A/N : This was written in, like, thirty minutes because of a particular song I've dumped into yesterday. So you've understood that this is a song-fic inspired by Monster by Meg Myers. Listen to it while reading this - it should put you in the mood I was when I wrote it. Sorry for the grammar mistakes and else, and feel free to review !
What it takes to lay by your side
I gotta know if your heart beats fast.
It was pitch black. She couldn't see anything but his eyes – two shiny blue eyes, piercing like stars in the night. He was in front of her, he was glaring at her but he couldn't see anything but her own eyes – two faded grey eyes, dying like old stars in the distant sky. He was part of her life, and so was she. She was the other side of his coin, and so was he. And he was so deadly calm, so remote, as if death wasn't at the corner. It always was, with him. But usually it was at his corner, like a silent promise of what was going to happen.
I gotta know I'm the only one for you.
They knew each other since so many years. She'd forgotten most of it, but the essence of them had remained – and it was crystal clear that he remembered them. They'd been the worst of the Legion, they'd been the best too. Usually it went along, with Caesar. The worst, the better. The cruellest, the better. The most monstrous, the most talented. And no one could equal him, except her. And now one could equal her, except him. They were the leaders of the Frumentarii. They were the elite.
Legion men didn't love. They took what they wanted, leaving the remnants to the hounds. He wasn't the exception. He didn't love. Would've he wanted to what he would've known how to love properly. So he didn't love her, and she didn't love him, but they might as well did. It wasn't love because love was for children, but it was something. It was brutal, violent, rough because those were the only things they knew. It was something.
What have I become ? I'm a fucking monster.
When she'd woken up from her shallow grave, she'd now memories from before the bullets. She remembered nothing of her past. She was a nameless courier, she'd beaten death and she was seeking revenge. That was enough, because it hadn't been about living again or anything. It was just about killing Benny, putting in his beautiful skull two bullets and end his life as he'd tried to end hers.
But then things got more complicated. The chip entered in the game, Mr House, Yes-Man, the NCR. And him. He'd come to her to offer her Caesar's respect and he'd released the flood of memory she still had but didn't know about. She'd always remembered his eyes, those two sapphires shining with either lust or sadism. But his face ? What they did together ? Caesar ? It all came back at the same time as she was walking in Cottonwood Cove. And everything came clear. She'd wondered why it was so easy to kill, so easy to destroy without flinching. Boone, too, had asked her the question that was looping in her head : what has she been, before the bullet ? A murderer ? No, worse : a Frumentarius of Caesar's Legion. A fucking monster.
When all I wanted was something beautiful.
The revenge itself had been so disappointed, so… Hollow. She'd shot the bullets in his brain. It'd exploded. Game over, it was over. All these months, all this pain, all those dead people on her path, all of that fuss for what ? Another dead man, in a fancy suit, in a fancy suit ? A new gun ? A platinum chip ? Before the bullet, perhaps everything would've been easier : she would've carried the chip to Caesar, as she was supposed to it since the very beginning and he would've decided what to do with it. She would've bowed before him. She would've raided Nipton as it was planned, with him at her side. Other dead men, for what ? Their sins. Profligates, all of them.
Now she didn't even know what she meant by profligate. She'd been one of them – she'd fucked one of them. Boone was probably the worst of them all. And it'd looked so vivid, so hopeful to just return to her courier's life with him at her side. But it was all a lie. She wasn't a courier, she wasn't Six. Her name was Iulia – Julia. And she was part of Caesar's Legion since years. She was the worst of them.
Oh, what it takes out of me to lay by your side ?
She'd tried to be Iulia, as hard as she'd tried to be Six. She'd taken over the Legion, she'd killed Caesar, killed his most loyal lieutenants, reduced to coward little girls the NCR, used the Securitron to secure New Vegas. With him at her side, always him. And he was the worst of the Legion, so he'd killed mercilessly all those who'd tried to discuss her orders, her power.
And she'd played her role so perfectly that she'd started to believe she, indeed, was Iulia. That it was her true form, the truest form of herself. But that, also, was all a lie. Her name could well be Iulia, she wasn't that Iulia anymore. Iulia had killed, enslaved, crucified. She'd opened woman in half to take their babies, and thrown those babies away if they were girls. She'd looked at woman being raped without even blinking. And she'd done it again, just to convince herself nothing had changed, just to keep him at her side because he was the only thing she'd left. Boone was gone, of course he was gone. And Six was gone too. The best part of her was gone with him. What remains was the worst of her, but not the worst of her Legion.
Oh and it aches, and it aches, you make me wanna die.
And she couldn't do it anymore. Her name was Iulia, but she'd been Six for months and months, almost a year. She'd fought slavers, because she had Boone at her side. She'd brought him the woman that had sold his wife and when they would come across Legion men, they would just kill him without mercy. And when they would come across slaves, they would just free them. And when they would come across broken woman, they would bring them to safety.
She'd fed from the cries of despair, of pain, of suffering of women around her, from the death rattles of the crucified profligates, from the pleas of parents separated from their children. Now she just couldn't stand them. It was a nightmare, a living nightmare, they haunted her sleep. She wanted it to end. She wanted the cries, the death rattles, the pleas to end. She wanted to forget. And he'd seen it. He'd heard her screaming at night, when he would finally let her sleep, restless and naked on his chest. He'd seen her looking away from the crosses. And he'd felt her disgust when, at night, her men picked the most beautiful slaves to make them endure hell. You're not yourself, he'd told her, and he was right. Her name was Iulia but she wasn't Iulia. Her name wasn't Six but she was still Six. She was no one and she was no longer a Frumentarius of Caesar's Legion.
I gotta kill you my love, I gotta kill you my love.
At this point, it wasn't him or her. It could've been, if she'd had the courage to end his life before he'd turned hers into a complete and utter void. But it was too late. And she could only see his piercing blue eyes staring at hers, and she could only imagine the smile on his lips. Those lips she'd devoured, those lips that'd devoured hers. On her hand was a stiletto, her stiletto. A gift from the late Lord Caesar, for his worst Frumentarius. His best. It didn't matter anymore, did it ? She brushed his cheek. His skin was so goddamn smooth – it wasn't a killer's skin. It wasn't a monster's skin. But she was a monster too and her skin was smooth under his hands, each and every night since she'd returned to the Legion.
When he saw the blade it was already too late. It was in his heart, if he had any. And she could only see his blue eyes staring at hers, trying to find a rationale behind this dagger in his chest, shining like the tears in her eyes. But he was wrong, this time. He was searching for a rationale behind Iulia stabbing him, or behind Six stabbing him. It could've been lust of power, it could've been righteous justice. But she wasn't them anymore. She wasn't the worst of the Legion, she wasn't the courier reborn. Perhaps she'd never been.
Oh what it takes out of me to lay by your side ?
She fell with him on the cold sang. His eyes shined brighter than the stars above them, her eyes were slowing fading away. He'd taken the blade of his flesh. His blood was reflecting the light in his eyes. When it entered her own chest, it felt like home. This dizziness felt like this night, in Goodsprings. Except that she wasn't scared. His hand touched her hair and they both collapsed on their back, staring at each other.
His eyes were still glowing, but it was weakening. Or maybe it was her sight that was weakening. She had no idea. She didn't care. It wasn't Iulia's death – she'd been killed by Benny, her and her cruelty, her disdain, her thirst for power. It wasn't Six's death – she'd killed her when she'd killed Boone. It wasn't anyone's death but the end of a stupid tale that shouldn't have been told to anyone. She searched for his hand and found it. His eyes weren't shining anymore and she couldn't see anything now. But as her life was dripping from her chest, the only certainty she'd left scared her to death. In their own ways, Iulia and Six had been monsters, but trying to be one of them has turned her into another monster. The worst of them all – the worst of the Legion and the worst of New Vegas and the worst of the Mojave she'd reduced to ashes. But it was okay, somehow. She was holding the hand of the man Iulia had loved with all her heart and her heart was pierced by the blade that had killed the man Six had loved the most. Somehow, she was finally complete, and she didn't care that the Mojave was going to burn. She was home.