Archive of Our Own

If she'll just appear we'll take this big town for a whirl
And if she'll say "My, darling, I'm yours"
I'll throw away my striped tie and my best-pressed tweed
All I really need is the girl

There's fear in her eyes, raw, naked fear, and Benny has time to think, This ain't right, she's just a kid. She jerks at the rope around her wrists, not testing its strength, just panicked. It only pulls tighter. And then she goes still.

There was fear behind his eyes, way back behind the smirk and the posturing. Maybe she saw it and maybe she didn't, but she gave him a minute's breathing space, looking him over and saying nothing. Then he gave her his best bedroom smile and called her pussycat, and she went soft all over.

No, she's no kid. Young-ish, with a pretty face that could make a fella dismiss her as just a sweet little nothing, but on her knees with a gun to her head, she looks up at him like she's the Queen of England--a tough old broad he saw in a pre-war holopicture once. He almost wants to beg her pardon.

She moved to crouch down in front of him, not with her normal grace, sort of clumsy-like. Made it seem like it was pure coincidence that her body was now blocking the guards' view of his face. He flushed warm remembering those long, strong legs wrapped around his waist, her head tipped back, hair pulled loose and spreading in little rivulets across his pillow, eyes wide open as she screamed his name. Let her pretend he didn't leave an impression. Pussycat was a terrible liar.

She doesn't beg for her life, even though, with that face and that body, she might actually be able to talk her way out of two bullets and a hole in the ground, if she really puts her mind to it. She doesn't say a damn word, so he fills the silence for her, because it is unfair she has to die for something she was never involved in, and somebody ought to say so before it's too late.

"Caesar says I get to decide how you die." She looked a little too smug at that. If her smile got any bigger, she might break her teeth on it. She didn't seem to mind so much when he said so, though, just asked if he had a preference.

"Yeah, to die in my sleep at a ripe old age after a marathon session of hey-hey with thirty sex-starved broads. You'll set that up?" She actually had the nerve to look put-out. Maybe he should have made it just one particular broad. Still sex-starved. "Look, I ain't a harbor for illusions. I ain't expecting to get out of this shindig alive..."

Her eyes cut to the shovels planted in the loose mound of dirt, to the Khans getting fidgety behind him, and back to his face. She doesn't look at her grave. She doesn't waste her time.

She dwelled on the prospect of crucifixion for longer than was strictly necessary. Well, the joke was on her if she wanted to see him sweat. After all the time he'd spent on his knees in that tent with no food or water while she was dicking around in the Wasteland, he had no moisture left to lose. Hey, at least that would speed things along if she did go with the cross.

But she switched over to talking about the arena, and almost had his blood up for a fight when she suggested that something could "happen to him" right there.

"The direct approach, hey? Fair enough." Probably more than fair. "But you should wait until the bunker's taken care of. Caesar won't like it if you eat dessert first."

Her eyes went dark and she licked her lips like he'd just turned into the world's biggest Fancy Lad. This broad had a real screw loose, but--he hadn't been complaining about it so far.

She leaned up against him, hands roaming down, and he caught a glimpse of the guards uncertainly looking at her, then at the ground. Her teeth nipped his earlobe hard enough to make his stomach clench before she whispered, "What if I helped you escape?"

With her hand halfway down his pants, it wasn't easy to focus on a glib response.

"Sweet to offer, baby, but if you cut these ropes every Legionary in this camp's gonna come running. With machetes." He swallowed hard. Play it cool, baby. Play it cool. "Now on the other hand, if I had a stealth boy and a bobby pin, I could see myself out. Know what I mean?"

It was too much to ask. She wouldn't really consider it.

Only, she sounded serious when she said, "If I help you escape, what will you do next?"

Maybe it was just Legion hospitality talking, but all he wanted to do was go curl up in some cave somewhere with a pack full of water and a bowl of squirrel stew, put up a turret to keep the neighbors out, and just wait it out until the next apocalypse. To hell with the Strip, to hell with House, and to the real nowhere part of hell with Caesar and his Legion crumbs.

"Baby, if you show me the door to scramsville, that's where I'll go," he said, "out of your hair, never to return." Well, maybe not never never. Just long enough for her to forget a little. "I been a real fink to you, caused more than my share of grief by a hard mile. Let me go, you won't see me again."

She pulled back, and he thought she was thinking it over until she jerked him toward her, creasing his lapels in her hot little fist. He could smell Sugar Bombs on her breath, which made it harder for him to concentrate on the threat, torn between wanting to kiss her and wanting to stuff himself full of radioactive cereal. But her other hand came up with Maria--How did she find that? The Legion didn't find that!--and pressed that sweet little muzzle into the softness under his jaw. He managed to pay attention.

"I don't like it when men run out on me, Benny!"

One shot, and she falls, looking like he's insulted her mother. One more shot to be sure. A decent burial, because it's the least they can do for her, and also because a fresh grave will attract less attention than a fresh body out in the open. And then they set out. There's no point crying over splattered brains, and they have a long way to go.

Oh, shit.

Thanks for showing this cat the best hey-hey he's ever-ever.

I won't be around for awhile, but if everything works out right, you and me are a date, got it?

Now don't get clingy and try to follow me.

Ohhh, shit.

"Pussycat, you, uh--you wouldn't want to break our date, would ya?" he asked hopefully, trying not to feel the cold steel against his throat.

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

One shot to the head, and she falls, her face a ruin, the spark gone out of her eyes.

His mouth was dry. Well, his mouth had been dry for days, but--hey, call it a figure of speech.

One shot, and she falls.

Before he could give her the eyes again, she flicked the safety back on.

"Goodbye, Benny." She stood, and he panicked.

"Baby! You can't just leave me tied up--"  They were gonna tie him to a fucking cross if she left him--he could face up to a quick death, but not--not--

She looked at him over her shoulder, giving him an exasperated roll of her eyes.

"I'm going to the bunker, Benny. I'm coming back for you. I'm not a fink."

Oh.

He glared at her backside as she sauntered out of the tent. He probably deserved that. But she wouldn't even know the word fink if not for him.

*

The rumble in the ground meant she'd either succeeded or blown herself up. Either way, this prison gig was endsville.

Sitting in the Tops, rolling a chip back and forth across the table, bored out of his skull. Whiskey in his left hand, pack of smokes in his pocket, brahmin steak sitting too heavy in his stomach, luxuries he can take for granted after seven years of fat living. And then she walks in, a vengeful ghost, what in the goddamn...?

She didn't even glance his way, but went straight to the back of the tent to report that she had done as Caesar commanded. It was old Baldy himself who finally told her it was time to make her choice.

Let's keep this in the groove, hey? Smooth moves. Smooth...

"Does it have to be execution?" she asked, respectful enough that she wasn't quite challenging Caesar's authority, but maybe not quite enough that he wouldn't have them both shot for her insolence anyway. "I'm just saying, Mighty Caesar, the man should suffer for what he's done. You could fit him with one of your fancy slave collars. I could keep him in line."

Lying in his own bed with her hands around his throat when she thinks he's out cold, wondering if she'll really go through with it. She has good, strong hands. She could have done it if she took him by surprise. Maybe still could, if she's quick enough to get the straight razor he wasn't supposed to see was in her boot.

But she doesn't squeeze, or lunge for a weapon, and soon the light pressure of her thumbs is gone from his windpipe, and it's almost a disappointment. This is the most interesting thing that's happened to him in years.

"What the fuck," she whispers, and pillows her head on his shoulder. "You wore me out, too."

They both sleep. What a couple of saps.

"Sorry, Benny. He didn't go for it."

Benny shrugged, as best he could with his hands tied and his body as battered as it was. Pussycat was a real smooth talker, even with her formerly pretty face all scorched by his gunpowder and her shattered cheekbone put back together wrong. But he could have told her Baldy didn't go in for smooth talk.

"Don't act like that was for my sake, babydoll. I ain't cut out for the slave life."

"Aw, Benny..."

"All you want's a man who can't cash out on you before you wake up."

"I want a man who won't." She ran her fingers through his hair, an almost-tender gesture that could have tied him up in knots, if he were a different guy.

"We both know that ain't me."

Her fingers tightened in his hair, yanked his head back until he let out a hiss of pain.

"You don't have to tell me that, asshole."

She sprawls across his bed, already taking up more than her share of the space, little red nightie hiked up to show enough thigh that he can't help wanting to slide his hand up the inside of it, wake this crazy girlie up for another round. Instead he squirms back into his clothes, quick and quiet as he can, mopping her drool off his chest with a corner of the bedsheet. She rolls into the warmth his body left behind and sweetly mumbles, "You fucking bastard, I'll get you formvfhhhapplesauce..."

She ran her free hand over her own hair, patting all the loose bits back into the raggedy bun. When she took it away it was worse than before, one loose tendril spilling down her cheek in a way that made a guy want to tuck it back for her.

"I'm really gonna miss you, Ben-man."

"It's been solid, pussycat."

She took his head in both hands and pulled him to her for a kiss, the gentle goodbye you'd give a man if you wanted to leave him at peace with the world in his final moments.

That lasted all of three seconds before they were fighting for dominance, tongues clashing, mouths bruising, and he tasted blood when his parched lips cracked under the assault. When she shoved him away, amid much throat-clearing from the Legion guards, his heart was pounding so hard he thought he might just get to go out the way he would have wanted, after all. And he felt a bobby pin tucked behind his ear.

"Baby--did you--"

She pulled Maria again, in full view of the guards this time. They all went stiff, hands moving toward knives and spears, power fist servos whirring.

"It's his," she snapped over her shoulder. "Maybe try searching the prisoner next time, fuckwads."

They all looked to Caesar to see if they were supposed to let some infidel, what-was-it--profligate dame talk to them like that. Caesar must not have been too hacked off about it, because they all settled back, grumbling.

She pressed the muzzle to his forehead, and their eyes locked. No more fucking around, this was it.

"You ready, Benny?"

No, but-- "I've been ready. Make Vegas a town I would have been proud of, hey?"

"Close your eyes, if you want." She made it sound like a kindness.

Numb from the shoulder down, from a blow that almost knocked him flat. Bingo's shocked expression, like he's too dumb to know that's a knife buried up to its hilt in his neck. Blood in his eyes, tribals screaming his name.

"Nah, I'd rather see it coming." Boot Riders looked their death in the face. "Do it, baby. Make it clean."

Maria slipped across the surface of his skin as the courier drew a steadying breath.

"Little to the left," Benny suggested. It was only fitting she put the bullets in the same spot he had.

She shook her head.

"Maybe this is how your tribe does it. Not mine." She sidestepped, dragging the muzzle through his hair, around his ear and down to the spot where the base of his skull met his spinal cord. He tried to twist around so he could see her, but she dug her fingers into his shoulder to hold him still.

"No," he whispered. "Pussycat, not in the back. Please."

The guards started snickering, and he felt her palm flatten out on his shoulder as she pulled Maria back.

"Can we get some fucking privacy over here?" she snarled. "A man's final moments are his own."

That wasn't how the Legion saw it, but they half-turned away from her, granting the outsider's foolish request with great condescension.

She fired.

For a second, it didn't even hurt, and he thought--she missed? No, just shock, it would catch up to him in a second, and--oh, god, one bullet wasn't enough to do him in, she was going to have to shoot him three or four more times, no wonder she crawled back out of that grave, and why did that guard look so surprised, with red blooming out of his forehead? Oh, shit.

She emptied everything she had into the other guards, dropping two of them before they knew what was happening, and when Maria was dry, she dove headfirst across the tent to get the shotgun one of them had dropped.

She was platinum.

Benny staggered to his feet to help her, and the blood went rushing out of his head and everything went all funny for a second--

He opened his eyes and spat out a mouthful of dirt. Maybe nobody saw that.

Pussycat was laughing her head off, covered in blood--some of it probably hers. One of the Legion tried to grab her, and she jerked the guy forward so another one's machete sliced him clean through at the elbow.

"Back off, creeps! I'M ARMED!"

She swung the bloody stump so the power fist at the end of it smashed one of them in the face.

She was still going to need help. He managed to stand up this time, and jumped on the nearest one from behind, looped his bound wrists up over the guy's head, and leaned back to strangle him. The Legionary grunted in surprise, and swung his fist back into Benny's ribs. And, seeing as how it was a power fist, because they all had power fists except for him, this made him want to re-think his strategy a little.

The Legionary shrugged out from his slackened grasp, bellowed, "Profligate cur!" and slugged him in the gut. Benny crumpled.

The guy said something in Legion-ese, probably a real impressive threat that should have had him shaking. Benny didn't mind threats. It gave him time to roll over on his back, tuck his knees up to his chest, and smash both his feet into the guy's un-armored knees.

The Legionary collapsed with a roar of pain, and Benny found himself grinning until he remembered there was nothing wrong with the guy's hands. He grabbed Benny by the jacket and dragged himself on top of him. Benny tried to kick again, get a knee up into his crotch, anything, but the man was heavy enough to pin him to the ground.

The Legionary let go of his coat only to clutch at the tie he'd worked so hard to fix up right. Benny tried to get his hands up to pry the fingers away before it started cutting off his air, but they were trapped under the soldier's body. He couldn't move.

The guy drew back his power fist, snarling. One good hit to the face would do it. Benny flinched.

Then the BOOM of a shotgun left his ears ringing, and the Legionary's face dissolved into a red mist.

By the time Benny worked his way out from under the body, Pussycat had taken care of a few more of the guards. The armless one (wait, what happened to the other arm?) was still stumbling around, spraying blood every which way, until his feet tangled in Benny's checkered coat; he hit the dirt and didn't get back up. That might have been because of the blood loss, or maybe the knife sticking out of his back. Still, lying in the middle of the floor and waiting for them all to trip over him seemed like the smoothest way to play this.

On the other hand, cutting his hands free might help a little. He crawled over the body to get to that knife, ducking one foot in a sandal, one in a boot, then the one in the sandal again with no leg attached. That one wasn't a clean slice. She'd gotten her hands on a hatchet. A dull one.

He pulled the knife out of the corpse and was just turning it around to saw at the ropes when another sandaled foot kicked it out of his hands.

"Goddammit!" He grabbed onto that ankle and bit down on the exposed flesh until blood ran down his chin. Teach them to fight with their legs bare!

"Get him, Benny!" Pussycat used her shoulder to help him slam the Legionary on his back, but it was only when she threw herself down on the man's chest that he realized he was gnawing on Caesar's ankle.

He pushed himself back and spat out the blood that was filling his mouth.

"When you get to hell, tell the devil I thought of something clever!" She smashed her hatchet into the old man's throat.

What a woman.

"C'mon, Benny, we gotta go." She dragged him to his feet and shoved him through the tentflap into the blinding sunlight.

"Never thought I'd see that again."

"Duck!" She shoved him down, and someone's machete sliced through the air where his head had been. She took that one's face off with her boomstick, but there were more coming.

"Hey, give me a weapon, will ya?" he urged.

"Just run for it!"

"Pussycat!"

She shoved him toward the river.

"I fight, you run!"

"What, you think I'm gonna shoot you in the back now?" But he didn't stick around to argue the point any more. There were too many of them, all armed to the teeth and big enough to break him in half.

He scuttled toward the edge of camp, legs too cramped from days of kneeling in the same position to really run. At least he'd done enough scouting before he'd been caught to learn their habits--he knew they'd all be running up the path in the middle, instead of trying to pen them in from the sides.

Pussycat was still behind him, covering their retreat. It sounded like she'd switched to a revolver, better range than a shotgun, larger caliber than Maria. He hoped she hadn't left his special lady behind, but he didn't stop to ask.

Every muscle in his body was screaming for him to stop, and something stabbed him a little sharper each time he tried to take a breath, but he had his eye on the river, and freedom.

"You got--boat waiting--right?" he gasped.

"Uh..."

A bullet whizzed into the dirt near his foot. A sharpshooter. Peachy.

There were two more pops from her revolver, then a quiet, "Shit, I'm out." And what felt like a sledgehammer slammed into the back of his knee.

Benny staggered forward. She made a grab for his arm, but another shot caught him in the shoulder. He spun away from her, into empty space, and finally into the river.

The shock of the snowmelt leeched the pain away, but it also turned his limbs to lead. Even if his hands had been free, and his leg hadn't been shot all to hell, he never would have had the energy to fight that current.

He did try to keep his head above the water, but as the river swept him away from the Legion camp, his struggles became more and more sluggish. It wasn't so bad, watching his luck run out. It would almost be a relief to just let go, knowing those fucking toy soldiers would be pissing in their armor, telling stories of the Chairman who chewed Caesar's leg clean off.

The first rock he hit didn't knock him unconscious, but it did knock the air out of his lungs, and it made him see stars.

The second rock made him gasp, which was unfortunate, since he was underwater at the time. With the last of his strength, he flailed in the direction he thought might be up, as blackness crept across his vision.

But it was the third rock to the face that put an end to it all.