A/N: Okay, so wow! Finally, my first story. It's a little different then most Fallout: New Vegas stories, but I think that's a good thing.

So without further adieu, I give you The Breathing Process.

*crosses fingers*


It feels like it's always been this way, the hot sun, the cold nights, the fire smelling of irradiated and rotten wood, the click of magazines being reloaded and slid into the breaches of our guns, this is all of course, when we have the time for such trivial matters. It's usually our little group walking…or running around, trying to help everybody, while our guns run dry and our bellies burn with unending hunger.

But both Craig and I love Verlaine too much to just…walk out.

The day I first met the slender, red headed tribal women often replays in my head, when I'm not swimming in whiskey. She barged through the doors of the Mojave Outpost barracks, bleeding from various cuts and scrapes that decorated her small, willowy frame.

"You wouldn't happen to have some bandages would you?" Her pale green eyes were wrought with fear, like she had a Deathclaw on her ass, and for all I knew, she could've. "If I did, do you honestly believe I would just hand them over?" My voice was harsh and thick with moonshine. I had made a batch for myself earlier that day and I was still swirling the drain with its effects. She however, was taken aback by my quick temper, her eyes showed more emotion then her pretty face did, and her eyes told of surprise and hurt.

That's when I noticed the tribal tattoos…rose vines…

"I bet Jackson does…come with me."…

I've been stuck to the girl ever since, and I couldn't really complain about the company, she was a good person, she had helped me come up with a solution to the Van Graff's and Crimson Caravan thing when I had brought it up, and when we had wandered into Novac, she had helped Craig track down the cunt who sold his wife to the Legion.

I glanced at Craig from across the smoldering fire, and as usual, his eyes were fixed on his weapon, cleaning, reloading, cleaning again, taking it apart and putting it back together after cleaning every, single, fucking, little piece. I often wonder how he does that with such efficiency. Did they teach him that in NCR? To keep every little fucker in that gun absolutely spotless?

"Craig…it's clean, now go use it to get some game for us to eat before I pass out." I broke the silence that came over everyone since we had set up camp. "For the last goddamn time, it's Boone, Rosie." I smirked; it was a rare opportunity to get a rise out of Craig, Boone, Deathclaw slayer, whatever the fuck he wanted to be called.

"But Craig is so much prettier…" His eyes flashed up at me, his trademark sunglasses removed since it was getting toward evening. "Verlaine, are you hungry?" He spared a glance at the woman, who sat on the other side of the fire, sharpening a variety of knives laid out before her, from hunting and combat daggers, to throwing blades no longer then my finger, and she knew how to use them.

"A priestess is trained from a young age to put hunger aside; I will be fine till we reach this…Strip." A priestess, that's what Verlaine said she was before she was a courier, out here in the god-forsaken Mojave.

A priestess to the tribal Goddess or whatever, from wherever she came from. They trained them hard though, from what I could tell. Verlaine was a strong woman, she was resolute in her beliefs…whatever those were, I couldn't really tell, but she knew how to handle herself, her naïveté endeared her to many, but made her target for many others, that's where those knives came into play.

"We're two days from Vegas, and we'll be walking through hot desert, you'll need food." Craig explained in a flat tone. He was a good man, in a sense. He was a trained sniper, and his shots always hit true, but there was something about the guy, he carried this burden, I didn't know what it was and for the most part, I didn't really care, we all had scars, emotional and physical, and I'd bet caps to whores that I was just as fucked up as he was.

"Don't be a bitch to her," I defended Verlaine sharply, and he turned on me. "Excuse me?" He asked, his gruff voice holding the tint of anger. "You heard me, don't be a bitch. If she's not hungry, then she's not hungry," I was cut off by Verlaine herself, "I will hunt, both of you should stay here at home camp." And before either Craig or I could respond, she was already on her feet and darting out from under the bridge we were camped out at.

I thought Craig and I would've gone back to snarling at each other, but he was back to his silent gun-working mode, his hands deftly sliding bullets into magazines. Thinking of the wisdom in his actions, I pulled my pistols from my thighs, and began to clean and repair the small little damages on them, a bent trigger, and jammed hammer, easy little things.

It was silent work, silent and demanding of concentration.

"You aren't a bitch," I said finally, after a good fifteen minutes of maintenance. I was met with stony silence however…so very fucking typical. "I mean, you're an ass, who thinks he's better then us because you think you've seen so much more then we have, and you're unbearably dickish, always being all quiet, and trying to go for that mysterious act, but I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you don't talk nearly enough for me to classify you as a whiny bitch." My sentences and breaks for breath were punctuated by the click of 9mm rounds sliding into the magazines.

More silence from the 1st Recon sniper.

"Oh my god!" I grabbed a nearby ammo-box lid and I chucked the stiff cardboard at his head, across the fire, I missed, but the intent was clear, "Fucking say something!" I growled at him, and finally, like a fucking miracle from God above.

"What? You clearly don't like me, and I clearly don't like you. I'm here to help Verlaine because I owe her, and you're here to help Verlaine, because you owe her. Therefore, I really don't need to make friends with you, and vice versa. You think I'm an arrogant ass, and I think you're an annoying, drunk off her ass bitch who thinks she knows something about something, but in reality, you're only here because let's face it…where else would you fucking go?" I tried not to let the sting at the end get to me, but trying wasn't good enough. I had no where else to go, now that the Caravan was in ruins, and Verlaine was really the only person who would probably put up with my shit.

But still…

"Low blow…" I said simply, loading the clips into the breaches of my pistols, before pulling my shotgun from my back to fill it with shells.

"And accusing me of thinking I'm better then everyone wasn't?" I pulled my eyes from my work to stare at him, across the campfire, which was beginning to dwindle to cinders.

"This conversation is completely juvenile…so how about a truce…for Verlaine's sake." He offered before I could come up with a witty response to him verbally outmaneuvering me. His offer of peace gave me pause me for a second though, as I mulled it over. I really didn't like the idea of making an enemy out of the man I would be stuck with for God knows how long, and I especially didn't relish the idea of making an enemy out of a 1st recon sniper.

"Truce then…ass." I felt it was an obligation too myself to throw in the last bit.

"Good, truce then…bitch." We both smirked,

But the smirk was wiped off my face when I heard it; Craig was already on his feet, his rifle shouldered and aiming around. Another gunshot, and this time, it sounded closer then before…a scream ringing out, decidedly male, but there was no answering gunshot…

"Verlaine!" I gasped, hefting my shotgun and running out from under the bridge, my eyes searching for the tribal woman, or at least a sign of the battle she was no doubt engaged in by herself, there were flashes to the right.

"There!" I cried, but Craig was already kneeled, staring down the scope of his rifle, he fired two shots in rapid succession, and I could make out two shapes dropping. "Fuck, she's wounded," He cursed, and was about to spring forward into a run, but I beat him by a good five seconds, my legs breaking into a sprint, my shotgun aimed and ready for the kill. My breath whooshed in and out of my lungs in desperation to save my friend, and I closed the distance between us pretty quickly.

And it was just as I thought.

"Die! You Legion fucks!" I screamed from atop the rock that overlooked the small skirmish, my shotgun roared with the first shot, ripping into the Legionary closest to Verlaine, it was a vicious wound, a hole blown clean in his chest, splashing Verlaine with the contents of his chest cavity.

From the looks the skirmish already, Verlaine had done well for herself, four Legionaries struggling to breathe with their throats torn open by one of her serrated knives. The Centurion leading the group was the last one left it seemed, he stood on the edge of the battle, and his carbine was hefted and aimed straight for me.

Who would shoot first?

Then I heard the whistle, I don't think I had ever dropped to my knees as quickly as that, I took a shot anyway, as I dodged under the bullet that buried itself into the Centurion's forehead, I had missed, the burstfire barely skimming the Legion fuck's armor, but Craig didn't miss, and for that I knew I owed him.

I would have to wait to pay him back though, because I was suddenly blind sighted by another Legionary, hiding directly underneath the rock I had been perched on, his strong hands had gripped into my ankles and ripped me down, and I landed hard, smacking into the searing dirt of the Mojave, rocks sliced into my palms and knees through my denim, I managed to roll before he brought his foot down on my head, and I tackled him roughly.

"Roll him!" I could hear Craig's voice, and the cocking of his rifle, but I grunted in disagreement, landing a good, solid punch to the bastard's jaw, cracking it clean and sending his head back into the dirt, but he recovered quickly, and pulled me down, his knee somehow finding its way into my chest, before I was able to claw at his face, my nails digging through skin and an eye I think.

"Get her out!" I screamed at Craig, rolling the dickweed back under me, where my fists pummeled into his face, the splintering bone of his skull scraping my fists. I could see Craig move out of the corner of my eye, and when he moved Verlaine; her cry of pain distracted me for the one moment it took for the Legionary to regain the fight. He kicked me off and my head bashed into the rock we were fighting under, and stars flashed in my eyes, the pain blurring my vision for a moment, as I sank to my ass, the sharp pain and dizziness bringing me down.

The fuckwad regained his footing, standing up before me, his face bruised and smashed.

"Fucking whore…" He rasped, lifting a pistol level with my head.

Fucking damnit, I had always thought I would die with a drink in my hand at least. "Pussy." I dared, waiting for the bullet, staring down the barrel. I wanted to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I wouldn't be some scared bitch who closed her eyes before she died, no, I would stare at the bullet until I couldn't stare anymore.

His finger tightened around the trigger, and he pulled.

The click was music to my ears, the pistol jammed from too much use and too little maintenance.

"That's why you clean your shit," I spat at him, my pistol already drawn, the shot was perfect, hitting him right in the throat, his eyes widened as the pain of the bullet took him down onto his back, but he wasn't dead, I knew that, I had been hoping for that. I pulled myself from my position, the pain in the back of my head making my first step a bit awkward, but I recovered quickly, this was nothing compared to Moonshine.

He was struggling to breathe, his hand clasped at his gushing throat, and his eyes were begging, positively begging for some sort of mercy. I planted my boot into his chest, and emptied the rest of the clip into his face, before I was satisfied at the hamburger left behind.

I slid another clip into the breach and holstered my pistol, my body aching and my head stinging with hot pain. I turned to head back to the camp, each step a labored effort. It wasn't until I was half-way back that I felt the back of my head, and my hands came back sticky and scarlet with blood.

"Oh fuck," I groaned, feeling the back of my head for the bleeding injury, I found it quickly enough, and I realized I was bleeding quite a bit more then it should've been. "Fuck me," I complained as I stepped back into the camp, and Craig gave me a wry glance. "Oh…fuck, just…help." I bounced slightly on my feet, "I'm not here to help with your sex drive." He said flatly, before turning away, back to Verlaine, who was laying on one of the bedrolls, her eyes were closed and she was sweating heavily, making her pale skin look even more pale and clammy and almost translucent.

"Not that you fuck, I need you stitch the back of my head…" I ground out, plopping down next to him to look at Verlaine more closely.

"What's wrong with her? She looks like…" I couldn't say she looked like she was dying, because I felt like if I did say that, that would make it true, and Verlaine couldn't die, she just couldn't, that wasn't how these things were supposed to work.

"It's some sort of poison, I don't know which. But she's not doing so great," He held up a small knife held in a cloth, coated with blood. "That was buried in her chest; do you know anything about venoms?" Even though it was something I thought I'd never see; Craig actually looked pretty worried.

I sniffed the dagger lightly, searching for the twang of any sort of common poison. "It's not Bleak, and it's not Silver Sting," I dropped the knife into its cloth, before feeling Verlaine's forehead, her skin was burning hot and as I moved my hand down to her neck to feel her pulse, that too was beginning to slow.

"Fuck, she won't make it without an antidote," My hands involuntarily pulled on my hair, stress gripping me. This wasn't right; Verlaine was too strong for this shit. She was a priestess or whatever. She had to survive this.

"Cass…" I turned, those pale green eyes were gazing at me, weak and almost lifeless, and there was no more light in her irises, no more spark. She knew…

"I shall not make it alive to the Strip…I know of this poison, and I know there…is…no cure." Her voice was slipping and slurred, she had to work to pronounce the simplest of sounds. "Find the…platinum chip, it's important somehow. The checkered suit man stole it, you have to get it back and stop whatever he…was willing to try and kill me over it for." She said, in a vocal mixture of a rasp and a slur.

I just nodded, tears budding in my eyes.

But I forced those bitches back; I wouldn't cry in front of her, that would break her in some way, I knew it. I could cry my eyes out later, and find the fucker that started this whole mess and make him suffer in ways he couldn't even dream of.

"Boone, please hel…" She couldn't finish her sentence as her lungs seemed to run out of air, and she was covered in a hacking cough, before closing her eyes again. "I will." Craig seemed to know what she was asking anyway, and he agreed steadily.

"I…go…to the Godde…" The words were barely comprehensible, and her chest stopped moving with the last bit of what could only be the word 'Goddess' and it was done. Verlaine, my only friend in the world was dead…

The steaming hot tears gushed free from their prisons and raced down my cheeks, but I made no sound, I did not weep, I did not cry out, I did not wail. I simply stood there, with my eyes clenched, shaking from the pain of it all.


The rocks dug into my ass, and my eyes were still blurry from tears, the camp fire roared, newly refreshed with more wood. Craig's deft hands worked quickly with a needle and thread, stitching my head back together, each pinch and tug and pull keeping me laced into my body somehow. I could see her grave from here, the mound of earth with all 13 of her daggers stabbed into the dirt in monument of the girl who died earlier that night.

Craig had wanted to fix up my head first before we buried her, but I had none of it. We dug her grave with our own two hands, which we had to bandage afterward. He hadn't said a word since I had told him we had to bury her first.

"Please say…something…" I whispered, crinkling my eyes at a particularly painful pinch of the needle.

"They'll all die; every last one of those bastards." A final pinch and tug and his hands were gone. "All done," He said, before scooting away from me. I crawled back to my side of the fire, and stared at the man across from me, for once noticing the actual pain and sadness etched into his face. He didn't show it the way I showed it, but I knew he was hurting the same way I was.

"Thank you…" I said, after a moment of examining him. "You're welcome," He answered, before rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. "How'd you…um…survive I guess back there with the Legionary?" His voice was as exhausted as his eyes were, but I appreciated the effort for small talk in such a dismal time. "I barely did, he kicked me off and I bashed my head against the rock, hence the gash. But in the end, I won out, his gun jammed…mine didn't." I looked down at my hands hanging useless between my knees.

Unconsciously, I reached into my pack and pulled the bottle from it. A good bottle of whiskey, nice and amber in color, the promise of a full nights sleep basically. "Want some?" I asked; my voice rather dead.

"If you're willing to share it," He answered; I tore the cork out and took a long, healthy swig of the amber nectar, letting the burn hit my tongue like a wild fire. I could feel the warmth spread within me, dampening the sheer agony. I tossed the bottle to him, and leaned my head back against the concrete pillar holding up the bridge above our heads. I concentrated on the whiskey hitting me, but it wasn't nearly enough.

"Y'know…if I had known she was going to die, I probably wouldn't have tried to survive so hard." My voice was bitter, far more bitter then I had wanted to sound. "She'd have been horrified to hear you say that," Craig's voice pierced the smoke gathering in my mind. The bottle was tossed back and another mouthful went down, two mouthfuls…a third.

"I know." I tossed the bottle back, and closed my eyes.


A/N: I hope everyone likes it!
The music I was listening to for this chapter was My Boy Builds Coffins by Florence + The Machine
Please do leave a comment or a critique, they're why I'm here.

Final Edit: August 7, 2011