Note: I know, I know. I'm trying to get back to my previous schedule. Or close to it. Haven't written in a long time, so much stress. For now, I'm testing the waters with Charlie here. Trying to get the feel for the character was difficult.

As with most of my stories, this will be a romance. Once I can get to the point, haha. This is my attempt to make a slow beginning a little more interesting.

Charlie thought she was drowning, at first. When she woke, all she could feel was pressure. Something was suffocating her, in her face and in her throat, stopping her from breathing. She panicked―

Pain! Her head was screaming in pain! It was impossible, the amount of pain she was feeling. The pressure grew and grew, and her lungs ached in tempo with her head. What in the hell was covering her up? She was on her back, under an enormously heavy pile of―

Dirt? Her hands clawed through the rocks and earth, desperately fighting to get herself free. But she was―she wasn't going to be able to get out! Fingers curled into fists, stopping their movement against the dirt.

She couldn't remember. Only her name and―and that someone had shot her. Someone shot her in the face and she could feel the pain and she was confused because now she couldn't breathe and her lungs were aching in her chest... white spots exploded into vision behind her closed eyes.

Oh―God, was this it? Was this how she was going to die? Without knowing what in the hell had happened and who killed her? She couldn't remember his face. Black and white checkers. Glint of gold. Not his face. Only that he was talking about a game―

Wasn't what she'd pictured for herself, going out like this! She'd fought tooth and nail to stay alive―her head hurt so badly she could barely think. Had she fought? She... couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything!

Except... she knew she was Charlie. And Charlie was about to die, because―

That asshole had buried her while she was still alive!

"You're awake. How about that."

Charlie jerked and threw a hand out, moving herself sideways and damn near falling off of a mattress with a creaky bed frame attached to it. She stopped herself by grabbing the edge of the grimy mattress, then pushed backwards and away from an old man sitting beside her. What―who was―

"Whoa, easy there. Easy. Get your bearings."

He held his hands out but she didn't relax. Easy there? How was she supposed to relax when the last thing she remembered was―was being buried?!

She felt a stray breeze crawl up her back. Shit! She was almost naked! What in the hell―Charlie's arms and legs began to shake from emotion, her eyes locked onto the old man and her mind running a million miles a minute trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn't focus on any one thing, any reason why.

"Can you tell me your name?" the old man was asking her, his voice calm. He was sitting in front of her with his hands in between his legs and leaning forward, staring right back at her.

Charlie curled in on herself, trying to keep her gaze on his. She knew that you couldn't trust people. Not in the wastes. Couldn't trust no one in Vegas either―

For a moment, Charlie wondered why she remembered Vegas, but immediately knew she wasn't in Vegas. Charlie's eyes flicked from the old man's eyes to the nearby window. Light shined through the boards, catching on the dust motes floating through the air and beaming onto a surgical table nearby. The room smelled... like dusty earth, warm water, and the musky stench of Bighorner droppings.

Definitely not Vegas.

She blinked and took in the room, pushing herself into a sitting position. She was inside of a worn-looking, but well-loved house. Bloodied bandages and disposable medical items were bundled into a wastebasket, the remnants of a recent surgery. The old man in his field hand clothes was still talking, calming sounds in a quiet room. Two open doors behind him gaped invitingly, showing a hallway and another room.

Her eyes darted back to the man as she tried to remember. She opened her mouth slowly, and stared him in the eyes. "...Charlie," she said. Her voice surprised her. She was nervous and it showed, badly.

"Can't say it's what I'd have picked for you." He lowered his hands and laid them across his knees. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

Goodsprings. Where was Goodsprings? Charlie's head ached. She rubbed her temple with one hand, and grimaced. Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt?

"Let's see if we can get you on your feet." Doc Mitchell held out a hand and Charlie glared at him. She wasn't sure she could trust him. If she could trust anyone... someone had just shot her in the head and she could barely remember her own name!

The doctor withdrew and watched her push herself to a standing position. After a moment of getting her balance, checking to make sure she was in one piece, and refusing any help, she followed his instructions. Tested her vigor on a funny little machine, which would have been amusing if she wasn't so jacked up―

From what, she didn't remember. The doctor mentioned something about her being shot in the head. She didn't know why or how or who would have done it. A spike of anxiousness drove deep into her heart at the thought. What in the hell had happened to her?!

Charlie frowned when the tester told her her senses were on par with a deaf bat. "Maybe we should fit you for some glasses while you're here," Doc Mitchell remarked, awkwardly. Charlie blinked and stared at him for a long moment, watching his face turn from a lighthearted attempt at humor to sadness. She kept her mouth shut. Was better not to say a word―

Another couple of tests and she was set to leave. The doctor mentioned that she'd been buried up at the cemetery―of course, she'd been shot in the head, that made sense―and gave her her things back, along with something called a Pip-Boy.

He also offered her up a Vault suit to wear, and she shook her head at him. Went through her things for a moment, and immediately pulled on the metal armor she found. Made her feel a little better. Why hadn't she worn it when she was―she paused. Wait. What had she been doing before the man shot her...?

Charlie felt like she was going to fall to pieces. She didn't know who she was other than a name. Didn't know where she came from, where she was going. It was... she had a clean slate. Everything that she had been before, even if she remembered it, didn't matter.

...Well, it wasn't that easy to ignore that she had a past. Even if she didn't want to find it. But... thinking that she was free made her feel a little better. Less anxious. Made her feel like whoever she had been, had been someone who wanted their past to go away. She wondered why.

And if that memory would come back to her soon, or if she would be forever stuck half-remembering things. The bright blue and glaring yellow jumpsuit that the doctor was holding brought to mind something like that. She stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out why it looked so familiar. Something on the tip of her tongue wanted to be spoken, but hell if she knew what it was.

"Doctor," she said, trying to jog her memory. "What did you say about the suit?"

"It belonged to my wife," he answered, his voice strained. "I think she was about your size, and she hardly wore it after we left the Vault."

A sharp pain in Charlie's head sounded off at his words and she squeezed her eyes shut. Why... why was it so difficult―she couldn't remember. It looked so normal to her... but she couldn't remember.

"Anyway, you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I'll fix you up. But try not to get killed anymore." Doc Mitchell was watching her with that strange sad look in his eyes.

Charlie rubbed her temple and breathed out, trying to think straight. She remembered what the doctor had said, before. "You said you lost something?" she asked. If he kept talking, she might figure out what was missing...

"Well, ain't we all, right? That was a long time ago. I don't pay it much mind anymore."

She stared at him for a moment. He was clearly lying. And he was still staring at her with a strange way, and she was starting to wonder what was really going on―

Charlie rummaged in her sack for a while and tried to think. She was... a courier, there was a work order there, and―and someone stole the package. A platinum chip. That part was easy to figure out. But... on the paper there was also the name of the place she got the order at.

"Mojave Express," she thought aloud.

"That's to the south, in Primm." Doc Mitchell had the Vault suit draped over his arm. Charlie stared at it for a long moment, then stood up and held out her hand. She didn't know why, but it seemed like he wanted her to have the thing... so she might as well take it.

There was a tense pause before he handed her the jumpsuit. Charlie shoved it in her sack, shouldered it, and pushed past him.

Charlie sidled into the saloon without a word to anyone. She avoided talking to the woman with the dog and moved to the left, slipping into a booth. Waiting for a heated argument between a woman and a man to end, she studied the combatants. She guessed that the woman in the skirt was Trudy. Doctor Mitchell had mentioned her. She owned the saloon.

Charlie squinted at the black man yelling at Trudy. Who was that? He sounded... familiar...

She covered her face, her hands shaking. Everything seemed familiar. How could she tell if it really was? Nothing so far had been strange except for "familiar"! No one was saying anything to her about who she was, but everyone was―everyone in Goodsprings was someone she felt comfortable with.

It was like the worst feeling of déjà vu in the world. Charlie was about to give up on trying to figure it out when the black man turned around.

Oh, God, it was Joe Cobb.

She remembered! She remembered!

Joe looked around the place, his upper lip curled into a sneer, and made a noise that sounded like he didn't much care for anyone inside. Charlie racked her brain for the memory, grasping at the end of the trail that led to it, but lost her grip. She made a frustrated noise and rubbed her forehead with her palm. She remembered who he was, but not why she knew him―

It was right there and she lost it! Dammit! She groaned under her breath, and watched as Joe turned and looked directly at her. Her heart damn near tap danced out of her chest across the table as she stared right into his eyes. She watched his mouth moving into a sick smile, directed right at her, and a deep dread made its way into the bottom of her stomach.

"You," Joe said, moving to the table she sat at, and leaning onto one hand. Put his face into hers and narrowed his eyes, and she could smell his breath. Charlie fought the urge to back away quickly, her heart making a horrible pounding against her ribs. Joe leaned in further and further until his nose was almost touching hers.

"Let's talk outside, huh?" he said, quietly, then backed away and stared down at her.

Charlie froze in place. Everyone in the place was looking at her. Didn't know what to do but agree, and make him leave―she jerked her head up and down in a painful nod and watched him saunter out of the saloon, then moved and slumped onto a barstool.

"Who was that guy?" she asked, her voice shaky.

Trudy sighed. "Just trouble. Stay away from it." She wiped the counter top and attempted a smile. "What can I do for you?"

Trudy said Joe was threatening them with violence if they wouldn't give up some trader. Charlie knew... the Powder Gangers. A little. Remembered... remembered she'd helped them, in the past. Helped them after that breakout at the NCRCF―helped some of them get north―

Charlie paled in the dark interior of the saloon, and Trudy asked if she was feeling well.

Charlie was a criminal.

...No wonder she didn't want to remember the past.