Back Against the Wall
Ortega marched up the New Vegas Strip in quick, smart fashion. Normally a visit to the fabled street of gambling and vice was a relaxed affair for the Private, or any soldier for that matter, a bit of well-earned leave to break up the monotony of guarding and patrolling farms all day. However, a summons to the NCR embassy had her a little on edge.
She felt it was never wise to draw the attentions of those in power.
Ortega couldn't think of anything that she'd done particularly wrong though, so maybe she was worrying over nothing. Still, she couldn't imagine she'd been summoned to a meeting with the ambassador of the NCR just to receive a pat on the back for a job well done. Particularly seeing as all she ever seemed to do around the Mojave was stand on guard bored. If she was honest with herself it was a job she did adequately, at best. No, it had to be a reprimand of some kind, but what for?
Approaching the embassy itself, Ortega was always struck by how small and drab the NCR's core political base always seemed to look. Perhaps it was just because it lingered so close to the towering beacons of the Strip's casinos that it paled in comparison to those pillars of enticing vice. If the building itself was a bleak caricature of the NCR's presence in the Mojave, the military presence certainly wasn't. Soldiers practically buzzed around the base, patrolling and going about their business with quick precision, making themselves noticed.
Entering the embassy proper, Ortega was quickly guided to Ambassador Crocker's office without delay. The usher spared her no chit chat, no second glance as he efficiently darted to the Ambassador's door. He knocked thrice in quick succession.
"Come." A voice answered from beyond the door.
The usher opened the door and beckoned the Private inside. He shut the door swiftly as soon as she was over the threshold.
Ortega swallowed nervously but kept her expression neutral.
Ambassador Dennis Crocker was sat behind his desk, staring at his monitor intently seeming somewhat bleary eyed. His suit, whilst well laundered, was clearly showing the signs of age and wear. His brow was thoroughly wrinkled, and while bald, the speckle of grey hairs stood just below the skin. Ortega felt herself relax a little, he was altogether less than she had been expecting.
"Ah, Private Ortega." The Ambassador murmured, looking at her for the first time with a thin smile. "Thank you for coming."
"You wished to see me, sir?"
"Please, sit." Crocker gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
Ortega quickly obeyed.
"Now, I suppose you're wondering why you're here?" The Ambassador leaned over the desk slightly, hands clasped together on the wooden surface.
"I just do as I'm ordered, sir."
A low chuckle. "Of course, ever the soldier. We're lucky to have people like you, Private. In the NCR I mean." Crocker smiled warmly at her, though Ortega didn't find it particularly warming. The good nature of it didn't seem to stretch to his eyes, making the gesture seem cold and rehearsed, one a practiced politician would make.
"Thank you, sir." Ortega offered a small smile of her own in thanks.
"No, no. Thank you, Private. Your hard work is a credit to us all. You're stationed at the Sharecropper farms, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Important work. Though, I suppose standing guard over a handful of farmers day and night can get pretty tiresome?"
Ortega silently cursed her pause before answering. "Someone has to, sir."
Another chuckle and the Ambassador brought a file from under his desk to flip through.
"It's alright. I'm not your commanding officer, there's no need to hide your true feelings in front of me. I certainly wouldn't relish standing around all day by myself after all. But still, you've done your work well. I heard about that incident in Boulder City. That was nicely handled, Private."
"Just doing my duty, sir."
"You've got a bright head on those shoulders. I can see you going far in the NCR." He paused on one particular page of the file. "I was curious to hear that the Courier was involved in that particular incident." Crocker raised an expectant eyebrow.
An alarm bell rang in Ortega's head. She had no idea what is was warning her of, but she suddenly felt that she needed to tread with caution.
"He was in the vicinity and offered his aid." The Private answered carefully.
The Ambassador murmured, whether in acceptance or disapproval, Ortega couldn't say.
"A miraculous fellow, that Courier. He's practically a legend round these parts. A pity he's not with the NCR himself. He could do so much more than wandering about here and there as he does, offering occasional aid." There was a slight emphasis on the last word, one that the Private felt held more meaning than was intended.
Crocker paused for a moment and levelled a searching eye at Ortega.
"I hear you're fairly well acquainted with the man."
Ortega resisted the urge to swallow the uncomfortable lump in her throat. Fraternisation with persons outside the army wasn't an offence, as far as she was aware. She knew of plenty of soldiers with wives, husbands and sweethearts after all. Yet the hard look the Ambassador gave her had her doubting.
"I … only know him a little, sir. We've crossed paths from time to time."
"I see." Crocker returned his gaze to the file after a long, uncomfortable moment. "I've met him myself before you know, interesting fellow. I offered him a place in the NCR. He seemed most reluctant on the matter. I don't suppose you'd know why that is, Private?"
"I couldn't say, sir." Ortega hoped her expression was neutral. "Like I say, I only know him a little."
"Of course." That warm-cold smile came out again. "A pity he couldn't be shown the benefits of our … great enterprise."
"He's been very co-operative in the past, sir. He aided me at Boulder City after all." The Private offered, though she inwardly frowned at the defensiveness in her words. Ortega couldn't shake the feeling she was being led into a trap. Maybe it had already been sprung upon her and she was just late in feeling its sting.
"No doubt, he is a man of decent character. But you've seen for yourself the world beyond the world beyond the safety of these walls. Good character alone is never enough to secure a true, lasting peace." The Ambassador chuckled, seemingly to himself. "Why, do you think the Legion could have been driven back at Hoover Dam by men and women of good character alone?"
"Sir?"
Crocker got up from his seat to pace back and forth behind his desk.
"What I'm saying is, intention is all well and good. Without proper direction and influence however, it is all for naught. The NCR wouldn't have survived as long as it has without the discipline and command structures in place to sustain it. Don't you agree?"
"Absolutely, sir." And she meant it.
A wry smile took over the Ambassador's lips for a fleeting moment.
"Good to hear. After all, the last thing we want to see is the Legion swarming over our lands, enslaving its people and subjecting them to horrors I'd rather not think about."
"Of course, sir."
"Which is why we need people like you, Private." Crocker turned his fake smile on Ortega again. "People just like you, and the Courier. My, if we had more, enterprising, go getters like yourselves, we could accomplish so much more. If only someone could encourage him to see sense of things. If only he was truly aware of the very real dangers the Legion poses to the Mojave, and beyond, in fact."
Ortega said nothing. She felt the weight of exactly what the Ambassador was getting at settle on her shoulders uncomfortably.
"Just imagine what it would mean for us if a man of his talents were to offer his allegiance. We could drive the Legion back so they'd never threaten us again, and any other threats that surface too. It would be so beneficial to the poor people of New Vegas and the Mojave, and to the NCR of course."
"Yes, sir." Ortega murmured. And real beneficial for you too I bet, she added silently. She could already picture the Ambassador posing for photo opportunities with the fabled Courier Six. What wonders would that do to the Crocker's career she wondered?
The fake smile resurfaced. "I'm glad you understand."
Crocker rounded the desk and regarded the private's insignia on Ortega's uniform for a few moments.
"It really would be a shame if you were to remain a private your entire career."
Ortega clenched her jaw at the implicit threat, but held her tongue.
"A real shame." Crocker murmured again quietly. Then he moved to the door and opened it for her. "Thank you coming today, Private, I'm glad we had this little chat."
"Sir." The Private stood and crisply marched back over the threshold.
Crocker smiled serenely at her as she past him. He shut the door with quick thud once she'd left the room. This time she had no usher to guide her out so she briskly made her own way. When she reached fresh air, she let out such a heavy sigh it was a wonder she'd managed to walk at all under its weight.
"That bastard." She muttered under her breath as she stormed back up towards the Strip proper. She could hardly believe what had just happened. Ortega wasn't completely naïve, she knew there were plenty of scheming politicians and opportunists in the NCR who wouldn't hesitate to use people's careers and lives to get what they wanted.
She just never thought that she'd wind up on the receiving end of it.
xxx
Ortega made her way back down the Strip. Even though it was daytime with a bright sun overhead, the glare of neon facades fought for her attention and patronage. She ignored it all though, her mind focussed intently on her predicament. She was so busy scowling and silently cursing to herself she didn't even register the person in front of her until she bumped right into them.
Ortega made a quick apology before trying to move on.
"Whoa, slow down there, soldier girl." The Courier smirked wide as usual. "What's the hurry, got a war to fight or something? Have the mole-rats finally decided to rise up?"
Ortega blinked a couple of times before realising who she had just knocked into. "Six? Shit. Sorry, I-" The Private bit her tongue.
What on earth do I say to him? – 'Look, I need a favour. You know how you hate the army? Well, I need you to sign up or else my career's bust' – I can't put that kind of crap on him, can I?
"Hello? Earth to Estela." Six waved his hand in front of her face theatrically. "Yoo hoo!"
Ortega snapped her mind back to the present. She glared at his fingers so close to her face then grabbed his hand in a vice-like grip.
"Ow! Ok, ok, I get it! You don't like your pretty first name. Stop! I'll stick to name, rank and number only."
Her gaze softened and she released him with a sigh.
"Ok, what's up?" Six asked, cradling his hand gingerly. "Normally you wouldn't let go that quickly, Ortega, Private … ok, I don't actually know your number, so …"
Ortega sighed. "It's nothing."
"It's definitely something."
Ortega scowled. "It's fine."
"It's definitely not fine. You're not used to ducking the issue, are you?"
Ortega scowled again, folding her arms. "Alright mailman, If you're so clever, you tell me, what is the issue, exactly?"
The Courier rubbed his stubble laced chin thoughtfully for a few moments. For a second, Ortega feared he might actually guess right, he'd certainly done more bizarre things in the past.
Six clicked his fingers and pointed at her with a smirk. "The issue is … nothing booze and pleasant company won't fix."
Ortega chuckled in spite of herself. "I wish."
"You see? You smiled. It's working already."
"Don't be such a child." Ortega fought her amusement down, turning to leave. "I'm fine."
"Come on, misery guts. You're not on duty right now, are you?"
"No, but-"
"Then it's settled!" And without further ado, Six swivelled the Private around by the shoulders and led her back up the Strip. Ortega couldn't help but let herself be pulled along.
"Come on then, what do you feel like? Full song and dance routine at the Tops, a seedy lap dancing at Gomorrah maybe?"
"Ugh, definitely not in the mood for a show, of any kind." The Private groaned. "And really? You'd think I'd want to go see lap dancing?"
"Why not? They have guys in there for you to ogle at too, you know. Equal opportunities and all that."
"You know it's only sad, lonely little people who actually enjoy that kind of stuff, right?" Ortega smirked at the Courier.
"Must be why all your soldier buddies love the place so much." Six pointedly looked towards a squad of off duty NCR soldiers who were drunkenly enraptured by the two performers on the street outside the Gomorrah itself.
"And why a certain mailman knows exactly what kind of entertainment they have on offer." Ortega rolled her eyes.
"Ouch, cutting." Six chuckled.
"You're not denying it."
"No need, It's clearly complete rubbish." Six's lips turned up into an evil smirk. "Obviously I'm not lonely at all, not when I have my very own soldier girl on tap whenever I-"
He was abruptly cut off when Ortega swivelled on the spot and delivered a solid punch to his gut. The Courier doubled over and staggered back, gasping for air. Ortega smirked down at him as he slowly regained his composure. She smirked in satisfaction and idly heard a few hearty laughs from someone nearby.
"You done?" Ortega smiled sweetly with a hard look in her eyes when Six could finally stand up straight again.
"Ye- Oh … Yep." Six ground out through a pained smile, his breathing haggard.
"Good." Ortega flashed him a quick insipid smile before turning back to leave Six and the Strip.
"Wai- Wait, Estela!" The Courier hobbled after her.
In spite of herself, Ortega sighed and stopped walking. "What?"
"I'm sorry. Come on. Let me get you a drink at least."
Ortega held his gaze with an appraising scowl for a long hard moment. "Fine. One drink."
"I'll have to make it a good one then." Six flashed her his most charming of grins. "Come on then, I know just the place." Without further ado, Six turned her around and began marching her over towards the Lucky 38. As in, the forever-locked-up-and-no-one-is-ever-allowed-in Lucky 38. Well, no one except the Courier of course.
Ortega levelled him an incredulous stare. "Wait, I can just go in?"
"Yeah, since you're with me that is." Six gave her a wink. "I can get you on the VIP list."
"Right." She murmured slowly, still unsure but feeling the curiosity getting the better of her.
"Come on." Six stepped forward and led the way.
Ortega slowly walked up after him. Who on earth knew what was inside? She'd be lying if she said she wasn't more than a bit excited by the prospect of seeing for herself.
Six promptly marched up past the two Securitron guards who paid neither him nor the Private any mind. He opened the door and beckoned her inside with a flourish. Tentatively, Ortega crossed the threshold and padded deeper into the fabled casino.
The first thing that she noticed was that it was dark. The lights were dimmed or not on at all. The open room was the standard casino affair, tables for cards and roulette. A bar lined the walls and there were plenty of unopened drinks bottles littering the place. The glitzy décor was faded slightly, but not from use and wear, more from the simple passage of time, though there seemed to be little dust in the air, at least compared to other pre-war ruins she'd happened upon from time to time. It struck Ortega that very few people had likely ever seen this room for God only knows how long.
Ortega was almost disappointed. She expected something … more. She didn't know what really, perhaps a hidden spaceship, or a doomsday device, even just better decoration, something particularly decadent and flamboyant maybe, covered in gold. Other than the pair of robot guards that stood sentry by the elevator, there wasn't much to really distinguish the place from the other gambling hubs on the Strip.
Six had sauntered over behind the bar and was poking around in the cupboards below. He seemed to have regained that bit of swagger of his along with his breath.
"What's your particular poison then, milady?"
"I don't know." Ortega had never been particularly fussed about her drinking. "Something strong."
That's what people asked for when they had something on their mind, wasn't it?
"Something strong coming right up." Six the bartender chirped, plucking a bottle of whiskey from the pile and uncapping it with a delightful pop. He poured two glasses and pushed one the Private's way.
Ortega picked up the tumbler and swirled the whiskey around a little, it looked genuine enough.
"That'll be five hundred." Six smiled sweetly.
"What? You're charging me for this now?" Ortega eyed him and the whiskey as if they were both mad. "Who the hell's gonna pay five hundred caps for a drink?" That was more money than she made in a month.
"Oh, very well then," Six sighed dramatically. "I'll take notes as well."
"Notes?"
Six reached for something below the bar top and tossed a bundle of paper in front of her. Ortega's eyes widened as she gingerly picked it up. This was money, from the time before the bombs fell, and there was a lot of it. She thumbed through the wad, each note was labelled with 100. There was definitely more than five hundred there, a lot more. She knew all of it was basically worthless now, but at one time she would have been stinking rich to have all this money in her hands. Now, it was just another relic of a bygone era.
"God, where did you find all this?"
"Here, in the tills. You wouldn't believe what you can come across in old ruins like this. You can have that if you like."
"What do I want old money for?"
"Well, it'll get you a whiskey for a start."
Ortega scowled at his stupid game, but she sighed and took out five notes anyway, slamming them on the bar and thrusting them towards him.
"Thank you, madam." Six grinned and put the money back in the till like a good server should.
"This what you do all day, then? When you're not out saving the Mojave that is. You play around here, pretending to be a bartender or something from the past?" Ortega drawled as she took a sip of her very expensive whiskey. It wasn't bad, not worth five hundred, but decent.
A chuckle. "Sometimes. Sometimes, I go to the other casinos. It gets boring when you've got no one here to play against, no challenge. Sometimes I go for a walk down the prettier areas of Freeside. Sometimes I go around seducing soldiers." He winked at her. "I have many hobbies."
"You're a regular man of culture I see." Ortega drawled with a role of her eyes, deciding she couldn't be bothered to reach over the bar to punch him again.
"So, seeing as I'm playing the barkeep." Six threw a cleaning towel over his shoulder for good measure. Then, he immediately pulled it off to start cleaning an already spotless glass. "Tell me what ails yer. We're good at listening us barkeeps, you know. It's part of the job requirements."
Ortega rubbed at her eyes. "Six, this really isn't something you need to worry about."
"Let me be the judge of that." Six smirked, infuriatingly so. "Come on, what have you got to lose?"
My career? My livelihood? My sense of moral decency? You?
"Nothing." She busied herself in her glass, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
"Estela …" Six began softly but quickly recoiled under the glare she sent his way. "I mean, Private, Soldier, Ma'am, Sir. Come on, I'm not going to judge you, whatever it is. You should see some of my friends, they're a right bunch of weirdos. If I can put up with them, I can damn well put up with you and your sordid little secrets."
"You sure know how to make a girl feel special." The Private glowered.
"One of my many talents." Six gave her a glittering grin.
Six's grin fell when Ortega didn't even smile or scowl in response. Her gaze just fell back to her glass and the amber liquid sloshing within. She took another swig, there was so little left already.
"Come on, I don't want to push you-"
"Then don't." Ortega smirked.
Six smiled in reply. "But I can tell something's eating you up. If you really don't want to tell me, that's fine." Six sighed, chewing his lip in thought. "If it's something I can help you with though, you just gotta say the word, no details necessary. Is it something that needs dealing with? Someone?"
Ortega's eyebrows quirked a little in intrigue, she quickly swatted the thought.
"Ah." Six somehow saw it anyway. He reached down and pulled his monochrome revolver – Lucky – free. He placed it on the bar between them, his hand resting over it. "I can always … persuade the problem to go away."
"Six. No." She put her hand firmly on his, preventing him from raising the gun. "That's not going to work. You can't just shoot all life's problems away."
"You're no fun anymore." Six smirked playfully.
Six didn't put the gun away. Instead, his fingers moved up to interlock with Ortega's. His thumb moved to press soft circles against the back of her hand. It was somehow soothing.
Bastard probably planned that, Ortega thought. Would it really be so bad to tell him? He can't do anything, not really. Maybe he could offer advice? Or would having someone just listen be good enough?
"Ok … just- promise you won't flip out or anything." Ortega fixed the Courier with a hard look, one that she hoped carried the weight she meant it to.
Six regarded the Private carefully for a moment. He nodded once. "I promise."
She nodded back slightly, sure she could trust him. "I … I had a meeting today, with the Ambassador."
"Who, Crocker?"
"Yeah." Ortega paused for a second, before taking the plunge. "He had questions about that time at Boulder City. Remember? When you and me dealt with those fiends?"
"Wait, you mean the ones that were chocked full of psycho? Why would he be interested in something like that?"
"He wasn't, not really." Ortega grimaced, looking up from her empty glass to gaze into his eyes. "He was interested in hearing about you."
"I'm flattered." Six chuckled, he leaned in close over the bar top. "I hope you told him that I'm spoken for."
"Of course not, you moron." Ortega scowled. "You don't get it. He wasn't really asking about you. He already knows everything he needs about you, the whole damn Mojave does."
"Then what-"
"He wants you – not in his bed, before you start – in the NCR."
The Courier leaned back slightly as realisation hit him. Then he lowered his head with a heavy sigh.
"He knows that we … know each other, somehow. I don't think he knows the full extent of it, but he knows full well that we're close."
"And … he wants to use you to get to me?" Six raised his head again with a questioning look.
Ortega nodded glumly. "Yeah, pretty much. He more or less told me that my career in the NCR is over – well, that any chance I have of getting promoted is finished … unless I get you to enlist."
Six disengaged his hand from Ortega's. She frowned at the loss of contact. He downed the last of his glass, then he took to pacing up and down behind the bar a couple of lengths.
"You promised not to get mad." Ortega warned. She wondered whether he was about to break his promise and really lose his temper. She'd never seen that before, she'd never seen him any real level of angry, really. It was always joking and playful with him, even when in the heat of battle. She knew of the stories that surrounded him though, the good and the bad. He was a hero to the downtrodden, but he was also a demon to those who drew his wrath. He soon resumed his place, leaning on the bar in front of her again.
"I promised not to lash out. I always reserve the right to get mad" Six muttered without humour. "… That bastard." He swore darkly.
"Took the word right out of my mouth." Ortega mumbled. She eyed the empty glass in front of her. "Pour me another?"
Six blinked twice before reaching for the bottle again.
"On the house." He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. He shook his head with a ragged sigh. "Bastards can never leave things be. Don't I do enough for the NCR already? I'm gonna kill him."
"No, you're not." Ortega glared hard. "You really think that will help anything? You'll just get yourself put on the NCR's hit list. They really do have one, you know. Besides, if anyone's putting a bullet in the bastard, it's gonna be me."
Six chuckled. "Fair enough, I guess. So, what are you going to do?"
Ortega laughed harshly. "What can I do? My back's against the wall here."
Six clicked his tongue. "I could sign up. I'm sure I could grow to like it, if I gave it a chance." He didn't look particularly happy about the prospect however.
"No, you couldn't." She shook her head sadly. "You're always saying how you'd hate the military life. It would never agree with you."
"I don't always say that."
"I'm not exaggerating by much though, am I?"
Six bowed his head to the bar in acknowledgement.
"And I don't want you to give it a chance." Ortega said with emphasis. "You'd hate that life. It wouldn't agree with you, end of story. You'd never cope with the order and uniformity of it all. I'm not having you throw your life away just for my sake."
"What about your life then?" Six placed his hand on hers once more. "You matter too, you know."
Ortega sighed. "I don't know, a private's life isn't so bad. Let's not kid ourselves, it's not like I was in line for a promotion anytime soon."
"Is that enough though?" Six asked, serious. "You alright to settle for that?"
Ortega had no answer to that. She had no answer for herself. Instead, she slipped her fingers up to mingle with his. Their digits played a slow game of cat and mouse on the bar top. How is that so nice?
"This is my problem, Six." Ortega half smiled. "I need to solve it, myself. I can't rely on you or your gun all the time."
Six sighed. "Ok, ok. I get it." His lips quirked into a small smile. "Whatever you do, just make sure to kick Crocker's ass will you?"
Ortega chuckled. "Sure, I'll find a way, even if it gets me on that hit list."
"That might be fun at least."
"Fun? What part of running from NCR hit squads is fun?"
"Ah, you've never lived." Six winked at her with a cheeky smile.
The Private shook her head with half a chortle. "And you've never taken anything seriously. Where would we even go if that happened?"
"I don't know, maybe East, past the Legion?"
"Past the Legion?" Ortega stared at him incredulously. "You want to charge through the Legion and their hordes of psychopaths?"
Six shrugged. "There's got to be something else out there, it can't be nothing but Legion from here to the East coast."
"Now you're just being completely crazy."
"A bullet to the head will do that for you." Six smirked.
"Well, I'll keep that as a last resort." Ortega rolled her eyes at him good naturedly. "I'm sure I can find my own way round this that doesn't require dashing through Legion territory, somehow."
"Well I have a way." Six leaned on the counter, more serious all of a sudden. "Forget Crocker. Forget the NCR. Leave the army, come join me, instead." Six had a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
Ortega couldn't help but laugh. "And do what? Lounge about here all day? Join you on your crazy adventures, whenever you get in the mood to leave your one man casino behind?"
"Yeah." Six smiled. "Why not? I get by well enough. I make an actual difference to people out there. I have a great life. Come join me."
The Private sighed and lowered her gaze. The idea had appeal. In fact it almost made a certain kind of sense. She was flattered and she would be lying if she said the offer wasn't tempting. The freedom to act as they chose, to go anywhere, do anything. The man before her had stuck his middle finger up at the Legion and had walked away to tell the tale. What couldn't they do together?
"But that's not me." She smiled sadly. "I'm a soldier, Six. It's all I know."
"Well, not all that you know." Six started with a cheeky grin. "I seem to remember you showing off a few little tricks of yours when we- Ow! Ow! Ow!"
Six grimaced in pain as Ortega squeezed his hand, hard. She couldn't help but chuckle with a fond smile as he hissed in pain.
"Idiot." Ortega shook her head, still smiling.