It was her wedding day.
She should have felt something. Nervous? Excited? Happy? Instead, she felt nothing. Numb, and a dull queasiness that settled over her like a fog. Her mother fussed over her dress, white lace, prim and proper. She clutched a bouquet of daisies at her waist. The church was small, and sunlight filtered in through stained glass windows, bathing her world in a kaleidoscope. She could only see grey.
"This doesn't feel right." She looked up at her mother with wide, frightened eyes, as her mother adjusted one of the onyx curls near her face.
"I know, sweetie. Just pretend." Her mother cooed. "You will be safe, and comfortable, and that's more than any of us can ask for. You have a nice man who is willing to take care of you. How ungrateful could you be, to turn that down?"
Leila swallowed and nodded. A seed of panic bloomed in the pit of her stomach as she was ushered through the church by a group of faceless bridesmaids. She didn't know them. They wore blush pink. The pews were lined with Gen 1s, each missing limbs and casings, all exposed wires and strange metal. At the end of one of the rows, closest to the aisle, she spotted a familiar fedora.
"Nick! Oh my god, Nicky, help me, please. Something's not right here, I'm scared. Help!"
The bridesmaids grabbed her arms and began to drag her down the aisle.
"Wish I could, doll." Nick Valentine took a draw of his cigarette, his yellow eyes gleaming. "You gotta help yourself with this one."
She was so frustrated, and so scared, a whimper escaped from her throat and tears stung at her eyes. Every Gen 1 had turned to look at her, their blank faces unblinking and unsettling. Something churned inside of her stomach, pushing on her organs, rolling and twisting. With a shock of horror, she realized it was a fetus. She was pregnant, but it felt more like a parasite. Her legs buckled and she cried out. Standing at the altar was Sheffield, the junkie from Diamond City, in priest's robes. And Nate. She couldn't focus on his face, no matter how hard she tried. It was blurry and made her dizzy. It was flat, one-dimensional. Two black eye holes and a pasted-on grin.
As she was shoved in to place at the altar, nausea overtook her. She was sure she would be sick… in front of all these people. On her wedding day. Nate reached out to take her trembling hands and she swallowed hard. In the pews, she saw her father. He was in a wheelchair. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes dark.
"I'm sorry, daddy," she whispered tearfully. "I'm trying."
Sheffield cleared his throat.
"We are gathered here today to - Nuka-Cola? Does anybody have a Nuka-Cola?"
"That's not what you're supposed to say!" Leila cried. "Can you hurry up and get to the 'speak now or forever hold your peace' part?!"
Sheffield cleared his throat. "Of course. Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace. And if you have a Nuka-Cola, give it to me, please."
"Me!" she shouted. "I object!" Suddenly Nate's face came clearly in to focus, and it hurt. Those big brown eyes. He was so sweet, he always had been. She felt her resolve draining. She couldn't hurt him. She would marry him, and have his child, and be perfectly fine. Her mother was right. She was foolish to think she deserved anything more. He was a good man, and she would be a good wife. She opened her mouth to say never mind, to say I do, and suddenly she heard a strange skidding sound.
Her laser rifle was at her feet. It had been slid along the ground to her. It was so out of place here. She saw the army green casing, and the bright yellow fusion cell loaded in it. Her heart sang at the sight of it, and all the fear and dread and panic melted away. In this place, she had been stripped of power, but now it all came coursing back. It felt like she'd just taken a hit of psycho. Before she could look up to see where the weapon came from, she heard a very familiar voice coming from the church doors.
"Hey hey, Miss Grim Reaper. What's a girl like you doing in a place like this? I gotta say, though, white is totally your color. It would look even better with some fresh bloodstains. Whaddaya say we go out and make that happen, huh?"
With a great shuddering gasp, Leila woke up alone in a bed at the Dugout. She was drenched in cold sweat, struggling for breath, her heart racing so fast it was uncomfortable. As her breath came easier and her heart slowed down a little bit, she squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the thin blanket to her chest. Fuck. Dreams always knew just where to aim so that it hurt the most. There were things that not a single living soul knew but her, and her subconscious would do it's damned best to remind her of them as frequently as possible. Like that she loved Nate, but she wasn't in love with him. Like that the wedding was rushed because her father was dying. And like that Shaun…. oh, Shaun… she hadn't wanted a baby, at first. All that changed with the first screaming, crying, breath of air he took, but… oh god. For a moment she was frozen, immobilized by grief. She'd been pushed into a life that she didn't consider ideal, that she didn't necessarily want… and just as she was growing to truly love it, it had all been snatched away from her. She didn't appreciate it when she'd had it. She certainly didn't deserve it. It was guilt, lead-heavy, that she would carry with her until the day she died.
She lay still for a while, staring at the ceiling, until the grief subsided. The walls everywhere were so thin now, the cold daylight seeped in somehow, despite the fact that there were no windows. She pushed her sweaty bangs back from her forehead and sighed. It was only when she lay still that she could feel the physical toll the Wasteland took on her body. Everything hurt. The ache seeped down to her bones. It was pulsing, throbbing, from her lower back to her feet to her wrists. A raider had slashed her across the face with a broken bottle a while back, and it left a gnarly scar running from her eyebrow to her lip. It was strange, but she didn't mind the scars and the pain. At least when her body hurt it kept her mind from careening off into the deep end - it gave her something to focus on, it grounded her. Plus, she looked pretty great with that scar.
"Jesus christ," she muttered quietly to herself. "Did I just dream about Deacon saving me from my own wedding? That's fucked up."
