Pro Posterus 10

Jessica woke up coughing. She sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, unable to resist the tickle in the back of her throat. Her lungs ached madly, but at long last, she was able to open her eyes.

"Would you like a glass of water?" A voice asked.

She snapped to the side. Arcade Gannon was sitting on a chair beside her bed, looking tired but pleased.

"How long…?" she asked hoarsely. She cleared her throat. "How long have I been out?"

The scientist shrugged. "Two weeks?"

"What happened?" she asked.

"Boone went in after you. He's already recovered." Arcade explained quietly. "He's in the cocktail lounge… staring out the window as usual. Hasn't said a word since he laid you down here."

Jessica stared, shocked. "He…"

"He saved your life." Arcade repeated slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

"Yes, I understand that. I just… why?"

Now it was Arcade's turn to stare. "Why?" he parroted carefully. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Jessica?"

The young woman took a deep breath and smiled at him. "I'm fine." she said patiently. "Thank you for all your help, Arcade. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." He replied, eyeing her with a worried look. His expression changed suddenly as her remembered something which had been bothering him since he'd learned of Jessica's plan. He dug through his pocket and held up a vial of the Cloud residue. "Jessica?"

"Mmm?" she rubbed her throat tenderly, staring blankly into space.

"Where did this come from?"

"Sierra-" she paused, coughing violently into her shoulder. Her throat burned with the sensation, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. "Sierra Madre."

"The Sierra Madre doesn't exist." Arcade pointed out.

She didn't answer him immediately, but instead sat back against her headboard, trying to resist the infuriating tickle in the back of her throat. She said, "Yes it does."

Arcade slowly looked back at the vial, and then sighed and tossed it onto the bed, where it left a small wrinkle in the sheets. "Sometimes I get the sneaking suspicion that we aren't actually a team…"

"Not my choice to go without you." She replied.

"Well what happened?"

"Later." She said distractedly, "Where's Craig?"

"Cocktail lounge." Arcade said again, "Where he always is. But drop in with Cassidy first. She wanted to talk with you."

Jessica found Cass sitting at the kitchen table, opening a bottle of whiskey. The caravaneer tipped her hat at Jessica and poured them both a drink, then sat back and put her feet up on the table. "Helluva job, Jessica."

The Courier nodded and downed the shallow glass in one gulp. The drink burned going down, but she felt cleaner, somehow.

Cass was watching her with predatory curiosity. "I saw what Boone did." A slight smile played upon her lips. "If I didn't know better…"

"I don't want to get close to him." Jessica said a little too quickly. She stared into the glass. "He thinks I'm Carla."

"C'mon!" Cass scoffed, "He ain't that stupid."

"No he's just…" Jessica shrugged. "Confused? Carla and Bitter Springs really left him lost. I didn't side with the NCR, and yet he's still around."

"Yeah… I haven't figured that one out myself yet." Cass muttered, pouring herself a second drink. She held it thoughtfully and looked back up at the courier. "You think you're the reason he's staying?"

"Does that make me arrogant?"

"As hell." Cass affirmed. "But not necessarily wrong."

Jessica sighed. "It's not good for him, being here. It's useful for us, but not good for him. I'm not the sort of person who would just… take advantage of someone like that."

"You like to think you're not." Cassidy corrected teasingly. "But when the chips are down…"

"Look, he either has to leave, and keep mourning Carla, or move on from her and stay." Jessica said, tapping a tattoo on the edge of the table to emphasize her point. "As long as he's around me, and remembering Carla, he's going to keep hurting."

She sat back and rubbed her throat nervously. "I just don't know how to make him stop."

"Jessica Chase without an answer…" Cass grinned and tipped her hat. "That's a first."

"I should just tell him to leave. I should tell him to go back to the NCR. It would be best for both of us." Jessica said.

"So why don't you do it?"

"Because I'm not sure he'd listen, and… and I want him to stay." She felt herself going slightly red.

"Well why don't you simply kiss him?" the older woman suggested.

Jessica stared.

"You aren't his wife." Cass explained. "He'll realize that the moment you two start Doing The Dirty. Either he'll choose you, or he'll realize what the problem is. It'll force him into a choice."

"But what if-"

"There are no 'what if's here."

"There are always 'what if's, Cass." Jessica said, though the idea had taken root in her mind, and wasn't letting go no matter how hard she tried.

"Not here, there aren't." The caravaneer said, shaking her head. She took another shot of whiskey and wiped her mouth. "I've been watching the two of you make eyes at each other since I joined up. Just go and do it. What are you so afraid of?"

Jessica shrugged. "That he won't choose me? I want to do what's best for him, but I don't want him to leave…"

"And what if that is what's best for him?"

"Well then…" Jessica sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know…"

"Is it any better than him staying here and constantly torturing himself with guilt? You know he doesn't like working for House. He's staying for you."

"He's staying for his wife. If I sleep with him, it'll be out of pity, and he'll be sleeping with her, not me."

"There are plenty of worse reasons to fuck." the older woman responded, unfazed.

"And there are plenty of better ones!" Jessica replied firmly.

"Like what?" a Cheshire grin spread across Cassidy's face "Love? What, are you fifteen?"

"Not love!" the courier snapped. "Just… respect. If he wants me, that's fine. But if it's just residual feelings for Carla…"

"Well you'll never know until you try." Cass challenged. "For the record, if I were him, I'd pick the living over the dead."

Jessica found him in the cocktail lounge, exactly where Arcade had said he'd be. She approached him cautiously, but he knew she was there. She could tell by the way his shoulders tensed.

"Craig?" she asked, not quite sure how to proceed.

He turned. To her surpise, he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. His cold eyes were exposed to the world.

"You saved me." She said quietly.

"I wasn't going to let you suffocate." He said shortly. She searched his face for a moment. She'd never actually encountered a situation like this before, and she had to admit that the man did not look particularly open to intimacy in any form, however mild.

She gave up and closed the distance between them. She laced her fingers through the cropped hair at the back of his head, and pressed their mouths together.

Shocked, he stiffened, but she kept up the gentle pressure, deepening the kiss until all at once a dam seemed to break. One hand slid around her waist, the other snaked right down over her bum and gently pressed her in. His own mouth opened at the same moment , and she found herself fighting for breath. She gave up, eyes fluttering shut. Oxygen was an overrated thing anyway…

It occurred to Jessica's muddled brain that if this went as far as Cass thought it might, Jessica would probably end up being a disappointing bedmate. Not that she wouldn't do her best, but that particular part of her mystique and reputation depended on playing the unrealistic expectations of her marks. It was easy to hint and tease the moon and stars when she didn't actually have to deliver, and when she made no promises. She just hinted, and let their own imaginations fill in the blanks. Most of the time, she didn't even have to hint. They'd start the moment they laid eyes on her. On the rare occasions when she's had to use that particular aspect of her skill set, she'd string her marks along until she got what she wanted. But in the short time since she'd woken up in Goodsprings with no memories at all, she had always managed to finish the job without … well… finishing the job. Not even with Benny.

But now Boone was kissing her furiously, his powerful hands gently forcing the two of them closer than they'd ever been. It felt fantastic. The man's passion alone was sweeping her away, and she let herself begin to respond in kind, adding her own friction. She felt him groan in response, and the hand pressing them together released some pressure, letting her do the work. Even as things began to rapidly progress, she felt growing discomfort; as if she were a leaf being swept along by the wind. She wasn't in control of the situation, and it scared her immensely. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed since she'd initiated the kiss. The man let out an almost animal growl as he engulfed her with his arms, pulling her even closer – how in hell was that possible?- and cursing the cloth defenses keeping them apart.

"Craig…" she moaned quietly as he move on from her mouth, his lips scorching a trail across her jawline and down her neck. The man's hands moved to her sleeveless duster, forcing the supple leather down her shoulders.

"Carla." He replied, equally as intoxicated by the contact. Ice shot down Jessica's spine. She'd been half-expecting the reply, but the fact that the man leapt away from her like a scalded cat did not make her feel any better about it.

They stared at each other, each unsure of what to do next, and Jessica watched as he put all of his walls back, sealing himself off just as fast as he'd opened up. He straightened, taking a few steps backwards. His mouth, which a few seconds earlier had been making her weak at the knees and sending shivers down her spine, had formed into a thin impassible line. But it was the way he was watching her which hurt the most. Something was missing in his gaze. Something which had always been there before: affection. He wasn't hostile, just… distant. Unreadable, which for Jessica, was a strange event.

"Boone?" she asked quietly. The man's shoulders stiffened slightly.

"Craig…?" she tried again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" she died away into silence.

"Leave." He told her. "Please. Just go for a while."

"Are you going to be here when I get back?" she asked.

He didn't answer. He just turned and kept staring out the window.

"Don't leave." She said. He didn't move a muscle.

Breathing hard, Jessica stared at the man's tense shoulders. She swallowed, glaring at him, and adjusted her uniform so that it sat properly on her shoulders once again. Her skin seemed both burned and soothed wherever his careful hands had touched it, and she could still taste him on her lips.

She turned on her heel and marched back towards the elevator. She spotted Cassidy leaning against the wall, watching both the courier and the sniper. An empty glass was held in one hand, and a half-full whiskey bottle was dangling easily from the other. The older woman had an infuriating smirk on her face; she'd seen it all.

"You're a bitch, Rose of Sharon Cassidy." Jessica snapped as she passed by, stomping into the elevator.

"Hypocrite." The woman grinned at her, pouring herself another glass of whiskey.

Jessica stepped out onto the Strip. She was fuming, though she wasn't quite sure why. She certainly understood Boone's choice. The man was loyal to his wife, and that was honorable. Jessica was not about to criticize him for that. However a part of her had honestly thought the man would cave. She felt a little insulted and more than a little ashamed. She wanted an escape for a little while. Not sex or drugs. Booze possibly, though she'd had so much practice at drinking that it had begun to lose its effectiveness as an emotional anesthetic.

Her thoughts were shunted sideways by the sight of a familiar and very unwelcome tuxedo. It was being worn by a rather smooth looking ghoul with a pair of large, dark sunglasses. He was staring up at the enormous, burning Gomorrah sign. Jessica resisted the impulse to shout to him from across the street. That sort of thing wouldn't impress.

Not that she particularly cared what the ghoul thought of her, but if she played her cards right, this could be a lot of fun. The smarmy bastard deserved some payback, and now that the ghostly ghouls weren't trying to hunt her through the back alleyways of the Sierra Madre, she could finally put out some well-deserved vengeance. It would be a nice escape from her thoughts of Boone.

She waited patiently for him to enter the whorehouse, then followed quietly, shadowing him.

Every girl in the Gomorrah had her own tent, or room, depending on how much the clients were willing to pay. Her own space where she was allowed to take her clients and ply her craft in privacy and comfort.

Jessica knew them all. She had made a point of knowing them all. She shadowed him, lurking in the unseen corners of the casino as he played a few rounds of roulette. She waited until he had settled on a particularly voluptuous brunette. The girl's name was Betty, though most of her clients knew her as Felicia. Her room was on the… third floor, if Jessica remembered correctly.

With the brunette on his arm, the ghoul moved back to the roulette tables, which suited Jessica just fine. She had some preparations of her own to make.

Life was good, Dean Domino decided as he pushed the whore against the wall next to her room. It was true, he had come to Vegas for a very specific purpose, but that was no reason not to have a little fun…

He pressed himself into her, exploring every inch he could reach. The girl moaned in response. Probably a sound she had practiced in front of the mirror. Dean Domino was a ghoul, and acutely aware of just how repulsive he looked and felt. It irked him no end, but a few hours with the right woman could make that part go away for a while, and this one looked promising.

He pulled her forwards, fumbling for the doorknob. After an awkward moment, he found it and walked both of them into her small apartment, their mouths still locked together.

"Hello Domino." Said a familiar voice. The whore screamed and tore herself away from him, flinging herself to the corner of the room, but Dean was too busy remembering to notice or care.

That voice… A woman's voice. A wonderful voice. One that could make him forget all the troubles in the world. A voice he could listen to for hours and hours and never tire of hearing. A hypnotic voice. An entrancing voice. The first since Vera's to grip him and hold him under its sway so completely. He detested both it, and the bitch it belonged to.

Two comfortable-looking chairs had been set up on either side of a table upon which sat a burning candle, a bottle of excessively expensive wine, and two glasses. Another woman, far more beautiful than the whore, was sitting in one of the chairs, her legs crossed and hair bound up in a style which both epitomized, imitated, and mocked Vera's regular style. Dean hated the imposter for wearing it because no matter how much he thought of Vera, he knew that style would now belong to the brunette beauty sitting before him.

"Jessica Chase." He said in his smooth English accent. "So wonderful to finally see you in your element."

The woman glanced around at the whore's boudoir. She smiled again, nodding at the whore. "And you in yours. Tell me, Dean, why do you pick brunettes? Is it because Vera was one, or do you have some rather fond memories of me?"

Dean growled, but the woman was carrying a rather large .45 caliber pistol on her hip, and he wasn't certain he could get to her before she put it to use. Not that she had been all that good with weapons, as he recalled, but at this range, missing would be difficult. Even for her.

The brunette flashing him sultry smirk. She addressed the whore first. "Leave us, please. You'll be paid. Leave your name at the desk."

The whore nodded and hurried out, all too eager to leave the two alone together. The woman gestured at the other chair. "Take a seat," She said warmly. "I insist."

He moved forward and slid into the comfortable chair, damning the hypnotic qualities of her wonderful voice. He'd encountered them before, of course, and had been just as vulnerable then as he was now.

"Glass of wine?" she poured him a generous amount of the swirling red liquid.

Dean took it graciously. She had no reason to poison him, and seemed interested in talking. A small part of him, shaken to wakefulness by the moaning whore, wondered where exactly the brunette intended this rendezvous to go.

"So what brings the illustrious Dean Domino to Vegas?" she asked, taking a sip.

"Actually I came to find you." The ghoul admitted, knowing she was going to come out with some smart comment.

"I'm flattered. Though I suppose holograms and well-dressed skeletons make for poor bedmates…" Jessica mused.

Dean's glare intensified.

"Ego as fragile as ever, I see." Jessica added, noting his expression. She responded with infuriating indifference. Time was, women like her had been lined up around the block for him. No... not women like her. Women like the whore whose room they now occupied. But they had been beautiful enough, and he drunk enough, for them to stand in for women like her. And women like Vera, too.

"Let me guess…" Jessica said thoughtfully. "I'd say you were going to try and restart your singing career."

"Among Many. Other. Things." He said through clenched teeth.

"Well I'd get in line now." Jessica said. "It's a long one, and you're not going to bypass it."

"I am Dean Domino, you pathetic strumpet!" He snapped said angrily.

"The Incredible Singing Ghoul!" Jessica continued his statment, as if reading from a grand marquee. "Don't worry, you get a gig here, your name will most definitely be in lights." Her smiled widened. "Along with the rest of the circus. Perhaps I can speed things up. I have a few connections here. I'll put in a good word for you."

Dean's ego was burning with indignation. He was painfully aware that he was losing his composure. That was unacceptable. His buttons were being pushed, and the harlot was enjoying it. He refused to give her the satisfaction. He set his glass down saying, "Are you always this unpleasant to your guests?"

"Only the ones who act unforgivably arrogant and rude to frightened, helpless young women in a time of dire need."

"Ah." Dean said, recalling their somewhat unfriendly partnership. Perhaps the brunette snake did have a point. But still… he was Dean Domino! He shouldn't ever have to put up with this sort of thing! Not from a trollop like her.

Jessica finished her glass and poured herself another. "So really, Dean, why did you come to New Vegas?

"Things are starting to happen at the Sierra Madre." He replied. "Christine Royce asked that I tell you. I thought perhaps you'd be interested. But if you're not…"

"I'm afraid not." She said shortly. "Not one bit. That place was a nightmare."

"You might be. What do you know of the Legion?" Domino asked.

"A little." The woman admitted carefully.

"Don't be coy, my dear." Dean snapped. "I know who you are. You're the Courier. House's Courier. And I assure you that if I'd known that during our little… misadventure… I would have behaved differently."

"I've no doubt you would have." Jessica replied evenly. "I guess the only thing that matters is reputation, yes?"

"In my line of business, certainly." Dean observed, picking up his own glass and taking another sip. It really was excellent wine. At least the woman had good taste. "Dead legion scouts have been found in the Sierra Madre."

"Have they?" Jessica said, frowning slightly. "Why? How?"

"I don't know." Dean shrugged.

"Perhaps they're survivors from the battle of Hoover Dam."

"No." Dean shook his head. "These are… scouts. Explorers. Some of them made it quite far into the city before the ghost people finally claimed them. And their Standard is different."

"How so?"

"It's black." Dean said, remembering the one the Brotherhood woman had shown him. "With a white Deathclaw's head in the center."

Jessica stared at him, her emerald eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candle.

There was a cautious knock at the door.

"Come in." Jessica called.

It opened to reveal the brunette whore. "Ma'am?" she said, her voice almost fearful. "There's a Securitron bot waiting for you outside the club."

"Is there?" Jessica mused. She turned to Dean. "I'm a popular girl. I'll have to go see what this is all about. I'm sorry to leave you here, Dean. But duty calls." She rose to her feet and turned. "Oh, and I wouldn't get up if I were you. No matter how uncomfortable that seat gets." She picked up her glass and added, "That cushion's just for show."

Dean glanced down at the plush red velvet between his knees. But the woman was already gone. At least she'd had the decency to leave him the bottle of wine. He shifted his leg slightly to feel for a possible mine.

The whore was watching his with a curious expression.

Well…if he were to go, he'd go in comfort. Dean sighed and unzipped himself. "Well? What are you waiting for, girl. Get on your knees.

I know Dean Domino can't survive unless you treat him right. But I've always enjoyed the friendly hatred of the Courier's relationship with him if you don't kiss his ass. So call this a slight change to canon. I already saved Calvert back in Aqua Vitae, so here's another slight adjustment.

Also aware that in the last chapter, I was rather heavy-handed with Boone's character. Perhaps it was laziness, but at the time, I honestly couldn't think of a better way to put across my interpretation of his inner conflict. I had to get the chapter out. This story had been sitting idle for far too long, and I needed to move or lose it all. I do feel that it was explained far better in this chapter, so I'll leave it alone for now.

One day when I have less projects on the go, I might do a re-write. But right now, I just want to move forward with the story.