Title: Parched
Author: No Volume Control
Character Pairings: F!Lone Wanderer/Charon
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T-MA+
Warnings: Explicit Profanity/Vulgarity, Gore, Sexual Content
Disclaimers: I own nothing Fallout 3.

Recommendation(s):
Page Width: Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

Light/Dark: This chapter is best read on the light background setting because it deals with nighttime and dark thoughts.

Author's Note: Special thanks to all of you who have left me feedback and encouraged me onward. Favorites, follows, and reviews - they're all great motivators! Now, I'm not sure if I'll have the next chapter up by Christmas, but I'll try so that it can be a gift for all of you who have enjoyed this story!

Also, I've created a fanmix for this story as well as a Charon-appreciation tumblr if you'd like to check it out. Just visit my profile to find their links!

AN ADDENDUM (12/15/13): To "falloutgirl/falloutgurl" who finds courage in harassing me and other authors (like FancyLadySnackCakes and InfamousTricks) behind the shield of anonymity: For someone who thinks my story is so awful and hates it so much, you sure seem obsessed with it enough to stomach coming back just to keep reminding me that you don't like it. Deleting your useless and inflammatory "reviews" is not me "not taking criticism". What you say is hardly considered criticism, more resembling a nine-year-old who just discovered that they can curse and be an ugly person on the Internet without the repercussions of Mommy putting them in a time-out for being a disrespectful brat.

I could easily disable Anonymous Reviewing to keep you quiet or to force you to come out of hiding under a signed-in account, but that's not a single bit fair to those who haven't used anonymity in an abusive fashion like you use it for. Instead, this will be the only time I acknowledge your ridiculous existence, and any future insipid comments you make will just be deleted as easily as you make them. Just remember, little girl: By leaving a review at all, you're just boosting my story further up the line for all of those who search for stories based on review count.

Chapter Five

It had taken fifteen minutes - fifteen goddamn minutes for it to be become blazingly apparent that they were not going to get along. Not as a cohesive unit, at least.

The moment that they had stepped out of the museum, a trio of Super Mutants had been waiting for them. Many realities were shed in the time it took to down each one of them: Their personalities clashed. Their methods of enemy disposal conflicted. Her inherent leadership qualities slammed headfirst into his unyieldingly protective nature.

And neither had budged. It had all nearly ended in disaster because of it.

And it definitely had not helped matters when Willow had laughed at them afterwards - well, laughed more at her and then teased Charon, looking beside herself with mirth as she called out to them, "The Ferryman kills Hades and then escapes to the surface with Persephone? Quite poetic if you ask me. Honestly though, Charon - of all that you've been through, you're going to get yourself killed at the lily-white hands of our little tourist due her lack of combat experience?"

She couldn't remember exactly what Charon had said in response, but he had snarled something along the lines of "Piss off, woman" and had even trained his firearm on her in his attempt to chase her off. It had only left the ghoulette even more amused, clearly unimpressed with his threats.

However, the ghouls' antics had done nothing to ease her blistering embarrassment. How the two of them must had looked to Underworld's sentry, scrabbling over rocks and ducking behind rubble slabs as the hulking mutants came charging at them. For fuck's sake, in that moment, those muscle-bound idiots had shown more fineness and teamwork than they had!

Now, as the two left behind the wreckage of bleeding mutant bodies and the still laughing Willow, she was sure that their argument could be heard for miles.

"I said I had it, Charon!"

"If being held in the air by your leg is you "having it", then I may have to question your perspective on things in the future."

"Okay, fine, I didn't have it. But he wouldn't have gotten me if you had just stayed behind the car like I'd told you!"

"I would not have needed to stay behind if you had followed my suggestion and kept out of sight in the first place."

"Oh, my God, are you kidding me right now?"

"A sense of humor is not guaranteed by my contract."

She stopped so suddenly, her frustration finally boiling over, that she ended up being knocked forward when he walked straight into her, his grunt of equal frustration sounding behind her. A gloved hand firmly grabbed her by her shoulder and steadied her.

When she angrily shook his hand from her and whirled around to glare at him, she was momentarily caught off guard when her nose brushed the worn leather strap fastened tightly across his chest.

She swallowed thickly, her eyes warily traveling upwards. She was more than a little unnerved by his imposing stature. The fact that he seemed hell-bent on chaining himself to her hip with how close he kept crowding her did nothing to soothe her. Even more so, the waves of his striking body heat seemed to reach for her, threatening to envelop her and lure her in like it almost had when she'd been trapped beneath his solid weight only hours earlier.

The reminder of her near-rape was a jolt to her system, causing her to take an immediate step back. With a quickened heartbeat, she lifted her gaze to his. Even through the thin, milky film glossed over his eyes, the ice-blue of his irises was more piercing and vibrant in the rich, golden light of the setting sun.

She inhaled a shaky breath, forcing herself to gather her resolve and stand her ground. She was the one in control here, contract or no contract. Only one of them was going lead this fucking parade, and she sure as hell wasn't going to let it be him.

"Look, Superman," she began, a forced patience in her tone as she willed herself to not be effected by the intensity of his gaze. "I managed to get to GNR, fight my way through the Museum of Technology, and find my way to your museum without you or anyone else. I'm pretty sure I can handle a Super Mutant or three."

The motionlessness in his facial expression and body language was possibly more eerie than the way he had been glowering at her. Just then, he took a moment to survey their surroundings, glancing to their left and then to their right, and then behind himself.

When he directed his attention squarely back on her, she almost flinched under the unfriendly scowl and heat-pricked glare he now sported.

"You are trying to mislead me, mistress." There was an edge to his harsh vocals.

She had caught on a while ago that when he was displeased with her, he fell back to using her faux title. So, what had she said to get under his sketchy, mismatched skin this time?

She shifted a little, a bit restless at the tension beginning to build between them once again. She glared up at him, mustering her bravado. "I'm not trying to do anything. Do you actually believe that I didn't make it here on m-"

"No."

She didn't know what ultimately silenced her - the warning snarl in his tone or the now burn of anger that warmed his ever-assessing, bitingly cold eyes. She suspected it was actually the fact that he took a single step toward her, closing the distance between them in an instant, accosting her with his overwhelming mass and body heat once more.

"There are no corpses."

Distracted and more than a little off kilter with his unwarranted aggression, she blinked owlishly up at him, stammering, "I - What? I don't understan- "

"You are being honest when you say that you made it here without assistance. But you are attempting to deceive me over the nature of how you managed it."

She wanted to snap at him - to demand where he got off accusing her of being a damn liar when she had done no such thing. But he must have sensed her mounting outrage because he continued on before she could utter a single reproachful word.

"You imply that you can physically handle yourself against the enemy, mistress, yet there are no corpses in our immediate area to show for it. I used to be commanded to patrol the museum's perimeter and assist in taking out anything stupid enough to threaten the building. I have done it enough to know that there is a steady flow of mutants and their creatures to at least have a few of their bodies lying about if you truly had fought your way here."

She gaped at him, at a loss for words. Really, what could she say to any of that? She was a mixture of indignant anger over him presuming shit about her . . . and in awe that he was capable of presuming correctly based on so little.

"You hid, snuck past, and outran them."

"Now wait one damn minute!" she gasped, her heart slamming with the sudden explosion of anger through her bloodstream, her outrage burning in her gaze. "I am not a coward! I'll have you kno-"

He cut her off when he put a hand up to her, halting her tirade before it could begin as he glared at her with impatience and exasperation.

"Stealth."

She had just about had it with his obscure sentences, goddamnit. "Charon, if have a fucking point to make, then make it!"

"Your trade is stealth," he repeated, albeit more slowly, like she was daft or something. What an ass. "It's a useful asset. Valuable for what you're doing. It also explains how you've managed to survive as long as you have, having been vault-raised."

"That's not exactly fair," she protested, now feeling the need to defend herself as she earnestly searched his calculative gaze. Even though it was evident to her that he was actually issuing a compliment, it felt double-edged where her insecurities were concerned. It was like she was dealing with Jericho all over again, feeling worthless on the battlefield and even being told as much by him. "I know how to shoot a gun, too. I've taken down enemies - you've seen it when we were on the spaceship!"

". . . Your energy rifle - is that the only weapon you've been using since we escaped?"

She frowned, the question making her aware of the solid weight of said weapon holstered against her back. "I - Yeah?"

The way he was looking at her then, she wasn't too sure how to describe it. Incredulous? Dismayed? Disturbed?

Pissed. He was now pissed off? What the hell did she do now?

"Are you trained in any other weapons? What were you using prior to your abduction?"

"I don't - a broken pistol? Before that, I had a BB gun. But I traded it for the pistol when I first reached Megaton. Why are you asking all of this, Charon? Wh-"

She was getting nervous without how increasingly agitated he was becoming with every word she uttered. What the hell was his deal?

"Combat skills?" He lifted a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it as he inquired. It was a gesture she knew when one was trying to compose their thoughts - to come to terms with the reality that previously made plans were going to fall through.

Whatever it was that was causing him to become so anxious, it was definitely effecting her. She was becoming restless and distressed, too. It was also starting to piss her off.

"I don't know, Charon. The last guy I was with made it a point to do all of the work when it came to anything hostile. I was usually the one fiddling with locks and anything electronic. To be honest, the Destabilizer is the first gun I've had that hadn't fallen apart in my hands on its first use. I mean, I c- Hey!"

He had spat a curse and turned his back to her abruptly. She watched as he titled his head back to gaze up at the fiery sky, as if begging for patience or something.

All right, enough was enough.

"What the fuck is your problem, Charon?" she shouted angrily. "I can hold my goddamned own if that's what this is all about! So what if I only know how to use one or two weapons? Seriously, this is coming from the guy having a love affair with his shotgun? Just - damnit, would you look at me?"

She made a grab for his arm, wanting him to turn around and face her while they had this ridiculous argument.

It was like a trigger response, his reaction upon her touching him. Her fingertips had only just grazed him, brushing the exposed and taut muscle of his bicep, before her wrist was suddenly captured in the strong, vice-like grip of his broader, gloved hand. The rest of her was pinned beneath his stern gaze.

"I am trained in various fields of combat, mistress," he growled softly, the quiet reprimand in his tone scathing her worse than the way he was manhandling her so audaciously. "My chosen weapon is dependent on the situation given. You, however, rely on one or two weapons not because your prefer it, but because you've limited yourself to them. You are lucky to be alive for that error."

He jerked her towards him just then. While the unexpected move was startling, the sharp bite of pain that bloomed immediately throughout her wrist was more so, and her face twisted into an anxious grimace as she instinctively fought back, trying to wrench her arm free.

Her reaction must have struck some conditioned chord him in because he stilled instantly, his body straightening to attention.

She dared to spare a glance up at him, unsure of how to decipher his enigmatic moods and swift changes in behavior. He wasn't looking at her anymore, his focus concentrated on her hand. When his gaze darkened into something she couldn't discern, she looked down as well.

Her wrist lay now cradled, almost delicately, in his open palm. Bruises, dark and crude, stood in stark contrast against her pale-toned skin; like a hideous bracelet.

Neither shifted in stance as silence fell between them. They just stared at her bruises - the reminder of how powerless she had been against him; of how much worse it could have gone had the entire scenario not been interrupted when it had.

" . . . If you will allow me, mistress, I will instruct you on basic hand-to-hand combat and self-defense," he murmured gravelly before deftly dropping her hand from his to then cross his arms across his chest. "Given your natural set of skills in stealth as well, I would like to also train you in scoped weapons. It will provide you the safety of distance from the enemy, and when that isn't an option, you will know close-quarters combat."

She stared at him, holding her breath. Whatever she had seen in his expression earlier when he was scrutinizing her wrist, it was gone now, replaced by that façade of cool professionalism and patience.

She swallowed dryly and mimicked him by crossing her own arms and reining in her own emotions, desperately trying to ignore how the heat from his hand seemed to have seeped into her skin and was now lingering much too long for her nerves' liking.

"Only on one condition," she boldly spoke, titling her chin up defiantly.

"Yes?"

"Stop fucking calling me your mistress. I'm going to stab you in your sleep if you don't. I swear it."

". . . Heh. That's not very good incentive, smoothskin."

"Really? Why?"

"Because I don't sleep."