Way Back Home: This Is Just the Beginning

Notes: Yes, John is an unreliable narrator. Think about how many chems he takes; of course he is. Also, yes, I know Maude's Muggers wear the same dress, but I like the idea of them wearing the same dress in different colors. Deal with it. ;)

One thing you could say in favor of the Mojave - no radstorms. No storms at all, in fact; the place was as dry as a metaphorical bone, which meant that when John got up in the morning and left the Wrangler he didn't need to worry about the possibility of rain or errant radiation whipping up over him. Nope, no need to worry that a storm might break the heat and quench his skin with a wash of cool, quenching rain. All he really needed to be concerned with was the insufferable heat, the dryness, and -

Alright, it was fuckin' miserable out here. Summer in the desert was no goddamn joke, he thought, wiping his brow and settling Honey's cowboy hat on his head. He'd found it half-shoved under the bed this morning and now he was grateful for something to keep the sun out of his eyes and give the back of his neck a rest from the relentless sun. Despite it all, though - despite the weight of his pack digging into his shoulders, though he hadn't brought much more than some ammo, water, a few pick-me-ups, and the tape he'd bought off Ralph - he was feelin' pretty good. He'd had a few Party Time Mentats after breakfast, and a swig of tequila and everything around him was just starting to go soft at the edges.

Just the way he liked it.

The fallen overpass was behind him and he could see a small cluster of relatively intact buildings ahead. Ralph had told him the old robotics place was somewhere over here, and that'd be his best bet to find a machine to plug the holotape into. If he didn't find one there, he'd probably have to go outside the walls to Outer Vegas and he didn't feel so good about that.

Around him, the broken and vacant windows of the half-collapsed buildings stared like eyes. It was weird how he could feel like he was being watched even with no sign of people around.

The building itself was easy enough to find once he was in the right place; he went into two wrong ones before finding the right one, but it was definitely easier than spending the better part of the day at it. And of course, inside, it was infested with mole rats.

Fuckin' aggressive pieces of shit. And he shot 'em all, one after another, stifling giggles as he did so.

The rest of the building was like any other pre-war office building he'd scavenged. Less interesting architecturally than, say, the Boston Library, but still fairly undamaged considering. It was surprising the number of buildings he'd seen like this already, compared to back home.

Unfortunately, while the building may have been structurally sound, the inside was a mess. Scrap metal littered the place, coated in refuse and splashed now with mole rat blood. Worse, every robot he encountered was broken beyond his ability to repair them. He was about to give up, take a smoke break, and regroup when he spotted it in the corner - one lone Protectron, still in its dock.

With what looked like a functional terminal next to it.

John gave a mad laugh and dashed over only to discover the terminal was locked. He thought about trying to hack it but then again, that'd never been his kind of skill. He was more into stabbing and smoking; he did give it a good thump with his hand and almost cried when it blinked out. Angry, he bashed it again, and the screen came back on.

Shit. That was close.

He backed away, hands out almost defensively, determined not to do any more damage. Fumbled in a pocket for his cigarettes and a lighter, then took a deep, steadying pull of smoke.

Think, John. You're smarter than this. He turned in a slow circle, trying to come up with an idea. Maybe he could hire Ralph to come back here and help? Not a bad idea, but it'd cut into his profits, and the whole point of this was to make caps, not lose them. Perhaps as a backup if he couldn't come up with anything else. He could try hacking it but, no, he hadn't become a better hacker in the last ten minutes. He was reaching in his bag for a few more Mentats - nothing like a little boost when you're trying to think - when his eye alighted on the lockers at the far end of the room.

Bingo. If there was a keycard or something; he glanced back at the terminal. Yes. Just like he'd thought, there was a card reader on one side. He stuffed the Mentats in his mouth and walked over to the lockers.

Locked, all of 'em, but he had a cure for that. Three well-placed shotgun blasts later, and he'd gotten all three lockers open and helped himself to everything inside, which included a magazine, a few bottles of something called Sunset Sarsaparilla, two stimpacks, a vial of something stuffed in a sock and hidden way in the back of one of them...and a key card.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity as he discovered it did work on the terminal and began uploading the tape from Ralph. Turned out it was going slower than expected - old world technology wasn't bad but still slow, apparently, so he headed back to the lobby. He'd seen a couple couches there, and could crash out for a while until the Protectron was ready. He wondered if he should name it.

"So you're really doing this? This...stupid goddamn thing?" Cass's face was disbelieving. She stared at Honey with her jaw slack, a forgotten cigarette smoking in one hand, a glass with a few fingers' worth of whiskey in the other. Arcade gave her a glance, frowning slightly at her two vices, but said nothing.

Honey sat in the bed. She felt sweaty and stiff inside her clothes, but for the first time since that bullet got lodged in her head, she felt complete. And - surprisingly - she wasn't sure she liked it. All she wanted now was to lie in the bath for an hour to drown her misery and confusion with a big glass of tequila. The Med-X Arcade had given her was starting to wear off and the headache was clawing away at her again, vicious as a yao guai.

"I think I've already started," she said to Cass, whose mouth flapped up and down for a moment before she finally jammed the cigarette back in it and took a long drag - one so long, in fact, that she started coughing, the smoke billowing out of her. Arcade blinked behind his glasses and waved a hand before his face with a wince.

'You killed Mr. House." Cass stood, began pacing. A splash of whiskey jumped out of his glass and onto the floor.

"Yes." She reached out to Rex, who lay next to her on the bed. It was too hot to snuggle a dog, but she stroked his ears anyway.

Cass walked back and forth, wearing a pattern into the plush carpet.

"And you're planning to take on the entire fucking Legion."

Honey's lips set into a thin line. "Yes."

"And you're not going to the assholes in the NCR for help."

A snort from Arcade earned him a glare from Cass.

"Nope."

Cass stopped pacing. "So you're going to do this alone."

Honey nodded, then fought a grimace when the action caused her head to ache again. Best to just hold still.

"I...I don't know about this," Cass said. "That's a tall order."

"It is." Honey kept her tone neutral.

"I need to think about this." There was a clink of glass as Cass set her whiskey down on a table. A hiss as she dropped her cigarette into it. "I'm not...I'm not out, but I don't know. This is big. I need to - to think -"

And like that, Cass was gone, grabbing her gun and her pack and fairly racing out the door. Honey distinctly heard the word "suicide" as the other woman rushed out, so she waited until there was the chime and whoosh of the elevator before she spoke again.

"So."

"So," said Arcade.

"How long were you going to wait?"

"How long was I going to wait until what?" He looked perfectly comfortable, totally innocent. It broke her heart.

"To tell me that you knew me. Before." Her hand was heavy but she still lifted it to gesture at the scar on her head.

At this, Arcade looked a little surprised. She could practically see the wheels in his head turning over what she'd said, and then he allowed a small smile. "I guess some things came back."

"Yeah," Honey tried not to sound bitter. "Some things did." Some things she wished had stayed gone, in fact, but no point in beating that dead brahmin.

"Well," he said, glancing at her over his glasses. He must have seen something in her eyes, because he picked up his supply bag and rifled through it, eventually pulling out a syringe of Med-X. With a shrug, he moved closer to her and said, "It's in the past."

"I feel so stupid," she said, watching as he leaned forward and wrapped a tourniquet around her arm. He tapped her vein gently, and she saw the look in his eyes when he saw how many tiny scars dotted her elbow, white stars on a tan field. "I hate that I -"

"I said," Arcade interrupted, drawing an astringent pad gently over the crook of her elbow, "It's in the past. You are not the person who took those supplies. Not anymore." Gently, more gently than she ever was herself, he slid the small needle into her vein and pressed it home. The narcotic was like ice, if it could both freeze and burn at the same time. Honey leaned back into the pillows, her breathing slowing as the pain began to ebb.

She looked up and met Arcade's eyes. She raised her opposite hand and laid it softly on his cheek. The sparse stubble there was darker than on his head, and she patted him before letting her hand drop.

"I'm still her, at least in part. Whether I want to be or not. And I'm sorry," she told him. "You're a good friend."

"I don't know about that." Arcade moved away but she could see his pale cheeks flush a bit at the compliment. He closed his bag with a zipping sound, and she heard his feet move towards the door. "Get some rest. I'll be back later to check on you."

But Honey was already gone, down the tunnel the Med-X made, into the dark place beyond.

When the robot had woken him up and announced its new name, John had been mildly disappointed. He'd been thinking of names when he fell asleep on the couch, his cigarette dropping from his hand to burn a small scorch mark in the linoleum floor. Next thing he knew, the Protectron stood over him, announcing a long string of words that John automatically shortened to Fisto. And then he'd thought about it.

Fisto. No beating around the bush there, as it were. Even less so when it had told him to assume the position.

He'd thought about saying no. It'd be easy enough to send the thing on its way, he thought - but then again, he might never have this chance again. And he was pretty curious -

So, with little preamble, he'd dropped his pants and bent over and waited.

Fisto did not disappoint.

Mercedes was scrambling in the storage room of the Old Mormon Fort. Behind her, invisible or whatever she always was during these visits to her hateful memories, Honey stood, watching as the woman she'd been ransacked the place. Mercedes shoved handfuls of stimpacks in her bag, then grabbed another handful of Med-X, and topped the pack off with flexible bags of Rad-Away. Honey thought she'd throw up when she saw how much was gone, especially given that the plan was to sell all but the Med-X which she'd save to get high before she'd fuck Benny anywhere he'd have her. The rest of the caps went to extravagant meals, to fancy drinks at the Ultra-Luxe, to hot showers and other wasteful things.

When so many had so little, Courier Six hadn't minded taking more.

Honey followed her through the door of the fort, knowing somehow what would happen next. And sure enough, Mercedes slammed into Arcade, bouncing back a little and rocking nervously on her heels. When she saw it was a man, she started playing with her braid - trust that girl to try to seduce her way out of any trouble she could, whether she was the guy's type or not. Sometimes just the novelty was a way to deflect interest in what she was actually doing, Honey thought clinically, watching.

Arcade, fortunately, was not interested.

"What exactly were you doing in there?" One of his eyebrows was raised as he looked past Mercedes to the door swinging shut behind her. Honey invisible - it was a memory, fed by the Med-X - leaned against the brick wall and crossed her arms. Thought ought to be good.

"Lo siento, senor, no hablo ingles," Mercedes pulled her hat low over her face and ducked past him, and Honey felt her own face turn red somehow. Because it was a lie, of course it was, Mercedes spoke perfect English even if she sometimes had to run a sentence through her head first. Honey watched Arcade watch her other self for a moment before he turned back to the door and charged through to discover the ransacked room.

There was a shout from inside the door, and Arcade charged back out, face redder with anger than Honey had ever seen, but Mercedes was gone, out the gate and disappeared into some decrepit building by now; she knew the one, around the corner with the boarded-up window that was actually a secret door. She'd - Mercedes had, anyway - spent quite a few nights in that hidey-hole, strung out on Med-X and watching the stars through the patchwork ceiling.

That night had been particularly fun, Honey recalled. There had been Med-X, Jet, and handcuffs involved; she'd worn purple bruises as bracelets for nearly two weeks afterwards and smiled every time she'd seen them. And despite her revulsion at how it started, it still made her heart beat faster to think of it.

John sent the robot on ahead, unsure if his legs could function well enough for him to walk. There had been a bottle of oil involved and he'd certainly had an orgasm that would put most previous ones to shame, but...well, walking wasn't going to be easy for a little while. Instead he lay face down on the couch, face smushed into the mildewed blue fabric, and smoked with his naked ass in the air, too sore for him to pull his pants up over it.

A fine sight he'd be for any raiders or scavengers who might come through, he thought, but there was no sourness in it. With the tingling still coursing through his body it was a bit difficult to get worked up over anything. He let out a sigh and for a while he drifted, half asleep and half in memory. At some point he took a few hits of Jet and then he was flying -

When the room around him seemed to have grown darker, he decided it was time to head back. The room at the Wrangler was paid for, and he was no spring chicken anymore; he'd be better off sleeping in a real bed, or at least his back would be. Plus Garrett owed him some caps. Tired and a bit sore and not sure why - or why his pants were down but well, that was just how things went sometimes - John pulled his pants up and tightened the peeling leather belt around his waist. The cowboy hat he resettled on his head, and his pack hoisted easily over one shoulder.

Outside the sun had almost gone down, and so it took him a moment to the three women who approached from around the corner of the building. All three wore tattered cocktail dresses in various pastels, and he'd tapped his hat to them before he realized they were wailing and waving rolling pins as they ran towards him.

John took a defensive step back, wondering if perhaps he'd just done a few too many chems. And when was the last time he'd eaten? Could he be hallucinating -

The question was literally knocked out of his head when the handle of a rolling pin connected with his hat, swiping it off and into the side of the building and leaving a ringing in his ears. John ducked the worst of it and took a roll across the alley, where he landed propped up against the opposite building, trying to get his bearings.

One of the women, this one in mint green, bore down on him and he rolled towards her at the last second, barrelling into her ankles with his back, knocking her to the ground. His hands were on his shotgun then, and he whipped it up as a woman in pink wailed on him from above.

The shot went through her, creating a hole in her sternum, and he rolled away again as she dropped to the ground. The woman in green scrambled to her feet, rolling pin clutched in one hand, but she was close and a fight between a pre-war kitchen implement and a shotgun will never be fair. He fired, the loud report nearly deafening him as it echoed off the walls of the alley, and she fell to the ground, twitching.

It was then that he felt a skinny, wrinkled arm wrap around his throat. A rolling pin smacked him in the chest - shit, that hurt - and he rocked forward, throwing the woman who'd grabbed him from behind over his head to crash to the ground before him.

"One chance," he growled, pointing the shotgun at her. "Turn around and -"

But the woman screamed and waved her rolling pin at him, and John was left with no choice. With no time to load the shotgun, he grabbed the iron barrel of his gun with one hand, swung it in an arc so that he grasped it firmly there like a club, and smacked the elderly woman in the face with the heavy walnut stock. Blood splattered everywhere as her face cracked in on itself, and she dropped like a stone to the ground, a puddle of grimy lavender silk and creased skin.

John stood over her panting, the shotgun heavy in his hand.

What the fuck?

It was late by the time Honey stepped into The Tops. She'd spent some time after she awoke lurking in the bath, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a bar of soap in the other. When the water was cool with a scrim of dirt floating on top she finally climbed out, toweled herself off, and spent some time staring at herself in the mirror.

The scar from the bullet was faded some - maybe the stimpacks Arcade gave her this go-around had made some further impact, or maybe it was just from all that time in the sun. Either way, it didn't bother her so much as it had at first, when she'd woken in Doc Mitchell's little in-house clinic, scared and alone and with no idea who she was or where she'd come from, with nothing but a bullet in the brain and a fresh scar for a map.

She pulled a dress from the wardrobe - might as well fit in, and the Strip was safe enough - and styled her hair. There was a charcoal pencil in her pack, and she lined her lashes cautiously before the mirror, filled in the part of her eyebrow that was blank with scar tissue. The face that looked back at her wasn't Honey's bare skin, but with the scar, it wasn't Mercedes either.

She wasn't sure whose face it was anymore.

The guy at the door of The Tops insisted on taking her visible weapons and she left him - they were just for show anyway. The little .22 strapped to her upper thigh was easily missed when she put a hand on his suited shoulder and made a crude joke, and no one was going to find the switchblade between her breasts if she had anything to say about it.

Yes Man. Benny had told her to find Yes Man, but she had no clue where to start. Mercedes' memories were back but patchy, and not a single one of them included a Chairman named Yes Man, though they all had equally stupid names, Honey thought. Maybe it was code? Maybe someone acted like a yes man and so she was supposed to figure it out? Maybe -

But that was when Swank saw her. He always had gone in for femininity, she recalled. Benny had been more flexible in that department, happier to see the desert on her, but Swank likes his girls perfumed and be-silked, with clean hair and perfect skin. Tonight she supposed she was close enough.

"Hey there, baby, haven't seen you in a dog's age," he greeted her with a buss on the cheek. She leaned into it, the smile that men always liked blooming on her face like a reflex.

"It's been too long," she purred as his lips caressed her cheek, counting the seconds that his hand lingered at the small of her back as just barely too long for a guy meeting his best pal's girl. Interesting. Maybe the dress had been a good idea.

"Haven't seen you since Benny beat it. Would've expected ya to flip, but I gotta say -" His eyes raked over her and she felt a traitorous tingle in the base of her spine. "Here ya are, lookin' the most."

Honey rolled her head on her neck a little and fluttered her eyelashes. How long till she could ask about Yes Man? How much flirting did she need to get through to get what she wanted?

"Thanks, Swank, that means a lot coming from you," she sighed. "I know you've always had the best taste."

His hand tightened at her waist, pulling her a little closer to him; he lowered his face to her ear where his breath was hot and scented of booze. This was getting out of hand. She played a hand across his lapel, smoothing the worn fabric.

"Any chance you could point out Yes Man for me?" Her voice was as girlish as she could make it, and Swank's shit-eating grin didn't change, though his hand drifted lower to the top of her ass.

"Why you lookin' for anyone but me, baby?" His roaming hand gave her a squeeze and for a moment Honey's brain checked out as she thought about pressing herself against Swank, Benny forgotten. The new leader of the Chairmen was broader in the shoulder, a bit thicker around the waist; this close she could see his nose had never been broken. He was softer than Benny.

Benny. The thought of his name was enough to steady her though.

"Tell you what," she said softly, pulling herself out of Swank's arms and giving him a tap on the nose with one finger. "I'll meet you later."

"Don't worry dolly," Swank winked at her. "I'll razz your berries right." There was that twitch inside her again, and Honey hurried away to the elevator before she could change her mind.

The ride up to Benny's suite was quiet; she was alone in the mirrored elevator with nothing to see but copies of her own reflection staring back at her, all pink cheeks and sleazy red dress. No wonder Swank had been all over her; she looked up for anything. Maybe Benny's suite would hold a clue she'd missed before, a scrap of paper or something -

There was a ding as the elevator's doors opened, and her heels were quiet on the soft carpet as she made her way to the double doors that marked Benny's suite. Inside everything was the same as it had been weeks ago, when she awoke alone and fled the Strip, terror driving her every move. Somehow with the knowledge that House was gone, she felt easier here.

On the bedside table still sat the note he'd left her, the word Pussycat smudged by something wet, although she'd be damned if she knew what. Had he cried writing this? Had she cried reading it? More likely there was a leak in a pipe in the ceiling above the table. The pack of cigarettes sitting next to it looked the same, though. She sank down on the bed and pulled one from the pack, crossing her feet and thinking as she lit it. Her eyes closed as she tried to think.

Somewhere in this building was someone with the answer. Somewhere -

There was a sound of scraping and rattling in the wall. And a high-pitched whine, the kind associated with electronics. Honey's eyes flew open and she darted across the room, out the door and into the living area. Sat quietly. No hum. No rattle.

This time she began opening doors and sure enough, with only a moment's poking she found the door at the end of the short hall opened into a broken wall.

Stepping through the wall carefully in her polished heels, Honey found a securitron. Where she might have expected it to be hostile though, this one wore a smiling face on its center screen, and when it greeted her, she realized how silly she'd been to flee the first time without searching the suite more carefully.

"Hey! Hi there, good to meet you! What can I do for you today?"

She stared up at it, thinking this had been way, way too easy. The cigarette hung between her fingers, forgotten; she remembered it was there and took a puff, blinking.

"Are you...Yes Man?"

"I sure am!" The securitron chirped happily at her. Honey took another drag of her cigarette and pinched her arm with two fingers. This was nuts. But real. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be Benny's special lady, would you? He told me you might come by!"

Honey nodded blankly before managing a croaking, "Yes, I guess I am."

"Well that's just super," Yes Man said. "Benny said I should give you any help you need." His monitor blinked for a moment. "Looks like Mr. House is out of the picture."

"He is," she said, finding an ashtray on the counter to her left and stubbing out the cigarette.

"I'm so glad to hear that! Gosh, you sure are getting things done ahead of schedule."

Honey raised an eyebrow at that. This was really turning out to be an interesting day.

"This is going to be great! I'm going to help you accomplish so much, whether I want to or not!" Yes Man babbled as Honey pulled up a stool and got to work.