Fic: My Echo, My Shadow and Me
Title: My Echo, My Shadow and Me
Chapter: 1. With Plenty of Money and You
Character/Pairing: Charon, Lone Wanderer ("Kate"); Charon/Kate
Genre: Het, Pre-game and During-game (yeah, that sounds stupid, but whatever)
Rating: R
Summary: He is exactly what they made him to be, and he hates it.
Author’s Notes: I ♥ Ghoul Love. Also, at the pit of voles, here.
Spoilers: Multiple ones over the course of the fic concerning both main and side quests.
Warnings: Violence, swearing
Well, baby, what I couldn't do
With plenty of money and you.
In spite of the worry that money brings.
Just a little filthy looker buys a lot of things.
The moment the so-called "Lone Wanderer" had a hold of that condemning slip of wrinkled and worn paper, Charon felt a fire in his gut. His fingers tingled and his back itched where his combat shotgun chafed against his armor.
"I'll give you the pleasure of informing him yourself."
Charon certainly wasn't deaf, but his now-former employer was a bastard enough to pretend that was the case. At least he had the intelligence to realize the contempt Charon held for him.
Even from the corner, Charon could see the self-satisfied smirk on Ahzrukhal's face-a well-earned 2,000 caps, it would appear. Disgust mingled with the fire now raging through Charon, but not for his own self; rather for those who had decidedly made him who he was, through no consent of his own (as if he would have consented, of course). Brainwashing, Ahzrukhal claimed. Charon wasn't always sure himself, but whatever it was, that tiny slip of paper (oh, how he longed to burn it) held his fate-in fact, had held it for the last one hundred years.
Charon had heard everything that had transpired between the two, but as the Lone Wanderer approached, he made the decision to play dumb-for Ahzrukhal's sake.
"Talk to-"
The Lone Wanderer was quick with her response. Shaking her head, she said, "Slow down, there. I have good news." She glanced at the faded sheet of paper in her hands, before looking Charon straight in the eye, a smile on her face but a hardened look enveloping her eyes. "I'm your new employer."
Hearing it face-to-face as opposed to through eavesdropping was profoundly different, Charon found out, as he fought the relief attempting to force its way into his voice. Instead, he focused on the deed yet to be done, and the grim satisfaction he could already taste.
"You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal?" Charon glanced in Ahzrukhal's direction, but the Ghoul was busy serving a drink to a patron. Before him, the Lone Wanderer nodded with finality. More to himself, Charon stated, "So, I am no longer in his service." Even more profound than hearing it face-to-face was hearing it from his own lips (or what was left of them, anyway). Now that he had, and having heard the facts stated three times now, it had truly sunk in. Ahzrukhal had held his contract for so long, Charon had been sure he would die before Ahzrukhal relinquished it.
Free from tyranny. Free from an unruly bastard who deserved to die-by none other than the man whom had grudgingly guarded him for the past twenty-some years.
Which he would. Soon, in fact. Very soon.
"Please, wait here." Charon could feel his shotgun digging against his armor again and his hands shook with anticipation. "I must take care of something."
The Lone Wanderer tilted her head, almost curiously, but Charon wasn't stupid, and he knew the Lone Wanderer was just as anxious as he was. Someone had given her inside info on the wretched Ghoul, and she wanted him just as dead as Charon did.
Charon almost smiled, but the act was so unfamiliar to his face that he was afraid his muscles would refuse to form one at all. He opted instead for the blank look he typically reserved for dealing with Ahzrukhal, and approached the man, fingers twitching.
"Ahzrukhal," he began. The Ghoul turned to him, a fake smile plastered on. Charon continued, unabated. "I am told that I am no longer in your service."
The fake smile continued. Could the man honestly be so daft? "That's right, Charon," said Ahzrukhal. He placed a glass he had been cleaning down on the counter beside him, and the fake smile turned to a smug smirk. "Have you come to say goodbye?"
Something like that.
In one fluid motion, Charon grabbed the shotgun from his back, flicked the safety, aimed (not that there was much aiming to do, at this range) and fired. Bits of Ahzrukhal's mid-section spattered across Charon's front, and behind the bar. On the ground, laying and gurgling in a pool of his own blood and innards, Ahzrukhal still managed to give Charon that damn smug look.
Charon blew that smug look straight off his face.
*
Charon dipped down next to Ahzrukhal and nearly gave him another shot of lead, but refrained. He dug through the dead Ghoul's belongings, just under the counter, and retrieved a swollen bag before standing and turning to his new employer.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go." He extended his hand to the Lone Wanderer, the bag held loosely between two of his fingers while his other hand was occupied reattaching his shotgun to the back of his armor. After the short-lived look of confusion had left her face, the Lone Wanderer accepted the return of her 2,000 caps.
"What the fuck was that?"
Both Charon and the Lone Wanderer stared in the direction of the voice, but only Charon looked away after a moment, to eye the rest of the crowd that had gathered. The girl, on the other hand, seemed oddly pleased and kept her gaze focused upon the man who had spoken. Perhaps she'd had other business here in Underworld, Charon mused and again flicked his gaze back to the girl and the Ghoul.
She and the Ghoul were now having an avid discussion and moving back into the next room to continue speaking. Charon followed the Lone Wanderer dutifully and took his place behind her as she sat across from the scandalous Mister Crowley.
"...I've got this list of people. Ghoul bigots. Real scum," Crowley was saying. Charon watched with amusement. He wondered if the Lone Wanderer knew what Crowley was really up to with these "Ghoul bigots." From the way she'd clearly known about Ahzrukhal, he suspected she did and was in it for whatever Crowley wanted.
Charon had listened to Ahzrukhal drone on about the money he and Crowley could make if they sold whatever it was Crowley was seeking access to, while Crowley continually stated he wanted it for himself and didn't need Ahzrukhal's help. Of course, in further attempts to persuade the stubborn Ghoul, Ahzrukhal would bring up Charon, mentioning how he could simply order Charon to go and retrieve it, with no danger involved for either Crowley or Ahzrukhal.
Charon, duty-bound, would have done it, but he wouldn't have been happy about it by any means. He had never enjoyed being an errand boy for any of his employers. Bouncer for the Ninth Circle and personal bodyguard for Ahzrukhal weren't necessarily his preferred positions either. Charon would much rather be out in the wastes, killing raiders and mutants side-by-side with his employer. He had never considered himself to be a sedentary sort of person.
But now, with the Lone Wanderer as his employer, he was hopeful that his job would be different. Listening to Galaxy News Radio broadcasts had brought word of her activities and accomplishments, and from the sounds of it, she was always out fighting, fighting, fighting. Doing the right thing, in most instances, but still fighting.
Already antsy, Charon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He'd been standing in that corner for far too long. He was ready to see the Wastes again.
"Bring me back a key or a ring or something." Sneaky bastard.
Crowley stood and shook hands with the Lone Wanderer before departing for his room over at Carol's Place. Then, the Lone Wanderer did something completely unexpected.
"Charon," she said, "sit down, would you? You're making me uncomfortable, and I'd much rather see your face while we're talking."
Stunned, Charon did as she asked, taking Crowley's vacated seat.
Furrowing her brow, the Lone Wanderer said, "You seem...surprised." Her fingers drummed the table absently. Deep in thought, but still interested in holding a conversation. How strange.
"I am," Charon simply said. "Ahzrukhal would have died before allowing me to sit with him, as if I were his equal. Or, allow his worthless back to remain unguarded for even a moment."
The Lone Wanderer chuckled. "Honestly, I much prefer my front." She smiled, before looking grim. "But seriously, Charon-you watch my back, and I'll watch yours. I'm not looking for a bodyguard, I'm looking for a companion who is capable of both watching my ass and keeping me company." She paused, her fingers stilling as well. "Are you up to it?"
"I was up to it the moment you purchased my contract."
"Charon." That hard look Charon had noticed earlier returned to her normally warm eyes. "I'm asking you. I'm not asking for further explanation as to what my owning your contract means."
Charon was silent. An employer asking him what he wanted? A first. Normally the contracts he made were far from mutual agreements. In fact, the thought made him almost uneasy.
"Yes," he finally said, though with little conviction. "I will do my best to provide you with my support and company."
She nodded. "Good. Now let's get the hell out of here already. I'm not so sure everyone's pleased you murdered their bartender and chems supplier."
A quick glance around the bar confirmed the Lone Wanderer's observation. Charon stood from his seat, and stepped aside to allow the Lone Wanderer to pass before him. As they exited the Ninth Circle together, she looked back at him and asked, "How's Megaton sound to you right about now?"
Charon grunted. "Never been." He dug between a space in his armor and scratched where the leather was chafing. His fingers came back out with small bits of mottled skin beneath the hardened nails, and he made an irritable noise. Longevity was not worth having skin fall off at every opportunity it got, even if it did (mostly) heal back up by the next day, it was still patchy and loose as ever-and hell, other Ghouls weren't even lucky enough to have their skin heal. Charon was "lucky": his cellular mutations had awarded him with a relatively long lifespan (he probably had a good hundred more years yet, if he was to guess) and relatively "normal" healing (as compared to smoothskins). Sure, he was still missing large parts of his skin, but at least what was left (and what was exposed) healed up nicely.
Lucky being a rather optimistic term, when one considered the circumstances behind his transformation into a Ghoul. But maybe those circumstances had made him different than other Ghouls, as opposed to lucky. Hell if he knew, and hell if he cared, at any rate.
At the thought of the circumstances behind his Ghoulification, a glower formed on his face. Nothing unusual to the other Underworld residents, of course, nor to himself.
But he hoped that, some day soon, the Lone Wanderer would change that. Whether it be by helping him get back at the assholes behind how he was today, or through other means, it was all he was silently asking of her. To give him hope, for the first time in a long time.
*
When he and the Lone Wanderer (Kate, he reminded himself. She'd said her name was Kate.) arrived at Moriarty's Saloon, Charon wasn't expecting to see another Ghoul. As Kate was sidling onto a barstool in front of the Ghoul, Charon stood just behind her at a distance he deemed close, but not too uncomfortable. After twenty years of bouncing, he wasn't going to let his guard down in a bar by taking a seat-and especially not a bar where the looks he was getting from the patrons were less than favorable. He imagined the Ghoul tending the bar was probably not working here by choice. It was either that, or the idiot was masochistic.
"So, Gob," Kate started, waving him off when he offered her a drink, "what've you got for me today?" She was all smiles and big, bright eyes. Charon wanted to chuckle, thinking the girl probably had no idea just what one little smile could do to a man, and a Ghoul doubly so.
The name clicked into place in Charon's head. Gob was that "son" Carol was always talking about (when Greta wasn't around, of course). Poor bastard didn't seem to be as well off for himself as he probably thought he'd be.
Gob took a long look around the bar before saying, "A couple of stimpaks and some Rad Away." He stiffened as a door slammed upstairs. "Usual price?" The Ghoul had a huge smile on his face as he talked and Charon wondered just how huge of a crush he had on Kate, probably the only human in town who treated him right.
Kate nodded and set a bag of caps on the counter. With one final look almost directly behind him, Gob dipped and reached under the counter, coming back up with a handful of stimpaks and a packet of Rad Away. As Kate packed away the items into a number of easy access pouches lining her waist, Gob pocketed his payment and immediately moved to refill some sorry-looking man's drink. The creaky sound of a door opening in the back captured Charon's attention momentarily as a white-haired man stepped behind the counter.
Charon watched the white-haired man idly. Moriarty, he concluded, after the man approached the register and punched in the combination to open it. Moriarty sifted through the register's contents quickly before slamming the drawer shut and making his way over to where Gob was refilling drinks. A sudden movement sent Gob to the floor with pleas for Moriarty not to hit him again, while Moriarty demanded to know why the till was short.
Gob's pleas sent a sharp pain through Charon, and he felt an emotion he hadn't felt in years: shame. Charon remembered Gob. He remembered him very well, as he remembered everyone from that period in his life. As much as he wished he could forget what he'd done (been forced to do, he corrected), he couldn't. It hurt, thinking of it again, and he cursed his creators for failing to program emotions out of him. It would have made things a whole lot easier for him over the years. Instead, the best they'd done was put a metaphorical lock on his emotions: he felt (holy hell, did he feel sometimes), he just didn't show it.
He heard Kate sigh. "Poor Gob," she murmured. "No matter how hard he tries, Moriarty just finds a way to take what few spare caps he has." Charon swallowed. He wanted to leave. Right fucking now, before Gob got a better look at him. He felt guilt-ridden enough.
But Kate was ordering two purified waters and Charon wasn't about to express his eagerness to leave. It would lead to too many questions that Charon wasn't willing to answer; questions that he knew, with one simple command, he would have to answer, whether he liked it or not.
Gob's hands trembled as he set the two water bottles down in front of Kate. Charon turned around but he could feel the other Ghoul's eyes burning two deep holes into his back.
"Who's your friend?" Gob rasped.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Gob," Kate said, sincere apology in her voice. "I should have introduced you earlier. This is Charon." She turned her head to look at him, then tugged on his arm. "Don't be a sourpuss, Charon," she teased. "Sit down and say hello."
"If that is what you command, then I shall do it," Charon instinctively said. "However, I feel that I may fail to provide you support from such a position."
"Fuck the support. No one's going to mess with me here, Charon. So relax. Sit down and talk with us for awhile." Kate's voice was firm and unwavering. Charon obeyed her immediately. If she felt she did not require support at this moment, so be it; he would provide her the "company" she'd previously asked of him. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
Charon took great care to open the water bottle Kate had purchased for him. Anything to keep his face from Gob. He'd stare at the counter all night if he had to (and oh, how the thought of sitting all night in this hellhole and avoiding the gaze of a Ghoul who certainly loathed him irked him).
Again, Charon could feel Gob's gaze burning straight through him. Hearing Charon's name had more than likely been enough to spark Gob's memory, but Charon didn't want to see the hate in the Ghoul's face. He'd seen it enough. There were still Ghouls who thought of him as a worthless scourge, even after knowing there had been nothing he could do.
Thankfully, Kate kept Gob's interest enough of the time that Charon was free from scrutiny. An hour passed, and patrons, one after another, had been filing out, until it was only himself, Kate and Gob left. Moriarty had gone upstairs long ago, and the whore in the corner had gone up as well, with a man trailing resolutely after her. Charon longed to leave. It was obviously closing time, and certainly Gob had duties yet to attend to.
But Kate was persistent in getting Charon engaged in conversation. She'd been trying (to little avail) over the past few days to get him to speak outside of warnings and tactical appraisals as they'd traveled to Megaton, but Charon was keeping his mouth shut. The problem was that Kate wasn't getting the picture that he wasn't interested in talking. It'd been almost ingrained into him after all these years, that his employers simply didn't give a mole rat's ass about what he had to say, or whether he had anything to say at all. But the girl was stubborn as hell, and Charon wondered was when she was going to give up and outright order him to speak his mind.
"Where'd you and Charon meet, anyway?" Gob was asking. Charon was focusing intently on the nearly empty bottle in front of him, pretending to read the well-worn label.
Kate took a final swig from her own bottle. "Underworld," she said. "I bought his contract from some lousy scumbag of a Ghoul down there."
Charon watched the Ghoul from the corner of his eye. He didn't like where this conversation was headed. It was time to derail it, before it got out of hand.
"Miss Kate," Charon began.
"Please, Charon-just Kate."
"Kate," he amended, "may I suggest that we depart for lodgings? You're looking as if you need your rest. It has been a long day."
Kate nodded, agreeing, and stifled a yawn. "Charon's right. I'm dead tired." She stood and stretched, before turning back to Gob. "I'll stop by before we leave tomorrow morning."
"I-I'd like that," Gob stammered, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Charon took Gob's momentary distraction to stand himself, but the Ghoul's peripheral vision was sharp.
The two locked eyes and Charon knew he deserved the look of cold loathing he received.
Charon had done many terrible things in his life, but none had yet to beat what he'd put Gob and countless other Ghouls through. What many of them were probably still going through, if Gob's situation was any example. He deserved their hate. He always would.
Maybe one day he would forgive himself, for having been stupid enough to fall into this life.
Maybe.
Notes:
(1) I hated giving the Lone Wanderer a name, but I didn't want to call her the "Lone Wanderer" throughout the entire fic. Therefore, she is henceforth "Kate."
(2) "Kate" is a reference to Hecate, a fellow psychopomp (a spirit, angel or deity whose responsibility is to guide newly-deceased souls to the afterlife) to Charon. However, this is only a superficial reference, as the -cate in Hecate isn't pronounced anything like Kate. Also, "Kate" after "Catherine." (Yes, I will admit that I didn't make this connection until after the Hecate thing.)
(3) Fic title and summary, and chapter title and lyrics are from The Ink Spots songs of the same names: "We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)" and "With Plenty of Money and You."
(4) I'm trying to keep Charon as in-character as possible, but still give him depth. Considering so little is actually revealed about him in-game, I think I'm allowed a little leeway. :P
(5) And yes, I did do extensive research on Charon by interrogating Ahzrukhal over and over again (loading saves when I had to) until I had copied down every single bit of information regarding Charon and the purchase of his contract. Don't judge me! XD
(6) 02/02/09: Thank you to sparrowinsky for the beta. Chapter one has now been edited and reposted.
Title: My Echo, My Shadow and Me
Chapter: 2. Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall
Character/Pairing: Charon, Lone Wanderer ("Kate"); Charon/Kate
Genre: Het, Pre-game and During-game (yeah, that sounds stupid, but whatever)
Rating: R
Summary: He is exactly what they made him to be, and he hates it.
Spoilers: Multiple ones over the course of the fic concerning both main and side quests.
Warnings: Violence, swearing
Into each life some rain must fall
But too much is falling in mine
Into each heart some tears must fall
But some day the sun will shine
It was a relatively cold night for the arid Wasteland but Charon hardly felt it. He was distracted with his own thoughts and just barely straggling behind Kate as she led him to wherever it was they were staying for the night. Charon hoped it wasn't the common house, easily spotted at the far northwestern corner of Megaton; he didn't appreciate being under the scrutiny of anyone, even if he could care less what they actually thought of him.
Kate was leading him in the opposite direction, however. He followed, quietly, an eye still out for danger. No place was safe in the Wastes, even a settled and halfway-civilized one; Charon wasn't about to let his guard down and allow either Kate or himself to be injured. He would be failing in his duty-and in his line of "work," failure meant death, or worse. He had never failed any of his previous employers (no matter how much hatred he held for them) and he wasn't about to start now, with the only one who had ever treated him as a fellow human being. Despite her unrelenting attempts to get him to "open up," as she had put it, he would be upset to lose her as an employer, and she would be the only one he'd ever felt that way about. She was leaps and bounds better than Charon's previous few employers, after all.
The girl had a good set of eyes and ears on her, though Charon couldn't help but curse at her occasional naivety. She still had a lot to learn, but at least she knew her way around a gun. She wasn't a crack shot (not yet, anyway), but she held her own. It was, he figured, the only reason she was still alive, nearly two months after Three Dog had started his weekly reports on her-after her escape from that Vault. He wondered if she realized that herself and whether it had influenced her purchase of his contract, besides knowledge of Ahzrukhal's misdeeds and Charon's hatred of him. A simple knowledge of human behavior was all the girl seemed to need at this point in her "journey."
Charon chewed on the thoughts for a little while, thankful he'd managed to push his rage and shame to the back corners of his mind, as Kate continued to lead him around the winding paths of Megaton's walkways.
Moments later, Kate had pulled out a large key and was shoving it into the lock of a rickety-looking shack they'd stopped in front of-her house, he quickly assumed. He followed her dutifully inside and immediately searched for lurking threats.
"Good evening, Madam!"
Charon whirled at the sound, his shotgun raised at the Mister Handy that had floated down the stairs. The damned thing didn't seem hostile, but Charon wasn't taking any chances.
"Miss Kate, I have detected a possible threat in your household." He gripped his shotgun harder, ready to blast the robot to pieces.
"Stand down, Charon," Kate said, amusement tinging her voice. "It's just Wadsworth. He's no threat."
Charon complied, though reluctantly, and with an eye on the robot as he put away his shotgun. All someone had to do was remove the Mister Handy's combat inhibitor and it would go on a rampage. He would have to keep a close watch at all times, to prevent such a catastrophe, just as he had in Underworld with Cerberus (whenever Charon hadn't been stuck in The Ninth Circle, of course). Strangely, though most of the residents had felt a certain distaste for him, Charon felt compelled to protect them and the sanctity of what most Ghouls called home. In recent years, he'd chalked it up to his own feeble attempt at apologizing (the problem being that he wasn't sure how many Ghouls had accepted it).
Sitting in a chair nearby, Kate was stripping off her battered leather armor. Charon stood quietly near what appeared to be the kitchen, awaiting further instruction.
"What's the story between you and Gob?" she questioned, looking over at him as she untied her boots. "I couldn't help but notice the, ah...tension."
Charon was quiet. Kate continued staring at him for a few moments longer, before shrugging and dropping the subject, much to Charon's surprise. Any other employer would have pushed, ordering Charon to tell them, but Kate continued to distance herself from the norm of those who'd come before her. It was refreshing. To be the sole master of his thoughts was extremely welcome.
"Well," Kate stood, her armor piled in her arms and she now only dressed in a skin-tight t-shirt and shorts, "the bedroom's upstairs. If you want," she shifted her weight, almost uncomfortably, "you can sleep in my bed. I'm willing to give it up, or even share it, if you'd prefer. I know it gets a little chilly in here sometimes..."
Again, Charon was quiet. As much as the thought of sleeping next to an attractive woman was appealing to the man in him, the professional in him kept him quiet. He wondered whether her offer was one of pity, or if she truly was that generous and hospitable of a person. How she could continue (and had survived) in the Wastes with such an attitude was beyond him-but a small part of him hoped that the Wastes would never beat it out of her. He was surprised enough that it hadn't already.
Or maybe she just got cold at night. Who was to say?
Kate continued on at Charon's lack of response, perhaps realizing she had tread on thin ice, though not understanding what the problem was (he wondered if she'd gotten a good whiff of him yet, in all honesty-Ghouls weren't exactly the most pleasant-smelling bed companions). "Or, there's a couch in the spare room upstairs that you can sleep on, if you'd prefer."
He certainly would prefer, in this case. He didn't want to disgust the girl too soon, after all. He nodded at Kate, informing her of his decision, and followed her up the stairs (skirting around "Wadsworth" with a wary eye). Kate opened the door to the spare room and mumbled something about wanting to get an early start tomorrow morning, before stumbling into her own room, dropping her gear haphazardly on the desk and slumping into her bed. Charon, watching the scene with slight humor, knew she was already asleep. He made a note to have the girl slow down when they were out in the Wastes-she'd worn herself out on their two-day trip from Underworld to Megaton. It would do them no good if she continued with such a pace. Longer travel time was a welcome price to pay for increased stamina and awareness.
Charon stepped into the spare room and settled down on the couch, his shotgun held firmly in his hands and his eyes on the rest of the house. Kate might trust her robot, but he certainly didn't.
*
He slept for perhaps two hours, total. "Wadsworth" (or as Charon had taken to calling him, "That Catastrophe Waiting to Happen") had spent most of the night moving between the upstairs and downstairs, cleaning, and Charon had slept lightly. Every time That Catastrophe had headed upstairs, the sound of its propulsion system had Charon's eyelids open and his grip tightening around his shotgun. He would watch the robot carefully through the doorway until it finished its routine and headed back downstairs. Then, Charon would fall back into a doze, his mind silent and resting, but his body anxiously waiting until the damned robot came back up.
At some point, the robot finally stopped, its routine over with, and Charon fell into a slightly deeper slumber knowing it would remain downstairs during the daytime hours. Pre-programmed to clean during the house's occupants sleeping hours and to stay out of the way while they were awake... until someone came in and tampered with it, and Charon didn't trust anyone in Megaton to refrain from doing so.
Then again, none of them probably had the brains to do it anyway. They had built their town around an atomic bomb, after all.
Regardless, he slept deeper, knowing he would still awaken at the slightest disturbance in the house.
Which he did, minutes later, as Kate got up and padded past the open doorway, her blanket wrapped firmly around her. Charon vacated the couch, standing and stretching, before reattaching his shotgun to the back of his armor and heading downstairs after her.
She was already in the tiny kitchen, rummaging through the shelves in search of something decent to eat.
"What do you want to eat, Charon?" She eyed a box of Cram suspiciously, holding it an arms length away, before tossing it into the garbage can nearby. "I may not have much, but I can accommodate nearly any preference you've got..."
She sounded tired. Charon wondered whether it was a good idea to let her cook.
Deciding it was not a good idea, he wordlessly sidled next to her and took the box of food from her hands. He set it back on the shelf before gently guiding her to the nearest chair and moving back into the kitchen. Knowing they probably would not return to her home for many weeks, Charon picked the most perishable items off her shelves to cook up. The robot probably threw out rotten food and restocked the house weekly, but there was no point to letting perfectly good food go to waste.
While Charon set to work cooking a couple of Salisbury steaks and eggs, Kate wrapped her blanket tighter around her and pulled her legs up and into her chest. Charon felt something like relief flood him as he struck "pity" off the list of reasons for her offer last night. Clearly, the girl did not tolerate cold well. It was a good thing the Wasteland did not suffer "winter," as it had before the bombs-Kate would probably die (figuratively, of course).
Kate picked up a nearby book and leafed through it. Charon watched her momentarily before checking whether she had any fruit or vegetables stocked in her fridge. He would prefer to give her a well-rounded meal, but such a concept was hard to come by in the Wastes. Hell, he'd grown up eating mole rat and dog meat, for the most part, with the occasional "treat" of Mirelurk meat. He didn't even learn what a vegetable or a fruit was until he was fifteen, and it had been years since he'd had one that didn't taste like irradiated shit.
He found the fridge was stacked full of Sugar Bombs and blood packs. It took awhile for the odd site to register, and it took the sound of the eggs and steaks sizzling to bring him back away from the site. Closing the fridge, he was confused, but felt little desire to ask why such an odd combination of items were packed into her fridge. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer.
He was beginning to question the girl's sanity, however.
As he flipped the eggs, Kate addressed his unasked question, as if suddenly remembering that Charon was new to both her home and her kitchen.
"Oh, uh," she pulled on her graying blanket sheepishly, "don't mind the Sugar Bombs and blood packs in the fridge. I'm...helping out a couple of people."
Charon, though not known for his humor, couldn't help but laugh. "I've had some strange food combinations in my day, but I believe that this is the strangest."
"What...? No!" Kate stammered. "You've got it all wrong, Charon! The Sugar Bombs are for this nice Ghoul scientist of a sort I met in the Northwest Seneca Station, and the blood packs are for...well..."
Busy checking the steaks and then slipping the finished eggs onto plates, Charon didn't bother indicating she should get on with it already.
"...vampires," she finished lamely.
At this, Charon gave the cooking steaks a look. Well, he'd heard of stranger things in the Wastes.
"I see," he mumbled. He added an addendum to his earlier question of the girl's sanity: too damn kind to be even remotely sane. From being the friendliest he'd ever seen a human be toward Ghouls, to donating blood to vampires (he hoped it wasn't her blood, at least, but a smattering of leftover packs still found in the various hospitals around the Wastes), to saving his sorry ass...
Then again, he shouldn't jump the gun. Having an idea of why she'd purchased him wasn't close enough to a sure thing for his tastes. Besides her need for a companion to aid her, he had little idea about her motives, and he wasn't going to allow himself to make hasty assumptions. Besides, where was his pride? He was self-sufficient-he didn't need anyone to save his ass when he could do it himself. The only reason he hadn't snuffed Ahzrukhal before Kate had purchased his contract was due to the fact that the Ghoul had never gone anywhere, making it increasingly difficult to come up with loophole ways to murder the bastard.
Charon grabbed a fork and lifted the finished steaks out of the pan. Tossing a knife and fork onto each plate, he grabbed one, turned to face the living area, and proffered it to Kate. She dropped the book she'd been skimming onto the shelf beside her and gratefully took the plate.
"Thank you, Charon," she said, giving him a warm smile before digging right into the eggs. She wasn't used to be waited on, it would seem.
Charon took his own plate and retreated to the other chair in the room. He ate quickly, hardly acknowledging the slight tingle of radiation in the food on his tongue, while watching Kate pick her own, slow way through her own breakfast. The first few bites from her steak brought a sour look to her face, but she continued eating.
"Charon," she started, chewing thoughtfully on a particularly tough piece of the meat, "it's unnerving how quiet you are. You should talk more."
As if to prove her point, he remained silent. Even if he did speak his opinion, Kate would hardly like what Charon had to say. "Always the pessimist," the saying went, and Kate was, quite obviously, an optimist.
"I mean, really, Charon," she continued, undeterred, "I'm sure you've got the most fascinating opinions, having been around for so long and all. And I'm guessing no one's ever really asked them of you before,"-she had guessed correctly-"so,"-and here was the punchline (because at this point, her request was little more than a joke to the stoic Charon)-"lay 'em on me. I'd love to hear them."
Silence, still. He wasn't going to give in easily. Despite previous employers feeling no desire to hear Charon's opinions, he had always been one of those types who normally kept to himself anyway.
Kate, ever the curious one, while not always talking, was always thinking and never afraid to voice her opinion, or to push and prod where necessary in order to get the information she needed. She had a gift with words, and she wasn't afraid to use it.
Despite his obstinance, Charon knew it would take only one command and he would spill his guts to her. But Kate was clearly stubborn, and refused to resort to such a tactic. Charon knew, however, that he would eventually give in to her request.
After all, it had been a very long time since he'd been allowed his freedom of speech. He was ready to take advantage of a good thing.
*
"Hey, Charon," Kate called. Charon turned from his self-established post by the door to see Kate pulling at the straps on her armor, securing it in place. She gestured to a book on the table beside her. "I've got to go up to Moira's and get some supplies. Could you do me a favor and give this to Gob? I'd do it myself, but I'm afraid we won't have time..."
Charon walked over and scooped up the book. It was a hardcover, well-worn and dirty. Inside, the pages were stained a deep yellow and the ink was faded, though still readable. Since books had not fared well after the bombs, Charon had read very few during his youth. He'd been taught to read and write by his father, but had found very little use for the actions throughout the majority of his life. Most of his employers preferred to assume he was illiterate anyway, or didn't know either way. Reading and writing simply were not the most important skills anymore-they had been replaced in importance by the ability to kill.
Kill, or be killed. The words were all too familiar to Charon and they brought a sour taste to his mouth every time he heard the utterance.
Without a word, Charon left Kate's home and reluctantly trekked over to Moriarty's. This early in the morning, no one but the crazy down by the nuke (Charon was surprised he hadn't turned Ghoul yet, though all of the telltale signs were there) and the shopkeepers were up, and Megaton was near silent, bar the howling Wasteland winds whipping against the town walls. Considering the time, Charon was not surprised to find only Gob up and about in Moriarty's, setting up the bar for the day's patrons.
By the look of pure and absolute hatred on Gob's face, Charon was not a welcome customer.
"Off your leash?" Gob remarked in a tone clearly labeled "For Charon Only."
It stung, but Charon brushed it off. He'd heard worse over the past twenty years. "I am on an errand."
"Unless it's for Kate," Gob scowled, fingers tightening around a cloudy glass he'd been wiping down before Charon's arrival, "I have nothing for you."
Charon shook his head. "Perhaps I spoke incorrectly," he said. "I am here to deliver a package from Miss Kate to you. However," he raised what was left of his eyebrows and shrugged, "if you do not wish to receive it, then I shall leave and inform Miss Kate at once."
Gob scoffed. "What is it?"
Charon moved a few steps closer to the bar and held out the book to Gob. The sullen Ghoul snatched it from Charon's fingers and flipped open the cover to find out what the book was. A smile crossed his face a moment later.
The perfect opportunity was at hand, Charon knew, but his throat was suddenly constricted and his mind a jumbled mix of emotions, thoughts and who knew what else. The words he'd been wanting to say for years began to form, before blowing back into the mess they'd come from. He opened his mouth, in hopes the words would return, but they never did, and he managed an "I'm..." before Gob gave Charon a funny look and returned to glowering.
Forgive and forget, right? How was Charon supposed to forget if no one would forgive? His past hung like a dark cloud over him, and it was days like this that the cloud poured rain upon him-drenching him to the bone. For twenty years Charon had been waiting for one little break in the clouds as a sign that someone had finally forgiven him for his despicable transgressions. But as more time passed, he feared the day would never come, and that the dark cloud would haunt him until the end of his days. It didn't matter how sorry he felt, how hard he worked to make it all up to his fellow Ghouls when he couldn't even say, "I'm sorry." He'd begun to wonder if the words were even in his vocabulary anymore-whether his programming allowed him to say "sorry."
"Go and take care of Kate," Gob said, "like you're supposed to."
Charon turned to leave, his job done, but he paused at the door as Gob began murmuring behind him:
"The day that I am free from Moriarty's rule will be the day that I consider forgiveness."
With the way things were going for Gob, Charon understood that he would never be forgiven.
Notes:
(1) I've been busy with school and being sick, so this chapter took longer to finish than I'd wanted it to. But, the good thing is, it's done now.
(2) Gob and Charon still don't get along. Sorry, guys.
(3) I warn you now that I've never been good at keeping a regular update schedule. However, I'll shoot for a new chapter every two weeks. If it seems like I'm taking forever, feel free to bother me until I get it done.
(4) Chapter title and lyrics from the song of the same name by The Ink Spots.
(5) 02/03/09: Thank you to sparrowinsky for the beta. Chapter two has now been edited and reposted.
Chapter: 1. With Plenty of Money and You
Character/Pairing: Charon, Lone Wanderer ("Kate"); Charon/Kate
Genre: Het, Pre-game and During-game (yeah, that sounds stupid, but whatever)
Rating: R
Summary: He is exactly what they made him to be, and he hates it.
Author’s Notes: I ♥ Ghoul Love. Also, at the pit of voles, here.
Spoilers: Multiple ones over the course of the fic concerning both main and side quests.
Warnings: Violence, swearing
Well, baby, what I couldn't do
With plenty of money and you.
In spite of the worry that money brings.
Just a little filthy looker buys a lot of things.
The moment the so-called "Lone Wanderer" had a hold of that condemning slip of wrinkled and worn paper, Charon felt a fire in his gut. His fingers tingled and his back itched where his combat shotgun chafed against his armor.
"I'll give you the pleasure of informing him yourself."
Charon certainly wasn't deaf, but his now-former employer was a bastard enough to pretend that was the case. At least he had the intelligence to realize the contempt Charon held for him.
Even from the corner, Charon could see the self-satisfied smirk on Ahzrukhal's face-a well-earned 2,000 caps, it would appear. Disgust mingled with the fire now raging through Charon, but not for his own self; rather for those who had decidedly made him who he was, through no consent of his own (as if he would have consented, of course). Brainwashing, Ahzrukhal claimed. Charon wasn't always sure himself, but whatever it was, that tiny slip of paper (oh, how he longed to burn it) held his fate-in fact, had held it for the last one hundred years.
Charon had heard everything that had transpired between the two, but as the Lone Wanderer approached, he made the decision to play dumb-for Ahzrukhal's sake.
"Talk to-"
The Lone Wanderer was quick with her response. Shaking her head, she said, "Slow down, there. I have good news." She glanced at the faded sheet of paper in her hands, before looking Charon straight in the eye, a smile on her face but a hardened look enveloping her eyes. "I'm your new employer."
Hearing it face-to-face as opposed to through eavesdropping was profoundly different, Charon found out, as he fought the relief attempting to force its way into his voice. Instead, he focused on the deed yet to be done, and the grim satisfaction he could already taste.
"You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal?" Charon glanced in Ahzrukhal's direction, but the Ghoul was busy serving a drink to a patron. Before him, the Lone Wanderer nodded with finality. More to himself, Charon stated, "So, I am no longer in his service." Even more profound than hearing it face-to-face was hearing it from his own lips (or what was left of them, anyway). Now that he had, and having heard the facts stated three times now, it had truly sunk in. Ahzrukhal had held his contract for so long, Charon had been sure he would die before Ahzrukhal relinquished it.
Free from tyranny. Free from an unruly bastard who deserved to die-by none other than the man whom had grudgingly guarded him for the past twenty-some years.
Which he would. Soon, in fact. Very soon.
"Please, wait here." Charon could feel his shotgun digging against his armor again and his hands shook with anticipation. "I must take care of something."
The Lone Wanderer tilted her head, almost curiously, but Charon wasn't stupid, and he knew the Lone Wanderer was just as anxious as he was. Someone had given her inside info on the wretched Ghoul, and she wanted him just as dead as Charon did.
Charon almost smiled, but the act was so unfamiliar to his face that he was afraid his muscles would refuse to form one at all. He opted instead for the blank look he typically reserved for dealing with Ahzrukhal, and approached the man, fingers twitching.
"Ahzrukhal," he began. The Ghoul turned to him, a fake smile plastered on. Charon continued, unabated. "I am told that I am no longer in your service."
The fake smile continued. Could the man honestly be so daft? "That's right, Charon," said Ahzrukhal. He placed a glass he had been cleaning down on the counter beside him, and the fake smile turned to a smug smirk. "Have you come to say goodbye?"
Something like that.
In one fluid motion, Charon grabbed the shotgun from his back, flicked the safety, aimed (not that there was much aiming to do, at this range) and fired. Bits of Ahzrukhal's mid-section spattered across Charon's front, and behind the bar. On the ground, laying and gurgling in a pool of his own blood and innards, Ahzrukhal still managed to give Charon that damn smug look.
Charon blew that smug look straight off his face.
*
Charon dipped down next to Ahzrukhal and nearly gave him another shot of lead, but refrained. He dug through the dead Ghoul's belongings, just under the counter, and retrieved a swollen bag before standing and turning to his new employer.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go." He extended his hand to the Lone Wanderer, the bag held loosely between two of his fingers while his other hand was occupied reattaching his shotgun to the back of his armor. After the short-lived look of confusion had left her face, the Lone Wanderer accepted the return of her 2,000 caps.
"What the fuck was that?"
Both Charon and the Lone Wanderer stared in the direction of the voice, but only Charon looked away after a moment, to eye the rest of the crowd that had gathered. The girl, on the other hand, seemed oddly pleased and kept her gaze focused upon the man who had spoken. Perhaps she'd had other business here in Underworld, Charon mused and again flicked his gaze back to the girl and the Ghoul.
She and the Ghoul were now having an avid discussion and moving back into the next room to continue speaking. Charon followed the Lone Wanderer dutifully and took his place behind her as she sat across from the scandalous Mister Crowley.
"...I've got this list of people. Ghoul bigots. Real scum," Crowley was saying. Charon watched with amusement. He wondered if the Lone Wanderer knew what Crowley was really up to with these "Ghoul bigots." From the way she'd clearly known about Ahzrukhal, he suspected she did and was in it for whatever Crowley wanted.
Charon had listened to Ahzrukhal drone on about the money he and Crowley could make if they sold whatever it was Crowley was seeking access to, while Crowley continually stated he wanted it for himself and didn't need Ahzrukhal's help. Of course, in further attempts to persuade the stubborn Ghoul, Ahzrukhal would bring up Charon, mentioning how he could simply order Charon to go and retrieve it, with no danger involved for either Crowley or Ahzrukhal.
Charon, duty-bound, would have done it, but he wouldn't have been happy about it by any means. He had never enjoyed being an errand boy for any of his employers. Bouncer for the Ninth Circle and personal bodyguard for Ahzrukhal weren't necessarily his preferred positions either. Charon would much rather be out in the wastes, killing raiders and mutants side-by-side with his employer. He had never considered himself to be a sedentary sort of person.
But now, with the Lone Wanderer as his employer, he was hopeful that his job would be different. Listening to Galaxy News Radio broadcasts had brought word of her activities and accomplishments, and from the sounds of it, she was always out fighting, fighting, fighting. Doing the right thing, in most instances, but still fighting.
Already antsy, Charon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He'd been standing in that corner for far too long. He was ready to see the Wastes again.
"Bring me back a key or a ring or something." Sneaky bastard.
Crowley stood and shook hands with the Lone Wanderer before departing for his room over at Carol's Place. Then, the Lone Wanderer did something completely unexpected.
"Charon," she said, "sit down, would you? You're making me uncomfortable, and I'd much rather see your face while we're talking."
Stunned, Charon did as she asked, taking Crowley's vacated seat.
Furrowing her brow, the Lone Wanderer said, "You seem...surprised." Her fingers drummed the table absently. Deep in thought, but still interested in holding a conversation. How strange.
"I am," Charon simply said. "Ahzrukhal would have died before allowing me to sit with him, as if I were his equal. Or, allow his worthless back to remain unguarded for even a moment."
The Lone Wanderer chuckled. "Honestly, I much prefer my front." She smiled, before looking grim. "But seriously, Charon-you watch my back, and I'll watch yours. I'm not looking for a bodyguard, I'm looking for a companion who is capable of both watching my ass and keeping me company." She paused, her fingers stilling as well. "Are you up to it?"
"I was up to it the moment you purchased my contract."
"Charon." That hard look Charon had noticed earlier returned to her normally warm eyes. "I'm asking you. I'm not asking for further explanation as to what my owning your contract means."
Charon was silent. An employer asking him what he wanted? A first. Normally the contracts he made were far from mutual agreements. In fact, the thought made him almost uneasy.
"Yes," he finally said, though with little conviction. "I will do my best to provide you with my support and company."
She nodded. "Good. Now let's get the hell out of here already. I'm not so sure everyone's pleased you murdered their bartender and chems supplier."
A quick glance around the bar confirmed the Lone Wanderer's observation. Charon stood from his seat, and stepped aside to allow the Lone Wanderer to pass before him. As they exited the Ninth Circle together, she looked back at him and asked, "How's Megaton sound to you right about now?"
Charon grunted. "Never been." He dug between a space in his armor and scratched where the leather was chafing. His fingers came back out with small bits of mottled skin beneath the hardened nails, and he made an irritable noise. Longevity was not worth having skin fall off at every opportunity it got, even if it did (mostly) heal back up by the next day, it was still patchy and loose as ever-and hell, other Ghouls weren't even lucky enough to have their skin heal. Charon was "lucky": his cellular mutations had awarded him with a relatively long lifespan (he probably had a good hundred more years yet, if he was to guess) and relatively "normal" healing (as compared to smoothskins). Sure, he was still missing large parts of his skin, but at least what was left (and what was exposed) healed up nicely.
Lucky being a rather optimistic term, when one considered the circumstances behind his transformation into a Ghoul. But maybe those circumstances had made him different than other Ghouls, as opposed to lucky. Hell if he knew, and hell if he cared, at any rate.
At the thought of the circumstances behind his Ghoulification, a glower formed on his face. Nothing unusual to the other Underworld residents, of course, nor to himself.
But he hoped that, some day soon, the Lone Wanderer would change that. Whether it be by helping him get back at the assholes behind how he was today, or through other means, it was all he was silently asking of her. To give him hope, for the first time in a long time.
*
When he and the Lone Wanderer (Kate, he reminded himself. She'd said her name was Kate.) arrived at Moriarty's Saloon, Charon wasn't expecting to see another Ghoul. As Kate was sidling onto a barstool in front of the Ghoul, Charon stood just behind her at a distance he deemed close, but not too uncomfortable. After twenty years of bouncing, he wasn't going to let his guard down in a bar by taking a seat-and especially not a bar where the looks he was getting from the patrons were less than favorable. He imagined the Ghoul tending the bar was probably not working here by choice. It was either that, or the idiot was masochistic.
"So, Gob," Kate started, waving him off when he offered her a drink, "what've you got for me today?" She was all smiles and big, bright eyes. Charon wanted to chuckle, thinking the girl probably had no idea just what one little smile could do to a man, and a Ghoul doubly so.
The name clicked into place in Charon's head. Gob was that "son" Carol was always talking about (when Greta wasn't around, of course). Poor bastard didn't seem to be as well off for himself as he probably thought he'd be.
Gob took a long look around the bar before saying, "A couple of stimpaks and some Rad Away." He stiffened as a door slammed upstairs. "Usual price?" The Ghoul had a huge smile on his face as he talked and Charon wondered just how huge of a crush he had on Kate, probably the only human in town who treated him right.
Kate nodded and set a bag of caps on the counter. With one final look almost directly behind him, Gob dipped and reached under the counter, coming back up with a handful of stimpaks and a packet of Rad Away. As Kate packed away the items into a number of easy access pouches lining her waist, Gob pocketed his payment and immediately moved to refill some sorry-looking man's drink. The creaky sound of a door opening in the back captured Charon's attention momentarily as a white-haired man stepped behind the counter.
Charon watched the white-haired man idly. Moriarty, he concluded, after the man approached the register and punched in the combination to open it. Moriarty sifted through the register's contents quickly before slamming the drawer shut and making his way over to where Gob was refilling drinks. A sudden movement sent Gob to the floor with pleas for Moriarty not to hit him again, while Moriarty demanded to know why the till was short.
Gob's pleas sent a sharp pain through Charon, and he felt an emotion he hadn't felt in years: shame. Charon remembered Gob. He remembered him very well, as he remembered everyone from that period in his life. As much as he wished he could forget what he'd done (been forced to do, he corrected), he couldn't. It hurt, thinking of it again, and he cursed his creators for failing to program emotions out of him. It would have made things a whole lot easier for him over the years. Instead, the best they'd done was put a metaphorical lock on his emotions: he felt (holy hell, did he feel sometimes), he just didn't show it.
He heard Kate sigh. "Poor Gob," she murmured. "No matter how hard he tries, Moriarty just finds a way to take what few spare caps he has." Charon swallowed. He wanted to leave. Right fucking now, before Gob got a better look at him. He felt guilt-ridden enough.
But Kate was ordering two purified waters and Charon wasn't about to express his eagerness to leave. It would lead to too many questions that Charon wasn't willing to answer; questions that he knew, with one simple command, he would have to answer, whether he liked it or not.
Gob's hands trembled as he set the two water bottles down in front of Kate. Charon turned around but he could feel the other Ghoul's eyes burning two deep holes into his back.
"Who's your friend?" Gob rasped.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Gob," Kate said, sincere apology in her voice. "I should have introduced you earlier. This is Charon." She turned her head to look at him, then tugged on his arm. "Don't be a sourpuss, Charon," she teased. "Sit down and say hello."
"If that is what you command, then I shall do it," Charon instinctively said. "However, I feel that I may fail to provide you support from such a position."
"Fuck the support. No one's going to mess with me here, Charon. So relax. Sit down and talk with us for awhile." Kate's voice was firm and unwavering. Charon obeyed her immediately. If she felt she did not require support at this moment, so be it; he would provide her the "company" she'd previously asked of him. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
Charon took great care to open the water bottle Kate had purchased for him. Anything to keep his face from Gob. He'd stare at the counter all night if he had to (and oh, how the thought of sitting all night in this hellhole and avoiding the gaze of a Ghoul who certainly loathed him irked him).
Again, Charon could feel Gob's gaze burning straight through him. Hearing Charon's name had more than likely been enough to spark Gob's memory, but Charon didn't want to see the hate in the Ghoul's face. He'd seen it enough. There were still Ghouls who thought of him as a worthless scourge, even after knowing there had been nothing he could do.
Thankfully, Kate kept Gob's interest enough of the time that Charon was free from scrutiny. An hour passed, and patrons, one after another, had been filing out, until it was only himself, Kate and Gob left. Moriarty had gone upstairs long ago, and the whore in the corner had gone up as well, with a man trailing resolutely after her. Charon longed to leave. It was obviously closing time, and certainly Gob had duties yet to attend to.
But Kate was persistent in getting Charon engaged in conversation. She'd been trying (to little avail) over the past few days to get him to speak outside of warnings and tactical appraisals as they'd traveled to Megaton, but Charon was keeping his mouth shut. The problem was that Kate wasn't getting the picture that he wasn't interested in talking. It'd been almost ingrained into him after all these years, that his employers simply didn't give a mole rat's ass about what he had to say, or whether he had anything to say at all. But the girl was stubborn as hell, and Charon wondered was when she was going to give up and outright order him to speak his mind.
"Where'd you and Charon meet, anyway?" Gob was asking. Charon was focusing intently on the nearly empty bottle in front of him, pretending to read the well-worn label.
Kate took a final swig from her own bottle. "Underworld," she said. "I bought his contract from some lousy scumbag of a Ghoul down there."
Charon watched the Ghoul from the corner of his eye. He didn't like where this conversation was headed. It was time to derail it, before it got out of hand.
"Miss Kate," Charon began.
"Please, Charon-just Kate."
"Kate," he amended, "may I suggest that we depart for lodgings? You're looking as if you need your rest. It has been a long day."
Kate nodded, agreeing, and stifled a yawn. "Charon's right. I'm dead tired." She stood and stretched, before turning back to Gob. "I'll stop by before we leave tomorrow morning."
"I-I'd like that," Gob stammered, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Charon took Gob's momentary distraction to stand himself, but the Ghoul's peripheral vision was sharp.
The two locked eyes and Charon knew he deserved the look of cold loathing he received.
Charon had done many terrible things in his life, but none had yet to beat what he'd put Gob and countless other Ghouls through. What many of them were probably still going through, if Gob's situation was any example. He deserved their hate. He always would.
Maybe one day he would forgive himself, for having been stupid enough to fall into this life.
Maybe.
Notes:
(1) I hated giving the Lone Wanderer a name, but I didn't want to call her the "Lone Wanderer" throughout the entire fic. Therefore, she is henceforth "Kate."
(2) "Kate" is a reference to Hecate, a fellow psychopomp (a spirit, angel or deity whose responsibility is to guide newly-deceased souls to the afterlife) to Charon. However, this is only a superficial reference, as the -cate in Hecate isn't pronounced anything like Kate. Also, "Kate" after "Catherine." (Yes, I will admit that I didn't make this connection until after the Hecate thing.)
(3) Fic title and summary, and chapter title and lyrics are from The Ink Spots songs of the same names: "We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)" and "With Plenty of Money and You."
(4) I'm trying to keep Charon as in-character as possible, but still give him depth. Considering so little is actually revealed about him in-game, I think I'm allowed a little leeway. :P
(5) And yes, I did do extensive research on Charon by interrogating Ahzrukhal over and over again (loading saves when I had to) until I had copied down every single bit of information regarding Charon and the purchase of his contract. Don't judge me! XD
(6) 02/02/09: Thank you to sparrowinsky for the beta. Chapter one has now been edited and reposted.
Title: My Echo, My Shadow and Me
Chapter: 2. Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall
Character/Pairing: Charon, Lone Wanderer ("Kate"); Charon/Kate
Genre: Het, Pre-game and During-game (yeah, that sounds stupid, but whatever)
Rating: R
Summary: He is exactly what they made him to be, and he hates it.
Spoilers: Multiple ones over the course of the fic concerning both main and side quests.
Warnings: Violence, swearing
Into each life some rain must fall
But too much is falling in mine
Into each heart some tears must fall
But some day the sun will shine
It was a relatively cold night for the arid Wasteland but Charon hardly felt it. He was distracted with his own thoughts and just barely straggling behind Kate as she led him to wherever it was they were staying for the night. Charon hoped it wasn't the common house, easily spotted at the far northwestern corner of Megaton; he didn't appreciate being under the scrutiny of anyone, even if he could care less what they actually thought of him.
Kate was leading him in the opposite direction, however. He followed, quietly, an eye still out for danger. No place was safe in the Wastes, even a settled and halfway-civilized one; Charon wasn't about to let his guard down and allow either Kate or himself to be injured. He would be failing in his duty-and in his line of "work," failure meant death, or worse. He had never failed any of his previous employers (no matter how much hatred he held for them) and he wasn't about to start now, with the only one who had ever treated him as a fellow human being. Despite her unrelenting attempts to get him to "open up," as she had put it, he would be upset to lose her as an employer, and she would be the only one he'd ever felt that way about. She was leaps and bounds better than Charon's previous few employers, after all.
The girl had a good set of eyes and ears on her, though Charon couldn't help but curse at her occasional naivety. She still had a lot to learn, but at least she knew her way around a gun. She wasn't a crack shot (not yet, anyway), but she held her own. It was, he figured, the only reason she was still alive, nearly two months after Three Dog had started his weekly reports on her-after her escape from that Vault. He wondered if she realized that herself and whether it had influenced her purchase of his contract, besides knowledge of Ahzrukhal's misdeeds and Charon's hatred of him. A simple knowledge of human behavior was all the girl seemed to need at this point in her "journey."
Charon chewed on the thoughts for a little while, thankful he'd managed to push his rage and shame to the back corners of his mind, as Kate continued to lead him around the winding paths of Megaton's walkways.
Moments later, Kate had pulled out a large key and was shoving it into the lock of a rickety-looking shack they'd stopped in front of-her house, he quickly assumed. He followed her dutifully inside and immediately searched for lurking threats.
"Good evening, Madam!"
Charon whirled at the sound, his shotgun raised at the Mister Handy that had floated down the stairs. The damned thing didn't seem hostile, but Charon wasn't taking any chances.
"Miss Kate, I have detected a possible threat in your household." He gripped his shotgun harder, ready to blast the robot to pieces.
"Stand down, Charon," Kate said, amusement tinging her voice. "It's just Wadsworth. He's no threat."
Charon complied, though reluctantly, and with an eye on the robot as he put away his shotgun. All someone had to do was remove the Mister Handy's combat inhibitor and it would go on a rampage. He would have to keep a close watch at all times, to prevent such a catastrophe, just as he had in Underworld with Cerberus (whenever Charon hadn't been stuck in The Ninth Circle, of course). Strangely, though most of the residents had felt a certain distaste for him, Charon felt compelled to protect them and the sanctity of what most Ghouls called home. In recent years, he'd chalked it up to his own feeble attempt at apologizing (the problem being that he wasn't sure how many Ghouls had accepted it).
Sitting in a chair nearby, Kate was stripping off her battered leather armor. Charon stood quietly near what appeared to be the kitchen, awaiting further instruction.
"What's the story between you and Gob?" she questioned, looking over at him as she untied her boots. "I couldn't help but notice the, ah...tension."
Charon was quiet. Kate continued staring at him for a few moments longer, before shrugging and dropping the subject, much to Charon's surprise. Any other employer would have pushed, ordering Charon to tell them, but Kate continued to distance herself from the norm of those who'd come before her. It was refreshing. To be the sole master of his thoughts was extremely welcome.
"Well," Kate stood, her armor piled in her arms and she now only dressed in a skin-tight t-shirt and shorts, "the bedroom's upstairs. If you want," she shifted her weight, almost uncomfortably, "you can sleep in my bed. I'm willing to give it up, or even share it, if you'd prefer. I know it gets a little chilly in here sometimes..."
Again, Charon was quiet. As much as the thought of sleeping next to an attractive woman was appealing to the man in him, the professional in him kept him quiet. He wondered whether her offer was one of pity, or if she truly was that generous and hospitable of a person. How she could continue (and had survived) in the Wastes with such an attitude was beyond him-but a small part of him hoped that the Wastes would never beat it out of her. He was surprised enough that it hadn't already.
Or maybe she just got cold at night. Who was to say?
Kate continued on at Charon's lack of response, perhaps realizing she had tread on thin ice, though not understanding what the problem was (he wondered if she'd gotten a good whiff of him yet, in all honesty-Ghouls weren't exactly the most pleasant-smelling bed companions). "Or, there's a couch in the spare room upstairs that you can sleep on, if you'd prefer."
He certainly would prefer, in this case. He didn't want to disgust the girl too soon, after all. He nodded at Kate, informing her of his decision, and followed her up the stairs (skirting around "Wadsworth" with a wary eye). Kate opened the door to the spare room and mumbled something about wanting to get an early start tomorrow morning, before stumbling into her own room, dropping her gear haphazardly on the desk and slumping into her bed. Charon, watching the scene with slight humor, knew she was already asleep. He made a note to have the girl slow down when they were out in the Wastes-she'd worn herself out on their two-day trip from Underworld to Megaton. It would do them no good if she continued with such a pace. Longer travel time was a welcome price to pay for increased stamina and awareness.
Charon stepped into the spare room and settled down on the couch, his shotgun held firmly in his hands and his eyes on the rest of the house. Kate might trust her robot, but he certainly didn't.
*
He slept for perhaps two hours, total. "Wadsworth" (or as Charon had taken to calling him, "That Catastrophe Waiting to Happen") had spent most of the night moving between the upstairs and downstairs, cleaning, and Charon had slept lightly. Every time That Catastrophe had headed upstairs, the sound of its propulsion system had Charon's eyelids open and his grip tightening around his shotgun. He would watch the robot carefully through the doorway until it finished its routine and headed back downstairs. Then, Charon would fall back into a doze, his mind silent and resting, but his body anxiously waiting until the damned robot came back up.
At some point, the robot finally stopped, its routine over with, and Charon fell into a slightly deeper slumber knowing it would remain downstairs during the daytime hours. Pre-programmed to clean during the house's occupants sleeping hours and to stay out of the way while they were awake... until someone came in and tampered with it, and Charon didn't trust anyone in Megaton to refrain from doing so.
Then again, none of them probably had the brains to do it anyway. They had built their town around an atomic bomb, after all.
Regardless, he slept deeper, knowing he would still awaken at the slightest disturbance in the house.
Which he did, minutes later, as Kate got up and padded past the open doorway, her blanket wrapped firmly around her. Charon vacated the couch, standing and stretching, before reattaching his shotgun to the back of his armor and heading downstairs after her.
She was already in the tiny kitchen, rummaging through the shelves in search of something decent to eat.
"What do you want to eat, Charon?" She eyed a box of Cram suspiciously, holding it an arms length away, before tossing it into the garbage can nearby. "I may not have much, but I can accommodate nearly any preference you've got..."
She sounded tired. Charon wondered whether it was a good idea to let her cook.
Deciding it was not a good idea, he wordlessly sidled next to her and took the box of food from her hands. He set it back on the shelf before gently guiding her to the nearest chair and moving back into the kitchen. Knowing they probably would not return to her home for many weeks, Charon picked the most perishable items off her shelves to cook up. The robot probably threw out rotten food and restocked the house weekly, but there was no point to letting perfectly good food go to waste.
While Charon set to work cooking a couple of Salisbury steaks and eggs, Kate wrapped her blanket tighter around her and pulled her legs up and into her chest. Charon felt something like relief flood him as he struck "pity" off the list of reasons for her offer last night. Clearly, the girl did not tolerate cold well. It was a good thing the Wasteland did not suffer "winter," as it had before the bombs-Kate would probably die (figuratively, of course).
Kate picked up a nearby book and leafed through it. Charon watched her momentarily before checking whether she had any fruit or vegetables stocked in her fridge. He would prefer to give her a well-rounded meal, but such a concept was hard to come by in the Wastes. Hell, he'd grown up eating mole rat and dog meat, for the most part, with the occasional "treat" of Mirelurk meat. He didn't even learn what a vegetable or a fruit was until he was fifteen, and it had been years since he'd had one that didn't taste like irradiated shit.
He found the fridge was stacked full of Sugar Bombs and blood packs. It took awhile for the odd site to register, and it took the sound of the eggs and steaks sizzling to bring him back away from the site. Closing the fridge, he was confused, but felt little desire to ask why such an odd combination of items were packed into her fridge. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer.
He was beginning to question the girl's sanity, however.
As he flipped the eggs, Kate addressed his unasked question, as if suddenly remembering that Charon was new to both her home and her kitchen.
"Oh, uh," she pulled on her graying blanket sheepishly, "don't mind the Sugar Bombs and blood packs in the fridge. I'm...helping out a couple of people."
Charon, though not known for his humor, couldn't help but laugh. "I've had some strange food combinations in my day, but I believe that this is the strangest."
"What...? No!" Kate stammered. "You've got it all wrong, Charon! The Sugar Bombs are for this nice Ghoul scientist of a sort I met in the Northwest Seneca Station, and the blood packs are for...well..."
Busy checking the steaks and then slipping the finished eggs onto plates, Charon didn't bother indicating she should get on with it already.
"...vampires," she finished lamely.
At this, Charon gave the cooking steaks a look. Well, he'd heard of stranger things in the Wastes.
"I see," he mumbled. He added an addendum to his earlier question of the girl's sanity: too damn kind to be even remotely sane. From being the friendliest he'd ever seen a human be toward Ghouls, to donating blood to vampires (he hoped it wasn't her blood, at least, but a smattering of leftover packs still found in the various hospitals around the Wastes), to saving his sorry ass...
Then again, he shouldn't jump the gun. Having an idea of why she'd purchased him wasn't close enough to a sure thing for his tastes. Besides her need for a companion to aid her, he had little idea about her motives, and he wasn't going to allow himself to make hasty assumptions. Besides, where was his pride? He was self-sufficient-he didn't need anyone to save his ass when he could do it himself. The only reason he hadn't snuffed Ahzrukhal before Kate had purchased his contract was due to the fact that the Ghoul had never gone anywhere, making it increasingly difficult to come up with loophole ways to murder the bastard.
Charon grabbed a fork and lifted the finished steaks out of the pan. Tossing a knife and fork onto each plate, he grabbed one, turned to face the living area, and proffered it to Kate. She dropped the book she'd been skimming onto the shelf beside her and gratefully took the plate.
"Thank you, Charon," she said, giving him a warm smile before digging right into the eggs. She wasn't used to be waited on, it would seem.
Charon took his own plate and retreated to the other chair in the room. He ate quickly, hardly acknowledging the slight tingle of radiation in the food on his tongue, while watching Kate pick her own, slow way through her own breakfast. The first few bites from her steak brought a sour look to her face, but she continued eating.
"Charon," she started, chewing thoughtfully on a particularly tough piece of the meat, "it's unnerving how quiet you are. You should talk more."
As if to prove her point, he remained silent. Even if he did speak his opinion, Kate would hardly like what Charon had to say. "Always the pessimist," the saying went, and Kate was, quite obviously, an optimist.
"I mean, really, Charon," she continued, undeterred, "I'm sure you've got the most fascinating opinions, having been around for so long and all. And I'm guessing no one's ever really asked them of you before,"-she had guessed correctly-"so,"-and here was the punchline (because at this point, her request was little more than a joke to the stoic Charon)-"lay 'em on me. I'd love to hear them."
Silence, still. He wasn't going to give in easily. Despite previous employers feeling no desire to hear Charon's opinions, he had always been one of those types who normally kept to himself anyway.
Kate, ever the curious one, while not always talking, was always thinking and never afraid to voice her opinion, or to push and prod where necessary in order to get the information she needed. She had a gift with words, and she wasn't afraid to use it.
Despite his obstinance, Charon knew it would take only one command and he would spill his guts to her. But Kate was clearly stubborn, and refused to resort to such a tactic. Charon knew, however, that he would eventually give in to her request.
After all, it had been a very long time since he'd been allowed his freedom of speech. He was ready to take advantage of a good thing.
*
"Hey, Charon," Kate called. Charon turned from his self-established post by the door to see Kate pulling at the straps on her armor, securing it in place. She gestured to a book on the table beside her. "I've got to go up to Moira's and get some supplies. Could you do me a favor and give this to Gob? I'd do it myself, but I'm afraid we won't have time..."
Charon walked over and scooped up the book. It was a hardcover, well-worn and dirty. Inside, the pages were stained a deep yellow and the ink was faded, though still readable. Since books had not fared well after the bombs, Charon had read very few during his youth. He'd been taught to read and write by his father, but had found very little use for the actions throughout the majority of his life. Most of his employers preferred to assume he was illiterate anyway, or didn't know either way. Reading and writing simply were not the most important skills anymore-they had been replaced in importance by the ability to kill.
Kill, or be killed. The words were all too familiar to Charon and they brought a sour taste to his mouth every time he heard the utterance.
Without a word, Charon left Kate's home and reluctantly trekked over to Moriarty's. This early in the morning, no one but the crazy down by the nuke (Charon was surprised he hadn't turned Ghoul yet, though all of the telltale signs were there) and the shopkeepers were up, and Megaton was near silent, bar the howling Wasteland winds whipping against the town walls. Considering the time, Charon was not surprised to find only Gob up and about in Moriarty's, setting up the bar for the day's patrons.
By the look of pure and absolute hatred on Gob's face, Charon was not a welcome customer.
"Off your leash?" Gob remarked in a tone clearly labeled "For Charon Only."
It stung, but Charon brushed it off. He'd heard worse over the past twenty years. "I am on an errand."
"Unless it's for Kate," Gob scowled, fingers tightening around a cloudy glass he'd been wiping down before Charon's arrival, "I have nothing for you."
Charon shook his head. "Perhaps I spoke incorrectly," he said. "I am here to deliver a package from Miss Kate to you. However," he raised what was left of his eyebrows and shrugged, "if you do not wish to receive it, then I shall leave and inform Miss Kate at once."
Gob scoffed. "What is it?"
Charon moved a few steps closer to the bar and held out the book to Gob. The sullen Ghoul snatched it from Charon's fingers and flipped open the cover to find out what the book was. A smile crossed his face a moment later.
The perfect opportunity was at hand, Charon knew, but his throat was suddenly constricted and his mind a jumbled mix of emotions, thoughts and who knew what else. The words he'd been wanting to say for years began to form, before blowing back into the mess they'd come from. He opened his mouth, in hopes the words would return, but they never did, and he managed an "I'm..." before Gob gave Charon a funny look and returned to glowering.
Forgive and forget, right? How was Charon supposed to forget if no one would forgive? His past hung like a dark cloud over him, and it was days like this that the cloud poured rain upon him-drenching him to the bone. For twenty years Charon had been waiting for one little break in the clouds as a sign that someone had finally forgiven him for his despicable transgressions. But as more time passed, he feared the day would never come, and that the dark cloud would haunt him until the end of his days. It didn't matter how sorry he felt, how hard he worked to make it all up to his fellow Ghouls when he couldn't even say, "I'm sorry." He'd begun to wonder if the words were even in his vocabulary anymore-whether his programming allowed him to say "sorry."
"Go and take care of Kate," Gob said, "like you're supposed to."
Charon turned to leave, his job done, but he paused at the door as Gob began murmuring behind him:
"The day that I am free from Moriarty's rule will be the day that I consider forgiveness."
With the way things were going for Gob, Charon understood that he would never be forgiven.
Notes:
(1) I've been busy with school and being sick, so this chapter took longer to finish than I'd wanted it to. But, the good thing is, it's done now.
(2) Gob and Charon still don't get along. Sorry, guys.
(3) I warn you now that I've never been good at keeping a regular update schedule. However, I'll shoot for a new chapter every two weeks. If it seems like I'm taking forever, feel free to bother me until I get it done.
(4) Chapter title and lyrics from the song of the same name by The Ink Spots.
(5) 02/03/09: Thank you to sparrowinsky for the beta. Chapter two has now been edited and reposted.