big, ugly, want to rip you apart kind? Feel free to go play with them if you want, but we’re locking the door behind you if you do.”

Gal’s tempted to ignore the warning, considering the size of the person it’s coming from, but MacCready is tough as nails and so are the rest of the Lamplighters. If they’re scared to go through this pass, she and Charon should probably avoid it if they can.

“There’s no other way? Anything?” she asks, a little desperately.

MacCready shakes his head. “No. There’s another door, but it hasn’t worked since before I was here. The computer’s busted, and even Joseph can’t make it work.”

Computer? Gal perks her ears up at that. Computers she can work with. The computer might be salvageable, but even if it’s rusted out, she can just install a new one, attach it to the old wiring. It’s worth a try, anyway, before they resign themselves to risking their lives.

“Any idea where I can find Joseph?”

“I’m the Mayor, not a babysitter, Mungo. Beats me.” MacCready answers unhelpfully. Then, clearly done with the conversation, he takes his leave and climbs back up the ladder to take watch. Gal and Charon look at each other, shrug, and continue on.

Little Lamplight, it turns out, is a maze. Passages twist and turn in every direction, lit by flickering candles or rigged lights. Most of the forks in the passages have signs, but since Gal and Charon have no idea where they’re going, they can only guess where to start. Every group of kids they pass stares them down, some suspicious, some curious. They pass through a room filled with pools and tables with what looks like a bar at one end. Then the passage suddenly widens out and becomes a bridge under their feet instead of rough stone.

The cavern they find themselves in is massive. It must be a hundred, two hundred feet from top to bottom, and several times as wide. Buildings several stories tall crowd in the open space, criss-crossed by rope-and-wood bridges and staircases. Kids scurry back and forth across them at lightning speed, clearly uncaring of the height or the risk of falling.

“Wow.” Gal says softly, stopping just before the edge of the bridge. Looking out across the space makes her feel a little dizzy. Then she makes the mistake of looking down.

The distance to the ground seems to get bigger and bigger as she looks, unable to tear her eyes away. She gets a little woozy, and stumbles backwards until her hands are pressed against cold stone. It’s blessedly solid under her fingertips.

“That’s really high.” she says breathlessly.

“You afraid of heights?” Charon asks, a tinge of humour in his voice. Gal looks at him in surprise.

“Are you not? If you fell from there, even you would squash like a bug! How do those kids do that?” Gal exclaims, gesturing feebly at the figures scampering through the structures. Even just looking out across the edge makes her vision swim and her stomach flip painfully. What the hell is she going to do?

“Fear of heights is totally normal, especially for someone who was raised in small spaces like you were.” Charon says. “Now quit being a baby and get over here. I’ll help you.”

She takes one look at the edge, breathes in deep, and pushes off the wall. Even though she’s standing on the same ground as before, she feels way more wobbly, like the stone is shaking under her feet. Still, she makes it a few steps closer, and gratefully grabs Charon’s hand when he extends it to her. Despite his jibing, he looks impressed with her determination.

“ Quit being a baby, Gal. ” she mimics as she ducks under his arm and lets him slot her firmly against his side. “Great pep-talk Charon, I’m feeling so much calmer.”

“I can tell by the way you’re shaking like a fucking leaf. We’re going to start walking, nice and slow. You can’t fall unless I do, alright? And we both know which one of us trips on her own bootlaces.”

Her vision still swims, and she can feel her heart pounding in her chest, but having something to hold onto helps, and so does the joking. It gives her something to think about, other than what she might look like flattened against the stone floor.

“That was one time. Besides, I haven’t had five thousand years to work on my cat-like reflexes, unlike some people.” underneath them, the bridge sways a little bit from their combined weight. She very carefully looks straight ahead.

“I was born this graceful.” Charon snarks back as they make it to a platform. “Let’s keep going, you’re doing great. Almost as good as your swimming.”

Gal still doesn’t look down, but she can see that with every bridge they cross, they’re getting closer to ground level. It’s relieving. “You’ve never seen me swim. I could be an excellent swimmer, for all you know. I could be a regular mermish.”

“A mermaid, you mean?” he corrects dryly, poking her in the side with his elbow. “I think you’re a little skinny to be enticing sailors to their deaths.”

She bats at his arm, and just like that, they’re standing on the ground floor of the giant cavern, with no pits of death in sight. Gal sighs in relief and nearly sinks to the ground, but Charon catches her and holds her upright easily.

“You swooning on me now, smoothskin? The hard part’s over.” he admonishes. She blinks and smiles up at him, enjoying the feel of solid rock under her feet.

“Isn’t that what lovesick women do? Let me tell you, love sick is not the type of sick I’m feeling right now. More like pass out sick.”

Charon’s grip tightens in the middle of that statement strangely, but it’s gone in a flash. She chalks it up to the haziness still clouding her head.

“Well now, here’s something new,” an unfamiliar voice calls. “What’re two grown-ups like you doing in Little Lamplight? Don’t tell me MacCready’s going soft on us.”

Gal turns, pulling out of Charon’s hold. A kid, closer to teenager really, stands behind them, arms crossed. He has dark, curly hair and handsome features that look somewhat familiar. The look of distrust and stubbornness on his face reminds her strongly of Penny.

“Looking for Joseph. You know him?” Charon asks gruffly, his voice sounding a little strange. Gal shoots him a glance, but he doesn’t look at her.

“That’s me.” he says. Then his eyes widen. “You’re the two that saved my sister. You have my most sincere thanks. Now, what can I do for you?”

Gal tells him about Vault 87, and how they want to get through the broken door. He nods along.

“Well, I can turn the computer back on, if you want to look at it. But nobody has the password.” he says doubtfully.

“Leave that to me. I’ll get it open.” Gal replies. Joseph looks unconvinced, but motions them to follow him anyway.

There are more rope bridges, but they stay within ten feet of the ground this time so they don’t bother Gal. Joseph leads them through a cavern filled with junk, filling them in a little bit on how Little Lamplight is run as they walk. He’s excited to hear that they’ve been to Bigtown, especially because he’s apparently nearly the oldest of the group and will be kicked out in the next few years. Gal doesn’t tell him the part where Bigtown almost got erased off the map. They’re doing much better now so it’s only a little omission.

When they reach the computer, Joseph boots up the power and Gal gets cracking. He watches over her shoulder in interest as she flips through the files and programs on the computer and looks for a way in.

“Wow. I didn’t even know it was possible to get a computer to work if you didn’t know the password.” he says admiringly as she sets about figuring out the password. “Guess there’s some benefits to not being completely cut off from the outside world, huh?”

Gal barely hears him through her focus, but Charon picks up for her. “There’s some drawbacks too. Lots of monsters. Most of them are two-legged.”

Joseph takes that in good stride and grins up at Charon. Why can’t everyone be as accepting as kids?

“Well, guess I’ll have to get used to it. If you come back to Bigtown after I get there, you should teach me how to do this!”

Gals nods distractedly, and then with one more guess, she’s in. A little harder than the average box, but doable. It’s looking like they’ll get to skip out on Murder Pass. Darn.

With a click, the door whooshes open. Gal gives Charon a smug look.

“Wow.” Joseph says, peering into the next room. “What do you guys want in Vault 87 anyway?”

“It’s better you don’t know.” Gal replies. She shoulders her pack and unstraps her rifle. The next room looks empty, but trouble always comes when you’re least prepared. “But will you leave the door unlocked for us? It’ll be our only way out.”

Joseph shakes his head. “Can’t do that. MacCready would have my head. But tell you what, I’ll come by a couple times a day and call out. If I hear you on the other side, I’ll unlock it and let you through. Sound good?”

“Sure. We don’t think it’ll take more than a day. Maybe two. See you soon, Joseph. Thanks.”

Joseph waves them off as they step through the door, and then it whooshes shut and locks behind them. Charon and Gal make sure to have the flashlights strapped to their weapons turned on before they get plunged into the darkness.

They pause for a moment, listening for sounds of movement, but all that can be heard is the steady drip of water. The air is chillier here than it was in Little Lamplight. Like the other Vaults she’s been to, it looks both eerily similar and eerily different. This one has the advantage of being rusted, which helps with the deja vu a little bit.

Silently, they creep through the rooms, keeping an eye out for traps or enemies. This vault looks like it hasn’t been touched in a long time. There’s pieces of half-decayed items everywhere: broken computers, snapped pencils, a toy car here and there. They probably don’t have to be as silent as they are, but the darkness feels like it demands it. Once, Gal felt at home in cramped tunnels, but now she fears them. In the Wasteland, things are usually creeping in the dark or just around the corner, waiting for their chance to strike.

When one door whooshes open, Gal and Charon flinch backwards at the sudden appearance of a human shape. She grabs Charon’s elbow before he fires; when they turn their beams on the figure, it turns out to be a mannequin. Her nerves fray a little bit more.

A few rooms over, they finally stumble over an inhabitant. A skeleton, or half of one, lying forgotten in the middle of the corridor. It’s still wearing the remains of an old Vaultsuit. Charon kneels to examine it as Gal keeps watch down the corridor. He taps her on the shoulder and holds up a bone; teeth marks mar the end of it. Big ones.

Super mutants? she mouths, and he nods warily. Double alerted, they keep creeping down the hallway. So much for taking the murder out of the trip. It seems to find them wherever they go.

On the other side of a larger room, they hear a scraping noise through the door. Both freeze in place, eyes locked on the door, then automatically they move to flank the door and listen in.

More scraping, and a deep-voice grumble. Then another voice, different from the first. Definitely Super Mutants.

Charon carefully sets his pack down, silent as a shadow, and pulls a frag mine from it. He pantomimes setting it in front of the door and then retreating. Once it’s in place, she reaches out with the butt of her rifle and scrapes it across the wall. It makes a satisfyingly loud noise.

“What? Someone there?” a gruff voice calls.

Gal and Charon sprint across the room and tuck themselves behind separate pieces of machinery. Just as she ducks her head down, the door whooshes open. There’s a frantic beeping, and then an ear-shattering blast. She can feel the heat rush over the top of the machine, carrying bits of metal with it. Only after a count of three does she turn to peek out cautiously.

Both Super Mutants are laying face down. One is in very small pieces. They keep silent, and hear no more movement, but where there’s two Super Mutants, there’s usually more. Hopefully not a lot more. The duo take a spare moment to frisk the bodies, and move on.

“You’ve got most of the grenades. If we end up in a shoot-off down a corridor, I’ll lay down cover fire so you can throw.” Charon says lowly as they maneuver through the next room. Gal murmurs her consent.

The good thing about Super Mutants and small spaces is that they don’t go together well. Super Mutants are most dangerous in large, open areas. In smaller ones, they have trouble maneuvering, they get in each other’s way, and they can easily be enticed into stupid mistakes. Several more fall at Gal and Charon’s hands, and the only injury they suffer is some shrapnel that slices open the back of Gal’s hand.

The unfortunate thing about Super Mutants is that they travel in packs. It feels like they’ve slain a dozen of them, but still they keep coming. Gal’s getting worryingly low on ammo and Charon can’t be far behind.

“We should be getting close.” she says in a moment between waves, brushing a streak of blood off her cheek. “The Vault can’t be too much bigger if it’s like any of the others I’ve visited. I’m low on rounds though.”

“Me too. Fucking Mutants.” Charon curses, kicking the corpse at his feet when it produces nothing of value. “Too much longer and this shotgun will be nothing but a really heavy bat.”

They make it up a set of stairs and through another door, and find themselves in another long hallway, blessedly empty. Still, long hallways are really dangerous, so they keep a sharp eye out as they creep down it.

The hallway is dotted with doors and terminals. When Gal passes the first one, she looks over curiously and blinks. Charon sense her stop and pauses to look back. Wordlessly, she points.

There’s a window set into the wall that looks into the room. In the middle, a gurney sits, with a dead Super Mutant lying on top of it. It appears to be strapped down. Charon’s brows furrow. He looks at Gal in question, but she just shrugs, as confused as he is. Why would Super Mutants have tied one of their own to a gurney? It couldn’t have been there long; the rest of the bodies in the place have already been reduced to skeletons, but this one is whole.

They gaze for a moment longer, then move on.

The rest of the rooms are filled with equally puzzling things. Dead super mutants laying on floors, surrounded by bones. Another monstrous-looking dead creature, with hulking shoulders and a stretched-open, fearsome mouth. Gal’s never seen anything like it. Charon pauses to stare too, his mouth set in a grim line.

Until a long, pink tentacle whips out and catches him around the throat.

Charon grunts, but the appendage wrapped around his throat squeezes and the sound is cut off. When he brings his shotgun up, the creature slams into him and knocks it out of his hands. It goes spinning down the corridor while the creature writhes on top of the ghoul. Another long, pink whip wraps around his wrist and pulls it away from the creature’s vulnerable face.

Centaurs never fail to make Gal want to vomit. She can handle ghouls, Super Mutants, even Bloatflies, but Centaurs are abominations. This one is especially grotesque.

Their tongues are covered with radiation, which luckily won’t affect Charon, but the lack of air sure will if she doesn’t do something about it.

Gal tries to take aim, but the centaur has Charon wrapped around it and she’s terrified that she’ll hit him if she attempts a shot. Cursing, she throws the rifle to the side and draws her knife instead. Charon’s eyes are wide as she rushes the pair; he tries to shake his head at her, in lieu of speaking. One hand braced on his chest, she leans in and hacks at the base of the tongue wrapped around his throat. The centaur flails, nearly knocking her off her feet, but the tongue snaps and Charon is able to rip it away and take a wheezing breath. Gal turns her attention to the tongue holding his arm and begins hacking at it as well.

The centaur, angered, slams into her this time. She’s no match for its weight; it knocks her to the ground and the weight of its body on her chest is crushing and unmoveable. Gal finds that the knife is still in her hand and thrusts upwards with it into the bottom of the centaur as hard as she can. The centaur reacts by stomping on her chest, knocking all the air out of her lungs.

Then, suddenly, the weight lifts. Gal watches in disbelief as Charon bodily lifts the centaur up and heaves it off of her with a snarl. Gal looks around frantically and sees Charon’s shotgun lying a few feet from her hand. She inches toward it, ignoring the burning in her lungs.

It comes back, last tongue reaching out to find purchase, but Gal reaches the shotgun and pulls it up to nestle in her shoulder. Her aim is true; the blast decimates the centaur’s head. The body slumps forward and over her boot, spraying blood onto her trousers.

“ God, ” she breathes, lowering the shotgun. “Seriously, fuck Centaurs.”

Charon nods his agreement, unable to speak, and lets out a hacking cough.

“Thanks, smoothskin.” he wheezes, offering her a hand. She accepts it gratefully and lets him pull her to her feet. She can see the bruise from the tongue forming around his neck already. His face is red, from the lack of air or exertion, she doesn’t know.

“You alright?” she asks worriedly. He breathes in deep, lets out another hacking cough, and nods.

“Yeah. I didn’t even hear the damn thing.” he replies as he accepts the shotgun back. She wipes her bloody hands off on her trousers as best as she can, but they’re soaked from the waist-down in blood already. With a sigh, she retrieves her rifle and then shoves the centaur over, searching for her knife.

“ This,” she says in satisfaction as she pulls it out with a wet sound, “is a lucky knife. No doubt about it.”

Charon goes to reply, but the crackle of a loud-speaker silences him. He immediately brings the shotgun to his shoulder and sights down the hallway, looking for danger. Gal backs up against the other wall and does the same.

“Hello? Is someone there?” a gravelly voice calls. “Please, if you’re there, come up and use the intercom next to the window.”

Gal and Charon exchange a look and then make their way carefully up the hallway. At the end, it intersects with another hallway running perpendicular; there’s an intercom set into the wall opposite, and a large grimy window. Gal can see something large moving on the other side.

They stop, but nothing jumps out at them. The same voice comes over again, beseeching. Gal checks one side of the intersecting hallway while Charon watches the other; besides the sound over the intercom, all is quiet.

Close up, it’s easy to make out the shape of a Super Mutant through the streak glass. He holds nothing in hands, and makes no move for the door. Surprisingly, the large figure squints at them and then rubs at its eyes, like it can’t believe what it’s seeing.

“Either you are quite real, or I am going quite mad.” the super mutant says, one hand pressed against the glass. Gal straightens up and takes a few steps towards the intercom. She keeps her eyes locked on the mutant.

“Could you actually be a pure human?” he asks, a tone of wonder in his voice. Gal blinks, and reaches for the button on the intercom.

“Uh, I don’t know about pure, but I am human. Who are you?” she asks. The mutant looks shocked by the question.

“Me? You care...who I am?” at her confused expression, the mutant shakes his head and rubs at his forehead with the heel of one hand. “Forgive me, but I’m not used to pleasantries. I’m more used to grunts and being struck about by the others.”

Gal has never heard a three-syllable word come out of a super mutant’s mouth before. Charon doesn’t look at the mutie, busy keeping guard in case they’re ambushed, but she can see he’s just as puzzled.

“My name’s Fawkes.” the mutant continues. “I’ve lived in this… cage... all my life.” he gestures to the room around him sadly. It looks like some type of scientific observation chamber. There’s a bed, a sink, some things thrown about the room, and a terminal tucked into one corner.

“You speak so well, especially for a super mutant. Where did you learn?” she asks.

“Ugh. Please don’t use that term.” he says, sounding put off. He gestures to the terminal. “When they put me in here, they didn’t realize that the terminal still worked. I’ve spent all my life teaching myself to read and speak based on the information stored on the Vault’s mainframe.”

She hears layers of emotion in his voice that she’s never heard from a Super Mutant before. Annoyance, pride, and a little bit of sorrow. A mutant among mutants, an outsider among his own kind. It’s a sad story, if it’s true.

“We need to go.” Charon says gruffly. “We don’t want to get pinned down here if they’re heard the fighting.”

“Wait! Please don’t go. You’re here for the GECK, is that correct? I can help you!”

Gal hadn’t even looked away from the mutant, but she’s a little ashamed to feel how that statement makes her more willing to stay. She gestures for him to go on.

“That’s the only reason anyone would come here. But all others before you have failed. I know what the GECK is, how to get to it, and if you let me out of here, I’ll put it in your hands.”

“Why the hell would we need you to get to the GECK?” Charon cuts in. The abrasive tone of voice doesn’t even seem to ruffle Fawkes’s feathers.

“The GECK is in a chamber flooded with deadly radiation. No human could survive the trip. But as a Meta Human, the radiation doesn’t bother me. Will you help me?” his tone is pleading. Gal waivers.

“Are you really considering this?” Charon asks softly. “I can retrieve the GECK. This has trap printed all over it in capital fucking letters.”

Gal glances back at the Super Mutant, her finger off the intercom button so Fawkes can’t hear.

And what have you done, little girl? a little voice whispers to her. Who have you saved in your selfless travels through the wasteland?

“This isn’t about the GECK.” she answers, meeting his eyes. He gives her a long look, and his gaze drops away from hers.

“I know.” he says softly. His fingers twitch towards her, but fall back onto his shotgun.

Gal presses the button.

“What do we do to get you out of there?” she asks.

--

“Are you doubting my decision anymore?” Gal pants, one hand clutched around her injured arm. There’s a roar of rage ahead, and then a sound like a meat cleaver, thunking into flesh. Charon pulls her hand away from the gunshot wound and hums at the bloody mess.

“I wasn’t doubting you in the first place. The strays you pick up are always strangely good at murder.” Charon inspects the underside of her arm, ensuring the bullet isn’t lodged, and digs for a stimpack. “You should try getting shot less.”

“Ow ow ow OW!” Gal hisses as he jabs the stimpack in, glaring. “That’s not what you used to say. Oh, Mistress, thou should let thy servant clear the area so thee can stay safe and pure from all evil - SHIT! That was on purpose, you asshole.”

Charon half smiles at her and pours a little more vodka over the knitting flesh. Gal hisses again. “Maybe you should stop making fun of the one who’s fixing you up then, kid.”

Gal jerks her arm back, still mock-glaring. Charon just gives her an amused look and hands her her rifle back.

“Humans are so fragile.” Fawkes notes as he tromps back towards them. His sledge hammer is dripping with blood. “It must be inconvenient to bleed so much. The chamber is right up here.”

They make their way up through the carnage, Gal flexing her fingers to make sure everything’s in order. The hallway spills into one final room with a door set into the opposite side. The terminal is unlocked and powered; all that’s left is for Fawkes retrieve the GECK.

“Alright. You stay here. I’ll get the case and bring it right back.”

Gal nods and settles against the table in the middle of the room to wait. Fawkes stomps over to the terminal, opens the door, and steps through. She can see a poisonous green pool of liquid spreading across the floor on the other side, but then the door closes behind him.

“Moment of truth.” she says conversationally. “Think he’ll come back?”

Charon shrugs. “He killed at least ten Super Mutants for us. That’s a good sign. Good riddance if he doesn’t though.”

They wait in silence for a few moments. Finally, there’s the sound of heavy footsteps coming back. Both of them back away from the door, but when it opens, it’s Fawkes on the other side. He has a silver briefcase in one hand. The smile he attempts as he holds it out is both surprising and terrifying.

“Here’s the GECK, as promised.” he says. Gal takes it from him and looks it over. It’s much smaller than she’d thought it would be. Emblazoned on the side is the acronym ‘G.E.C.K’ in bold letters. It seems impossible, that the secret to clean water for the whole Wasteland is contained in a briefcase that weighs less than ten pounds.

“I hope it’s worth it.” Fawkes says. Gal swallows, her throat suddenly tight, and hugs it to her chest.

“Me too.” she says numbly. Graciously, Fawkes doesn’t remark on her sudden quietness.

“Well, I’m afraid this is where you and I part company. I’ll find my way out of this place, don’t worry.” he says, actually sounding a little disappointed. “Maybe we’ll meet again somewhere in the Wasteland.”

“Wait, you’re leaving? Are you sure you don’t want to stick together for a little while?” Gal says quickly. Fawkes thinks it over and shakes his head.

“No. You two have been kind to me, but I’d put you in danger if you were seen with me. I can take care of myself, and there is a lot of world out there for me to see. I thank you for what you’ve done.”

Gal looks up at the ferocious man and is surprised to find a pang of sadness at the thought of him leaving. She knows he’s right, that she can’t just walk him into Megaton like she did Charon, but it still feels like losing a good friend. There’s every chance that he’ll set out into the Wasteland and be gunned down before he even finds what he’s looking for.

“Be careful out there, Fawkes. We’ll see each other again.” she says, smiling. He gives her that scary smile back, claps a friendly hand on Charon’s shoulder, and then disappears into the maze of hallways. Gal watches him go and does not, does not, blink back tears.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asks. Charon  comes up beside her and knocks her elbow with his.

“Did you miss the part where he threw a mutant his own size through a solid wood fucking table? He’ll be fine. Give it a couple months and you’ll have him sleeping on the couch in Megaton just like all your other strays.”

She imagines Fawkes curled up on their couch, knees sticking out over the coffee table, and snorts. It lightens the mood.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a GECK to deliver.”

--

To her credit, Gal does think to herself that things seem to be going too easy before the flash of white that sends her, dazed, crashing to the ground. She even manages to keep a grip on the GECK as a pair in power armour stride in. It’s only when her vision starts going black that she feels it tugged away from her weak fingers.

Chapter Text

This time, coming to consciousness isn’t anything like drifting in from sleep. Gal goes from darkness to wakefulness all at once. The bright light sears her eyes. She shuts them against the assault and then cracks them open a millimeter at a time as she can handle it, but it still leaves her head pounding. Wherever she is, she’s being held upright by something; it’s a lucky thing, because her body feels as weak as a kitten’s.

Her vision clears just enough to make out a figure before her, clothed in white. She’s trying to throw herself forward immediately with a snarl, but she doesn’t make it even an inch. Both hands are trapped, as is her body. It only serves to make her angrier.

“ You. ” she hisses at the man in the white coat.

“So, you’re awake.” the man says, thick accent grating on her ears. She can’t believe her eyes, but there’s no mistaking that face; strangely young-looking in contrast to the full head of silver hair. The last time she saw it, Colonel Autumn was on his knees turning purple as her father smiled at her one last time.

Smiling at her now in a friendly manner, he tilts his head and speaks again.

“Let’s keep this nice and simple. You’re going to tell me the code for that Purifier, and you’re going to tell me now.”

“The code is go fuck yourself . Type that in and see how it goes for you.” she spits, once again straining against the strange machine holding her captive.

Colonel Autumn shakes his head sadly.

“I know you were there. I saw you. And I think I know how to get you to talk. You see, we took the liberty of searching your things, and found some very interesting information stashed in your pack. You - come here.”

Gal looks up, preparing another scathing remark, but the expression slides off her face immediately.  A few feet away, Charon stands with both hands wrapped around his temples. With ragged breaths, he clutches at his head and sways backwards as if he’s resisting a great force.

“NOW.” Autumn commands. Charon thrashes back and forth, but slowly, he steps forward and towards Colonel Autumn. Gal reaches frantically for her breastplate, but she can’t get anywhere close. Autumn notes her panic with amusement

“Well, isn’t this an interesting situation. President Eden was pleased to gain control of your servant here. The United States of America will be sure to put the details of this experiment to very good use.” Autumn says, extracting a file from the inside of his coat. “And to think, if you hadn’t been carrying this with you, we never would have known. Your mistake. Now give me the purifier code, or we’ll start with the convincing.”

Gal looks up at Charon, who looks back helplessly. He growls, and tries to turn from Autumn, but the second he does he’s on his knees howling in pain.

“I’ve going to fucking kill you.” he snarls, his voice strangled.

“Why don’t we start with something simple? You, go break her finger.” Autumn directs, looking supremely calm amidst the chaos of the situation. She tries moving every joint in her body, from her fingers to her ankles, but nothing can go more than an inch. She’s trapped.

“I’m going to break every bone in your fucking body, you piece of shit.” Charon retorts. Still, he climbs heavily to his feet and takes a step towards Gal. One more, and one more, and he’s standing in front of her, the bulk of him suddenly terrifying.

“Charon, I’m sorry.” Gal says through her tears. She stops struggling and looks down at the floor, unable to face the pain on his face. “I failed you. I’m sorry.”

“No, Gal - you didn’t -”

Autumn smiles, as if he finds this funny. Before he can cut in though, a voice sounds through the room. Gal spots a rotating blue device, like a camera, mounted in one wall, as the voice rings out.

“Colonel Autumn. I have need of you.”

Autumn frowns, his fun interrupted, and turns to the camera.

“Mr. President, I have no time for other matters. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Now Colonel.... ”

Autumn sighs, voices an affirmative, and then studies the camera coolly. After a moment, he strides over, brings up the butt of his pistol, and smashes it right into the blue eye. The device sparks and shatters.

“Normally I would be against such a breach of protocol, but I think that a little taste of what you’re going to get later might give you something to think on while I’m gone. Ghoul, if you please, continue our previous conversation. “

“President Eden told me not to harm her. He’s the one that holds my contract.” Charon interjects, even as he’s propelled to her side. His large hand hovers above her motionless one.

“ President Eden also gave you strict orders to follow my every directive. So I’ll thank you not to question me again, ghoul, and no more stalling.”

With a thud, Charon falls to his knees. This close, she can see how the pain creases his forehead and makes his breathing ragged. He reaches for her hand, flinches, and draws his hand back. His shoulders begin to shake, and get worse as he wavers. She thinks it has to do with the paradox in orders. Carrying one out would mean breaking the other. The pain must be unbearable.

“Do whatever you want, Autumn. I don’t know the code. My dad never told me.” she says, as steadily as possible. “You can have Charon break every bone in my body, and I still won’t know the code.”

“You lie. Do it. ” Autumn replies.

Charon’s eyes go wide, and his whole body seizes up in one huge contraction. Then he pitches forward. There’s a tense moment where Gal think’s he’s passed out, but at the last moment he catches himself on the support holding her in place.

His breathing slows. He looks confused for a moment. Then the emotion melts off his face and he grabs for her hand. He looks her straight in the eye as his fingers twitch.

The crack of her bone splintering can’t possibly be as loud as a gunshot, but it seems to ring like one. Gal shrieks. Charon doesn’t flinch or look away; his eyes bore into hers coldly as he drops the broken finger.

She can’t help the tears. There’s not even a remote possibility of stopping the flood now, and it has nothing to do with the broken pinkie she’s now sporting. Trying to muster as much venom as she can, she looks up past Charon and locks eyes with Autumn.

“Surprise, Autumn. I have a broken finger, and I still don’t know the fucking code . But I know what’s going to happen to you in the very near future. It’s going to be a lot worse than some goddamn broken bones.”

“I’m sure.” he says with doubt. “Good work, ghoul. We’ll be back to finish this later. You - reflect on this and try to be more agreeable when we return.”

He gives Gal a polite smile and disappears through the door. Charon gets up and follows him without so much as a glance back.

Gal looks down at her pinkie. Her tears are distorting her vision, but she can see it sitting at a strange angle. The pain in her hand is bearable, but the pain in her heart isn’t. All she can see is the cold, emotionless look on Charon’s face as he twisted his hand and then walked away.

It was clear that he was upset about hurting her. He’d tried to fight the order, tried to reason Autumn out of it. And when he couldn’t, she imagines that he’d done something he’d probably don’t a dozen times before in similar situations.

He’d compartmentalized his feelings, and shut them away.It’s not like he has any choice.  A job is a job. And when Charon wants it, he’s very good at just being a weapon.

She told herself that she would never let this happen to him. She failed.

“Ah, alone at last.” the voice says suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. “I do apologize for Colonel Autumn’s attitude. He’s been under a great deal of stress lately.”

The camera is clearly broken, but there must be an intercom hidden in here somewhere for the sound to come through so well. There’s clearly nobody else in the room. Gal takes a deep breath and tries to get ahold of her fast-approaching breakdown, which will help nobody.

“Attitude? Is that what they’re calling torture nowadays?” she asks sarcastically. The effect is pretty much negated by the thickness of her voice, but it makes her feel a little better to try.

“If it helps, I will ensure that nothing of the sort will happen again. And of course medical care will be provided. Now, I’m sure you know who I am-”

“Of course I know who the fuck you are,” Gal snaps. “In case you forgot, my father died because of you.”

The voice pauses, as if unsure how to proceed. Perhaps Eden wasn’t expecting this level of hostility. If he wasn’t, Gal thinks, he clearly has no grasp of humanity.

“Yes, that was a rather unfortunate incident. But I’m hoping that we can move on from the past and look towards a brighter future. I’d like to have a chat with you, face-to-face. I think there are a lot of things we should discuss.”

“Do I have a choice?” Gal asks sullenly. As if in response, the strange force holding her in place suddenly releases. Surprised and still weak from whatever she’d been knocked out with, Gal falls heavily to the ground. The slam of her pinkie into the hard floor makes her see stars.

“I’ll unlock the way for you. I’ll be waiting for you in my office.” Eden concludes.

Aching all over, she climbs to her feet and stops to examine the room she’s in. To the right of the door, she spots a familiar pile of items; her and Charon’s packs and weapons, tossed carelessly to the side. Gal stumbles over and fumbles hers open one-handed to find the medical supplies. She wishes longingly as she looks at the crooked finger for Charon’s experienced hands - which reminds her again of the look in his eyes as he’d caused this injury and she nearly loses it. Better to focus on the finger.

It’s a clean break in the bone, so all she has to do is maneuver it back into place. She uses a pen to splint it to her ring finger temporarily, and then jabs a stimpack into her thigh. Bones are generally tough to repair, but the sooner after the break the stimpacks are applied, the better. She uses three in all and then decides that it’s best to leave the two fingers bound together for support. Whether by design or accident, Charon’s chosen the finger she least needs to defend herself and that’s relieving.

For some reason, the white of the bandage starts something in the back of her head. The grief in her head fades slowly, replaced by a buzzing, hot anger. At first, it’s like a tiny stream of water trickling under a door. Slowly, the stream gets larger, and larger. The longer she takes going through their gear, the more water trickles out from under that door, and the more pressure is put on the only thing keeping her rational. All she feels now is the door separating her from her rage, and it’s looking flimsier every moment.

Every piece of expendable gear is thrown out of her pack. Most of the food, all of the scrap, Dogmeat’s food and water bowls and her spare set of clothes all get tossed. All that’s left is a couple days’ worth of rations, her water, the medical supplies, and her ammo and grenades. She straps her lucky knife back in its place at her side and shoves a pistol in her holster. Trying not to think, she digs through Charon’s pack, but there’s nothing there she thinks she needs besides the extra medical supplies and ammo. His shotgun is absent.

Once she’s convinced she’s set for whatever’s ahead, she heads to the door and settles her rifle at the ready. The hallway is initially empty as she pokes her head out, but then a man in an Enclave uniform steps out and into her path.

“Hold it right there. You’re supposed to be in that holding cell.” he says. His laser rifle is pointing at the ceiling, away from her. His mistake.

“Get out of my way.” she says shortly. The bulging door in the back of her mind creaks a little bit more. He blinks, the barrel of the rifle starts moving down.

Gal shoots him in the chest. He makes a wet gurgling sound and slumps to the floor. Kicking the body out of the way, she frisks him quickly. When the blue-eyed camera on the wall turns to look at her, she just glares at it and moves on.

“Attention to all Raven Rock personnel. This is your President speaking. I’ve invited our guest to come talk to me. Please do not engage her.”

She’s not sure if he’s reprimanding her or just trying to keep any other potential casualties out of her way. Honestly, she doesn’t care.

Raven Rock is clearly a fortress. It’s vast, well-built, and far more advanced technologically than anything else she’s seen in the Wasteland. After that first soldier, nobody else gets anywhere near her. Every flash of movement makes her trigger finger twitch. She can practically hear the hinges of the door bending under the crushing weight of the water on the other side. It’s barely holding on. One wrong move, and it could snap.

She’s passing through a lab filled with Super Mutants and ghouls suspended in some type of fluid when another voice comes over the intercom. The minute she identifies Colonel Autumn, she ducks into a storeroom and waits to hear what he has to say.

“Attention! This is Colonel Autumn! You are hereby ordered to ignore the President’s previous directive. Capture the girl, only kill her if you must.”

The door snaps in half. Like a wave of boiling water, hot rage crashes over her and seeps into the cracks and crevices of her mind. Hands like lightning, she lifts the rifle and takes aim at a scientist’s back. The man goes down like a bag of bricks.

The rage doesn’t stop once it’s filled her up. It keeps rushing in, and then crashes down around her. Roaring like a deadly wave, loping down the hallways like a living beast, snapping at the heels of Enclave personnel too slow to move.

She’s survived in the Wasteland so far because she has a good grasp on tactics and doesn’t rush into things. Raiders, Super Mutants, and all other creatures have failed to slow her down because she’s always known when to be cautious, and when to be bold.

Those tactics no longer apply here. Even if Gal wanted to, she’s not in control of her body now. Only the rage is.

She kills everyone.

The scientists, armoured in nothing but lab coats, go down like frightened sheep. She takes out the legs or arms or torsos of men who haven’t managed to put their armour on fully. She waits for others to come striding down a corridor, so she can pop out from behind a corner and jam the barrel of her rifle up under their unprotected chins. She shoots a cook that she finds cowering in the corner of the kitchen, cookie sheet held up for protection.

Someone, somewhere is keeping track of the killing she’s doing and making a judgement about it. She practically feels the lost lives of the dead stacking up against her. Gal’s not a big believer in karma, but if it exists, hers is dropping like a stone. None of these feelings delay her for even a second.

When she finds Anna Holt in one room and discovers she’s working for the Enclave, Gal shoots  her in the stomach.

What are you going to do? she had asked. Kill me?

Holt was still alive when she walked out of the room. If she makes it, good on her. If not, good riddance.

Time stops counting for her. At some point, she runs out of bullets for her rifle; without even pausing, she scoops up a discarded, blood-soaked laser rifle and continues on. Better choice. More available ammo. Maybe she gets shot once or twice, but she’s covered head to toe in blood so it’s hard to tell. She can’t feel it, if she does. It certainly doesn’t slow her down.

Colonel Autumn is nowhere to be found. She searches his room, pockets a paper with the words ‘Zax Destruction Code’ on it, and moves on. Charon’s contract, that’s all she needs. That will make everything right.

Finally, it stops.

She comes back because there is nothing left to kill. Only an empty room with a computer, and a pot of daffodils on one side. Gal wipes a chunk of something off her cheek, and waits.

“Ah, face to face at last. It’s high time we met.” comes that voice again.

She looks around, but there’s nobody in the room. The only thing moving is a line across the front of the computer screen. When she examines it closer, it looks a little like… a mouth?

“I am quite pleased you were able to make it. The trip was not what I had intended, but serves as an adequate test of your abilities.” the line moves in conjunction with the words.

President Eden is a computer.

Gal has no mental capacity left for surprise.

“Where is it?” she demands coldly. “The contract. Where the fuck is it?”

“Unfortunately, I have to inform you that Colonel Autumn took it. As you can see, I was not well-equipped to stop him. Now -”

“Shut the fuck up, computer. Where is Colonel Autumn?”

“He is escaping aboard a Vertibird. I suspect he will be headed to the Jefferson Memorial with the GECK. If you will listen to me for just a moment, you’ll be free to pursue him, but not until then.”

She considers destroying the computer, but that won’t open the gates for her. The only thing she can do is wait.

“Talk.” she says.

He does. He tells her about the ruin that mutants have brought to the Wasteland, about his dream to fix it using the water purifier. He describes the modified FEV virus that sits innocently in a holder in the console in front of her. He asks her to take it, to use it.

Gal takes it.

Then she digs in her pocket, and pulls out a bloodstained, folded piece of paper.

“Priority Override, Authorization code 420-03-20-09.” she says.

“I...oh. Oh my.” Eden says back, its voice small.

“You’re an abomination of science, and I will make damn sure that this virus is never, EVER used. Spend the rest of your short life thinking about that.”

Eden says something after her, but she’s always turned away. She doesn’t have time for this. Any of it.

There’s more shooting, and more blood, and more death. Gal lets Eden’s turrets and Sentry Bots help carry the load, but there’s enough killing to go around. Enough even for the Deathclaw she sets loose, and leaves slashing and goring in the midst of a group of Enclave soldiers.

How foolish, to think that the Wasteland would let itself be wiped out. The Wasteland and all its creatures would consume this place whole after she leaves, just as the Deathclaw is doing now. It will never be destroyed, not by monsters like Colonel Autumn and President Eden.

The first breath of the outside brings with it more gunfire, and the acrid smell of smoke. She breathes it in and charges forward.

Down a set of stairs, a hulking figure engages more troops. There’s a whirring sound, and then a thousand muzzle flashes in quick succession. The Enclave soldiers are mowed down like twigs.

When the screaming has stopped, and the dust settles, she starts making her way down the steps. Fawkes sees her and lowers the barrel of his minigun. Yet another monster of the Wasteland, putting the Enclave in its proper place.

“My friend! I see I’ve found you at last. I saw your capture, and hoped to assist you.” he says in greeting. He doesn’t blink at the amount of blood that soaks her clothing or the grim expression on her face.

“I see you’ve found a new toy.” she returns.

Gal comes up next to him and musters up as much of a smile as she can. He dwarfs her even more than Charon; looking up at him makes her neck hurt. It’s only been perhaps a day since they last saw each other, but it feels like a millenia.

“Where is your friend? The ghoul?” Fawkes asks curiously.

That wave of anger she’s been nursing tightens to her, curls up like a ball, but it doesn’t dissipate. It just turns thicker, sharper, at the reminder of her mission.

“He was taken. By the Enclave. I’m going to get him back.”

It’s hard to tell if Fawkes’s expression changes, but she thinks that she sees some surprise.

“My friend, I would be honoured to accompany you, if you wish to have me. I owe you and he a debt and I wish to repay it.” he replies. Gal’s throat, despite her anger, tightens up a little bit.

She has such good, good friends.

Before she can answer, a delighted yip sounds, and a familiar grey and black form comes racing into sight, nearly crashing straight into her legs. Dogmeat presses up against her and then rears up to place his paws on her shoulders, tail wagging uncontrollably. She smiles a little and lets him inspect her for damage.

“Do you know this dog? It has been following me since I left Vault 87. It has been helpful in the fight against the Enclave.” Fawkes says, leaning over to drag a large hand down Dogmeat’s back. The dog wiggles at the attention and then drops back down to all fours to look around expectantly. She knows exactly what he’s looking for.

“Yeah, this is Dogmeat. He’s a good judge of character. Dogmeat, we have to go find Papa. He’s at the Jefferson Memorial, okay?” she says, leaning to scratch him behind the ears. Dogmeat whines deep in his throat and turns to lead the way.

Just as he does, something explodes behind her. All of them turn to watch as a Vertibird, attempting to take off from inside Raven Rock, catches fire and crashes back down. Then there’s another explosion, and another, and another. The whole base before them goes up in flames, bathing them with heat and throwing bits of metal and rock through the air. She takes great satisfaction in watching the facility go up in smoke. Gal hopes every last person inside dies, slowly and horribly.

When the last piece of debris settles, and the facility is just a flaming ruin, Fawkes turns to look at Gal. He seems impressed

“Was that your doing?” he asks. Gal nods.

“I was angry.”

Fawkes turns and shakes his head, but the look on his face is pure excitement.

“I sense that this journey is going to be invigorating. Let us go!”

--

They make it back to the Citadel. Gal tells Elder Lyons and his daughter about the GECK.

There’s no more waiting.

It’s time for the Enclave to die.

--

“Are you ready for this?” Lyons asks quietly as they wait patiently for Liberty Prime to be activated. The Bailey is bustling with soldiers, and thought they are silent, the air is tense. Gal stands in the front, next to the blonde-haired Sentinel; she’s flanked by Fawkes on the other side, and Dogmeat stands just ahead, pacing restlessly. Gal wears a brand new set of Recon Power Armour and she has both her trusty assault rifle and her new laser rifle with her, ready to go.

“I was ready for this a week ago. If I had my way, we’d be there already, breaking down the door.” Gal says. She’s only half-joking. They’d arrived at the Citadel dead on their feet, and despite the alarm caused by the confession that the Enclave had the GECK, Elder Lyons had insisted on one more night of rest. The sun is just now peeking over the hazy horizon now.

Lyons shakes her head. “You’re a real force of nature. I’m glad you’re on our side.” she says. The discrete look she gives to Fawkes, shuffling from foot to foot with his minigun at his side, says that Gal isn’t the only one she’s grateful to have next to her. Surprisingly, only one shot had rang out when she and Fawkes first stepped into the Citadel. Her colourful threat to punish the next bigot had changed the minds of anyone else willing to take the chance.

Gal takes a breath, and looks over at the blonde-haired woman.

“Sarah. If you see… if you see a Ghoul up there, tall, blue eyes, please don’t shoot. Even if he seems like he’s working with the Enclave. Don’t shoot him.”

Sarah cocks her eyebrow at the strange request, but either she’s heard about Charon or she has just given up on questioning Gal’s circumstances. She just nods firmly; for her, that’s as good as a promise.

Ahead of them, the iron gate to the Citadel starts rising, letting the first rays of sunlight wash over them. She can hear the sound of Vertibirds flying overhead. There’s a collective intake of breath; then Lyons throw her closed fist up into the air, and the breath releases.

“Lyon’s Pride, move out! ” she yells. Like some large predatory beast made up of a hundred parts, the Lyon’s Pride lurches forward into movement and heads out into the Wasteland.

Liberty Prime is already ahead of them. It heads for the bridge to cross over to the Memorial’s island with Vertibirds flanking it on either side. The miniguns aboard the birds are already white-hot and spitting bullets. The members of the pride thin out into a long column as they rush the bridge and then allow Prime to forge a path for them across, picking off stragglers as they push forward. The river roils as debris splashes into it on either side.

Gal falls back towards the middle and falls into a routine of sweeping for threats as she makes her way forward. Bombs are falling all over the place; they shake the ground and throw soldiers from both sides clear across the battlefield. Prime makes it across the bridge and heads for the broken highway, not slowed by a single thing the Enclave throws at them.

“Rush the road! You’re more vulnerable when you’re on lower ground!” someone yells. Collectively, they reach the edge of the road and start spring up as fast as they can, face turned down and away from the gunfire while they’re not able to aim. Gal makes it to the top and pauses for Fawkes, who is strong but slow. Her heart is hammering against her ribcage like it’s trying to escape and her veins feel filled to the brim with adrenaline.

The bridge has more cover, but more flying debris also. She keeps well away from Liberty Prime, who seems to be taking most of the missile shots. Something thunks directly into the side of her faceplate, but doesn’t break through. It probably would have been a killing blow without the armour.

“Concentrate your fire!” someone screams as a pack of Enclave rushes them. It’s the last thing he says; a missile hits right at his feet and flings him through the air. He lands on top of a rusted-out car, and doesn’t get up.

“What a day to be alive!” Fawkes exclaims from somewhere next to her, just before he rips into the group of Enclave. Gal takes cover behind a car and backs him up, and together they leave a considerable pile of bodies to jump over as they move forward.

The push gets slower when they hit the city. Enclave have climbed the buildings to the left and right of the highway, so they have to be extra careful as they creep along. Gal loses Lyons in the frenzy, and then Dogmeat; a few hundreds yards further down, even Fawkes is gone. She’s alone in a sea of power armour helmets. All she can do is hope they make it, and push on.

Up ahead, some type of electrical fence attempts to stop Liberty Prime. The robot is hindered, but not defeated. It pauses until the current shorts itself out and then moves forward again.

“Death before communism!” it announces as it wipes out another nest of Enclave. The once-large group of Pride soldiers is thinning. Gal finds herself ducking behind cover more, going more slowly to stay safe. She has to stop for several long moments to unstrap the laser rifle from her back when she runs out of rounds for the assault rifle.

She can see the Jefferson in the distance now. It’s amazing that they’re made it this far. Liberty Prime stops and unhooks something from its side. The bomb goes sailing through the air and lands on a flat stretch of ground near the Memorial covered with Vertibirds. The subsequent explosion makes her teeth rattle.

And then, startlingly, the door of the gift shop is in front of her. It’s hanging half-open, completely undefended. Gal stops and looks around frantically.

“Hey!” she hears from behind her. Whipping around, she takes aim, but lowers when she sees the familiar shape of a Pride helmet. Lyons jogs to her and motions to the open door.

“Let’s go. They’ll handle the fight out here. We’ve got to get to the rotunda.” Lyons yells over the gunfire. Gal turns to look for Fawkes. He’s half-hidden behind a car, mowing down a group of Enclave. There’s no time to wait for him. Gal nods to Lyons and they head for the door together.

It’s only the two of them now, and it’s likely that the inside of the Memorial will be more dangerous than the fight before. They’ve had time to prepare. Gal tries not to think about that as they make their way down towards the rotunda.

She’s expecting a lot of resistance, but the first peek into the next room leaves her pale. It’s teeming with soldiers. A least a dozen to their two.

No time to hesitate.

She pulls the pin on a frag grenade, lobs it into one side of the room. A beat, and then another is tossed into the opposite side. The soldiers have no time to think; four go down. The trade-off is that the explosions kick up so much dust that she has a hard time seeing in anymore.

Lyons leans out for a short burst of rounds, then flattens back out of range when she gets an answer. When the dust settles, they’re able to lean out for quick shots, and take down a few more that way. A few bullets whiz so close to Gal that they singe her hair; the smell hangs in the air, acrid.

“Got any more grenades?” Lyons asks. Gal pulls another from her belt and yanks the pin out. When Lyons leans out to lay cover fire, Gal lobs it into the room and just behind the pile of sandbags in the center. After it explodes, there’s just silence.

“Let’s go.” Lyons says, after all is quiet for a few beats. They sweep into the room cautiously, but no movement catches their eye. All that’s left now is the door into the rotunda. The last defense.

Behind her, there’s a gasp of pain. Gal whirls; Lyons collapses to the ground behind her. A knife sticks out of the soft padding between the front and back of her leg armour, right in the meat of her thigh. The soldier who’d driven it home is raised up on one hand, but he sinks back down almost immediately. There’s blood covering his stomach; it’s clear that attacking Lyons was the last thing he’d ever do.

“Oh god, Lyons. Shit.” Gal curses. She plants a foot into the soldier’s chest and shoots him through the head, and then turns her attention to the blonde. Lyons flips herself over and scoots back to lean against a pillar heavily. With a grunt of pain, she yanks the knife from the side of her leg and lets it drop from her fingers.

“Juvenile mistake.” she pants as Gal kneels down next to her. “Always check to make sure your enemies are dead. Stupid.”

Gal digs in the pouches on Lyons’ side for her medical supplies, but when she drags them out, Lyons takes them and pushes her towards the rotunda.

“Go. It’s not a bad wound, I can take care of it. You need to take the purifier back. There can’t be many of them left.” when Gal hesitates, Lyons reaches out and shoves her backwards. “ Go. ”

Gal goes.

She does her best, but her hope is waning. A bullet gets her in the shoulder, throwing off her aim; she takes down the perpetrator and another, but the pain only spreads, and she can barely support the weight of the rifle. White dots swim in her vision.

She hasn’t taken two steps into the rotunda before she feels the press of a barrel against her back. She stiffens in shock. She’d checked both sides, hadn’t she? How had she missed one?

That’s it, then. They’ve lost.

“You again.” comes that grating, annoying accent. Colonel Autumn appears at the top of the stairs with his pistol pointed at the ceiling. His mouth twists as he looks at her. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You and your ilk seem hell-bent on destroying everything our government has worked to achieve. Drop the weapon, please.”

Gal thinks about refusing, but it’s no use. If she doesn’t, she’ll die right away. At least if she prolongs this situation, back up might arrive and take control of the situation.

She sets the rifle on the ground. The muzzle at her back urges her a few steps forward, and then the rifle is kicked away and out of reach.

“Let’s end this. Kill her.” Autumn says. Gal opens her mouth to say something - anything - that might buy her some time, but the muzzle is removed from her back and her captor walks into sight. Her brain stops working. Her mouth just hangs open.

“Surprised?” Autumn asks as Charon walks around to her front, shotgun still aimed at her chest. His face is completely blank; it’s like he doesn’t even recognize her. The last time she’d seen that expression, he’d been dragging a drunk patron out of the Ninth Circle by their broken hand. It makes her tremble like a leaf to see that expression on his face towards her.

“I have no doubt President Eden informed you that I brought his contract with me. He’s been surprisingly useful. If the President had had his way, and destroyed all the mutants in the Wasteland, where would we be now?” Autumn asks, smiling. Gal barely hears what he’s saying. Her eyes are locked into place. The cloud of rage that she’d been carrying since Raven Rock curls into itself and dissipates. All that’s left in its place is despair.

“I’m sure that you hoped he would somehow overcome and refuse his duties, but it’s been my impression that he moved on quite fast after he started working for me. I imagine that’s what anyone in his shoes would do so, after such a long time. Don’t be too hard on him. It’s not his fault.”

Charon’s blue eyes don’t look away. His hands are steady on the shotgun. Gal doesn’t blame him for this. He has no choice. She just wishes that she could see even a hint of remorse from him. Just a sign that this hurts him, even a little bit.

She doesn’t want to die, thinking that she’s just another dead body in the line of his work.

“It’s been enjoyable, but I think it’s time that we moved on. Ghoul. Kill her.”

Time slows. Charon adjusts the shotgun so that the butt is pressed more firmly into his shoulder.

His blue eyes seem to gleam in these last moments.

“Die.” he says curtly. His finger pulls back on the trigger, fluid and steady.

Her body hits the ground before the sound of the shot even finishes.

Chapter Text

Gal’s body bounces a bit when it hits the floor, and then stops moving completely. Good. He doesn’t want to have to shoot her again.

Lying there on the floor, helmet covering her face, she looks like just another dead Brotherhood soldier, albeit a small one. Charon can still hear the sounds of fighting outside, so there must be some Brotherhood left. It feels strange to be so removed from the battle. Battle is Charon’s natural state of being, his rightful place. He’d thought that was changing, but… well.

Lowering the shotgun, he turns and walks back towards the staircase. Colonel Autumn watches him with ill-disguised satisfaction. He seems pleased with himself. Charon ignores him, and digs in a pouch on his ammo belt to reload. He’d loaded only one cartridge earlier. Now he fully loads the shotgun, even though he doesn’t expect to need all the rounds. It’s always best to be prepared for the worse-case scenario. He’s got an employer to protect.

“Good work, Ghoul.” Autumn offers. “Your lack of hesitation was a sight to see.”

“I never hesitate on a shot. Never have.” Charon says back steadily. He stops just before Colonel Autumn and looks at him expectantly. Autumn says something about the purifier and holsters his pistol as he turns to walk back up the stairway.

It seems almost too easy to bring the barrel up. The back is a broader target, but at this distance there’s no reason not to go straight for the headshot. Charon’s almost level with him anyway at just a few steps down. Someone’s going to complain about all the blood over the console, but they’ll have to get the fuck over it. Just like with Azrukhal, he’s not waiting a minute damn longer than he has to. He never hesitates on a shot.

This time, the round completely removes Autumn’s head from his body. Shotguns, even from a good distance, are deadly, but at point-blank range, they’re brutal. Charon feels a certain kinship to them.

Autumn, stupid shit that he is, doesn’t even suspect it. He’s like all the other now-dead employers that Charon’s had. They had all tucked Charon’s contract into their pockets like it was a personal force-field, a shield to keep them safe from Charon.

Only one person hadn’t. One woman had kept it close to her heart not to keep herself safe from Charon, but to keep Charon safe from the outside world. She’d fought tooth and nail for him whenever she could, and the look in her eyes when she thought she’d failed him (and that he’d betrayed her) had nearly ripped him apart.

He leaves the contract on Autumn’s dead body. Right side, inside pocket on the coat. Who the fuck cares. It didn’t matter anymore. He has better things to worry about.

It’s not until he gets to the bottom step that Gal moves. She plays dead even better than Dogmeat does, even waits to make sure that it's completely safe before giving away the game. Once she’s certain, though, it doesn’t take her two seconds to rip the helmet off and climb to her feet, swearing. She has some red flecks across the skin of her now-exposed neck and backs of her hands.

“Son of a bitch. What the hell did you shoot me with?” she asks, rubbing at the marks and hissing. Her hair is tangled and her cheeks are flushed red with exertion. It’s the best fucking sight Charon’s ever seen.

Gal, here. Alive.

“It’s rock salt. I had to make it look real.” he replies. His feet lead him to a spot just a few feet away, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t close the gap. He doesn’t even know if she wants him to. He wouldn’t blame her if she walked away right now and never looked back. He’d let her.

She looks up and locks eyes with him. The sudden breath she takes is shuddering. Then she launches herself forward at him and Charon flinches.

He expects a punch, or a shove, or any number of things, but what he actually gets is 130 pounds of blonde, armoured weight wrapped around his waist. Gal’s face is already wet with tears by the time she presses it into his chest. She hugs him like she’s afraid he might disappear if she doesn’t hold on tight enough.

Charon hesitates for a moment, and then throws caution to the wind and wraps his arms around her back. When he buries his face in her hair, he finds it smells of smoke and dirt and, just underneath, something sweeter.

“You fucking asshole. ” Gal sobs brokenly. Her fingers dig into his sides cruelly. He doesn’t care. “How the fuck could you do that to me. ”

“Sorry.” Charon murmurs. “There was no time. I wouldn’t have been able to help you if I was trapped right next to you, so I picked the best option.”

She pulls back, just for a moment, and punches him weakly in the chest. The glare she gives him is watery.

“Charon, I really thought… I thought…” she, unable to get the words out, gives up lets her head drop forward again onto his chest. He barely hears what she says next.

“...you’re a really good actor…”

He is the worst fucking person on planet Earth.

“Don’t ever leave again.” she commands quietly, before he pulls her back into his embrace. She doesn’t fight it. Some of the tension bleeds out of her body.

“I won’t.” he promises, one hand rubbing soothing circles into her her back. “Who the hell would take care of you without me around? Not Dogmeat, that’s for sure.”

It’s not what he wants to say to her. She buries her head in his chest again, and doesn’t reply.

The things he wants to say to her could fill a whole damn book.. Sorry, for one. Maybe some other version of that that actually makes up for the things he’s done. Please don’t change your mind about me. Please don’t leave me to rot in a fucking corner of an abandoned bar with nothing more to live for.

Selfish, all of it. He has no right to be selfish with her. She has every right to abandon him. He just hopes this moment lasts for a few seconds longer, before the rug gets pulled out from under him.

So, of course, it doesn’t.

“Can anyone hear me? Anyone?” a voice crackles, startling them. Gal blinks and looks up at the entrance to the purifier, where an intercom sits next to the door. “This is Doctor Li, if you’re there, I need to talk to you now. ” Gal and Charon give each other a look. Grudgingly, Charon lets go, and they walk up the stairs to the intercom.

“We have a serious problem.” she continues when Gal lets her know they’re listening. “The facility has been damaged during the fighting. There’s pressure building up in the holding tanks. If it’s not released, the whole facility could explode.”

There’s a groan of pain behind them. Charon turns, already halfway to sighting down the barrel, but Gal waves him down hurriedly. A blonde-haired woman, bloody bandage around her thigh and using a rifle as a crutch, is dragging herself up the stairs one step at a time..When she spots Gal she gives a weak smile. Gal hurries over immediately to help her up the stairs.

“So you got ‘em?” she asks painfully. Gal nods an affirmative.

“With a little help from my friend. But there’s something wrong with the purifier. Li is on the intercom.”

“Yes, can we focus on that please? You need to turn the purifier on NOW to release the pressure. Unfortunately, there are lethal levels of radiation inside the chamber. I’m sorry. I wish there was some other way, but there’s just no time.” Li says.

The previously mostly-neutral atmosphere of the room quickly devolves as they work out what she means.

“Are you saying… that one of us is going to have to die?” Gal asks softly. The intercom is silent for a long moment.

“Yes.” Li says finally.

This is it, then. This is why he’s here. Charon has spent all of his life killing, and here in front of him is a chance to save lives instead, right on a silver platter. It would be too easy to take it as a sign.

“Nobody has to die.” he says shortly, before the blonde woman or Gal can talk. It doesn’t take her even a full second to understand what he’s saying. The immediate look of fear on her face does strange things to his heart.

“Charon, no, you can’t. You don’t know that it’s safe. What if you do die? What if the radiation turns you feral?”

He shakes his head, wishes he could explain it to her in full.

I need this.

I have too much to atone for.

You have far more left to give than I do.

“I have the best chance of the three of us at surviving. That makes me the best option.”

“He’s right.” Lyons chimes in. Unsurprising; the only interaction the Brotherhood has with ghouls is taking potshots at them anytime they’re in range. At best, they’re target practice to a Brotherhood Knight; at worst, they’re vermin. He’s surprised, actually, that Lyons didn’t shoot him on sight when she limped in, injury or not.

He doesn’t miss the dirty look that Gal gives the blonde-haired woman, but she doesn’t waste much time turning back to Charon.

“I can’t watch you walk in there.” Gal pleads desperately. “I won’t lose you to this machine like I did my father. I forbid it, Charon, and that’s an order.”

Of course. He hadn’t thought about that. She’d watched her Dad die inside the purifier, probably in this very spot. It makes sense that watching anybody walk in there would be traumatizing. Well, he can spare her that misery too.

Charon steps forward and pulls her into another embrace, thumb skimming over the side of her neck.

“I understand. You don’t have to watch.” he says softly.

Pulling her close, close enough to trap her arms and keep her from struggling, his thumb and fingers dig in at either side of the base of her neck. She feels the effects of the blood loss immediately and struggles, though there’s no chance of her getting free. Within ten seconds, her body slumps and her head lolls against his shoulder. He lets go of her neck and moves to set her down against the wall.

“What the hell did you do?!” the blonde-woman demands. Charon hadn’t even noticed that she’d pulled a pistol. Gal’s face makes it hard to pay attention to anything else. He doubts she’ll shoot him though; not when he’s already taking steps towards the door to the purifier.

“Her father died of radiation poisoning right in front of her in there. You want to make her watch it happen again?” he says challengingly. The blonde lowers the pistol, and doesn’t answer.

Charon turns to the door and walks in.

--

She wakes this time in a familiar place. It’s a pleasant change. Nineteen years she’d gone waking up in the same bed, and suddenly she’s lucky if she wakes up in the same building twice in a row.

The Citadel room looks pretty similar to the last one she’s used. Bed in the corner, computer across the way, lots of medical supplies and gadgets. Dogmeat is parked at the end of the bed, a thick bandage wrapped around his head and covering one ear. When he sees her wake, he crawls down the bed and sticks his nose into the palm of Gal’s hand.

“Hey, boy. Looks like you got yourself another battle scar.” she says gently. He whines in response. A head pokes in from the doorway, and looks pleased to see her awake.

“He’s not the only one. The soldiers are spending their nights now comparing them and telling ridiculous stories about how they got them. War never changes.” Lyons says by way of greeting. Her steps are sure and she doesn’t limp, so Gal imagines her leg wound has been treated and healed.

“How are you feeling?” Lyons asks, stopping just in front of the bed. Gal checks to make sure she’s clothed and then swings her legs out from the bed. She stands easily; she feels bruised and battered from head to toe, but the gunshot wound in her shoulder is just a little round scar and nothing feels off.

“Good. I - where’s Charon. ”

How could she have forgotten. How could it not have been the first thing she thought of when she woke?

Gal looks up at Lyons, and the smile on her face is a huge relief. She wouldn’t smile if the news was bad, right? Even the Brotherhood, for all their faults, wouldn’t be that callous.

“The hero of the Wasteland is sleeping off his great deed in a secured area. Too many soldiers were saying that they didn’t believe a ghoul would save the purifier, and we didn’t want anyone to get any ideas. You want to go say hi?”

It’s a stupid question. Gal suspects from the teasing in her voice that Lyons knows that. Still, the information allows her to calm down and take a breath, though she won’t be fully relaxed until she sees Charon, alive and unharmed.

“So we did it, then? The purifier was saved?” Gal asks as they exit the room and head down a hallway.

Lyons nods. She’s pretty good at projecting a calm demeanor, but there’s a look in her eye and a sureness in her step that wasn’t there before. She looks like a new woman.

“There was some damage to repair, but it didn’t take the techs long to work it out. They’re running test batches now and making sure that everything is in order. Once they’ve confirmed the water is safe it’ll be produced on a mass scale for the Wasteland.” she pauses for a moment, then continues more seriously, “This is going to change the Capital Wasteland forever. With clean water available… well, maybe in a few decades, they won’t be calling it a Wasteland anymore.”

They stop in front of a closed door. Lyons turns to her with a smile and claps her on the shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it. Thanks again for everything you two have done. Don’t leave without stopping by to save goodbye, alright?”

With that, Lyons takes her leave.

Gal is suddenly nervous. Too nervous to even push open the door. If what she suspects is true, then everything is different now. Charon… is different now. And Gal’s not too proud to say that scares her a little.

She takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. The room is pretty similar to hers. Bed, computer, medical supplies. The only difference is lying in the aforementioned bed, covers pulled up to his chin. His breathing is slow and even; his eyes are closed.

She takes a moment to admire, because she knows the moment she steps in he’ll wake. She’s surprised he hasn’t already; it’s a sign he really is recovering, to still be asleep with someone so close.

The few tufts of hair left on his head are mussed, and the skin left under his eyes is deep purple. He looks exhausted. She feels bad that she’s going to wake him, but she’s not sure that she can stop herself. The sting of how close she’d come to losing him is still prickling under her skin. It’s as if even now, if she turns around, he might disappear.

Sure enough, as soon as she moves forward, he’s sitting up in bed, one hand sliding under his pillow to reach for his pistol. When he catches sight of who it is, he relaxes.

“Smoothskin.” he says wearily, rubbing at his face. She feels doubly bad for waking him now.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can come back…” she says nervously. Charon gives her a strange look, as if the prospect is ludicrous, and motions her over.

He goes to slide out of the bed, but she waves him back and goes to sit cross-legged on the other side, facing him.

“What happened after...after I passed out?” she asks carefully. She hopes he catches the lack of blame in her voice. Everything worked out, and so he is forgiven.

“I went into the purifier.” he responds, voice raspier than usual. “Turned it on. Li was right, the rad count in there was through the fucking roof. If you’d been in there for more than a few moments, you wouldn’t have made it back out. Once everything was stable, Lyons invited us back here. Said she wanted to get a chance to thank you while you were actually awake and not drooling on my shoulder.”

Gal winces at the idea. She probably did drool. Real fear-inspiring, that.

“And what about Colonel Autumn?” she continues. “How did you go against the contract?”

She has her suspicions, but she wants them confirmed. Charon doesn’t say anything for a minute. Could it be true? If so, she can see how it would be hard to voice aloud. Big changes like that after hundreds of years don’t come easy.

“When we were at Raven Rock,” Charon begins finally, rubbing a large hand  down his thigh to bunch it in the sheets, “And he commanded me to break your finger, it was in direct violation of the order President Eden gave me to not harm you. But Eden also told me to obey Autumn. It was a no-win situation - to fulfill one order would have been to fail the other. The consequences of breaking an order were programmed to be severe, and they clearly didn’t expect for conflicting orders to be a problem. .”

She had guessed as much. She remembers the pain and desperation on his face as he fought for control of his own body. She’ll never forget that look, not as long as she lives.

And then, the way it had dissolved into confusion, just for a split second. Why confusion?

“Like Pinkerton said, the technology used in my conditioning is hundreds of year past its expiration date. It must not have been able to handle the stress. The pain was there, and I was fighting it, and then there was a huge surge and it just...stopped.”

So it’s true then. He’s free of the contract.

Charon’s voice is both astonished and confused. What must it be like, to spend 200 years in servitude and finally be free? Charon had done the unthinkable; realizing his new-found freedom, he’d immediately shoved his emotion back and continued playing the part. All so he could help Gal. He’d been so convincing, and she’d truly doubted him, but not for a second had he abandoned her.

“That must be an incredible feeling.” she says. Mostly because she doesn’t know what else to say. She’s happy for him, of course. But there’s a little niggling fear at the back of her brain, one that wants to know what she’s going to do when he leaves. He said he’d stay. Now, though… now he has the freedom to change his mind.

“I’m sorry about the folder.” she says suddenly. “I - Pinkerton gave it to me. After I read it, it felt like such an invasion of privacy that I was scared to tell you. I should have walked right out of his lab and handed it to you.”

“It’s alright. You would have pestered me into telling you everything that’s in there anyway.” Charon replies. He sounds sincere. They sit in awkward silence for another moment. Gal picks at a loose thread on her pants.

“So...you’re going to… stay. Right?” she asks hesitantly. Her voice is small. “With m- with us, I mean. Dogmeat and I. You’ll stay. Right?”

The way that he looks taken aback, like he’s offended she would even ask, is comforting.

“Of course I’m fucking staying. I told you that. What the hell else would I do?” he says scornfully. Gal shrugs.

“Fulfill that lifelong dream of becoming a comic book collector?” she jokes. As far as jokes go, it’s a pretty bad one, but it gets a half-smile out of him.

He has a great smile. She sees it so rarely that every time seems special; she’d do (and has done) a lot of things, just to see that smile. That list includes everything from buying ridiculous amounts of beer to killing raiders in unusual ways. Once, almost blowing up the kitchen. Still worth it.

Always worth it.

Charon is looking at her, and she’s looking at him, and they’re sitting on a bed together, and both alive. It feels a little like a miracle. The side of Charon’s mouth is still pulled up into a little half-smile. She wants to kiss him.

She could do it now, Gal realizes. She could scoot a little forward, lean in close, and -

She finds that her body has moved without her notice. The smile falls slowly off Charon’s face. He looks wary at her proximity.

She needs to do this. The contract had been holding her back this whole time, but it’s not an issue any more. Charon is his own man, and if he wants to shove her off and stalk out of her life, he now has the ability to. She won’t make it a single day in Megaton without doing something  anyway. Better to do it here, where they won’t be stuck in a house together. Besides, if Charon wants to leave and go back to Underworld, he’s much closer here than he would be in Megaton.  

She scoots a little closer and angles her body so she’s in a less awkward position. Charon’s eyes flick from hers downwards, to her mouth, her hands, her body, as she moves into place. Not so much coiled snake waiting to strike this time as deer in the headlights, wondering if it needs to flee. Gal puts on hand on his chest for balance and takes a calming breath.

“Feel free to stop me.” she says softly. Charon’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t move.

Slowly, she leans in and presses her mouth to his. His lips are dry and rough under hers, but not in a bad way. If anything, they’re hot, like the rest of him, warming her in response the longer she stays near. She’s like a moth to his flame. She’s been circling a long time and keeping her distance, but now she’s going to see if getting too close will get her burned.

A hand wraps around the wrist of the hand she has pressed against his chest and pulls it gently away. Then, in one smooth motion, he drags her into his lap and slides one hand up her back to cradle the back of her head. His lips move against her insistently. She musters up a little more courage and flicks her tongue out to feel the roughness of his mouth better. He groans in response and reacts in kind.

The kiss seems to last only a moment before Charon pulls away. Not far, just back enough to touch his forehead to hers and take a deep, shuddering breath. He still has a hand tangled in her hair, nudging her head forward a little bit.

“I think I’m still dreaming.” he murmurs. Gal reaches out to place her hand against his neck so she can feel the warmth he expels.

“Hopefully not. Otherwise I’m dreaming with you.” she replies. When she sits up a little, he lets go immediately and pulls back, but all she does is turn so she can throw one leg across his hips, straddling his lap instead of sitting in it. Then she pulls him in for another kiss.

Again, it’s only a moment before he pulls back, and this time he lets go completely. His pupils are blown wide, and his breath comes in soft pants. The way he adjusts his hips minutely under her weight is another clear indicator that he’s at least somewhat enjoying this. Still, something seems off. His expression is unsure.

“Gal. I can’t. I’m sorry. I just… I can’t.”

Gal’s heart breaks into a million pieces.

“W...why not? I thought…” she tries to form words in her head, a coherent sentence, but she can’t. He’d kissed back. Twice. Was he humouring her?

His eyes narrow for a moment, and his shoulders tense up.

“Thought what? Thought I’d say yes just because I’m a fucking ghoul?” she winces at his harshness, and he must feel bad because he continues on in a softer voice. “I can’t do this and then watch you walk away afterwards. I’d lose my mind, seeing you with someone else.”

Gal had done this all wrong. Of course Charon would think this was some type of one-time thing. They’d just done something extraordinary and survived it - the natural human response is to celebrate. Gal had done it plenty of times, after some harrowing journeys into the Wasteland that nearly ended with her not coming back.

“That’s not - Charon. That’s not what this is. There’s no one else, and nobody’s walking away. Well, I’m not at least….and I’m hoping you won’t either.” oh god, she’s rambling. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m not offering a one night stand. If you decide you don’t want to, then… well, that’s okay. But. I want to. For a long time. Forever, if possible.”

That didn’t make any sense. Charon is staring at her blankly. She’s going to have to try again, sensibly this time, with all the words in the right order and -

Her thoughts are cut off when she suddenly gets unceremoniously dumped on the bed. Before she can move, the ghoul cages her in with a hand on either side of her head. He leans in, until his face is hanging just above hers.

“Tell me you’re serious.” he demands. His eyes glitter like diamonds.

Gal’s not a hundred percent certain whether this is going in the right or wrong direction. But she is suddenly very, very turned on.

“I’m serious. I am so fucking serious, Charon, I will spend all day telling you how serious I am if that’s what you need me to do. Or, you can just take my word for it, and I’ll show you. Every day. Repeatedly, in various interesting ways.”

The look on his face is open and raw for a long moment. She can see that he still doesn’t quite believe her, and she gets that. She herself doesn’t quite believe that he won’t wake up one day and decide that there’s better things to do with his life than be tied down to her, a 20-year old Vaultie who throws her whole life on the line for a pipe dream. A kid. There’s got to be a lot more waiting out there for him than what she has to offer. But this here? It’s worth the risk.

The raw look on Charon’s face disappears after a moment, and is replaced by something untrusting, but hopeful. A chance, she thinks.

“Interesting, huh? I can think of a few ways…” he says thoughtfully.

That’s, of course, when the door opens.

Lyons walks in and stops suddenly, her eyes going wide. Whatever kind of reunion she’d expected Gal and Charon to have, it clearly hadn’t involved finding them in bed together, one on top of the other.

Charon frowns and goes to move off of her quickly, but Gal grabs his thigh and stops him.

“Problem?” Gal directs to Lyons. That shocks the other woman out of her surprise, and she holds up both hands in the universal symbol of ‘no fight here’.

“Just wanted to tell you that the doc says he’s good to leave tomorrow, if you guys want. We’re not rushing you out the door or anything, just figured you should know.”

“Thanks, Sarah.” Gal replies, and only then does she gently push Charon off of her and sit up. “I’m going to go get my stuff from the other room. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lyons looks over at Gal and sizes her up, but it doesn’t seem to be unfriendly.

“No wonder you didn’t want me to shoot him. What size shoes does he wear?” Gal gapes at her boldness and laughs, and Lyons doesn’t say anything more about it, other than to remind the doctor in charge of checking on Charon to knock next time he walks in the room.

--

The journey home is a short one. This time, there’s no mad dash to leave again. No projects to save, no rare items to collect, no people to track down or talk to or kill. There’s some leisurely plans for the future - trips to Underworld to see Carol, and now Fawkes, who according to Lyons is planning to stay there in the short term while he plans his next journey. Supplies to run to Bigtown eventually. Somewhere long in the distance, after a well-deserved vacation, there’s a future to plan.

For now, stumbling into Megaton again with no clear timeline to leave again is enough.

When they approach the house, they find Billy Creel on the far side away from the front door, holding a bouquet of ugly flowers and dressed in a button-down. Gal gives him a strange look, but he just waves back nervously and goes back to adjusting his eye patch.

When they walk in, they find Sophia similarly gussied up, in a pretty sundress and black flats. Someone has done her hair up in long, thin braids that she’s pinned into an updo, with a flower tucked in. She smiles at Gal, nods uncertainly to Charon, and goes back to smoothing the front of her dress down.

“Hey Sophia. You look great. What are you all dressed up for?” Gal asks curiously as she dumps her pack in the corner of the living room and Charon goes upstairs to change. Sophia blinks and looks expectantly at the front door.

“I’m, uh… I’m going on a date.” she says hesitantly, shuffling uneasily in her flats. “He’s supposed to come by any minute.”

Gal grins and puts her hands on her hips. “With Billy Creel, I’m assuming? He’s standing outside looking even more nervous than you are.” she teases. Sophia flushes a little and ducks her head shyly.

“Maggie introduced us.” she mutters, looking down at her feet. “And he seems really nice.”

“He’s great. You’re going to have fun.” Gal says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her close. “We’ll catch up tomorrow, okay? If you come back, that is.”

Sophia looks unamused by the wink Gal gives her, but then a knock comes at the door and she immediately goes back to being nervous. Gal leaves her to her panicking and heads upstairs to Charon’s room.

Charon has his back to the door and is stripping off his ammo belt. Gal unhesitantly wraps her arms around his waist and lays her head against his back. She can feel the muscles in his stomach shift under her fingers as he breathes in. He sets the ammo belt down and turns around in the circle of her arms to lay his own across her shoulders.

“Hey, Charon,” she says, looking up at him with a smile. “Why don’t you go put my stuff away and fetch me a beer?”

Charon looks down at her, his eyes bright, and smiles.

“No.” he says firmly, and kisses her.

Chapter Text

Six months later

They sweep into Gob’s bar far past sunset, both still carrying backs, both streaked with dirt and grime. The low lights and familiar tables make Gal sigh in relief once the door shuts behind them. A few patrons look up, but look down just as quickly, uninterested.

“About time you guys got back. You think you were taking a vacation?” Nova says scornfully. She abandons the table she’d been wiping down and sweeps Gal into a tight hug, then Charon right behind. Gal breathes in the smell of hops gratefully. The smell Nova’s getting from Gal can’t be nearly as pleasant, but she doesn’t complain.

Her hug says everything that Nova can’t say openly. Thank God you made it back. We were worried. Gal understands her feelings perfectly .

Taking down a huge slaver colony like Paradise Falls is no cakewalk.

When the greetings are finally done, and Gob gets his turn saying hello (he settles for a handshake from Charon), they retreat to the bar for a couple of cold beers. It’s almost midnight on a weekday, so the bar is mostly empty except for a few committed drinkers. Gal settles herself next to a bald man in sunglasses and sighs in relief after the first sip of booze.

“So it all went well then? No problems?” Nova asks, leaning in. She keeps the topic vague, so that anyone listening in can’t make any connections. They’d been careful, but powerful settlements have powerful friends, and Gal doesn’t want to wake up to a shotgun in her face because somebody said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

She thinks back to the last sight she’d seen as they exited the camp. Eulogy’s Pad smoldering, the sign out front nothing but ash and twisted metal. The eyes of the slaver who had nearly strangled her to death staring sightlessly out into the distance. A line of men, women, and children in ripped and dirty clothing, each patiently waiting their turn to have the collar around their neck removed. Some had been crying. Others, praying. Two, a mother and her six year old daughter were dancing like maniacs and kicking up dust all around them.

“Piece of cake." she says instead. "Our mutual friends are taking care of the clean-up and helping get everyone resettled. We might see a few here, depending.”

Nova sighs dramatically, but Gal knows she’ll be the first to roll out the welcome mat, just like she did with Sophia. They’d even volunteered as a safehouse once the additions to the bar are finished. With the amount of distance between Paradise Falls and Megaton, it’s a good haven for people trying to disappear.

“So, what’s next?” she asks as she turns to wiping down the bar. Gal leans back to let Nova reach the space in front of her and bumps the guy next to her accidentally. She mutters an apology and then looks at Charon, who shrugs.

“Dunno.” he says. “We’re running out of things to fuck up. Might have to slow down for a bit, let them get their momentum back. I’m sure they’re still out there, laying low.”

Gal grins. He returns a half-smile. Boldly, she she snakes a hand out and settles it on his knee under the bar. His large hand settles over hers and gives a little squeeze, warm and rough.

They stay for a bit and finish their beers, but both of them are dog tired and ready to get back to the house. They really only stopped by because Nova threatened to gut them if they didn’t. Now that Sophia’s moved in with Billy and Maggie, the house is all theirs again. Gal estimates that the chance of them collapsing on the floor in full armour and passing out together is high. Though by the way Charon is rubbing circles into her thigh, maybe he’s not as tired as he’s letting on. Maybe Gal’s not either, now that she thinks about it.

Gal stands up off the barstool and stretches, but a hand on her elbow catches her before she walks away. It’s the bald man that’s been sitting next to him. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, despite the fact that it’s full dark outside and the lighting in the bar is pretty dim.

“Hey there. You the guys that took down Paradise Falls?” he asks conversationally. Like lightning, Charon’s shotgun is off his back and nestled into his shoulder, pointing threateningly at the bald man’s chest. The man laughs nervously and holds his hands up to show he’s unarmed.

“Whoa, easy there, tiger. I’m not looking to start a fight.” he says soothingly. Gal’s never seen somebody smile so wide with the barrel of a loaded weapon so close to their face.

Gal looks around and notices that except for her, Charon, and this man, the bar is empty of patrons. Intentional, or accident? Coincidence or threat? Who exactly is this guy?

“Then what do you want? And how did you know about the Falls?” Gal asks lowly. Charon doesn’t lower the shotgun.

The man rubs at his nose and pushes his sunglasses back up into place. “It’s my job to know things like that, my violent friends. And what I know is that the two of you are very open-minded people, who seem to be committed to bettering the situation of the little guy, as it were. My organization is looking to expand. If you’re interested.”

Gal and Charon exchange a look. Slowly, Charon lowers the shotgun, and Gal leans against the bar and crosses her arms.

“We’re listening. What’s your organization?” she asks.

The man grins. His teeth are surprisingly white.

“You ever heard of the Railroad?”