Disclaimer Don't own Fallout.

Author's Notes There's not enough House-fic on this site. This must be remedied.

A Terminal Affair

1

The robot with the face of a cowboy greeted the travel-weary courier as she climbed the steps outside the brightly lit Lucky 38 casino. Long before she had even neared the gates of New Vegas she had seen the roulette wheel shaped building glowing in the distance. To some it must look like the beacon of a lighthouse, guiding the lost souls of the Mojave. She supposed, in a way, it was fitting for it was the home of a man who proclaimed to want to save mankind, albeit if that way was at a cost. It irked her that he was a particular man when it came to those that he let inside his glittering paradise. Walking through Freeside to get home always broke her heart, because she always felt guilty that she was on her way to a comfortable, safe home. Did it even bother House that those outside his heavily guarded Strip were starving and dying? Sometimes she wondered if he was lying to her just to get her to work for him, using her reputation as a philanthropist to manipulate her.

With more emotion than she felt she smiled back at the securitron and inclined her head, "hey, Victor." She didn't even wait for a reply before heading inside. The lights were already blazing on the main floor, prompting her to squint her eyes against the harsh florescent rays. After plodding through the desert darkness the electricity in the casino was a little much for her retinas. When she faced Victor once again at the elevator he inquired upon her destination, likely expecting her to choose the Penthouse, for that was her usual after being gone for a period of time. Tonight she was too tired, too dusty, and too filled with dread to face the man upstairs. "Uh, not right now. I'll go up after I shower. Have to look presentable, don't I?"

She tried to sound chipper about the whole thing, but even the mere thought of having to talk to House tonight at all made her stomach churn in unpleasant anticipation. He would not be pleased. Not that he ever was.

"Just don't forget now!" Victor chirped. "The boss's been mighty worried about your whereabouts the last few days. I'm sure he's appreciate if you called on him."

Claire's lip twitched. By 'mighty worried about her whereabouts' she was sure it meant that he was upset with how long it was taking her to get back with some kind of news about Benny. She could still remember the fury in House's voice when he had let her know how he felt about her letting Benny escape… with the chip. House didn't care about Benny at all one way or another, but he did care that his ex-protégé to be was still in possession of his platinum grail. Given the circumstances she hadn't blamed him at the time, even going so far as to admit that she'd been an idiot. However, after some private thought, she'd determined she didn't like the way he'd handled it. House was supposed to be the professional here, and he was barely holding onto the precipice of control while he missed the big point: she had been trying to do the right thing.

"Oh, I won't." Claire didn't know how she could forget a thing like that.

XXX

By the time Claire had finished her soak in the tub she was feeling rather relaxed. She'd tried to put Mr. House out of her mind for the duration and that hadn't been hard. Thinking about him while bathing (naked) would have been uncomfortable for more reasons than just the thought of what verbal abuse he had planned for her. Actually thinking about any man while naked had always been an uncomfortable undertaking. It wasn't that she was a prude; it just felt like an invasion of privacy – both for herself and the man in question. Yet the second she emerged from the bathroom she was reminded of the trip upstairs she was to take by spotting Victor waiting by the elevator and sighed, deflated.

She immediately dressed despite the urge to just curl up in bed and fall asleep and then rode the elevator up to the Penthouse. Like she had feared, and known, House was in a state, and that state wasn't Nevada.

"I see you took your time getting here." No hello. No how was your trip or I hope the fiends didn't try to take your head off. It was right to the point. She was late, and not only was she late, but she had kept him waiting even longer by making a personal detour.

Claire crossed her arms over her chest. "I went to take a shower. I've been on the road for days so I thought it would be nice to freshen up before I tracked dirt all over your suite." It was a rational explanation, one that involved her thinking of him before herself instead of just wanting to avoid the whole thing altogether. Maybe somewhere in her words he'd find enough to move on and forget about it.

"It would have been nice to know the current status of my property in a timely manner, Miss Stokes. As you should know dust is the least of my worries."

The Courier kept her composure as calm as she could manage. She never knew if House could see her or only hear her during these visits, but she wasn't going to chance it. "The status of your property is still the same as it was before as far as I know. Benny still has it. I have not confirmed if he's reached Caesar's Fort yet. However, he was spotted a few days ago at the 188 Trading post."

"Knowing where he was and knowing where he is are two different things. It doesn't help us in the least. I will assume that you haven't followed my orders and been to the Fort."

"No, but I thought if I could catch Benny before I—"

"From now on do not think." House interrupted her. His tone sounded tired, as if he were a parent dealing with a child. "I know it might be hard for you to understand such simple logic as what I have laid down for you, but it is imperative we handle this with care. We can't afford to lose that chip."

"You can't afford to lose that chip." There, Claire said it. The bitter taste of her words coated her tongue like bile. As soon as it was out she wished she could put it back in. Anger was the last thing that would earn her any respect in this place.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't need the fucking thing." Claire continued, rage still boiling up even through her promise that she wasn't going to let House's ego get the best of her while working for him. She had been forced to deal with people just as bad and had survived, but something about him got under her skin, something that made her want to find him, scream at him, and then throttle him within an inch of his life. Potential, yes, it was potential. House had the ability to be doing so many wondrous things, instead he was barking orders and making assumptions about the rest of the world based on comparisons to his world, his dead world. She couldn't take it anymore. "I never needed it. All I wanted was answers, and then I got them. I only stayed around because I believed in what you were trying to do. But I won't stand around and be talked down to. It's easy for someone like you to tell someone like me what to do. You think you're smarter than me, but I guarantee that if you had to walk out that door and do half the things I've had to do to get your precious little chip back you wouldn't last a second."

There was silence. She knew that wherever Robert House was he was fuming. Maybe House wasn't the only one to get under people's skin. Maybe Claire did it, too. She knew she wasn't perfect, and she knew she was nowhere near as intelligent as House was. That still didn't grant him to right to talk to her the way he did. With a growl of frustration at the lack of a response she rolled her eyes and took to the stairs, two at a time.

"Where are you going?" So he could see her.

Claire stopped at the sound of House's voice, but did not turn around. "I'm going to bed. It's been a long day and I don't feel like dealing with this shit. I'd advise considering if you want me to continue working for you after today because trust me, I will be doing the same…"

"You can't just—"

"I can do whatever I want!" She shouted, spinning at the screen that was below her. She felt silly screaming at a computer, but with the lack of a physical person to take her anger out on it would have to do. "Unless you decide to send your glorified metal dogs after me." She meant his securitrons. "I know you won't come for me yourself. You never do anything yourself." The last was said under her breath, although she was sure whatever equipment he had installed would likely be able to pick up on it. She didn't care.

House said no more, whether it was because he was done speaking to her for the night or because she didn't give him a chance. Ten seconds later she was in the elevator again and if she could have slammed the doors she would have.

XXX

A paperweight hurled across the room and hit the wall beside the bed. The sharp thwack gave Claire a deep satisfaction that some sort of violence had been enacted in the name of her displeasure. It bounced on the floor a couple times before coming to a stop near one of the wardrobes. She clenched and unclenched her fists, considering picking up something else and throwing it, too, but between the time she thought of it and started scanning the room for that something else the adrenaline had started to fade and was leaving her exhausted. She dropped into her chair at the desk and leaned back, eyes focusing on point on the ceiling.

"I'm okay." She told no one in particular, as she took in a shaky breath to calm herself further. Whether she was actually okay or not was still up for debate. Most people had arguments with their employers, but most people didn't have a centuries old genius and visionary to work with. Neither did they have to worry about being thrown out onto the street and making an enemy of a man who tore his enemies asunder with brilliant prowess. Coming off her rage-high she realized just what she'd done. "Fuck."

A voice in her head reminded her that House wasn't a man that dabbled in revenge. That sort of barbarity was below him. Then another voice chipped in, quoting terminal entries from his half-brother's computer. No, House could take revenge when he wanted, especially when he felt like something that was his had been taken away. House would have his justice in those cases. The Platinum chip was important to him, probably more important than that damned inheritance his brother had stolen from him. By saying she was thinking of refusing to help him where had she placed herself in his eyes?

Wow, Claire, you really are dumb. She told herself. A dry, caustic laugh bubbled up as she ran her fingers through her hair, gripping and pulling at the long strands. Still, it felt good to finally tell him off. She hadn't kept track of how long she had worked for him, but it had grown increasingly difficult to deal with him the longer the chip remained outside of his hands and no amount of telling him how hard she was trying to get it back would persuade him that she wasn't doing anything other than sitting on her ass twiddling her thumbs.

In an attempt to get her mind off the night she flipped through the files on her pip-boy and booted up the computer on the desk. Over the last few weeks she'd found a way to copy her files from one device to the other and had begun backing up all the important information she came across on her travels. Perhaps she could get some more work done in respect to organizing those files. When the screen came up she began going through the saved documents and programs.

Like usual she found herself drawn to the old mail messages there were still saved there. One of her favorite pastimes was reading old terminal entries. She'd never get to meet the people that had sent those messages, but her imagination could weave together stories of what they might have been like and what kind of things were going on in their lives when those messages were sent. She'd never tried to send a message before, mostly because there was no point. Who was there to read them now-a-days?

Out of curiosity she pulled up a new message screen and watched as the cursor blinked in the body section. Is there anyone who can read this? – C. P.S. I really need someone to talk to. She typed. It amused her to see her own messages from time to time, almost like she could somehow connect to someone out there, or perhaps pretend that she was a normal person who had someone waiting on a reply from her. Like in a normal job. She'd seen messages on terminals across the Mojave from the Crimson Caravan to the NCR offices where men were still sending mail back and forth via computer. It seemed… constructive.

It also seemed affirming. There was always someone on the other end of those messages. They were always replied to in a timely matter. If anything the men and women who wrote those messages always knew there was someone else to talk to, even if it was just business. After the night she'd had she was feeling the weight of her isolation even more than usual. It was all right when she was out there in the desert running around. Out there she ran into people, could strike up conversations, and be temporarily forgetful that she had no one out there waiting on her – except House. House was always there, but he was little more than a face on a screen and a voice that was more often than not irritated or cold.

He was still a person, though. Still someone to talk to, even if he thinks you're stupid. She tabbed the cursor up to the subject line now and input "Hello?" into the space. For a moment she leaned back again and stared at the words on the screen and the neat square boxes. Everything in its place and a place for everything.

Finally she tabbed up some more into the recipient section and a list of addresses that had previously been mailed to came up. She chose every single one of them and then studied the long list. She smiled at the thought of having that many friends or acquaintances. She used to know that many people, but that was before she had left for the Mojave. Back before she had abandoned her old life.

She sighed and finally tabbed over to the text option that read "delete message." Right next to it was "Send." Her hands hovered for an instant as she bit her lip, thinking, and then she hit the arrow key over and enter. A little mail icon appeared for the count of ten seconds, after which the words "Message Sent!" appeared.

Her heart thrummed in her chest and she was aware of just how strongly her blood was pulsing through her veins. Excitement flooded her system as she imagined an inbox of replies from people long gone, traveled through time, curious about the digital visitor that had entered their world. Then she laughed. It was silly. Nobody out there would ever read her message. A reply would never come.

But it was always nice to dream.

Hope you enjoyed. I kind of wrote this in one sitting while taking a break from thinking about my other fics and thought to go ahead and post and see if anyone was interested.