Chapter Eight:
Hell-bound
"Here there be dragons,"
Hawkins stood blankly in front of Caesar's throne, staring at the man standing beside it. The man simply glanced at her before returning his gaze forward, ignoring her. The despot in front of her looked between the two before grinning slyly.
"So I take it you've met Vulpes, the best of my Frumentarii." He said smoothly, leaning back.
The courier's grey eyes snapped back to Caesar, face paling rapidly.
Goddammit, stop zoning out. She thought furiously at her self, resisting the urge to pinch her neck.
Hawkins nodded slowly, hands fisted. Caesar waved his hand at her, waiting for an explanation.
"Well?"
The courier cleared her throat. "Nipton, we met in Nipton." She waited a moment, taking a deep breath and letting a smile curl onto her face.
Come on baby, muster up that Vegas swagger.
"Almost didn't recognize 'im without that dog on his head." Hawkins finished, crossing her arms.
Caesar laughed loudly, startling the man on his left. Lucius, she'd heard him called.
"Now, about that chip..." The despot began, grin as wide as hers.
A hand gripped her hair tightly and dragged her behind the weather station building, shoving her roughly against the wall. Hawkins struggled violently, flailing against her attacker, weak from the battle that had taken place below. The fucking security in the bunker was ridiculous. She'd have a bone to pick with House later. Jolting her from her thoughts, Vulpes Inculta gripped her by the throat, casting a quick glance at Cass and ED-E. The tall woman started forward, eyes blazing.
Eyes frantic, the Courier held up a hand. "C-cass. It's fine. Just...go into the station and w-wait for me, kay?" She spit out hurriedly.
Her companion glared at her, muttering some nonsense about all-knowing snipers before slamming the door open, stomping into the weather station. The robot followed tentatively, beeping sadly.
Vulpes glowered down at her, gripping her neck tightly.
"Very smart, profligate. Your friend nearly got herself killed." He said, his voice like liquid silver, gliding over her skin.
Hawkins shuddered as his breath ghosted hotly over her ear.
"What do you want," The courier asked quietly, large eyes narrowed up at him.
The leader of the Frumentarii grinned down at her, faces inches from her own.
"The truth, profligate. I want to know why you look exponentially worse than when you entered; what was in the bunker. And I'll get it any way I can. You can be sure of that." He murmured, tongue flicking out to capture her earlobe.
The courier's eyes widened in shock, mouth agape.
Oh...my..oh...
Vulpes Inculta was very good at his job.
"You're telling me, that Cass did that to you."
Hawkins looked over at the woman passed out on the dining table of the Lucky 38's presidential suite. She hurriedly nodded. The sniper looked unimpressed.
"Drunk as a skunk, she was. Thought it'd be an aces idea to ah, play fight. Then...leave a hickey. Heat of the moment, all that jazz." The courier confided, cheeks coloring.
Boone stared down at her. "Right. And at any point, did you tell her to stop? Because it sure as hell looks like you didn't."
He reached forward, fingers tracing delicately over her bruised skin, lip curling at the deep purple and yellow coloring. His face twisted further as his calloused fingers neared the mark. Hawkins winced and he jerked back.
She looked up at him meekly. "I didn't want to embarass the poor kitten. She passed out right after."
There was a moment of silence.
"I'm going to bed."
The courier sighed as the door slammed, collapsing onto her bed.
I'm fucked.
Cass looked up at Hawkins as the younger woman entered the room, letting out a low whistle. The courier scowled at her and made her way to the refrigerator, ignoring the drunken riflewoman. She rifled through the shelves, pulling out a bottle of vodka and a snack cake, before sitting at the table and kicking up her legs.
Her companion smirked at her and took a gulp of her own alcohol. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then, "Any special occasion goin' on tonight?" Cass asked coyly.
Hawkins stared at her blankly. "Why would there be?"
"Sweetcheeks, those shorts leave little to the imagination. I mean, that top's pretty tame, but unzip that black merc vest a little and...not to mention those boots."
The courier looked confused for a moment, looking down at herself. Her pink, halfsleeve shirt sticking out from under the vest was cool and comfortable, delivering her from the heat. The shorts were easy to move in as well.
Before she could reply, Boone thumped into the dining room. The two women fell silent as the sniper collected his food and turned to leave, stopping when he saw the courier. He stopped cold, looking at her from over the rim of his sunglasses.
"Where're you going?"
"The Tops."
A tense pause.
"Not in that getup."
Cass choked on her whiskey, spluttering. Hawkins gaped at him, nearly falling out of her chair as she went to follow him into the hallway.
"The fuck's that 'sposed to mean?" She exclaimed, whirling him around.
Boone stared at her boredly, sipping his water.
"They'd be on you in seconds. You're just asking for trouble; those pricks aren't nothing but a bunch of horny bastards." He replied calmly.
Hawkins' face began to redden and she clenched her fists. Cass was silent in the doorway, amusement etched along her face.
"And what if they are? What if I think that's just fucking platinum? It's not like I've gotten any male attention in a few weeks." She ended in a grumble, crossing her arms.
Boone went to reply, then stopped, freezing in his tracks. Behind him, Cass slowly raised her hand to her mouth, backing slowly back into the dining room, and shutting the door quietly.
Hawkins apparently realized her mistake, as her eyes got very large and she stared at Boone in horror, gripping her neck guiltily. His eyes flicked towards it and the sniper looked enraged.
"...A few weeks?" He hissed.
He advanced on Hawkins quickly, gaining on her as she stumbled backwards. He reached for her and the courier quickly backed into the elevator. She shut the door with a clang, waving to him weakly as the elevator descended.
Boone slammed his fist into the door in frustration, and down below, Hawkins slammed her head against the wall.
Fuck.
Hawkins set up in a booth on the wall of The Tops casino floor, nursing her Sarsparilla delicately. Mind wandering, she watched the gamblers and the way their expressions changed, depending on their luck. In the span of an hour, she saw several men and women go completely broke. Despite their misfortune, many walked away just as cheerful as they entered.
Granted, they were drunk, but Hawkins liked to think of it as that certain Tops charm.
A body slid into the seat opposite her. The courier looked up, expressionless.
"Can't say I'm surprised. Knew you'd come back sooner or later, kid." Swank said casually, leaning back in the booth like he owned the place.
I guess he does, now. Hawkins reflected, her body tense.
The chairman glanced at her, then snorted. "Calm down, I ain't here for trouble. Just...conversation, I guess." He finished lamely.
Hawkins stared at him for a moment, feeling lost.
"Swank?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"Who am I? I mean, who am I, here? Because, everywhere else, I know what I am, I remember myself. But..." She paused, looking down at her ragged fingernails. "But here...I don't know."
Swank considered her for a moment, his face impossible to read.
"C'mon. I wanna show you somethin'."
The two stood on a balcony overlooking the Strip. Hawkins gripped the railing tightly, feeling breathlesss. The view was spectacular, and she was silent for a moment, drinking in the sight of her home.
"Benny always got a kick outta the fact that you ditched the Kings for us. Said it finally showed 'em who's boss." Swank said quietly from the doorway, cigarette hanging between his lips.
Hawkins turned to him, taking her preferred addiction as it was offered. Smoke curled around the two as they sat looking down at the Strip, the gamblers below the size of tiny dolls.
"Do you know...why I came here?"
Swank shook his head. "Not nothin' that Benny didn't tell me, he-"
"Why did Benny know, and not you?" Hawkins asked curiously.
The man was silent a he stared at her. The courier began to get uncomfortable, face reddening.
"Jesus kid, you really don't remember at all, do you?"
Hawkins glared at him and he put his hands up in mock surrender.
"Sorry but...I figured you'd remember, you know, the emotional stuff."
The lights and sound seemed to fade away as the courier ran those words over in her head. Emotional stuff. Her cigarette continued to burn in her fingertips without her notice.
"I didn't...Benny and I weren't..."
Swank sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking her her pityingly. He reached forward and plucked the cigarette out of her hand before it burned her, crushing it in the ashtray. His brown eyes looked up at her, guilt etched into his every feature.
"Yeah, kitten. You were."
Hawkins' head dropped into her hands, eyes burning.
"Oh, god."
And for the first time since she'd stabbed the man that shot her, the courier cried.
A/N: Just thought I'd let you all know, I have a little sidestory to this one up. Just a bunch of missing moments 'tween Hawkins and Boone.
