A/N: Thank you to all of you who read, reviewed, and shared your thoughts. It has been a long time coming, and I am delighted to share this with all of you.
The novelty of being able to summon a desire at will, well, Eris suspected that it would never grow old. Or, her expectations would be totally subverted and it would instead glamorize the profane chance of the real world. Nothing can ever simply be, can it?
Looking out from the penthouse, she sees a Las Vegas that has been developed differently than it's prewar predecessor. It's without the occasional cubist, functionalist, blocky horrorsthat had marred the otherwise glamorous city skyline. Every ruin was scrapped, the materials repurposed by one who knew how to use them.
"So, am I finally getting my hardhat?" She asks the man beside her, standing tall and imperious while he overlooks his ideal prototype of Vegas. "You know, the one with the flashlight?" She distinctly recalls that he'd shot down that suggestion, owing to the hardhat flashlight being something miners wore.
He has never looked as striking as he does now, even in a world where one could theoretically mold looks to their liking. Even the way he has spoken since that significant day – a week ago now – indicated that a weight had lifted from his shoulders, and the panicked dreamer had finally been knocked away by an optimistic dreamer of exalted proportions.
With his hands looped behind his back, he was a stunning vision of old world prestige. But no ordinary old world prestige would be able to adapt their designs to this changed world, so foreign and hostile to them. Eris wonders if she will ever tire of studying him – she's proven herself as an avid scholar of his more obscure mannerisms. It's possible that any other might make her feel pathetic or simpering if she gave them this 'privilege' – if privilege it was – but he accepted being the center of her universe with singular grace.
"I refuse to even entertain that suggestion. You? A construction worker? I may as well hire an elementary recess to come and glue crayons together. And haven't I told you about those helmets? Again, they're for mining." She wheezed with laughter, and leaned her chin on the palm of her hand, resting on an imaginary balcony.
"That's the whole point, no need to get cross, you know all I do is spew dumb shit, and wait for someone to make use of it. I don't know what your thoughts on this are, but I might have other skills besides. Reprogamming Jane-"
His shoulders shake with restrained humor, she loathes how his willpower must torture him. But that is only her experience, her self control has never been impeccable, and for one whose is, it mustn't be too tormenting to deny a treat.
Just yesterday, she had reprogrammed Jane remotely, altering her personality to better mimic that of Victor's. She intends to tweak it somewhat, her days in robotics are early still, but it's a discipline that shockingly clicks with her. The sales pitch he'd given her months ago had been that the computer sciences served as never-ending problems for an inquisitive mind to solve.
"Jealousy becomes you, my darling, though it's unwarranted. Jane was a robot, and you are not. Although considering it provided you with the incentive to undertake robotics, I'll not complain. A protege of mine must know more than the minimum, I'll have nothing less from Mrs. House." He turns his head to her then, unwinding his arms to rest next to hers. "First of her kind."
Ironic, how the only time she would ever be blushing, was when she couldn't. To further the irony, he was the only person she venerated enough to be able to fluster her. Regardless of his supposed ineptitude in romance beyond one-night lays with Hollywood starlets, he looks smug in the knowledge that he's silenced the infamous chatterbox that is her mouth.
"Fortunately there's no prenup to sign this time, because there are no courts to come and collect in the event I leave you, which.. I'll not do until the day I die.. which could also, always be very soon." His cynical optimism and her absurdist pessimism was an uncanny synthesis of brilliance. Needless to say, neither of them were afraid to have difficult conversations early in the morning, that is probably why they are each other's only true companions.
Dark, fervent eyes snap to hers then, offended on her behalf – an odd thing to be offended by, she believes. It's a strange behavior of his, at odds with his overarching self-interest. Whenever she makes a harmless, self-deprecating quip about herself, he rushes to her defense, utterly confused by her willingness to degrade herself. Eris is of the mind that he'll never quite understand what it's like to get off on making fun of oneself.
"That's simply not true. There are several ways that I will extend your life expectancy, procedures that had not existed before I extended my own. Said procedures are my own creations, ones which I may share among others as I intend to do with this device. Whether I make this offer to the wider margins of humanity are unclear, but they will certainly be yours. Yours is a mind that this world has gone far too long without, and in its wake it would run itself ragged looking for another." Eris pursed her lips, unsure if she wanted to become a cyborg, but he silenced her. "This is non-negotiable."
Right, something they'll discuss later then. She has high hopes he'll not shoon down any attempt to do so.
"Kept alive against my will.. you truly do think in the long-term, don't you? Funny that I entertain the future while you will it, up until now I didn't believe I even had one, I was almost certain – resigned even – that I'd probably die in service." Saying 'service' sounded so absurd, as though he was operating a military agency, with only two people in its ranks.
"There were several times that my calculations ran a moderately high probability of your death, namely during those months you spent at Fortification Hill." He confessed, looking between her eyes and the rest of her face, either of them searching for something in the other. "Never once were they accurate concerning you. It's an impressive feat, to have rendered my technologies futile when they prophesied the Great War – almost ten years before the event, mind you."
"I told you that human lives are too unpredictable a variable to rely solely on the mathematical. There's too many things to take into account, like the masculine inclination to have incestuous sex with their neglecting mothers," he makes a sour face at that, "I just reread the Basic Writings, don't admonish me too soon. There's also the human will to power and prestige, something you can agree comes in many various shades, none of which can be predicted in mathematical terms, because the conditions that warrant their futures are too specific."
"My calculations are painstakingly specific, every known variable is accounted for, and the unknowns also. The data that's fed to them is infinitesimal. You've a poor understanding of high arithmetic, we'll have to remedy that if you still intend on designing those scanners of yours. There should be plenty of time within the next half year, the estimated dip in revenue can be used strategically to allow for shortcomings while you learn."
There was something endlessly flattering in hearing him plan her future for her. It's a skill that she doesn't have, as she always sees and plays with too many choices. Narrowing them down is something she's not equipped to do.
A ponderous expression shadows her features then, highlighted only by the Strip's lights outside of the illusory window, more luminous than it had ever been before – a dream that would likely not remain a dream. In fact, if she knows him as well as she thinks she does, she is for once, more than certain that it wouldn't remain a lonely model in his dreams.
Because she's a contrarian to her core, she must necessarily add something to that. Entrance to the Strip wasn't the only flaw that needed polishing. Her expertise is in critiquing others and forcing them to think, secondary only to the thousands of ideas that drifted through her thoughts from the moment she awoke, to the moment she slept.
"Speaking of innovation, should it really stop there? I have an idea, but I need to study the source material first.." Her words slowed upon the enraptured sparkle in his eyes, stirred by mention of her initiative. Of course, he was a premier industrialist, talk of these things always gave him a metaphorical nosebleed. "I've only ever read about transportation in the prewar days, but I do know that rising fuel costs forced Americans to rethink the efficiency of their vehicles. What if, personalized vehicles could be rebuilt, without the faults of the ones in the old world? The monorail would suffice for poorer people, but for those of better means…?"
Those of better means would have the opportunity, and those who did not, would clamor for the chance. The liberated market in Vegas would allow for unprecedented job opportunities and enterprises, bettering the means of all with the promise of satisfying selfish tastes.
"Then do it. You have my tools at your disposal, my factory in Freeside should accommodate most of your basic needs. Any others, and you only need to ask. They can all be arranged with contractors from the south, or the west.. the NCR will be desperate for our business."
When next Eris met his eye, he was leaning over her, closer now than before. The bewitching smell of cigarettes and luxurious cologne tickled her nose, and a bold, impudent grin was sent in return to the silent invitation he was offering – whether he knew it was one or not. Of course he knew, he wasn't dim, just inhibited and withdrawn.
Every time they were in this position, she had noticed that he derived an eccentric amusement from waiting on her to engage him, almost like a mating ritual, but leagues more advanced. It was also possible that it was a chivalrous gesture, but he'd never been especially chivalrous.
The first thing she did in their advanced mating ritual, was take his hand, so soft, pale, and endowed with the long fingers of the most esteemed pianists. Contrary to her nature, she demurely brought his hand to her lips and quickly pecked, running them over her face and meeting his eyes between his fingers. Although his expression was neutral, his dark eyes displayed a spark of intrigue, something she swore she'd recreate again and again, as she labored constantly to earn his laughter.
"Thank you, for filling my life with a purpose I suspect it never had." She smirks then, and gives his hand another kiss before handling him by his tie and pulling him closer to her, until their noses brushed against each other. "Thanks to you, I no longer question whether the concept of happiness is a valid one.. though I do still disagree that it should be the primary mover. But, it does move me right now, I'll admit."
His eyes narrow in a calculation that is sensual, an alluring shrewdness unique to him – it carries a thousand promises but voices none. Like everything he did, it was permeated in secrecy and ambiguity. As an avid problem solver, it presents an irresistible equation. The sweetest fruits have inedible, or unreachable, cores.
It is the first kiss they've shared since before Hoover Dam, and it's somehow more patient and subdued, possible now without uncertain variables hanging over their heads – his, in particular, for she reveled in uncertainty.
She clings to his shoulders, while his arms fall to her waist. She muses that the old world and the new world have come to an understanding, have even embraced one another tonight.
For him, she had laid the foundation for the reconstruction of her world, but also enabled him to correct the mistakes of his. His city would act as a model for all others, and within it was the spirit that she had grown to love – an oasis for the glib and the shrewd, where the group had no place save for the individuals that eclipsed it, where the fortunes of the old order could be lost in seconds and taken by those merited them, where winning was so sweet a promise that people came to lose.