My Echo, My Shadow and Me
2: Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

Into each life some rain must fall
But too much is falling in mine
Into each heart some tears must fall
But some day the sun will shine

It was a relatively cold night for the arid Wasteland but Charon hardly felt it. He was distracted with his own thoughts and just barely straggling behind Kate as she led him to wherever it was they were staying for the night. Charon hoped it wasn't the common house, easily spotted at the far northwestern corner of Megaton; he didn't appreciate being under the scrutiny of anyone, even if he could care less what they actually thought of him.

Kate was leading him in the opposite direction, however. He followed, quietly, an eye still out for danger. No place was safe in the Wastes, even a settled and halfway-civilized one; Charon wasn't about to let his guard down and allow either Kate or himself to be injured. He would be failing in his duty—and in his line of "work," failure meant death, or worse. He had never failed any of his previous employers (no matter how much hatred he held for them) and he wasn't about to start now, with the only one who had ever treated him as a fellow human being. Despite her unrelenting attempts to get him to "open up," as she had put it, he would be upset to lose her as an employer, and she would be the only one he'd ever felt that way about. She was leaps and bounds better than Charon's previous few employers, after all.

The girl had a good set of eyes and ears on her, though Charon couldn't help but curse at her occasional naivety. She still had a lot to learn, but at least she knew her way around a gun. She wasn't a crack shot (not yet, anyway), but she held her own. It was, he figured, the only reason she was still alive, nearly two months after Three Dog had started his weekly reports on her—after her escape from that Vault. He wondered if she realized that herself and whether it had influenced her purchase of his contract, besides knowledge of Ahzrukhal's misdeeds and Charon's hatred of him. A simple knowledge of human behavior was all the girl seemed to need at this point in her "journey."

Charon chewed on the thoughts for a little while, thankful he'd managed to push his rage and shame to the back corners of his mind, as Kate continued to lead him around the winding paths of Megaton's walkways.

Moments later, Kate had pulled out a large key and was shoving it into the lock of a rickety-looking shack they'd stopped in front of—her house, he quickly assumed. He followed her dutifully inside and immediately searched for lurking threats.

"Good evening, Madam!"

Charon whirled at the sound, his shotgun raised at the Mister Handy that had floated down the stairs. The damned thing didn't seem hostile, but Charon wasn't taking any chances.

"Miss Kate, I have detected a possible threat in your household." He gripped his shotgun harder, ready to blast the robot to pieces.

"Stand down, Charon," Kate said, amusement tinging her voice. "It's just Wadsworth. He's no threat."

Charon complied, though reluctantly, and with an eye on the robot as he put away his shotgun. All someone had to do was remove the Mister Handy's combat inhibitor and it would go on a rampage. He would have to keep a close watch at all times, to prevent such a catastrophe, just as he had in Underworld with Cerberus (whenever Charon hadn't been stuck in The Ninth Circle, of course). Strangely, though most of the residents had felt a certain distaste for him, Charon felt compelled to protect them and the sanctity of what most Ghouls called home. In recent years, he'd chalked it up to his own feeble attempt at apologizing (the problem being that he wasn't sure how many Ghouls had accepted it).

Sitting in a chair nearby, Kate was stripping off her battered leather armor. Charon stood quietly near what appeared to be the kitchen, awaiting further instruction.

"What's the story between you and Gob?" she questioned, looking over at him as she untied her boots. "I couldn't help but notice the, ah...tension."

Charon was quiet. Kate continued staring at him for a few moments longer, before shrugging and dropping the subject, much to Charon's surprise. Any other employer would have pushed, ordering Charon to tell them, but Kate continued to distance herself from the norm of those who'd come before her. It was refreshing. To be the sole master of his thoughts was extremely welcome.

"Well," Kate stood, her armor piled in her arms and she now only dressed in a skin-tight t-shirt and shorts, "the bedroom's upstairs. If you want," she shifted her weight, almost uncomfortably, "you can sleep in my bed. I'm willing to give it up, or even share it, if you'd prefer. I know it gets a little chilly in here sometimes..."

Again, Charon was quiet. As much as the thought of sleeping next to an attractive woman was appealing to the man in him, the professional in him kept him quiet. He wondered whether her offer was one of pity, or if she truly was that generous and hospitable of a person. How she could continue (and had survived) in the Wastes with such an attitude was beyond him—but a small part of him hoped that the Wastes would never beat it out of her. He was surprised enough that it hadn't already.

Or maybe she just got cold at night. Who was to say?

Kate continued on at Charon's lack of response, perhaps realizing she had tread on thin ice, though not understanding what the problem was (he wondered if she'd gotten a good whiff of him yet, in all honesty—Ghouls weren't exactly the most pleasant-smelling bed companions). "Or, there's a couch in the spare room upstairs that you can sleep on, if you'd prefer."

He certainly would prefer, in this case. He didn't want to disgust the girl too soon, after all. He nodded at Kate, informing her of his decision, and followed her up the stairs (skirting around "Wadsworth" with a wary eye). Kate opened the door to the spare room and mumbled something about wanting to get an early start tomorrow morning, before stumbling into her own room, dropping her gear haphazardly on the desk and slumping into her bed. Charon, watching the scene with slight humor, knew she was already asleep. He made a note to have the girl slow down when they were out in the Wastes—she'd worn herself out on their two-day trip from Underworld to Megaton. It would do them no good if she continued with such a pace. Longer travel time was a welcome price to pay for increased stamina and awareness.

Charon stepped into the spare room and settled down on the couch, his shotgun held firmly in his hands and his eyes on the rest of the house. Kate might trust her robot, but he certainly didn't.

He slept for perhaps two hours, total. "Wadsworth" (or as Charon had taken to calling him, "That Catastrophe Waiting to Happen") had spent most of the night moving between the upstairs and downstairs, cleaning, and Charon had slept lightly. Every time That Catastrophe had headed upstairs, the sound of its propulsion system had Charon's eyelids open and his grip tightening around his shotgun. He would watch the robot carefully through the doorway until it finished its routine and headed back downstairs. Then, Charon would fall back into a doze, his mind silent and resting, but his body anxiously waiting until the damned robot came back up.

At some point, the robot finally stopped, its routine over with, and Charon fell into a slightly deeper slumber knowing it would remain downstairs during the daytime hours. Pre-programmed to clean during the house's occupants sleeping hours and to stay out of the way while they were awake... until someone came in and tampered with it, and Charon didn't trust anyone in Megaton to refrain from doing so.

Then again, none of them probably had the brains to do it anyway. They had built their town around an atomic bomb, after all.

Regardless, he slept deeper, knowing he would still awaken at the slightest disturbance in the house.

Which he did, minutes later, as Kate got up and padded past the open doorway, her blanket wrapped firmly around her. Charon vacated the couch, standing and stretching, before reattaching his shotgun to the back of his armor and heading downstairs after her.

She was already in the tiny kitchen, rummaging through the shelves in search of something decent to eat.

"What do you want to eat, Charon?" She eyed a box of Cram suspiciously, holding it an arms length away, before tossing it into the garbage can nearby. "I may not have much, but I can accommodate nearly any preference you've got..."

She sounded tired. Charon wondered whether it was a good idea to let her cook.

Deciding it was not a good idea, he wordlessly sidled next to her and took the box of food from her hands. He set it back on the shelf before gently guiding her to the nearest chair and moving back into the kitchen. Knowing they probably would not return to her home for many weeks, Charon picked the most perishable items off her shelves to cook up. The robot probably threw out rotten food and restocked the house weekly, but there was no point to letting perfectly good food go to waste.

While Charon set to work cooking a couple of Salisbury steaks and eggs, Kate wrapped her blanket tighter around her and pulled her legs up and into her chest. Charon felt something like relief flood him as he struck "pity" off the list of reasons for her offer last night. Clearly, the girl did not tolerate cold well. It was a good thing the Wasteland did not suffer "winter," as it had before the bombs—Kate would probably die (figuratively, of course).

Kate picked up a nearby book and leafed through it. Charon watched her momentarily before checking whether she had any fruit or vegetables stocked in her fridge. He would prefer to give her a well-rounded meal, but such a concept was hard to come by in the Wastes. Hell, he'd grown up eating mole rat and dog meat, for the most part, with the occasional "treat" of Mirelurk meat. He didn't even learn what a vegetable or a fruit was until he was fifteen, and it had been years since he'd had one that didn't taste like irradiated shit.

He found the fridge was stacked full of Sugar Bombs and blood packs. It took awhile for the odd site to register, and it took the sound of the eggs and steaks sizzling to bring him back away from the site. Closing the fridge, he was confused, but felt little desire to ask why such an odd combination of items were packed into her fridge. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer.

He was beginning to question the girl's sanity, however.

As he flipped the eggs, Kate addressed his unasked question, as if suddenly remembering that Charon was new to both her home and her kitchen.

"Oh, uh," she pulled on her graying blanket sheepishly, "don't mind the Sugar Bombs and blood packs in the fridge. I'm...helping out a couple of people."

Charon, though not known for his humor, couldn't help but laugh. "I've had some strange food combinations in my day, but I believe that this is the strangest."

"What...? No!" Kate stammered. "You've got it all wrong, Charon! The Sugar Bombs are for this nice Ghoul scientist of a sort I met in the Northwest Seneca Station, and the blood packs are for...well..."

Busy checking the steaks and then slipping the finished eggs onto plates, Charon didn't bother indicating she should get on with it already.

"...vampires," she finished lamely.

At this, Charon gave the cooking steaks a look. Well, he'd heard of stranger things in the Wastes.

"I see," he mumbled. He added an addendum to his earlier question of the girl's sanity: too damn kind to be even remotely sane. From being the friendliest he'd ever seen a human be toward Ghouls, to donating blood to vampires (he hoped it wasn't her blood, at least, but a smattering of leftover packs still found in the various hospitals around the Wastes), to saving his sorry ass...

Then again, he shouldn't jump the gun. Having an idea of why she'd purchased him wasn't close enough to a sure thing for his tastes. Besides her need for a companion to aid her, he had little idea about her motives, and he wasn't going to allow himself to make hasty assumptions. Besides, where was his pride? He was self-sufficient—he didn't need anyone to save his ass when he could do it himself. The only reason he hadn't snuffed Ahzrukhal before Kate had purchased his contract was due to the fact that the Ghoul had never gone anywhere, making it increasingly difficult to come up with loophole ways to murder the bastard.

Charon grabbed a fork and lifted the finished steaks out of the pan. Tossing a knife and fork onto each plate, he grabbed one, turned to face the living area, and proffered it to Kate. She dropped the book she'd been skimming onto the shelf beside her and gratefully took the plate.

"Thank you, Charon," she said, giving him a warm smile before digging right into the eggs. She wasn't used to be waited on, it would seem.

Charon took his own plate and retreated to the other chair in the room. He ate quickly, hardly acknowledging the slight tingle of radiation in the food on his tongue, while watching Kate pick her own, slow way through her own breakfast. The first few bites from her steak brought a sour look to her face, but she continued eating.

"Charon," she started, chewing thoughtfully on a particularly tough piece of the meat, "it's unnerving how quiet you are. You should talk more."

As if to prove her point, he remained silent. Even if he did speak his opinion, Kate would hardly like what Charon had to say. "Always the pessimist," the saying went, and Kate was, quite obviously, an optimist.

"I mean, really, Charon," she continued, undeterred, "I'm sure you've got the most fascinating opinions, having been around for so long and all. And I'm guessing no one's ever really asked them of you before,"—she had guessed correctly—"so,"—and here was the punchline (because at this point, her request was little more than a joke to the stoic Charon)—"lay 'em on me. I'd love to hear them."

Silence, still. He wasn't going to give in easily. Despite previous employers feeling no desire to hear Charon's opinions, he had always been one of those types who normally kept to himself anyway.

Kate, ever the curious one, while not always talking, was always thinking and never afraid to voice her opinion, or to push and prod where necessary in order to get the information she needed. She had a gift with words, and she wasn't afraid to use it.

Despite his obstinance, Charon knew it would take only one command and he would spill his guts to her. But Kate was clearly stubborn, and refused to resort to such a tactic. Charon knew, however, that he would eventually give in to her request.

After all, it had been a very long time since he'd been allowed his freedom of speech. He was ready to take advantage of a good thing.

"Hey, Charon," Kate called. Charon turned from his self-established post by the door to see Kate pulling at the straps on her armor, securing it in place. She gestured to a book on the table beside her. "I've got to go up to Moira's and get some supplies. Could you do me a favor and give this to Gob? I'd do it myself, but I'm afraid we won't have time..."

Charon walked over and scooped up the book. It was a hardcover, well-worn and dirty. Inside, the pages were stained a deep yellow and the ink was faded, though still readable. Since books had not fared well after the bombs, Charon had read very few during his youth. He'd been taught to read and write by his father, but had found very little use for the actions throughout the majority of his life. Most of his employers preferred to assume he was illiterate anyway, or didn't know either way. Reading and writing simply were not the most important skills anymore—they had been replaced in importance by the ability to kill.

Kill, or be killed. The words were all too familiar to Charon and they brought a sour taste to his mouth every time he heard the utterance.

Without a word, Charon left Kate's home and reluctantly trekked over to Moriarty's. This early in the morning, no one but the crazy down by the nuke (Charon was surprised he hadn't turned Ghoul yet, though all of the telltale signs were there) and the shopkeepers were up, and Megaton was near silent, bar the howling Wasteland winds whipping against the town walls. Considering the time, Charon was not surprised to find only Gob up and about in Moriarty's, setting up the bar for the day's patrons.

By the look of pure and absolute hatred on Gob's face, Charon was not a welcome customer.

"Off your leash?" Gob remarked in a tone clearly labeled "For Charon Only."

It stung, but Charon brushed it off. He'd heard worse over the past twenty years. "I am on an errand."

"Unless it's for Kate," Gob scowled, fingers tightening around a cloudy glass he'd been wiping down before Charon's arrival, "I have nothing for you."

Charon shook his head. "Perhaps I spoke incorrectly," he said. "I am here to deliver a package from Miss Kate to you. However," he raised what was left of his eyebrows and shrugged, "if you do not wish to receive it, then I shall leave and inform Miss Kate at once."

Gob scoffed. "What is it?"

Charon moved a few steps closer to the bar and held out the book to Gob. The sullen Ghoul snatched it from Charon's fingers and flipped open the cover to find out what the book was. A smile crossed his face a moment later.

The perfect opportunity was at hand, Charon knew, but his throat was suddenly constricted and his mind a jumbled mix of emotions, thoughts and who knew what else. The words he'd been wanting to say for years began to form, before blowing back into the mess they'd come from. He opened his mouth, in hopes the words would return, but they never did, and he managed an "I'm..." before Gob gave Charon a funny look and returned to glowering.

Forgive and forget, right? How was Charon supposed to forget if no one would forgive? His past hung like a dark cloud over him, and it was days like this that the cloud poured rain upon him—drenching him to the bone. For twenty years Charon had been waiting for one little break in the clouds as a sign that someone had finally forgiven him for his despicable transgressions. But as more time passed, he feared the day would never come, and that the dark cloud would haunt him until the end of his days. It didn't matter how sorry he felt, how hard he worked to make it all up to his fellow Ghouls when he couldn't even say, "I'm sorry." He'd begun to wonder if the words were even in his vocabulary anymore—whether his programming allowed him to say "sorry."

"Go and take care of Kate," Gob said, "like you're supposed to."

Charon turned to leave, his job done, but he paused at the door as Gob began murmuring behind him:

"The day that I am free from Moriarty's rule will be the day that I consider forgiveness."

With the way things were going for Gob, Charon understood that he would never be forgiven.

---

Notes:
(1) I've been busy with school and being sick, so this chapter took longer to finish than I'd wanted it to. But, the good thing is, it's done now.

(2) Gob and Charon still don't get along. Sorry, guys.

(3) I warn you now that I've never been good at keeping a regular update schedule. However, I'll shoot for a new chapter every two weeks. If it seems like I'm taking forever, feel free to bother me until I get it done.

(4) Chapter title and lyrics from the song of the same name by The Ink Spots.

(5) 02/03/09: Thank you to Haisley for the beta. Chapter two has now been edited and reposted.