Work Text:
When she woke up, her feet ached and her head felt like it was going to split into two. The bed she lay in certainly didn’t help her sore body, barely a raggedy mattress with a blanket over the stained fabric. Her coat and boots lay in a messy pile next to the bed, and her array of weapons numbered the side table. The huge mammoth of a dog she had lied in front of the door, shut and locked but still protecting his partner.
She couldn’t even remember the plot of the nightmare, just the smell of burnt flesh and the screams of innocent people. As the scarred woman lay there, staring at the patched and deceptive ceiling, she could hear the sounds of laughter and peaceful conversations in the room next door. She yearned to join them, but first, she had other matters to attend to.
She sat up, swung her legs over the bed to the floor, stood up, and fell as her knees buckled. Catching herself, she muttered profanities as she tried again, this time successful. Her dog perked up and stood up to follow her out of the room, and as she turned to the left, away from the common room, she waved her hand to the right, telling her faithful companion to follow the laughter and get some love. The people staying in the safe house adored that dog, always fawning over him and spoiling him with scraps off of their plates. She had half a mind to leave the poor thing at Randolph, and do her missions alone.
She padded down the dirty hallway in just her socks, probably ruining them in the process. Oh well, she’ll get some back in Diamond City next time they go. They, she and her partner, both spent more time in Diamond City than she would care to admit. She doesn’t even like it there, the people aren’t the nicest and always give her looks when she walks around with armor and weapons on her person. Goodneighbor is more her speed, coupled with the people there and the bar, it beats the other city by a mile. Plus, everyone carries there, and no one bats an eye at the fat man launcher.
She slowed to a stop in front of the last door in the hallway, before knocking lightly. The woman heard shuffling, and the door opened, revealing her partner. “Nightmare again?” She nodded, and he glanced her over, taking note of her rumpled appearance and the haunted look in her eyes. The man stepped back, and she practically stumbled in. He took her hands and led her to the small bed, identical to the one she was just in a minute or two ago, or was it hours?
She lay on the inside of the bed, him on the outside with his back to the door, and he just stared at her. It was her choice whether or not to talk about the nightmare. Some nights she would spill everything, explaining in great detail the sight of Benny dying and the disturbing satisfaction that washed over her, or the beeping of the collar from the Sierra Madre and the paralyzing fear of radios she still struggles with. Other nights, she wouldn’t speak at all, letting the silence guard her and her thoughts, as she replayed whatever memory over and over again. She was a war hero, the Courier, she was a general of the NCR, she killed the Caesar herself and cut off the head of the serpent that was House and his monopoly over the strip, and here she is, defeated and broken down by things her subconscious came up with while she was asleep.
He was used to this, of course. She’s always had nightmares since she had crawled out of the midwest and to Boston, and he didn’t know a time when she didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. It got better as time went on, only happening once or twice a week, but ever since Vault 111 opened, and that suburban housewife stumbled out and set out on a mission to find her son, the memories seemed to be coming back. It wasn’t Blue’s fault, she couldn’t have predicted that she would wake up in the future and everyone would want her to do something for them. It just reminded the Courier of her past back in New Vegas, that’s all. Her bleeding heart and the things she sacrificed for people that didn’t deserve it. That’s why she left, after all, the obligations and responsibilities were too much, she was too well-known and every day, someone new was knocking on her door, telling her of a new thing she had to add to her list and complete.
Her partner, the man accompanying her throughout the city and beyond, who if she told him that she was leaving Boston and going back to Vegas or even to the Capital, would cut all ties and follow her. He was her partner in more than just work. He just held her today, it was a silent morning. Running his hands up and down her arms, comforting her, he started to speak about nothing in particular. The weather, what Tinker Tom’s latest conspiracy was, jokes he saw in a book once, (It was gray and cloudy but no rain yet, that the Institute was making bullets with robots in them and using the robots to control more people, and what does the interrupting cow say? What does the cow- Moooooo.)
She knew she was safe here, that they had each other's back. She wants to leave the past in the past, the present in the now, and the future up to fate. She’s going to begin again and start anew.