Chapter 1: The End?

Disclaimer: All people, places, things, and other nouns that are not of my own creation belong to Bethesda and Obsidian Entertainment.

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep...that have taken hold." – J.R.R. Tolkien

It had been more than a year since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Courier Six had taken on the name Consuela (a name given to her by Raul after he got tired of calling her boss; he said it meant consolation, or something like that) and opened a small mechanic shop that they called "Tejada Repairs." They had set up a cozy life living in the small living space above the shop and spent a good deal of their time together. They hadn't kept in contact with many of the others after Cass had left with the now-reformed Cassidy Caravans, Boone in tow (hired as a bodyguard; said he wanted to keep a lookout for any Legion stragglers). Arcade had left with them to return to NCR territory and be a teacher. She hadn't heard from Veronica since the night after the battle, but Consuela guessed that she was back on the road once again. Even Lily left, to investigate her past. Consuela, too, wished to venture out in search of her past, but since she had no leads and an aging ghoul to look after her, she had decided to resign herself to a peaceful life.

It seemed like a fitting end to a tale like hers. It should have been an end, but for one little hitch in the Courier's careful plan. She didn't know how to lead a normal life. Since she had been dragged out of her grave by Victor, all she had known was life in the Wasteland. She couldn't remember what it was like to be normal. Christ, she didn't even know her real name. Every time she would think of leaving to find her past, however, Raul would be right there, reminding her of the life she had made for herself.

It wasn't as though she hated life with Raul, either. He had been a father to her ever since she had busted him out of Utobitha, or whatever the hell that crazy nightkin Tabitha had called her little setup on Black Mountain. They had been through a lot trying to make the Mojave a better place, and she felt like she owed it to him to keep him company for however long she had. Starting the shop had been a blast at first. She loved fixing and making weapons, and Raul made the best food she had ever tasted. But the monotony of the day-to-day city life had finally gotten to her, and after nearly a year of hardly setting a foot out of New Vegas, she was itching for the feel of her Q-35 in her hands and the rough heat of the Mojave beating at her back as she ran around trying to stay alive. Most of all, though, she wanted to know who she was before her memories had been ripped from her so cruelly.

That was what she was thinking about, lying awake in her small room above the shop one night. It was sweltering. A small fan that she had found and fixed worked pitifully to dispel the pervasive heat. Her blankets were clumped at her feet in a small heap, and she had propped her head on her hand in lieu of a pillow in order to stop from overheating. Every few minutes, she would take a sip from the glass on her bedside table. Even then, it was impossible to cool down.

She wondered where she had grown up. Gone to school. Had she even gone to school? She thought she could hear a woman's voice calling out to her in her sleep at times. Was that her mother, or was it simply some illusion her mind had conjured up to fill the space where one should be? It ached to think about, but she couldn't stop. Maybe she had brothers and sisters. She could be a big sister to some kid who would never see her again. Did anyone miss her?

The thoughts and questions kept coming unbidden, unwanted, and irresistible. They teased her, just out of reach. It stung to know that she would be hurting the only family she could rightfully claim if she went after the answers she craved, but not knowing was ripping her apart, slowly but surely.

Suddenly, she wondered if there'd been a boy back home, wherever that was. It seemed reasonable. Consuela wasn't pretty, but there was a certain character to her dark, deep-set eyes that was set off by her thick eyebrows that were made to express the many emotions she played host to. It had come in handy when trying to get her way, something that she had become accustomed to after so long in charge.

She found her mind wandering after that, until she found herself in the midst of an old conversation with Boone (one of very few). It stuck in her memory because it had occurred directly after the whole Bitter Springs fiasco.

They sat across the fire from each other, silently chewing on whatever-it-was that she had dug up from the bottom of her pack. The silence hung heavy in the humid air, punctuated only by the sounds the desert made at night. Boone finally stopped trying to make any headway on the rough meal and set his plate on the group beside him. Consuela eyed him warily as she chewed. Aeons seemed to pass before she swallowed, caught up in trying to figure out what was eating him. It was probably better that she didn't know. She would want to talk about it, and he wouldn't. That was the way of things with Boone.

She sighed and turned her mind to Raul, who was patiently awaiting their return at the Lucky 38. Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, remembering the frilly pink apron she had scavenged the other day. It would be priceless to see his expression when she gave it to him upon her return.

Her train of thought was unexpectedly derailed when Boone spoke. She didn't even catch what he had said, it was so quiet and sudden.

"Say again?" she asked not unkindly.

"I said I just realized that I know absolutely nothing about you," he began roughly, but gained confidence and strength as he went on, "but you know nearly everything that's worth knowing about me."

Consuela was surprised by his question, but she supposed it made sense. Even Boone got curious on occasion.

"You know about as much as I do," she shrugged, after taking a moment to digest the question, "When Victor pulled me out of that grave, I left my past behind. Not by choice, either. Apparently, being shot in the head is an excellent recipe for instant Amnesia."

He said nothing. After waiting a minute for she-didn't-know-what, Consuela went back to attempting to eat her dinner. Silence overtook the desert once again, and she could feel her eyelids begin to droop. Before she could drift off completely, though, he spoke again. His voice sounded rough, and it rattled around a while before I could even make sense of the words.

"I know it doesn't mean much, but for what it is worth, I hope you find them."

Startled once again, she struggled to respond coherently.

"Who?"

"Your family," he ventured, sounding cold and Boone-like once again "Friends from your past. I don't know."

Consuela smiled genuinely at him, and they locked eyes across the fire. Or at least she thought they locked eyes. She could never tell with those ridiculous shades he wore all the time. Regardless of where his eyes really were in that moment, he looked down right afterwards. Still uncomfortable with people, she supposed.

"You too," she finally responded, getting his attention once again.

"But Carla's dead now."

Consuela shook her head. Talking to Boone was like trying to battle a deathclaw armed with a lead pipe and a prayer.

"What came before Carla?" she asked, trying to prompt more positive thinking. She felt like she was talking to a brick wall.

"1st Recon," he responded without much interest, "but that's all over with now."

Consuelo weighed her options before choosing her response. On one hand, Boone stubborn was like those oxen she remembered reading about somewhere. On the other, he was an extremely hurt individual who needed someone to work through his baggage with him. She decided to not push it too far.

"You know, when I first found Raul, he was working as a repairman for some jumped up nightkin in the Black Mountains," she said, not looking directly at Boone, but knowing that she had his rapt attention, she chose her words with care.

"He was almost ready to give up. Seen more than he figured he had any right to. He may have been right, too, but for whatever reason, he followed me out of that hellhole. Right before we left, I asked him why, and he said it was because I reminded him of someone he used to know. When she was alive, he said that he never really appreciated how much having people around mattered. Gave him a real sense of what it means to be alone after she died, though."

She looked up, then, and stared him down.

"I can't pretend to know how much it hurts that Carla's dead, but I think you could make it, if you tried. Even if you don't talk to Manny or anyone from 1st Recon again. Right now, you're waiting out a death sentence that no one except you cares anything about. I don't expect you to start healing immediately, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't give up on yourself just yet. You never know what might happen to make life not so shitty again."

Back in the small room above Tejada Repairs, Consuela smiled. She knew that her words hadn't made much of an effect on the reclusive sniper, but she felt better knowing that she had done what she could. She also realized that she missed the grumpy soldier, oddly enough. He wasn't much for conversation, but after so long on the road together, she had grown fond of him. He'd left with everyone else, though. It was probably for the best; life was pretty boring in Vegas with the NCR calling the shots. Too boring.

By that time, the sun was rising, and rays of light spilled in through her make-shift curtains. Morning brought no reprieve from the heat of the night, and as Consuelo readied herself for another long day, she found herself truly dreading the daily drudgery for the first time. Nevertheless, she forced herself out of her door and into another day in the shop. It was going to be her longest yet.

AN:

And so it begins.~

Ahem. I would like to thank you personally for reading my fic. Even if you don't review or favorite or put this fic on alert, I freally appreciate that you took the time to get to know my character and my story. For that, you deserve more thanks than I can rightly give through a single text document. Again, thank you so much, you perfect person, you.

Now, onto Consuela's stats:

S - 6
P - 7
E - 2
C - 7
I - 9
A - 6
L - 3

TAGGED SKILLS: Repair, Energy Weapons, Speech

Hispanic / Tribal

5"2 / 5"3 in combat boots

Again, thank you for reading this chapter. Hope to see you soon!~

-Miriflowers