Dreaming through the noise.

#4 from this prompt table.

Charon watched her from the doorway. She had her supplies laid out on the bed in front of her. Rations, cleaning and repair supplies for armor and gun, extra ammo for Polaris—Security Chief Harkness’s plasma rifle—bobby pins, underwear, some spare shirts and light pants, and a few odds and ends, including the medicine bobble head she’d taken from her dad’s desk almost three years ago, on her flight from the vault.

She met Charon’s eyes, waited for him to call her crazy, foolish, stupid.

He only grinned—that small, lazy grin that on anyone else would look like a cross between a grimace and a smirk—and told her to move her ass unless she wanted to miss Crow.