The neon lights of New Vegas dazzled in the starlight, blinding the courier as she opened the doors of the Lucky 38. The weight of her silenced .22 thawed her from her frozen state as she remembered what she had set out to do. As she wobbled in heels towards her destination, she remembered glancing into the mirror before she left the suite, graciously provided by Mr. House. She was a shell of her former self, scrubbed clean of the harsh Mojave desert, outfitted in a red dress that hugged her curves and fell loosely around her thighs, and heels that made her miss her boots, with a painted on face and soft hair. A week ago, she was close to death, and now she was on her way to face the man who put a bullet in her head.


He glanced around the casino floor as the gamblers wasted away, spending their only caps on flashy card games and hungry slot machines. He almost felt sorry as he lit his cigarette, almost. It had been one week since he had taken the platinum chip from the courier, who was now at home in the shallow grave back at Goodsprings. It was simple job; intercept the sixth courier, take the chip, kill them, and leave. Simple, he thought as he laughed to himself. He hadn't slept since, his dreams echoed by his shot, the metal clanks of the shovel, and the silence as he walked away, casually flipping the oversized chip in his hand. With a pang of guilt in his chest, he turned away from his fellow chairmen, and turned back to the casino floor, where he watched as the cards and slots dug shallow graves for the tired-eyed gamblers, retrieving their only possessions; caps, their hard-earned caps. He felt sorrow, and this time, it was real.

He took another drag from his cigarette, when a flash of red caught his eye. From afar, it looked like another beautiful woman he planned to finagle up to his bedroom later on, but as she moved closer, in his direction, he could tell by the venom in her eyes that she wasn't just another woman, she was something entirely different.

She stopped in front of him, the man in the checkered suit, and he didn't begin to sweat until she smiled at him and whispered, "Remember me, Benny?"


He didn't how she did it, but he had his arm around her waist and was leading her up to his suite on the thirteenth floor. It wasn't exactly how he planned, nor did he expect the courier he had shot in the head only a week ago come back into his life and smooth talk her way into his bed. It felt all sorts of wrong, but he couldn't help admitting that she was a sight. She shined brighter than all the lights on the New Vegas strip. Under the moonlight a week ago, he had seen her bundled up in combat armor, face caked in dirt, and helpless; he never imagined he'd catch himself falling for what was underneath.

When he guided her into the elevator, he couldn't help but watch as she stood mesmerized, taking in everything around her. She tried her best to keep up her bad girl persona, but he saw right through the courier's act; she was just as scared as he was.

When she caught him smiling at her, she gave him a look, biting down on her lower lip, just like she did a week ago, when she saw the situation getting the best of her. He looked forward as the elevator doors creaked open, still smiling, as he whispered, "Ring a ding ding."


She drifted in and out of consciousness as the memories of last night flooded her mind. They had sat apart; weary of each other's actions, casually sipping on their wine. She had studied Benny with careful eyes, he was quite a man; handsome, charming, and a sly fox who had a way with words. It surprised her when he broke the silence, apologizing about the "shindig" back in Goodsprings. The way he called her "pussycat", the way each syllable of that word rolled of his tongue made her want to forgive him, even as the slight scar, hidden under her bangs, pained her. She didn't know how it happened, maybe it was the tension, or even the wine, but they ended up tangled up in each other on the couch, his lips on hers, hands knotted up in each other's hair. From there, they crossed the short distance to Benny's bedroom, littering the floor with their clothes, weapons, and regrets. At last, they collapsed into the sheets, intoxicated by the wine and one another. She had come there to kill him, and he knew that; he deserved it nevertheless. When it was over, and he held her in his arms, both out of breath and bodies slick with sweat and lust, she thought about doing it, just grabbing her gun and finishing what she had set out to do.

He was waiting for it, as he took long drags on his cigarette, waiting for her to pull a fast one on this 18-carat opportunity. He could just as easily killed her, finishing what he had started back while she sat in her shallow grave, but he was intrigued by the courier he almost killed, maybe even a little in love. She knew how to swing, hell, she was more platinum than the chip from House itself. He felt her breathing steady off, and when he was sure she was asleep, he leaned over and kissed the scar on her forehead, a reminder of his selfishness, and before he got out of bed, whispered into her ear, "You're platinum, pussycat."


She finally awoke in a daze, swallowed by a sea of blankets, in an empty bed. Sitting up, the courier looked around the room until grayish note on the nightstand beside the bed caught her eye. Her eyes scanned the scribbles of words, reaching a very sophisticated signature at the end, Ciao, Benny. The note crumpled in her tightly balled fist, as her face grew red with anger. She had been played by the fox himself, and she had let the platinum chip slip out of her hands. She was always chasing him, and he always seemed one step ahead.

"…Your showing up has forced my hand, baby! The time to act is now! I won't be around for awhile, but if everything works out right, you and me are a date, got it? Wouldn't miss it for all the caps in Vegas. Now don't get clingy and try to follow me…"

The courier jumped out of bed, grabbing all that belonged to her. Half-upset, half-angry, half-dressed, and half-in love, she pushed through the door, her mind clouded with hurt. She almost didn't realize when she bumped into someone in the suite in her fit of rage.

He smiled at the courier, realizing that his note must have caused some sort of agitation, and in changing his plans, forgot to take it back. Instead of fixing her hurt with words, he walked up and kissed her. It took her a moment to register that he was still here, but she eventually gave in to his embrace. They sat down on the same couch where their evening began, and Benny explained his plan in full, and made it clear that he wanted the courier to be a part of it. New Vegas needed a change, and Mr. House wasn't the solution anymore. Together, they could take control, forfeiting his plans for selfish power. He wanted her to be his pussycat, and he wanted to share the city of vice and sin with her.

"So pussycat, what do ya say? Let's team up and take down House, dig?" Benny asked, cigarette dangling from his smirking lips.

The courier couldn't resist, his plans made sense. She was still weary of the man who shot her in the head, but the sincerity in his voice told her to trust him. It was an odd pairing, the two of them, but their strange connection made it work. In one night, she had fallen in love with the man in the checkered jacket, and she had changed his mind on everything he wanted. He had once yearned for all the caps that New Vegas could give him, but now he had someone worth more.

The courier met Benny's eyes, and stood to her feet, sticking out her hand towards him. He stood up to meet her, grabbing her hand. She shook his hand, and the deal was complete. Benny gave her a smile, and pulled her towards him, sealing the deal with a kiss.

"So before we get this shindig started pussycat, how about another…"

The courier smiled as she shut the door to Benny's bedroom, with her lips already on his, and with that, it was round two.