I was wrong
I was wrong to ever doubt
I can get along without

Chapter Two: "The Only Mistake"

The bar was noisy, the tiny room filled to the brim with smoking gamblers and half-baked Vegas hookers. The crowd was bustling tonight, a cacophony of hedonistic laughs and low timbre guffaws echoing around her. There was to be a doo-wop performance, although she wasn't quite sure what that meant. All she knew was that a man performing tonight had traveled quite a way from Washington, D.C. to perform at this venue, and Francine and James were beyond excited.

She propped her elbows up on the counter and buried her face in her hands, wishing she had gone somewhere far less noisy to brood. An untouched rocks glass was nestled between her elbows and she stared at the drink, suddenly finding the soda and whiskey concoction unappealing.

All she had thought about on the walk back from Novac was getting her hands on some Sunset Sarsaparilla and whiskey to ease her agitation, but after the first sip she realized her tastes had changed quite significantly. After three months of living in a relatively dry state, save for the very peculiar hallucinogenic drinks offered to her by the Dead Horses' shaman, she found it hard to stomach liquor. She cradled her chin in her hand and used the other to push away the drink, watching as the caramel liquid sloshed back and forth. She had only been back in the Mojave for two days, maybe she just needed some time to readjust.

Without the intoxicating feel of alcohol to smother her tumultuous feelings, she was finding herself reflective and even a bit regretful.

Her and Boone had been connected at the hip ever since that fateful day in Novac when she helped him to exact revenge on the woman who sold his wife into bondage. She put that red beret on and didn't take it off for months, even though she abhorred the NCR and all it stood for. Just being part of a team after so many years alone was enough for her.

But then there was that night after Bitter Springs.

After taking Boone to Bitter Springs to terms with what had happened all those years ago, they had learned that a Legion raiding party was closing in on what was left of the refugees; people who had escaped Caesar's attacks on their people. She remembered perching on Coyote Tail Ridge, Boone laying flat on his belly like a snake, his sniper rifle aimed towards the valley. They had taken out three waves of Legion soldiers, effectively cutting them off before they ever reached the perimeter of Bitter Springs. After the incident, Boone seemed to stand a little taller, as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders. She even saw him smile once... well, it was kind of a smile. More like a smirk, but it was progress. He had finally been unburdened. So they celebrated.

That was the night she learned Boone was the same drunk as he was sober; quiet and stolid with little to say. But as they sat out under the stars, sitting close together on one of the picnic tables in Gomorrah's courtyard, he began to open up. She found it odd but acknowledged the fantastic development. There was a time where Boone would utter nothing but commands, deciding to remain quiet as he trotted behind her. It improved with time, as he grew more comfortable with her, progressing from one-worded commands to full sentences. He even answered some of her inquiries from time to time. But their bond was more of an unspoken one, and she was okay with that.

But that night, he was a new person. His alcohol laden mind made him more candid and honest, although he tried hard to contain it. There was a moment when he said nothing, his mouth pursed into a thin line, his hazel eyes boring into hers. She could never forget that look. He had forgone his sunglasses and his face seemed naked without his murky shield to hide behind. Then he muttered something. It was barely audible and she asked him to repeat himself, leaning in a bit out of reflex to hear him better. That was when he did it. He had closed the gap between them, his lips crashing onto hers. The last thing she remembered was slapping him across the face and storming off.

Her hand itched at the memory and she balled her hand into a fist, trying to assuage the uncomfortable tingling. Maybe it was the way she leaned in, or maybe it was her fault for prodding at him to open up. All she knew was that night he changed their relationship forever. It had been pure and unsullied, completely platonic. Then he had to go and fuck everything up by trying to kiss her. Try as they might to get things back to the way they were, she knew that what happened that night would be a constant in the back of their minds. It was clearly established that he felt something beyond platonic towards her, and that was something she wasn't sure she could forget. Would keeping him around be leading him on- give him some misguided hope that something could happen? Or was that just a drunken fluke and she was completely overreacting?

She buried her face into her hands again and let out a frustrated groan.

Somehow she thought taking a brief vacation to Utah would alleviate some of the awkwardness between them, and relieve her of the stress of dealing with New Vegas. But she knew that it would be like looking into a broken mirror. You could glue the pieces back together, but you would still be able to see the cracks in its reflection. She didn't know why she went to Novac the night she returned. Maybe it was closure or some horribly clumsy attempt at testing the waters. Or maybe... what happened in Zion gave her some incentive to fix things with her partner.

Fix things. Was that even possible? She smiled dolefully.

"Oh no, you're smiling. That means you're not drunk enough," a voice cut through her thoughts, violently dragging her back down to reality.

Avery jumped and looked to her side, where a familiar redhead was sliding into the vacant stool next to her. "Cass, you scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," she gave a rueful smile, gesturing to Francine behind the bar. Francine quickly delivered a shot of cloudy liquid to Cass, who slammed it back in one go. She set the empty glass down on the counter and threw Avery a quick glance. "When did you get back?"

"Two days ago," Avery answered sullenly, her eyes drifting to the flaky wooden counter.

"Where's your better half?"

"My better ha-" she stopped when realization hit her, "- oh. You mean Boone. He's back at Novac."

Cass' eyes widened in surprise, "Without you? Oh no... did y'all have a lover's spat?"

"Stop," Avery snapped. "It was nothing of the sort."

It was precisely that.

"Oh, aren't we a bit touchy," she gave Avery a gentle shove with her elbow. "Then why isn't he with you right now?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," the blonde rubbed her eyes in frustration, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Okay, okay. Geeze," Cass said lightly as she ordered another round of shots. When the drinks arrived, Cass handed one of the glasses to Avery. "Drink up, soldier."

"I don't feel much like drinking," she eyed the drink warily.

"And why the hell not?" Cass' gaze wandered to the untouched drink between Avery's arms.

"I just don't feel like drinking," she pushed the shot glass back to Cass, who took it without hesitation. "It doesn't taste right."

The redhead threw back both shots, grimacing at the aftertaste. "Eh, it tastes just as shitty as usual."

"I know the alcohol hasn't changed," the blonde laughed tightly, her attention turning to the reserve of ancient bottled liquor behind the bar. "That shit has been the same since the war. No, I think I just lost the likeness for it. Utah was practically a dry state and I went without for three months."

"A dry state?" Her companion sputtered in incredulity. "Holy shit, Ace. How ever did you survive?"

"Believe it or not, there is a life without alcohol. It may be a little more dull, but it exists nonetheless," Avery chuckled.

"Utah. So that's where you've been, huh?"

"Yep. I went up north with Happy Trails Caravan Company."

"Never heard of 'em," Cass took off her rattan hat and placed it on the bar, exposing her messy auburn hair tucked into a loose bun. "You were gone for quite a while, though. King was asking if you just up and abandoned the movement."

"No, I'd never do that," Avery replied, tucking a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear. "Regardless, an independent Vegas is an idea that far transcends little ol' me. Even if I had abandoned all the stress of gaining the Mojave its autonomy, someone else would find a way to accomplish what I have not."

"You don't get it, Ace. People have tried this, but no one has even remotely succeeded before you came along," Cass spoke affably, her tone soft and sincere. "But then you up and disappeared for three months and the whole of Freeside was in a tizzy."

"Hm," the blonde hummed in disinterest.

"Why were you gone for so long?" Cass queried.

Avery thought of Joshua and his warm fingers placed atop hers, his smoke burdened voice whispering in her ear. He had asked her to stay, to remain in Zion with him and the Dead Horses. A shock of pain lurched in her chest and she inhaled sharply, her skin prickling with regret. She would be lying if she said she didn't consider taking up permanent residency there. But her wants meant very little at a time like this and she turned him down, instead deciding to head back to Mojave and finish what she set in motion.

Avery shook her head slightly. "It was only supposed to be a few weeks, but we were ambushed as soon as we set foot in Zion."

"No shit! What happened?" She propped herself up on her elbows and leaned forward, looking at Avery with eagerness.

"Utah is like another planet, Cass. There are trees- trees! They were green and everything. And the lake water is so clean, you can drink from it without getting sick," she sighed dreamily, remembering the unique landscape. Aside from the behemoth versions of Cazadors and Bighorners, the place was practically a paradise. "But it had its faults. When I arrived, Zion was conflicted between three tribes. There were the White Legs, the Sorrows..."

She stopped. She didn't want to mention the other tribe or their righteous war chief, but Cass was curious and she knew she'd wring Avery until every drop of information was gone.

"What was the other tribe called?"

"Dead Horses," her heart fluttered at the mention of them and she swallowed. "I was the only surviving member of the caravan, and a scout from the Dead Horses found me. He rushed me back to his camp and they treated my wounds. But my team... there was nothing he could do for them."

"I'm sorry, Ace," she muttered tersely.

"Thanks, Cass. They were good people," she smiled at the memory of Stella, another fiery redhead who embodied the definition of a capable woman. Intelligent, witty, and abrasive. "I befriended a woman who reminded me a lot of you, actually. Minus the alcoholism."

"Har har," Cass said sardonically, rolling her eyes. "I don't like the booze but the booze likes me."

It was Avery's turn to roll her eyes, "Sure. Whatever you say."

"So that's what took three months? You were injured and had to heal before you traveled?" She asked, ignoring Avery's comment. "Must've been one hell of an injury."

"Not exactly," she said slowly, debating on whether or not to share the entirety of her stay with her companion. "The Dead Horses offered me safe passage out of Zion, but only if I helped them with a few things first. Quid pro quo and all that."

Avery intentionally left out the whole debacle with the Legion being the driving force behind the White Legs' offensive. That was an entire conversation she was not ready to discuss, nor did she have the energy. Cass would just berate her for being so stupid and allowing herself to get caught up in such a mess. Not to mention, word of the obliteration of the White Legs had no doubt reached Caesar by now, and going toe-to-toe with the Roman God wannabee was not a possibility she wanted to entertain any time soon. Although it was a very tangible issue she would have to face at some point. She sighed. Best to just avoid it all together at the moment.

"Sounds like quite the adventure," her friend nursed a drink, lolling it around and watching its contents stir. She seemed less rambunctious than before, and it put Avery on edge. Then, slowly, methodically, Cass turned her suspicious gray eyes onto her. "But why did you leave in the first place, Avery?"

Avery mulled over a response. What could she say? She couldn't say she fled the Mojave because of Boone. That was frivolous enough in and of itself, and it was far too weak of a reason to support her leaving. She could be honest... that Boone was her breaking point, that last snippet of stress that pushed her over the edge. It was happenstance that at the same time she was feeling backed into a corner with political negotiations, war preparations, and Boone, that a transmission for Happy Trails appeared. It was a beacon of hope in her otherwise tiring existence, and she didn't regret taking it.

"A small holiday never hurt anyone," she answered nonchalantly, leaning back in her seat.

"But a holiday while in the middle of negotiations with the NCR?" Cass twisted her body to face her, one hand clutching her drink. "A holiday while trying to gain support for war? While trying to..." she lowered her voice and threw a quick, paranoid look around, "...assassinate House?"

"When would be a good time to take a holiday, Cass, if not when you are the most stressed?" She refused to look her friend in the eye, settling on staring daggers at the wall of alcohol behind Francine.

"Maybe when it's all over?" She sounded frustrated. "Look, I understand taking maybe a day or two... but three months? In the middle of enacting your entire plan? It just seems... reckless. Irresponsible."

"Well then, I'm irresponsible. Maybe I'm not fit to lead this movement. By all means, take over for me and save me the trouble," thinly veiled frustration bubbled to the surface and she snapped.

"Ain't no one saying that," Cass said smoothly. Avery tried to rise from her seat but Cass caught her by the shoulder, pushing her back down onto the bar stool. "Sit."

Avery felt affronted by Cass' little stunt and glared, her honey eyes steely.

Cass gave her a bemused look. "You know you can't actually pierce me with your stare, right?"

"Maybe if I stare hard enough," Avery mumbled. She needed to escape Cass' relentless interrogation. "This has been great Cass, catching up and all, but I need to hit the hay. I have an early meeting with House tomorrow."

"Does House know you're coming?"

"No," a faint smirk tugged at her lips. "But by now, he's probably aware that I'm back in New Vegas. It won't be long before he sends for me."

"What's with that smirk?" Cass pointed an accusatory finger. "Whenever you smirk like that, nothing good comes of it."

"This will be good, I promise," she nodded solemnly. "Good night, Cass."

Avery grabbed her scarf from the bar top, tossing the woolen fabric over her shoulder. She fumbled for her bag and opened the flap, her hand roaming the contents. After a few seconds she brandished a handful of caps, a kind of currency she hadn't used in what felt like ages, tossing them haphazardly onto the counter. Wordlessly, she turned to leave, but something caught onto her. She halted, her boots digging into the scuffled linoleum floor, and threw a glance at her arm. Cass had dug her slender fingers into the material of her long coat, the fabric knotted as her pale talons held on tightly.

Her amber gaze followed the length of Cass' arm until it reached her face. Cass' silvery irises were wide, her delicate, pretty features twisted in concern. Avery liked Cass because she was hot-tempered and honest to a fault. She didn't like overly emotional persons, and she didn't like when her friends stared at her like Cass was doing now.

Cass released Avery's sleeve with a rueful grin. "I can tell something is off, Ace. Just please... don't isolate yourself. I don't want to get all mushy or nothin', but, you know," she paused, her eyes searching Avery's face, "I'm here."

"I know," the blonde said, barely audible, her eyes flickering back and forth between Cass'.

Without another word she turned on her heel, retreating to the confines of her hotel room.