There probably wasn't a more cliche image in all of Vegas history; late at night, a tall svelte woman in a curve-hugging dress ran in heels back to the door of her apartment; hair disheveled, makeup smeared, pale cheeks flushed. But there you go; for once I wasn't the grimy hardass courier. It was dark enough that the people who saw me go running up the stairs to the Lucky 38 were people I didn't give a shit about, strangers who gave me startled looks as I streaked across the pavement and then up the glowing, flashy steps. Victor was outside, and barely got a "Well hidey-" before I threw open the door and crossed the casino main floor.

The elevator ride provided solace, because I was finally alone. I was still crying silently, my forehead against the elevator wall. It wasn't so much what happened at the Tops, it was what didn't happen. Benny had asked me to hold him while he slept. Laying in his bed with him, he hadn't tried to assassinate me, he had just thrown himself over me, head nestled in my chest, and snored peacefully. Before he passed out, his last words were, "Real sorry about Goodsprings, kid."

After he was out, I had shimmied out of bed, gotten dressed, and snooped in his apartment. I wanted answers before I got my justice, and that feeling that led me here told me I was on the right track. But I'd gotten more than I bargained for. Notes, letters, and a really strange Securitron in the back closet told me all I needed to know about Benny. His plans to take over the strip. Kill Mr. House, the gracious host who strangely gave me my entire suite and who, according to Victor, was dying to meet me. Benny's own struggles and triumphs. The Platinum Chip. I wasn't 100% sure what it did, but Benny knew it was the key to New Vegas. Apparently the too-helpful Securitron knew that as well.

Things had gotten bigger than personal justice. I had closed the door to Yes Man's back room, head spinning with the treasure trove of new information I received, and walked through the darkness back to Benny. He couldn't be allowed to execute his plan. No one man should have the kind of power that he had. If I killed him, fair would be fair, Benny seemed to know this. Justice would be served, and New Vegas would be spared the ruthless dominion of someone like Benny. And there in the lamplight, I withdrew the pistol I'd hidden when I walked in the Tops. I held it to Benny's head; he was sleeping, oblivious. Touseled black hair against the pillow, an easygoing smile on his face.

I had put the pistol up to Benny's temple. It was a new gun, unfamiliar; Freeside's Mick and Ralph's had sold it to me earlier today. The metal touched the forehead of the man who shot me in the head, and he didn't stir. Mercy. The voice was barely audible. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy killing, and I had gotten very good at it these past few weeks. But this was unsporting, assassination, it...was completely justified. My breathing grew ragged and as I pressed the small gun forward, I realized I didn't know what to do. That feeling that led me everywhere was suddenly gone; the voices disappeared. Mercy. Justice. Mercy. Justice.

I reminded myself of what I'd told Yes Man with conviction, while standing over Benny. No one man should ever have that kind of power. Maybe this kill wouldn't be sporting, but it was something Benny had coming to him. He regretted shooting me, but he did it. I would regret shooting him, but I would do it.

I squeezed the trigger.

My eyes widened. Other than a measly "click", the gun did nothing. It had jammed.

My hand went slack, the gun fell to my side. Benny rolled over in his sleep, turning away from me.

Maybe the voice wasn't there telling me what to do, but it seemed some force was at work. That's when I fled the Tops.

And now I exited the elevator, eager to get to my own master bedroom. It was nearing 3 in the morning. As I crossed the threshold of the suite, the sight of Boone exiting the kitchen made me jump.

"Win any caps?"

"I...what?" I was still crying, big fat tears rolling down my cheeks, and Boone finally walked out of the shadow of the other room. He stopped short at the sight of me, and gave me the up-down look.

"What happened to you?" There was no malice in his voice, just concern. It was this tiny bit of effort to feel on Boone's part that sent my female spark into overdrive; I burst into tears. Boone, who was holding a Sunset sarsaparilla, put the bottle down and approached me tentatively.

"Are you okay?" his voice was closed, guarded, but sincere. I wanted more than anything to just sort of headbutt his chest and cry like a baby on it, but I knew that would make Boone feel far more awkward than he already did. Instead, I nodded amid the tears, and made for the Master bedroom, not looking back at the ex-sniper as I once again closed the door on him.

The gears were moving forward. Tonight I would lay in a black dress and cry because I didn't understand the complexity of everything that had been overwhelmingly dumped on me. Tomorrow I would wake up, visit Mr. House, and make more progress toward saving New Vegas. Tomorrow, I would stroll the Strip with Boone, our rifles slung across our backs, gaining stares and fame, and we would have a nice long talk over drinks about exactly who Benny was and why, although I was drawn to Benny for some absurd reason, he had to go.

"Mornin, pardners." Victor was in the hallway when Boone and I exited our rooms, and the latter scowled at the cowboy robot. I grimaced.

"You feeling better?" Boone said, ignoring the robot and coming toward me.

"I..." It was very early morning, and Boone hadn't dressed in his bulky uniform. He wore his beret as usual, but was dressed only in an undershirt and shorts. Maybe sleeping with Benny had stirred my hormones up beyond belief, but I couldn't talk because I was too busy admiring my companion's wide shoulders and narrow waist. His high cheekbones were great, too.

Boone's expression quickly turned to annoyance. "Are you okay?" he repeated, a little less kindly. I snapped out of it, blinking and looking away. Although I wasn't looking at him anymore, his shrewd eyes were burning a hole in my skull.

"You got a visitor downstairs, pardner," Victor piped up cheerfully. "Sent me to come and get ya. Said you needed to come alone."

Benny? No. How could he know where I was? But it had to be Benny. My heart immediately went back up into flutter territory, where it had lingered moments earlier upon examination of Boone's physique.

"Sounds like a trap to me." Boone stated. I turned toward him, wondering if he'd been reading my thoughts. If so, boy, that was going to be embarrassing.

"Er...what?"

"I said," he repeated impatiently, "it sounds like a trap. Someone wants you to go downstairs alone? I'd better come with you."

"No, it's okay. Let me go down. If I'm not back up in five minutes, you can come down. I think I know who it is, and I have a score to settle with him anyway."

"If that's what you think." Boone's eyes narrowed.

"Thank you," I said quietly, not for waiting, but for his loyalty and want to protect. As I walked toward the elevator I passed him and squeezed his shoulder. He wasn't a man keen on physical contact, (did I mention his 12 feet bubble) but Boone didn't flinch at the reassurance.

Once on the elevator, my thoughts moved back to Benny. I was ready to do this and do it right. Though Boone had just awoken, I'd already been awake, gotten dressed, brushed and tied back my hair, donned the First Recon beret, and tucked every spare weapon I could into every holster and nook my outfit allowed for. Several people knew where I was staying, but had no business with me. Nor would they request I come alone. Benny didn't want to kill me; if he did, he would've done it last night when he had plenty of chances. I was giddy, and confused, but not afraid.

The thick steel elevator doors opened, and I crossed through the empty, spooky casino to the entrance. Outside the door stood...not Benny.

Nipton had taught me who the Legion was and what they would do. Yet it was only one lone Legionaire who hid in the shadows under the sanctuary of my casino's overhang. I wanted Boone, immediately. Freezing on the spot, my expression ran from expectant to hostile. The Legionaire didn't seem to notice or care.

"What do you want," I said in a closed, hesitant voice. The man smiled cruelly.

Boone liked to be alone, and he damn sure would've preferred it to standing here with this fucking idiot machine. The only alternative he found acceptable was the Courier; not clingy, not whiny, and a formidable companion, he preferred her company. Three minutes. Boone toyed with the idea of asking retard machine who was outside waiting to talk to his sole companion, but he figured it was best to stay out of it. For another two minutes.

He paced, and the elevator doors suddenly wooshed open. Spinning on his heel, Boone stepped toward the girl. Something was wrong; her usually amiable expression was gone. Her face was instead blank, her complexion slate. She held something in her hand, palm up, as though it'd been frozen that way.

"What?" Boone asked, and looked at her extended hand. Something, some sort of medallion, was nestled in her palm. He scooped it up. Boone squinted. "What the hell does this say?"

She gulped. "You can't read it?"

"I have sniper's eyes," he responded. This seemed to catch her attention, because she blinked.

"What?"

More defensively than needed, he replied, "I can't see things that are close up."

She didn't respond, although he was already bristled for a comment about his poor close-range vision. Boone turned the medallion over in the warm, low lighting of the suite, and saw the Bull on it.

"My God," he said in a low voice, and then his head snapped back to the courier. "Where did you get this?"

In a tiny, very non-courier-like voice, she responded, eyes wide.

"They have Benny."