#pls ask for additional tags i am sure i'm missing some!

[cheatdeathsarchive]

Her dress is the color of the sunset when it’s warm and bright and paints the world that pretty orange-gold. It goes well with her hair, her freckles, her eyes, her smile, and Six likes how light it all makes her feel. It’s not like Benny, not like House. She laughs and giggles and they walk arm in arm down the lit up streets. Six thinks about how Ronnie was in love once and wonders if it felt like this.

Cause she thinks she feels it, thinks she gets it. If love is a color maybe it’s orange. The dress catches the light in a way -- from orange to yellow to gold, and it’s better than any sunset, she thinks. She wants to tell Ronnie, too, but the butterflies in her stomach fly into her throat and she doesn’t know how to rightly say it yet. There will be time later.

There’s an... what’s the term? An Ellie Fant in the room. Six doesn’t know who that is or why her presence is so big, but she’s here and it is. Ellie is one they’ve both been happy to ignore. There were dresses to buy, drinks to be had. There was music and dancing and pretending like things were alright for a day. There was soft hair to rest their cheeks against, and the teasing of fingertips at calloused knuckles and sheepish glances that were safe from wry comments.

They paint the town red like Jane likes to say. They out-party the NCR troopers, watch people come and go and give them all a story which is usually the opposite of how Six likes to daydream. This is fun too, though -- to have a face and to wonder about all that is behind it. The sun is still waiting for its debut, but the horizon is turning a pretty light purple, and Six thinks that would be a pretty color on Veronica Santangelo, too.

Robert House is livid, still so livid, but Six still has run of the Lucky 38. Probably as an incentive. Probably because he knows she’ll go through with what he demands. Not on his terms, she thinks, Not when I’ve learned from Benny and fooled the Legion. Not when I could talk a dying man out of his last drop of water.

Her plan will work. It has to work. They sneak quietly down the hall in case any of their other companions are spending the night in their rooms. No doubt though their exaggerated whispers and giggling are louder than they think. Nobody bothers them all the same. Six turns the radio in her suite on, and Veronica looks around like she’s never been in here before even though she has.

Six loves that -- she does it too sometimes. One time they found a whole mess of old world coins in the couch cushions. Another time they found a time capsule of old world treasures hidden under a mattress. It’s fun to explore the places people haven’t gotten to in ages. Their party could keep going, but Ellie Fant is here and waiting, her arms crossed and Veronica is sick of her presence, too.

“Have you decided?” She asks with a conviction in her voice that Six is immediately aware that she’s practiced, “About what House said, I mean... you’re not going through with it, are you?”

Pretty brown eyes are staring her down. Six replies with a smile, though it’s demure. The Brotherhood’s got her all kinds of conflicted. She can’t imagine how much worse it is for Veronica.

“I don’t wanna kill your family, Ronnie. Family’s all we got out here.” That seems to put her at ease, “But Mr. House ain’t willin’ to listen to me. I tried. I’m thinkin’... I could talk to some caravans, get ‘em set up for supplies... There’s a whole mess of space between here and Tucson.”

Ronnie picks it up, and her appeasement shifts into a cold realization. Six bites her lip, gives her the best helpless look she can muster. Ronnie doesn’t bite.

“That’s not an option,” Veronica replies with a very pointed frown. There isn’t anymore happiness in her face even though it hasn’t been anything but fun this evening. Six sighs. Ronnie insists, “That bunker is our home, Six. It’s hard enough when we get sent out for supply runs under cover. Nobody’s going to help supply an entire chapter of the Brotherhood.”

That makes Six shake her head -- she has favors she can call in, but it’s time for a new approach, “Mr. House won’t listen to reason -- your Elder might, Ronnie. Maybe this is the push they need to adapt.”

“By making them homeless? By taking away the one place we can hide from the NCR, the Legion? By making them all open targets?”

“Better than all dead without a fightin’ chance,” And maybe those are the wrong words. Six takes a breath, “I wanna help you Ronnie, I do... but Mr. House, he --”

“Saved your life, I know. You know what else I know? That you’ve done whatever you had to do with that weird little poker chip he’s so obsessed with. You did your job. He might have saved your life, but why can’t you live it for yourself?”

'Cause she loves him is why. 'Cause she believes in him. Six keeps her mouth shut. She loves Veronica, too, misses the wrinkle in her nose when she laughs. Veronica continues.

“So what?” She fishes, and Six fidgets. Six can hear Benny tutting from whatever hole he’s crawled into, “You want my permission to... to banish the Brotherhood from the Mojave? Because your boss is a megalomaniac dictator?”

Elder McNamara is so much better, Six wants to say, Most the folks down there don’t like your attitude Ronnie, that’s another. Neither are kind, so she opts to say neither at all.

“Autocrat,” Six argues, steeled and frustrated and suddenly stone cold sober. Veronica can’t even look at her right now, “What he can do for the Mojave Ronnie... it’s a hell of a lot more than livin’ underground and hoardin’ weapons you don’t trust people with like you deserve the authority of who gets to have ‘em. It’s resource guardin’, it’s not safe, it’s --”

“Shut up,” Veronica mutters, “just... shut the fuck up.”

Six swallows. Bites her lip so hard she thinks it’s gonna bruise, and takes ten deep breaths. Veronica doesn’t say anything else. Six takes that as permission to speak again, “...I’m gonna get a drink, okay?” Veronica doesn’t answer. She’ll take it as permission, “...I’ll figure somethin’ out, alright? I promise. Nobody’s gotta die.”

Still, nothing. Six hesitates, a small step backwards before finally peeling her eyes away from that pretty orange dress and the woman wearing it. She moves to the kitchen. The medic in her knows water is what’s good. The hedonist in her reaches for a Sunset Sarsaparilla instead. the cap gets popped off and she takes a sip. The vice tastes good, but it’s not enough to make her smile. She’s gotta rethink her plan now.

The sounds of a pneumatic gauntlet rev up behind her. Six knows she can either turn around or duck, and she chooses to duck. Veronica cracks the door of the fridge so deep Six can feel the cold slipping through the crack where the door doesn’t line up right anymore.

“Ronnie --” Six gasps, turning around to see her winding her fist back up. Punches -- the gift that keeps on giving, “Ron, please, hang on. Please, don’t --”

“Shut. Up!” Ronnie screams, and Six is so afraid that someone who isn’t either of them can hear the shouting and the sounds of combat, “I won’t let you.”

The second swing comes, and Six feels it hit her hair just barely as she somersaults out of the way across broken glass and spilled soda and scrambles to her feet. The tiles on the floor shatter. She’s got a silenced .22 under her dress and it shouts at her in Benny’s voice -- never go into a casino unarmed, pussycat. You really fucked this one up, didn’t you?

“Please,” Six begs, and she can only turn around before Veronica tackles her, pins her down. Six kicks, tries to scramble backwards, tries to beg to get Veronica to listen. Veronica grabs her shoulder and sits on her, her gauntlet reeling back. Six struggles more as the first punch lands. She tastes iron, feels the hot sting of skin split open above her left eye. Veronica pulls her fist back and she paints the room red. Her grip loosens just a touch and Six isn’t sure when the gun made it to her hand, but it’s there and she pulls the trigger. Later she finds out it’s right through her heart.

“Don’t --” Veronica Santangelo says, and it’s her last word. There are a million things on her face. She looks... scared. Shocked. Confused. Scared. Scared, scared, so scared. Six gasps, and before Veronica falls on top of her entirely she pushes the still warm corpse to fall beside her instead, rolling away to rest her head against cool tile, and she closes her eyes. Just for a second, she thinks, but when she opens them again Boone is here and so is Victor. The sun is out and pretty shades of yellow and orange shine through the windows.

“Don’t touch her,” Six snaps, her head aching from the hangover. She spits blood out of her mouth.

“We’re just wantin’ to help you clean up a bit, Sugar,” the robot says, very placating, and when Six rolls over she sees he’s holding the body of Veronica Santangelo like a baby. Courier Six screams bloody murder. Boone helps her up. Walks her to the bathroom. Six can’t stop screaming.

She doesn’t know where Victor’s taken her as the sniper cleans her wounds. She never bothers to ask. She doesn’t know when she stops screaming, doesn’t know why she can’t cry instead -- probably because Boone is staring her down behind his aviators and she’s pretty sure she knows just how he’s watching her.

She blames the Brotherhood and slips on her vault suit. Blames them as she goes into Ronnie’s room to slip her scribe robes on top of her outfit. Six blames them as she walks to the Hidden Valley and slips in with the utmost care to be a shadow on the wall. This is a family and they know their people. The disguise doesn’t work if she stops, so Six doesn’t stop. Her head is down and she blames every single person in here for being so rigid, so stuck in their ideals.

It’s their fault that Veronica became disillusioned with them. It’s their fault they are not willing to bend. It’s their fault they are ruined. She sprints out of the Bunker as the sirens go off, throwing the caution and stealth she had been using to the wind along with the burlap hood and robes. The ground rumbles, and she can’t blame them anymore.

It’s not their fault. It never was.

It’s hers.