[AN: So I've been hammering this story around in my notebook for a week or so now. It's just something I wanted to get on paper and I figure I ought to start uploading these things whether I think they're worth it or not. My plans (assuming I write more of this story) will be to tell it solely from Benny's perspective. For the most part, the first chapter will be flashback and dialogue; not a lot of action in Caesar's tent, y'know? Things'll pick up in chapter two, though.
I know this same situation has been retold in countless fics, but everyone has their little spin on it. This doesn't follow the game script exactly; dialogue is reinvented (with pretty much all the same messages) and events are rearranged to spice things up a bit. I also want to apologize for the lame title. I know it isn't very creative, but I've had that song stuck in my head since the first time I typed "pussycat". Damn you, Benny, and your slang.
In this telling, the Courier is never named, so if you want to mentally insert your own Wasteland girlie, go for it.
Reviews are always welcome, and let me know what you think of Benny, character-wise. I'm trying to work on keeping people in character a little better and that can't happen without you- the reviewer. :) I hope you enjoy it!]
What's New, Pussycat? Chap. 1 - Woah, Woah
"You must enter Caesar's tent alone." Benny raised his head at the Praetorian's voice. He could only think of one person coming to see Baldie who would need to be told about his policies. He could feel dread settle in his gut as a feminine voice drifted through the fabric of the tent walls. It was followed by a low murmur of consent and a bark and light flooded the tent, followed by a long, sashaying shadow.
Green eyes met his own as she stepped into the room. His breath hitched as her gaze lingered for a moment on his defeated posture and bloodied clothes. She didn't react before passing over him and moving on to speak with Caesar. He had hoped that she wouldn't be too upset about his quick departure. Her stiff posture suggested otherwise. He heaved a shuddering sigh. He had also hoped she wouldn't follow him. He couldn't help but feel like he'd put her through enough. After all, it was his damned ambition that pulled her into this whole debacle, wasn't it? Maybe he should have knocked her out before she saw anything, or taken the package while she was sleeping. Anything would have been better than the weeks of sleepless nights he spent wondering if he could have done anything- anything else. He still could feel the shock of emotion he received as he watched her swagger through the casino like she owned the place. He was surprised and angry…and relieved, all at once. He was startled by her perseverance. Not only had she made it out of that cemetery alive, but she carved a path through the Wasteland on her way for revenge. He would never admit it, but he was afraid of what she could do to him. Cutting down hordes of raiders and Fiends was like her day job now. It was painfully obvious how easily she could deal with him if she wanted. And yet, there she appeared, the great diplomat of the Mojave. The he stood, her would-be murderer, and all she wanted was answers. If it had been anyone else, he would have thought them naïve.
But up to his room they went and talk they did. It was awkward at first; they were both very aware of the small scar that disappeared under her copper hairline. With some help from a bottle of wine, though, they relaxed, and sharing his master plan became easy. He still needed to keep some secrets, of course, but it wasn't long before she knew about the Platinum Chip and his prior work with Not-At-Home. They talked about his time with the Boot Riders over bottle number two, and ultimately decided they were hungry enough to share bottle number three over dinner. It had been a long time since he'd taken a girl to dinner; life had gotten in the way. His plans had gotten in the way. But this girl- this tough, sweet, understanding girl…he started to think that maybe she could be part of his plans. He wasn't completely sure if it was actually him thinking that or the wine, but he was certainly the one calling the shots when he leaned across the small table to kiss her. He wasn't surprised when she pulled away after a moment, but he was surprised when she asked if they could go back up to his room. He just remembered snippets of the evening after that. He remembered holding her tightly on the elevator ride up. He remembered getting caught in his jacket as she tried to wrestle it off, giggling up a storm while they stumbled through his living room. Images flashed through his mind of them collapsing on his bed together, her hair free from its tight bun and his meticulous side split tousled beyond recognition. And he could never forget that- that foot thing… He could die right here and now knowing he'd experienced that little bit of heaven.
He never really slept that night. There was far too much to think about with this development. He really did hate to leave her alone the next morning; he certainly hadn't lied about that. But the more he looked over at her sleeping form, the clearer his objective became. He needed a corner of the Wasteland where they didn't have to worry about monumental battles being just on the horizon, and he sure as hell didn't want to be under Not-At-Home's thumb anymore. This whole conflict needed to be brought to an end. Who better than him to see that happen?
Evidently his plan wasn't as well thought out as he believed it to be. He could still faintly smell the cologne that alerted the dogs lingering on his clothes; the bites on his leg twinged with every little movement. For the most part, he was otherwise okay- at least for now. He'd been told that it would be she who chose how he died. If it was like any of the other graces he'd seen Caesar offer, there wouldn't be much getting out of it, if she even wanted to. It wasn't as though he'd deluded himself into believing he'd get out of this alive. He had a good idea of just how far he'd make it on that crippled leg before the Praetorians caught up with him. That would not be a swift death. He brushed the thought from his mind as she turned to look at him. He couldn't quite place the emotion behind her eyes. Maybe it was disappointment; it wasn't a look he was used to receiving, after all. She slipped something small and silver into her jacket as she approached. He set his jaw as she crouched to meet his eyes. He hid his discomfort with a warm smile.
"Hey, pussycat." She replied with a small smile of her own. "Look, I know it's hard to contain yourself in my presence, but do try," he joked. Her demeanor broke for a moment with a little laugh, and she sighed.
"Benny…" she trailed off.
"I know, I know. I screwed up."
"You walked in here alone!"
"And what do you think you've done?" She paused. A moment passed as she looked over him, considered him. He felt naked under her stare as she grimaced at the spatters of blood on his coat.
"I was invited." It was his turn to laugh.
"To the party of the century, huh? What did Baldie want, anyway?"
"He gave me the Chip. He wants me to destroy whatever's in the bunker," she explained plainly.
"But you're not gonna, right?" he said warily, "You know what's down there?"
"What?"
"Vegas." She gazed at him for a moment.
"What are you talking about?" Benny smiled.
"Listen, pussycat, whatever's down there is House's key to keeping these thugs off the Strip. You want that, right?"
"Of course I do," she scoffed.
"Then you've gotta get in there and stack the deck just like House wants you to do. Set everything up nice and pretty and get the hell outta here."
"What about you?" she whispered. He shrugged.
"What about me?" They were silent again. He shifted slightly as she broke her gaze for the first time. "Look," he winced, "I know I'm done. The best thing you can do for me right now is to keep Vegas free. Go see Yes-Man when you're out of here. He'll explain everything."
"The robot? What-?" He shushed her as the Praetorians eyed the pair warily.
"House has kept Vegas in his pocket for long enough," he said pointedly. She nodded slowly.
"So am I the heir to the great Benny now?" He chuckled.
"Yeah, I 'spose so. I can't very well die without one, right?" Her smile faded. "Word on the street is, you've got final say on what happens to me," his face was genial, but his tone was grim as she nodded, staring at the ground. He watched her jaw clench and unclench.
"Why did you have to go and get yourself caught?" she wondered aloud, "What am I supposed to do?"
"I already told you; go save the world. I'm just a loose end now."
"I can't- how can I be expected to just throw you to the dogs?" she exclaimed.
"Well," he reasoned, "You could just do in me in nice and quick; I'm sure that would be infinitely preferable to dogs."
"You know what I mean," she glared, "Just give me a moment to think about this. There's got to be something…"
"What's to think about, pussycat? Just don't screw it up like I did; I don't wanna have to trek all the way across the desert looking for you when you botch this thing." She was silent, hands over her face as he watched her, her thoughts clearly racing. "Dollface, c'mon, no hard feelings-"
"Benny, stop!" she snapped. "I'm sorry." He stared back, stunned. Sorry for what? "You want me to deal with you? Fine! I'll deal with you!" He looked around awkwardly as her voice raised.
"Hey, look, I was just trying to-"
"To what? Make it easier? I'll show you how easy it is, Benny. Lemme show you how easy it is to deal with a double-crossing scoundrel like you." The feeling of dread returned to the pit of his stomach as she stood up, scowling down at him. He had not anticipated this; his mouth was agape at her hardened expression. "Caesar, I have made my decision. I want him strung up." Benny swallowed hard.
"What?"
"I want him on a cross. I want him to have plenty of time to think about what he's done and then I want him to die," she spat- almost literally- at him.
"Hang on now-" he started, his brow furrowed. The Praetorian struck him across the mouth midsentence.
"Silence, profligate!" Dazed, he was hauled to his feet by the guards so that she was once again looking him in the eye.
"Is this better than dogs, Benny?" She smiled, not in the sweet manner he'd come to expect from her, but in a devilish, malevolent way that blindsided him as he tried desperately to understand what was going on.
"You- what's the matter with you? What about everything you just said?" He felt himself begin dragged towards the door as she crossed her arms with that evil grin still on her face.
"What about it?"
"You're sick! You're fucking mental!" He was yelling over his shoulder now as the Praetorians' grips tightened. Struggling for freedom, he jerked this way and that. The world became a sick whirl of colours as he saw the tent flap coming closer. There was no way- anything but this… He wrenched his arm hard and sharp pains spread from his shoulder- but it was free! Maybe he could-
His thoughts were cut off but a winding blow to the stomach. He doubled over and found himself on his knees again, gasping for air. His arm felt like it was on fire. He heard the 'shing' of a machete being unsheathed and felt a hand grab his collar as the butt of the weapon was brought down sharply. The world vanished into darkness.
