(Author's Note: If it seems like I'm ignoring certain parts of the canon surrounding the Sierra Madre, it's because those parts of canon never made sense to begin with.)
Revisit and Reunite
A surgically-scarred bald woman silently prowled the halls of an ancient, dusty casino, on the alert for any noise. She awaited the slightest disturbance in the quiet, ready to spring to action. She held a laser pistol in one hand, primed and ready to eliminate or scare away the next greedy wanderer who wanted something from the Sierra Madre. She expected at any moment to hear someone fumbling with the lock on the gate, or blowing it open, or melting through it with a blowtorch.
What she heard, as she passed through that serene lobby, was knocking. Somewhat insistent knocking, for that matter. She went to the door and managed a sort of choked sound, then cleared her throat. It had been a while since she last spoke. She still hated her new voice.
"Leave! This place is a trap, and it's claimed enough lives!" she said to the door.
"I keep my promises," was the muffled response from the other side of the door.
The watcher's eyes widened, and she hastily unlocked the door to behold a blond woman in a black cowboy hat, blackout aviators, and a brown trenchcoat worn over riot armor.
"And I brought a present," the blond woman said, standing aside. A third woman, clad in brown robes with a hood hiding her hair, looked confusedly at the scarred watcher.
The scarred woman gasped, eyes welling up with tears. "Veronica?" she whispered.
"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Veronica inquired, putting a hand on her hip. "Cynthia, I thought you said I'd know this person..."
"Veronica, it's me! It's Christine!" the watcher pleaded, stepping a few tentative feet towards Veronica.
"What?" Veronica asked, looking closer. "But...you don't - and your voice..."
"She's been through a lot, Veronica," Cynthia said, putting a hand on Veronica's shoulder. "But I know it's her. I've been through the Big Empty, I've heard her stories."
Veronica blinked a few times, then shut her eyes and shook her head. "No, no, she's gone, I'd just gotten over-"
Christine could no longer restrain herself, and rushed forward to embrace Veronica. "I missed you so much," she sobbed, burying her head in the shoulder of the scribe's robes. Veronica's arms remained at her sides for a few stiff seconds, then relaxed and wrapped around Christine.
"Tell me...something only we would know, prove to me that this isn't just a big misunderstanding," Veronica asked.
"Your b-biggest dream was to get a pretty dress," Christine managed after several half-sobs and false starts.
Veronica squeezed Christine hard, closing her eyes and laying her head on the bald woman's shoulder. "I can't believe it."
Christine finally looked up and glanced at Cynthia, who tipped her hat. "Thank you," Christine began, but Cynthia held up a hand.
"You two have a lot of catching-up to do, and we're on a bit of a schedule. Go on, back to your room, Christine. I'll wait in the bar. Cass has a nose like a bloodhound for booze -pretty sure that's where she ran off to, anyway - and she'll find me there eventually."
Christine pulled herself away from Veronica, then took her hand and led her up a spiral staircase, into the suites. Cynthia headed into the casino, taking a staircase up to the bar, where a glowing blue figure watched her every move. She pulled a few golden coins from her coat and tossed them at the hologram. They fell straight through its body. "Sarsaparilla," she said. A panel in one of the tables lifted and slid sideways, allowing a brown bottle to lift up in its place. Cynthia tipped her hat at the hologram and took a seat, popping off the bottlecap. She turned it over in her hand, spotted a glowing blue star, and pocketed the cap, smiling. Icing on the cake, she thought.
As she sipped the bitter soda, she heard a stumbling gait below her, then a bump and a curse. She smirked, turning her eyes to the stairs. As expected, a woman in a tattered cowboy hat and leather jacket stumbled up the staircase, holding onto the railing for dear life. She turned her blue eyes towards the Courier.
"What th' hell do they serve in these fuckin' bars?" she asked. "I just saw some seriously freaky shit, dudes walking all funny and they had like these glowing eyes 'n shit." She stumbled over to Cynthia's table and collapsed into a seat, leaning her head back over the back of her chair. "Fuck!" she added, apparently as an afterthought.
"Ghost People. Guess I left them out when I told you about the Madre, didn't I?" Cynthia said.
"The fuck? Those were real? I just thought 200-year-old booze was doing that shit."
Cynthia laughed quietly. "Yeah. Not sure what their deal is, but they stopped with the traps and the murder once the vault exploded. I've just steered clear of their hideouts, and they don't seem to bother me."
"Fuckin' wasteland," the cowgirl lamented.
"Want anything?"
"Whiskey."
Cynthia tossed a few more coins through the bartender and moved her drink. The platform below it retreated, then came back up with the cowgirl's request. Cynthia held up her sarsaparilla bottle to her companion.
"Cass - to the weird shit of the Wastes?"
"Hell yeah. To the Big Empty and Vault Eleven and all the other shit we've seen." Cass picked up the bottle of whiskey and clinked glass with Cynthia, and both took a long drink. As they both set down their respective beverages, Cass asked "So, the lovebirds bashin' gash?"
Cynthia stifled a laugh. "Probably not yet," she said. "I gave them some time to talk to each other without me getting in the way. It's not about me, it's about them."
"You're so fucking noble it drives me to drink!' Cass exclaimed, taking another swig.
"Yes, yes, confound me. But seeing their expressions, hearing Christine, seeing her that happy - that really is its own reward, you know?"
Cass set down the bottle and attempted to give a cock-eyed look to Cynthia, but succeeded only in making herself look more intoxicated than she already was.
"What?"
"You're getting all romantic and shit when you have like three girls you're fucking on a weekly basis and you've never kissed any of them."
"So?"
"So I'm seeing a disrespec-discrepep-disc- you're a fuckin' hypocrite, okay?"
"I'm not following you."
"Yes you fuckin' are, you're just messing with me."
"I don't want to talk about it."
Cass narrowed her eyes. "My dad said once that if you ever say "I don't wanna talk about it", you really need to."
"Cass, drop it."
"Why you going East, anyway? Why don't you just settle down with a nice girl and stay in the Mojave with all your friends? Just defend Vegas with us, join the government, something instead of this crazy killing-the-Legion bull."
"Cass-"
"And, like, why do you hate the Legion so much? Like really, I hate 'em too, but I've never seen anyone get as mad as you just from seeing fucking football pads. You went fucking berserk on Caesar, didn't even do your cold-sniper routine-"
Cynthia slammed both her palms on the table. "Cass. Fucking. Drop it."
"No! I wanna know this shit! I've told you fucking everything about my fucking life but I don't know anything about you from before you got shot in the fucking face! I have to make up shit to tell people when they ask me where you came from! There's like six different versions of your origin story floatin' 'round the Mojave 'cause you don't tell me shit!" Cass shouted.
"You wanna hear a fuckin' story?"
"YES I wanna hear a fuckin' story! You've been all team therapist on everyone but you've never even tried to get help from us! Never shared anything, never opened up, never made us feel like friends instead of fuckin' soldiers under your command!" Cass' eyes burned into the black field of Cynthia's sunglasses. "Who the fuck are you, Courier Six?" she challenged.
Cynthia didn't speak for a few seconds, eyebrows narrowed, scowl on her lips. "Fine," she finally spat. "You want to know where I came from, what I went through just to get to the Mojave?"
"Yes! Did I fucking mumble in that rant?"
"I was born in Flagstaff, Arizona."
Cass' face fell.
"I was five when the Legion invaded. I was enslaved, with everyone else."
Cass bit her lip and looked away.
"Fifteen long years. I served in Caesar's private harem." Cynthia spat the word, her face contorting in anger and disgust. "My body stolen from me. My freedom. My identity, stripped. Gone. You know what they do to women in the Legion, Cass. Do I have to relive it?"
Cass didn't respond, looking down at her hands.
"It wasn't until Leona got sent down to Flagstaff that I had any hope at all. She was a scavenger, made her living repairing pre-war junk. She was enslaved and sent down to help Caesar repair an Auto-Doc. She was...God, where do I even start? Long red hair, big, blue eyes, endless legs...I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, snuck around the harem just to look at her. Once she was allowed to retire for the day, I basically pounced on her bed and begged her to take me." Cynthia let a smile cross her lips briefly. "She refused - good on her, really - but she told me her real plan. She was gonna rig the Auto-Doc to kill Caesar, then skip out with some stolen armor and weapons. Of course, that just made me love her more, and I knew by the way she looked at me that...well, that she was like me. That she did want me, but didn't want my slave mentality to drive our relationship. She gave me a kiss and promised that we'd escape in a week." Cynthia sighed, and took a long drink of her sarsaparilla. Cass leaned forward.
"What?" Cynthia asked.
"I-I wanna hear the rest," Cass said meekly.
"Throat's dry, all right?"
A tear leaked out from under the sunglasses, and Cynthia swiftly wiped it away.
"If you don't want to, you can-" Cass began.
"No. I'm finishing. Just give me a minute." Cynthia put two fingers to her forehead, kneading the skin there as she tilted her head down. "This isn't easy." She took another drink.
"She messed with the Auto-Doc and it cut Caesar up pretty bad - but it didn't kill him. By the time he got out of surgery his body was a mess, and he was screaming for Leona's blood. Scalpel missed his heart by inches, but he had plenty of cuts, so he wasn't able to come after her himself. We were sneaking out of the building when they started clanging on the alarms - these big bells they took out of some church ruins. I had a pistol, she'd taken a tire iron - said that was what she used to keep herself outta Legion hands before she heard that Caesar's Auto-Doc was having problems. Once the first guard came for us, she hooked the thing around his stupid play-sword and sent it flying away. Still remember that move of hers, it was her pride and joy." Cynthia took another drink and sighed. "I wasn't a terribly good shot back then, but we were fast and good and avoiding the patrols. Got the hell out of Flagstaff with just a few cuts and bruises. We ran for days, hiding out in ruins and caves. Then she betrayed me for the first time."
"What?" Cass interrupted. "But-"
"Don't talk, listen," Cynthia chided. "We were hiding out in a cave of junkies when the Legion bore down on them. They recognized Leona right away - but she was so scared, and she'd only known me for a month - and at heart, she was just a scavenger. So she told them it was all my doing, that I'd sabotaged the Auto-Doc, and forced her to come with her because she knew they'd blame her. It worked. She got to go freely with them back to Caesar, while I was bound up in chains and dragged behind a cart for miles. They waited until my legs were so torn up I couldn't run, then sat me in the cart, handcuffed. She whispered over and over that she was sorry, and I believed her. I was so grateful to her, because she was the only person I'd ever met who acted like they cared about me."
Cynthia downed the last of her soft drink, then threw it through the bartender and watched it shatter against the wall. She dug a few more coins from her pocket, threw them at the hologram, and demanded, "Absinthe." She grabbed the green bottle as it rose up and downed a fifth of it, then slammed it back onto the table. Cass jumped.
"So, of course, like an idiot, I made plans to run away with her again. We'd talk for hours about what we were gonna do, where we were gonna go, how exactly we'd get out of Caesar's stronghold. Caesar was convinced the cart ride had bullied me back into submission, but I was more determined than ever. I had a love that I thought was worth fighting for. So about a year later, after my legs had healed, after Leona fixed the Auto-Doc, I told her my plan to escape. She was supposed to meet me at the armory, sneak in during the guard change. Instead, when I went in there, Caesar himself was waiting for me. I wasn't very strong back then - he overpowered me. I was stripped, tied to a post outside and whipped. One hundred lashes. The scars are still there. After that, imprisonment. Alone. Rat meat and irradiated water." Cynthia took another swig of absinthe.
"How'd you get out?" Cass asked.
Cynthia set the bottle down and wiped her lips, then took her sunglasses off to wipe at her eyes. She left them on the table as she continued her story. "Leona came to visit me as often as she could...so she could use me. I was so fucked-up by then, I thought it was love. She said that she only gave me away because she wanted me to be safe, to stay in Legion territory and protection so I wouldn't get killed out in the Wastes. Made sense to her, I guess. One day, she left the door open, and I grabbed her arm and tried to take her with me. She pushed me away and called for the guard, and I decided that, with or without her, I was gone. I ran, stole a hunting rifle on my way out. Still shit with a gun, but I managed to wing a couple of Legionaries on my way out. Holed up in a shack that used to belong to some raider. She found me on the third day, starting knocking at the door, saying that she'd escaped, that she wanted to leave with me."
"Tell me you didn't fall for that shit," Cass interrupted.
"I shot her six times in the chest." Cynthia took another swig. "The Legionaries tried to just rush in and take the shack by storm. Killed them, started running again. Didn't stop 'till I reached New Canaan. Stayed there for...oh, nine, ten years? That was the last thing I really remember. The whole getting-shot-in-the-head thing wiped my memory of why I came to Vegas, why I worked for the Mojave Express. Last thing I remember was a caravan route that headed back into New Canaan."
"Did you have anyone there?"
"Lived alone, on the outskirts. I was a Gentile, you know, not really part of their community. But they let me stick around, traded with me, hired me on for jobs. They all felt good about themselves for helping out the poor slave girl. I hated that. I hated the looks they gave me, the way they treated me as a fragile little flower. Even on the jobs where I was supposed to be guarding the fucking caravan, they'd get nervous and cluster around me if they thought they saw anything moving." Cynthia drained the bottle and set it down gently. "That's probably why I went to the Mojave - to be independent, to begin again. To not have my past follow me everywhere. But once I saw Nipton...I knew I couldn't stay a low-player anymore. I had to fight back, to stop anything like what happened to me from happening to a single other human being. That shot in the head changed me from someone who really, deep down, still feared the Legion, to a woman who hated them, who had a purpose. So that's when I became Courier Six. That's when I shed my slave name and took my own."
Cynthia looked into Cass' eyes, a resolute stare, no longer watery and uncertain. "And I fucking did it. I butchered Caesar like the animal he was. I blew a huge hole in the mask of the Legate. I turned Cottonwood Cove into a radioactive hellhole. I threw the Legion off the Hoover Dam and I am goddamn proud of it. But my work is not finished, fuck no. The Legion has to be annihilated. Every slave freed, every rapist in football pads removed from this wasteland. Every camp burned to ash, every crucified body buried, every machete melted down for more guns to fuel our campaign." Cynthia picked up her sunglasses and put them back on, hiding her pale blue eyes. She got up from the table. "That's the story of Courier Six, Cass. But I'm not ending it yet." Cynthia began to head back down the stairs.
"You know I'm going with you, right?" Cass called. Cynthia stopped.
"Just Boone," she said over her shoulder.
"Fucking wrong. After you tell me that shit, you expect me to let you go? Fuck that. I follow you because I want to help you, because I think you're doing the right thing. And the Mojave doesn't hold anything for me. You're the only person in my life that means anything to me at this point. I'm sticking with you 'till Flagstaff itself has the two-headed bear flying." Cass held up her whiskey to the Courier. "Eastward fucking ho."
The Courier turned back to the cowgirl. She pushed her sunglasses down her nose, and seemed to really look over Cass for the first time, up and down. She smiled.
"Eastward fucking ho," she confirmed. "I'll come back for you in a minute, gonna check up on Christine and Veronica."
"You abandon me at this bar and I will hunt you down and murder you."
"I'm coming back, Cass."
"You better."
Cynthia left the bar, exited the casino, and headed upstairs to the suites. She found her way through illustrious hallways blocked by stone and rubble, through holes in the walls and avoiding the red Cloud seeping into the casino. She followed her memory, to the huge suite at the back. The doors were closed, and she took her hat off and pressed it to her chest. She put her ear to the door. She could only hear quiet, loving whispers. She knocked. Someone crashed to the floor within, followed by a chanting of "Sorry!" from Veronica.
"Come in!" Christine called. Cynthia replaced her hat and pushed the doors open. Veronica got up off the couch and helped Christine up off the floor, brushing her off.
"What's up, Cynthia?" Veronica said nervously. "Something wrong?"
"We're still on a bit of a time schedule - and frankly, I don't want to stay in this place any longer than I have to. I need to know if you two came to any decision about staying here or going back to the Mojave."
"What do you mean?" Christine asked.
"Do either of you want to stay here or head back to the Lucky 38?" Cynthia asked. "I know you wanted to be all - I don't know - 'guardian of the Madre' and all, Christine, but I don't know if Veronica wants to share that life with you," Cynthia explained.
Veronica looked to the scarred woman. "Well...I don't want to stay here. No offense, Christine, but this place is kind of a dump..." She trailed off, looking to her lover. Christine shifted, avoiding eye contact with Veronica.
"I'm not...I stayed here because I burned all my bridges back home, it seemed like...like a purpose. But having you again - that could be enough. If you've got something going back home..."
"It's not really 'back home', really, but I'm working with the Followers now, with Arcade - it's a good life, and you really feel like you're doing something good, you know?" Veronica said.
"Doing something good - that'd be a nice change from chasing after a madman for revenge." Christine smiled shyly and grasped Veronica's hand. "I'll go with you, shut down the whole casino. Power grid, villa, everything. Put up a sign, maybe, 'Plundered Already'."
"Do whatever you two want, pack up your stuff. Our packs are outside the gates. Meet me and Cass in the bar when you're done." Cynthia left the two women and made her way back to the bar. Cass hadn't moved, though a second whiskey bottle had mysteriously materialized by the first.
"Lovebird status?" Cass inquired.
"They're both coming back to the 38. Bar's gonna be shut down for good, so we'll know when they're ready." Cynthia sat down at Cass' table.
"Hey, sorry for being so pushy before with the whole thing with the things, you know?" Cass slurred.
"Don't be. It was...I almost felt like I was knitting my life back together. I'd spent so long just in this state of rage against the Legion that I'd almost forgotten what started it all. It's been eleven years since Leona." Cynthia reached across the table and squeezed Cass' hand. "Thank you. Really."
"Hey, don't sweat it, drunken rages bring out th' best in allaus, right?"
Cynthia smiled. "Guess so."
Cass put her head down on the table. "Comfy," she said. Cynthia chuckled softly to herself and ordered another sarsaparilla as Cass began to snore.
Soon enough, the hologram flickered out of existence and the casino went dark. Cynthia got up and carefully shook her companion by the shoulder.
"C'mon, Cass, time to go," she said.
"Don' wanna," Cass mumbled into the table.
"Come on, it's late...I think, hard to tell around here. We'll be setting up camp in the valley just outside the Cloud."
"But that's like a half-hour from here!" Cass whined.
Cynthia held out a hand. "C'mon, drunkie, I'll help you out. All you have to do is walk." Cass let out a groan, lifted her head, and took Cynthia's hand. Cynthia pulled her companion from the seat, and steadied her, moving her hands to Cass' shoulders to stop her from falling.
"You're the best," Cass said. She attempted to take a step by herself, and wobbled somewhat worryingly. Cynthia steadied her again, then slug an arm across her shoulders.
"Come on, I'll hold you up," Cynthia offered.
The two of them struggled down the staircase, coming upon the door to the lobby just as it swung open, a bright light shining in Cynthia's eyes. Christine lowered the flashlight and looked at the two women quizically.
"How do you even see in the dark with those on?" she asked, pointing to the Courier's sunglasses.
"Experience. You all ready?" Cynthia replied.
Christine shifted the bag on her shoulder and nodded. "Veronica's outside already."
"Then let's get going."
They met up with the Scribe outside of the casino, and carefully walked through the Villa. As they passed the fountain, a figure in brown with glowing green eyes watched them pass. A few moments after they had passed out of the wrought-iron gate, heading out into the desert, Cynthia looked over her shoulder. A line of green lights stared out after them. Courier Six gave the Ghost People one last nod and a wink, and set off for lands beyond the Cloud.
Cynthia poked at glowing embers with the blackened end of a stick, and stirred a bit of life from them, sending glowing flakes into the air. She leaned back onto the log and sighed, patting the drooling cowgirl's head on her shoulder. Across from her, Veronica sat against a cliff, and raised an eyebrow.
"What?" Cynthia asked.
"You know, I was trying so hard to get over her," Veronica said, pointing to the sleeping Christine on a bedroll beside her. "And then you just bring me right back."
"Is that a problem?" Cynthia picked up the sarsaparilla bottle by her left hand and took a drink.
"No, but you could have told me you were into Cass."
Cynthia coughed and sputtered, spraying soda into the campfire's remains. Veronica giggled. "Yeah, I waited until you were drinking," she admitted, "just for that reaction."
As Cynthia recovered, she coughed out, "You-are-such-a-shit." Veronica laughed at that, too. Finally, the Courier managed to regain control over herself, and added, "And who the hell says I'm into Cass?"
"Well, to be fair, no way that's one-sided," Veronica said. "But I never really saw it till now."
"Make some sense, Veronica!" Cynthia exclaimed exasperatedly.
"Oh come on! She's always your go-to gal for any given mission, she's always following you around, always trying to get you drunk. I remember how nervous she was when you said 'Soft men aren't usually a problem for me'."
Cynthia's eyes widened, eyebrows arching upward. "And she said that she'd gotten so drunk occasionally that she didn't care who got into her bed - oh, Christ! I was so mad at her for that, thought she was saying I had no standards!" She slapped herself in the face. "God, I'm such an idiot!"
Veronica covered her mouth and tried to stifle her laughter. "Why-" She burst into laughter, then contained herself - "Why d'you think she was always so mad whenever you went to visit Lucy or Sarah or Joanna?"
"Oh, this is bad," Cynthia moaned, throwing her head back. "Now you've gone and made things awkward."
"How did you not notice this? I mean, you're like catnip for lesbians, you realize this, right? Women who like women like you. That's why Lucy and the other two are so willing to be your toys." Veronica crossed her arms. "So, wait, you're telling me that you didn't see the way I looked at you either - and I thought I was being so obvious!"
"Look, I don't - a real relationship isn't something that can happen, okay? I'm not ready for it," Cynthia attempted to explain.
"You're in your thirties now, that's bull. Besides, it doesn't have to be awkward if you don't want it to be. I bet Cass doesn't even realize what she's really feeling. All buried beneath the booze."
Cynthia rubbed her forehead. "Dammit, Veronica, you are just the worst." She carefully drew her sleeve back over her Pip-Boy, making sure not to disturb the passed-out drunk on her shoulder. "It's their turn for watch. I need to think about this without your incessant cheeriness making me feel stupid."
"Have fun being completely sleepless for six hours!" Veronica said, bending down to shake Christine. Cynthia turned her head and kissed Cass on the forehead. When that failed to create a reaction, she stood up and let her fall to the ground.
"Fuck!" Cass protested.
"Well, you could have used the bedroll," Cynthia said, moving over the object in question.
As she laid down on it, she saw Veronica giving her lover a long kiss and promising "See you in the morning."
She felt a pang of jealousy for the first time in many years.