Note: This chapter is overdue because it ended out 3000 words long. Sorry about that, I spent the last two days trimming it up. That's why it's a little awkward at the end.

Fair warning that updates on this fic will likely slow to a crawl soon because of personal projects in a similar vein (Emily). That and I'm at a loss for some of the plot points.

Three times. Fucking hell.

Maggie was sore as all get out when Boone finally passed out, lying beside her in the master bedroom. She was too tired to even get out of the bed, too relaxed to want to bother. He had some sort of death grip on her that ended with one hand on her breast and the other winding its way through her hips to the dip between her thighs.

Goddamn! Maggie hadn't expected him to haul her off into the bedroom after that―horseshit, in the kitchen. Her leather was still in there somewhere, her undershirt on the floor of the bedroom. It was a miracle she'd made it into the room with any clothes, the way he'd carried on!

But now she felt guilty. Strands of blonde hair drifted into her face, blown away by little puffs of air. She was trapped under his arm and couldn't move to fix it. He'd gone completely nuts. But―he'd called her Maggie the whole time―fuck, that was sexy as all hell, someone saying your name in your ear like that.

She could feel his warm breath across her shoulder―his cheek was smashed into her skin―as she stared at the wall, trying to get her brain to focus. There wasn't very much she could think about beyond that tiny inkling of guilt popping into her brain.

It couldn't happen again. Whether he was imagining she was Carla or not, it did not need to happen again. If he was thinking she was Carla, that made it so much the worse―but if he wanted Maggie...

Goddamn it―

Shit, shit, shit. Maggie sighed to herself, and blinked sleepy eyes at the dingy wall, trying not to imagine what he might be thinking. She'd only given in because... well, she was lonely. Maggie had been lonely since she married Benny, without Carla to keep her company, without Nero to―

She breathed in shakily. A whole 'nother problem. Had to figure it out. Her brain cells were killing her with all this emotional shit about Boone and Carla. And Maggie still... still couldn't bring herself to imagine her own hands killing Nero. Not even if he had gotten Carla killed.

This shit with Boone was just sex. She fucking loved Nero.

She did, too. She knew it was stupid, getting attached to anyone in the Family. Especially the damn Omerta boss, who had been planning this take-down of the Vegas Strip since it all began, and he wasn't even the boss when they'd started―gah, he was too old for her even back then. Stupid Maggie messing with Nero when she was barely old enough to bleed, sneaking into his rooms at night and thinking they had something special. Fuck, she hadn't even had hips for him to grab when they started fucking around.

Hooray for being young and dumb, she thought. I only got older. Didn't get smarter.

But Nero wasn't blood, like Carla was. And she knew he'd somehow worked this stupid plot to get her taken into slavery just to show her the power behind the Family. Maybe there was something going on that Maggie was too dumb to see; maybe there was another layer to this whole thing that she couldn't understand, just yet.

She heard a slight snore behind her, and rolled her eyes. There were definitely too many layers to that one, she thought. She ought to just enjoy it, but... shit, when did she start caring about this kind of crap?

Benny was dead. Maggie was a free woman, she could fuck whoever she wanted.

Even if it was her former brother in law with some serious problems and an enormous d―

Maggie jerked awake some time later, hazily remembering why her arm was numb, under a hairy and heavy arm. She pried Boone's arm off her side, got dressed, and hauled herself down to talk to House. Just peeled herself off of the mattress and paced on the elevator floor while it moved to the penthouse, then angrily stomped down the stairs.

There was business with Nero, and then there was business with House. She could, at least, do this part much quicker and without any problems. ...Hopefully. Maggie was pretty angry when she approached the monitor and threw the platinum chip at the screen.

"So tell me why this damn thing is so fucking important!" she yelled.

"So crass, Magdalene." House's face on the monitor never changed, though his voice was irritated. "I would expect you to have questions, naturally. But did your parents never teach you basic manners?"

Maggie laughed so hard she cried, filling her goggles with moisture. When she was able to hold a conversation again, she laid her hand onto the panel in front of her and grumbled under her breath. "Look, you asshole, if I had known that Benny was gonna pop my head like a fucking balloon, I wouldn't have bothered to do the job. So maybe I deserve to know why it was worth my life!"

"I take no responsibility for that; we were both unaware that Benny was planning deceit." House made an exasperated noise. "The chip must be installed into a bunker under Fortification Hill. I trust you can manage that?"

"Where the fuck is―" Her Pip-Boy made a noise. Maggie looked down at the damn thing―she'd ignored it mostly, preferring to enjoy the wastes as a never-ending terrifying thrill ride, but she did admit that it was a good way to map places.

"Oh, hell no," she said, her eyes widening. "Ain't that where Caesar and his goons are?"

"It is," House answered. "They've been squatting atop the bunker since the first battle at the Hoover Dam."

"I go there, I'll have to kill them," she said, soberly.

"I'd rather you not." Maggie stared up at the screen. "There are many factors in play in the Mojave. The longer Caesar continues to be a thorn in the side of the NCR... well, the more one could accomplish, for the benefit of New Vegas."

"Bunch of horseshit," Maggie muttered. She retrieved the chip and sighed. "I'll see about it."

"Goodbye, Magdalene."

"Whatever, asshole."

Maggie was leaning on the door frame of the guest room when Boone woke up, eating an apple and staring at the elevator doors. He didn't move from the bed for a moment, looking up at her with no expression.

"You'd better get up, stud," she snarled. "We've got shit to do. And this time you're going with, fever or no fever."

"Alright," he said, quietly, and gathered his armor. Maggie watched him without a word, wondering what had prompted―everything. She wasn't asking. Shit, she knew better than to poke a cazadore nest. Wasn't nothing but teeth and claws and death waiting for them out in the world, and she couldn't afford to think she wasn't gonna get killed.

Living in Vegas had made Maggie soft. She scowled. Without Boone, she was already dead. Hell!

Not to mention she had to push all that guilt, about Carla and taking what she'd had, into the back of her mind. She was sure it would pop up at the worst time. Always did. That was why she'd attacked him on the highway, after all.

Maggie sighed to herself and tossed the apple core, pulling the handkerchief back over her mouth and crossing her arms over her chest. Just push through, she told herself. Did that for two whole fucking years with Benny. A few more... days? ...won't matter.

"We can either go across the street and deal with the Family," she said to Boone, jamming a finger into the elevator button so hard she hurt herself, "or we can take a little trip south to Cottonwood Cove. I vote the Cove."

He jerked in surprise behind her. Maggie kept her eyes forward. She figured he'd be all for going after Legionaries. Didn't know what else to expect from him. The jerk was all over the place, anymore. Shit, she'd never known what to expect, she didn't even know why she bothered trying to make sense of him.

After that―shit in the suite, huh. Physically, Maggie was pleased with the outcome. He was cute, in a shy little boy way. And he was sad as all fuck, which made her feel bad for him and want to help. He was a wall of steel and strong muscles, definitely had a lot going for him in body language. Great sex. Just―really fun.

Not worth the anguish she felt about this whole situation, though. Maggie was virtually identical to her damn sister, now. She really should have expected him to be stupid about it. She was so fucking dumb.

Everything in her brain was beating her mercilessly, accusing her of using the jerk. Berating her for giving into his advances when he was clearly having trouble with―with her stupid sister and that dumbass idea to play like Carla. All this crazy coming off of Boone and the lethality of her own troubles―she was starting to wonder why she didn't just walk off into the wastes and go be dead in some desert town. It wasn't like it would be very hard to find someone to shoot her again.

She'd dealt with Benny. There wasn't much keeping her here but some moral obligation to do right by her past. To prove that she wasn't a psychotic bitch, to join Carla and her mother in Galilee or wherever they'd gone when they died.

At this rate she was going to go to hell. She couldn't change who she was, her temper, her need to fight like a cornered animal. Maggie didn't go slow, like she'd told that bastard. She would burn herself up anywhere she went.

"Where to, jerk?" she asked Boone, as they stepped onto the casino floor. "Gomorrah or Cottonwood Cove?"

"Maggie," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She actually flinched at his touch, then smacked herself in the face and stomped across the floor. "It's not going to happen again, you know!" she yelled. "You got lucky, that's all!"

"Calm down," he said, staring at her.

She said a few words under her breath that would have made her father proud. "What, then?" she snapped, from across the room. She backed up toward the door, suspiciously.

"The Cove..." Boone exhaled forcibly. "I've been there before."

She pursed her mouth. "And...?"

"...It's where they took Carla."

Maggie stopped and laid her foot down in front of the exit, turning her head to look at him. "Well, then," she said, "I guess we ought to take care of old business first, huh?"

"Stupid fucking robot, stupid fucking caps, stupid fucking ammo prices―" Maggie slammed her hand against the glass of the Gun Runners kiosk, and made a face under her helmet that was lost on the robot. "Stupid fucking assholes!"

"Just pay for it and let's go," Boone said, quietly. He'd been standing behind her for thirty minutes, waiting patiently, while she browsed the selection.

"I suppose you want to march into the Cove with only one goddamn gun and no ammo?" she snapped back at him. "I need something―and this stupid fucking robot―"

Boone moved up behind her, interrupting her. He grabbed her hand, pulled it from the glass, and stared her down. "I only need my rifle," he said, seriously.

Maggie stared at him for a moment. He was too intense for her, today. "Goddamn, man," she muttered, and jerked her hand away from the sniper. Her heart was going like a submachine gun, pounding against her chest hard. Fuck! She couldn't―not now―

He seemed back to the cold-hearted Legionary killer that he was before. Like all that want was gone from him after all that sex. She was almost a little disappointed―but she kicked herself in the head and tried to remember why she was grumpy.

"I want that big one," she whined, jamming her hand up against the glass and pointing to an anti-materiel rifle.

Boone shook his head at her. "I doubt you could use it right," he said, and she bristled. "Go for a shotgun, Maggie."

She ran a hand up to her forehead again, rubbing it through the leather. Had a headache from all the yelling. And the tense atmosphere, which apparently was all on her. Fucking hell.

Ended up buying a lever-action shotgun. It wasn't great. Didn't have too many shells, either. Maggie played with it as they walked away from Gun Runners, twirling it and getting a feel for the grip. On a lark she aimed it at Boone, who muttered something threatening and kept his eyes on her until she removed it.

"I'm not gonna shoot you," she said, teasing. "If I killed you it would be with my pigsticker." He coughed something that she didn't catch. "What the fuck are you going on about, man?" she asked him.

"Figured I was immune," he said, almost hopefully. Maggie growled and shook her head at him. Fucking playing at being coy, now? What the fuck―

As they marched silently down the highway toward the Cove, she tried not to think. At all.

Yeah, like that was gonna work out.