Chapter Text
"What's this?" The Courier tilted her head, visible confusion in her eyes. She happened to be digging through one of the many closets in the Lucky 38's suite, trying to clean them out to make room for her things. As it turns out, it wasn't as easy a task as she'd hoped; most of the time was spent coughing and gagging from the smell of the 261 year old clothing, and all the dust filling the air. She tossed onto the floor a couple pairs of pants, some polo shirts, and one rugby shirt that repulsed her. It seemed as if all of the contents in the worn, cherry wood closet were mangled beyond repair, but then, from amongst the musty, hole-ridden garments, out stood an untouched periwinkle sweater. It was still in such perfect condition, which was just about unbelievable. It was pretty, and very obviously for a man, as it looked a little large for her, but it had stolen her heart. When she pulled it off the plastic hanger, which fell apart from the force, the smell hit her immediately; whiskey and the faint hint of cologne.
Was this how Mr. House used to smell? His crisp, clean scent?
Without further hesitation, the Courier slid the sweater on over her tank top, trying to ajust it. The sleeves drapped over her hands, causing her roll them up so they wouldn't get in the way. It was soft, cashmere, maybe? House was rich, so it would make sense if his clothing was crafted out of only the finest materials on this Earth. Though it hanged off her frame slightly, it was warm, grand, undamaged by time. Honestly, the lack of holes still seemed impossible, but it was best not to question it. She swished around in the room, admiring herself in a way that she'd never done before. The Mojave had worn her down, left her hair fried, skin cracked and dry like the desert dust. This was the first time in a while that she could say she felt genuinely beautiful. In the midst of her twirling, a single, restrained knock hit the aged wood of her door.
"Oh! Yes, yes, come in." She quickly ceased her childish behavior. It could only really be a couple people, at that door, and two of those couple weren't people at all.
"Howdy there, partner!" A cheerful, familiar voice from behind the door. Victor.
"Victor? Er, you're free to come in. It's not locked.." Her soft voice rang out, followed by the swift turning of the knob. In rolled the robo-cowboy that had saved her life what felt like a lifetime ago. His screen flickered, and her eyes darted to it.
"Sorry to bother ya like this, partner! But the boss would like a word!"
"Is that so? Okay... tell him I'll be down."
"Why don't we go together? Boss doesn't like to wait!" Victor suggested.
"Alright. I could always use the company." She smoothed the sleeves back down, allowing them to dangle once again. Then, she trailed behind Victor, soaking in his gleeful demeanor. He was the only one that felt alive to her; everything else appeared void of emotion.
Especially Mr. House.
He rarely betrayed any sense of emotion, not even a flake of it. He was calm, controlled, always managing to keep up a steady tone of voice. There was only one time he showed her an emotion; annoyance, when the former tribals who run the Ultra-Luxe returned to cannibalism. She recalled that fondly, as Victor pushed an elevator button. He began to ramble to her about the current affairs of Vegas, all the while she would nod occasionally in response, perpetually lost in the thoughts and images of House.
What could he possibly want?
"Here we are! Penthouse floor!" Victor beckoned the Courier to go first, which, she did so accept.
"Thank you, Victor. I'll catch you later, alright? Bye bye." She dipped her head, stepping free from the elevator, to greet Jane. She did like Jane plenty enough, but knowing her purpose left a persistent, weirded-out feeling in her gut whenever they talked. Reminding herself of Jane's sweetness, she gave the feminine securitron a soft wave. The giggle from the robot echoed throughout the penthouse.
"Oh my! Hello, sugar! Nice to see you again! Mr. House is waiting for you in his office!"
Can it even be called an office, in all seriousness?
"I appreciate it, as usual. You're looking quite ravishing today, if I do say so myself! Have you lost some weight?" The corners of the courier's semi-chapped lips curved up into a half-smile.
"Oh, you flatter me! You're looking cute today, yourself! Don't let me keep you, honey! Making Mr. House wait is never a good decision!" Jane wheeled out of the way, to allow the courier passage down the stairs.
"Thank you so much, Jane. Let's chat some other time, then."
With every shaky step down the stairs, her heart raced faster and faster, the internal image of her boss dancing about in her brain. Sweat formed in her palms, but it wasn't from fear. She was excited to see him again, to talk to him, perhaps ramble on until he sent her away. Maybe, just maybe he'd notice it. But it was doubtful. Slowly then, she entered, to gaze upon the familiar screen, the image upon the monitor that brought her some semblance of joy, that made her feel as if she was a part of something bigger and more elegant than her.
"Hello again, Mr. House," she began, "It's...great to see you. You summoned me?" She bowed, hiding her grin behind her hair. She tried to remain as formal as possible.
"Ah. There you are, lieutenant. Certainly took your sweet time, then?"
"My apologizes, sir."
"Formality... Though you've attempted to make it a habit, it fails to suit you." His voice, so lifeless. It made her wonder what his laugh sounded like. Perhaps she could make him laugh?
"I thought you'd like if I acted like one of your former, boot-licking employees." She sneered, cupping her flushed cheeks in her palms.
"Well, you at least excel at acting...amongst a handful of other things. Enough of that, however. I requested your presence for a purpose. There have been... reports. On the Omertas. Displeasing ones." He remarked, flatly.
"Again?" She muttered to herself, twiddling her thumbs.
"Unfortunately. I suggest you be a nosy little courier, pop your head in through their doors, and find out if they're genuine."
"What are the rumors? The gist of them."
"They entail weapon hoarding; not what I'd prefer to hear. What they're planning with the weapons, is for you to look into."
"Got it, boss. Should I deal with the problem on the spot, if the rumors come to fruition?"
"Yes, in any way you so please. Now, about that sweater..." A chill ran down the courier's spine.
He did notice.
"Er, I am sorry. It was yours, wasn't it? It looked good, so I put it on-"
"That was mine, yes. Seeing as I can no longer wear clothing, it's yours. I'm quite surprised to see that anything up there remained in pristine condition."
"As was I!" The courier exclaimed.
"I imagine it must have quite a grotesque odor."
"No, no... it actually doesn't. Smells like...well..."
"Like me?" His question made her feel embarrassed, knowing he read her mind.
"Y-yes. At least, what I think you smelled like..." She hid her mouth and cheeks behind the long sleeves.
"..Hah. Now that sweater, that suits you perfectly. I'd enjoy talking to you further, but, the Omertas? You must attend to that." Mr. House's single chuckle, combined with a compliment? It felt so surreal to her. The sheer unusualness of the whole thing nearly convinced her that it was a fever dream of some kind.
"Oh. Oh yeah. Thank you for the compliment. I'll... yeah. I'll go see the Omertas. Farewell, Mr. House." She turned to leave.
"Lieutenant. If you find anymore of my apparel intact, feel free to wear it, since it is of impeccable quality and style; which you are quite deserving of."
"Yes, sir!" A warm feeling coursed through her. She increasingly began to see him as a father-figure, much to her own surprise. She dwelled on that, as she made her way to the Omerta's, clutching her sleeves tightly.