Some time later...
.
.
.
"Whelp, I've gotta say Angel- as weird as your name is, you can knock 'em back like a fucking champ. I guess I was wrong about you."
Now sitting on the floor, cradling a half-empty bottle of whiskey between her legs, Angel leans against the frame of her barstool and laughs, looking at her through glassy eyes-
"Yeah, well, I didn't out-drink you. Honestly I don't think that's even possible..." her head was pounding; and despite the amount of water she'd drank in between bottles, she was dangerously close to blacking out. It was times like this she was glad she had Boone.
"You'd be surprised. Hell I'm surprised you made it this far," Sitting next to her, Cass drunkenly gestures up to the bar with a sweeping motion, to the dozen bottles of Olde Royale on the counter. One was completely spilled over and another had been smashed over a patron's head after he tried to drink out of it- needless to say, the bartender gave up a long time ago.
"So you know what?" She continues after staring into her glass for a moment, watching the amber swirl with distant wistfulness.
"Huh?"
"You win."
Angel looked up again. "I do?"
"Yeah, call it a tie. Now hand over that damn paper."
Sometimes all it takes to convince someone something is finding out what their poison is, and giving them enough of it to see the truth. But of course this was more than that.
"Here," she said, rummaging through her belt pouches until she found a worn, age-yellowed piece of paper. She slid it across the table.
"Damn, should've taken McLafferty's offer. Guess it's not about the caps though…"
Angel could visibly see her hold on for one last second,
and let go.
"All right, there you go... caravan's yours. Feel kind of relieved, actually. Didn't realize how much I was carrying around with just the name."
As soon as Cass handed her the signed deed, she handed it back.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
"Tear it up."
"What?"
"Just do it."
"But I don't-" she looked at the deed, then at Angel, the pieces in her head clicking into place. "Ah, I get it now..."
Taking the deed gingerly in her hands, she gazed at it like a child she was about to give away, and tore it in half.
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Angel said, grinning triumphantly.
"No... it wasn't. I guess that was your whole point though."
She lifted the bottle of whiskey with one hand, but instead of taking a drink she set it down next to her. "The point is, you're free. You always have been and always will be. The only thing that can come between you and your freedom, is yourself."
"Heh, or a pack of raiders that want to make you their sex slave."
"That too."
With what appeared to be a smile since the first time Angel had met her, Cass takes another shot, leaning back-
"But I see what you mean. Shit's deep. Never really thought about it like that- your dreams, ideas, ambitions... the same things that build you up can break you down just as quick as anything else."
"Yeah, they can. The key is not letting them."
They sat in silence for a time, listening to the wind whip against the walls of the Outpost. Aside from the night watch everyone else was asleep.
"So what will you do now?" Angel asked her.
"No idea. Maybe… head back west? Though the idea of heading back there with my tail between my legs isn't too appealing."
"You could come with me," she said.
Cass chuckled. "Go with you? Not the worst idea I've heard today but.. why the hell would I want to do that?"
"Stay here, you know exactly what's going to happen, day in and day out," She taps a cigarette out of her case, picturing in her head all of the trouble they'd be getting into together. "Plus, it'd be fun."
"So fighting boredom is your argument, huh?"
"I guess it is."
"Well, walking the Mojave with you can't be any worse than here, that's for sure. All right, I'm in."
"Woo!" Angel squealed in half ecstasy, half drunken reverie. She leaned over and hugged Cass, who took it with a little less enthusiasm. "Welcome aboard."
"Uh.. Thanks."
"I think this calls for a celebration," she takes out another cig and hands it to her, lighting her own.
"Lucky strikes huh? Fancy girl."
"Yep, that's me."
She puffed on her smoke and, realizing something tasted horribly off, started coughing and gagging uncontrollably. Angel looked down past her nose at the charred styrofoam filter- she'd lit it the wrong way.
"Maybe I spoke too soon."
"I think maybe I'm drunk."
At that moment Boone came back in, cool night air wafting in behind him. Not seeing them at first, he walks by, steps in a puddle of whiskey, and nearly slips and falls before finally noticing them on the floor. Angel imagined that it was quite the spectacle.
"Really…" even with his monotone, she can easily sense the disdain in his voice.
"Oh hey Boone. How about that drink?"
"How about you go to sleep?" It was less of a question, and more of a statement. Regardless of his tendency to chastise her, which was definitely deserved more than not, Angel had grown fond of his protectiveness of her. No matter how guarded he might be himself.
"I will," she replied with a slurred voice, seeing two of him. "Oh! And look, we have a new companion, her name is Cass."
Boone's eyes went to the fiery-haired woman next to her, then back to Angel. "Great. Try to wake up early tomorrow."
"Uh huh. Can't make any promises though."
Once he was gone, Cass cooed. "Mmm, Angel has a boyfriend does she?"
The comment made her wince on the inside. "It's not like that. Boone's a friend... one of the closest I've had in a long time."
"Oh come on, it's not like I'm gonna steal him from you. I'm willing to share."
"We're not together, Cass. Our relationship is… it's different. We're helping each other heal after what we've been through; I wouldn't stop you if you were interested, hell I'd probably help. Plus…" she added with a hint of jealousy that surprised her, "He's interested in another woman."
"Well, I like the challenge. Wanna bet on who sleeps with him first?"
Angel pegged it as a joke, and laughed. "Yeah, sure. Might as well hand you all my caps then."
"Might as well."
A few minutes passed as Cassidy emptied a bottle, and Angel tried to not throw up from the vertigo of drunkenness as she finished her burnt cigarette. She yawned; sleep would come easily tonight.
"Well, I think I'm going to pass out. Will you be ready to travel with us in the morning?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
"Alright, see you then. Don't drink anything without me." She wobbled to her feet, fell over, and staggered up again, feeling her way through the darkness back to her room.
.
.
.
Watching the moon vanish and reappear behind the clouds through her window, Angel wasn't surprised sleep didn't come as easily as she'd thought. Her demons kept her awake now; now that she knew what they were. The gold coin resting in her palm glinted under the alien moonlight.
It had been at least seven years since it happened. Five years of running, of surviving on her own, one year of hiding, another of wandering. The only reason she'd made it here was due to her new job as a courier. Her last run in the Divide brought her enough attention- both good and bad- to land her a stint in the Mojave Express, and everything unraveled after that. It wasn't clear to her at the time that getting shot in the head and losing a good chunk of her memory was a blessing in disguise- she'd forgotten about him entirely, about Utah, or how she even got there. All she cared about was killing Benny and getting the chip back. In a way Angel's mind was protecting her from her past, but now everything had caught up to her.
I didn't have a choice….
Suddenly she became aware of a presence behind her. At first she felt a jolt of vulnerability, not having a weapon on her, but it was probably just Boone. Sometimes his insomnia was infectious.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Angel asked, not bothering to turn around.
When he didn't speak, she spun to face him. "Hello?"
The silhouetted figure didn't move, and then it all happened in the blink of an eye. Steel flashed, the man lunged, and she ducked as the blade grazed past her cheek. She came back up with her fist cocked and landed a punch in his stomach, staggering him long enough for Angel to balance her footing. No body armor- at least it was somewhat a level playing field.
The knife came at her again, and she moved aside and around as she tried disarming him by grabbing his wrists and pulling back, but he was ready. Breaking her grip on his free hand, they fumbled backwards in a calculated dance of grappling and maneuvering.
It can't be him. Too short, different fighting style-
Her introspection was cut short when she caught the assassin's elbow right in the face. Angel saw stars, but with the adrenaline pumping through her and the alcohol still in her system, she recovered quickly enough to dodge his next few blows.
Don't think, just react. Just like dad taught you. The knife came craning at her again- instead of simply avoiding it, she blocked his fist with her forearm and delivered a swift kick on the same side, effectively knocking the wind out of her aggressor as it connected with his ribs.
This was her opening. Angel leapt at the man and they tumbled to the floor; the knife skittered across the wooden planks and under the nightstand. She landed on top of him and let loose a series of jabs to his face and torso, but with her diminutive strength it didn't do much. Within seconds he'd grabbed her wrists and heaved her off.
They grappled on the floor until he overpowered her with brute force and pinned her. Thick, gloved hands wrapped around her throat. Even if she wanted to scream for help, which she didn't plan on doing, she couldn't while he slowly began choking the life out of her. The dark of night hid any and all of his features mercilessly boring down on her. Spots clouded her vision. Darkening. Darkening. Angel frantically reached behind her with one hand, the other trying to pry his off, but she couldn't find anything nearby to help her. It's not supposed to happen like this…
Suddenly her hand brushed something. Her pack, she realized with a distant pang of hope, as she reached in and felt the familiar grip of the pulse gun she'd found for Veronica. She could feel the oxygen deprivation, feel the asphyxiation; it was like existing in a bubble underwater, rapidly shrinking to nothing. Not yet...
She took the pistol out of the pack, weakly aimed it at his chest, and fired.
The assassin flew back against the adjacent wall, completely stunned from the electromagnetic shock. Angel sprang to her feet and dove for the knife. Gripping the hilt with her left hand, she came back up at the same time as he recovered- rising to his feet as he took out his backup weapon- and she threw herself at him with everything she had. It happened all at once. She saw the gun, a broad silencer masking the barrel, watched in slow motion as it heaved and fired. The round exited the chamber just as she plunged the blade deep into his chest. The man screamed, but Angel clamped his mouth shut with her free hand and cradled his fall with her body, easing his twitching form down to the floor. She could feel his heartbeat slow, vibrating from his body to hers, in what was one of the most bizarrely intimate deaths she'd witnessed since coming to the mojave. After a few moments, he kicked twice, and was still.
Well, that's definitely one way to do it. Lifting the corpse off of her, Angel stood up, ran over and opened the window, and emptied her stomach.
Killing from a distance was one thing, but feeling someone die right on top of her was something she would never be able to handle; even killing with a melee weapon made her insides lurch. Feeling the impact. The ripping of flesh, the blood. It made her realize she could never be a real killer- but rather it was something, like many other things, forced upon her.
Angel sat down at the foot of the bed and smoked, staring at the corpse, letting reality surge back to her as adrenaline faded. She ran the same questions over in her mind: who else was after her? Or did he send someone instead of coming himself? And regardless, why attack her in a crowded outpost, much less one run by the NCR?
Searching the body turned up nothing. The man was young, and to her surprise, quite attractive, but there were no clues that hinted at an affiliation or identity. He wore a grey trenchcoat and well-preserved slacks; attire that marked him as well off without drawing attention. Perhaps a spy of some sort, or…
Wait a second.
With a brief cringe, Angel yanked the knife free and lit the oil lamp on the bedstand. It was a 5-inch blade with a lightly studded hilt, a common enough sight in the wasteland, but that wasn't what she was looking for. She actually didn't know what she was trying to find, only that she knew she would find it, intrinsically. Grabbing her screwdriver out of her pack, she fiddled with the bottom of the hilt for a minute, and suddenly it popped open.
Inside of the hollow handle was a microchip, soldered into the center with a series of wires connecting it. This chip was what Angel was looking for- only it still didn't ring any bells. And yet something egged her on. Comprehension lingering on the periphery, waiting for her to understand. Careful not to damage the chip, she found a magnifying glass inside a desk drawer and examined it closely under the light...
In that moment the final piece slid into place. Neatly imprinted on a corner of the chip, almost as if by machine, were a row of Greek columns topped by a triangular roof. In the center was a black sun, imprisoned behind the columns.
It was the Greyrunners. The Architects of the New Age had finally tracked her down.
"Shit…" Angel barely noticed the whisper escape her lips.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…" she sucked in a deep breath to try to calm herself, but she was frantic. The plans she'd made, the vision she had for a peaceful New Vegas, it all came crashing down around her now. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit."
She kicked open the window the rest of the way and slowly dragged the corpse out. No one could know about this. Not them. Her companions. Not how she was involved. Moonlight clearly illuminated the fringe of the Outpost as she jumped down, beginning to haul the Greyrunner assassin out into the glittering desert. The wind howled; a constant reminder of the premonition she'd had before coming here. They'll never forgive you if they find out. You'll be alone again. Alone like you deserve to be, running away from a perfect life, running from your family and everything you called home. To think you were naive enough to believe you could make a difference out here by yourself, and yet all you've done is destroy, destroy. It started with the man you loved above everything else, where will it end?
Clamping the thoughts shut before they drove her mad, Angel trekked east across the moonlit desert, flecks of sand shimmering like diamonds in the rough. She was careful to avoid the lone Ranger patrolling the outpost even though with the weight of the body dragging behind her she was moving at a snail's pace, leaving an obvious trail to boot.
"Shit…. shit... shit…"
Within a half hour she came to the foothills of what was technically the start of the Rockies. She would dump the body here, take the knife (which she'd left behind in her room) and hide it somewhere clever to buy her a day or two. If she could just convince the Boomers and the local Brotherhood chapter to join forces with her, she might still have a chance in uniting New Vegas against the Legion before the Greyrunners got to her, or hedid.
Or she could run away. Again. It would be now or never. On the other side of the craggy spine of hills and plateaus was the relative 'safety' of the Four States Commonwealth, and beyond. Angel knew a few people out there. She could start over in Buena Vista, or Santa Fe, even somewhere as far away as New Lincoln; anywhere that wasn't here. And since she had the platinum chip, Mr. House would never be able to consolidate his control of New Vegas- until he hired someone else to go after her and get it back, which he definitely would. Now that she'd actually thought about it, leaving would do more harm than good, and make her a whole other slew of enemies to deal with, not to mention lose the friends she'd made. She wasn't about to give up on New Vegas after making it so far. Not yet.
So instead of running away, or doing anything for that matter, Angel sat up on a small, flat mesa at the top of the foothills next to a mutated cactus and sipped on a stale nuka-cola. She watched the distant lights flicker in the blue-black haze of night while the moon burned cold. It was late December and she could already see her breath- it'd be back to scorching hot by morning.
An hour later and she was laying in bed again. Staring up at the cracks, finding a piece of her broken story in each one. The body had been disposed of, her trail covered, and she'd planted the knife with the tracking chip in a brahmin's saddlebags, part of a caravan that looked like it would be leaving in the morning. She washed the stinging cut on her cheek and cleaned the blood off the floor. Everything had been taken care of. The adrenaline and alcohol had faded to a comfortable numbness, leaving Angel with the roiling emotions that came anytime she was faced with her past, but she knew sleep would come now.
And when it finally did, she dreamed of what used to be...