A/N: Hello! If you recognize this fic, that's because it's an old one of mine that's I've just re-written! Updates on Tuesdays!
He isn't in denial.
He has no reason to be, Benny tells himself almost every time he hears about how the Courier did this and the Courier did that.
He'd sent a bullet straight into that unrelated woman's head at point-blank, he'd watched her body crumple down instantly to the dirt, watched her chest heave with her last futile breaths as her life quickly slipped out of her grasp. He'd watched as the grumbling Khans rolled her lifeless body into the small pocket of ground they'd bitterly carved out and shoveled dirt back into that shallow grave, until the only signs of disturbance in the sad little hilltop graveyard were Benny's many stomped-out cigarettes and the freshly turned dirt that hid her body.
He watched her die, goddamnit. There are so many couriers, it's got to be a different one. There's just no way…
No, he isn't in denial.
It is, ultimately, his own fault that he has chosen not to heed the warnings that have been brought to him almost every damn day, almost as though they've been gift-wrapped just for him. He's so adamant that she's dead, that he murdered her in the name of political gain, that he has disregarded any evidence to the contrary. He surrounds himself instead with comfort and lies and ignorance, to the point where he almost manages to push all thoughts of her to the very back of his mind, to the lowest of his list of concerns.
So, nearly two months month later, when he has to do a double-take as she strides towards him in the middle of the damn casino floor, he is, naturally, a little surprised. A lot surprised.
As far as he's concerned, just-saw-a-fucking-ghost surprised.
"What in the goddamn?" he blurts under his breath – his thought-to-mouth filter short-circuits and goes bye-bye for a moment in his shock. His guards' heads all snap towards his direction, set on alert at the uncommonly bewildered tone that colors the head Chairman's outburst. Their gazes quickly land on the figure standing before Benny, and their hands falter almost as soon as they start to reach for their hidden firearms. The threat is not at all what they expect.
The woman wears a simple red dress – hardly fitting attire to hide anything more than maybe a knife or a pistol – with her hair pulled back into a messy bun, though a good portion of the thick, inky locks manage to spill out anyway. Her face still holds trace amounts of baby fat. She looks clean, young, small, and – most importantly – completely harmless.
So why the hell is Benny gaping at her like that?
She crosses her arms and cocks a bored brow at him, though Benny can feel the barely concealed amusement at his momentary distress radiating from her. He senses the proximity of his four guards as they slowly begin to close in on him, curious and wary, and his brain finally catches up with him. He immediately signals for them to stop, not wanting them too close when he has no idea what the hell was about to happen.
The two of them simply stand and stare at each other, neither daring to make the first move. It goes on for what Benny thinks is too long, to the point where he has to stop himself from fidgeting and he can barely stand it anymore because he's certain that all eyes are on them.
(In the back of mind, he reasons that exactly zero of the chattering and gambling patrons care about their little interaction – guilt, however, breeds paranoia, and he is nothing if not riddled with various forms of guilt.)
When she opens her mouth to finally break the silence, though, Benny immediately holds up a hand to stop her. Since she hasn't outright attacked him or gone screaming through the Tops about him, Benny at least has enough common sense to know that that whatever she is going to say, he doesn't want anyone to hear – not even his guards. To his surprise, her mouth obediently snaps shut. He thinks that maybe she is just as curious to see how this will end as he is, though she is clearly far more entertained by the whole situation.
He thanks whatever divine entity is watching over him when he's able to slap together the bare bones of a plan to get her out of the public eye as soon as possible.
"Let's keep this in the groove, hey?" he whispers to her, almost (though he would never admit it) pleadingly. "Smooth moves, smooth…"
Her expression shifts to one of confusion, brow furrowing just the slightest bit, and he suspects that the typical Chairman lingo that he's grown so used to is pretty much lost on what he can only assume are non-Vegas ears. He rolls his eyes and takes a gamble, throwing his arms wide open for her. Her amusement falls away as she immediately flinches back and watches him with fierce caution.
"Hello!" he says at a normal volume, slapping on the widest smile he can muster. "That broad everyone saw go in the Lucky 38, that was you?"
The Courier – truth be told, he still doesn't know her name – eyes him warily, and rightly so, he thinks. He sure as shit wouldn't trust himself if he were in her shoes. Still, at the small, twitching gestures of invitation that his fingers make, she carefully takes baby steps towards him, suspicion never leaving her eyes for a moment. When she's close enough, Benny quickly embraces her and squeezes tightly. He wonders, as she begins to panic and squirm and fight in his grip, if he could just snap her spine through sheer brute force and be done with it – she's so small, after all, and feels so fragile in his grip. He legitimately thinks he could do it.
Maybe later.
Right now, he needs to get her to not make a scene. He leans his head down and sharply hisses, "Quit it. You and me are just old pals catching up. Laugh, smile, and try not to look like you want to kill me."
She freezes up, and he can almost hear the cogs whirring in the damaged brain he must have left her with as she processes this situation they've put themselves in. Before the hug can go on for too long to be considered normal, she finally goes slack in his arms in another mildly surprising instance of compliance. To the few patrons that have turned to look at them, and even to his bodyguards, it does indeed look like a simple reunion between fond, old friends.
That's far from the truth, of course, but they don't need to know that.
Then, she slowly brings her arms up to wrap around his shoulders. She locks onto him hard, with a borderline-vice grip on his neck that makes him suppress a shiver, and stands up on the tips of her toes to reach his ear.
"What if that's exactly what I came here to do?" the Courier asks softly. "It'd settle the score, after all." Her words have no real bite to them – not yet, at least. Benny swallows loudly pulls back and holds her at arm's length, trying to read her face as best as he can. I'll play along, her eyes tell him, for now. He lets out a loud laugh that manages to sound only a little bit forced.
"Baby, you haven't changed a bit!"
She watches him curiously for a moment, and her gaze is far too calculating for his liking. He can already tell that this is going to be extremely difficult if he doesn't get her away from the entire damn casino pronto, but he has to be subtle. It's bad enough that her simply being here and talking to him has undoubtedly been noticed by keen and watchful eyes, but he can at least make sure that not even his fellow Chairmen know about the Courier's true connection to him. He just can't risk it.
After what seems like an uncomfortably long time, she returns his grin with one of her own. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. They have a spark in them that makes him a bit uneasy, though he can't tell why that was.
"I know!" she laughs. "Vegas is just so mind-blowing , I'm amazed that I've managed to keep myself going for this long!"
He can't help the slight wince at the tackily over-emphasized phrase, the true meaning of which stands out only to the two of them – a fact that only makes him more paranoid, because what if someone catches on. He gets that she's pissed, but she doesn't need to be such a damn bitch about it.
"Apparently not!" he says with a tight smile that's all teeth and an even tighter grip on her waist, nails digging into the stiff fabric ever so slightly in warning.
"It's so lovely here!" she continues, and the sugariness of her tone was almost sickening. He hates it. "Much better than that graveyard of a wasteland out there, wouldn't you say, Ben-man? Can't believe you'd just leave me all alone out there while you were here sitting pretty!" The Courier flashes a cheeky grin over his shoulder, towards his guards that have only gotten more confused by the turn of events. "This guy, am I right? Can't believe he never invited me!"
"Hey, hey!" Benny interrupts with a nervous laugh, glancing around again at the oblivious and disinterested patrons. He looks back down at the woman who is smiling at him so sweetly, but her eyes betray her. He sees the fiery excitement of a challenge, and he knows that they need to go now before she tries to fuck everything up for him – no doubt she'd do it with the same stupid grin on her lips, he thinks. "How's about you and me go catch up somewhere more private-like, dollface? Just the two of us?"
"Oh, I'd just love that," the Courier gushes, and he nearly feels his stomach drop when the fire in her eyes seems to burn brighter. He had planned to make up a story for her about the importance of the platinum chip, to write it off as something smaller than it really is, intimidate her or bribe her or whatever he had to do to make sure she was under his control. She'd gone down without much of a fight the first time, so he figured she'd be just as docile this time.
But, Benny realizes as her eyes burn holes through his skull, there is something more to her now, something that hadn't been there when he'd killed her. Something dangerous. Something that he suspects won't bode well for him if he were to let her go at all…
He puts his arm around the Courier's small shoulders, tucks her against his side, and turns around to face his guards. The poor bastards look lost as hell in the conversation, uncertain as to what they should do, and for once Benny is thankful for that. They look to him for guidance.
"Boys," Benny tells them with a plastered-on smile, "I'm going to be with this lovely little lady up in the presidential suite, which is all hers until I say otherwise."
His guards nod slowly, glancing between him and the strange woman, putting all sorts of pieces together. Granted, it's the wrong imaginary puzzle they're solving, but he lets them come to their own conclusions for the time being.
Benny slips the key to the suite in the Courier's hand. "Here you go, doll. You can head on up right now, and I'll meet you in a minute."
He decides that, while she's away from him, he'll spin some story for his guards and have them waiting to ambush her as soon as they're done with their chatting and he's out the door. After all, now that he's home, he has people to do his dirty work for him that wouldn't argue with him every step of the goddamn way, and he can spin this so that it looks a little less political than it really is.
He'll go back to his plans to take Vegas, life will resume as it normally had, and no one will be the wiser.