Veronica lies in Cass's arms, clutching an empty bottle of whisky and breathing heavily. Cass holds her like she's the only thing that keeps herself from falling, as nonsensical as that sounds, and she fingers the neck of a half full bottle.
Cass looks down at Veronica's dark hair and has the almost overwhelming urge of kissing her head and telling her everything will be okay, but she doesn't. Instead, she holds her and hopes the message goes through.
They are not wearing their usual clothes. Pre-war pajamas warm their bodies, necessary as the Lucky 38 gets real cold in the winter. It is 3 am, they are both drunk off their minds and the Courier is off with Arcade, probably doing things that might end with both of them dead and Cass once again feels the overwhelming urge but stops.
Veronica snuggles closer to Cass, wrapping her arms around her waist and nuzzles her stomach and this suddenly got a lot more complicated.
"Shit, Ronnie."
She never called Veronica that before but the Courier rubs off on people. Not literally, but that would be fun right now and Cass finds herself distracted only to be snapped back to reality. Veronica pulls back her head and looks up at her, looking much like a wounded puppy. Cass sighs and scratches her head and still tries to fight the urge to protect her.
"Fine, go ahead."
A sliver of a smile appears on Veronica's face and she leans against Cass.
Cass eyes the sleeping (and snoring) form of Boone, in the bed next to them. She finds herself praying he doesn't wake up.
She is unsure of why or how they got into this position, that happened many bottles of whiskey ago.
For now, she lets it go. And simply enjoys the company.