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.

Prologue

He glared at her as a way of intimidation. It was his only weapon considering that they were both stripped to nothing but their undergarments, making it easy to determine that neither was armed.

They stood on either side of the blindingly lit chamber, sizing one another up.

Her had arms clenched tightly against her chest, regarding him cautiously.

Despite the spacious expansion of the room, he could still see the faint tremors from the chillness of the room raked up and down her slender, creamy-toned body.

There was intelligence in the way that she'd been quietly analyzing the chamber since she awoke - possibly for any weaknesses in the curved, metallic walls and shimmering energy field currently filling the doorway. She exuded a level of experience and resourcefulness that he knew only came with living in the Wasteland, and if that were the case, then it would explain why she hadn't broken down into hysterics.

After all, panicking in the Wasteland only served to get you killed.

"Do you know Gob?"

He squinted an eye at her, a little put off by such an unexpected question. He'd expected her to bombard him with questions concerning where they were, why they were there, who he was, and if he knew a way of escape.

That suspected intelligence that he'd seen in her was much more than what he'd originally thought.

She must have already decided that he knew just as little as she did: They were in an enclosed cell, surrounded by advanced technology and machines; he didn't know who brought him here or why except for the fragmented memories of being lifted up off the ground by a harsh light; if he knew a way to escape, he wouldn't have been here for her to ask that question.

She smiled tightly and waved her hand dismissively. "A weird question, I know. It's just that Gob is a ghoul, too, so I figured maybe you might've known him or something." She paused before her eyes widened in realization, warmth gracing her cheeks. "God, that's racist, isn't it? Oh, jeez, I'm sorry! I don't know why I assumed you knew each other all because you're ghouls. It's like saying I know every human. Not saying that you're not human, I mean! Well, you are but you're not, you know? Okay, I'm just going to shut up. I feel so embarrassed right n-"

He continued to watch her intently, ignoring her babbling.

So, she knew what a ghoul was.

Which meant that he was correct in his presumption of her being from the Wastes. Originally, her near flawless skin had put doubt in his mind. At least now he knew that she must have crawled from a Vault somewhere.

He grunted a 'Yes' as a way of response, causing her to pause in her flustered ramblings.

Yes, he did know Gob, back when the ghoul still resided in Underworld.

Her posture visibly relaxed, clearly relieved that they had a commonality in something, and flashed him another smile, albeit more sincere than before.

"My name is Jillian, by the way. But for the love of all things good, please call me Beetle."

She stared at him expectantly.

In the lieu of wondering how the hell she ended up with that unusual alias, he considered the consequences of offering her anymore information on him. He'd already admitted that he knew someone who he presumed she was on a friendly basis with. To give a name at this point would provide her with an even stronger link back to him if either she or they both made it back to the Wasteland, thus back to Ahzrukhal.

He decided against it and instead crossed his arms across the ruined skin and exposed pectoral muscles of his naked chest, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Her smile bloomed into a resigned grin and she conceded to him with a brief nod. "All right, I get it. You don't trust me." She began looking around again, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as she murmured, "However, we're going to need to trust each other if we're going to get out of here. So, any ideas?"

He admired that intellect of hers; however, he had to wonder how she survived in the Wastes and keep such flawless skin if she was so quick to put her trust in people she didn't know.

For the first time since she was dropped, still heavily sedated, into the prison chamber, he spoke.

"The last person who asked me about any plans opted to take his chances with the aliens."

He saw a brief spark of delight in her eyes when he'd spoken, and she flashed him a row of uncommonly straight, white teeth in a smile. "For a moment there, I thought you couldn't form words. Good thing I was wrong. So then, what was this proposed escape plan of yours that had the last guy running?"

He felt the corners of his chapped lips upturn into a small, snide smile. "The plan was to beat the shit out of him."

She blinked dumbly at him. "Uh . . ."

He uncrossed one of his arms and jabbed a scarred thumb over his shoulder, directing her attention to the mechanical, crimson-lit eye that made another pass behind him. "See that thing? The aliens who brought us here are watching us through those."

Her lips parted slightly to form an 'o' and she titled her head up, watching with a renewed sense of awareness as the two mechanical eyes continued their consistent revolutions.

She then slid him a suspicious look from the corner of her eye. "And how, exactly, did you find that out?"

His locked his gaze with hers and spoke matter-of-factly. "When I went to throw the first punch. The kid cowered from me, saying that he'd 'changed his mind'. The aliens came in not a second later and hit me with electrified rods. I remember hearing him thanking them as they dragged him away."

Silence fell between them as he concluded the story. The gentle whirring of the rotating mechanical eyes and the beeps of distant machines kept the room from getting too uncomfortable as she stared at him, weighing her options.

His gaze fell to her mouth when she drew the tip of her tongue along the fullness of her bottom lip, moistening it before she spoke again.

"Well . . . I'm guessing the last guy wasn't as busy as me. See, I owe a few people favors back in the Wasteland and I was on a personal mission before I was brought here." She dropped her arms to her side and she leveled him with a friendly but now nervous smile. "So, uh, do me a favor and try to not take my head off, okay?"

He felt a distinct appreciation for such courageousness in that wisp of a body, especially considering that he had destroyed men bigger and less ballsy than her.

There was a bit of malice that he couldn't stop from creeping into his smirk as he stretched and rotated his shoulder. He recognized a challenge when he saw one, regardless if it was or wasn't meant to intentionally antagonize.

"Then I suggest you don't cry, smoothskin."

The flexing of exposed muscle was her only warning when he moved.

He was upon her, his arm already cocked back, before she could even blink, her much smaller stature was engulfed by the solid wall of his body.

As he threw his clenched fist at her, he couldn't help the twinge of remorse when he realized that he was going to have to mar that beautiful, flawless skin.