Fallout 1. Human Shaped Warmth

**Don't Stop**, Ch. 1

A/N: Yes, I'm doing a Charon/LW fic. Yes, I'm aware that this is done a lot! I guess you'll just have to trust that my Lone Wanderer is a very original character, and you'll have to give me plenty of feedback so that I can keep it original. This is my first Fallout fanfic, so I will want to hear from you, my readers, about how I'm doing. This will eventually be a ghoul/human relationship, so if that makes you uncomfortable, back it on up out of here - I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable! If at this point you haven't left yet, enjoy!

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**Human-Shaped Warmth**

Charon remained stoic as she slowly removed her battle armor, not attempting at all to avert his eyes (she would laugh at him, that entrancing, melodic laugh) and inwardly rolling his eyes at the irony of the jukebox upstairs playing the Ink Spots' _Maybe_.

She took care to remove every piece slowly and check herself for gunshot wounds; she was on so many chems sometimes that the damage went unnoticed until a later, sometimes inconvenient date. She winced as she removed the torso piece and discovered a fresh bullet hole in her shoulder – the work of the raiders they'd run into on their way back from the latest exploring expedition. Why she went on them was a mystery to him, but it was his job to keep her alive, and hell if he was going to fail.

She rummaged in her pack for some tweezers and glared at the wound as if it had deliberately caused her discomfort. Experimentally, she prodded the flesh around the hole, and when it gushed minimal amounts of blood, she inserted the tweezers and attempted to pull out the bullet. If the face she made was any indication, the thing wasn't coming out easily. Charon knew she would have trouble trying again, and the only thing that would probably make her was his watchful eye.

She always did her best to appear strong in front of him. She was foolish.

As per his contract, he weighed the importance of a direct order against what he knew she needed but would never ask for, deciding on the latter's priority within a few seconds.

She had gone back in for a second try as he moved forward, taking the tool from her pale, smooth hands without a glance for approval. She sighed, resigned, and moved so that he would have better access to her shoulder.

He inserted the tool quickly and efficiently, felt around for the edges of the bullet, grabbed it, and pulled at the necessary angle. She gave a small cry as the metal came loose, but quickly reached up to stem the flow of blood replacing it and said, "Thanks," with a small appreciative smile.

Charon, who hadn't forgotten her actions moments before, merely mumbled, "Yeah, sure." He didn't want to encourage her. She was incorrigible.

True to her character, she went back to the task of removing her battle gear as soon as she could move without gushing blood. By this time, the song had switched to _Crazy He Calls Me, _by Billie Holiday, and Charon couldn't help but frown. Billie Holiday was probably an incorrigible woman too. The smoothskin he called mistress was now stripping down as sensually as she could manage, just to get under his skin. In everything but this, she was the kindest person who had ever held his contract, but their daily home routine reminded him that she was also one of the most mischievous.

He dared not look away and risk assuring her of his discomfort, and soon she was wearing nothing but her customary half-tank top and the shortest shorts he'd ever seen. No one in their right mind wore that kind of stuff out in the wasteland, and he'd never had the privilege of sharing a home with anyone but his parents – and that was ages ago, long past his memory.

Sometimes she would wear some of the clothing they'd found out in the wasteland, and on those days, he was secretly relieved. He knew she wouldn't tonight, though. Lately she'd taken to wearing a dirty Chinese jumpsuit that suited her small curves perfectly, but just a few days ago, they'd stumbled upon Mama Dulce's and the horrors of the remnant Chinese officers, and he doubted she would wear it again for a long while.

Done with her tormenting for the time being, she wandered to the kitchen and looked through the shelves, trying to decide what to fix for dinner that night. "What'll it be? Pork N' Beans, or Blamco Mac And Cheese?"

His preference was automatically to be her preference, so he shrugged noncommittally. She laughed. "Mac and cheese, it is. I wish you would tell me what you want."

"Your desires suffice as my own," he replied tersely.

"Well, damn. I had no idea you wanted Colin Moriarty as badly as I did." She continued to prepare their dinner on her little stolen portable burner as calmly as she could, but he visibly stiffened, and she burst out laughing. "Relax! I couldn't be into that guy even if he were ten years younger and filthy rich. Keep in mind that he may very well be the second one. I couldn't be bothered. He's disgusting."

Charon relaxed, as she had instructed, but not _because_ she had instructed; her words were oddly comforting. Thinking of her with anyone was slightly disquieting. He took to watching her as she carefully prepared their slightly radiated meal with care. He tried not to, but he couldn't help observing the way her hips swayed as she stood there, or the way her short, unusually red hair shimmered in the dim light.

He noticed strange things about her sometimes, unimportant things. For instance, in the bulb light of their home (it felt weird thinking that word, _their_), her skin appeared unnatural and sallow; he couldn't help but note how beautifully it shone in the pale sunlight, in comparison. Still, even with the sickly tint, she was beautiful. He couldn't think that about many people these days.

She put the pasta in some bowls and popped a Rad-X as she told him to sit down. He knew that had he been human, she would have offered him one too, but she always chose more radiated foods for them to eat in the hopes that the radiation would help him. It did, too – he felt guilty. He wordlessly accepted his portion of the meal and took a seat across from her in the main room of their small little living space.

They were quiet for a few minutes as they ate quickly – they were famished from a long day of adventuring and time had taught them not to hesitate when eating even the grossest of foods. Survival was paramount. As usual, she was the first one to talk. "You know, I get a bad feeling in my gut when I think about what happened back there at Mama Dulce's," She began, and he could tell by the perplexed look on her face that she was trying to puzzle it over.

He took another bite and said, "It was unexpected, but it's the waste. We run into bastards with guns all the time." He was pretty sure that wasn't what she meant, but he waited for her to clarify.

She stared at him with that perplexed look, and said slowly, "It's more than that. It was that goddamn terminal, really... those soldiers had been there since the war. They infiltrated our country, helped their rulers drop the bombs, and didn't have the good fortune to die when it happened. They were ghoulified and spent all of those years just... hating. And one day we come along and all of the sudden, it's their existence or ours? It's not our right. More importantly, it wasn't our fight." She looked like she might be ill, and it took every ounce of his self control to keep from comforting her.

"We do what we can to survive," he said. "No more, no less. None of this is really your fight, but you do what you have to do. How many poor bastards do you think wandered into their clutches before we did?"

She looked thoughtful. "I don't know, but a lot, probably."

He stared her down, attempting to fortify her. "How many do you think they decided to talk to before shooting?"

She was indignant, now. "Well, none, probably! They sure as hell didn't stop to talk to us!"

He nodded sharply. "Don't feel sorry for those officers. They may not have known what they were getting into when they signed on for the job, but they knew they weren't gonna live forever. Two hundred years should be enough for any ghoul."

She smiled a sad smile. Charon lamented that her smiles were like that more often these days. "Thanks, Charon. You really know how to cheer a gal up."

Stoic expression intact, he muttered, "Just facts, Mistress."

She laughed. "Don't call me that," she complained with a chuckle. "My name is Keira, and you should use it."

He almost rolled his eyes at her, but held back. He knew she was different, but none of his contract holders had ever wanted him to address them by name before. It would be a hard habit to break.

His silence was met by further confrontation from her. "You know, that reminds me; we gotta talk. About you."

"Is there something wrong with what I've been doing?" he asked automatically.

She pulled a face. "Yeah, there is. I want you to be more expressive. I want to know what you're thinking more often. I value your opinion, and I want you to speak your mind. No more of this, 'Your desires suffice as my own' bullshit. If you want Cram for dinner, by all means, speak up!"

"Should I start now, then?"

She gave him a dry look. "Please."

"I'm not sure who in their right mind would want Cram for any meal ever, Mistress."

She laughed out loud and stood to take her empty bowl to the sink. "That's more like it! I knew there was some funny in you." She ran the water and began to rinse out her bowl. "Remind me to pick up some detergent on our next run," she said as an after thought.

He nodded and followed her to the small kitchen area, leaning against the wall as she grabbed his bowl out of his hands and began washing it too. "We don't have any left and we don't have many bowls either." She put the two semi-clean dishes into a spare box for cleaning later.

He watched, mesmerized, as she bent down to put it in the corner, her thinly muscled pale legs put on display quite blatantly. She righted herself and gestured for him to follow her upstairs. He did, albeit hesitantly.

On their way she grabbed her pack off of the workbench she'd been sitting on earlier, removing that bullet. Charon grabbed his from the bottom of the stairs and she set about their routine of unloading various items they'd collected in their travels. "Toss me the Nuka-Colas?" she'd say, and he would, watching her as she put them carefully into their pristine Nuka-Cola machine. "Can you put all that stuff that looks like useless junk in the locker downstairs?" was another order, and he complied without question. She had some schematics for some very strange weapons.

Before they were done, she'd collected a chem from the mini-lab, sealed up her bullet wound at the infirmary, and put away all of the spare guns she'd collected for parts in their various places – big ones in the locker and little ones in the filing cabinet. They had a system, and she stuck to it. As soon as they were finished, she collapsed into a peach pre-war chair that overlooked the rest of the upstairs. "We'll go visit Moira first thing in the morning... though I don't think she enjoys it when we sell her stuff; she likes buying better."

Charon remained silent as she surveyed their small loot. They had some pre-war money to sell, along with a few cartons of cigarettes and some Vodka, but the truth was, they didn't need the caps. Keira's careful saving had landed them with quite a small fortune; 5,000 caps was more than enough to buy whatever they needed and then some. They had a huge reserve of Stimpaks as well, and they were probably ready to open their own chems shop if they wanted to; they'd seen Paulie in Rivet City, though, and thought it would be a bad idea.

"I... gotta be honest, I think I'm having a hard time with the Tenpenny situation. If only I hadn't killed Tenpenny... but now that bastard Gustavo is in charge, and he wants nothing to do with Roy Philips and his gang. What would you do?" He could tell she was in a difficult, contemplative mood, and he wasn't used to having an opinion.

"I don't know, Mistress. There's something wrong about Roy, that's all I can tell. Your fragile diplomacy ain't gonna pacify him for long."

She looked relieved as she fidgeted. "So that's not just me? I thought that I could help him and talk some sense into those stuck up bitches in Tenpenny Tower, but I keep thinking, with all of the decent ones who agreed to give it a try, I can't feel comfortable orchestrating that. He seems so eager for blood."

Charon shook his head. "You wanna save the world, but sometimes there's no good choice and no good people, ghouls included."

She sighed. "I'm learning that every day." She glanced over at him and studied him for a moment. "You can't be comfortable in that recon armor! We're not getting shot up in here. Do you want help getting out of it?"

There she went again. He growled softly and began removing it himself, pulling on a pair of pants from his pack, and attempting to relax without his protective covering – it wasn't working out so well. He felt naked.

She laughed at his apparent failure. "Damn, are you as beat as I am? Being diplomatic is _exhausting._"

"I could sleep for a few hours, yeah," he replied uneasily. Slowly, he was beginning to grasp the purpose of an opinion again.

"Well, good. It's about twelve, we'll get a few hours. You can take the bed tonight," she said as she extracted herself from the chair and began walking to the adjacent room.

This time, Charon rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what would happen with that arrangement on a cold night like this. He made his way to the bedroom with some apprehension.

`~.oOo.~`

Charon awoke with a small human-shaped warmth pressed into his side. He glanced at the wall and was displeased to find darkness still prevalent in the sky. He tried to go back to sleep, but he was acutely aware of her breathing, shallow as it was, and the rise and fall of her chest, light as that was, against his arm.

Since it was a single bed, she'd managed to curl herself into him so that she wouldn't disturb him or fall out, but as a result, they were touching at nearly every point possible. Charon was unused to employers who could stand the sight of him, let alone ones willing to sleep In the same bed as him. One of her legs was against his, her protruding hipbone dug deliciously into his side and her chest was pressed distractingly into his arm. Her head was resting softly on the edge of the pillow and she'd nestled her freezing nose into his shoulder. Instead of one blanket, there were two, and he had to admit, it was better than the shivering he'd done the night before. Still – the shivering didn't hinder sleep as much as this.

Charon occasionally liked to pretend he wasn't attracted to his employer, but in this case, there was no pretending. She was a pretty smoothskin, and she was completely invading his space. There was nothing to be done for it but wait.

An hour later, he'd fallen back to sleep, and three hours after that, he woke again, much more pleased to see the sun up and Keira blinking sleepily without attempting to remove herself from his person. She was a little slow in the morning when they weren't roaming about.

He looked down at her expectantly as she further joined the realm of the living, and when she noticed him staring, she mumbled, "The couch was cold..."

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So, that was it! Action to come in the next chapter. What do you think? Let me know, in a review! I value constructive criticism, which means nice, well delivered advice. Bullying is just not nice, ask Butch.


	2. A Low Blow

**Don't Stop, **Ch. 2

A/N: I got my wisdom teeth removed today; the laughing gas was _amazing. _I've never had such a fun surgery experience in my life. Anyway, I've got to apologize in advance if there are any mistakes or general plot holes/loops: I'm on pain meds and I've got this huge ice thing on my face. Feel free to correct me on anything as long as you do it nicely, and point out anything you think is unusual or unintended. I always appreciate constructive criticism anyway; today I happen to need it! That being said, please enjoy chapter two, and even if you don't have any way to criticize, let me know how you liked it!

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**A Low Blow**

Charon finished suiting up as he smelled something awkward wafting from the kitchen area; he made his way downstairs and cautiously peered in to see what it was. Keira was still in her little undergarments with her back to him, so he didn't see much besides her pale shoulders and waist, but when she turned around with the pot, he knew it was bad.

"I made mirelurk with noodles!" she exclaimed brightly, and he inwardly cringed. She had taken to making strange combinations of any food they could find, recently.

"I hope it turned out okay; I figured it would be like tuna casserole... except, you know, it's mirelurk and those things are gross." She was smiling so happily at him, he couldn't help but nod shortly.

It was the closest thing to approval he knew how to show.

She beamed and split it into two bowls, grabbing dusty utensils as she went. She handed a bowl and fork to him and proceeded to sit in her usual spot in the living room. He followed suit and took a hesitant bite of their meal. He was relieved to find that the noodles subtracted from the grossness of the mirelurk and saddened to find that the mirelurk subtracted from the normalness of the noodles. He didn't want to offend her though, so he kept a perfectly neutral expression on as he devoured the strange meal.

She looked thoughtful as she ate, remarking optimistically, "well, it's better than the potato chip apple crisp I made the other day." He had to silently agree with her on that one. The pork n' beans with yao guai mixed in was a little ambiguous, too. The best mixture by far had to be the mac n' cheese and insta-mash. The cheese brought the otherwise cardboard-like potatoes to life.

They finished their food in near silence, Charon still pensive about the morning's developments – namely, Keira's lack of distaste toward him. The bed thing had happened before, but never quite so intimately, and never for so long. Usually when she awoke she was quick to extract herself from the blankets and forget it ever happened; this morning, she'd stayed quite naturally, and she hadn't felt any urgent need to remove herself.

Charon thought he might not dislike it if it happened again.

As Keira finished her portion of the meal, quietly but determined she spoke. "Today we're going to look for Dogmeat."

Charon fought to hide his look of concern for her. "But Mistress, the wastes are far too vast to hope-"

"Well, shit, Charon, I have to try!" she interrupted. "He's been gone for weeks! I can't just sit around and hope he comes back – why would he have run off like that, anyway? And what else have we got to do?!"

He looked down, his expression unwavering, as he asked quietly, "Where did you want to start, Mistress?"

She gave a small smile and said, "I had hoped to look around the entrance to Vault 101, maybe back at the scrapyard. Familiar places, the places he knows. And don't call me that."

He could see shining liquid pooling in the corners of her eyes, and he said, "Sorry." He couldn't trust himself to say more.

She blinked rapidly and got up, taking her bowl into the kitchen, rinsing it with irradiated water and tossing it in the box of dirty dishes. "Detergent today on the list of things we need – I'm going to suit up and then we can go. Can you grab some of the stuff we were going to sell to Moira? I'm thinking we can restock on ammo and see if she can't repair a few things while we're there. Might be more of an even trade, and she'll enjoy that. She's such a sweetheart," she finished, somewhat lamely.

She bounded up the rickety stairs and Charon focused on the radio. Roy Brown's "Mighty Mighty Man" was playing for about the second time that morning. He had to chuckle to himself, because any time they were home, she left the jukebox on the Galaxy News Radio station, and it wasn't bad stuff; his main issue with it was that it played only twenty songs. There was something to be said for variety, Charon thought, and as he pondered further, he realized that there were more problems with the station.

They only had one radio show which repeated periodically, and the show would have been amazing, were it not for the forlorn feelings that now accompanied its sad truth – Charon and Keira had discovered it recently upon their visit to Tenpenny Tower and subsequent exploration of the area North of Girdershade.

There, they had discovered the remainder of Rockopolis, nothing but a faint glow and a line of party flags alluding to its presence, and within, the body of the intelligent, cheeky "manservant," Argyle. Charon thought it was a great loss to the Ghoul race, and he could tell by the look on Keira's face that day that she did too.

The other major issue was the news – it was all stuff that, having joined up with the "Lone Wanderer" himself, he always knew before Three Dog spouted it off. He was rarely mentioned, and for that he was grateful. He didn't want word of his contract ownership switch to get out – slavers might see it as a chance for advantage against a lesser opponent than Ahzrukhal, and Charon couldn't allow himself to be a risk to his Mistress, not when she had so much else to worry about.

He had never allowed himself to think so much before about preferences or opinions, and he found the sensation not unwelcome.

~.oOo.~

By the time Keira was done changing and ready to go, Charon had stowed most of the random junk they'd collected in his own pack and gathered his weapons. He wouldn't go anywhere without his modified combat shotgun, and his Mistress liked it that way. He also typically carried their flamer, and Keira had entrusted him with the Fat Man – her least favorite weapon, but excellent in a pinch.

Likewise, she had her 10mm submachine gun strapped to her hip and her Chinese assault rifle strapped to her back. Her combat shotgun was strapped to the side of her pack, and she had a combat knife in her boot for good measure. Charon always made sure she was armed to the teeth before they left, but his concern was mostly unnecessary – she had been used to arming herself well before he became her employee. He usually had a hard time imagining how a small girl like herself had survived so long without anyone else, and suddenly remembered Dogmeat.

She had tried her hardest to keep him out of the action, though. Tried, and quite possibly failed. Charon didn't want her to know, if that were the case. It would be a low blow to her psyche.

"Ready?" she asked, with a hopeful smile on her face, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Always," he replied gruffly.

She walked toward the door, her gaze still trained on him. "Let's go!"

"As you wish."

"Stop that!" She laughed.

~.oOo.~

They stopped at Moira's, did some haggling with her, and loaded up on ammo, detergent, and various tools to make custom weapons, before dropping the detergent and seemingly useless junk off at the house. They were finally on their way out of Megaton, and Charon was becoming more apprehensive by the moment.

They crept out around the entrance to Vault 101, Keira calling out to the dog softly and getting only a few mole rat attacks in reply. There was no sign of Dogmeat to be found anywhere near the obscured vault opening.

The pair made their way up northeast across the river and to the scrapyard without incident, but that only made Charon more uneasy. It made no logical sense that nothing was in their path; years out in the wastes had taught him to be weary of that.

They continued their sneaking successfully until Keira got tired of whispering 'Dogmeat!' in the most urgent whisper-voice she had. There was no way he was going to hear her like that.

Hesitantly, she stood up and shouted, "Dogmeat! Where are you, boy? Dogmeat! Come."

When she got no reply, she walked a few paces and tried again. Charon was staring at her with concealed horror: she was going to bring the hellish fiends of the wastes down upon them if she kept that up. He couldn't decide whether to stop her or not, when he sensed movement in the corner of his eye.

"Dogmeat! Let's go-" Charon slapped a hand over Keira's mouth mid-shout and she eyed him angrily.

"Mistress, you mustn't attract the attention of anything hostile; don't be a fool!" He knew he was being harsh with her, but he wasn't sure why she was being so careless; that sort of thing could and usually did get a person killed out here. He removed his hand slowly and she tossed him a glare before starting up again.

"Dogmeat! Come home now! Come-"

"Mistress, this is folly; we need to find him without dying in the process!"

"Dogmeat! Dogmeat, please!"

He could tell she was getting frantic now. She was smarter than this, and she knew that too. "Mistress, please!" he whispered loudly. "Please listen to me, for our safety!"

She had the decency to look properly chastised and she shut up almost immediately. They searched in silence for a few minutes, before Keira ran to the northernmost side of the scrapyard. A few yards away, she could make out what appeared to be a furry grayish body, laying in the middle of the endless nothingness that was the waste.

"Oh, no... no, no, no," she moaned, as she ran quickly over to the mass and crouched down to examine it. Charon was beside her in seconds, and the sight they both beheld was not a pretty one. The corpse was definitely Dogmeat's, and it had several laser weapon burns all over it. It appeared as though he had been dead for about a week. Keira couldn't contain a soft cry at the certain realization.

Her voice was rough as she fought back tears and tried to maintain her control. "Laser weapons... anyone could have done this. Raiders, those Talon Company assholes, a stray Protectron. But why, Charon?" she said quietly, with some desperation as she stroked an unmarred section of the dog's head. "Why would anyone feel the need to do this to him? He wouldn't hurt a bloatfly unless it stung him first..." She was breathing unevenly and it was obvious that she was hurting.

Charon wanted to take her in his arms and make it all better; instead he lifted himself from the ground where he was crouched next to her and scanned the area for clues that could give her any piece of mind. After seconds, he found what he was looking for.

"It could have been anyone, but in this case, it was Enclave. I'm sorry, Keira," he said gruffly, the name passing through his lips with some small difficulty. Not five yards away, a body in an Enclave officer uniform lay crumpled, looking just about as long dead as Dogmeat was. The only signs of trauma to the body were large bites and scratches; the killing blow appeared to be a large chunk out of the neck that was missing. Blood had pooled around the body in that area but was almost completely dry and brown now.

"Shit," Keira muttered. "Shit, shit, shit! Fuck! _Enclave._ I fucking hate them! They shoot on sight, don't ask questions, and say they're trying to make a better world for us, but they fucking aren't!" She strode over to where Charon was currently standing next to the body, and kicked it as hard as she could. It crunched satisfyingly and she repeated the action several times as she shouted, "They've killed almost everyone I've cared about out here. They basically murdered my father, caused heart problems for that scientist I had to _leave behind," _she snarled, "And now they've gone and killed my dog. He was innocent. Who's next?! You?! I couldn't handle that! I couldn't fucking-" but she couldn't go on because she was sobbing so.

She struggled to remain upright, wrapping her arms around herself and crying as silently as she could, and Charon broke. He took a hesitant step forward, toward her, and opened his arms just slightly in invitation, so slightly that she could ignore it if she so chose. She collapsed so fully into him that he wanted to murder all of the Enclave soldiers right then, so that maybe she could smile again. As she fisted the front of his recon armor tightly and buried her face into his shoulder, he wrapped his arms securely around her, her wracking silent sobs shaking him to his core.

"Don't worry about me, Mistress," he said quietly. "I'll survive just fine; I always have. As long as I survive, so will you. They won't take any more if I can help it."

She nodded furiously into him as she tried to collect herself. When the sobs died down a bit, she regretfully extracted herself from his arms and muttered, "I know, I'm sorry. For losing it like that," she clarified, when he didn't respond. "I'm just so sick of all the bullshit."

He nodded. "We all are. Best we can do is survive, try to make sure the ones we care about survive too," he replied in his gruffest tone. She didn't need a soft place right now so much as she needed a pep-talk, he could tell. "You focus on living, and so will I," he finished.

She shook her head determinedly. "I understand that, but... there has got to be more to it. Otherwise all of this... this crap we've been doing is meaningless. If I wanted to just survive, there would be no point."

He nodded. "You do everything you can to make a difference."

She threw up her arms in frustration. "It's never enough! When will it make a difference? When will it be enough? I'm only one person; you and me, we're only two people! How are we supposed to make a difference in this world?!"

Charon looked serious for a moment, then spoke again. "A boy is walking down a beach covered in starfish that have washed ashore. He sees an old man throwing some of them back in, and he asks, 'With as many as there are, does that really make a difference?' The man bends over, picks up another one and tosses it back in, and replies, 'It makes a difference to that one.'"

She smiled at him just slightly, the pain still evident in her eyes. "Let's go home," she started to say, but was interrupted by a cruel voice.

"You're not goin' anywhere, pretty," it said, nastily, and they were soon being closed in upon by raiders. Charon had known her screaming wasn't going to go unnoticed. Amidst hateful chuckles, Charon could see that Keira had already drawn her shotgun, and she was quietly aiming it at her nearest target – a woman with a Mohawk. It only took one shot - 'Blam!' - and the woman went down with a hole in her face.

Charon and Keira managed to take out two more before they heard the Deathclaw approaching. They ran for cover behind a nearby truck; they heard shouts of "Oh, shit!" and "Die, motherfucker," before the raiders tried to find cover as well, but they were less quick and less successful, and they got a good amount of bullets into the beast before it finished ripping them apart.

When it began to seek them out, Charon and Keira jumped out of their hiding spots and Charon began pumping shots into it with his shotgun while Keira pulled a frag grenade and tossed it expertly at the Deathclaw's feet. Within seconds, thanks to the weakening the raiders must have contributed to, the Deathclaw was down for good. Keira ran over, sliced off it's hand with her combat knife, and said shakily, "I can make a replacement Deathclaw gauntlet with this..."

Charon grabbed the hand from her grasp, shoved it in her pack and said, "Let's go!"

Keira crouched down as best she could while running, a testament to her rapidly improving sneaking skills. They made their way back across the river, eager to return to Megaton. Other than a few radscorpions, they encountered nothing worth mentioning. As soon as they had handed a bottle of purified water to the poor beggar in front of Megaton's entrance and had made it through the gate themselves, Keira whispered, "I'm sorry."

Charon shook his head, refusing to acknowledge it, and they made their way tiredly up to their small shared home.

Keira quickly changed into Tenpenny's suit, which suited her curves perfectly and sort of complemented her shock of red hair, and she waited until Charon had changed out of his battle costume before she suggested sullenly, "I need a drink... wanna go to Moriarty's with me?"

Charon nodded weakly, and followed her out of the house and through the winding "streets" of Megaton. It was barely nightfall as they made their way up on to the walkway that led to Craterside Supplies, and once they'd made it beyond the locked doors of that friendly establishment, they ambled up and over the small hill, through the piece of airplane metal and right up to Moriarty's door.

Upon entering, they were greeted warmly by Gob, the Ghoul bartender who Keira had developed a soft spot for. "Hey, buddy, need a drink?" he asked in his scratchy voice.

"Definitely; what have you got?" she returned, playfully.

They ended up with a bottle of vodka, but before they could drink themselves into oblivion, they found themselves sitting in the corner in the side room, away from the radio on the bar. Keira was therefore trying to tune her pipboy radio when it happened, and Keira said in a hushed voice, "Hey, there's a distress signal coming from _Vault 101_..."

He focused on what she was saying, and when she finally tuned that channel, they listened closely to Amata's pleading voice. "She needs my help..." she trailed off, uncertain.

Charon stared at her, then at the bottle they'd half consumed, then back at her. "What would you have me do, Mistress?"

She stared hard at a corner of the room for a little while before responding, "I have to go back... you can accompany me or not, but I can't bring you very far into the vault, anyway..."

He made the decision easy for her by saying, "Where you go, I will follow, as far as you'll allow."

She nodded, her eyes tearing for the third time that day. "If... if there is trouble, you can come in, try to help me, but... they won't understand what you are, and I don't want to risk you getting shot over some silly misunderstanding. More likely than not, there won't be any violence. The people in that vault have certainly had enough of that to last a lifetime."

She thanked Gob on the way out, and ran back up to their home to change out of Tenpenny's suit and into something he'd never seen before. It was a Vault 101 jumpsuit, but instead of wearing it alone, as he'd often seen from vault dwellers, she wore it with a leather jacket that had a winding snake on the back. She slipped into her standard issue boots and threw on a pair of tinted reading glasses. With only her 10mm submachine gun strapped to her hip, she tossed on her pack and departed swiftly.

Charon followed, in a merc trenchcoat and a shady pre-war hat she had set aside for him some time ago. At least with the hat and some darkness, he might not be judged too harshly before he had a chance to explain himself. Just as always, he never went anywhere without his modified combat shotgun, but he decided the flamer and Fat Man were probably unnecessary. He was pretty dangerous without them, anyway.

They made their way up to the vault entrance where they'd searched for their lost companion earlier, and slipped in without issue. In the tunnel leading up to the huge vault door, Keira whispered, "I'm going to open it up and waltz in like nothing ever happened. I need you to settle yourself into a corner or something in the first room after this door; I know it's not pretty, but it's better than you getting killed. If anyone finds you, calmly say you're with me while using that hat to the best of your ability. If the person tries to injure you after that, feel free to shoot, but only to cripple, unless the person has a gun. I don't want you getting anywhere near close to dying on account of me, got it?"

Charon nodded sharply. "I don't like the look of this place... try not to be very long, or I may have to come in after you."

She laughed quietly as she inputted the new password, 'Amata'. The huge door slid open with a loud clang and the pair slipped inside, Charon making his way into a darker corner, and Keira opening the door which led further into the vault. "Good luck," he whispered as she stepped through.

"You too," she muttered, but she doubted he heard her.

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Well, what did you think? I strive on reviews, so let me know in one of those! Also, if you have any requests for locations, people, etc. that you want to see in this fic, I'm open to them. The next chapter should be coming up soon!


	3. Desperation in His Eyes

**Don't Stop, **Ch. 3

A/N: It's been a while, but I'm still alive and Don't Stop is too! I had fun with this chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy it as well. School's got me down, but I will do my best to keep updating! Let me know what you think of it, and remember, constructive criticism is always welcome. Some of you lovelies do it so well. If you have any scenario requests or characters you want to see, I'm always open to suggestions! Please enjoy the next chapter!

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**Desperation in His Eyes**

Keira crept slowly through the halls that had been her whole world for the majority of her life. Memories returned to her slowly, some of her few friends and some of her father. Oh, what she'd give at this point to turn back time and go back to what had been. It was all so simple back then, in the time before her father had decided there was more to life than survival.

Thinking back on it, it had probably always been his intention to leave when she reached maturity. His goal was one that she could see now, only after his death, he had been wholly devoted to. What was eighteen years in a vault if his intent was to break out and finish eventually? She supposed that maybe she should have thought about it before she'd been so harsh with him. She wished he'd known how much she appreciated him before it was too late. She'd never prepared for a 'too late'.

_He'll never know now. _

She brushed the thought aside as she bounded up a staircase and nearly ran into Officer Gomez.

"You! I can't believe it! We're supposed to report to the overseer if you come back, but... I never really thought there was anything wrong with you or your dad, to be honest. How is the old man?"

Keira swallowed and put on a stern look. "He's dead. I need to see Amata. Think you can take me to her?"

His eyes widened and he stammered, "S-sorry about your dad. Good man, I was always sure. Yeah, I'll take you to her. I don't suppose you know what's been going on down here?"

Keira shook her head. "I received a distress call from Amata, but I haven't got a clue why." She followed him as he set off at a brisk pace to the upper levels.

"Things are kind of crazy down here," he admitted. "The youth have been rebelling ever since you left – they want the doors of the vault to be open to the wastelands for trade purposes. The overseer won't hear of it. If nothing is done, I'm worried it'll lead to more violence. She may have called you here for that purpose, but I'm not sure, pardon me for saying this, that your presence will calm anything."

The redhead chuckled grimly and replied, "I know, but if I _can_ help, I will. Without violence. Enough blood has been shed on my account."

Officer Gomez smiled ruefully at her. "I trust you, you know. Good luck with the others. Amata's up there in the clinic – I hope your job is easy." He stopped at the bottom of a stairwell, and Keira nodded graciously. With a short wave, she steeled herself to her task and climbed the stairs with some apprehension. The cold gray walls of the vault weren't just reminiscent of her childhood anymore. They were linked forever with the horrifying experiments of the other vaults she'd been in as well. As some of those Vault Tech failures flashed through her mind, she fought back the rising bile in her throat. Sometimes it was necessary to be unforgiving in the Capital Wasteland, but Keira often got the feeling that the world had been like that before it had been destroyed, and it had been a lot easier to cover it up back then. Some of the worst things she'd witnessed were pre-war – Vault Tech and the Chinese remnant officers were good examples of humanity with crap ethics, and both had existed before the nuclear war.

As she reached the top and pushed her musings from her mind, she nearly ran headlong into Butch Deloria, and he was just about the only person she'd been looking forward to seeing again.

"Well, if isn't my best girl. What the hell are you doin' back here?" His words were sharp but his tone was pleasantly surprised, and his expression matched; a wide curious smile occupied his mouth and his eyes were warm and welcoming.

"As eloquent as ever I see, eh, Butch? Nice to see you again too! Amata sent out a nice, 'come-back-and-save-us' message via radio, so I couldn't stay away." Keira shook her head at the feelings that she remembered – none so potent now, but all riddled with fondness.

"Yeah, I bet it was just the _call_ that brought you back. Did ya miss me?" His grin had transformed to that sexy devilish one, and he was completely back to his cocky self.

"Yes," she replied truthfully, "But I didn't miss all the awkward fondling and name calling."

"Aw, you're so cute when you bullshit, babe. You know, I'm really glad to see you lookin' so fine – the wasteland's done your hot little ass nothin' but good-"

"Shut up!" She smacked him lightly on the arm and noted that his muscles, though not terribly obvious, were well formed. "I appreciate the compliment, but at the same time, a resounding _no._ Can we maybe focus on what's going on lately?"

He laughed, that infectious laugh of his. "Sure, babe. After you up and left us, we decided we'd had enough of these metal walls too. We just want the vault door open - even daddy's girl Amata is in on it. Only Daddy ain't so pleased about us getting any smarter. Shithead won't even listen to our reasons."

"I can't say I'm surprised," she said ruefully, "He always was a prick. I guess it's my turn to go convince him that you guys are right?"

Butch shook his head lightly. "Hell, yeah. Amata always did leave the smooth talkin' to you, I remember. It's been boring without you stirring up trouble every five minutes, ya know. I'm a "hairdresser" now, according to the G.O.A.T., but that's bullshit; I'm a _barber, _and a damn good one. You want a haircut?"

She laughed. "What are you gonna cut?'

He examined her short shock of hair. "You're right, it is a bit short-"

"Butch, I don't really have time for this," she said, cutting him off. "I've gotta find Amata-"

"Wait a minute, Keira, go chat up that loser, but first promise me one thing – come back and catch up with me over a beer or somethin' before you leave, please?" The pleading in his eyes was way too much for her to refuse. Butch didn't plead, _ever_.

"I'll see what I can do, okay?" She smiled at him and skipped off down the hall toward the clinic.

~.oOo.~

Her talk with the overseer having gone spectacularly well, Keira practically ran down the halls to deliver the good news to Amata. _She'll be so happy to hear it that she'll forget all about our falling out,_ she told herself.

She bound into the room, but Alphonse beat her to the actual delivery of the news – he was making Amata the next overseer, effective almost immediately. Keira beamed at Amata and everyone else in the room, pleasantly surprised that she had been able to help. She wanted to envelop Amata in her arms just like she would have done a couple years ago, but instead she resisted the urge. Finally, after much congratulations from all of the rebels, Amata's attention was on her.

"Keira," she said, with a seriousness that didn't match her cheerful expression, "Thank you so much for getting my father to see reason. He has always listened to decent arguments in the past, and I couldn't think of anyone who could argue with him now besides you... I really think he might be starting to respect you. God knows it's about time," Amata said with a blush.

It was obvious she was remembering the incident which had split them forever. If only Keira could take back those few minutes of idiocy...

--

_Amata laughed, there was no way she would ever stop doing her homework for a silly reason like Keira had just given. She suspected, of course, that silly reason was actually Butch's invention. Butch was much too influential in Keira's life. Amata attempted to probe Keira for possible connections to Butch as her father had instructed. The two together, she was given to believe, were a terrible risk to the vault. "Where did you hear such a crazy thing? Homework isn't pointless, Mr. Brotch tells us that homework is a way to reinforce learning. You don't want to be dumb just because you live in a vault, do you?"_

"_Of course not!" Keira laughed, and Amata realized she'd rambled too long. "I'm not dumb, I'm just trying to learn how to survive, for when the real world comes into play. Don't you ever wonder about it?"  
_

_Amata looked at her friend hard. "This _is_ our real world." She decided to take a risk. "Butch puts these ideas in your head, doesn't he?" She didn't give up her hard stare, and it payed off; she wasn't the overseer's daughter for nothing. _

"_And if he does?" Keira had a shit-eating smile plastered across her face. "Butch has put all sorts of ideas into my head... and I often do things to his head, too."_

_The expression on Amata's face was enough to make Keira burst out laughing. _

"_Eww, gross. You are so disgusting sometimes!" Amata was clearly shaken, and Keira decided she could use that to her advantage. _

"_Really?" Her eyes were innocent and wide. "Butch is a lot more gross sometimes. He tells me that when a girl does this," she started slowly crawling toward Amata, a come-hither look practically painted on, "and climbs on top of a boy like this," here she demonstrated by half-straddling Amata, "and leans in real close, like this," and she leaned in as if about to kiss her friend, "that it's alluring. Would you ever do that to a boy?" Keira could tell that Amata was on the verge of laughing._

_Just as she moved to push Keira off, the overseer threw open the door, saw the compromising position they were in, crossed the room, and punched Keira so that she went flying off Amata and into one corner of the room, all in one fell movement. _

_Keira gave a groan; her head was pounding and she could vaguely hear Amata shouting, "Daddy, no! What are you doing?! Stop it, get away from her!" before she felt the fist collide with her side several more times. Amata's screams faded into the background as the overseer's face, leering and terrible, filled her field of view. _

"_If I ever see you near my daughter again, rest assured that you'll leave the vault, as you so greatly desire – in a body bag. Don't test me." _

_Though the overseer may have expected a response, he sure as hell wasn't getting one. Keira hurt all over and vaguely thought she might be concussing. She groaned again and curled into a ball, just in case he came back for more. The last thing she could remember before she completely passed out wasn't comforting. "Amata... to the medical wing... tell... Butch did..."_

_Which meant that when she awoke, it'd be Butch's ass she had to save. Funny how that worked. _

_In the morning, with a fresh start and a new strict curfew, Keira had to explain why Amata was wrong about her face and why Butch was actually trustworthy, which would be hard, all things considered._

_After shouting at her father for a good twenty minutes about how it was Wally Mack who beat her up and Butch who'd stepped in, saved her _and_ gotten the blame, it was time to put on her best 'I don't care' face and go find Butch and Amata. _

_She literally ran into Butch first. _

_He caught her tightly around the waist and was barely shaken by her small frame. "Where are you goin' in such a hurry, babe?" he asked, before he got a good look at her. She made a half effort to pull away but was unsuccessful, and he quickly got a look at her fresh black eye. His face changed from curiously pleasant to dangerously protective in less than two seconds. "Who the fuck did this to you?"_

_She looked darkly at a corner, fortifying herself to answer. "Well, it was the overseer, so everyone's gonna think you did it, but I managed to convince my dad that it was really Wally Mack and that you saved me and took the blame for it." All of this sort of came out in a rush, so Butch had to puzzle it out for a second. _

_Once he did, he was thoroughly pissed. "Why the hell did the overseer wanna beat up a little girl?" As he asked, his grip around her waist tightened. It hurt, but she enjoyed his firm embrace and she didn't want to anger him further by pointing out that there was extensive bruising on her left side. _

"_He thought I was making a move on _his_ little girl," she admitted, as she buried her face in his chest, finding comfort in Butch's sheer manliness. _

_He laughed aloud. "That is just about the dumbest thing I've heard in a long time," he replied as he stroked her short hair. "I'm sure daddy's girl still loves you enough to look past what her prick daddy says." _

_They stayed that way for a few minutes, until coincidence reared it's ugly head and Amata came slowly down the hall. "Hey daddy's girl!" Butch called. "I heard some crazy shit went down last night." As Keira heard his greeting, she turned in his arms and smiled weakly at her friend. _

_Amata glared in their direction, shrugged noncommittally, and made to keep walking, but Keira frowned and said, "Amata, where are you going?"_

_The girl halted and turned halfway toward the pair. "Is it really your business, Keira?" she asked with a sigh. _

_Keira frowned at the formality. "Hey, wait, I've taken punches for you now; you don't get to be short with me," she joked. _

"_Keira, I don't want to talk to you... now or ever. I'm not going to encourage whatever it is you feel toward me," Amata said with a harshness in her eyes that hadn't ever been there before. _

_Keira's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"_

_Amata nodded sharply. "Yes."_

_Keira was quickly changing from confused to pissed. "Get your head out of your ass and look around! Your dad runs this place as his palace with us as his minions. You're ready to believe that I have a crush on you based on what he said, even though you know exactly what was going on down there! I thought you had some critical thinking skills, but I guess I was wrong."_

_Amata shook her head, on the verge of tears. "We can't be friends anymore; I'm not comfortable around you. I'll see you in class."_

"_That's great, Amata; good job, daddy's girl!" Keira shouted furiously as, in a strange turn of events, Butch Deloria held _her _back. _

--

"You can't stay here," Amata said with a rush, completely crushing Keira's hopes. The darker girl must have seen the expression change on Keira's face, because she hastily tried to qualify that statement. "I mean, you know we appreciate everything you've done here today, but things have changed. This can't be your home ever again. People are uncomfortable with you here. You should probably leave... now," Amata finished lamely.

Keira chuckled darkly. "I should have known."

Amata appeared distressed. "Look, we're going to miss you-"

Keira cut her off. "Listen, Amata, really, shut up and hear what I have to say. If you think, for one second, that I ever considered staying here, you are sadly mistaken. Despite what you might think, I've managed quite well to make a life for myself in the world; I have a home, friends, and a companion – people need me a lot more out there than you do in here! But it might have been nice, you know, to have a place where I could come if I ever needed to, with people I've known my whole life, which I could just keep in the back of my mind as a comforting possibility. I'm glad you've taken away all illusion of that, and I hope you have a miserable _fucking_ life."

"Keira?" Amata looked distinctly confused. The redhead rolled her eyes; trust Amata to act like a dumb bitch when the occasion called for it.

"I'm sure you'll do a great job of being overseer; you've already got the idiot part down!" Keira spat. She stormed out of the clinic, fully intent on never setting her eyes on it again. If they wanted her out, she could make that happen, and fast. Butch came into her field of view, but she merely acknowledged him with a nod and kept going. The faster she got out, the better.

"Wait, where you goin' so fast? You just got here!" he said quickly as he fell into step with her.

Her frown twisted into a cruel smirk. "The savior isn't wanted at home anymore, Butch-man. It turns out that they throw you out when your usefulness has expired, like scrap metal. That beer is gonna have to wait."

"Wait, you're _leaving_?" he said with incredulity.

"That's what I said." She didn't so much as stop to comfort him; she knew she had to get out so that she could break down.

He didn't slow, though. He kept up with her and said, "Take me with you!"

She stopped short, disbelief marring her features. "_What?"_

"Take. Me. With. You!" He said it deliberately and grabbed her shoulders, turning her toward him for emphasis. "I've gotta get outta here. I know Amata isn't opening those doors until it suits her, which ain't gonna suit me." The desperation in his eyes made it clear to her that she couldn't refuse.

She turned quickly from his grasp and continued to make her way out. "If I said no...?"

"I'd follow you out anyway, babe," he replied easily.

"And you're ready to go now?"

"More than ever," he said.

"Look, I've got this guy," she started.

"I can deal!" he interrupted, but she wouldn't have it.

"_Listen_! He's not what you would consider normal. He's a ghoul, which means he's been radiated to the point where he should have died, but didn't. His skin is... partially flaked off." She looked at Butch hopefully to gauge his reaction.

He remained stoically incredulous. "Look, baby, you and I both know you can do better," he began again, but she smacked him playfully.

"Butch! He's a really good man. Besides, this isn't about me; I need to know that you're going to be okay with traveling with him and that you're not going to say anything offensive. Ghouls are all over the Capital Wasteland."

"Yeah, I'm cool with it; it's not my place to say who you can and can't bang, but-"

"_Butch. _I'm _not _banging him."

"Okay, but you're awfully defensive..."

"_Shut up!"_

~.oOo.~

Charon could hear them coming from more than a few feet away, which wasn't good. He'd taught Keira everything he knew about sneaking, and if she was forgetting that and chatting it up with some fool from her childhood - and he _sounded_ like a fool -then she was going to hear it from Charon later.

He withdrew into the shadows and awaited their approach. Idly, he wondered if Keira would have thought to warn anyone she was bringing with her about him, or if she might actually just need him to knock the fool out so that they could leave in peace. He wasn't used to knowing what he wanted, but Charon thought off-hand that he just _might_ prefer the second option.

The pair had quieted now, and were making their way through the door. Charon used his moment of advantage in the darkness to size up the newcomer and assess his threat. He observed that the man was around Keira's age and a good few inches taller, pretty fit for a vault dweller, and a _complete_ idiot.

Keira's sharp eyes found him in the corner in an instant, and the man's eyes seemed well adjusted enough to make out his form as well. "Is that the guy?" he whispered loudly.

Keira nodded. "Charon, this is Butch. He's coming with us." Her voice was light and airy, as it usually was, at least in public, but her eyes were pleading with him not to murder the whelp while silently apologizing. He would obey her in this and everything, of course. He didn't have to _like_ it.

He withdrew from the shadows and straightened himself to full height; his menacing glare which usually softened around the girl stayed put. He nodded to Butch, however, and remained stoic even though he didn't like this new turn of events.

Butch, for his part, was doing horribly at playing it cool. Keira tensed as he said, "Holy shit, you are really _tall!_" She relaxed as the final word escaped his lips. Charon ignored him and instead turned to Keira.

"Where to next, mistress?" He inquired in his gravelly voice.

"Oh, home!" She sighed. "I'm so hungry. Now that Butch is gonna be living with us, I'll cook for three; it'll be great." Charon began making his way out of the vault and she did too, looking thoughtful. "You know, now we're gonna need two more mattresses instead of one..."

Charon frowned as Butch cheerfully replied, "One more's fine, girl, I don't mind sharing with you."

It was going to be a hard to get used to this idiocy, Charon could tell.

~.oOo.~

Charon took up his usual stance in the corner near the decaying green armchair as he listened to the new sound of constant babble coming from the self-titled 'Tunnel Snake'. "... and I couldn't believe you, comin' back like that; reminded me of the time Paul and I lit that reactor on fire and you came up with that snazzy excuse right on the spot-"

"I only did that to save your asses because I hated him!" She glared half playfully, half dangerously, and Charon thanked whatever higher power existed again that she had opted to wear clothes tonight; that glare was as much an invitation for challenge as it was a come-hither.

Of course, what she was wearing was an invitation in itself. Her Vault 101 uniform was unzipped to the waist and she'd taken off the top half and tied her sleeves around her hips, like mechanics were prone to do, pre-war. All she was wearing beneath that jumpsuit was that infuriating little half tank top, but the pants were better than nothing, Charon grudgingly admitted, and why they had to put up with that talkative little shit at all was a mystery to Charon. He suddenly wished that it was the night before again and he was being tormented by her little strip show; at least that was better than sharing her with a guy who wouldn't shut up.

"-and I swear, it's been such a drag without you there. Wally pulls crap, but it's nothin' like you used to do, and never as intellectual." Charon was amazed that word was in Butch's vocabulary. "I remember the good times you and I had; we pulled off some pretty gutsy shit way back when!"

Keira, who was currently cooking some celebratory mac 'n cheese and potatoes, laughed. "Oh, god. You think that's gutsy! Wait until you hear about what Charon and I have done. If you listen to the radio long enough, you'll start to hear some of it." She stirred her pot with a metal spoon and shook her head.

Butch looked amazed. "There's _radio_?"

"Yep," Keira affirmed. "A whole two stations. One's crap and the other one's decent, but it only plays twenty songs. It gets a little repetitive, but it's all good."

Butch shook his head. "And they talk about you on the radio... girl, what have you been up to?"

She smiled warmly, and Charon forgot momentarily why he was so pissed off. Her smile was one of the most rewarding sights a man could set his eyes on. She ran a hand through her cropped red hair, and shook her head lightly. "Everything, Butch. It all starts to blend together some days, and I just know that I'm still alive. And I probably wouldn't be, if it weren't for Charon," she said, as she shrugged.

Butch showed his first sign of intelligence as he tilted his head and a look of concern crossed his face. "You'll have to tell me about it sometime, babe." Apparently even Butch could see through her happy facade.

Still, it had been the first genuine smile in a while. Charon thought that maybe, if she smiled more around Butch, he was okay after all. _Maybe._

_

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_

As always, I would love feedback in the form of a review! If you have comments or suggestions, I am all ears. Let me know what you think of it; I'm working on the next chapter already.


	4. Wide Eyes and an Innocent Face

**Don't Stop**, Ch. 4

A/N: So I've been... a little distant. Trust me when I say, school is killer. I cannot convey to you in words how much I've missed writing, and that's rare for me. Please enjoy this next chapter and accept my sincere apology. Any of you who know me as an author will sadly not be surprised.

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**Wide Eyes and an Innocent Face**

Keira laughed loudly as she downed another shot of vodka. "And then, there was this huge behemoth super mutant, ya' know, huger and greener than all the rest," here she made a rather large gesture with her arms and almost fell off her stool, "and kept in a cage besides, but once we had taken down most of the raiders, one of 'em let this big guy out, and Charon was all, 'Take this!' and then he shot the thing with his awesome shotgun like several hundred times, and it still wouldn't die, so I- hic! I pulled out a few grenades and tossed 'em, and then Charon finished it off with a mini nuke from the Fat Man, it was amazing. That's how Evergreen Mills went down."

The look in her eyes was manic, and the look in Butch's eyes almost matched. Charon shook his head pessimistically.

"Holy shit, girl, you are a badass! That is some shit. Wow. I'm glad I joined up with you guys and not some other losers! I can't wait to meet a behemoth super whatsit!"

"I dunno if there are any more, but if there are, you and I and Charon will vanquish them to-gethar!" And with an over-enthusiastic fist pump here, Keira _did _fall off her stool.

Charon caught her quickly, being by far the most sober of the three, and rolled his eyes. "Party's over, we're going home now," he growled.

Butch stood with some difficulty and stumbled a bit. "Poor girl, could never hold her liquor... now, me, I'm a-" Charon had the distinct impression that Butch was about to say 'pro', but the tunnel snake never got the chance, as he quickly found the bar rushing up to meet him. Amidst a loud bang and what sounded like possible cursing, Charon heard a muffled, "'mm okay!" and he set Keira down in an armchair for a second to go find Gob.

Gob was in the back, washing some dishes, and Charon stopped in the doorway, clearing his throat.

"You need something, buddy? I hope it's not more alcohol," Gob started, but he was cut off by Charon.

"No," he said vehemently, "It's just that I'm not gonna babysit _both of them_. Do you have an open room I can put the other one in, or can you help me carry it back to our place?"

Gob laughed, and it sounded wretched. "I'm not supposed to leave, but I'll put him up in a room for a discount."

Charon paid promptly. "Thanks," He said dryly. "You can just scrape it off the floor." He made his way over to the armchair and swiftly took Keira in his arms. "See you around, Gob." He nodded toward the other ghoul and departed without a second glance.

When they got home, he was certain that he would never let Keira drink again. She kept spouting off innuendos and giggling suggestively, the combination for which Charon was simply not prepared.

"Mmm, Charon, you're so good with guns. I bet you'd be good with a different gun... when the world stops spinning I'll show you my holster and we can see if it fits," she said with a perfectly drunk, straight face. Then she'd burst into giggles. As shitty as the innuendos were, they were driving Charon mad.

He opened the door, closed it quickly, and climbed up the stairs with little difficulty. He moved into the bedroom and deposited Keira gently on the bed. "Take off your clothes," he said, and then, when she grinned widely, he added, "You need to sleep."

She looked sullen, which was hilarious when mixed with her drunkenness, and attempted to remove her merc charmer outfit, which wasn't going so well. "Charon... you have hands, right? Mine aren't working so well..." she complained, and he swallowed thickly. There were buckles and buttons, and Keira was fumbling desperately with the belt around her waist, to no avail. Charon decided to take her badly formed question as an order, and ignore the feelings he had for her in order to better serve her. It was going to be a trial, though, he could tell.

He moved toward her, and she relaxed and gave up her struggle, a lax smile gracing her lips casually. He undid the buckle she'd been attempting with relative ease, and for a second, he wished he could imagine that this was something more than it was. He knew, for the sake of his sanity and her protection, that he couldn't afford to slip mentally for even a few moments. He pulled off her boots with a mechanical efficiency, and moved up to free her of her gloves next. Luckily, she wore that little half shirt and short shorts combo underneath most of her clothing, so as he unbuttoned her suit jacket, he knew what to expect.

All of these actions he could pull off with his cold, hard exterior intact, but as he came to her skirt and stockings, he felt a hopelessness settle in; this would be the only way he'd ever strip her of her clothing – when she ordered him to do it because she no longer could. Her giggling only solidified this thought of his. He reached under her skirt with a forced indifference and gingerly pulled a torn stocking down and off the pale leg it graced. The next was slightly easier, and by the time he reached her skirt, there was nothing for it.

He pulled the piece of pale blue cloth off of her and he was greeted with a familiar sight – a half naked Keira with a lazy, seductive smile on. "Mmm, Charon, my knight in shining armor, what would I do without ya?" He refused to respond, but he threw a blanket on her and leaned over again to pick her up and place her in a position more conducive to sleeping. She apparently had other ideas, for she wrapped her arms around his neck and before he could really register what was going on, her warm, wet lips were pressed to his own.

He was unsure how to react, and in a moment, she'd withdrawn, smirking sheepishly. "Sorry," she murmured, "I didn't mean to take advantage of you." Her tone was sad, her look bemused, and, oddly sober, she leaned up once more to press her gentle lips against his withered cheek. "Forgive me?" she whispered into his ear, and before he had a chance to really process anything that had happened, her arms slipped from his neck and she had passed out.

He slowly moved away from her sleeping form, her words echoing in his head. How had a girl like her ever even thought about a guy – a _Ghoul_ – like him? He had to write it off to her drunkenness; she'd sounded fairly sober and normal in that moment after the kiss, but that had to be his wishful thinking playing a part, he knew it. After all, she could gain nothing from him that she couldn't get from the far more attractive, charismatic Butch. It wouldn't be logical in any capacity besides a drunken one.

Now firmly decided and far more comfortable since the world's understood barriers _hadn't _been broken, Charon backed away from her slowly. He studied her sleeping form like a lovesick puppy. She was something he could never have, and he knew that, but _god_, did this one hurt. He wouldn't blame her, he promised himself that much. He just needed to know what to avoid in the future, and that was definitely drunk Keira. Unless she gave him an order, he'd avoid her and her treacherous drunk lips at all costs. Because he couldn't afford to slip up, he couldn't afford to _repulse _her with his feelings because she was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he wasn't about to sabotage that for a hopeless endeavor.

He slipped out of her room when he was sure she wasn't going to asphyxiate in her sleep or fall off of the bed. Pulling out a second blanket from his pack, he went quickly into the adjacent room and made up his sad little couch bed. It was a far better alternative to laying next to her wide awake all night, and in the morning, he would stop thinking about her that way. Or dammit, he would try.

`~.oOo.~`

In the morning, Charon was not surprised to find a very hungover Keira groaning as she cleaned her weapons. He watched her deft fingers for a moment as she finished her Chinese assault rifle, and as she put it aside, she rubbed her temples with a wince.

"Good... you're up. Where's Butch?" she inquired politely.

Charon subconsciously growled. "He's at Moriarty's. I couldn't carry you both home." He didn't like her casual tone, and he wondered if she knew at all what happened the night before.

She nodded and said, "Okay," even though she understood his implied _wouldn't _and could tell that he was maybe not in the best of moods. "Get ready to go; we're going to go pick him up and then we have a very full schedule for today."

The coy grin that she shot him was more vibrant and full of life than she had been all morning. She pushed herself out of the chair languidly and walked to the locker where all of her clothes were stored. He knew that she would make a show of dressing, so he nodded and fled upstairs quickly.

`~.oOo.~`

Keira practically skipped into Moriarty's Saloon with a stone-faced Charon in tow. "Gob! Good morning! Where's the whelp?"

Gob looked as if he had just awoken himself, but he smiled at Keira's attitude anyway, and couldn't help but answer with a chuckle. "He's upstairs, girly. In the same room you stayed in your first few nights in town. He's gonna have one nasty headache, and not just from the hangover. Do you even know what happened last night?"

She laughed aloud and shook her head. "I haven't the faintest. Care to tell me?"

Gob smiled. "You fell off your stool, and Charon caught you, so his arms were full when about five seconds later Butch found himself on the floor. He hit the bar on the way."

Keira pumped a fist into the air much as she had the night before, albeit without the falling part. "Yes! Now I get to make fun of him. He was always going on about how amazing he was at holding his liquor. I bet he doesn't even know!" She giggled with an evil look on her otherwise sweet face and she bounded up the stairs. Charon trailed slowly after.

"Butch-maaaan," she sang as she burst into his room. "Rise and shine, darling; we've got to make a trip to the department store today, and I just don't know where I put my handbag. Luckily, Daddy's all ready to go, we're just waiting for you."

Butch groaned loudly and put a dingy pillow over his head. "Oh, come now," she continued in her oddly sugary voice, "You don't want to make Mommy and Daddy late, do you?" As Charon finally entered the room, she launched herself at Butch, stealing his blanket and his pillow, before tickling him mercilessly.

After a few moments of his struggling, amidst shouts of, "Jesus Christ, Tunnel Snakes _aren't _ticklish!" and "You are _not_ my mother, stop that!" Butch was finally able to push the hysterical girl off of him, and she would have ended up on the floor, if not for Charon's careful intervention. He caught her midair as he had done the night before, and though she was out of breath, she was smiling so widely, he couldn't help but smirk too.

"See," she said innocently, now mocking a disheveled Butch from Charon's arms, "Daddy cares about Mommy. You should too. Besides, we're going out for you."

Butch was miffed. His white t-shirt had ridden up, his hair was standing up on one side, and he was glaring at her as if she was the devil himself. Slowly, though, she could see that he was trying not to laugh at the sight of her, equally tousled and still in the Ghoul's arms, bridal style. "Okay," he said, "We'll go. But I don't like it. And I have one hell of a headache, and first, I definitely have to fix my hair. No Tunnel Snake has ever let himself be seen like this. Give me a few moments, would ya?"

She laughed and nodded, as Charon set her gently down with what would have been a blush had he been a smoothskin. As it was, the blood that rushed to his cheeks burned but was not visible in his wasted flesh.

"We'll wait for you downstairs!" Keira called to Butch as she skipped out of the room with Charon close behind.

When he finally made his way down, Keira was chatting up Gob, much to the Ghoul's delight, and Charon was looking like he was going to flay someone with the blunt end of an ax. Though the scene was comical, Butch refrained from pointing it out to Keira so that flayed someone wouldn't end up being him. He shuddered at the thought.

He decided to pay attention to what she was saying, "-and it's not like I was gonna let something eat his ass, so here he is, the only relic of my past decent enough to keep around! I think he'll be a quick study, but I don't know_ how _he's gonna keep his hair perfect-" and coughed loudly when he realized it was about him. She turned around and said, "Oh, Butch, you're ready!" with wide eyes and an innocent face that only she could muster while wearing a tight leather outfit.

He frowned at her and crossed his arms. "Tunnel Snakes are _always _ready."

Keira laughed aloud and Charon sniggered. "Well come on then, slowpoke, the day has begun! No time for pouting!" She ran out the door with a "'Bye, Gob!" and nearly ran headlong into Billy Creel. He shook his head at her and she squeaked, "Sorry!" as she made her way a little down the ramp.

Butch and Charon came after her, though far more leisurely. "Welcome, gentlemen, to the Megaton Sightseeing Tour! I'll be your guide, Keira Aldridge, but you can call me 101 for short!" Here she winked. "If you have any questions, please save them for the end of the tour. If you'll stay close and keep your hands and feet out of anybody else's personal space, we'll get this show on the road!"

Charon looked mildly amused, and Butch was wearing his famous shit-eating grin. When it was obvious there were no protests, she swung her arm in a wide arc toward them. "If you'll take a look directly behind you, we have Moriarty's Saloon. If you've got caps, he's got booze, but watch out; he'll rob you blind!" She turned, looking proud of herself, and set off at a brisk pace down the walkway to the left. "The town of Megaton was built up by a group of settlers who were refused entrance into Vault 101. It was constructed using the aircraft debris from a nearby air station. And to your left here," she said as she stopped and turned, "Is the men's bathroom. Avoid it if at all possible," and with that, she kept on, down the ramp toward Moira's.

When she arrived, she about-faced. "And here," she said as she gestured generously, "is our local general store, The Craterside Supply. If you want it, Moira's generally got it, or she can get it in for you, if she likes you. Don't step on her toes; she does science experiments, and she won't hesitate to do them on you! Shall we continue?"

Butch nodded, barely containing his laughter. Keira nodded and ran down the ramp. She stopped on the flat platform and when Butch and Charon finally descended to her level, she grinned. "And this," she said, performing an emphatic little tap-dance on the roof, "is Megaton's Clinic. You'll only want to visit if you're limbs are falling off or you're mutating. Doc doesn't let on, but he also has a stock of medical supplies, if you can't possibly get them anywhere else." The shouting and pounding from inside the clinic was not lost on Keira, and she laughed loudly before taking off down the final ramp and alighting on the ground.

"Directly ahead of you is The Brass Lantern, the _only_ restaurant in the entirety of our little town. To your right, you'll find the atomic bomb the town was named for, only recently deactivated by yours truly, but don't tell the Children of the Atom that! Behind the bomb and up a few ramps, you'll find their place of business, and my only advice on it is to stay the heck away! Those guys are _not _okay."

Charon seemed to concede this point as he noticed Confessor Cromwell staring at him in awe. He quickly turned back to Keira before he was tempted to do anything that he'd regret.

"To your left, you'll find the path leading to our home sweet home here in the Capital Wasteland. A little further up the next path over, you can spot the man who runs this joint, Lucas Simms. Hey, Simms!" She called, cupping her hands around her mouth.

The tall dark man in the cowboy hat looked down the path and, seeing Keira, laughed heartily. "And how can I help you on this fine day, miss 101?"

She smiled and gestured toward Butch. "I wanted to introduce you to our newest citizen, Simms. This is Butch DeLoria, and he's going to be living with Charon and I up at my place. He's from The Vault too."

Simms gave Butch a once-over and chuckled. "It's a pleasure, DeLoria. Don't let me catch you making any trouble; I would hate to have to throw out a friend of Keira's."

Butch recovered from his shock fast enough and smirked. "Don't worry, Sheriff, you won't _catch_ me doin' shit." He shifted a little in his boots, trying to make himself seem bigger.

The other man just smiled darkly and nodded to all of them as he kept walking.

Keira was smirking too by the time he was out of earshot. "You'd better listen to him, Butch; there's nothing I can do to change his mind if he wants to get rid of you."

He scoffed. "Have a little faith, would ya', _Mother?" _She just laughed at him more and ran up the makeshift steps to the entrance of Megaton.

"Time to go shopping!" she shouted gleefully.

`~.oOo.~`

Charon wondered silently what they were doing when they had been trudging through the rocks around Megaton in circles for the past hour, but Butch wondered audibly.

"What the hell are we doin', Keira?! This doesn't look like any shopping I've read about. Not even close! It's hot, I'm exhausted, and we haven't even left Megaton!" He huffed and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, so that he could still see. It was almost the middle of the day, he was sure he didn't smell pretty, and all of the moisture was bound to ruin his hair. He grumbled as they climbed up another rock and he slipped, dislodging some gravel. "What the heck is the point of this?!"

Keira laughed amiably, though sweat was pouring from her brow as well. "Well, Butch-man, the point is that in the wastes, endurance is paramount. If we were to undertake some grand adventure, you would be feeling the same and complaining _less." _She reached into her pack and withdrew a purified water. She uncapped it in one swift motion and took a large gulp, before offering it to Butch and continuing.

"So if you were complaining less, and the point came at which you could no longer function, you would deny that fact to yourself until it was too late to hobble anywhere of your own will. You'd probably pass out, leaving Charon and I to carry your ass halfway across the wasteland, not to mention having to _defend _said ass. We'd all probably sustain heavy injuries or die." Butch looked as if he were about to protest, so she held up a hand to stop him, and she sat down on the nearest rock available, to pull out some food.

As she was digging through her bag, she kept talking. "You wouldn't do it on purpose, don't get me wrong. It's a rookie's mistake. When I offered to help Lucy West with some business out in Arefu, I passed out on arrival. Luckily, Karen Schenzy was kind enough to take me in for a few hours. The point is, here we are, no more than fifty feet from the entrance of Megaton. And when you're on the brink of passing out, you'll tell me and we'll get home just fine. Or I'll find what I'm looking for and you'll have to suck it up and accompany us to our destination." She took a bite out of some Dandy Boy Apples and offered some to both Charon and Butch. Both accepted. "Either way, you'll know better than to let yourself be an idiot about it."

Butch's made the disdainful face he got when he knew someone was right but didn't want to admit it. He munched on his portion of the apples before asking, "What are you looking for?"

She just smiled as she finished hers. "You'll see." She stood back up and continued her path around the monolithic town of Megaton.

`~.oOo.~`

"Wolfgang!" Keira shouted, and Charon turned to find the trader headed straight for them. Instead of waiting around like she usually did, she tore off to greet him.

"Well, if it isn't miss 101 herself. Boy, do you look happy to see me!" Wolfgang joked, giving her a welcoming smile and wide gesture at his pack brahmin. "Any crap in particular you were hoping to find? I've got everything!"

Keira came to a short stop in front of him and smiled deviously. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be willing to help me acquire some crap that I know you're not carrying around with you. If you've got the time and the ability, I've got the caps, and I'm willing to be generous." Her eyes were the smooth talking kind, and their effect was not lost on Wolfgang.

"Well, a friend with deep pockets is a friend indeed! What can we help you with?" he replied with a wide grin.

She returned his kindness twofold and waited a beat to reply as Charon and Butch finally caught up with her. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind accompanying me to Springvale Elementary to pick up a bed; I've recently added another person to my place," she said with a nod toward Butch, "And this one never had a proper bed to begin with. I know there are some queen sized mattresses in the place, and I've cleaned it out recently. We'll tag along to provide you protection; all you've gotta do is help me tow the thing. Are you up for it?" She asked, hopefully.

Wolfgang laughed. "Am I up for it? They don't call me Crazy Wolfgang for nothin', girly! 300 caps, and you got yourself a deal, because you're such a gem. Let's go!"

`~.oOo.~`

Their little jaunt went off without a hitch. A few stray radroaches were all they had to deal with in Springvale Elementary, and Keira thought it was nice for once to have a day not filled with the depressing realities of the wastes. The only one who was sour about it was Wolfgang's guard, but she managed to keep quiet. Keira paid Wolfgang cheerfully at the gates of Megaton, and then she and the boys somehow managed to push the slightly blood-stained mattress up the hill to the entrance of their home. The real challenge came when it was time to figure out where to put it.

"We'll put it in my room and move the single to the adjacent room. The couch can go downstairs."

"Who's gonna stay in your room with you, then? Wouldn't it make more sense for us men to stay together?"

"That would be weird, you hardly know each other-"

"I'll take the couch, it's not an inconvenience."

"Nonsense, that's why we got the queen, so that _everybody _could have a bed. Butch, you can take the smaller room."

"Baby, you told me you weren't banging him!"

"I'm not, it just makes more sense. Charon and I have shared a bed before without an issue, and that was the single. Is that okay with you, Charon?"

"Whatever you wish, mistress."

"Oh, so you're cuddle buddies now, is that it?"

"No, Butch, we're just not five. We understand how to share a bed without jumping each other."

"Jesus, I'll never live that one down, will I?!"

"No, never. Now help me get this thing up the stairs."

`~.oOo.~`

Keira and Butch simultaneously collapsed on opposite ends of the white couch that was now in the living room. Charon took his time coming down the stairs, but once he did, he settled into an adjacent armchair. Keira shot him a look of appreciation, and he pretended not to notice.

She shook her head lightly as she glanced over to Butch. He looked as if he'd like nothing more than a cold beer and a massage. Keira knew what the wastes could do to a person, and she could see that he was well on his way to becoming a hardened survivor; it would take some time.

The silence pervading the room was enough for all three, until Keira decided it was unhealthy. She glanced between the two men curiously before saying, "Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm starved. Dinner, anyone?"

Charon gave a short nod with none of his usual severity, and Butch exclaimed, "Yes; I could eat a bear!"

Keira giggled as she launched herself from her seat. "Bear it is!" She unzipped her leather armor on the way to the kitchen, and as she stripped out of it and tossed it in her locker, she grabbed a casual blue dress and slipped into it. She saw the dog bowl lying on the ground and for a brief moment she was happy, because Dogmeat loved Yao Guai; her countenance darkened the moment she remembered the events of the previous day. Amata's call and Butch's arrival had distracted her from the unhappy truths of her life, but now the anger she'd felt upon seeing Dogmeat's decaying body was back full force. She'd find a way to get back at the Enclave if it was the last thing she did.

She buried her anger deep within her so that she could put it to better use in the months ahead.

She busied herself with preparing their meal, and was surprised when, a few minutes later, deciding to actually pay attention to what was going on in the next room, she heard Butch strike up a conversation with Charon.

"So... since we've got nothing better to do, mind if I ask a few questions?" Butch was saying. "I just wanna know a few things so I don't hold ya up, ya know?"

Keira could imagine the stony look on Charon's face at being addressed. She heard him growl, "What do you wanna know?" She dumped a generous portion of yao guai meat into a pan and watched it heat gradually as she continued to listen in.

"Well," Butch said tentatively, probably not expecting Charon to be so willing, "I heard that guy, Wolfgang, saying some things I wasn't so sure about."

Charon groaned. "Spit it out, kid."

Keira smiled to herself; she could see clearly in her mind's eye the look that would cross Butch's face at being called 'kid'. Luckily, he seemed to have stifled whatever urge he would have had to retort, because the next thing that he said was surprisingly timid. "What are 'raiders'?"

The redhead heard Charon sigh, but she'd never known him to be hesitant. He wouldn't spare Butch, either. "The raiders are the lowest scum of the Capital Wasteland; they kill whoever crosses their paths, innocent or not, and they string up the bodies for decorations. The only thing that you really need to know about them is this: if you come across one, kill 'im, even if he begs you for his life. Sparin' him ain't worth it, and if you do, the blood of innocents is gonna be on your hands next time he kills. Don't think he won't. They're all the same. Disgusting and blood thirsty."

Keira was surprised by the detail of Charon's explanation. She knew he hated evil, but the fact that he was willing to spare more than a sentence on the subject triggered her information gathering senses; this was clearly a subject he'd had time to contemplate. She resolved to do some probing later, to see if he perhaps had a score to settle that she could help him with. She poured some water and noodles into the pot where the yao guai was steaming, intent upon providing a decent meal to welcome Butch to the fold.

All Butch could murmur in response was, "Wow. That's... terrible. What about... I heard something about... Paradise Falls?"

There was a thick silence for a moment, before Charon spoke. "It's a place. One of the worst places in the wastes, though that's not saying much. It's a slaver town. Full of people worse than any you've ever come in contact with. People who enslave other people. They're ruthless, vile people, and my advice is this: stay away. Tangling with them is how you end up like me."

Keira felt a pang of guilt as she stirred their meal. The confusion in Butch's voice was evident as he said, "Like you... a ghoul?"

"No," Charon replied sharply, "under contract."

"Under contract? What the?"

"My contract dictates that I must follow the orders of whomever holds it. No exceptions." The finality in Charon's voice made Keira cringe. Their food was finished heating, and Keira portioned it into their last three clean bowls, preparing herself for the onslaught of questions bound to be directed at her any moment.

She grabbed two of the bowls and tossed spoons into them as Butch said, "Wait a minute, who holds your contract if you're here now?" It almost hurt Keira that he couldn't even fathom _her _holding someone's contract. He believed so firmly in the person that she tried to be. She felt a vague desire to cry and scream at once. She resisted both urges.

She made her way to the living room with the food and handed a bowl to each man. She returned to the kitchen for her own bowl, and when she came back, she seated herself calmly in the armchair next to Charon's. "I do," she said in an almost-whisper, and though her voice was quiet, she managed not to let it waiver. She knew she deserved every second of guilt she felt over their situation. She was not surprised when Butch stared openly at her, disbelieving.

"_You _hold his contract? He has to do whatever _you_ say? What the hell happened to you?! The Keira I knew would never willingly _own another person!_ That's fucked up! I don't even follow a strict moral code and I know that's shit!" Butch's surprise had quickly turned to outrage. Keira could handle the guilt that was her right; she wouldn't be yelled at for something that had been an attempt at altruism.

She gripped her spoon tightly as she tried to contain her anger. "Look, _Butch, _you have no idea what I've been through. It doesn't matter, though, because I've been _trying _to make the Capital Wasteland a better place, one good deed at a time. And yeah, I've hit some road bumps, and _yeah_, I own someone, but better me than fucking somebody else! When Charon was with his former owner, Ahzrukhal, he was misused and forced to stand in a corner all day! I did the only humane thing I could think of; I bought him for 2,000 caps! The second I informed him, he went up to that bastard and shot him in the head. I've done my best to listen to his wishes, to let him live like he's free-"

"Fuck you and your self-righteousness, Keira! If you want him to be free, why don't you free him?!" Butch shouted.

"It's not as simple as that," Charon interjected.

Tears were making tracks down Keira's face as she muttered brokenly, "I _tried _to give it back to him. He won't take it. I _tried._"

Butch looked properly chastised, and he stared down at his soup for a moment before saying, "I'm sorry. I... should have trusted my instincts; I knew you would never do something like that intentionally. I think I'm just tired," he added, as he lifted a bite of the yao guai soup to his mouth. "Hey, this isn't half bad! Have you tried it?" he asked, trying to cheer her up.

She laughed pathetically; in all of their time spent arguing, Charon was the only one who'd started on his food. She shook her head and took a bite, and was pleasantly surprised when she wasn't completely revolted by the taste.

"What is this, anyway?" Butch asked, now eating with fervor.

Keira wiped away her tears and said, "It's yao guai." When he stared at her blankly, she added, "That's fancy for mutated bear."

His look of utter shock and disgust was enough to clear her mind of all other issues and make her laugh aloud. She could have sworn she saw Charon smirking.

* * *

You know, I would love feedback in the form of a review, but your reading it was enough love for me, darlings. See you next time, hopefully soon! Let me know if you wanna see any specific Fallout 3 characters or situations, I aim to please. ;]


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Fallout, Adventure, Romance