#tw: recollection of past non-con

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXVI

January 12, 2278.

Good question.

Of all the operatives I was trained with, Vanth was the one who took to the program best. Our proctors will ask her to jump, and she’ll jump. If a contract holder asks her to beat a civilian up, she’ll do it without blinking. If a corrupt old pervert asks her to ride her fellow operative so he can get off, she’ll do it without remorse.

It didn’t happen just once, either.

Vanth’s just one of the many people I would’ve loved to put shotgun shells in, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget her cruelty.

Even before the first incident happened, Vanth had always been ruthless. Mag would scold me for calling her a bitch. She said that Vanth is just a product of her upbringing, made worse by the program. And yet, Mag isn’t capable of that kind of shit. Fuck, that’s the damn reason why she was designated as the medic. She’d rather keep us alive than shoot at anyone.

Vanth was different. 

If there’s anything worse than Vanth’s complacency, it was her enthusiasm in inflicting all that hurt on other people. Her cruelty comes from the hatred those responsible for the indoctrination instilled in us: hatred for the insubordinate, hatred for the Reds, hatred for anyone who doesn’t bow to the will of the United States of America and its thirteen commonwealths, and hatred for anyone different. She took all that crap and fucking internalized it.

She hated the protestors for making a mockery of the government. She hated her fellow operatives for failing where she succeeded. She hated Mag. She hated me.

That snake-eyed blonde bitch enjoyed hurting us.

Sometimes, I imagine what life would have been like if I had been as complacent and obedient as Vanth was, if Magwayen didn’t plant ideas that contradict our conditioning in my head, and if Percy didn’t come 200 years later to help me break free from the contract.

I imagine what kind of man, if I can call myself that, I would be if I didn’t have remorse, or if I didn’t have my moral code that I kept to myself, until this woman crawled out of her hole in the ground and appealed to my better nature.

I decided that I do not like that version of me.

All this time, Percy was waiting for my answer patiently, her hands folded under her chin, while she lies on top of me. I can feel her warmth and softness of her body, then I remember Ahzrukhal’s threat to her. I remember the Talon Merc’s orders.

Something dark stirs my decrepit brain.

If they had given me the order, and I had been that man who has no remorse, I would have been like Vanth.

I would have been like Stevie.

A rapist.

Percy’s rapist.

Fucking hell. That’s just sick.

Gently, I push my partner off me and sit up. I turn away from her, ashamed of the thoughts I’ve had. Her words in the hotel room in Rivet City echoes back. The fact that these thoughts disturb me and I feel disgusted at the thought of forcing myself on anyone should reassure me.

I should feel reassured that I am not like Vanth.

But I still feel like shit.

Percy wouldn’t push me to answer if I didn’t want to, I know, but given the circumstances, with Eulogy Jones exposing my past, Percy learning about my fellow operatives, and now me blurting my rapist’s name in my sleep because of a nightmare… I’m willing to pick at the scabs and the leftover bandages off of the goddamn wound.

Maybe this time, it’ll have a chance to heal properly.

“Vanth to me is what Stevie was to you.”

My throat felt dry as I confessed that. Percy seemed stunned. She didn’t say a word or move an inch, probably waiting for me to continue talking, or just taken aback by my admission.

“May 5, 2077. It was my eighteenth birthday… and our contract holder then thought that a nice fuck from my teammate would be a great birthday gift. I couldn’t get any enjoyment out of it even if my body did. I didn’t want it. But I couldn’t say no.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy whispers.

“It was centuries ago. She’s just one of many.”

“That doesn’t make it any right.”

“I know. I was afraid I’d turn out like her.”

I can hear Percy gasp in realization. “So that explains your reaction in the hotel… and how you managed to resist the Talon Merc’s orders. I’m sorry Charon. Had I known where you were coming from when we had that talk, I shouldn’t have made it all about myself.”

“Don’t apologize. I wasn’t ready to talk about it then, anyway. If you didn’t talk to me about what happened to you that night, I wouldn’t be anywhere near confronting my own problems now.”

“Okay. You were also saying my name, while you were dreaming. Big guy, what did you dream of?”

I inhaled deeply.

“I dreamed that she killed you, just as she killed Mag on the day the bombs fell, and I was underneath her again. You… you get the picture.”

Silence.

Gingerly, her fingers pressed against my sides, and she leans over, the contact feeling like a request for permission and a comforting touch at the same time. I held her hands and wrapped her arms around my chest, or at least, what their length permits. Her soft cheek against the side of my neck, the muscles and veins underneath exposed, she whispered where my ear would’ve been.

“Do you want to continue talking, or should I just hold you?”

Heartbeat hammering, my hand wanders to hers, dwarfing it, and I give it a squeeze.

“Hold me.”

“Let’s get to bed so I can do that properly, then.”

She leads me by the hand up to our bedroom, where I lie on our bed, still facing the door out of habit. Percy presses the back of my head against her chest, and she rubs little circles on my shoulder. This won’t go away overnight, but at that moment, I felt safe.

“You’re an angel, you know that?” I tell her.

“Pfft. If you were someone else, I’d have pushed you off the bed for calling me that.”

Percy drapes her arm over me, and I fall asleep listening to her heartbeat.

I didn’t have any more nightmares.

When I woke up hours later, she wasn’t beside me anymore.

Percy’s voice was muffled as she spoke to someone downstairs. I threw on proper clothes, and went down the steps.

“Percy, next time, I’d appreciate a heads up when y’all are plotting something in this town.”

“Are we in trouble, sheriff?” Percy asks.

“Let’s discuss that when you get to the saloon. See you there.”

Lucas Simms  was outside our doorstep, tipping his hat at her. Percy nods at him and closes the door.

“What did the sheriff say?”

“He needs to speak to us in the saloon. Something about the town’s security. This must be about what the slavers did to Doc Church while we were gone… Jesus what have I done?”

“Is the old man alive?”

“He is, thank God. But he’s not fine. Sheriff Simms said that it would be better if I see for myself.”

I nodded grimly. It must be bad.

“Let’s get ready. I need to pick up Dogmeat and get more winter clothes from Moira after that, too.”

Percy threw on a black shirt, then her Vault suit, followed by her jacket. She put on the cap she wore on the day I met her, grabbed her scarf on the way out, and I followed her out the house.

The tenseness came back to her shoulders. I squeezed her hand to reassure her, and she didn’t let it go.

The door to Gob’s Saloon swung open, and Dogmeat ran over to lick Percy’s face, Gob running after him. DeLoria was also there, with a few people from the Abolitionists, and Paladin Cross. Then, we were met by the townsfolk, whooping and cheering.

What the hell?

“I got you good!” Sheriff Simms exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Y'all really think we wouldn’t celebrate when a citizen of Megaton was responsible for bringing down Paradise Falls? The day you went through the gates, I knew I had a good feeling about you, girl!”

Percy’s standing stiff as a pole, eyes wide. “B-but Doc Church, and the slavers coming here and-”

“They can’t put me down that easily.” Doc Church’s voice. The old man comes into view, in crutches, one of his legs in bandages.

Percy gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. “God, Doc what have they done to your leg?”

“They mangled the hell out of my leg but the Sheriff managed to chase ‘em off before they could do anything else. Oh, don’t cry you big baby, I knew the risk when I decided to help you.”

The tenseness in Percy’s shoulders were replaced by shudders from her sobbing.

“I figured the town could use more vigilance ever since that Burke character turned up planning to blow us up. He might’ve ended up killing me if you weren’t a fast shot, too. Now, don’t you cry Percy, dear girl, you’ve done us some good again,” Simms reassures her, patting her back like a father comforting a child.

Nova comes over and pulls Percy to a corner, where she sits with Moira. Butch saunters over and before I can watch the awkwardness that followed, Simms walks over to me.

“And I suppose I owe you my thanks, too,” Simms said, extending his hand. “You’ve been a good friend to Percy. And any friend of hers is a friend of this town. Consider yourself a Megaton citizen too, Charon.”

I gave it a firm and quick shake. The sheriff didn’t recoil in disgust, and just tipped his hat afterwards.

“You kids have some fun. I can’t abandon my duties as sheriff, now.”

“Oh, c’mon Simms! Just one drink!” one of the patrons yell.

I can’t say that I feel overwhelmed by the crowd; I’ve been a bouncer in the Ninth Circle after all. I knew how rowdy people can get when they’re shitfaced. I’ve stopped brawls before. I’ve endured the obnoxious laughter and yelling.

But as I watched my partner surrounded by her friends and being celebrated by strangers from my corner, the gravity of our differences finally sank in.

Usually, when people see me, their first instinct is to stay clear, and regard me with fear or disgust. Sometimes both. When people see Percy, unless they’re raiders or slavers, they greet her, run to her for help, or check her out. Damn, I think that Bittercup kid from Big Town managed to do it all in that order.

Percy really is doing her best to do good. Half of the time, I don’t even know where she can find the motivation to stay that way in this shitsack of a world. Me? I’m just a broken old ghoul who had committed crimes that would send me straight to hell.

She told me that she’s just about to turn twenty the next month. Still so damn young to be shouldering this much responsibility, and yet here she was, organizing people to target slaver rings and doing her part in bringing clean water to the wasteland. On the other hand, I’m past two hundred, and I’m not sure how long I have before I become one of the mindless ferals.

My partner is burning bright, while my fire is slowly dying out.

The worst part is, I want her more than ever.

I shouldn’t be with her. She should be with pretty young smoothskins too.

Looks like I might have to turn her down, if she finally decides to stop waiting.

Percy has no future with me.

My train of thought was interrupted by Gob.

“Hey! Hey, everyone shut up for a moment. The news is on!”

He turned the radio’s volume up, and Three Dog’s voice flooded the room. Everyone went silent.

“News time, children!

Those scumbag Slavers way over in Paradise Falls had one big ole bee on their bonnet, and this baby knew how to sting. Gasp! But what's this? There’s not just one bee, but an entire goddamn colony, and their queen looked suspiciously like a certain kid, from a certain vault. You heard it here first, faithful listeners. The Wanderer showed up with a small army at slaver central and bad guys started dropping left and right. Reports say that among the people present are the Abolitionists Miss 101 herself assisted a few months back, a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, and of course, her trusty Ghoul Reaper. And to top it all off, they gave us one hell of a pyrotechnics show when they fucking blew that place up to smithereens. Holy shit! Slavers of the Capital Wasteland, consider this the big ‘fuck you’ you've had coming since starting this scurrilous skin trade. What an amazing way to start the year!

What’s next? Is the Wasteland Avenger gonna give the Wasteland clean, fresh water too? Oh wait, she’s already working on that! Good job, kid! Just don’t burn yourself out, for chrissake. Keep fighting the Good Fight! The Wasteland is rootin’ for ya!

This is Galaxy News Radio and-”

“Hey! They didn’t mention me!” DeLoria cuts in, and laughter breaks out.

“If he starts calling me ‘Queen Bee’, I’m knocking his door down and stealing his headwrap. I’ve got enough embarrassing epithets already,” Percy sighs, downing a shot of scotch. Then, she turns, eyes searching, and her eyes land on me.

“Big guy! C’mon, sit next to me,” she calls out, and I obliged. Gob slides me a beer.

“It’s on the house. Consider it as thanks for getting back at those scumbag slavers for us.”

I nod and down half the bottle in a gulp.

Yeah, damn it all, I’ll celebrate, why the fuck not.

“Oh, it’s great that I finally caught you two here in Megaton!” Moira exclaims, striding towards us with a box in her hands. Goddamn. And I thought I was going to have a good night. This is the weirdo that made Percy drink atom bomb water.

“Now, I know you probably experienced it before,” she said, motioning to me after setting the box on the table. “But this is Percy’s first winter out here in the Wasteland! Here, as a show of my appreciation for getting rid of those mean slavers, I got you two some warm clothes!”

“Wow, it’s like you read my mind! Thank you so much for these, Moira.”

“No problem! Maybe we could work on a winter survival guide next?”

Panicked, I shake my head and Percy laughs.

“I think I’m going to take a break from experiments for now, Moira.”

“Oh? What’re you up to?”

“We’re gonna bring clean water to the Wasteland.”

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXV

January 11, 2278.

I’m certain the entire Wasteland heard the explosion.

My partner stood still, completely silent. 

All of us watched as Paradise Falls went up in flames, the fire reflecting in Percy’s glasses.

The Abolitionists and the ex-slaves cheered and yelled, some raising their fists, the others embracing each other and sobbing. Cross carried the children on her shoulders, and the little ones laughed as Paradise burned. DeLoria sat near the Abolitionists’ caravan, speaking to a few of them while nursing a bruised rib, a confident grin on his face.

Everyone is celebrating, except for the two of us.

Percy drops to her knees and cries. Wordlessly, I took my place at her side, but I didn’t dare say anything.

She grabs and squeezes my hand, and I finally allowed myself to breathe.

“You’re free,” she whispers.

Just as quickly, she lets it go.

Now, it was time to lick our wounds.

Percy patched the injured up, including me. Her eyes never met mine, and she never said a word throughout the entire ordeal. My partner knelt in front of me, tending to the gunshot wound I had on my calf, but she doesn’t look at me.

As we said our goodbyes, we walked to where we parked the motorbike, almost two kilometers from Paradise Falls’ front gate. Percy hops on, but she doesn’t press herself against my back, opting to hold my sides.

“Let’s go home,” she finally mumbles.

I couldn’t help but overthink the entire journey home.

Was getting rid of the contract a mistake? Is Percy done with me?

Is she going to kick me out of her home? Where will I go?

What the fuck am I going to do without her?

Why isn’t she talking to me?

January 12, 2278.

I was anxious for hours.

When we arrived in Megaton, Percy didn’t even stop by Gob’s Saloon to fetch Dogmeat. She just kept marching on. Without breathing a word, I followed her home.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind us, not minding the cold, Percy strips to her underclothes as she drags her feet to the kitchenette, struggling with the buckles of her armor. The faucet was running, and I heard her shiver as she tended to herself.

Then, I hear the refrigerator door opening and closing shut. She emerges from the kitchenette with a half-empty bottle of scotch in her hand, and she sits on the sofa, taking a long swig from the bottle. Fresh bandages were on her scrapes from the fight. Percy takes off her glasses and I see it clearer now, the darkening circles under her eyes from all the things she had to deal with.

Now, she has to deal with me too.

“Percy,” I mumble, building the courage to speak to her.

“Talk to me. Please?” It was my turn to use that word.

The two centuries of being bound to my contract felt longer than the silence between my question and her response.

“Come sit,” she tells me.

I do as she says.

We sat on the opposite sides of the sofa, just a few inches between each other, but it feels like she’s worlds away.

I decided that I did not like this feeling.

“Should I still call you Charon, or should I start calling you Artyom?”

I blinked at her a few times.

Tonight, I am reminded that I wasn’t always ‘Charon��. I remember my old name, the one that my mother gave me, but that child was a different person from who I became, and who I am now. That boy is long gone. But now… Now I’m not even a man.

Tonight I am reminded that I am a monster, inside and out.

“Charon.”

She went silent after that, expression blank.

“Artyom Volkov is long dead. He died when the Enclave’s predecessors took him,” I added.

Percy puts the bottle down, and her eyes flick towards me. Wet. Wary. Afraid.

It hurts to see it.

“Charon, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say. I know you were involved in the Sino-American war but…” Percy starts, pressing her knees against her chest.

“Hearing it come from that slaver’s mouth… It’s still pretty jarring. It scared me.”

I gulped.

No, not fear.

I’d rather she hate me than fear me.

My eyes trailed to her shivering form and out of instinct, I stood up, my feet taking me upstairs. I come back with a blanket from her room, and I drape it around her shoulders. I intended to leave her alone after that. But before I can take my hand away, she touches it, and she pulls me back on the couch. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she settles on my lap, back pressed against my chest. Before I can stop myself, I draw her closer to me.

I’m certain she can feel my heart hammering hard on her back.

“None of the conditioning you went through is your fault. I really do believe that.”

“But?” I ask her. I felt like there was going to be a ‘but”.

“But nothing. Charon, I’m sorry for not talking to you. I’m still absorbing what the hell just happened. I was emotional, I was having irrational thoughts and… and I didn’t want to say anything that will hurt you.”

“I understand.”

The tightness in my chest dissipates little by little, and I press my face against the back of Percy’s head. I can smell smoke, gunpowder, Abraxo, and a scent that was hers alone.

“Remember what I said months ago, about how I’ll refrain from discussing your past unless you want to talk about it?” Percy asks me, looking up and leaning against my right shoulder.

I nod. I’m afraid where this conversation is leading to.

“Let’s just rip the entire band-aid off. Can I ask you some things now?”

I knew it.

“I’m afraid that what you think of me will change once you hear all of my sins,” is my response, and I look away from her. I wasn’t ready to confront that part of myself yet.

I wasn’t ready to hear what she said after that, either.

“Hey. I want to let you know, no matter what I’ll learn about your history, or what people say about you, you’re still the Charon I know. You’re still the Charon who kept my impulsive ass in check, the Charon who carries me gently whenever I’m injured or shitfaced. You’re still the Charon who stuck by me as we wiped off that slaver shithole off the map, the same Charon who broke free from centuries of being tied to that fucking piece of paper. You’ll always be my Charon.”

My eyes are starting to get wet.

Goddammit, Percy.

Without saying anything, I buried my face into her hair, and I did the best I could to hold back my tears. We stayed like that for what seemed like hours.

“Besides,” she finally breaks the silence. “I don’t think I have the heart to hear what they forced you to do either. I want to ask about who you were as Artyom Volkov.”

I scratch my head, or what skin left on it anyway. “Angel, as much as I would like to, I was sixteen when they changed my name and deemed me ready. I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. I’ve lived for more than two centuries, and sixteen years seems insignificant now.”

“Well, I’m just about to turn twenty next month, so excuse my differing perception on the flow of time,” Percy chuckles, eyeing her photograph with her father on the wall.

She turns around to face me. I lie back on the sofa, and she lies prone on top of me, chin resting on my chest. “Let’s start small. You mentioned your dad before. Tell me about him.”

I let myself smile a little. Propping my head against one arm, I’m ready to tell her everything I can remember.

“His name’s Ilya. I can’t quite remember his face, but he was big. Like a yao guai.”

Percy giggles.

“Yeah, definitely like you. Tell me more about him. What was he like?”

“He made me feel safe. During the winter he’ll take his ushanka out of the attic and tell me about the place he came from. I remember wanting to wear his hat. He said that one day I’d grow into it, but he was killed before that could happen,” I tell Percy, and she gives me a sympathetic look.

Not pity again. I need to change the subject. “We spent Saturdays fishing. I barely saw him during the weekdays.”

“Huh. What did he do?”

“I can’t remember, but on Sundays, my father used to bring people from work in the house, and they’d sit and talk for hours. I couldn’t comprehend what they were discussing together.”

“What did they talk about?” Percy asks.

“I’m not sure. Once, I asked him what the meetings are about, and he told me that they’re talking about how they can be paid better at work, so he can bring home more food for us.”

Percy crawls a little closer. “Sounds like he was in a labor union.”

“A what?”

“A labor union. I don’t know when unions first showed up, but history class from the vault taught me a little about the ones from the era before the Great War. Resources became scarce, so did wages. People worked long hours for very little pay. Workers banded together to demand better benefits from their employers. Mr. Brotch told us that what the laborers did was fair, and I think I agree,” Percy explains, a stray lock of hair on her forehead.

I brushed it off gingerly, my fingers brushing against her skin. She leans into my touch.

“In hindsight, it was probably their meetings that led to them being accused as Reds,” she adds.

I paused, pondering on the information Percy shared with me.

“You know, come to think of it, he always came home late and tired. My mother was always worried about him.”

At the mention of the word mother, Percy’s eyes flick to mine. There was a certain kind of sadness in them. I felt a twinge in my chest.

“What was your mother like, Charon? What was it like to have a mom?”

“Her name’s Annika. She was gentle to me. Protective too. Scolded the kids who made fun of my difficulties in reading. Aside from singing me lullabies, she used to make me the thinnest pancakes. She called them blins. Having a mother who looked after me was nice. I felt cared for.”

“That… that sounds amazing.”

My breath hitches at my throat.

“I loved her very much. I loved both of them very much.”

Percy strokes my arm, hand soft against my rough skin and hardened muscles. “Was there anyone else in your family? Like a sibling?”

“I didn’t have brothers or sisters, but I did have an aunt. Katya. She was my father’s younger sister.”

“What do you remember about her?”

“The last time I saw her was to visit her during her birthday, Her hair was red too. I didn’t know what happened to her after I was taken away.”

“And what was Aunt Katya like?”

“Loud. Chatty. She talked my ear off for hours, though there were some things she said that I didn’t understand a child, and can’t remember now. I loved her too.”

“I see,” my partner replies, yawning and stretching.

Then, Percy asks me a question that made me hold my breath.

“Was there anyone else you loved aside from family, Charon?”

You.

Wait. Stop. Damn, and I almost said it out loud.

I care for Percy. I really do. But is it love?

Fuck, I’m still figuring it out.

“The indoctrination didn’t leave much room for that. We were actively discouraged from forming any attachments to anyone except our employers,” I tell her instead.

I felt Percy sag against me. She rests her cheek against my chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“There was someone I cared for despite the conditioning, though,” I tell her.

“Who?”

“Her name was Magwayen. I called her Mag, I couldn’t remember her name before she was inducted. When I was brought to the facility as a child, she cared for me.”

Percy holds my gaze, silently asking me to continue.

“I think she was about your age when I met her. I was a lot shorter than her back then. By the time I was inducted, she was our medic. I was their demolition guy.”

Thinking about Mag, my brain started to itch again.

“Now that I’ve thought about it, you two are similar.”

Head perking up, Percy gives me a curious look. “Oh? Aside from our age and our background in medicine, what else did we share?”

“She was Asian too, I think. Had dark hair like yours, but it was longer. You both had strong principles. She managed to fake being subservient to survive. I was supposed to report her for that, but she was kind. It became our secret.”

Percy gives me a soft smile. “I have a feeling Mag and I would’ve gotten along.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah. And you were both short as hell.”

With a laugh, Percy gives my chest a playful shove. “Making fun of me now? Oh Charon, how could you?” she asks, her voice dripping with mock hurt.

“Now that the contract’s gone, I can tease you without the fear of you selling it.”

“As if my conscience is capable of letting me do that,” she replies, now with genuine hurt. Shit.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that.”

Percy blinks at me.

“I do not want to admit it, but you selling my contract became one of my worst fears. I didn’t expect you to free me from it.”

To my surprise, this angel leans forward and kisses me at my temple, where I had pointed a gun at a few hours ago.

“I didn’t free you from it. I just helped you. You did that yourself, big guy. I’m proud of you.”

I fell asleep smiling.

??? ??, ????.

I feel an unwelcome weight above me.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t looking into eyes with the color of Pre-War chocolate anymore. They’re green, reminding me of the Wasteland’s radioactive sky.

Recoiling in horror, I blurted her name.

“Vanth.”

She wraps her hands around my neck, and I was in hell all over again.

“Charon.”

“Vanth, no. Stop! Get the fuck off me,” I growl at her. “Percy, where are you?”

“She can’t save you now.”

In the corner of my eye, I see Percy, her skull and brains strewn on the metal floor.

No...

Powerless, I just let it fucking happen.

All of a sudden, I can hear Percy’s voice.

“Charon, wake up,” Percy whispers with urgency, gently shaking me awake.

I saw her face, and crushed her against my chest.

“Nightmare?”

I nod.

“Hey, who’s Vanth?”