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Chapter Text

Finally, after a week of surviving in the horrendous atmosphere of the Sierra Madre Casino, the Courier arrived at the Lucky 38. She had to endure three weeks of rough traveling until she got to Vegas. The woman was exhausted and still haunted by the horrors of that terrible experience at the Sierra Madre. She never thought that she would live to tell the tale.

The entrance of the Lucky 38 stood imposing, a monument to opulence rising like a solitary beacon in a world consumed by ruin. Inside, the lavish metallic finishes and faded red carpets seemed like a refuge stubbornly resisting the apocalypse, but with each step, the weight of a broken past hung in the air.

She hurried to meet her former companions, who were also in the building, and started explaining everything that had happened since she unexpectedly vanished from the Strip. The Courier Six, who was gaining popularity after the battle of Hoover Dam, disappeared for a month, so her companions were worried and started looking for her.

When she entered the casino, everybody stopped what they were doing to see her. There were many questions to ask, and the Courier had no problem answering them. Boone quickly grabbed some chairs and soon everyone was sitting in a circle listening to the adventures of the woman. She talked about Elijah, who trapped and forced her to work for him with a bomb collar attached to her neck that could explode at any moment. Hearing that shocked Veronica, who was sitting there on a couch near Arcade, listening to the story. She was told that Elijah had gone off the rails, but she wasn’t expecting him to be that crazy. She was so glad that she didn't remain near him.

At one point, the traveler mentioned the people that she met in the Sierra Madre.

"Well, there were four of us, God... or Dog? who was a super mutant with a personality disorder. Then, a ghoul named Dean, who was a famous singer before the bombs dropped, blinded by greed. Lastly a girl, exiled from the Brotherhood, called Christine. She mentioned that her quest for revenge was driven by something personal—something I never fully understood. We defeated Elijah together."

Veronica couldn't believe what she had just heard. She was astonished. Just when she thought she had moved on from her past relationship once and for all, her friend tells her that the girl she once loved is indeed alive and that also helped the Courier. She needed some time to process that piece of information. 

The former scribe sometimes found herself reminiscing about her last good memories in the Brotherhood of Steel with Christine, sharing stolen kisses and holding hands under tables, so that no one could see. The truth was hidden until they were discovered by two paladins. Consequently rumors started flying, and every person within the Brotherhood knew that they weren't just friends. When the higher ranks knew too, Veronica and Christine were forcibly separated. It was said that Christine's parents didn't approve of their relationship at all, so their daughter left the bunker. Veronica tried to convince her to stay, but failed miserably. The scribe could never forget the teary eyes from her lover the last time they saw each other just before Christine’s nineteenth birthday. She still thought that it was her fault how everything turned out.
She didn't know whether her past lover was alive or not, and if she was, where to find her-until that very moment.

The Courier looked at Veronica, who seemed concerned. 

“Veronica? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, don't worry, nothing important. Sorry, continue with your story.” She responded, looking down.

Veronica knew that she needed to find Christine. But she couldn't leave everyone just like that right now. She didn't know where her ex-girlfriend was or how to get there in one piece. So she continued listening to the Courier, still thinking on what to do. She didn't want to expose herself in front of everyone there, so she figured it was best to wait until later.

When everyone had already finished dining, Veronica headed to her room to sleep. She spotted the Courier in the corridor and swiftly went to ask her about the girl that she met some weeks ago.   

“Hey, remember that you mentioned before a girl named Christine, who was originally from the Brotherhood?”

“Yeah, why?” Six asked, curiously.

“Do you know her full name?” Said Veronica, just to be sure.

“Christine… Royce.” 

“Damn. I was right.” She looked down, now that her suspicions were confirmed.

“Sorry, I’m not following.”

Veronica lifted her head and glanced at her. “She was my past lover I once told you about when we traveled together,” she replied in a wistful tone.

“Oh.” she understood now.

Six couldn't believe she hadn't realized that sooner. She heard the same story from both sides, and didn't think that both Christine and Veronica were talking about the same events. She just had to put together the pieces, she guessed.

“I understand, what do you want to know about her?”

“No, Six," she paused before adding, "I want to find her.”

“Oh, well." The traveler raised her eyebrows, stunned by Veronica's determination. "She remained at the Sierra Madre, because once she completed her mission she didn't have much purpose. So she stayed guarding the casino," Six couldnt help but frown in worry. "If you really want to find her, I won't stop you, but I would suggest you pack a lot of supplies because surviving there ain't easy”.

“Okay, thanks," the former scribe looked around, her mind alredy filled with questions. "Do you know where this place is exactly?”

The Courier showed Veronica her Pip Boy, now with the location marked in the map. Six handed her the device.

“Take it. You'll use it more than I will. I’ll stay here at the Strip, I need a vacation from the wasteland.”

“But Six, it’s yours, you always wear it,” she insisted, as she tried to return it, giving it back to the other woman.

The Courier put the Pip-Boy in the former scribe's hands. “Yeah, but you need a map. And here on the Strip, this thing isn’t very useful. Only if I get lost in one of these casinos with a million different rooms, but I’ll be fine," she laughed. "Don’t worry about me, take it with you.” she responded, giving Veronica a warm smile.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it." A flicker of warmth passed through her eyes as she looked at her friend. "I'm going to sleep, I'll be gone early in the morning.” She said, excited for the possibility of reuniting with her long lost lover.

“Wow. And I thought you finally moved on... I guess I was wrong. Love makes you do weird things.” Six joked, as she reached out and gave a light squeeze on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Veronica rubbed the back of her neck, a sheepish grin tugging at her lips despite the nervous energy in her movements.

After that conversation, they said goodbye and went to their respective rooms.

The former scribe moved forward, the noise of life in the casino seemed to fade. Here, in these solitary halls, she felt more vulnerable, more exposed. The weight of past decisions followed her like a shadow, and the certainty that everything she'd sought could unravel at any moment kept her on edge. The cold metallic walls seemed to absorb her warmth, intensifying the emptiness inside.

Veronica still had a lot to think about, but she tried to get some sleep before embarking on the big journey.

She didn’t know whether Christine hated her, missed her, or had completely forgotten about her. 

Yet, to Veronica, this adventure was worth the risk.

Chapter Text

The summer heat seeped through the window, making the air heavy around Veronica. Fortunately, she slept enough hours despite the hot weather of the Mojave. The rising sun was beginning to cast long and golden rays across the Strip.

She got up from her bed, which was too big for her, but she didn’t mind. Her room in the Lucky 38 was spacious and maybe too much for her tastes, but it was a luxury compared to her tiny and dimly lit room in the bunker. Although, she knew that her room in the casino didn't feel quite like hers. She sometimes missed her little personal space in the Brotherhood, filled with posters and pre-war books. Thinking about her old room always brought back memories of the times she had shared with Christine there.

She promised herself to take the task seriously, so she tried to push the thoughts away. Veronica glanced at her Pip-Boy. 06:00 AM. Time to get moving.

“What am I even doing?” She murmured as she packed her bag. She still had some doubts about going to that spooky resort.

The former scribe started gathering the last few things she needed to start her trip to the Sierra Madre. She tapped her feet and started listing everything that she needed to take with her, in case she was forgetting something. Clean water, food, ammo… Her gaze landed on the dusty CD that had slipped from the shelf, now lying at her feet. Her breath caught. She stooped to pick it up, brushing her thumb over the faded words: Blondie – Greatest Hits. The memories surfaced unbidden.

“You sure you want me to have this?” Veronica said, smiling despite herself.

Christine stood up awkwardly at the edge of her bed and handed her an old pre-war CD. It was dusty, but the name of the band was still readable. It sure had survived a nuclear apocalypse.

“Of course, it’s for you. I found it in an old record store from before the War. It was the only one that survived somehow, and luckily, I knew that you listen to this kind of music. Figured you’d like it.” Christine told her nervously, her cheeks flushed as she held the CD out like it might explode in her hands.

Veronica always listened to music from before the War. When she was out in the wasteland for a mission, (once in a million years, basically), she collected CDs to play on her CD player.

“Blondie. Wow. You outdid yourself, Chris.” She couldn’t believe that she had that CD in her hands. “I didn’t realize that you actually think about me when you are out there.” She responded, trying to tease her. The tension between them was palpable, but none of them acted on their feelings, yet.

“I could say the same about you.” Christine chuckled, sure that her response was enough to win the game that the scribe started. Her confidence faltered when Veronica’s playful smirk softened into something else.

The room was left in complete silence as they shyly looked at each other. Veronica broke eye contact first.

“Thank you Chris.” She hesitated before adding, “It means a lot.” She stammered. The scribe really didn't think of anything else to say. She was head over heels for the blue-eyed girl in front of her, and wanted to tell her how she felt about her, but words didn’t come out of her mouth.

“I’m glad that you liked it.” Christine took a shaky breath and closed the little distance between them. It was now or never.

“Actually, you’re on my mind more than you probably realize… it’s hard to ignore, honestly.” Christine tried to not mess everything up. “I really, really like you.” She confessed, scared of the consequences of what she just said.

Veronica blinked, caught off guard. She felt her heart beating faster. She was not expecting that, despite Christine’s obvious attempts to show the brunette that she cared for her in a different and special way.

“Hey,” Veronica took Christine's hand and intertwined her fingers with hers. “I really, really like you too,” she admitted, smiling slightly, glancing at her. “And I think you're really pretty, and smart, and funny and everything I could ever wish for.” Veronica blurted, suddenly. Her mouth spoke before her brain could think of what to say, and in that moment, she knew that her feelings were completely exposed. She felt as if she offered Christine her own heart, with such use of words.

After hearing that, nothing seemed to matter for Christine. She placed her hand gently on Veronica’s cheek and looked at her beautiful honey brown eyes. She just couldn't wait anymore, and she pulled her closer, placing a kiss on the brunette’s lips.

Veronica let herself enjoy that moment, and after some more kissing and giggling, they broke away. 

But a long time passed since that, and Veronica was still nostalgically looking at that CD, the only physical memory of her teenage lover. She felt like she was about to cry from remembering the now bittersweet moment, but she quickly scrubbed her eye with her sleeve, trying to pretend that didn't happen.

She had a mission to accomplish. She was now determined to find her past lover, even if anything could happen in the end. She proceed to place the CD in her bag, almost as a talisman for what's to come, and looked out to the window, wondering if Christine would even want to see her again.

The woman strapped her pack over her shoulder. It wasn't that heavy -good. She picked up an energy weapon on her desk, checking on the charge. It was lighter than she expected on the hand, as if it, too, knew the gravity of the task she had to accomplish.

Then, she tucked it rapidly into her holster. She closed the door, and when she stepped up in the hallway, she noticed that Arcade glanced at her.

“Where are you going like that? Waking early and being fully armed here isn't a very Veronica thing to do,” the man said, raising an eyebrow with curiosity.

“Well, long story short, I'm going to find the Christine Six mentioned yesterday. You know, personal reasons.” Veronica tried to not tell him much details.

Arcade crossed his arms. He noticed a strange look on Veronica's face the day before. Still, he wanted to know what his friend was up to.

“And who is this Christine to you, exactly?” He asked, as he fixed his glasses.

That question made Veronica reflect on her feelings for the woman. She didn't know if Christine still represented something real to her, or if it was just a memory of something that no longer existed after so much time had passed.

“She was my lover, when I was younger. We were separated and now I'm going to find her. The journey is long, but to me, it is worth it.”

Arcade nodded in understanding, and hugged Veronica goodbye. “Good luck. Don’t die out there.” He responded, offering a genuine smile.

“Thanks. I'm going to need it. Take care of yourself, Arcade.” The woman said warmly, as they went separate ways.

Then, she got to the exit of the Lucky 38 and started her quest. The streets of the Strip were alive with neon and the hum of slot machines, even at dawn. Veronica weaved through the crowd of drunken gamblers and scantily clad performers, their revelry a world apart from her own. She caught sight of a young couple laughing over their winnings, and her heart twisted painfully.

She shook her head. Focus, Veronica. You’ve got a mission.

After passing the main gate, she was again in the unforgiving, desolate wasteland. She could feel the dry air stinging her throat as she walked. The sun had climbed higher now, making her armor uncomfortably warm, but Veronica hardly noticed. Her mind was spinning with questions.

What if she’s not there?

What if she doesn’t want to see me?

What if she’s moved on?

Veronica let out a frustrated sigh, adjusting the straps of her pack. "Stop it," she told herself. "You’re just psyching yourself out." She tried to concentrate on her mission, following the map on the Pip-Boy.

This was going to be a challenging journey.

Chapter Text

The green glow of the screen cast an eerie light on her face as she walked, the path ahead marked by jagged lines and faint waypoints. The three weeks of traveling had been very hard to endure. Veronica’s face and clothes were dirtier from surviving the cruel wasteland. Her freckles were now hidden by a layer of desert dust, and the dark circles beneath her eyes were starting to get more and more purple from not getting enough sleep. Also, she was running out of water and other supplies, but fortunately, she was almost arriving at the Sierra Madre.

But even as she focused on the blinking marker, her thoughts betrayed her, circling back to Christine. The what-ifs, the regrets, the hopes she didn’t dare name—they all pressed in like the heat of the Mojave sun. She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

One step at a time, she reminded herself. Just get there first.

After some time, the woman was exhausted from walking and battling with various different creatures. Veronica felt like she was going to faint. She glanced at her Pip-Boy: 02:10 PM. She decided that it was best to camp and recharge energies before entering that mysterious place.

The former scribe made an improvised refuge in a nearby cave. She cleared it out from other undesirable inhabitants, and proceeded to light a small fire. She took some time to cook the brahmin meat that she previously hunted and started listing the supplies that she had left.

Although, as she was approaching the Sierra Madre, her mind betrayed her and wandered on her last memories with Christine.

She was again in the bunker, reliving the moment she had regretted every single day since it happened.

Their farewell was rushed, but that didn't mean it was less painful. 

Just two days ago, the pair of young lovers were discovered kissing in the bunker's library. Now, there was no turning back. Veronica knew that Christine had a long talk with her parents and she hadn't seen her since they went to the library–until now.

They were in the bunker's entrance, surrounded by shadows that seemed to stretch and grow with every second that passed. Christine struggled to look into Veronica’s brown eyes, her hands trembling at her side.

“I can't do this anymore, Veronica. I'm tired of always hiding, of living in silence.” Christine said, her voice breaking. “This place… is not our home anymore. At least it is not mine.” 

“Chris, stay. You don't have to leave. We can convince the Brotherhood to change –for us, please, we can fix this together.” Veronica pleaded, her voice trembling as if trying to hold herself together. She had prayed this day would never come.

“You don't get it, do you?” She shook her head slightly, with tears welling in her blue eyes. “My parents, the Brotherhood—will never accept this. There's no future for people like us here.” Her words came out in a quiet sob.

“It doesn't have to be like that! We can run away together and forget that this place exists!” Veronica replied, with clear desperation in her voice.

“And where exactly would we go?” Christine’s voice cracked. “You can’t just escape this—" She paused, giving a final glance at the bunker she once called home. "—It will haunt us, no matter where we run.”

“Chris, please! You don't have to do this.” Veronica reached out, her hand almost touching Christine’s arm, but she froze when she saw the pain in her lover’s eyes.

“Good luck living in isolation in this bunker.” Christine’s voice grew colder as she stepped back, the shadows swallowing her retreat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Goodbye, Veronica.” 

The door closed and left the scribe in almost complete darkness. She had lost the only person that truly understood her because she just couldn't bring herself to leave. What a coward, she thought to herself. The others around her glanced at her with judgemental looks as she returned to her room.

Veronica wondered what would've happened if she'd had the courage to leave with Christine. Maybe they both could have had an opportunity of a better life, together. Wondering was useless, though. She had stayed with the Brotherhood for a long time, trying to convince them to change, only to realize it was a lost cause. Eventually, she left and occasionally worked with the Followers of the Apocalypse. Nonetheless, the Brotherhood was beyond salvation. She could almost hear Christine's voice in her mind saying “told you so.”

The once warm meat was cold now, but she decided to eat it regardless. Afterwards she doused the fire with water until it was completely out and decided to nap for at least some hours before continuing her quest.

When she woke up, she took all of her belongings and continued her way to the resort.

The wind picked up as she neared the base of the mountains, carrying with it a strange, metallic scent that made her stomach twist. The Sierra Madre rose in the distance, its silhouette sharp and foreboding against the horizon. It seemed to pulse with an unnatural stillness, as if the land itself held its breath. Suddenly, she heard a sound coming from her Pip-Boy radio.

“If you think of entering the Sierra Madre, don’t. There's nothing but death here waiting for you. Turn back.”

Then, the radio continued to broadcast music from the old world. Veronica thought that was strange, but she didn’t let that stop her from doing what she came to do. She knew that Christine was possibly out there, and this was the closest she's been to reuniting with her after all this time.

Veronica stopped for a moment, looking up at the imposing peaks. Her hand instinctively brushed over the holster at her side, her fingers resting on the grip of her pistol.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she murmured to herself.

The woman finally arrived at her destination. At sunset, the rose-colored skies perfectly matched the atmosphere of the imposing resort, shrouded by a thick, red fog. The entrance walls had a decaying appearance, as they were covered in spider webs and dust. Just above the door hung a sign with a message that read “Sierra Madre” with big, golden letters. The place was surrounded in an absolute, unsettling silence.

Veronica pushed the door open very lightly, ensuring her presence remained unnoticed, and pulled up her hood. She began moving cautiously through the enormous villa, until the sound of approaching footsteps froze in her place.

Just some meters ahead, a tall figure stepped into view. Its silhouette was sharp and wrong—inhuman. A dark helmet obscured its face, but its eyes burned an unnatural green, like phosphorescent glass catching fire. The instant their gazes met, it sprinted.

Veronica’s heart jumped to her throat.

She fired her energy pistol, bolts lighting up the quadrangle. One shot landed on its shoulder, another near the thigh. The figure faltered, then crashed to the ground in a tangled heap of armor and limbs.

Stillness.

She kept her pistol trained on the body. Nothing.

Then the fingers twitched.

With a mechanical whine, the thing began pushing itself off the floor. The green glow flared brighter through cracks in its helmet.

“What the hell—” she breathed, stepping back.

Her pistol clicked empty.

She cursed, switching quickly to her power fist. With a hiss and a snap, the gauntlet came to life. She charged, meeting the thing mid-rise with a full-force punch to the gut. It staggered but didn't fall.

It raised a long, serrated spear. She barely dodged the slash, feeling it whistle inches from her side. She countered with a punch to the chest, then one—harder—to the side of the helmet.

Crack.

The helmet shattered as the figure dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Veronica stood over it, panting, arms trembling.

And still, she waited.

After several heartbeats, the creature didn’t move. But the confusion lingered. Her thoughts spun.

It should have stayed down the first time. What was that thing? Why did it get back up like that?

She looked at its shattered mask—beneath it, a face, once human, now distorted and pale, veins glowing faintly with the same green light. Almost ghoul-like, but not quite.

Her stomach turned.

Veronica backed away slowly. Her legs buckled slightly as she leaned against the wall, the weight of her power fist suddenly unbearable. Her heart thudded in her chest, not just from the fight—but from unease.

“That… wasn’t normal,” she muttered, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. “What the hell are they doing in here?”

She slid down the wall into a sitting position, breathing heavy. Dust clung to her coat, sweat to her skin. Her limbs shook—not just from fatigue, but something colder, deeper.

Something was wrong with this place.

“…Six really wasn’t joking,” she murmured, eyes still fixed on the unmoving body.

Veronica continued walking, almost inaudibly, until she reached a fountain. On the top of it, there was a hologram of a woman wearing a formal dress. There weren't any enemies in the area, luckily, but the fog she saw in the entrance was way thicker there. Suddenly, she heard footsteps that came from behind the fountain. Veronica started coughing as the red fog thickened around her. She circled the hologram, trying to reach the other side of the fountain.

Suddenly, she heard someone speaking behind her. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The sound of the velvety voice was almost hypnotic, but its lack of warmth left Veronica feeling small. The pleasant sound perfectly contrasted the unsettling atmosphere of the resort.

Veronica quickly turned around, and noticed that beneath her there was someone, who seemed familiar. She was bald, and her face was carved with scars. She also had a peculiarly deep mark on her neck, that seemed fresher. The small woman was wearing a white tank top and dirty cargo pants.
There weren't footsteps on the other side anymore.

“I was looking for—“

The stranger opened her blue eyes with disbelief.

“Veronica?” She interrupted. Her expression turned startled.

“How do you know my name?” The brunette responded, perplexed.

“You don’t recognise me, do you?” The other one said, in a wistful tone. Her face softened. “It’s been a long time.” The former scribe noticed the longing on her sky-blue eyes. And suddenly, she realized that she was finally in front of the person she was looking for.

“Christine? Is it really you? You look… different.”  If it was, Veronica barely recognized her. The thought struck her in a way she hadn’t anticipated, leaving an ache she couldn’t quite explain.

“Yeah, I am.” her tone shifted, it seemed more detached now. “Why did you come here? Haven’t you heard the radio signal?” She crossed her arms and glanced at her, with furrowed brows. 

Veronica's heart raced, a mixture of relief and something darker tightening in her chest. She had replayed this moment in her head a hundred times—what she would say, how Christine would react. But now that she was finally here, words failed her. Christine wasn’t just a memory anymore; she was real, standing right in front of her. And she had changed. A cold sweat broke out across her body, betraying the nervousness she couldn’t hide.

She wanted to reach out, but the weight of past mistakes kept her paralyzed in place. Was it too late to apologize? Would Christine even want to hear it? After everything she had to endure, both physically and emotionally, she hoped that her once lover could at least not reject her. They both stood in silence as the bald woman avoided looking at the brunette.
Veronica took a step closer, but Christine took one back, her arms folded defensively across her chest. 

The blue eyed woman’s gaze softened for just a moment, but Veronica saw it—flickers of the girl she once knew, the one who had kissed her in secret corners of the bunker. She clenched her fists, the memory of their last goodbye still so raw. She had failed Christine then… could she fix it now?

“Christine–” she hesitated, “I came here to find you.”

“Oh, wait, don't tell me,” Christine said, rolling her eyes, putting one hand on her waist, “the Brotherhood sent you here.”

“Christine, I left the Brotherhood a while ago.” The brunette replied, and started coughing.

Christine’s mouth twitched into a bitter smile. “Yeah, I told you so. But hey, better late than never, right?” Her voice softened slightly, but the sarcasm was still there, like a shield against something too raw to acknowledge. “So why are you here, then? To tell me you’ve changed? To apologize for everything?” The words were sharp, but her voice wavered just enough for Veronica to hear the pain behind them.

“I just wanted to see you again.” she coughed again. “I can explain everything, but please, can we get out of here? This fog is making me struggle to speak.”

Christine replied with a bitter smirk. "You think the cloud is the problem? I had a lot more trouble speaking before, believe me." She cleared her throat, her voice rough and raw. "But sure, let's go inside. We have a lot to talk about."

Chapter Text

Christine had come to feel at home in the desolate resort. The Ghost People had grown accustomed to her presence, and within a few days, they stopped attacking her. Additionally, she had the voice of Vera Keyes, the singer that appeared in every poster of the Sierra Madre, which helped pacify the creatures. It was almost ironic how the singer's surname was pronounced in the same way as “keys”, Christine thought. After all, only her voice could unlock the vault filled with fortunes capable of deceiving the desperate.

She had chosen to stay of her own accord after completing her mission, feeling an inexplicable emptiness after fulfilling her years-long quest for vengeance. She had nowhere to go; the Brotherhood obviously wasn't an option –she despised everything that they represented– and she needed a break from drifting from place to place, hunting her next prey. The Courier Six offered Christine to come with her, but she declined the offer, feeling like her new purpose was to guard the Sierra madre from more desperate treasure hunters. The place needed a breather, and so did she.

She reclaimed the master suite and laid Vera’s skeleton to rest in the garden behind the building, finally giving her the burial she deserved. After learning what had happened to the singer and how Dean Domino had manipulated her, she felt a sense of duty to do so. Emotionally connected to the resort, she resolved to protect it with her life. As she placed the singer in her final resting place, Christine felt as though she was burying a part of herself as well. Vera's voice now lived on within her— a constant echo of the atrocities she had endured and a reminder of her new purpose.

One day, the woman found a sketchbook in one of the suites. She had loved to write, but she couldn't do that anymore due to her brain injury she had suffered, back at the Big MT. Another one of the many things Elijah took from her. So, she practiced drawing scenery from different angles of the Sierra Madre. Occasionally, she found herself sketching the figures of women, all resembling her past lover, yet as soon as she finished drawing, she would erase their faces from the paper. She couldn't bear the thought of remembering the last time she had seen the scribe’s face. That chapter of her life felt closed, and she convinced herself that, with her bright and caring personality, Veronica had probably already found someone else— someone who could make her happy in ways Christine never could.

“I promised Six that I’d let go– why am I still doing this?” She murmured, frustrated.

She tried to erase Veronica from her sketches, but she couldn’t even erase her memory from her mind. Alone, at the enormous resort, everything reminded her of the brown-eyed girl she once loved deeply. The secret, hidden corners of the building reminded her of the laughter they once shared, and the echoes of their voices in empty hallways and broom closets lingered in her ears. The warmth of their stolen moments alone together felt like a distant dream. Her memories that once brought her joy now only made her feel abandoned and powerless. They were younger and naive, but Christine couldn't be like that anymore– she had a new responsibility now, one that left no room for the girl she used to be, or for memories of her past self. Yet, the memories she tried to blur still lingered, leaving an ache that never quite faded.

The days stretched and blurred, time in the resort was no longer measured in hours, but in sensations: the cold stillness of the halls, the heaviness in her mind, the shadow of what could have been. 

The door closed behind them with a soft creak, as if the resort itself exhaled a held breath. The air inside the building was even denser, infused with the same stillness that had accompanied their reunion. Veronica followed Christine's footsteps, which led her to the stairs. The former scribe wondered why Christine hadn't chosen to take the elevator, which was closer to them. She wanted to ask, but the words never left her lips. She couldn’t bring herself to break the fragile silence between them.

As they climbed almost five floors, Veronica’s gaze stayed fixed ahead, her thoughts swirling. The heavy steps seemed to match the weight of her uncertainty. As they walked through the hallways, She heard a faint noise that slipped through the hallway like a broken whisper, a dragging sound of something that should never move silently. The echo resonated unevenly, as if the sound itself was lost within the resort. For an instant, Christine heard it too– but when Veronica turned towards the source, the sound had already faded, leaving her wondering if it was just another trick of the resort. 

Every step they took brought them closer to the master suite, the place where Christine felt most at ease and, strangely enough, where Veronica felt less overwhelmed by the haunting horrors of the Sierra Madre. They sat on the edge of Christine’s bed. Neither of them moved at first, as if waiting for the words to come on their own, but in that space heavy with memories, their voices barely dared to break the silence.

Despite being face to face, as if everything that had happened was a dream, the distance between them remained the same, perhaps even deeper now. The echoes of their last goodbye still lingered in the air, but both knew there was no turning back. Finally, Veronica broke the silence with a trembling voice, as if the words were difficult for her to say.

“Christine– what happened to you? I almost didn't recognize you. Even your voice changed,” the brown-eyed woman said, her voice quivering, strained, as if struggling to comprehend the transformation before her. She felt her heart ache at the thought of how much Christine had suffered, her face forever marked by those scars, now clearly visible under the bright lights in the room.

“I don't want to talk about that right now. You tell me, what are you doing here? Came just for a friendly visit? After all this time?” Christine turned her gaze away, her traumatic memories from the Big MT and that Auto-Doc were still fresh in her mind, too painful to relieve. She struggled to talk to Six about that before, and it wasn’t any easier now.

“I came here to find you, a friend of mine told me where you were.” Christine couldn't hide her disbelief. “I- when you left, no one knew where you'd gone. I even started to believe that you died.” She took a breath, her eyes searching her past lover’s gaze. “I just wanted to know if you were alive..."

“Alive? You knew I left. You just didn’t care.” Christine’s eyes narrowed, but there was a weariness there that spoke volumes.

"That’s not true. I—"

"You stayed." The words dropped like stone between them.

"I thought I could make a difference from the inside. That maybe I could change things.”

Christine shook her head, bitter.

“You were always too idealistic, Veronica." She furrowed her brows. "You stayed with him. After everything he did. After what he destroyed. You still followed Elijah.” Christine’s eyes flashed with something that might’ve been pain, buried under years of survival.

Veronica looked stricken. Her breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t follow him. I didn’t know what he’d become—”

Christine stepped forward, jaw clenched, fire behind her eyes. “Yes, you did.” The words cracked like a whip. “You saw it. You saw the obsession, the control, the way he used people. You just didn’t want to admit it. Not until it was too damn late.”

Veronica’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Not in anger—frustration. Shame. “I thought I could protect you.”

Christine laughed, sharp and joyless. “You couldn’t even protect yourself. And when I left—when I finally escaped—you let me go. No comms, no message, no search."

Veronica took a step forward, her voice rising with the weight of all the things she never said. “I wanted to! God, I wanted to. But I didn’t know where you were going. You were gone before I could—before I could even breathe again.”

Christine’s expression didn’t change. She just looked at her. Long. Quiet. Measuring. “You didn’t even try.” That was the knife. And it landed.

Veronica flinched. She didn’t argue. Her voice dropped to a whisper, nearly lost in the quiet hum of the resort. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

Christine turned her face slightly, as if the words stung more than she'd expected. Her jaw worked, tense. “Thinking isn’t the same as being there.”

Veronica nodded slowly. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of it all. “I know.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and frayed at the edges. The kind of silence that’s too loud, filled with everything they didn’t say when it mattered. Finally, Christine spoke, voice quieter now. Tired. “Why now?”

Veronica exhaled like she'd been holding her breath this whole time. “Because I couldn’t stop wondering if I’d lost you forever.”

Christine’s eyes softened, barely. Just a flicker—like a light behind a cracked lens. But the walls were still up. “You might have.”

The words lingered like smoke.

Veronica didn’t look away. She just stood there, open, vulnerable, herself. The version Christine remembered—the version that might still exist beneath all the time and damage. 

"Please. I just ask for a chance. We don't have to be the same people we were. We can begin again, Christine.”

The other woman’s gaze hardened, as she heard those words again, the echo of her past with the casino creeping into her mind. Her expression was unreadable. Then, she looked at her for a long moment, and something in her shoulders loosened—an inch, nothing more. Then she said it. Quiet, cautious, but real.

“I don't know about that. I'm not sure about this.”

It wasn’t cruel. Just honest.

Veronica swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away for a moment, her voice quieter. “I wouldn’t have even known where you were if it wasn’t for a friend. The Courier Six. She helped me track you down. Told me you were here.”

Christine’s expression shifted at the mention of the name. Recognition, then something like conflict behind her eyes. “Six…” She adjusted her posture and cleared her throat. “I didn’t think you’d be friends with her. We’re… different. But I owe her a lot. She helped me survive this place.” Christine murmured. Her tone wasn't grateful, not exactly—but there was weight in it. As if that debt still hung over her.

Veronica managed a small, bitter smile. “Yeah… she tends to show up right when everything’s gone to hell.”

Christine didn’t answer that. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder, toward the windows that overlooked the smothering red haze of the Sierra Madre’s Cloud. It pressed against the glass like a living thing, waiting. “You shouldn’t go back out there,” she said flatly. “The Cloud’s worse tonight.”

Veronica shrugged, more reflex than confidence. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Christine turned back to her with a look that could shatter concrete. “Don’t be an idiot.” She crossed her arms, sighing as if this decision annoyed her more than anything. “You won’t last ten minutes out there. You’re already coughing.”

Veronica blinked, surprised by the unexpected shift in tone. “I… I’ll be fine. Really-”

“Shut up.” Christine rolled her eyes and turned toward the hallway. “There’s another suite down the hall. Locked but intact.” She hesitated, then added, without looking back: “You can stay there. For now.”

Veronica stared, caught off guard by the offer. “You don’t have to do that.”

Christine glanced back with the faintest trace of a frown. “I know. But I’m not sending you into the Cloud to choke to death. I’m angry, not heartless.”

Veronica nodded slowly, something in her chest loosening. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Christine didn’t answer. She just walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the golden light of the hallway. Her footsteps echoed, distant, but not final.

Veronica lingered a few seconds longer, then turned toward the direction Christine had pointed. Her legs felt heavy, but her heart… a little less so.

She didn’t know what came next. But for now, at least, she had a place to stay.

The suite was smaller than hers, with dark blue walls and silky curtains that matched. Veronica studied the room, running her hand over the soft mattress.

She dropped her belongings on the floor and sat on the glamourous bed. She realized that her head started to hurt, and decided that it was best to sleep to recharge energies as soon as possible.

The bed wasn't confortable. Nothing in the Sierra Madre was. Still, Veronica had drifted off. The adrenaline from the day, the choking silence, the emptiness, it wore her down.  Veronica lay curled on the mattress, exhaustion finally pulling her under after the emotional storm of reuniting with Christine. But her rest didn’t last.

A metallic screech echoed from the hallway, sharp and jarring. Veronica jolted awake, her eyes wide and unfocused. Her breath caught as she spotted a figure in the doorway: a hulking, masked creature with glowing green eyes and a bloodied knife gripped in its hand.

“What the—?!” Veronica’s voice caught as she rolled from the bed, scrambling for her energy weapon on the nightstand. She barely had time to aim. But before she could fire, another voice pierced the room.

“Stop. Leave her.” Christine’s voice was calm, melodic, almost haunting. It didn’t sound like her usual tone. There was something... different about it. The creature paused, its movements halting mid-step like a marionette suddenly dropped.

The woman stood in the doorway, her eyes locked on the Ghost Person. “You don’t belong here. Go back.”

The creature stood still for a moment longer... then, without a sound, turned and vanished down the hall, its footfalls fading like whispers into silence. Veronica stood frozen, weapon still in hand, her heartbeat hammering in her chest.

“What the fuck was that?” she finally gasped.

Christine stepped inside, her face pale but composed. “They’re called Ghost People. They usually stay in the Villa. One must’ve followed you here.”

“Followed me?” Veronica repeated, her voice breathless. “Why?”

Christine crossed her arms. “You’re an intruder. At least to them.”

Veronica’s mind raced, still shaken. “But… it listened to you. It ran away like it was scared. What the hell did you do?”

There was a pause. Christine didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s not me they’re afraid of,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s her voice.”

Veronica’s brow furrowed. “Her?”

Christine touched her throat gently, as if the memory still hurt. “The one you see in all the posters. Vera Keyes. The starlet.”

Veronica blinked, trying to keep up. “Okay, wait—back up. How the hell is Vera Keyes connected to the Ghost People? And why do you have her voice?”

Christine looked down, taking a breath. “You might need to know this first to understand. When I came here… I wasn’t trying to save anyone or to gain fortunes." She paused briefly, then added, "after I left the bunker, I joined the Circle of Steel. I was sent to find Elijah. After everything he did, after Helios One, they wanted him gone. And I volunteered.”

Veronica’s expression darkened at the name. “You went after Elijah?”

Christine nodded. “He was here. Obsessed with this place, with its Vault. He wanted to use it. Not just the gold, but the technology, the traps, the systems, to control the Mojave. He didn’t care who got hurt in the process. He trapped me here.” Her eyes darkened. “He wasn’t the man you remember, Veronica. Do you see this?” She gestured to the long scar down her cheek. “He did this. He used me.”

Veronica’s breath hitched. “He… he hurt you?”

Christine nodded. “When I was tracking him, I reached the Big Empty. Everything was happening according to plan.” Her voice faltered. “But I didn’t get the chance to finish the job. I was captured.”

“Captured?” Veronica’s voice trembled. “By who?”

Christine let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Robo-scientists. Mad ones. They wanted to experiment on me, treat me like some kind of lab rat. I barely got out alive.” She paused, her voice softening with an edge of vulnerability. “But not without losing something. They messed with my brain, Veronica. I can’t read or write anymore. I can’t even leave messages for myself without forgetting what they say.” She looked down, reflecting on what happened to her.

Veronica’s throat tightened, her heart sinking at Christine’s words. “Christine, I… I don’t know what to say.” She reached out, hesitating before placing a hand on Christine’s arm. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry you went through all of that.”

Christine pulled her arm away gently, her expression unreadable. "Apologies won't change what happened. They won’t erase the scars—on my face or the ones buried deeper." Her voice was heavy, teetering between pain and a quiet resignation. Then, she added, "but the Big Empty was just the beginning."

Her voice faltered, but she forced herself to keep going. She lifted her head up, and showed the other woman her scar on her neck. It seemed more recent, compared to the others ones she had. “See this one?” She pointed at it. “I was trapped there in an Auto-Doc. I didn't know if I was going to make it. It changed my voice and It wasn’t an accident.” Her voice cracked slightly. “That machine was programmed to… replace my voice with Vera’s.” She struggled to speak as tears filled her eyes. “It was Dean Domino’s idea.” Christine clenched her fists, as if trying to remember everything that she suffered caused her even more pain.

Veronica’s stomach turned. “What? Why?”

“For greed. He wanted that damn voice because it opens the vault. I– I just wanted the pain to end. The syringes, the knives, the noises– I couldn't stand it anymore…” Christine tried to fight her tears as she felt her throat aching. "Elijah didn’t stop it. Maybe he even encouraged it." Veronica looked at her softly, as she couldn't believe how much her past lover went through.

Then, Christine continued, her tone growing heavier. “But that wasn’t the worst part. The machine was malfunctioning— it repeated the operation over and over for two weeks straight. No painkillers. No breaks. Nothing.” Veronica’s face twisted in horror as she listened. “It shredded my vocal cords. I couldn’t even scream.” Christine paused, her voice trembling slightly. “Eventually, I found another Auto-Doc. It fixed me… but not completely. Instead, it gave me the singer’s voice. The Ghost People hear it, and they... listen.” She looked at Veronica, her expression a mix of bitterness and resignation. “Your friend helped me survive that nightmare… but some things can’t be undone.”

Veronica slowly lowered her weapon, trying to process everything. She ran a hand through her hair, nervous, a knot forming in her stomach. “What they did to you… No one deserves to go through something like that.” Her voice was barely a whisper, laden with guilt and sadness. Finally, she looked up, and though her eyes were filled with pain, there was determination in her expression. “But, Christine… you’re still here. You’re still standing. That’s… incredible.”

Christine exhaled sharply, her fingers brushing the scar on her neck as if it could still hurt her. “I’m here, sure. But sometimes it feels like I’m just pieces held together by sheer will.” Her voice wavered for a moment before she steadied herself, lifting her chin slightly.

Veronica shook her head, her voice trembling. “I feel… like I let you down. I should have been there. And I… I want to help you, if you’ll let me.” 

Christine’s gaze softened, but there was still a flicker of doubt in her eyes. “Help me? Veronica, I’ve been through hell and back. You think you can just come here and fix everything?” She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“I'm not saying that it's simple.” She cleared her throat, still afraid of Christines reaction to what she was about to say. “But I couldn't be there for you before, and I want to change that. I should've left the bunker with you.” Then she added, “I'm sorry, for everything. We can try again, if you let me.”

“We’ll see,” Christine replied, her voice soft as a whisper, as her mind was filled with uncertainty and mistrust.

A long silence passed.

“Christine…” Veronica started, but didn’t know where to go with it. She looked around the suite, then back at her. “I… I don’t think I can go back out there. Not with those things roaming around.”

Christine nodded. “I figured you’d say that. Stay here. Lock the door. They won’t come back—not as long as they hear her voice nearby.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve survived here this long,” Christine said, voice tight but certain. "Trust me on this."

Veronica sat down on the edge of the bed, the adrenaline still ebbing from her body. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Christine hesitated at the door. “Don’t thank me yet.”

And then she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her, leaving Veronica alone with too many thoughts—and the faint echo of a song she didn’t recognize, drifting from the casino halls like a memory that wasn’t hers.

Chapter Text

The full moon was rising above the mountains, casting a deep crimson glow over the Sierra Madre. From the balcony of the ruined resort, Christine watched as the rays of moonlight bled into the thick, ever-present fog. The air was still, heavy with the scent of dust and decay, yet beneath it all, there was something almost peaceful about the quiet.

She exhaled slowly, resting her arms on the rusted railing. How long had it been since she let her guard down? Since she allowed someone to truly get close?

Veronica was here.

That fact alone should have terrified her. But instead, it stirred something else, something warm. Something she thought she had buried a long time ago.

Christine closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t trust that feeling. Not yet. Affection didn’t erase scars. Hope didn’t undo betrayal.

And yet...

The cold night wind brushed against her skin, and she clenched her jaw, stepping away from the edge. This wasn’t the time for nostalgic memories.

Not yet.

The red light of dawn filtered through the window, casting the room in an eerie glow. Veronica sat up in the large bed, blinking against the heavy fog outside.

She took a quick shower and changed, catching her reflection in the oval-shaped wooden mirror. Her eye bags weren’t as bad as before, but she still felt drained. Maybe she was just tired from the journey, or maybe it was something else. Something about this place felt like it was seeping into her bones.

She didn’t linger on the thought. Instead, she stepped out and went looking for Christine.

When she reached the master suite, the door was slightly open. She called out Christine’s name, but got no answer. Her gaze wandered to the walls, where a series of drawings decorated the room.

Veronica knew Christine had once loved to write—she used to write poetry for her back in the bunker. But now, after everything Elijah and Big MT had done to her, she couldn’t read or write anymore. So it made sense that she had turned to drawing instead, as a way to make sense of the silence.

Most of the sketches were of the Sierra Madre—lonely landscapes, distant mountains, crumbling buildings. But one drawing, near the window, caught her eye.

It showed a woman in a long, red A-line dress, standing against a wall of fog. Her hair was short and brown.

But the face… had been violently erased. Not crossed out—scrubbed clean, over and over, until nothing remained but angry pencil marks.

A knot formed in Veronica’s stomach. She looked away.

Downstairs, a familiar tune drifted through the silence. It was a song from years ago. One she used to play all the time, back when things were simpler—when she and Christine would dance and laugh like nothing else in the world mattered. But this wasn’t a recording. It was a voice.

When she reached the lower level, the lyrics became clear, sending a wave of nostalgia crashing through her chest.

“Maria, you gotta see her… go insane and out of your mind—”

And there she was.

Christine stood by the kitchen counter, peeling fruit, singing softly to herself. She hadn’t noticed anyone enter. Her voice was ethereal—barely louder than a whisper, but haunting all the same.

“You still sing when you think no one’s listening?” Veronica said, leaning on the doorway with a crooked smile. “Guess some things never change.”

Christine flinched and turned quickly, caught off guard. Her scarred face flushed with color as she looked away, jaw tight. “And you still listen when you’re not supposed to,” she muttered. Her voice was low—not cold, but cautious. Like someone afraid of stepping into old footprints. She didn’t smile, not fully. Just a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, quickly buried as she returned to the counter.

Veronica leaned casually on the doorframe. “Guess we both have bad habits,” she said, trying to keep the mood light.

Christine said nothing. Her grip on the knife tightened for a second—just a second—before she resumed slicing the mutfruit. The pieces were clean, precise. Like her hands knew what to do even if her mind was elsewhere.

After a moment, she cleared her throat, still not meeting Veronica’s eyes. “I’m cutting some fruit for breakfast,” she said. There was a pause—so brief it could’ve been missed—before she added, a bit awkwardly, “Do you want some?”

Veronica stepped into the room, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yes! Thank you.” She took a slice without waiting, popped it in her mouth. “Wow. This is actually good. Really good. Where’d you get it?”

Christine kept her gaze on the fruit, shoulders a little stiff. “Been growing it. In the garden. Behind the resort.”

Then, after another pause, her knife stopped mid-cut. “But…” she said slowly, frowning. “There’s something wrong. The soil’s too wet. I thought it was just the fog at first, but now I’m not sure.”

Veronica blinked, her expression sobering. “Too wet how? Like… it’s flooding?”

Christine finally looked up, eyes dark with concern. “There might be a leak. And if it spreads, it could hit the lower levels.”

Veronica wiped her hands on a napkin and stood straighter. “You want to go check it out?”

Christine nodded, the hesitation back in her features. “Yeah. Before it gets worse.”

They left the kitchen in silence, tension simmering between them like the low hum of the cloud outside. Near the back exit, Christine paused. She glanced at a dusty table tucked behind a broken vending machine and retrieved a chemical safety mask, surprise flickering across her face.

“I didn’t know this was here,” she said, brushing some grime off the lens before handing it to Veronica. “But you might want to use it. The air out there’s getting worse.”

“Thanks,” Veronica said, slipping it on and adjusting the straps. Her voice was slightly muffled now. “Let’s hope this thing still works.”

The moment they stepped outside, they were swallowed by the red mist.

It was thicker than before, curling around their legs and shoulders like smoke. Visibility dropped to nearly nothing. Veronica reached out instinctively, trying to keep sight of Christine, but within seconds, she was gone.

She spun around. The resort behind them had vanished. Even the crunch of Christine’s boots had disappeared into the silence.

“Christine!” she called, voice trembling under the mask. “Where are you?”

A hand grabbed her arm. Veronica flinched, but then she felt Christine’s fingers intertwine with hers, grounding her.

“Try sticking close. Hold my hand,” Christine murmured, voice low but firm.

Veronica gripped her hand tightly. That touch, calloused but familiar, stirred something in her. Something she’d tried not to miss.

Christine started leading Veronica carefully through the dense cloud. The thick, red mist made it nearly impossible to see more than a few steps ahead, and the eerie silence only added to the tension.

Then—snap!

A sharp metallic clank echoed through the fog, followed by a strangled gasp of pain.

Christine’s grip on Veronica’s hand slipped away as she stumbled forward. Veronica barely had time to react before she heard the sickening sound of metal closing around flesh.

"Christine?" Panic surged through her. She reached forward blindly, her heart pounding. "What happened?"

Christine let out a shuddering breath. "Bear trap," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I-I forgot to disarm this one." It was obvious she was struggling to speak, even though she tried to hide it. “Fuck. Don't worry, it-s not that bad– argh!”

Veronica cursed under her breath and crouched beside her. The fog made it hard to see, but when she reached out, her fingers brushed against cold metal—and something warm, wet. Blood. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Christine again. Adrenaline surged through her as she scanned her surroundings, searching for something to pry the trap open.

Nearby, she noticed a rusted wrench lying on the ground. She wedged it between the trap’s jaws and pushed with all her strength, as Christine screamed in pain. Thanks to her efforts, the trap opened and Christine took her leg out carefully.

“Chris, are you okay?” Veronica asked anxiously.

“Yeah, it's not that bad. Another scar to add to the list. Let’s go, we need to reach the garden,” she offered her hand. “Come on, g-grab my hand.” Christine said quickly, trying to suppress her pain. 

“You don't seem okay. We should get back inside.” Veronica admitted, preoccupied.

“Veronica, I'm fine. Let's go, please.” Christine was determined to fix the problem, and a stupid bear trap wasn't going to stop her.

“Oh, sure, because walking with a bleeding leg sounds like a brilliant idea.” she said, ironically. But Christine didn't listen, and continued trudging.

After walking for a few more minutes, they reached the garden, which now looked more like a swamp. Christine followed the sound of water to an exposed pipe emerging from the ground and connecting to the resort’s wall. A steady stream leaked from a crack in the rusted metal, forming puddles in the already soaked earth.

“There’s the problem,” she muttered, stepping closer carefully.

Veronica frowned behind the mask. “Great. Any idea how to stop it?”

Christine ran her fingers along the edge of the crack and clicked her tongue. “If we find the main valve, we could shut the water off… but who the hell knows where it is?”

Veronica glanced around, trying to spot anything useful through the red mist and debris. “What if we plug the crack with something in the meantime?”

Christine nodded slowly, considering the idea. “It could work, but we’ll need something sturdy.”

Then, Veronica saw some steps away a corpse lying on the ground. Maybe they could use its hazmat suit to contain the water, and meanwhile they could search for the main valve.

“See that?” Veronica pointed at the distance.

“Yeah. Good idea.” Christine replied, slightly smiling.

“Don't move from here, I'll get it.” The brunette ordered as her figure disappeared into the red fog.

Veronica stopped in her tracks when she saw it.

The body was slumped against the wall, twisted at an unnatural angle, still wearing its protective suit. The mask concealed the face, but the worn fabric and the stiffness of the remains said enough: he had been here a long time.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. She had seen corpses before—too many in her life—but something about this one unsettled her. Maybe it was the fact that, not too long ago, this guy had been in the same situation as she was: trapped here, struggling to survive. And in the end, the Sierra Madre had claimed him like so many others.

She looked away and took a deep breath. She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Christine was still out there, the leak was getting worse, and if she didn’t do something now, they wouldn’t have much time left.

Her gaze returned to the suit. It wasn’t the most elegant solution, but if it worked, it could at least hold back the leak long enough.

Still, she hesitated. Not out of disgust or fear, but because using it meant admitting something she didn’t want to think about too much: that this man had never found a way out. That maybe she and Christine wouldn’t either.

But she wasn’t giving up. Not here. She crouched down carefully and started removing the suit from the body, and took it to the garden. Then, both women tried to tie it around the pipe to contain the water, at least for now.

But the water pressure was too strong for the fabric, and the water started coming again.

“Fuck. What now?” Veronica cursed, disappointed.

“Now we need to get to the main valve before this gets worse,” Christine stated.

Both women carefully walked through the cloud, until they reached the main door again, and entered the building. 

Veronica took off her mask and still worried about Christine's wound, she asked, “Chris, are you sure you want to fix this now? Your leg is not looking better.” Then, she added, “maybe I can help you with it.”

“Veronica, we need to fix this now, or else, the water will get here too. There's no time for my leg right now.” 

The brunette let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. But we need to treat it when we finish with this.”

Christine didn’t answer, just gave a short nod and looked at the walls of the resort. Then, she remembered. There was a basement that she hardly ever visited. The main valve could be there, she figured. Veronica studied her impression, trying to understand what Christine had in her mind.

“The basement,” she said quietly. “There’s one under the east wing. I haven’t been there in a long time. It might be where the main valve is.” she proposed.

Veronica followed Christine's steps, as they went down what seemed to be a million stairs. Then, the question popped into her mind again: ‘Why didn’t she take the elevator?”

“Christine, why are we going by stairs when the elevator was just there?”

Christine wasn't expecting that question, but it made sense, considering she omitted telling her the part where she developed claustrophobia back in that Auto-Doc.

“When I was in that Auto-Doc, I ended up developing a fear of tight spaces,” she admitted, struggling to speak. “I can't get in the elevator.”

Veronica understood perfectly, no more words needed. “Got it. Thanks for telling me.” 

When the women reached the basement, they heard a screeching sound. Something wasn't right there. Christine opened the door cautiously, and then she realized the whole room was falling apart. The walls were breaking, as water was emerging, everywhere.

Veronica was now out of control. “Oh, no, no, no, no–”

“Quick! We need to find the main valve now!”

Both women ran as the water started reaching their knees. Suddenly, Veronica saw it. The main valve was just some meters away from her. She rushed to get it and started turning the valve, closing it. Christine then hurried to help her, and with a lot of strength from both of them, they successfully closed the valve.

“Well. So much for a hot shower. And I was really hoping to have one.” Veronica joked, as a soft grin formed in her freckled face.

Christine let out a sharp breath, half a laugh. Even now, Veronica could make her smile and, just for a minute, forget the sharp pain in her leg.

They went upstairs again, more tired than before. Now Christine was limping as the pain was worse, and her skin turned paler. 

“Let's get you to your room.” Veronica said, alarmed.

Christine’s vision blurred, the edges of the stairs fading into soft waves of light and shadow. She tried to stand up, but her body felt like lead: heavy, uncooperative. Her leg throbbed, the pain now a sharp, unrelenting reminder of her carelessness. It felt like the wound was bleeding more than it should, seeping into her consciousness, drowning out everything else.

Her head spun, the room tilting as if the walls themselves were leaning in, suffocating her. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the pressure behind them only grew.

Not now, she thought, her pulse racing. I can’t afford to lose control. Not when there’s still so much to do…

But her body didn’t listen. Her thoughts became sluggish, like trying to push through thick mud. A part of her was angry, angry at herself for letting things go so far—letting herself become weak, letting her guard slip with Veronica. She should have been smarter, more careful. Every mistake, every little failure, just piled on top of her, each one heavier than the last.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, decorated with a shiny chandelier. Then she felt her leg ache, and let out a pained groan.

“Hey, don't worry. You're safe now.”

Christine couldn't understand what was happening around her, feeling fuzzy. Her vision was clearing out, though. But then, she felt Veronica’s hand on her wounded leg and the anger faded, replaced by something warmer. Something she hadn’t felt in so long.

Veronica’s here. I don’t want her to worry...

She tried to push the thought away, but it lingered, making her chest tighten. She had spent so long convincing herself that she was fine—that she didn’t need anyone. She had buried so many feelings, afraid of what would happen if she let them out. Let someone else in.

But now…

She wanted to say something, to reassure Veronica, but her throat felt tight, like the words were stuck in her chest. Instead, she could only manage a weak gaze.

It was strange. Part of her still felt guilty, guilty for the way things had gone, for the pain she’d caused herself, and Veronica too. But another part of her, a part she didn’t quite recognize, felt... relieved. Relieved to know that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to carry the weight of everything alone anymore.

Her eyes fluttered closed again, and the world around her faded. Please let me be okay, she thought, her hand reaching out, instinctively searching for Veronica’s. She tried to sit up and glanced at her, who was curing her wounded leg. For how long she passed out? She thought, disoriented.

“Veronica. I’m sorry,” she managed to articulate.

“For what? You got stuck in a bear trap, and now I'm helping you. What's the matter? Veronica replied, confused.

“I forgot about that trap. I got hurt, then passed out. None of this would have happened if I had just remembered to disarm it.”

“Nah, Chris, don't worry about it. It doesn't bother me. A friend of mine, Arcade, taught me how to do this. You'll be fine.”

As she sat back up on her bed, she studied the room, and she noticed that the brunette was treating her with alcohol, bandages, and some medical gauze. “Wait, where did you find that? I didn't have all that medical stuff here.”

“I found it in the infirmary, in the villa.” Veronica responded, proudly.

“YOU WENT TO THE VILLA? Are you crazy? That place is filled with ghost people and traps, Veronica. You could've died there,” she felt something strange in her chest when she thought about what could've happened.

Veronica didn’t flinch. “And you would've died if i didn't find anything to treat your wound.” Then, she added, as she bandaged her leg, “I was worried about you, Christine. The injury was deep. You’ve already suffered more than you should have.” She hesitated. “I–I didn't want to lose you again.”

Christine’s heart skipped a beat at Veronica’s words, and for a moment, she couldn’t find her voice. The weight of Veronica’s care, her vulnerability, and the depth of her feelings all hit her at once. She shifted uncomfortably, looking away for a moment, trying to process everything.

"I... I didn’t think you cared that much," Christine whispered, her voice shaky. She could feel the sting of the wound on her leg, but it wasn’t as sharp as the emotion that Veronica’s confession stirred inside her.

“I do.”

Christine lowered her gaze, lips pressed tight. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to worry about me. I’ve always been used to handling things on my own." Veronica listened as she stood treating the injury. Then, the warden added, "I don’t know how I did it," The taller woman looked fondly at her light-blue eyes, "but I convinced myself that I was letting you go, that it was better for you to go your own way... without me. I thought if I stayed away, if I left you in peace, maybe you could... find something better."

Veronica, still unable to fully believe it, felt a pang in her chest at those words. "What are you saying? That you thought I’d be better off without you?" she responded, her voice filled with disbelief.

Christine gave a sad, almost bitter smile. "Yes. It was easier to think I was doing it for you. But deep down... I was lying to myself. I lied so much I started to believe it. And now, after all this time, all I want is to be near you." As she said those words, she tried to get up, and moved closer to the woman ahead of her, who took a step back, caught off guard. The yellow, dim light of her lamp on her nightstand reflected on both their faces.

Veronica couldn’t hide the confusion she felt, but at the same time, a wave of emotion washed over her. "Why? Why now?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Christine clenched her fists, her gaze fixed on Veronica. "Because I realized something, Veronica. I can't keep running from the past. From this. From you. I thought I was protecting myself, but I was so, so wrong." And then, she stepped foward and hugged her.

Veronica froze for a second as Christine’s arms wrapped around her. The warmth, the familiarity. It was overwhelming. She had imagined this moment so many times, in so many different ways, but now that it was real, she didn’t know how to react.

Her hands hovered uncertainly before she finally returned the embrace, hesitantly at first, then tighter, as if afraid Christine would slip away again. But even as she held her, the weight of the past settled heavily on her chest. Christine’s words echoed in her mind: I thought you’d be better off without me. Veronica wasn’t sure what hurt more: the fact that Christine had believed that, or the fact that she had left because of it.

Slowly, Veronica loosened her hold, pulling back just enough to look at her. Christine didn’t resist, but she didn’t let go completely either. Her hands lingered lightly on Veronica’s arms, as if unsure whether she was allowed to hold on.

Veronica searched Christine’s face, trying to make sense of everything: of the pain still lingering between them, of the relief she felt knowing Christine was here, of the quiet fear in Christine’s eyes. And beneath all of it, something else. A hope she hadn’t dared to let herself feel before.

After a moment, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“…I'm really glad you’re here,” she admitted softly.

Christine’s grip on her arms tightened for a brief second before she nodded. “So am I.”

They stood there, no more words needed.

And though nothing was fully resolved—not the past, not the pain—something had shifted between them. For the first time in years, the distance between them didn’t feel so impossible to cross.

Chapter Text

The days passed in quiet routine. Veronica and Christine fell into an unspoken rhythm—fixing what could be fixed, cleaning what was worth cleaning, ignoring the cracks that ran too deep.

Christine moved through the halls with the same silent purpose she always had, checking the security systems, testing the old speakers. But even she couldn’t pretend not to notice how the static grew louder each day, how the screens flickered just a little longer before turning on.

Veronica, for her part, busied herself with repairs—tightening loose panels, forcing rusted doors back into place. She wasn’t an engineer, but she knew enough to keep things running. Still, no matter how many screws she tightened or circuits she patched, the place felt like it was slowly unraveling. She also started having constant headaches, and her body weakened the longer she stayed at the Sierra Madre. Christine noticed, and always insisted on doing the tough work herself, as the pain in her left leg was now bearable.

They spoke more, though never about the past—about repairs, about the strange quirks of the Sierra Madre, about which sections of the casino were too unstable to bother with.

At first, it was just that. Functional. Safe. But little by little, the silences between them changed. They weren’t so heavy, not so full of things left unsaid.

Christine didn’t flinch as much when Veronica spoke too suddenly. Veronica didn’t feel the need to fill every gap with words. 

There were small moments—fleeting, but undeniable. Christine would set a meal aside for Veronica without a word, and Veronica would find herself smiling at the gesture, warmth lingering in her chest longer than it should. Veronica, exhausted after wrestling with rusted pipes, let herself lean against Christine’s shoulder without thinking. Christine didn’t pull away. She didn’t move at all. 

Some nights, they worked in comfortable silence, Christine focused on security panels while Veronica tinkered with salvaged electronics. Other nights, Veronica would talk, rambling about old world tech, the Followers, places she wanted to see—filling the quiet in a way that felt natural.

And Christine listened. Really listened.

And then, there were the times their hands brushed––just for a second––and neither of them pulled away as quickly as they should have. The way Veronica caught herself watching Christine from across the room, tracing the sharp lines of her face in the dim casino lights. The way Christine lingered just a little too long when their eyes met.

It wasn’t like before, not exactly. The years between them still lingered, but so did something else. Something unspoken. Like maybe, just maybe, the distance between them wasn’t as vast as it once seemed. And maybe, neither of them wanted it to be.

As the days passed, their repairs became less effective. Whatever Veronica fixed would break again soon after. Doors started getting stuck, dust drifted down from the ceiling as they walked, and lights flickered out without warning.

One evening, while they were cleaning the lounge, Veronica noticed a crack in the wall that hadn’t been there the day before.

“It’s almost like this place doesn’t want to be fixed, huh?” she joked.

Christine didn’t respond. She stood nearby, staring at the crack in the wall.

Later that night, they worked together to fix yet another leaking pipe in the master suite. Exhausted, Veronica finally broke the silence.

“No matter how much we try, this place is falling apart. And we’re still inside it,” she muttered.

Christine glanced at her, then back at the pipe she was repairing. “At least my leg’s better. Not everything is bad.”

Then, a sudden noise from Veronica’s suite caught their attention. They rushed inside, only to find that part of the ceiling near the chandelier had collapsed. Both women exchanged frustrated looks. Veronica grabbed her things, shaking dust and debris off her belongings—her bed was now completely covered.

“What now?” she asked.

Christine hesitated, weighing their options. Most of the other suites were either blocked off by fallen debris or filled with the toxic cloud, making them unsafe.

“I guess you can stay in my suite for now,” she offered, unsure if it was too much.

“I don’t care, as long as the ceiling doesn’t fall in there too.”

As if on cue, a deep, groaning sound echoed through the walls. Dust rained from the ceiling, and before either of them could react, a violent crack split the air. The floor beneath them trembled.

Christine grabbed Veronica’s arm instinctively. “We need to move. Now.”

A second later, another loud crack —this time, from above. The chandelier that once hung in Veronica’s suite twisted loose, tilting dangerously before crashing down with a deafening noise, sending shattered glass and debris across the room.

The Sierra Madre wasn’t just deteriorating anymore. It was collapsing.

They ran through the shadowy hallway, but suddenly, Veronica’s grip on Christine's hand loosened. Behind her, the hallway's ceiling fell off again. Christine turned around and panicked, as she shouted the other woman's name. Her pulse was racing. 

“Veronica! Are you okay?”

She felt relief when she heard Veronica's voice through the pile of rubble. “I–I think so. Define ‘okay’.”

Christine rushed to help her, her heart still pounding in her chest as she caught sight of Veronica. The dust from the fallen ceiling hung in the air, swirling around them like a fog. She couldn't tell if Veronica was hurt or just shaken.

"Don't scare me like that," Christine said, her voice sharper than she intended, a mix of anger and relief. She took a step toward Veronica, her hands trembling slightly as she reached out to touch her arm.

Veronica met her gaze, eyes wide but with a wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "If you didn't notice, we're in the middle of a collapsing building. 'Okay' is relative."

Christine’s chest tightened as she looked at Veronica's unscathed form, the tension between them still palpable despite the danger. She wanted to yell, to scold Veronica for putting herself in harm's way, but instead, she just stood there, unable to find the words.

"So, you're asking me to choose between saving you and saving the whole place?" Christine forced out, the weight of all their unspoken feelings crashing down on her.

Veronica’s smile faded, replaced by a look of hesitation. "We don’t have to do anything. Just... let’s get out of here."

But Christine could tell. She could see the way Veronica’s eyes were avoiding hers, the way she was holding back, and suddenly the fear of losing her again came rushing back.

"Yeah, right," Christine muttered, turning to face the path ahead, but not before her gaze lingered on Veronica a second longer than she intended.

Christine, her heart still racing, couldn’t stop looking at Veronica, searching for any sign that she was okay. The sound of debris falling behind them echoed in her ears, but all she could hear was the roar of the wind and the pounding of her own heart.

Veronica seemed fine, despite the scare. With a small grimace, she shook her head and stood up, brushing the dust off her clothes. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily,” Veronica said with a slight grin, though her voice still carried the adrenaline from the fall.

Christine exhaled, relieved, but at the same time, something heavier settled in her chest. The gravity of the situation couldn’t be ignored. “We need to keep moving,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “We can’t afford to waste time.”

Veronica nodded, her expression more serious now. “Right, let’s go.”

But as they moved through the dark hallway, with every step, a strange feeling crept over Christine. There was something in the air, something she couldn’t identify, but it put her on edge.

“Do you hear that?” Christine whispered, stopping and looking around. The faint sound of something scraping against metal reached her ears, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Veronica stopped too, frowning. “I hear it. Something’s wrong.”

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the building, and the ground beneath their feet trembled. A clattering of broken cables and the structure of the building creaking filled the air. Without warning, the lights flickered and then went out completely. 

Christine and Veronica were left in total darkness.

“Stay close,” Veronica’s voice was steady, but Christine could hear the tension beneath it. She grabbed Christine’s arm, feeling the coolness of her skin under her fingers. In that moment, the weight of everything that had happened —and everything that could happen— pressed down on them both.

They went down the stairs as the building collapsed behind them. Then, they found a safe place in the kitchen. Both of them entered quickly and Christine shut the door, relieved. They shared a preoccupied look at each other.

Veronica sighed. “This place isn't safe for us, Chris.” She stared at the creaks in the wall and touched them slightly. “I don't know about you, but I can't stay here anymore. We should leave.” 

Christine's expression shifted. She didn't respond right away. Instead, she reflected. This place was connected to her and represented a refuge from everything –and everyone– from her past that tried to haunt her. She couldn't just go, and leave everything behind. She couldn't do that before. Her suite. Vera’s tomb. She was tied to this place, even if it carried the weight of lifelong trauma, the echoes of her quest for revenge. But there she also created caring memories with Veronica by her side. When they cooked together and joked about music. When they stayed awake at night, talking about the future, she looked deeply into Veronica's eyes, filled with hope. When they held hands as they walked through the fog. Christine remembered that very well. So she couldn't let go of the Sierra Madre that easily.

“I–I don't know about that. Veronica, this place protected me from everything. I was tired from moving from place to place.” Then, she added, “and when I found out about what happened to Vera, I just couldn't go back to the Wasteland. I needed to give her the justice she deserved.” Veronica looked at her, studying her expression. “This place kept me safe from everything out there, and even if it's in shambles, it's still a home to me.”

Veronica, unsatisfied with Christine's response, replied, "You say this place protected you, but... from what?” Christine glanced at her. “From the Wasteland, or from yourself?"

Christine let out a dry, tired laugh. “Wow, how deep. Did they train you to say things like that in the Brotherhood?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You don’t need training to notice when someone is lying to themselves.”

The comment hit Christine harder than she wanted to admit, though she didn't show it. Instead, she shook her head and turned away, focused on rummaging through a nearby cabinet as if it were the most important thing in the world.

“It’s not that simple, Veronica.” Her voice came out harsher than she intended, but she didn’t bother softening it. “Not everyone can just move on.”

Veronica watched her in silence for a moment, as if debating whether to push or let it go. In the end, she sighed. “No, they can’t.” She paused before she added, softer, “But they can’t stay stuck forever either.”

Christine pressed her lips together. She doesn’t respond. Not because she has nothing to say, but because the only answer she can think of hurts too much. Then, clenches her jaw, her grip tightening on the edge of the cabinet. “And what if I don’t want to move on?” Her voice was sharp now, defensive. “What if this place is all I have left?”

Veronica’s expression hardened. “Then you’re lying to yourself even more than I thought.”

Christine spun around, glaring at her. “You don’t get it. You never did.”

Veronica didn’t flinch. “No, Christine. I do get it. I know what it’s like to hold on to something because it feels safer than letting go. But at some point, you have to ask yourself—are you holding onto it because it means something, or because you’re afraid of what happens if you don’t?”

Christine exhaled sharply, her frustration curling into something raw. “You make it sound so easy.”

Veronica shook her head. “It’s not. It never is. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Christine looked away as her shoulders tensed. The fight drained out her, leaving only exhaustion.

After a moment, Veronica sighed. “Look, I’m not telling you to forget or pretend this place didn’t matter. I’m just saying… maybe it’s time to stop letting it hold you prisoner.”

Christine pressed her lips together, a protest forming in her mind before she could speak it aloud. It’s not that bad. The resort has always been like this. It’s survived worse. But even as she tried to convince herself, the weight of her injured leg pulled at her. A dull, persistent ache pulsed from the wound, each throb reminding her that she wasn’t invincible, that this place had already hurt her.

She glanced at Veronica, who was trying—and failing—not to look exhausted. The cloud had drained her, the rough air taking its toll. Even now, she looked pale, her breaths coming slower, as if each one cost her more than the last.

Christine swallowed.

This place protected me. But it had also worn her down. It had left her scarred, just like Veronica now—fading, struggling.

A sharp pain shot through her leg as she shifted her weight, and she sucked in a quiet breath. Damn it. Her body was betraying her just as much as the casino around them, as if both were finally admitting the truth she wasn’t ready to say out loud.

She looked down, staring at the cracked tiles beneath her feet. This place isn't safe anymore. She could feel it now, in every aching step, in every labored breath from Veronica. The walls around them, once imposing and unbreakable, now groaned under their own weight.

Finally, her voice comes out quieter. “I don’t know… I just—I can’t imagine leaving. But… maybe you have a point.”

Veronica offers a small, almost hesitant smile. “Then let’s take it one step at a time. First step? Getting through tonight in one piece."

Christines expression was still numb, reflecting.

“Come on,” Veronica’s tone softened, “We’ll figure it out together. But right now, let's focus on something else. Let’s find what we can make to eat from what we’ve got.”

Christine blinked, the idea of preparing a meal pulling her from her darker thoughts. There was something reassuring about the simplicity of it—finding what they could in the kitchen, creating something from the wreckage of the resort. The very act of having control over even this small thing, in a world that felt increasingly unpredictable, felt grounding. She gave a small nod. “Yeah, let’s see what we can work with.”

As they moved through the kitchen, the weight of the conversation still lingered in the air, but it was replaced by the rustle of cabinets opening, the sound of items being moved around as they searched for anything edible. The moment shifted as they dug through what was available, Christine’s focus slowly redirecting from the overwhelming uncertainty of the future to the quiet task at hand.

Veronica found two cans of Salisbury meat and some Instamash in a cupboard, and Christine found some red and white wine, though she couldn't read the label. She thought about its taste after two thousand years, but figured that it was better than nothing.

They placed everything they'd gathered on the counter. Then, Veronica remembered she had seen a recipe with these ingredients in a cookbook from the old world.

“This is perfect. We could make beef in red wine sauce with mashed potatoes. Trust me, i've read it in a cookbook from before the War.”

“Now you're a chef, huh?" Christine teased. “Okay, you tell me, how do we do this?

Veronica started telling Christine what she remembered of the recipe. They found two pots, one for the meat and the other for the mashed potatoes.

As they worked side by side, the air shifted. The heavy conversation faded into the background as the sound of the stove warming the cool air of the kitchen, stirring the pot, and the occasional clink of silverware filled the space. The tension in Christine’s chest slowly loosened, replaced by the rhythm of their hands moving together in the familiar choreography of cooking.

The scent of roasted beef mingled with the earthy aroma of mashed potatoes. The air was thick with the warmth of the kitchen, a stark contrast to the cold outside world. Veronica felt the comforting weight of the wine glass in her hand, the coolness of the glass against her skin, the slight metallic tang of the wine as she took a sip.

As Christine stirred the mashed potatoes, she cast a doubtful glance at Veronica. "Are you sure this is going well?" she asked, her tone skeptical. "Because your track record in the kitchen isn’t exactly inspiring confidence."

Veronica scoffed, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. "Hey! I can cook."

Christine arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Like that time you tried making ‘stew’ in the bunker and ended up melting the pot?"

Veronica averted her gaze, muttering under her breath. "The recipe said high heat."

Christine shook her head, lips twitching. "And you ended up with a blackened lump fused to the metal that not even a Paladin could scrape off."

Veronica huffed, crossing her arms. "Well, at least this isn’t a bunker. Nothing can go wrong here."

The words had barely left her mouth when the pan on the stove let out a violent sizzle, a loud pop echoing through the kitchen. Both of them froze, staring at it in silence.

Christine sighed, shaking her head. "…You ruined it."

Veronica straightened up, grabbing a spoon with newfound determination. "We’re not dead yet. Let me try."

As they laughed, they forgot about everything that was happening outside. The cloud was spreading through the casino, now in shambles. But it wasn't in the kitchen yet . 

When they finished preparing their meal, the pair sat on the dusty floor, leaning on the wall and started eating with a glass of wine ahead of them.

“I told you. It isn't that bad, Chris.” She looked at her plate, proudly. “The mashed potatoes are actually pretty good!”

“That's because it was my part. But the beef is not that bad, yeah.” Christine remarked.

“I promise, for you, I will be the best chef in the Mojave. Just wait until we get out of here.” She joked.

Christine's mind raced as she stared at the dimly lit kitchen. Everything had changed so much, and she couldn't help but wonder... once they left this place, would it all still feel the same? Would they still be the same? She wasn’t sure, but one thing was certain—things were about to get a lot more complicated. 

Christine nervously traced her finger along the rim of the wine glass, as if the delicate edge might offer her some kind of answer. Veronica noticed the shift and leaned in closer. “What’s on your mind?” she asked softly, knowing that Christine was holding something back.

“Veronica,” she said as she took a sip of wine, “I'm not really sure what's scarier– the Wasteland or… what comes after.” She hesitated. “What happens when we leave this place? When everything goes back to how it was before... when we’re out there, fighting for survival again?”

The former scribe didn't stop to think about that. But she wasn't frightened. She was determined to get out of there. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there,” Veronica said, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe it’s about time we stop pretending the world won’t change everything.”

Christine was silent for a long moment, her gaze flicking to the darkened hallway. “I’m afraid we might change too... or worse, we might drift apart.” she sighed.

As always, Christine struggled to speak about her insecurities and feelings, and Veronica knew that, so she held her hand and glanced –for longer than she expected– at her blue eyes.

The brunette took a deep breath before squeezing Christine's hand. “Chris, after everything we've been through, after this place… we are not drifting apart.” she reassured, her voice warm and steady. But then, a sudden cough interrupted her.

They ate in silence for a while, the sound of the spoons clinking softly against the plates, until Christine felt a tightness in her chest. At first, she tried to brush it off, but then it became unbearable. “Veronica… do you feel that? Like it’s getting harder to breathe?” There was an edge of panic in her voice now, despite her attempt to sound calm.

Veronica's eyes immediately sharpened as she scanned the room, her instincts kicking in. In an instant, both women realized the gravity of the situation. The cloud was almost upon them. “It’s spreading faster than I thought… We need to leave, now.”

Without another word, they both stood up, abandoning their unfinished plates on the floor. They quickly grabbed their belongings. Veronica’s bag was with her, but Christine’s only possession was her holorifle, which she had managed to grab before her suite had crumbled. Veronica quickly stuffed some supplies into her bag, but time was running out. The air grew denser, suffocating, and the space around them was tinted bright red now.

For a moment, neither of them spoke as the reality of their situation hit. The urgency of surviving the resort had consumed them both, and in the chaos, they'd missed the one thing they’d needed the most. The gas mask, the one item that would have spared them now, had been forgotten—left behind in the rush, in the frantic search for safety. Christine cursed under her breath, her heart racing. How could we have missed that? 

Veronica zipped her bag hastily, her fingers fumbling. The red haze was thickening, and each breath felt heavier, sharper, as if the very air was clawing at her lungs. She looked at Christine, panic creeping into her chest.

"We can't stay here much longer," Christine said, her voice tense, but low.

Veronica nodded, her gaze flicking around the kitchen, looking for something, anything. "We need to get to the exit, now. We'll figure out the rest once we're out of here."

Christine clenched her fists, trying to fight back the fear gnawing at her. She had faced countless dangers, but this... this was different. The resort had been both a home and a prison, but the wasteland outside—now, that was truly unforgiving. "I thought... I thought we had more time. The cloud was slow. I thought we could at least..." Her voice faltered, and she shook her head.

Veronica didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t need to. She understood all too well the weight of the moment. This place had once felt like a strange refuge, a brief reprieve from the endless chaos of the wasteland. Now, it was a trap, and leaving it felt like an unwelcome plunge back into the world they’d fought so hard to escape.

"We need to keep moving," Christine said, her voice firm despite the tightness in her chest. She gave Veronica one last glance. "Stick close. Don’t let go."

Veronica nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. There was no time to think about what they were leaving behind or what might await them outside. All that mattered was surviving. For a few moments, they just stood there, silently bracing themselves. And then, without a word, they turned and headed toward the door, the sound of their footsteps muted by the thickening air. They hurried out of the kitchen, the shadows of the falling walls surrounding them. The hallway that had once seemed endless now felt like a dangerous maze. 

The hallway stretched endlessly before them as they hurried down it, the thick, red cloud creeping behind them. The temperature felt as though it was rising by the second, and the suffocating air made each step feel like a struggle. But the real danger lay ahead—at the villa. There, the Ghost People waited, lurking in the shadows, and the traps that had once been set to keep intruders out were now a deadly challenge for anyone trying to escape.

Christine’s heart pounded in her chest. The terror of the cloud creeping closer was one thing, but the thought of having to face the Ghost People again, after everything they had gone through, was enough to make her stomach churn. “We can’t waste time,” she muttered. “They’ll be right on our heels.”

Veronica nodded, but Christine could hear the raggedness in her breath. The brunette’s chest heaved with each inhalation, her steps slower than usual. She stumbled slightly, coughing, as she tried to regain her breath.

“You okay?” Christine asked, glancing at her, concern creeping into her voice.

Veronica forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Just... just a little out of breath. I’m fine.”

Christine didn’t believe her, but there was no time to argue. They had to keep moving. “Stay close,” she said, her voice sharp with urgency.

As they neared the villa, the sound of distant, hollow voices echoed from the rooms ahead. Ghost People. Christine’s stomach dropped at the thought.

"We can’t waste time," Christine whispered, her hand tightening around her holorifle. "They’ll catch us."

Veronica nodded, but her breath was coming in shallow gasps now, her movements slower. She pressed her hand to her chest as she struggled to breathe, the air feeling thick and oppressive. Christine kept an eye on her, trying not to show how worried she was. They had to get out—together.

They crept through the villa, trying to stay hidden in the shadows. The ghostly figures of the dead wandered the halls, their vacant eyes scanning the rooms, their slow movements almost mechanical. Christine’s heart raced, and every part of her screamed for them to move faster.

“Stay low,” Veronica muttered, her voice strained. She coughed again, more violently this time, clutching the side of a wall for support.

“Veronica!” Christine hissed, turning to face her, panic rising in her chest.

“I’m fine,” Veronica wheezed, forcing herself to stand straight, her hand still clutching her chest. She tried to take a deep breath, but it came out jagged, uneven. “We need to get out. We’re almost there.”

Christine knew they didn’t have time to stop, but she also knew Veronica wasn’t okay. Still, she nodded and helped guide her through the villa.

As they ran, Christine spotted a hidden bear trap. She froze, her heart skipping a beat. “Don’t step there!” she warned, pulling Veronica back just in time. Any misstep would’ve been fatal.

Veronica staggered slightly, a quiet groan escaping her lips as she tried to catch her breath. “I can’t—” She stopped, forcing herself to take a deep, shaky breath. “We have to keep going. Please.”

Christine didn’t need any further prompting. “Come on, we’re almost there,” she urged, her own voice shaky with fear.

They neared the giant entrance door, Veronica fell into the hard cement, only to freeze as a soft click echoed in the silence. A Ghost Person had spotted them.

"Go!" Veronica gasped, her voice cracking, and without waiting, Christine bolted forward. They ran through the courtyard, the cold desert wind hitting their faces like a slap. Christine looked to Veronica, who got up and was struggling to reach her, each step labored.

“Veronica, come on!” Christine shouted, but Veronica's breathing was growing more erratic, more shallow. The air seemed to be choking her.

“I’m… I’m right behind you,” Veronica managed, her voice barely audible as she coughed again, her hands clutching her sides.

Christine pushed her legs harder, her heart pounding in her ears, until they reached the edge of the villa and burst into the open desert air. It was cold—starkly so, in contrast to the suffocating heat inside—but at least it was fresh. Veronica stopped a few steps outside, her chest heaving, her breaths ragged and painful.

Christine took one last, lingering look at the villa. The massive structure loomed in the distance, its dark silhouette standing against the red sky, now tainted with the ghostly remnants of the cloud. The moon hung high above, casting an eerie light over the wasteland, the desert stretching out into the horizon, a vast, empty expanse. She could feel the weight of everything they had left behind—the danger, the memories, the fleeting sense of safety that the Sierra Madre had once offered.

But she knew that wasn’t home anymore. The air here was still deadly, the place still haunted by the past. And now, they were free.

With a final, almost imperceptible shake of her head, Christine turned her back to the villa and focused on Veronica. She was still struggling to breathe, but Christine couldn’t afford to show fear, not now.

"Come on, Veronica. Let’s get you somewhere safe."

Veronica nodded weakly, though her eyes were still glassy from the exertion. She took a step forward, leaning on Christine for support. "I’ll make it," she muttered, though the words didn’t sound as confident as they used to.

Christine helped her forward, the desert winds biting at their faces, but the air, at least, was breathable. The silent expanse stretched before them—vast, endless, and unknown. It was a relief, a chance at a future, but also a reminder of just how much they had to face in the wasteland ahead.

One thing was clear, though. Whatever came next, they would face it together.

Chapter Text

The world fell eerily still. After the chaos of their escape, the silence of the Wasteland pressed against Christine's ears like a physical weight. She leaned back against the crumbling stone wall of their makeshift shelter, shivering as the night's cold seeped through her clothes. Beside her, Veronica's uneven breathing was the only sound that mattered. She was alive, they both were.

The shelter was little more than the remains of an old roadside structure, its walls crumbling and roof half-collapsed, but it was enough to keep them hidden from prying eyes. Jagged pieces of concrete jutted out where the walls had caved in, and rusted metal beams stretched overhead, framing the night sky like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Sand had gathered in uneven piles against the corners, carried in by the desert wind, and the faint scent of scorched wood clung to the air—remnants of some long-forgotten fire.

There was a broken counter in one corner, its surface covered in a thick layer of dust, and shattered glass crunched underfoot with every careful step. The only sign that this place had once been more than a ruin was a faded, peeling sign barely visible on the far wall, its letters too worn to read. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter. A barrier against the cold, against the Wasteland, and for tonight, that was enough.

The cloud wasn’t here. They had made it out. But as Christine watched the slow rise and fall of Veronica’s chest, she realized the weight on her own didn’t come from exhaustion alone. It was something else—something unspoken that had settled between them in the space of shared survival.

The cold air slipped through the cracks, and Christine couldn’t help but think about how fragile everything around them felt. Not just the shelter, but them too. Sometimes, it seemed like life was crumbling as quickly as the ruins of the world around them. But there they were, together, side by side, in the small corner they had managed to save. A corner as precarious as their connection, which, at the same time, seemed solid and irreplaceable.

As she watched the fire, she couldn't help but think, if Veronica had never come back for her, would she have remained there, waiting for something that would never come? It was easier to believe she would have left, that she would have found her own way out eventually. But deep down, she wasn’t sure. The Sierra Madre had held her in its grip for so long, whispering to her in a way she hadn’t even noticed until now. It had given her a purpose, a way to keep moving forward without really moving at all. A distraction from everything she didn’t want to face.

But then Veronica had shown up, standing there in the middle of that cursed place like she had walked straight out of a dream—bright, defiant, and so painfully familiar. Christine had fought against it at first, against the pull of her presence, the warmth she had forgotten she could feel. But it had been useless. 

Christine exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening over her knees. Trust had always betrayed her before. Her parents had rejected her. The Brotherhood had turned their backs on her. Even trusting herself had led to a dead end—to a place that had nearly consumed her.

But Veronica had never betrayed her. Even when Christine had given her every reason to walk away, even when it would have been easier to forget her, she had come back. She had searched for her. She had fought for her.

And now, here they were.

Christine looked at the brunette again, watching the way the firelight danced against her skin, the way her dark hair spilled over the makeshift bedding. She could still hear the distant echoes of the past in her mind, still feel the weight in her chest of all the years between them. But those years didn’t matter. Not anymore.

She had spent so long running, so long convincing herself that she was better off alone. But sitting there, in the quiet warmth of the fire, with Veronica only an arm’s reach away, she couldn’t deny it any longer.

She didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

She didn’t want a world without Veronica in it.

And maybe… maybe that was love, again. After she hadn't herself feel it for so long.

The truth settled into her bones like desert sand after a storm. Not a revelation, but a recognition—as if some part of her had always known, had just been waiting for the rest of her to catch up.
Her breath joined the quiet song of the crackling flames. The future stretched ahead, unknown but no longer threatening. For once, that was enough.

A soft voice broke through Christine's thoughts. "I just had the best sleep of my life."

She turned to find Veronica stirring beside her, dark hair tousled from sleep. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think." Veronica pushed herself up to sit, wincing slightly. The firelight caught the shadows under her eyes, reminding Christine of what the cloud had done to her. "We still need to find a doctor about... whatever this is. But thank you. For keeping watch."

“It's okay. You needed to rest.” She mumbled. Christine was relieved that Veronica felt better, but her body was still weak.

“You can lean on me if you want to,” Christine offered her, avoiding her gaze, trying to not be too obvious about how her heart quickened its pulse whenever they touched.

The brunette did as the other said and lay closer to her. When Veronica intertwined her fingers with Christine’s, a shiver ran down her spine, as if every fiber of her being recognized that touch after so long. The brush of their hands, so natural yet so unfamiliar, caused her breath to hitch. Christine stayed still, almost afraid to react, knowing she couldn’t pull away but fearing what moving forward would mean.

Veronica looked at Christine, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. The words were there, hanging in the air, but the silence was heavy, almost as if it was waiting to be unraveled with the first movement. Finally, it was Veronica who broke the stillness, her voice soft but steady. “I never thought we could be here, together.” The confession left a trace of vulnerability in the air, like an echo that slowly faded.

A shiver ran down Christine's spine. Words caught in her throat, old defenses warring with new desires. She had forgotten how this felt—having someone close enough to matter.
Veronica's return had cracked open a door she'd sealed years ago. Each shared glance, each careful touch, chipped away at the walls she'd built. The walls that had kept her alive in the Sierra Madre, but had also kept her trapped in that quiet, numbing death she'd mistaken for survival.

Who would've guessed that after everything she went through, she would be here, close to someone, and permitting herself to be that close? But Veronica didn't ask her for more than being that close, and that, that was new.

"Chris?" Veronica's voice cut through the silence, softer than before. Her fingers tightened around Christine's. "You know, back then, seeing you trapped in your own mind like that..." She swallowed hard. "There were days I thought I'd never reach you. That you were too far gone. But I couldn't stop searching."

Christine's throat tightened. "Ronnie..." The old nickname slipped out before she could catch it. "I wouldn't be here without you. Not just alive—here. Present." she looked down, avoiding Veronica’s surprised expression.

“Since when do you call me like that?” Veronica grinned.

“Oh, come on. You loved that nickname.” Christine teased her.

Veronica didn't know what to reply. Hell yeah, she loved it. But there was no way she was admitting that. Not right now.

Veronica shifted against the rough wall, her fingers still woven through Christine's. The fire popped and sparked, filling the silence that had grown too heavy to bear. She searched for something light to say—a joke, a memory, anything to ease the familiar ache in her chest. The one that always came when Christine was close enough to touch but still felt worlds away. 

"Remember our grand escape plan?" Veronica's voice carried a hint of laughter. "Sneaking out of the bunker with nothing but two canteens and that torn map of the city? God, we thought we were so clever."

Christine's thumb traced circles on Veronica's palm, remembering the weight of that stolen key in her pocket, the rush of adrenaline as they'd crept past the night patrol. "Two teenage rebels against the world." Her lips curved. "We didn't even know enough to be scared."

Veronica grinned, the sound of Christine’s laugh easing some of the tension. “Yeah, we were pretty sure we had it all figured out. Now look at us. In the middle of nowhere, with half the wasteland trying to kill us."

Christine leaned back slightly, taking in the vast emptiness outside their shelter, the quiet that surrounded them now. “At least… we have each other now. That’s more than I ever expected."

The blue-eyed woman sat in the warmth of the firelight; the weight of the world outside seemed to fade for just a moment. The crackling of the flames filled the silence, soft and steady. She kept her eyes on the fire, but her mind was somewhere else. Somewhere closer. To Veronica.

The brunette shifted next to her, pressing her side just a little closer, the subtle movement drawing Christine's attention. She could feel the heat of her body, the quiet rhythm of her breath, like a steady pulse against the stillness of the night. It was a contrast to the chaos they had just escaped—the violence, the fear—but now, it felt different. Calmer.

"I never thought we'd end up like this," Veronica said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Christine turned her head to look at her. Veronica's face was soft under the glow of the firelight, her eyes tired but alert. She looked at Christine with an expression that was almost hesitant, like she was waiting for something—an answer, maybe, or permission. But it was all so unspoken, the space between them filled with unacknowledged feelings that neither of them seemed ready to name.

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, her voice low, unsure whether she was ready for the conversation but knowing it was coming.

"Us," Veronica said, her hand still resting in Christine's. "Here. Together. I thought… I thought we were done, a long time ago. That we’d be nothing more than memories."

"Well… maybe we were never meant to be just memories, after all." Christine replied, her voice steady, but her chest tightened as she spoke.

Veronica glanced down at their joined hands, her thumb tracing the lines of Christine's fingers. "Maybe," she murmured, looking up with a soft, uncertain smile. "You know, when I found you in the Sierra Madre, I didn’t know if you were ever going to come back with me. I didn’t even know if you still wanted me around."

“It… it was complicated. After so much time, I didn’t expect to see you again. I thought that we were just memories, too.” She paused and looked up. “I've tried to erase them from my mind, but I never managed to.”

“Me neither, but you know that already.” She admitted as she glanced away, just for a moment.

A comfortable silence settled between them. The warmth of the fire was nothing compared to the heat that seemed to rise between them, filling every inch of air. They didn't dare to look at each other, but they definitely wanted to.

"I'm glad that you did. Ever since you showed up again, I felt something change. I feel like I'm me again, somehow.” She hesitated, her throat tightening as the words caught somewhere between her heart and her lips. Her fingers curled slightly around Veronica’s, seeking an anchor, something real to hold onto. “What I'm trying to say is… when I'm with you, I don't feel lost anymore.” Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, the warmth of the fire barely noticeable compared to the heat rising in her chest. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.” The weight of her own confession left her breath unsteady, her pulse quickening as she forced herself to meet Veronica’s gaze. “If you want to, I'd like to be with you again… even if––”

But Veronica understood that perfectly, and no more words were needed. She shifted and brushed her fingers over Christine’s scarred cheek, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the cold air around them. The brunette stayed still for a second, her hand still resting on Christine’s cheek. Her thumb traced over the scar gently, as if memorizing its shape.

Christine felt her body tense, her heartbeat pounding against her ribs. Veronica’s presence surrounded her, her breath warm against her skin. But she didn’t move forward—not yet. She was waiting. Christine's expression was uncertain, but she felt nervous, her mind swirling about what was going to happen. 

“Yes. I really want to be with you, Chris.” Her breath was warm and uneven, mingling with Christine’s in the small space between them. She gazed at her and smiled. And before Christine could react, Veronica closed their distance with a soft kiss, her lips warm and careful, as if memorizing the shape of Christine’s own.

Christine didn’t know when she had closed her eyes—only that, for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The warmth of Veronica against her, the way her lips moved with a softness she hadn’t expected… it was too much , and yet, not enough . As she kissed her, Veronica put her hands on the back of her neck and leaned a little. She thought that she buried this feeling, yet, she knew that she missed it. And here she was now, finally being able to feel, to embrace everything that she wanted after so much time. The warmth. the closeness. For now, nothing else mattered.

When Veronica finally pulled back, Christine felt the echo of the touch, the faint tingling left behind on her lips. Slowly, she opened her eyes, meeting Veronica’s gaze. There was something vulnerable in it—hopeful, nervous, like she was bracing herself for what came next.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Christine, still feeling the warmth lingering on her lips, exhaled a whisper. "That... was way more than I expected."

Veronica raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. "More how?"

Christine’s smile was brief, unreadable. She lingered for a moment, as if caught between thoughts, then exhaled and looked away.

“I didn't think that you were going to kiss me right now. I… I wasn't prepared.”

Veronica felt her heart sink. Maybe it was too much, she thought. Her expression changed, uncertain.

“Oh. I didn't realize that. Maybe… I got ahead of myself,” she tried to apologize and lowered her head. “I should've asked you before, I—”

“No.” She put her hand on top of hers. “I liked it, actually,” Christine replied, as she couldn't help but smile a little. “I would like another one, now that I'm prepared.” Her cheeks were now blushed—clearly not because of the fire’s warmth in her face—and her gaze was now filled with determination.

Veronica sighed, relieved. "Well, I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.” Then, she looked at her blue eyes again, as Christine slightly raised her eyebrows and smirked. For a moment, they giggled.

“Stop doing that face!” Veronica needled, flustered.

“Just shut up and kiss me already.” Christine demanded, rolling her eyes.

As the fire crackled softly the brunette drew nearer, and both of them closed their eyes, eager to savor the moment. It felt like something they could have shared back in the Brotherhood. But it wasn't exactly the same. For once, this wasn't a memory in their minds. It was real. The weight of the past had sure affected them, but now, they weren't afraid— they weren't afraid of creating something new with the pieces left of each other.

Chapter Text

The sun rose, tinting the skies in a rose-colored hue. There was no sign of anyone near their crumbling shelter. They had spent the night together, sleeping next to each other, embraced. Nothing else bothered them, at least for that night.

Veronica woke up first, her arm still wrapped around Christine’s waist. She felt dizzy, her headaches worsening with every passing moment, but she tried to ignore it as much as possible, preferring the peaceful atmosphere of lying next to Christine. She knew that her body was betraying her, growing weaker as the days passed. But she didn’t want to burden Christine with her unknown condition.

Yesterday had been the first time she had seen Christine smile again. Not a teasing smile, not a playful grin, but a real smile. It made Veronica’s heart ache in a way she wasn’t ready to confront. She wished she could keep this moment, this peace, for as long as possible.

After a while, Christine stirred, her body heavy with exhaustion. Always alert, always ready for anything, she hadn’t had a moment to truly rest. Veronica watched her for a moment, the pain in her chest intensifying. She had to admit it, but she wasn’t sure how much longer they could stay like this. She needed help—and soon.

Veronica swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered. The Followers of the Apocalypse. She knew them well, she’d worked alongside them before. Maybe they could help. Maybe there was a place, a doctor, someone who could stop the sickness before it took too much from her. But could they trust them? She hadn't many options to choose from, so she figured it was worth trying.

“Hey.” Her sleepy, velvety voice interrupted Veronica's trail of thoughts. “Did you sleep well?” Christine turned around, facing the brunette. Somehow the structure of their shelter had endured the night, giving them a little more privacy.

“Yeah….” She lowered her gaze, avoiding Christine's. “But Chris—I'm not feeling well. Since I went to the Sierra Madre, I’ve felt something change in my body. You’ve seen it. The headaches, the coughing, the tiredness… it has to do with that. And I'm not getting any better.” Veronica’s voice wavered with a mix of fear and frustration.

“It's the cloud, right?” Christine asked, her brow furrowing.

Veronica nodded. “I think so. But it’s worse than I thought.” Veronica hesitated, the words catching in her throat. 

She glanced at Christine, her heart pounding faster. It wasn’t just about the sickness anymore—it was about her, vulnerable and weak, and the fear of dragging Christine into something uncertain.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to steady herself. Her voice, when it came, was tinged with fear. “The Followers of the Apocalypse... I’ve worked with them before. They could... stop this.” The words felt like a weight, heavy with uncertainty.

She couldn’t promise anything—she wasn’t sure if they could even help her—but she had to try. The silence that followed felt like it stretched for miles, the tension thick between them. 

Christine’s eyes locked on hers, and for a split second, Veronica saw the flicker of worry and hesitation in her gaze. She held her breath, waiting for the others' response, terrified that this fragile thread between them might snap.

Christine looked at her, the worry in her eyes deepening. “Do you think they can be trusted?”

Veronica nodded. “They can. They’ve helped people before. I know them well enough to say that.”

Christine seemed to weigh the words, her eyes never leaving the brunette’s face. Then, with a quiet sigh, she spoke. “Then I guess it's worth a shot. It’s not like we have many options.” She looked away, preoccupied.

Both of them got up from their improvised bed, as an uncomfortable silence settled between them. Christine stood, but before she could gather her things, Veronica reached out, gently grasping her arm, pulling her into a warm hug.

“You don’t have to stress about me. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Veronica’s voice was soft, but the uncertainty in it was clear.

“I’m not ready to lose you,” Christine murmured, her voice thick with emotion. Her words hung in the air like a weight, heavy with all the things left unsaid.

Veronica sighed, her body still weakened by the illness, but the hug was enough to make her feel a little more grounded, if only for a moment.

“We’ll get you the help you need. We’ll find them, and we’ll fix this.” Christine gently pulled back, offering a reassuring smile, even though her heart was still heavy with worry.

Veronica picked up her travel bag, and opened the zipper. Then, she unfolded the weathered map, her fingers brushing over the faded ink. 

“I kept this from my time with the Followers. They marked some key locations on it. This one—” she pointed to a faded circle on the map, “is a safe house. It’s a bit of a walk, but it could be our best chance of finding help.”

Christine nodded, her gaze falling on the map. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

With that, they gathered their things and made their way into the desert, the harsh sun already beginning to beat down on them. The journey ahead was uncertain, but together, they pressed on—step by step, with a shared hope that the Followers might hold the key to Veronica’s survival.

The desert stretched endlessly before them, the midday heat radiating off the sand, shimmering in waves. Every step felt like it took twice the effort, the rough terrain beneath their feet adding to the strain. The dry, arid air clung to their skin, and Veronica could feel sweat trickling down her neck, despite the exhaustion making her movements slower. The distant sound of the wind whispered through the dunes, but otherwise, the silence was almost deafening, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of fabric against the breeze. Veronica's lips were cracked, and she wiped the dust from her brow, barely able to focus as the sun bore down on them relentlessly. She could still walk—at least for now. Christine stayed close, always ready to offer a break from what felt like an endless trek.

Christine handed her water and canned food, even though there wasn’t much left for herself. Her focus was entirely on ensuring Veronica’s survival. As they continued through the relentless desert, they shared intimate glances and joked about Brotherhood paladins who definitely didn’t deserve their rank. When silence fell once again, they kept moving, their hands intertwined—a subtle reminder that they were still surviving, but together at last.

As they traveled, Veronica felt a deep pain in her chest. She wasn’t sure if the heat of the sun was affecting her or if her condition was worsening, but she knew she wasn’t feeling better. Still, she pressed on, trying to suppress the ache in her body.

The brunette glanced at the watch on the Pip-Boy. 07:14 PM. They were getting closer to the marked spot. Would the Followers be there after all? Was their journey for nothing? But she couldn’t afford to doubt now. This was their only chance, and there was no turning back.

After a bit more travel—and some clear shots from Christine’s rifle—they finally reached the location. They climbed a small dune and saw the camp ahead. The Followers’ tents were slightly yellowish from the desert dust, and a large sign bearing their symbol marked the camp’s entrance. As they approached it, the harsh desert sun cast long shadows, and the air carried a faint, dusty scent that clung to everything. The tents, weathered by the relentless sun, swayed slightly in the breeze, and the distant murmur of voices mixed with the soft crackling of fire. The smell of burning wood and the earthy scent of the desert filled the air. Veronica’s lungs burned as she breathed it in, the heat and her sickness making it feel like she was suffocating. Christine, her heart racing, gripped Veronica’s arm tightly, urgency pushing her forward. “Help!” she shouted, reaching one of the Followers' doctors. Two medics immediately rushed over and helped guide Veronica to a chair in one of the tents. Inside, a group of Followers gathered to offer assistance, checking Veronica’s fragile condition.

“So, how can we help her?” one of them asked, as he grabbed a notebook.

She hesitated for a moment before continuing, the words feeling almost too heavy on her tongue. “My… friend here needs help, it's urgent. We think that she's sick from the cloud from the Sierra Madre.”  At the word friend , Christine immediately felt a tightness in her chest. It had come out almost automatically, but it didn't sit right. They weren’t just friends anymore—not really. They had crossed into something else, something she hadn’t fully processed yet. The awkwardness lingered in the space between them.

Veronica’s eyes flicked up at the sound of the word, and Christine saw the brief shift of something in her gaze—something sharp and fleeting, a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment of the distance that still lingered, even between them. Veronica’s lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but the words never came.

Instead, she simply gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, her face softening just a fraction.

"I’m... way more than that," Veronica murmured quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the crackling of the fire outside of the tent and the voices that surrounded them, but Christine heard it clearly.

Christine’s breath caught, her heart picking up speed. She had never meant to downplay what they were to each other, but hearing the way Veronica spoke now made the weight of it all feel... real. They weren’t just friends. Not anymore.

"I know," Christine replied, her voice low and honest, her gaze meeting Veronica’s. "I... didn’t mean it like that."

The tension that had settled over them seemed to shift, the words hanging in the air for just a moment longer before they both turned back to the group. But something had changed. The recognition of what they were to each other, unspoken but understood, now lingered more clearly between them.

Then, one of the doctors spoke. “The Sierra Madre? That's a very… dangerous place. What are her symptoms?

“She has constant headaches, tiredness, difficulty breathing…” Christine's voice was now filled with worry. “Please, help her. She worked for you some time ago. Her name is Veronica Santangelo.”

One of them, who was arranging the gurney, recognized her. “Yeah, I remember her. We’ll do the best we can.” He offered Christine a warm smile.

“Thank you.” She prepared to head outside, before giving a last look to the brunette. 

Veronica glanced back at her and muttered softly, “Don't worry. I'm going to be okay.” She gave her a small grin, and Christine turned around and left the tent.

As she stepped out, the tent’s entrance swayed closed, leaving her alone with the desolate, yet comforting night. The soft wind brushed against her scarred face, almost like a gentle caress as time went by. She leaned on a fractured fence, her eyes contemplating the sky. But her mind was somewhere else. In her future. In Veronica’s future. They hadn't agreed yet on where to go after the brunette recovered. There was no more Sierra Madre, no more hiding. Going back to the desert was their only option, though. The casino wasn't safe anymore, but being a nomad in the desert, always sleeping with one eye open for threats, wasn't a good idea either. They needed to find shelter somewhere, somehow. But now, her priority was Veronica's health.

She spent what seemed like two hours there, reflecting. After a while, a doctor left the medical tent. He was carrying a notebook, filled with unreadable writing, probably about Veronica's state.

“She's recovering well, but she needs time.” He informed, taking a look at the notebook. “We had to give her supplementary oxygen and intravenous fluids, to prevent dehydration and help her body process and eliminate harmful substances. Then, he glanced back at her. “She's probably sleeping now, she was exhausted.”

Despite the doctor’s reassurances, worry gnawed at her. Veronica’s condition was an enigma—something neither of them had faced before. And the doctors were only just beginning to piece together how to help her. Then, she asked, “Can I see her, please?”

The medic nodded, and led her inside the tent. There were less people surrounding her now, probably because the situation wasn't an emergency anymore. There she was– sleeping, with a breathing mask in her face and a needle carefully placed in the crook of her elbow, connected to a clear tube that dripped fluids into her veins. It was  disheartening to see her in such a fragile state– but she was getting better, at least.

Christine sat on a chair nearby on the right side, staring at her as the doctors treated the weakened woman. She felt the time pass, but she lost the notion of it. When there was no one but them left there, she turned the chair around, facing Veronica, and sat with her head resting on her arms that were propped on the chair, waiting for something to happen.. Later on, exhaustion began to take its toll, and her eyes grew heavy. As Christine attempted to stay awake, a sound startled her. 

A soft shuffle. A faint groan. Then, a breath– strained but steady. Veronica’s fingers twitched slightly against the sheets before her eyelids fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused at first, but then it landed on Christine. A small, tired smile tugged at her lips. "Chris...? You’re here?"

The blue-eyed woman suddenly lifted her gaze, startled. “I just wanted to check up on you. Do you feel better?” Christine questioned with a worried tone.

“Yeah… I think so." Veronica exhaled slowly, blinking sluggishly as if trying to shake off a haze. Her gaze drifted, unfocused at first, until it settled on Christine. A slow, tired grin crept onto her lips. "You know," she murmured, voice still raspy, "if this is what I wake up to, maybe having these headaches isn’t so bad."

Christine raised an eyebrow, but before she could reply, Veronica’s grin widened, just a little. "Seriously. Sitting there all brooding and intense… You look like you belong in some old-world painting. A tragic masterpiece, or maybe just the best-looking guardian angel I’ve ever seen." She let out a hoarse chuckle, then winced. "Shit. Laughing hurts. But, you know... kinda worth it."

Christine chuckled softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Is that what you think? You’re really that confident, huh?"

Veronica grinned weakly, her eyes still glinting with a touch of mischief, though it was clear she was tired. "Well, I’m not the one staring at me like I’m the last thing on Earth." She let out a quiet, breathy laugh but winced slightly from the effort.

Christine rolled her eyes, her smile softening with affection. Then she moved the chair closer to the gurney. "It’s probably just the fever talking."

Veronica blinked slowly, her energy waning. The teasing faded as she took a shallow breath. "Maybe... or maybe you’re just too good at making me forget I’m stuck in a bed." She let her eyes flutter shut for a moment, clearly worn out but still holding onto that playful edge.

Christine's smile faded as she noticed the subtle wince on Veronica's face, her exhaustion becoming more apparent. The playful teasing in Veronica’s voice didn't go unnoticed, but Christine’s concern deepened.

She leaned in closer, her voice soft but laced with worry. "Hey, take it easy. You don’t have to joke your way through this." Christine’s eyes softened as she reached for Veronica’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You’re not fooling anyone. I can see how much this is wearing you down." Veronica blinked at her, her tired gaze locking with Christine’s. 

For a moment, the teasing flicker in her eyes was gone, replaced by something quieter. Something more vulnerable. "I’m... I’m fine," Veronica murmured, but the words sounded fragile. She exhaled, trying to sit up a little straighter, but the effort leaves her breathless.

Christine watched her closely, her face serious now. "You’re not fine, Veronica. And you don’t have to hide it from me. You’re not alone in this." Her thumb traced the back of Veronica’s hand as she held it, the softness in her touch reflecting her worry.

“I just don't want you to get more anxious than you already are.” She glanced at their intertwined hands. “It might take a while to recover though. That's what the doctors said.”

“Don’t worry about it, you need to rest. I'm not going anywhere.” Christine gave her a gentle smile, trying to ease her concern.

In an instant, Veronica noticed the bags under Christine's eyes. She was probably tired, keeping an eye on her during the night. “Chris, but you need to rest too.” Then she pointed at her left. “The doctors left a mattress there with some blankets, I guess it was for you.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” Christine stood up, letting go of Veronica’s hand, and pulled the mattress closer to the brunette. She covered herself with the blankets that were folded at the edge of the mattress, and prepared to rest. “Goodnight, Veronica. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Chris.” Veronica whispered softly, her eyes closing as the space was filled with silence once again.

They lost track of how many days had passed since they arrived at the Follower’s camp. Time blurred, measured only by the slow rhythm of Veronica’s recovery and the mounting tension in the air.

Each morning, Christine woke to the sound of quiet voices outside their tent, the murmur of Followers tending to the wounded and whispering among themselves. She moved carefully, mindful not to disturb Veronica’s restless sleep. The fever had broken days ago, but weakness still clung to her like a second skin. Some mornings, she could barely sit up without Christine’s help. Others, she tried to downplay it, forcing a smirk as she gripped Christine’s arm for balance.

"Five stars. Would cough up a lung here again." Veronica had muttered once, her voice hoarse but teasing.

Christine hadn’t laughed. Not because it wasn’t funny—maybe, in another time, she would’ve smiled—but because she couldn’t shake the feeling that none of this would last.

The camp was safe, for now. But something had shifted. The rations were growing smaller. People whispered about disappearing refugees. At night, Christine caught glimpses of movement just beyond the tents—shadows shifting in the moonlight, figures lurking at the edge of the ruins. Raiders. They hadn’t attacked yet, but they were watching. Waiting.

Christine started sleeping less.

She volunteered for night watch, though no one had asked her to. The other guards barely acknowledged her, their eyes hollow from exhaustion. She stood at the perimeter, one hand resting on the knife at her belt, listening. Some nights, the wind played tricks on her—branches cracking, distant echoes—but other nights, she was sure she heard footsteps where there shouldn’t be any.

One night, as she sat beside Veronica, watching her rest, Veronica stirred.

"Christine…" Her voice was quiet, barely there.

Christine didn’t move. She thought Veronica had fallen back asleep when she heard her murmur, almost too soft to catch:

"I don’t want to die in this place."

Christine swallowed, staring at the dirt floor.

"You won’t, " she whispered back.

She didn’t know if she believed it.

The next morning, Christine was pulling her boots on when a Follower approached her, his expression unreadable. His face was drawn and pale, like he hadn’t slept much in the past few days.

"We need to talk about Veronica."

And just like that, she knew the moment she’d been dreading had finally come. She followed him outside quietly, behind the tent.

“Look, Veronica's getting better, but she’s still weak. The thing is—we can’t treat her for much longer." He glanced around and lowered his voice, trying to remain unnoticed. "This camp is supposed to be a place of peace, of hope. But we can’t afford to stay here." 

Christine glanced at him, and her expression shifted, preoccupied. "What do you mean?"

The doctor sighed. “There are threats. Raiders who want our supplies—even our medicine. Some of our own people have been taken hostage, and we can’t hold out much longer. Negotiation isn’t an option with these kinds of people."

“I've noticed.” Christine’s brows arched. "And what about Veronica? You’re just going to leave her?" Her voice carried a sharp edge of exasperation.

"It’s not that we don’t want to help," he said carefully. "But we think it’s safer for you both to leave before things get worse. If the raiders attack, and she gets caught in the middle of it..."

Christine hadn’t considered that. She had been so focused on getting a cure, something to get Veronica back on her feet, that she hadn't stopped to think about the dangers closing in around them. She thought that she had more time until Veronica recovered to think about what to do after all this hell ended. Unfortunately, time was running out, and she needed to make a decision.

The Follower gave her one last look, his gaze lingering with both concern and understanding. “You have until noon,” he said before turning to leave. “After that, we need to make our move. It’s not safe here anymore.”

Christine was silent for a long moment, staring out at the horizon. The sun was creeping higher, the air growing warmer. Noon was only a few hours away. She couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Veronica behind, but she also knew that staying here might mean losing her entirely.

Christine sat on the edge of the cot, watching Veronica sleep.

The Followers’ warning still echoed in her mind—this camp was no longer safe. Raiders were closing in, and Veronica’s health was still too fragile. Every minute they stayed felt like a countdown to disaster. She knew they had to leave. But where?

The desert morning light seeped through the gaps in the tent, casting shifting shadows across the fabric. The air felt heavy, thick with the same uncertainty that had clung to her ever since they arrived. Christine clenched her hands, rubbing her palms together as though she could scrub away the weight pressing down on her chest.

Leaving wasn’t just a matter of survival. It was a matter of choosing which path to take—one that could lead to safety or straight into more suffering. She had made the wrong choice before.

Her mind drifted back to the Sierra Madre.

That place had swallowed them both, just like it had swallowed everyone else who had walked into its grasp. But Veronica had never planned to stay. That was the part Christine couldn’t stop thinking about. Vegas had been Veronica’s destination all along. She had told Christine once—before everything went to hell—that she was going back home. That she had people there, plans, a future. And then Christine had crashed into her life, and Veronica had stayed. She had stayed even when she didn’t have to. Even when she should have left.

Christine exhaled sharply. No. They had to go.

She looked over at Veronica again. Still pale, her breathing slow and shallow, but peaceful somehow. There was even a faint trace of a smile on her lips. Veronica wasn’t giving up. Christine wished she could say the same for herself.

Finally, Veronica stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Christine saw the recognition in her eyes, followed by something quieter—concern.

“You’ve been up for a while,” Veronica said, her voice hoarse but steady. “What happened?”

Christine hesitated. The words felt too final. Too real. “We can’t stay here,” she said at last. Her voice came out softer than she intended. “The raiders… they’re too close.”

Veronica’s gaze darkened slightly. She reached instinctively for the bottle of water beside her, taking a slow sip before responding.

“I know,” she admitted, setting the bottle back down. “The Followers can’t hold this place together forever. And even if they could…” She let out a small, bitter chuckle. “I don’t think my body’s gonna cooperate much longer.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of the wind dragging sand across the camp. When Veronica finally spoke again, her voice was quieter, more certain. "It was always Vegas."

Christine blinked. “What?”

“That was the plan,” Veronica said, a small, humorless laugh escaping her lips. "From the start. Before the Sierra Madre. Before all of this. I was always going to go home."

Christine studied her, something clicking into place. “You were always going back.”

Veronica gave a small nod. “Yeah. That was the plan. I came to the Sierra Madre for you, but one way or another, I was going to Vegas.”

Christine inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the certainty in her voice. “Even after everything?”

Veronica’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Especially after everything.” She shifted, wincing slightly as she adjusted her weight. “I've been stuck here for too long. I'm not staying any longer."

Christine frowned. “Vegas?” she repeated, skepticism creeping into her voice. “You think the Strip is safe?”

Veronica let out a short, dry laugh. “No. But it’s not about safety. It’s about options.” She met Christine’s eyes. “It's home, at least to me. The Courier is there too.”

Christine froze. The Courier. The name alone carried weight, hope, and danger. The Courier had a reputation for getting things done. For making the impossible possible.

Her pulse quickened. She thought of everything she’d seen, of the risks they had taken just to get this far. The more she thought about it, the more the notion of running—of leaving this place that had become a cage—seemed to make sense. But could she trust it? Could she trust Veronica? She swallowed hard, trying to hold onto the sharp edges of her skepticism. “I’ve heard the rumors,” she said carefully. “But... Vegas? It’s a gamble, Veronica. What if it’s worse than here?”

Veronica studied her for a long moment before speaking, her voice quieter now. “I know it’s not perfect. But it’s not just about us running anymore. The Followers can’t protect us forever. And I can’t sit here waiting to get better. I need to move. I need to try.” She hesitated, then added, “I stayed for you before, Christine. And now... I need you to come with me.”

Christine looked at her, at the exhaustion in her face, the quiet pleading in her voice. Veronica wasn’t asking for blind faith. She was asking for a chance. But what kind of chance was she willing to give? Her heart squeezed at the thought of abandoning the little stability they had left here, even if it was fragile. And yet... could they keep living like this?

The bald woman’s throat tightened. She wanted to protect Veronica, to keep her safe, but what if that meant doing the wrong thing again? What if she made another mistake? But then she remembered the Sierra Madre. The way the walls had closed in, the way she had fought and struggled and still lost so much. And she thought of Veronica, staying when she should have left.

Christine took a slow breath, her decision settling into place. “All right,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “We’ll go to Vegas. We’ll find a way. Together.”

Veronica exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. Then she reached out, squeezing Christine’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. “We’ll make it. I promise.”

Chapter Text

The camp of the Followers was quieter now, the hustle of the day winding down as people prepared to rest. Christine found herself standing near a small shelter where some of the camp’s medics were finishing their work. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the sand, and a cool breeze had started to roll in from the distant hills.

After making their decision, Christine told the followers that they were leaving to avoid the raiders. Luckily, the followers gave them enough supplies and medicine to make the trip easier. She thanked them for everything and started arranging her belongings to leave.

Veronica had already packed up and was standing near the edge of the camp, checking her equipment one last time, her stance tense and ready. Christine felt the weight of the upcoming journey, but there was something else—an unresolved tension that hung in the air, something she couldn’t quite shake.

As she stood there, a voice called out to her.

"Christine."

Turning, she saw the medic—a man in his early fifties, a grizzled veteran of many hard years in the wasteland. His expression was kind, but there was a probing look in his eyes. He stepped toward her, his boots crunching in the sand.

"You’re leaving, then," he said softly, glancing over at Veronica, who was now adjusting her gear, her back to them. "I thought you might—both of you. But it’s a long road ahead."

Christine nodded, but her gaze didn’t leave Veronica. The thought of leaving this place, with everything that had happened, still made her uneasy. "Yeah, we’re going. It’s time."

The medic studied her for a moment longer, then took a step closer. "You’ve been through a lot together. More than most people could handle. I’ve seen how you’ve looked after her, how you’ve stuck by her side, no matter the cost. It's clear that you care a lot about each other, we all noticed. I just... have to ask—why? Why take such a risk for her, when you both know how dangerous the road to Vegas is?"

Christine stiffened slightly at the question, her eyes flickering toward Veronica. She knew the medic wasn’t judging her, but the question still stung. It was something she hadn’t really been able to articulate, even to herself. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought about her answer.

"I... I don’t know," Christine started, her voice quieter than she intended. "I guess at first, I stayed because I thought she needed me. I thought I had to keep her safe. But as time went on, it became something else. It became..." She trailed off, unsure of how to put her feelings into words.

The medic waited patiently, not pushing her, but offering her the space to continue.

"She’s not just anyone," Christine said, her gaze now fixed firmly on Veronica. "She’s been through hell, and I’ve seen her fight. But more than that, I’ve seen her hold onto things, to people. And I... I don’t want to be the one to let her go. Not when I’ve come this far."

The medic nodded slowly, as if he understood more than he let on. "It’s not easy, you know. To trust someone like that. To put yourself in a position where you might lose everything. But if you’re honest with yourself, maybe you already know why you’re staying. It’s not just about her. It’s about you too."

Christine felt a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t really thought of it that way before. She was protecting Veronica, sure, but maybe, just maybe, she was also protecting herself. From loneliness, from the idea of never having anyone who cared. "Maybe," she whispered, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. "I’m not sure if that makes me weak, but... I can’t walk away now. Not after everything that happened."

The medic regarded her thoughtfully, his eyes steady. "It's not weakness. It’s just knowing what matters. People do crazy things for the ones they care about. You’re not running from the hard choices, you’re facing them. And that's admirable."

Christine nodded, feeling something shift in her chest. It wasn’t about the past anymore—it was about what came next. They were about to step into the unknown, but now, more than ever, she was sure of one thing: she couldn’t let Veronica face it alone.

With a deep breath, she turned to leave, but the medic’s voice stopped her.

"Christine," he called softly. She turned back to face him. "Whatever happens out there, remember this: you don’t have to carry the weight alone. Not anymore. You’ve got each other."

Christine paused for a moment, feeling the weight of his words settle into her. “Yeah. Thank you, for everything.” Then, she walked back to Veronica, who was waiting by the camp’s edge. She could feel her resolve solidify with each step. She wasn’t sure where the road would take them, but she knew one thing—she wasn’t walking it alone.

As she reached Veronica, their eyes met, and without a word, Veronica gave her a slight nod, ready to move forward. Christine didn’t need to say anything more. They both knew what was at stake, and neither of them was backing down.

With that, they began their journey, leaving the camp behind. The road to Vegas awaited, uncertain and perilous, but for the first time in a long while, Christine felt like she was finally on the right path.

The brunette used the map on the Pip-Boy to guide them through the desert. She was still weak, but she could manage to walk now.  

The road ahead was long, and each day blurred into the next as they walked under the scorching desert sun. They pushed forward, day after day, their only constant the steady rhythm of their footsteps and the shared silence between them, occasionally broken by conversation. Christine didn’t count the days—they passed too quickly, or perhaps too slowly, to matter—but she could feel time stretching in a way that was both freeing and disorienting.

They shared stories during their breaks—fragments of their pasts, things that hadn’t come up before but now seemed important to say. Veronica told Christine about the early days of her life in Vegas, the people she had known, the ones who had come and gone. Christine listened quietly, the weight of her own past sitting heavy in her chest. It wasn’t the kind of conversation that would solve anything, but it felt... right. It made them feel less sole in this vast wasteland, and more like two people who were finding their way to something better.

On the second week, their routine had settled into something familiar. Each morning, they packed up their camp quickly, the brunette now able to walk longer distances without faltering, though still weak. Christine had started to pick up on the small things—when Veronica needed more water, when she needed a break before pushing further. Veronica didn’t have to ask anymore. Christine just knew.

One night, as the pink glow of the setting sun stretched across the horizon, Veronica stopped walking and looked around. The silence of the desert was overwhelming, but in that moment, it felt like peace. She glanced at the bald woman, who had already started setting up camp. For a fleeting second, it felt like this journey could last forever—just the two of them, moving through the desert, uncertain but together. The thought made her heart tighten, but there was also a strange warmth in it.

After a while, Veronica spoke, her voice breaking through the quiet. "Have you ever thought about what happens when we get to Vegas?"

Christine, sitting close to the campfire, faltered for a moment as she processed the question. She had thought about it, but more as a distant, abstract idea. Getting to Vegas was always the goal, the thing they had worked toward, but now that it was almost here, she wasn’t sure what came next. "I've been focused on getting there... not really thinking about what's after," Christine admitted, her voice tinged with hesitation. She slowed her pace slightly, lost in thought. “It just feels... too uncertain.”

Veronica gave a soft, knowing chuckle. “Yeah, I get that. Vegas isn’t exactly the dreamland it used to be. But it’s still home for me, Christine. And I’m not saying it’s going to fix everything, but... I want you to be able to see it for what it really is. Not the Strip, not the chaos. I want you to see it as a place where we can—” She paused, looking over at Christine with a sincere smile, “—start something new. Just you and me.”

Christine was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the belongings nearby, as the desert wind washed over her face. She had never been able to fully picture what her life in Vegas would look like. The city felt like an impossible dream, a symbol of everything she’d been running from. And yet, the thought of being there with Veronica—of having a place to breathe, to be—started to feel less like a dream and more like a possibility.

“I don’t know what I’m expecting when we get there,” Christine said softly, the words coming out more vulnerable than she intended. “It feels like too much. I’ve never really had a place to go to. And I don’t know if I can just... trust that it’ll be different.”

Veronica sat on the ground besides Christine, her hand lightly brushing against her arm in a gentle reassurance. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “But Vegas, it’s not just a place to hide or run. It’s... about choices, Christine. You won’t have to fight for every damn step. We can actually live there. I promise you, it’s not like the rest of the wasteland. It’s not perfect, but it’s home. And that’s something.”

Christine looked up at her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all she saw was certainty—a quiet strength that Veronica had always carried with her. Christine wanted so badly to believe it, to trust that Vegas could offer them the safety and peace they both needed.

“But... it’s different for you, isn’t it?” Christine said, her voice a little more fragile. “You’ve always known it. It’s been your home for years. I don’t know if I can just... step into that, not knowing what’s waiting for me.”

Veronica’s smile softened, turning to face Christine fully. She reached out and took her hand gently, her thumb brushing over Christine’s skin in a comforting gesture.

“Vegas is my home now,” Veronica said, her voice quiet but steady. “But that doesn’t mean it’s just mine anymore. It’s ours now. I’m not asking you to walk in and know everything. I’m asking you to give it a chance. We’re not the same people that we were back in the bunker. We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

Christine nodded slowly, her throat tight as she fought to keep her emotions in check. She had never let herself get attached to anything for too long. She had never trusted that something could be stable. But as she sat there by the fire, close to Veronica, she realized that maybe it was time to start believing in something different.

“I’ll try,” Christine whispered, her voice soft but resolute. “I’ll try. With you.”

Veronica gave her hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes shining with warmth. “We’ll make it work. One step at a time. Vegas isn’t perfect, but it’s a place where we can decide what we want our future to look like. Together.”

Christine felt a weight lift from her chest, a sense of possibility settling in. She didn’t have all the answers, and she didn’t know what their life in Vegas would be like, but for the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel like something to be feared. It felt like something they could shape.

“Together,” Christine repeated softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

And with that, they took turns to rest before continuing their journey, the road to Vegas still uncertain, but their path clearer than it had ever been before.

The pair proceeded to their destination, enduring the harshness of the Mojave wasteland. Their journey was far from simple, though. They encountered hostile creatures of all sorts and even managed to escape from a deathclaw.

It had been a long, grueling few days, but they were close now—closer to Vegas than ever before. The weight of it hung heavy between them, a quiet anticipation in the air.

Veronica’s steps were slower today. Despite her recovery, she still wasn’t fully back to her old strength, and the strain of the journey had begun to wear on her. Her hands gripped her weapon tightly as her mind flickered between exhaustion and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Vegas. It had always been the goal, the place to find something better. But now, it felt almost... unreachable.

Christine, ever watchful, was a few paces ahead. Her eyes scanned the horizon, taking in every detail. Her instincts, honed over years of living in the wasteland, had kept them both alive so far.

She slowed, catching Veronicas’s eye and giving a quiet, but firm gesture to keep close. Christine immediately understood. There was something about the landscape that didn’t feel right. The wind had stilled, and the faint sound of movement reached their ears.

Christine’s voice was low as she spoke, her tone filled with that familiar edge of alertness. "Stay alert. We’re not alone."

The brunette’s heart skipped a beat. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She wasn’t as sharp as Christine, but she could feel it too—the danger in the air, the sense of being watched. The world around them seemed to quiet, as if even the desert knew that something was about to happen.

They pressed on, their steps quickening, moving in sync, each of them on edge. As they rounded a bend in the rocky terrain, Christine spotted the remains of a wrecked vehicle in the distance. It was overturned, and there were signs of a recent struggle—burned-out fire pits, scattered belongings, and something darker that made her gut twist.

"Veronica..." Christine started, her voice tight, but the words trailed off as they both froze.

The raiders emerged from the shadows, weapons drawn and faces hidden behind masks or cloth. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, and their movements were jerky with desperation. The leader, a scruffy man with a scarred face, raised his weapon and sneered.

"Hand over everything you got, or you won’t see the end of the day!"

Veronica’s pulse raced. Her mind screamed for her to act, but her body felt slow, unsteady. She had to focus, had to push through the weakness. Christine was already moving, a blur of calculated action as she ducked behind a large rock, returning fire with sharp precision of her holorifle. The raiders scattered, trying to flank them.

The brunette’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps as she forced herself to fight. She moved quickly, her pistol trembling in her hands, but her aim was off. A shot rang out, and she saw a raider fall, but another appeared from behind the wreckage, closing in on her position.

Her legs screamed in protest, but Veronica didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She fired again, hitting the raider in the chest, and he collapsed, but there were still more of them, too many. The adrenaline surged through her body, but the fatigue and the weakness made every movement feel like it was coming too late.

Christine was next to her, but not fast enough. A shot rang out, and Veronica saw it too late—a raider’s bullet grazed Christine’s side. The bald woman gasped, stumbling, but she didn’t fall. She straightened immediately, her expression fierce and unwavering.

"Christine!" Veronica shouted, panic rising in her chest.

Christine didn’t acknowledge the wound. She just aimed her weapon at the nearest raider and fired, taking him down. But Veronica could see the blood staining Christine’s clothes. It didn’t matter how tough the woman was; the wound was serious. And Veronica was running out of time.

Veronica moved to her side, struggling to stay upright as she pushed past the pain in her own body. She aimed her gun at the remaining raiders, firing on instinct, but she couldn’t keep up. There were too many. And then one of them was on her, knocking her to the ground.

Everything happened in a blur. She struggled, the weight of the raider pressing down on her chest, her breath caught in her throat. Her arms flailed, but she couldn’t break free. The raider’s hands tightened around her throat, cutting off her air.

But then, just as quickly, the pressure disappeared. Christine was there, pulling the raider off of her, her face set in grim determination. With a final, brutal twist, she incapacitated him.

They didn’t have time to catch their breath. The remaining raiders had retreated, realizing the fight wasn’t worth it. The desert fell back into silence, except for the sound of their labored breathing.

Veronica scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering in her chest as she ran to Christine’s side. Her hands shook as she checked the wound, blood seeping through the other’s fingers where she pressed against her side.

"You’re hurt," Christine whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

The bald woman gave her a reassuring smile, though it was tinged with pain. "I’m fine. It’s just a scratch."

Veronica wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t have time to argue. She helped Christine to a nearby rock, pulling out supplies from her pack to clean and bandage the wound. Her hands were steady despite the panic churning inside her. When she finished, Veronica sat back, her eyes scanning the horizon. The danger had passed, but the weight of what had just happened was pressing on her chest.

"I can’t lose you," Veronica said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.

Christine, her breath still coming in short gasps, reached out and squeezed Veronica’s hand. "You won’t. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

The brunette let out a shaky laugh, though it was strained. "Yeah? Guess I’m just gonna have to deal with you then."

Christine smirked, her eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion. "You’ll survive. After all, you’ve made it this far without strangling me."

Veronica huffed a laugh, shaking her head. The tension between them eased just a little, enough for both of them to breathe. They stood there for a moment longer, letting the adrenaline fade, before Christine exhaled and grabbed her bag.

"Come on," she said, her voice quieter now. "We should keep moving."

Veronica nodded, standing alongside her. They gathered their things and pressed on, their steps slow but steady.

Days passed, and exhaustion weighed heavier on both of them with each mile. The desert stretched endlessly, the dunes rising and falling in an unforgiving rhythm. But in the quiet, there was a strange comfort—neither of them needed to fill the space with words anymore.

Then, as they crested one last dune, Christine felt her heart quicken.

There, in the distance, a shimmering glow emerged from the horizon—subtle at first, then unmistakable. Something in the distance—a shimmering, almost magical glow. The night sky above them made the neon lights emerging from the city even more brightening. She took a moment to sit in the desert dust to admire the starry dark sky. Veronica sighed in exhaustion, and sat close to Christine on the top of the dune. “Finally, we’re here.”

Christine didn't reply. She was sitting there, far too focused on what was going to happen when they entered there. The Courier, Veronica’s sickness, herself– it was too much to process.

Christine turned her head slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t imagine doing this without you,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. It wasn’t just the journey. It was everything. Every moment they’d shared, every battle, every quiet night in each other’s company. It all led here.

Veronica's gaze shifted to her, unreadable at first, but there was a flicker in her eyes. Something soft, but also fierce, like she’d been waiting for this moment too. She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she reached out, her hand brushing against Christine’s, a simple, intimate gesture. It felt like a promise.

“Me too,” Veronica whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She wasn’t sure when it had happened—when her feelings for Christine had grown from something simple into something that felt like an anchor in her life—but it had. She could feel the weight of it now, heavy and undeniable.

Christine's gaze softened, and she leaned in slightly, just enough to close the gap between them. Her breath was warm against Veronica's skin, and before either of them could second guess it, the distance between them vanished. Their lips met in a kiss that was quiet, but full of everything they had never said out loud. It wasn’t hurried, nor was it uncertain—it was a quiet understanding, a bond that neither of them had fully acknowledged until now. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the soft press of lips and the warmth of the sun on their skin.

When they pulled away, it was slow, like neither of them wanted to break the moment. Christine rested her forehead against Veronica’s shoulder, her breath still shallow, but steady. “I don’t know what’s ahead of us,” Christine whispered, her voice hoarse but sincere. “But... I don’t want to face it without you.”

Veronica’s heart swelled, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound of Christine’s heartbeat wash over her. She couldn’t promise that everything would be easy, that Vegas would be a safe haven, but she could promise this—that they’d face whatever came next, together.

“Neither do I,” Veronica said quietly, her voice steady. She pulled back slightly, meeting Christine’s gaze with a quiet certainty. “Whatever comes, we’re in this together." She paused, before adding, "now, let’s go, we're almost there.”

As they descended the dune, the hum of the city grew louder, no longer just a distant glow on the horizon but something real, something alive. The neon flickered in the night like artificial stars, promising both danger and possibility. Christine’s steps slowed as they neared the outskirts, the weight of the moment pressing against her ribs. This was it. The place Veronica had been fighting to return to, the place that held all the unknowns—her sickness, the Courier, whatever future they had left. A warm breeze rolled past them, carrying the scent of dust and the faintest trace of something else—metal, smoke, life. Christine glanced at Veronica, who was staring ahead, unreadable. But then, as if sensing her gaze, she turned, offering the smallest, tiredest smile. It wasn’t reassurance. It wasn’t certainty. But it was enough.

The massive, weathered gates of the Strip loomed before them, guarded by Securitrons with their cold, unblinking eyes. The neon glow of Vegas spilled over the walls, flickering against the desert night, promising something between hope and ruin. Christine felt the weight of the moment settle in her chest. After everything, they had finally made it.

Veronica glanced at Christine, squeezing her hand briefly before stepping forward. The Securitrons scanned them, and for a tense moment, Christine wondered if they’d even be let in. Then, a voice crackled through the speakers.

“Well, well… Look what the Mojave dragged in.”

The Courier.

The heavy gates groaned as they swung open, revealing the city within. The Strip had changed—new faces, new scars from past conflicts—but the electricity in the air remained the same. As they stepped inside, familiar voices called out. Some from Veronica’s past, some new, but all watching with curiosity. The Followers were still here, still trying to do good in a place built on vice. A few old allies—Arcade Gannon, even a familiar Brotherhood scribe—lingered near the gates.

And then, there was the Courier.

Dressed like she always were, with that signature confidence that came from shaping the fate of the Wasteland. Six studied Veronica, then Christine, taking in the exhaustion, the way they leaned on each other without even realizing it.

“You look like hell,” the Courier said, but there was something fond in her tone. “Both of you.”

Veronica let out a tired laugh. “Yeah, well… Hell’s got nothing on the Sierra Madre.”

After a proper introduction of Christine to the Strip, the three of them decided to chat somewhere else. Inside Gomorrah, the air was thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor. The Courier had led them to a quiet, dimly lit lounge tucked away from the chaos of the casino floor. Christine stayed on edge, eyes scanning for exits, but Veronica sank into the worn-out leather chair across from the Courier, exhaling like she’d finally put down a weight she’d been carrying for too long.

“Alright,” the Courier said, leaning back with an easy confidence. “I already got word from the Followers that things were getting bad out there. But I didn’t expect you two to walk straight into my backyard.”

Christine crossed her arms. “We didn’t have many options.”

The Courier gave a half-smile. “Vegas has a way of doing that to people.”

A waitress set down a few drinks. Veronica stared at hers for a moment before pushing it aside. “I need to know what the Strip looks like now. What’s changed? What hasn’t?”

The Courier tilted her head. “Depends. Are you still planning on staying?”

Veronica hesitated. She glanced at Christine, something unspoken passing between them. “Not sure yet. But I know I need to figure some things out before I go anywhere.”

The Courier nodded, like they expected that answer. “Then let’s talk.”

The next hour was spent unraveling the current state of the Strip. The NCR was stretched thin, trying to keep control of Freeside while maintaining their presence beyond Hoover Dam. The Kings still ran Freeside, though tensions had been rising between them and the NCR-backed groups. The Followers of the Apocalypse were doing what they always did—patching people up and trying to keep the chaos from swallowing them whole.

“You still got contacts with them?” Christine asked, shifting in her seat.

“A few.” Six took a sip from her glass. “Arcade’s still around, though he’s keeping his head down. If you need medical help, you’ll want to talk to Julie Farkas. She’s been holding things together on the Strip for a while.”

Veronica exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Julie… She’s not gonna be happy to see me.”

The Courier smirked. “Not at first. But I figure she’ll get over it.”

Christine cut in. “And what about you? You’ve got a way of fixing things when no one else can.”

Six gave her a long look before shrugging. “I can help you get set up here. If you need a place, a job, or a way to disappear, I’ve got options.” The Courier leaned back in her chair, eyeing them with a smirk. Then, she added, “so… you two finally figured it out, huh?”

Veronica blinked. “Figured what out?”

Six snorted. “Come on. I’ve seen wastelanders with better poker faces.” She gestured between them. “You’re sitting closer. You keep looking at each other like you’re sharing some big secret. And—" she pointed at Christine—"you’ve actually smiled, like, twice.”

Christine rolled her eyes, but Veronica just grinned. “Alright, fine. Maybe something happened.”

Six raised an eyebrow. “Just maybe?”

Christine sighed. “Do you have a point, or are you just enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely enjoying myself.” The Courier took a sip from her glass, clearly amused. “But yeah, I do have a point. If you two are done running, you’re gonna need somewhere solid to land.”

She set her drink down, tapping a finger against the table. “There’s a safehouse on the outskirts of Freeside. Used to belong to someone I knew. It’s off the map, stocked with supplies, and best of all—nobody’s watching it.” She tilted her head. “Figured you might want a place to catch your breath before deciding what’s next.”

Christine and Veronica exchanged a look. A safehouse wasn’t a forever plan, but it was a start.

“Who else knows about it?” Christine asked, always suspicious.

“Just me,” Six said. Then, with a smirk, she added, “And the ghosts, but they won’t bother you.”

Veronica exhaled a short laugh. “You always know where to stash people who’ve got nowhere else to go, huh?”

“It's a habit.” Six slid a worn key across the table. “Take it. Stay as long as you need.”

Veronica hesitated before picking it up, feeling the weight of it like it was something more than just a key. It was a pause. A choice. A place where, for once, they weren’t running from or toward something—they just were.

She looked at Christine, and Christine met her gaze with something steady, something certain.

Veronica turned back to Six, her voice quieter now. “Thanks. Really.”

Six gave them both a knowing smile. “Don’t mention it. And hey—try not to wreck the place. Or, you know, each other.”

Christine groaned. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” Six said cheerfully. “Now get out of here before I start charging rent.”

The streets of Freeside were quieter than Christine expected at this hour. The Strip's neon glow flickered in the distance, but here, past the makeshift shacks and crumbling walls, the city felt hollow. The safehouse wasn’t far—a narrow, unassuming door wedged between two ruined buildings. Veronica unlocked it with a soft click, nudging it open.

Inside, the air was stale but not unpleasant. A single oil lamp sat on a wooden crate, casting a dim, flickering light over a room that was small but secure. A worn-out couch, a few scattered supplies, a dusty cot in the corner. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs.

Veronica let out a slow breath, rubbing her tired eyes. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? Having somewhere to stop.”

Christine lingered by the closed door, scanning the room like she half-expected it to disappear. “It’s temporary,” she said, more to herself than to Veronica.

“Yeah.” Veronica studied the place and dropped her belongings to the floor. “But it’s better than the alternative.”

Christine exhaled sharply, closing the door behind her. She didn’t argue. For the first time in what felt like years, they weren’t running. A quiet moment passed between them.

"Have you ever thought about it?" Christine asked, standing near the door, her voice quieter now.

Veronica turned her head, watching her. "Think about what?"

"What it would’ve been like if we’d never left." Sierra Madre. The words were unspoken, but they hung between them anyway.

Veronica let out a breath, shifting her head to look through the window. "No point thinking about it. We did leave." She glanced back at her lover, then smirked a little. "And if we hadn’t? I’d probably still be stuck in that damned casino, trying to pry open vending machines."

Christine chuckled—an actual, real laugh. "You never would’ve given up, would you?"

"Not on you." The words were quiet, but they settled deep.

Christine swallowed, looking down at her hands. "I don’t know how to do this," she admitted. "Any of this. Staying, trusting, not looking over my shoulder every second."

Veronica moved closer to her and held her hands gently. "Then we figure it out."

Christine turned her hand slightly, tightening the hold. It wasn’t a promise of forever. It didn’t have to be. But it was here, and it was real. Outside, the city pulsed with distant life, but for now, in this small, quiet room, they had this moment. Just them. When she lifted her head to glance at Veronica, her breath hitched slightly as she felt the warmth of her hands now slide over her waist, hesitant but firm, like she was memorizing the feeling. Christine didn’t move at first. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t hesitation. It was just... knowing. Knowing this was different from before. And with that, Veronica pulled her into a desperate, but intimate kiss.

Veronica’s lips were warm, slow, steady. Christine’s hands moved instinctively—one curling at the base of Veronica’s neck, the other pressing lightly against her chest as if she needed to feel her heartbeat to believe this was real.

The kiss deepened as Veronica’s hands slid under the hem of Christine’s shirt, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body. Christine responded in kind, her fingers tracing the line of Veronica’s spine as their kiss grew more urgent. They hadn’t done this in so long—really been like this, letting go of everything that held them back. The desert’s heat, the danger, the weight of all the moments before... it all melted away, replaced by the electric current between them.

Christine’s chest tightened, heart racing, as her lips parted slightly, allowing Veronica to slip her tongue in, coaxing her into a deeper kiss. She felt herself leaning into the pressure of Veronica’s body, her hands slipping into Veronica’s hair, pulling her even closer, as if they could somehow merge into one.

The sounds of Vegas buzzed distantly beyond the safehouse walls—music, laughter, the low hum of life—but it all felt like a world away. In here, there was only warmth, only the way Veronica pulled her in, only the way Christine let herself lean into it.

When they finally pulled away, both of them gasping for air, Christine stayed close, her forehead resting against Veronica’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

“I think I’m starting to figure it out,” she murmured.

A soft chuckle. A hand brushing against her cheek. “Yeah?”

Christine nodded, her eyes flickering between Veronica’s and the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips. “Yeah.” 

Veronica kissed her again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if sealing the moment in time. Christine could feel the warmth of it spread through her chest, and when they pulled apart once more, she didn’t want to let go. Not of this. Not of her.

And for the first time in a long while, Christine didn’t feel the weight of the world on her shoulders. It was just them—two souls, connected in a world that felt a little less lonely, a little less uncertain. In the end, it wasn’t the city or the gates or even the journey that had brought them here. It was the simple, unspoken truth between them. No matter where they went, they would face it together.