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Chapter Text

The emergency alarms were blaring, everything turning to chaos and madness in the blink of an eye. It was all devolving into bedlam, despite Bud's supposedly well-pounded-into-everyone's months worth of plans and repeatedly sounded off strategies, proving once and for all that what worked well on paper soon collapsed while in practice. The footfalls became some kind of staccato rhythm in the hallways of the Vault-Tec offices, while the collective beating of everyone's heart seemed to imaginatively take on a life of its own inside of Steph's mind. Now it had formed into some monstrous drum which threatened to tear the world apart more than any bomb or missile ever could.

She wished that it would be silent and just let her think for one darn moment.

The young woman looked at her surroundings and felt like she was suddenly drowning, being swept underneath the racing shoes and heels, suffocated by the screams, squeaks and shrieks, the well starched fabric and business suits now becoming a multicolored wave of panic, a current she didn't feel strong enough to swim against. Even though her feet were placed, just as they had always been, firmly on the ground, she felt like she was going under.

"Think, think, think," she hissed to herself, wishing the words would clear her mind and act as some sort of life preserver, something to carry her safely to shore like a raft.

What would House do if he were here?

It was the next thought to help calm her.

He had kept telling her that this day would come, damnably cold and certain as he had always been since the moment she had first met him. He was insistent, even later when she had started to doubt that a war would happen at all, it becoming too much like the reverse side of a fairytale: a nightmare, thankfully, never going to come true.

"Tomorrow is dangerous because you think it will never come," he had said to her once. "You wait for it long enough and you get bored and then think, it will never happen, can never happen...you get lax...then it devours you because you were a fool and let your guard down, all thanks to a greed for fresh stimuli."

Well, tomorrow was finally here.

And Robert House was miles away from her, in his beloved Las Vegas while she was stuck here, trapped in L.A.

Just as he had orchestrated she be.

She needed to keep a level head, to plant her feet firmly on the ground.

The only thing that prevented Steph's feet from staying where they were, as she urgently tried to keep that level head, was the fact that several people kept violently brushing past her on their flight, trying frantically to get to an exit and then hopefully to the safe place they had all had been promised: Vault 31.

Steph felt herself being pushed forward, unwillingly being moved in inches or feet, as her hair swept to the side like some ultra blonde wing and her face looked almost desperately behind her, back to her office and the possibility of making contact with Vegas.

What was he doing now, she wondered, almost helplessly, a feeling she could not stand.

A new alarm was going off now, one inside her soul, more loud and more urgent than the ones making a deafening sound inside of the Vault-Tec building, and its eerie echoes emanating from the world outside.

What was House doing this very second while she was so far away from him?

Had he initiated his own percolating plan?

It was too early.

Something had gone wrong.

Did that knowledge fill him with more anger than the realization of the attack itself?

Oh, how Robert House hated to be wrong.

Possibly more than anything else.

That might just kill him before any bomb or radiation did.

She wanted to go back to her office, to find some way to contact him, maybe make use of her alternate Pip Boy, the one he had modified especially for her, although he had forbidden her to ever, ever use it in direct regards to him, unless it was an emergency.

Well, this is an emergency, she thought, envisioning herself taking out several of her Vault-Tec coworkers on a pathway back to her office: A kick to the crotch here, an elbow to the throat there.

She had to make sure that Robert was safe as houses.

Then it was too late.

Steph felt her body being pushed freshly forward, this time on purpose.

A large hand rested on her back, almost shoving her ahead without her consent.

Angered, Steph looked up and into the twitching face of Bud Askins. Sweat was sliding down his face like condensation off of a chilled Nuka Cola bottle and his eyes held the look of a pet store animal being lifted out of its pen to meet a potential master. It seemed he was just as good at trying to stay calm as the rest of his "buds".

Each of his hands now grasped one of her shoulders apiece and he gave them a hearty squeeze.

"Showtime, honey," he stated with a wink and an attempt at a confident smile.

Steph hesitated. Seriously thinking about punching Bud in the eye or stepping on his foot, she resisted his push with every ounce of her being, House always having had a greater pull of her two "bosses". She looked back once again and the story of Lot's wife came to her fully then, a revival of Sunday School days past in the face of a significant doomsday.

Was she damning both House and herself by that furtive look behind?

Bud was almost physically lifting her now, trying to hurry her forward and towards the Vault, luckily mistaking her reluctance for confusion. His demeanor was changing. It was like he was gaining strength from what he mistook to be her weakness.

"Come on, Steph, we've got to go go go! This is what we've been planning right? Time and the FUTURE!"

With those last words, she lost all her resistance and suddenly gave up the struggle. She fell against Bud Askins, her teeth biting deeply into her bottom lip, painfully.

House might as well have put the words in Bud's mouth; a simple reminder to her.

This was what they had been planning for:

The future.

But not a shared one.

She decided to abort any previous thoughts.

It was just as well, perhaps.

If she went to Robert House now, or tried to contact him in any way, she could end up getting him killed.

By now House would be occupied, saving Las Vegas.

Her time in his life was over.

He was a man of the future.

She was only his girl of the past.

Bud mistook the tears in her eyes for fear, and somehow further fortified by them, he tried to smooth it over, always the polite, reassuring ass kissing executive.

"Now, there, it will be alright! Remember we have this all worked out!"

He sounded so damnedly chipper and she couldn't help but look up at him and offer a small comforted smile, even if it was completely false.

All she had left now, afterall, was the act that House had requested she play when he'd carelessly flipped her world over like it was nothing but one of his cherished snow globes.

"We'll always have Old Vegas," Steph whispered to herself, letting Bud Askins urge her towards a fate which now no longer included the man she had long ago fallen in love with.

Robert Edwin House.

The self proclaimed savior of "New" Vegas.

Chapter Text

Thirty-one weeks.

Thirty-three days.

Thirty-two hours.

That was the exact time the stripper known as Miss Calculation (better known as Steph to her family and friends, few, though, those may be) had been slaving away at a strip club called the "Sin-Gal Sensations" in the city of sin itself: Las Vegas.

And it was right about the time she was on a tassle's edge of surely losing her mind too.

The Sin-Gal wasn't the worst of the clubs she had worked, the pay was okay and there was a lot less hassle from unruly patrons, but it wasn't the first club Steph had been at either. By that time, she had worked herself all the way down to the very end of the Las Vegas Strip.

The Strip.

Nowhere in the world had a place been more aptly named, Stephanie would often muse bitterly.

It had, afterall, stripped her of her dreams.

Stripped her of her morals.

Stripped away at her confidence.

And, of course, by the end of a show, stripped her of every single article of clothing she was wearing.

New York might have had a Hell's Kitchen but, to Steph, the place would surely be a breeze compared to the torment she'd been forced to endure since leaving California for Vegas' supposed riches.

She was tall for a girl, and while that might not be a proverbial strike against her in Vegas, where length of leg was never looked down upon, her measurements most certainly were. They simply didn't add up in the way that any club manager wanted. She was a cool, tall, thin glass of water, just as the owner of the first establishment to turn her down described her as being, right before he added rather crudely, "And with not a lot for a fella to drink up on top, if you take my meaning."

She had.

Just as he had taken a palm to the cheek before she'd walked straight out the door, with her head held high. This was the start of her journey down the strip, after all, when she had still possessed some of her self esteem.

She was also too "brunette" as another owner had pointed out to her. They wanted blondes these days, women whom spent half their earnings to turn platinum every three weeks.

Just more money wasted, and for Steph, whom had come to Vegas to make her fortune and not to lose it, she'd stubbornly refused to change her appearance.

No implants and no dye jobs.

That left for her the Sin-Gal, a not half bad little establishment, but not a very good one either.

The Sin-Gal Sensations was merely a modest strip club, one which somehow managed to balance a bit of class in with the sleaze, like the jugglers you would sometimes see casting a knife or two amongst their brightly colored lot of balls. Unfortunately, it was also somewhat neglected, due to its mundane position within Las Vegas. They sometimes attracted good clientele, but they could go weeks with only performing for some bad alcoholics and traveling salesmen too.

Nothing special.

Just as most of the customers would describe the girls who worked there.

Most nights, Steph tried to put on a good show regardless of her audiences' critiscms or expectations. She might not have been the bustiest or blondest of the showgirls, but she could twirl a baton or flirt with a snake (both animal and human) like nobody's business, plus she was one of the perkiest most brightest and smiling girls on the strip that Vegas had to offer.

At least, on the stage she was.

The moment she was off of it, she fled backstage to the dressing room that all the girls shared. Usually the last performer would be there, pulling off her eyelashes and wiping off their lipstick, unless they had procured a customer willing to pay for a special show after hours.

She'd had a few offers herself, and sometimes accepted them (adios morals) but rarely took anyone up on them when her bank account was healthy.

Now if it had been someone influential like Robert House, Frederick Sinclair or even the owner of the Sin-Gal, maybe that would have made all the difference in Las Vegas to Stephanie.

The mystery of that last one in particular had been another thing which kept her interested in staying and not packing her bags and heading back to sunny old California.

For all the Thirty-one weeks she had been working there, Steph had never found out the name of her employer. None of the girls knew it either. She'd tactfully pried each one, only to discover their ignorance.

"Well, as long as I've been here, it's been the same guy. I know that much. There's never been an announcement of new management or some'thin'," and the woman, a stripper called Miss Conduct, sure looked like she'd been there a long enough time to know.

Another girl, much younger, had pretty well said the very same thing.

"Never met him. Maybe it's a girl and she's embarrassed," the stripper known as Miss T Fire had suggested.

That was another thing their mysterious boss had given them: their handles.

Stephanie had eventually learned that all her showgirl coworkers held a similar story to hers after being hired at the Sin-Gal: each had received a note with their new stage name elegantly written on it.

Hers had read Miss Calculations.

And Steph had never much cared for it.

Math had never been a strong point of interest to her, and besides there was very little that was sexy about the name, or numbers in general, unless you were talking in attributes, which were already a sore spot for her.

Fire was sexy.

Misconduct, while risky, could be titillating.

But calculations?

While she'd like to be considered a hot little number (although still finding nothing sexy about them in general, other than inches)...Miss Calculations?

That just seemed like something destined to go wrong.

It had to be a joke.

The owner had to see her as a joke, another reason why she did her best to help prove them wrong.

But, even though she had been insulted, she had lingered at the club, too scared to admit defeat and getting somewhat comfortable, if a little bored, where she was.

Routine could be just as comforting as it was tedious and security was not to be taken lightly, especially in a city where the crime rate was sky rocketing, and there was talk of a war ever looming over the head of everyone all across the country.

Best to stay where she was and not even consider a change, Steph calculated, partially living up to her moniker.

Until that all changed.

All starting at the end of a string of seemingly inconsequential numbers.

31.

33.

32.

Farther down the years of Steph's life, centuries actually, even if for most of those she hadn't been conscious enough to experience them, she might have looked at those numbers and been horrified at how calculated it all seemed, as if something, somewhere had worked it all out for her, designing things. She certainly would have smiled in that way you do when you find something so morbid it almost becomes outrageously funny.

As it were, the only numbers which really added up to her was the paycheck she received at the end of every week, and the tips men threw on to the stage or had delivered, sometimes alongside flowers if she were lucky, to her backstage following the show.

That night of 31-33-32, some time after her performance, when no other offers had been made, some other thing had been delivered to her backstage.

She'd made it to the dressing room, a securitron guarding her as she left the stage until she became a little less exposed, wrapped in a robe and safely backstage. If there was one thing, Steph admired about the Sin-Gal was that the place had some of the best security in all of Las Vegas. The owner had somehow acquired the pricey robots to look after the girls, something other clubs had neglected: the safety of their workers. Placed at all entry and exit marks, one could find a securitron also, making certain that robberies were almost unheard of at the club.

They made a girl feel safe.

Running a brush through her dark, long hair, freeing from it some of the sparkles that had fallen from the ceiling as per her regular routine, Steph felt pretty secure, if not happy, as she stared at her reflection.

She wondered if she would be like Conduct: still taking her clothes off to make a living when she had well passed thirty.

Steph hoped not, no offense, to Miss Conduct, whom was a pretty nice woman all around, but she wanted a little more out of life than just baring her body to strangers.

A sigh escaping the lips she gave one final wipe for good measure, Steph realized that the stip might have taken several things from her but it had not stripped her of all of her hope yet. At least, not the hope that there was a better life for her out there and someday some handsome, and very rich man, would present it to her with a proposal and a big diamond ring.

Her eyes glanced at Miss Conduct, now sitting beside her, the makeup completely wiped off but the smile still on her face.

"What are you so happy about?" Steph asked, although, she really just wanted to head home and an in depth answer might unfortunately preempt that.

"They say House is back in town..." the other stripper smiled and licked her full lips.

Robert Edwin House. Stephanie had been familiar with the name since her first day in Vegas. Rich and powerful were not used in conjunction with the man's name, but only because they were too weak to describe the immensity of his wealth and influence. He'd been a self made man at 20, and that was only because his older brother had stolen the family fortune from him. He'd successfully gotten back on his feet, but the rumor now was that the family drama had cost both House brothers a little bit of their sanity.

Anthony House was going paranoid.

Meanwhile, the lack of affection from his family had reportedly made Robert House cold.

Colder than the ice the showgirls sometimes used backstage before meeting their audience.

"Doesn't he only date starlets?" Steph asked, taking off an imitation diamond studding her ear and wondering why Conduct was getting her hopes up so high when House had never even been spotted near the Sin-Gal.

"Yeah, Calculations, but maybe, just maybe the odds will be in our favor. I mean...maybe, he'll come here, ya know, wanna buy the place from the owner."

Yeah and then fire us all, Steph thought bitterly. If House was interested in buying the Sin-Gal, as he had several other businesses, they were all figuratively on the chopping block. That would be the closest they'd ever come to being screwed by the infamous Mr. House.

Steph went to remove the last earring as Conduct left, presumably going to get dressed and return to her apartment so she could dream of being swept off her now flattening feet by a billionaire.

Frowning at herself in the mirror, wondering why her dreams these days only involved bombs going off, the result of too much news, Steph witnessed the same securitron which had led her safely backstage now rolling back her way. It held in it's strange almost claw like robotic hand an envelope. Steph saw her eyes enlarge comically in the mirror's reflection, the hope that the robot was bringing cash her way embarrassingly obvious.

"For you," the securitron said, placing the envelope down gently before her, despite its intimidating size.

"Thanks," she said politely, wondering if a robot cared if she said the word or not.

The securitron rolled away, returning to its post by the backstage door.

Her name had been scrawled on the envelope, her real name, and Stephanie felt a slight thrill, both of excitement and fear, as she ripped into it and pulled out a thin, rectangular slip of paper, folded once and of a slightly peaches and cream shade.

She read it several times, blinked twice in between and then marvelled at the chance of it.

Two other 30s to add to the significance of the previous ones today.

Only these were for tomorrow, hopefully signaling some break in the pattern of her past and dull existence.

Chapter Text

Steph was outside of her apartment five minutes before the specified time, wondering if she'd look like a fool by the end of the day.

Was a limo really coming? Did the leaver of the note even know where she lived?

Was it a wise idea to go if he did?

So many girls went missing in Vegas, some of the more tactless comedians saw it as great material for their tasteless routines. A few of the jokes had reached her ears, mostly retold loudly by the drunks at the bar of the Sin-Gal. The Mr. Handy bartender had been programmed to laugh at whatever filth the patrons were spewing, incentive to return, she guessed, but it always made her sick.

Now, standing and staring at her watch, the feathers on her black boa bristling in the breeze, Steph was wishing she had stayed up in her bedroom, even if she would have been awake by now anyway and lazily preparing for her shift. Better to be hiding in her room incase some creep was obsessed with her than to be a potential victim out here waiting on the sidewalk for her demise.

When a fancy looking limo actually did show up instead of some crummy looking vehicle, she was no less comforted. The rich could be just as dangerous as the poor in Vegas, even more so. There was talk about how the big families of the city had a way of making their enemies disappear, most of them rumored to be at the bottom of Hoover Dam, wearing a new pair of shoes, cement styled.

As she bravely or foolishly, depending on how you looked at it, climbed into the back of the limo, Steph's eyes fell on her own pair of shoes.

Red high heels.

The sexiest pair in her fairly modest collection.

Her eyes lifted to her dress then, all as she shifted on a car seat which felt designed to be rode in Heaven. It was a knockout, too, a sexy pink number as was the fashion these days, showing off what counted and making it all the more eye catching.

To anyone who saw her, it was obvious what she was up to.

She was of two minds about the subject herself.

Either she was off to meet a creep whom would ruin her life completely or she had just been given her one and best shot of making that life a better one. Rich men certainly weren't falling all over her and there were no other summons to some castle in the sky heading her way.

The Lucky 38 was all she had and she intended to seize Lady Luck by the throat and wring every drop of good fortune from her that she could.

Driving in the limo from the worst part of town to the best, she felt like a Persephone, rising from the underworld for her allotted time above ground.

Things were better here, from the buildings to the class of people you saw.

Things were much brighter on this side of town. She'd had a taste of it before, a brief glimpse of paradise before falling from grace, and she'd forgotten how grand things could be here.

Now, however, it was a tantalizing tease of finally getting all that she wanted.

What was the note and visit all about, she wondered, as she stared at the side of the limo driver's face? The only thing her mind repeatedly landed on was that it had to be some rich Vegas man had finally noticed her. Oh, she wasn't sure how, nor could she remember anyone of interest inside of the club as of late, but something had to have happened. No other reason occurred to her other than having caught someone's eye. She didn't gamble, didn't take up large debts nor had she pissed anyone off or knew of anyone else whom had.

Was someone looking for a new moll or mistress?

Maybe it was the owner.

Maybe today was finally the day when she'd discover who her boss really was.

Steph looked to the driver again, hoping for a bit more information and deciding to pry. She was looking her best for it in any case.

"Do you know what this is all about?" she asked, leaning forward and addressing the stranger while batting her eyes.

The driver glanced into the back. "Look," he replied, his voice thick, rough and unpleasant. "I was hired today for this one gig: to pick up a dame and then bring her to the 38. And if she got nosy to hand her the truth. I just did that last and now, looks like I'm 'bout to finish the first."

Steph turned her gaze outside the window to see that, indeed, there was Olympus looming nigh on the horizon. She fought a shiver crawling down her exposed back, hoping it wasn't a bad omen and that maybe she should have chucked her spine altogether today and opted to be a coward. Money was one thing, her life and safety were another.

And wasn't that the thing she liked best about the Sin-Gal: the security?

Still, the Lucky 38 was an impressive structure. It tried to touch Heaven, maybe too lofty an ideal, but still admirable in these troubled times. In this respect, it reminded her of herself.

The showgirl stepped out of the limo just as she had gotten into it: by herself. The instant her second heel touched the pavement, the limo was off, with dazzling speed and screeching tires, leaving her to look back at it in disbelief, a showgirl dressed to kill, abandoned on the sidewalk and seconds away from fulfilling her mysterious rendezvous.

In an attempt to regain her composure, Steph readjusted her boa and took a deep breath.

Somewhat more confident, she walked up to the large, double door entrance, one side blue, the other red, each with what appeared to be a large diamond painted on them, only to see a sign attached to a handle. Steph neared the doors, with a gait made slow by confusion, able now to read the smallish sign and even then doubting her eyes or the written words, maybe both.

She took the edge of the sign made of tin and read it aloud.

"CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS"

It struck Steph bitterly then that all of this must have been someone's poor idea of a joke. Maybe she did have an enemy afterall, another girl at the club (Miss Ann Thrope maybe?) or some schlub she'd rejected. In either case, someone who thought she was a little too uppity and wanted to bring her down a peg. They'd known about the 38 being closed and orchestrated it so she'd get all dressed up, only to walk straight into embarrassment.

The only thing she couldn't figure out was the limo bit, but maybe the driver had been in on it also, and that was the reason behind his odd little explanation. If he had been, it would up the chance that it had been another "Miss" down at the Sin-Gal: a girl whom had "paid" him for his involvement in the trick with one of her own.

Whomever it had been, she could have killed them then.

Steph dropped the sign, tears like bitter acid in her eyes. It made a clinking metallic sound as it hit the similarly metal door and she turned away from them both, turning her back to the locked doors of paradise.

Eden wasn't to be hers today or any other day, it seemed.

Wiping at her eyes, in as demure and quick a way as possible incase the trickster was watching her, secretly gloating, Steph looked out at the street, wondering how, she'd get back home now, an underestimate on her part.

"Miss Calculations," the wind almost said to mock her.

Her own mind was playing tricks on her now too.

"Miss Calculations," the name came again, definitely not the wind nor her mind.

Steph spun her head round to look at the doors of the Lucky 38: the source of the sound.

"Today, the doors are open only for you, Miss Calculations, " the voice, deep, masculine informed, and to her shock, Steph saw the large doors, each bearing their diamond, parting, allowing her entrance like she was some sort of female Moses allowed entrance to the promised land.

As the way was opened to her and her alone, Steph realized that she felt both weakened and exalted. Never had she felt more special since coming to the city of sin than when the Lucky 38 had been specifically saved just for her. She checked the feeling, some part of her aware that it could only get her in trouble if she was not careful. Showgirls got used in Vegas just as badly as she heard the actresses did up in Hollywood. They were easily found and discarded things, like bottles of Nuka Cola. Those whom drank from them never saw them as carrying souls inside, but only as being sweet, tasty things to quench the thirst and then be gotten rid of when something fresher came along.

Steeling herself as much as the construct of the doors, Steph entered the casino. She had to take this rationally, she warned herself, be prepared for anything and not let her hopes get on level with the peak of the Lucky 38.

Still, she could not stop the thrill of powerful excitement which claimed her, the rush of "only for you".

Whomever was behind this was certainly a born and bred Las Vegas native, she surmised.

They were playing their cards exactly right.

* * *

The first floor of the casino was eerie, what with its rows of slot machines and ornamentations but with nobody seemingly around to see them. She was grateful for the large plush carpet bearing the Lucky 38 logo, which stole the sound of her solitary footfalls. Otherwise, they would have echoed in the empty space and creeped her out all the more. There were signs of some renovations, Steph noticed as she proceeded forward in caution. Plastic sheets covered a few of the machines, while others remained exposed, their arms looking almost abandoned with nobody there to pull them in the hope of a little good fortune. One-armed-bandits, someone had once told her they were called, due to the fact that they often robbed the foolish blind.

The strip clubs where she'd worked had also used the term, but for some other reason entirely.

Steph would have tried her luck with the casinos' bandits more than she would the living ones at the Sin-Gal.

Her mind tried to latch onto some cause for the 38's renovations, wondering if the casino was under new management and she could soon expect the same at her own workplace as well.

There'd been a bit of a scandal a while back, if Steph remembered correctly. Something about a Chinese spy called Shanghai Sally of all things. Sally and a bunch of gangsters had stolen a lot of money from a Vegas bank or something. 20 mil to be exact. While the rest of the mobsters had been at the Ultra-Luxe, Sally had been at the 38, doing whatever it was that Chinese spies did. When the cops had wiped out her gang, Sally had been cornered in the very casino where she was now standing, Steph had heard. The spy had managed to sneak out of her room window with a bunch of tied together bedsheets.

The police had hounded the fleeing femme fatale with her stash of cash until she had stolen a speedboat in good old Galveston, Texas. There the Navy ship the USS Wade had made short work of her and her tiny boat.

It all sounded like a picture straight out of Hollywood, one with Cooper Howard playing the role of the valiant hero ready to take Sally down.

Unfortunately, dampening the exciting tale had been the disturbing rumours floating around Vegas. First was that the mobsters weren't really mobsters but soldiers. Nor was Shanghai Sally a spy but just another soldier too. They said she wasn't even Chinese, but some woman from the Appalachia called Kathryn something or other. More talk had the money coming from what they labeled a Vault, the same type that ubiquitous company Vault-Tec was trying to peddle with their annoying tv, magazines and newspaper ads.

When she looked at it closer, some things didn't make sense to Stephanie about the official account. Why was a Chinese spy working with gangsters? And why did those same mobsters steal money, only to run off to gamble with it? In her opinion, the greatest joy a mobster had was partially getting some idiot to lose their money to them at one of their own tables.

Something sounded fabricated about the whole thing.

Although, Steph desperately wished that it wasn't the case.

To her, spies were more romantic, especially a female one.

Steph headed straight to the three steps leading to an elevator, the only place she seemed able to go. The other areas were blocked off, and she suddenly felt like a sheep being herded but without a single clue as to where or who her shepherd was. He could still be a dog, she warned herself, or, worse, a wolf, and with the casino so vacant, her safety was in question more than ever.

Hating feeling so vulnerable and yet tempted by her own curiosity, Steph's right foot only hesitated for a second on the first step before climbing the other two.

There was a small note (on the same peaches and cream paper she'd received beckoning her there) taped to the elevator door.

It said one word:

Penthouse.

She frowned slightly, then remembering she might be being watched, immediately replaced it with a bright smile and a coy look around the casino floor, as if this was all perfectly aligning with her plans.

Stepping into the elevator, heading to the penthouse as requested, Steph hoped she as skillfully hid the shudder claiming her while the lift doors shut. They looked like teeth to her, trapping her inside of some hungry and claustrophobic mouth.

She closed her eyes for most of the trip up, letting herself feel the butterflies.

Grateful to reach the top floor, Steph knew she stepped out a little too quickly, but her fear was driving her crazy during the lift up. She had just wanted to get out. The elevator became a trap, one that seemed to amplify all of her negative thoughts, making them bounce off the lift's walls, all yelling at her that she was an idiot to come and without telling a single soul where she had gone on top of it.

She'd been stupid.

No better than the girls she'd sometimes worked with and looked down on for their lack of good old common sense.

Now she was trapped at the top of the Lucky 38 and without any sheets to even pull a Shanghai Sally to climb down to the Las Vegas streets below.

It was those same streets which had forced her here, though...

She couldn't escape that now, though she hadn't been able to admit it then.

The fear that she was just one pink slip away from being tossed out onto them.

Afterall, if it was the owner of the Sin-Gal whom had sent the summons, it would be professional suicide to turn whomever it was down.

Conflict was raging inside of her mind, if she should stay or go. Steph turned to look back at the elevator, suddenly convinced that she should head back. Her foot rose, preparing to step back to supposed safety...

Then she heard it.

A sound she was familiar with from her childhood, and so, inevitably, a source of comfort to her now.

It was a form of music, yes, but not the type played by any real instrument.

Turning her head, looking back towards a staircase which descended to her right, Steph could hear the music even better, distant but ringing pure and simple, almost like a bell. It wasn't a bell however, but some other creation of metal, not one of bronze and tin.

A simple steel comb was making the melody.

A music box.

Summoning her strength and courage, Stephanie turned fully towards the staircase where the sound was heard more clearer now.

She went to it and descended, almost in a trance except for the fear she was fighting with every step.

At the bottom of the stairway, she had the choice of going forward, but her ears instructed her to turn back and go behind the stairs. A good call since the sound became louder as she did, the song becoming one she could even recognize now.

Lili Marleen.

While the world was living in the fear of war, the bastard was playing Lili Marleen.

Stephanie's ears and feet (if not so much her actual brain) led her forward now to a curtain of rich, fresh fabric. The sound was the loudest it had ever been as she drew them back and stepped forward, making it even louder by doing so.

The teeth of the steel comb were being plucked less often, though, the cylinder revolving becoming slower as the turn of the key had spent its turns.

The music was dying.

Just like the love story between the soldier and his lover.

She moved forward far quicker now, propelled, ignoring yet another staircase to her right, before the song could die completely.

A wide desk was revealed to her in degrees, set upon another sequence of three steps, so whomever sat at it could look down upon his visitors like he was some sort of god acting out judgement.

Her journey ended right in the place designed to meet his appraisal, finding that she had not been entirely correct in her assumption about the music box.

It was not only a box making the music that had lured her.

It was a snow globe as well.

This one held almost lovingly in the grasp of her summoner.

The corner of Steph's lip twitched in well satisfied pride. She had been completely right about something, at least: the sender of the note was a native Nevadan, just as she had guessed.

One couldn't get more Las Vegas born and bred than the man sitting before her, afterall.

"Good afternoon, Miss Calculations," Robert House greeted, as both the snow within the globe stopped falling and the song struck its last sad and dying note.

Chapter Text

For Robert House to have calculated the precise time for the snow to stop falling in unison with the music hitting its final note, Stephanie understood that he would have needed to possess an intelligence she rarely found from any audience member at the Sin-Gal or even the biggest winning card counter at any table in the casinos of the Vegas, from the lowest reputation to the highest.

He would have needed to foresee her hesitation at the elevator, known the pace she would have taken descending the staircase, her brief moment of decision making over which way to turn at the last step, how long to push aside the curtain and finally the length of stride until she reached where he was sitting, waiting for her.

That he had seen all this without actually seeing her was astounding, for even if he had cameras placed around the 38, the turn of the key would have taken place before any move had been recorded and his estimate of everything would have needed to have begun practically the second she had left the lift.

There was the knowledge, not only of her movements and decisions, but of the flakes representing the snow inside of the globe, how they would have needed to fight the disturbed liquid inside the glass for the final false flake to reach its floor, and the teeth of the steel comb being struck in its revolutions, knowing when the last tooth would be plucked, something she had never even been able to guess, since her childhood...

He would have needed to be a genius.

In that second of their first meeting, that was what Steph intrinsically knew Robert House to be:

A genius.

Basically confirming everything she had ever heard about him

He studied her as if discerning her thoughts as well, placing the snow globe onto his desk, a self satisfied smile underneath the canopy of his famous moustache.

Steph was unbelievably frightened then, faced with the billionaire's pure intelligence. However, she had come there to hopefully meet a wealthy man and House was certainly one of the wealthiest she could think of. Even if the man could outthink her at any turn, and there were few she had met whom could claim such a thing, she was determined not to let this chance slip by her.

Infact, the only thing Steph let slip was the boa around her shoulder, letting it fall down to her waist as she approached the desk with its god like view.

"I got your little note," she stated as she seductively climbed the steps, aiming to make it to the desk where the man continued to sit, watching her unblinking. "I like that you see what you want..."

She reached the desk and placed both her hands flat down on it, far apart and to each side of her. "And take it."

Carefully, sensuously, she climbed onto the desk, giving him a good view down her dress, until she swung her long legs over to the left and was suddenly facing him, lying sideways, her tall body covering one end of the desk to the other, yet always careful not to bump into the snow globe and send it crashing to the floor.

House did not take his eyes off of her and Steph reached out to grab a hold of his tie, carressing it suggestively.

"I'm glad to see you also cleared the 38 out," she purred as she leaned closer to his face, but stayed teasingly away from his lips. "That means we can be as loud as we want to be."

She was close to wanting to kiss him, seeing that he was rather an attractive man in person and that his pictures hadn't done him nearly enough justice.

Unfortunately, House had to go and actually use his lips, but not to kiss her.

"I won't ask what you think you are doing, because that's painfully obvious," Robert House observed. "What I will ask is, why do you think it will work on me?"

Staring into his face then, so unmoved by anything as human as lust or attraction, Steph didn't know. The man looked about as unmelted as the permanent snowflakes trapped inside the globe on his desk and she knew that, whatever reason House had called her to him, seduction played no role in it.

Embarrassed, the showgirl crawled off of the billionaire's desk, getting back to standing with her two feet on the ground. She smoothed out her dress once she had and then once more met the eyes of Robert House. He had undoubtedly been watching the show of her trying to compose herself as other men had watched her trying to do the opposite, and enjoying it even more.

Meeting his eyes almost defiantly, Steph tried to hold her head a little higher, trying not to give him the satisfaction of having throughly humiliated her.

Why couldn't she have met a dumb rich man, like so many other girls had, Steph bemoaned to herself?

"Why did you call me here then?" she asked, wanting to know that much before she became so pissed off she stormed out of the 38.

"For business not pleasure," he answered, sitting confident and assured behind his mammoth desk. "I have a business proposition for you and our relationship must remain purely professional."

She didn't bother to tell him that, even if she'd been called for his pleasure, it would have only still been business to her. The question still remained, though, regarding if House was her boss or not, and she didn't want to risk leaving the 38 with both her dreams of a secured future shattered along with possessing a sheet of paper matching the color of her dress.

Instead, folding her arms, Steph stated rather formally, "While admiring that you're getting down to brass tacks, I have a show tonight. You don't actually intend for me to stand here the whole time and listen to your sales pitch do you?"

The fact that he respected her bluntness was made clear by the closed mouth smile that spread across his face.

"Sit down," he said, motioning his hand at the non-existing space before his desk.

Just when Steph was about to chastise him for his rudeness, employer or no employer, she watched as his desk and chair both slid backward, leaving space for a chair to immediately emerge from the floor, modern and silver, a soft, embroidered cushion on its seat that even looked inviting. She sat down on it, rearranging her boa as she did, and finding the stupid thing to be an unnecessary nuisance now.

Her eyes rested on the musical snow globe, wondering how it had not fallen from the desk when it had moved. Now she could see it even better and the central figure at its heart: a soldier and his lover embracing. How fitting she thought wrly, but with no genuine disdain for a couple whom had found what it was growing increasingly unlikely she ever would.

"Is that better?" he asked, jarring her attention away from the silent, unmoving fairy-tale.

She nodded.

The smile never left his face, but he seemed more businesslike now, his amusement over her mistake having dissipated in the face of getting down to what he really wanted from her.

"First...do you like working at the Sin-Gal, Miss Calculation? Or should I call you something else?"

"Steph. Please call me Steph," she stated, preferring it at the moment than anything else, if only because it was shorter, and if he used it, it might cut down the time she spent having to talk to him.

"Steph," he nodded and then waited patiently for her reply to his original question.

"I like it," she answered. "It's better than some of the places I've worked," she added with a shrug.

"But not the best," he added somewhat meaningfully, but still vaguely. Before Steph had the opportunity to question him about it, however, he took her off guard by bluntly admitting to the fact he had so long tried to hide from everyone: "It's mine, you know."

"Is it?" she asked, now able to check one mystery off of her list.

"Yes," he replied. "I don't let that get around. When I was first trying to fund RobCo, I needed the money necessary to acquire the products that I needed. It was not easy...I found if I invested what little money I had in certain avenues guaranteed to turn a profit, I could achieve it much faster. I find such pathways...distasteful, but that wasn't about to prevent me from taking them. In this world, I'm afraid, we have to walk the back alleys of the city if we wish to reach for the stars and the moon."

She was growing frightened again, sitting and listening to his speech. Stephanie knew that he had probably rarely confessed this to another human being, just as she also was suddenly realizing what a liability he was making her suddenly into by doing so. It might not have seemed like much, that Robert House secretly financed the Sin-Gal, along with God knew what other type of filth, but the fact that nobody at work had ever heard it was him betrayed the lengths he had gone to keep that information hidden. Now he had just confessed it all to her. She suddenly felt like if she made a wrong move, he could deem her completely expendable and she'd be at the bottom of the Hoover in those shoes she'd been thinking about by the time she should be hitting the stage.

House paused, looked at his desk and then back to her. "So...do you like the name, I chose for the establishment?

"The Sin-Gal? Yeah, I suppose."

Actually, she hated it, thinking it sounded like the sort of joke a drunk cowboy would come up with and think was a belly-gut bursted.

House smirked, his own opinion apparently far different than the one she'd professed and closer to the one she'd kept to herself. "I hate it myself. Bad puns don't amuse me. But, once again, I had to adopt a certain crassness. In my position, you find you need to appeal to those of a very different mindset."

"I'm sure," she said, not sure how to take the comment. Was it an insult? Did he view his employees as being the same sort as the men he exploited for their money? Then again, he did put some of that money back in his exploited workers pockets, and not a bad sum either. She supposed he was, at heart, just a good businessman.

That was if he had a heart.

He was a little too cool for her liking.

"And you're certain you like working at the Sin-Gal?" House asked her again, eyeing her in a strange way that was half sizing her up and the other half indeterminate shrewdness.

"I told you I did," she stated, her voice made a little curt by her irritation.

"That's a shame...because I have the feeling you won't be working there for much longer," his deep voice prophesised insidiously.

Steph had never expected that hearing those words would hurt as badly as they did. She had feared this would be the outcome, should a mistake be made, but to learn so soon that she would be fired...

Her mind was reeling as her stomach sank.

"Are my breasts too small?" she asked, trying to find a reason for the dismissal, but still relentlessly assurred of the quality of work she'd put in night after night.

House looked positively disarmed by the question, as if she could have told him she came from Venus and he would have known more what to say back to her. His eyes darted to her chest, almost instantly, and then back to her face and she couldn't see any embarrassment or shame written on his own, no change of color to his nicely tanned skin, only a confusion of sorts, like she'd fed an unanswerable math equation into a calculator.

"No, they're lovely," he commented, but in such a matter of fact way as to not sound as if the remark was related to compliment or flattery.

"My lips then?"

"No."

"My butt?"

Mildly annoyed, he appeared to be swerving his head, instinctively trying to analyze that too, but then shook it, bringing himself back to his senses. "No, from what I've seen, that's perfectly fine as well."

Now she was, on top of everything, self consciously aware that he had seen her. Did he like what he'd seen? Was he even capable of it?

Steph tried to collect her own common sense. She was obsessing over her looks again. Vegas had a way of doing that to you. You could be as confident as a politician until you came to Vegas and saw how much bigger and brighter things were there. Hollywood was no different, from what she'd heard and seen, with its emphasis on certain attributes and enhancements. Maybe it was different on the East Coast, out in New York. But here in the west, everything was out on display.

"I fear your thoughts are going in an opposite direction than my intent," House said, drawing her attention back to his dark eyes, which now seemed still as hard as steel but slightly more confused. "I have another job in mind for you."

This was different.

This was hopeful.

A promotion in a better part of town?

Steph offered him her most blinding smile. "Another job?"

House nodded then handed her a question she never would have expected. "Are you familiar with a company called Vault-Tec?"

He had to be joking.

Everyone living in the age was aware of Vault-Tec, her own thoughts having landed on it at least once on her way to House's very office.

"You'd have to be living underground, excuse the term, not to have heard of Vault-Tec," she joked.

The corner of House's lip curled. "Have you heard of Bud Askins?"

He had her there, Steph sighed. The name was completely unfamiliar to her. "No...it might as well be Bud Ass Kisser to me."

A small, brittle laugh came from House, showing he appreciated the comment in a way that only those familiar with this Askins could. "You don't know how close you are," Robert House confirmed. "He's a top exec for Vault-Tec these days. News has it, he took in your show during your time at the Tops and he very much liked what he saw."

So this was what House had meant when he'd said the Sin-Gal hadn't been the best place she had worked, Steph thought. Her time at the Tops had been some of her happiest spent in Vegas. The pay was great and the clientele a rung up the social ladder. That, of course, had been before she'd plummeted right off it so fast she nearly broke her neck, and for reasons she still couldn't understand.

"Well, I can't remember him, not by name anyway. There were so many people," she scoffed. "Do you have a photograph of this Askins?"

Without gesitation, and suprisingly without looking, House reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a photograph. He threw it in her direction and she caught it before it even touched the desk.

The man still didn't ring any bells. He was okay looking enough: dark haired, affable but nothing to stand out in her memory. Not if, say, House had been in the audience on any given night...

"No, he didn't catch my attention," Steph said, handing the photograph back.

"He showed attention to you," House countered. "That's all that matters."

"Why?"

House did look now, as he returned the photo of Askins back to his drawer, more to help give the silence some weight, Steph guessed, than because he actually needed to.

He met her eyes again, then leaned slightly to one side of his chair. "I need information on Vault-Tec, what they are planning...My desire is to plant someone at their main office in L.A. to keep an eye on them for me."

Steph's mind went to House's own scheme with lightening speed. "You want to send me."

Nodding, House once more was pleased with her swiftness. "It seems Bud, when he showed any interest over a woman, showed it only for you."

She wondered how long House had been scoping out Askins and what else he might have discovered. However, her main level of interest was only in herself at the moment, and what the statement implied.

"Why does it need to be a woman?"

House scowled, the topic being something else slightly distasteful to him, but obviously one he knew he needed to address eventually. "The time might come when I need my spy to have access to Bud Askins house..."

And they could do it easier if they were in his bed. That was what House was implying

Steph frowned.

House was quick to calculate the odds of what the expression on her face meant, and the chances of her saying yes now that his cards were laid bare on the table. He followed it up by switching the conversation to what he took to be his insurance.

Leaning back in his chair, he took out a cigarette from his case,  lit it and studied her intensely. "You've been earning extra income," he said.

She fixed him with a hard stare, seeing his face past the smoke.

"At the Sin-Gal...after hours," he elaborated.

The tip of her tongue touched the back of a front tooth.

"I assure you, I don't know what you mean," she answered demurely.

He exhaled, casting more smoke into the air. He slid the cigarette case over in her direction and she eyed it warily.

"Quit the act, Miss Calculations..I've been watching you for weeks now," Robert House admitted like a threat.

Steph's tongue went to the back of her mouth now. She stopped breathing for a secomd or two then reached forward, took a cigarette out of the case and then held it forward.

House waited a few seconds to light it.

"Won't he recognize me?" Steph inquired, not sure she was ready to say yes, but now feeling she couldn't say no and claim it was on moral grounds. "You can't place me in Vault-Tec and not have him make the connection between Vegas and you."

"You don't know Bud Akins, well not yet. It may register on some level, for old Bud, that you remind him of the Vegas showgirl who caught his eye but that's about it. Besides, who said anything about admitting your the same girl he saw?" House asked with an ice cold cunning. "He doesn't know your real name. If he traces you, he'll only get as far as you being from California, I'll make sure of that...the well behaved daughter of a family of music box makers."

House's smile now was almost devilish.

"Still..." Steph was about to argue, her blood freezing as she remembered his trick with the musical snow globe.

"If you need added reassurance, I'm not exactly sending you out to California as you are now," he exhaled and studied his cigarette more than he did her. "We're giving you a complete makeover, to further align with Askins' tastes. You'll be a blonde the next time he sees you, one with hair not down to her waistline."

Steph snickered. "You want me to cut my hair and turn blonde?" 

She stood then to leave, not needing to hear either his answer nor anything else. Changing her appearance had never been an option to her, not even to make it in Vegas.

"Give it time. Think about it. It won't even cost you your job if you say no," Robert House said smoothly on her way down the steps. "Although your added income will need to stop. We can't have you turning into a hypocrite, now can we?"

Stopping at the bottom step, Steph bristled, her face turning a deep shade of red.

She intended to leave without giving him the satisfaction of looking back. However, Steph surprised herself when her feet stopped before the staircase to the right of House's desk and she could not make another step forward without asking one last thing. There was something she wanted to know, something she had always wanted to know and she knew she might never get another chance now.

Turning around, Steph met the eyes of Mr. House, whom had apparently been staring at her back, possibly even anticipating this next move on her part.

"Why did you call me Miss Calculations?" she asked. "I've always wondered about that."

House did not smile.

Nor did he smirk.

He only continued to study her with the same intense interest.

Once again, he was weighing the results of if he should answer her or not.

This time, it turned out in her favor.

"Because, just like they did with me, people misunderestimate you...Steph."

The words were almost like a punch in her gut. She had been expecting something far more cruel - like how her decisions were often poor or a return to her modest measurements - and so the lack of it almost sent her reeling.

Maybe wishing to thank him for his cadence and the unexpected compliment, Stephanie added one more item to her last question list. "If I do this...what's in it for me?" she asked, unintentionally shifting the boa around her shoulders.

Robert House smiled again, leaning back. "Anything you want," he answered. "Within reason...I'll explain those reasons when we talk again."

He was betting that there would be a second time. Steph, not so convinced, turned around and left, not offering the man a farewell, but hating him slightly less than she had.

Chapter Text

The ride on the elevator wasn't as fearful a journey as it had been on the way up, but still it wasn't all that great, being more of a downer. Anxiety of the anonymous had transformed into disappointment of the discovered. No longer was there any hope of a prince about to sweep her off of her feet but only the business like proposition of a cold hearted opportunist.

So much for the luck in the Lucky 38, Steph thought in regret.

When she'd gotten down from the lift and fled the Lucky 38, one thing she had been grateful for was that the limo had returned to take her home. It wasn't the same driver, but this time she asked the guy no questions, and was happy to keep it that way, seeing as though the man kept checking out her legs in the mirror above the dash.

House is probably so paranoid he didn't trust the first driver and hired the exact opposite for the second time around.

Cute. Real cute, Steph thought and rolled her eyes.

Her elbow pushed almost painfully into the limo door's armrest, she'd bit her nails and stared out the window, all while Lili Marleen ran through her head like some bad film's soundtrack; an irritating reminder of the meeting. She tried to forget it in every other way and just enjoy the scenery on the way back home, believing it was for the best.

It was unlikely she'd ever see this part of town again, there being no way in Vegas she was going to take House up on his proposal.

Even if he had offered her anything she wanted.

Spies might be pretty on film.

But they were pretty dead in real life.

Or, at least, that was what Shanghai Sally, or whatever she was called, had taught Miss Calculations.

Outside of the building where the limo had first picked her up without much fanfare at all, Steph was surprised this time when the driver reached over the seat and handed her a small, sealed envelope the size of a business card.

"Last piece of business, bossman says," the man stated with a large, lascivious smile, making Stephanie grateful for the unbroken seal.

Steph took the card but didn't open it, choosing to stick it down the front of her dress, instead, when she was out of the pervert's sight.

Hope he gets fired too, she thought understandably if a little uncharitable.

She was anxious and restless as she climbed the stairs back to her small, yet nice, apartment, antsy for reasons she was entirely uncomfortable with. She wished she could just turn off the music box playing inside her mind, or it would die out like they always eventually did. She'd learned that in her childhood, when she'd been far more innocent and hopeful: no matter how many turns of the key you gave, making it as tight as could be, the music would always stop playing. There wasn't anyway around it.

Kicking off her heels as soon as she entered her apartment, grateful she didn't have a cat she needed to worry about being in the line of fire, Steph wondered how House had learned about her in turn.

She'd kept her past pretty much to herself when she'd moved to Vegas. And there wasn't much in the way of family left to tell him about her background.

It was all history, as they said.

The family business of music box making had ended with her father and it had never been something she'd seen as a tantalizing enough future to make her desire spending the rest of her life turning that particular key.

Flopping down in an oversized, yet incredibly cozy chair, she right about needed at that moment, Steph's face scrunched up involuntarily as Robert House's proposal popped up inside her mind for the 12th billionth time since she'd left the 38.

There might as well have been a jack in the box manufactuer between all the snow globe and music box ones.

Anything she wanted.

That sounded like a good enough future.

She sighed, resting her brunette head on the back of the chair and closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see all the cracks in the ceiling.

But what was worth risking her life for it?

She couldn't even find motivation in the demise of her family's business to entice her into becoming a spy for House, or play it the other way and blab to this Bud Askins about House's planned treachery. It was true that both RobCo Industries and Vault-Tec had put a lot of companies out of business with their overemphasis on technology, especially after the two companies had become buddy buddy. They'd been a truly lethal combination.

Sure, if this had been a real, authentic spy film, one still starring the swoon worthy Cooper Howard, in all his patriotic goodness, some plotline would have had that the bigwigs at both places wiped out her generations old trade all in the name of their precious progress. That would have properly spurned her character on, Steph supposed, motivating her to seek revenge on both Askins and House, being the angel of vengeance for her father, his father and his mother before them. Instead, for the real life version of a stripper called Miss Calculations, the family business had perished due to the world's sudden disinterest in their commodity.

Record players and jukeboxes, with their diamond needles, were the things today, not steel combs.

And that had had nothing to do with either Vault-Tec or RobCo.

Taking a deep breath, maybe trying to take in enough air to inflate not only her lungs but the heart she felt was deflating, Steph raised her head and saw her naked feet now stretched out in front of her. She had a bit of time to relax before she'd need to take them down to the Sin-Gal where she could strut her stuff on the catwalk.

No matter how natural that stuff was.

"No, they're lovely."

"Stop it," she chastised her brain. "He was probably just sweet talking you to get what he wanted."

It wasn't like she hadn't experienced that enough already in Las Vegas.

Of course, none of them had ever been as rich and powerful as Robert Edwin House.

Now rising to her feet, hoping they would faithfully take her to the kitchen, where she could get a glass of cold lemonade out of her loudly humming fridge, she knew something was right that her mysterious would-be-benefactor had claimed: people did misunderestimate her.

Even, herself, whom would never have expected she was seriously going to turn down an offer for anything her little heart could imagine all because she didn't want to die and House had managed to ruffle the feathers on her boa a little too much.

* * *

Going back to the Sin-Gal that night had been a weird sensation.

Steph had needed to keep herself in check as she greeted the other girls.

A feeling brought on by the fact that now she held some small amount of power over them.

Information was power, Mr. House must have discovered that long ago, the reason why he was so filthy rich and now wanted her to go a gathering some more for him as well.

That was what a secret was, information, and there was no bigger secret amongst the Sin-Gal girls then the identity of their boss. How many nights had they all tried to figure out who the owner was, whispering backstage and in the hallways, and now she, little unimportant Miss Calculations, the one with the stupid name, knew the answer and they didn't.

It was incredibly empowering.

Had that been a part of House's plan? Another one of his own vast calculations? Give her a little taste of power and control and feel how amazingly good it felt?

When Miss Ann Thrope came off her gig that night, with that condescending, familiar little stare of hers, Steph had just smiled back, aware that she alone knew that the eccentric Mr. House was in charge of them all.

The other more endowed stripper had just stood there and glared at her, with her fake tits, plumped to the limit lips and butt implants she was lucky hadn't killed her when she'd flown to Brazil to get them, not even aware that Steph's warm smile was growing all the brighter knowing anything she wanted could includ her horrendous little coworker getting the axe.

Not that she was jealous, mind you. Infact, if the woman had altered her body due to insecurity, Steph would have been all over the girl in compassion and understanding. But, no, Thrope had done what she'd done to herself because she had wanted everything to be bigger and better.

Miss Ann Thrope wanted to be the best and screw all the rest.

You could sense it coming off of her in amber waves.

Steph had to wonder if that was why House had named her as he had.

But, tonight, Steph could look at Miss Ann Thrope, with her overexagerated attributes and feel a rush of glory because she had been entrusted with the ultimate secret of the Sin-Gal and not the other woman with her bloated everything.

How positively electrifying!

It would have remained so wonderfully sweet if she hadn't have needed to go out in front of an audience of strangers and perform, Steph found out unfortunately only a little while later.

That soured things considerely.

Oh, it started out fine enough, the glow of power and knowledge lighting her up like the flames that would be lit it at the ends of her batons at the finish of her show. Infact, for most of her performace, she'd thought of House having hinted he'd been watching her and it excited her in a strange way she'd previously never experienced. She'd taken her clothes off probably about close to three hundred times and never once felt anything but either professional pride or a rush to get it over with and off the crummy stage. Tonight was the first time she'd felt a taste of that hungry look the few actually intetested men in the audience had.

Knowing the billionaire had seen all of her, it suddenly didn't make her self conscious.

It suddenly felt good.

Real good.

It was the only time the term "Erotic Dancer" finally made any sense to her.

Maybe if House hadn't been so handsome things might have been different.

She was blazing all over until the time had come for her to set the end of the baton ablaze as well.

As she had lit the match, kissing the baton's tassles with that lick of fire, the act had reminded her suddenly of when House had taken out his cigarette case and started smoking, just as he was in the process of accusing her of prostitution.

"You've been earning extra income," he had said.

Eagerly then, fresh shame had washed over her in regards to what she'd secretly done sometimes in order to buy that extra little thing she had so desperately wanted, but didn't intend to risk the month's rent money for.

She had thought of her family then too, all mostly gone, and become more angry with House than anything else, because how dare the man judge her simply for doing what she needed to survive

The compliment about people underestimating her only went so far to help blot it out and make Steph forget her rage.

Freeing herself from the trappings of her nightly routine had also done Robert House very few favors in his cause to help further exploit her. She'd stared at her reflection as she'd wiped off the night's makeup and balked. Imagine suggesting she turn blonde! Of all the audacity. And as if she needed a makeover to win over Askins in the first place. If he liked her at the Tops why couldn't she stay the way she was? Besides, if the man was such a knuckhead why not just let her do something else to disguise herself, something less drastic, like straighten her hair?

The audacity of Robert Edwin House to even suggest such a thing so she could just play spy for him!

Outrageous!

By the time she'd gotten back to her apartment, Steph's feet were killing her, the walk through the 38 having helped in the murder. She was tired and hungry and all she wanted to do was catch a late night movie and finally have her supper, determined not to accept Mr. House's offer.

Her fridge wasn't completely well stocked, she'd have to work a trip to the grocery store in sometime between tomorrow's gymnastics and her return to the club. There was, however, a frozen dinner left in there, pushed to the back of the freezer. The chicken had accumulated enough frost on it to look at home in House's snow globes, but it would all melt (unlike House himself) after about thirty minutes in the toaster oven.

Steph knew she should have purchased one of those microwave things but she hated anything to do with nuking in today's world, which even included drinking that omnipresent Nuka Cola.

Walking over to the toaster oven, she outright stopped before she pulled the door down.

The Vault-Tec logo was ostentatious and hard to miss while it was emblazoned boldly at its front.

She'd forgotten the thing was a Vault-Tec product.

Steph froze in place, in unintentional imitation of her supper.

She could still remember buying the oven about seven months ago, when it had gone on sale and her old one had up and died after several years of faithful service.

What brand had it been again? Not Vault-Tec that she was positive of.

Not like this one.

She hadn't even known they made toaster ovens.

For their vaults, she guessed?

That seemed a little familar now, thinking it was a good omen if the company was selling their vault inventory. Hopefully, it ultimately meant nobody would ever need to use those silly underground shelters of theirs.

What had her previous toaster oven been though...

Oh, yeah.

A RobCo.

Steph smirked.

Oh, well, it didn't matter, she thought, firing the dinner into the contraption, and shutting the door. Sure it was a reminder of the day, but she didn't need to feel guilty about betraying the dumb company or anything. She set the timer and went into the living room to see what was on TV in the meantime.

She'd just decided on Cooper Howard's noir film "Guilty When I Left You", when a thought intruded upon her intent to spend the rest of the evening admiring a real man.

Why did Robert House want to spy on a company like Vault-Tec anyway?

Wasn't it and RocCo, his own thriving company, on good terms?

Didn't Vault-Tec have most of its interest and investment in trying it's best to save humanity instead of consuming other corporations?

That was Robert House's forte, not theirs.

Try as she might, no matter how hard Steph attempted to stay focused on the truly delectable Mr. Howard and not Robert House, she couldn't stop thinking about what the billionaire businessman suspected Vault-Tec was secretly up to.

He hadn't explained much, but then again, she hadn't exactly let him by choosing to storm out like she had.

Were his motives good or bad? What side did he expect her to be on?

"Probably thinks they're gyping him out of a nickel," she pouted, resting her chin on her palm as her elbow came to rest on a knee.

She was still unintentionally obsessing over it when she was distracted by something else entirely.

It still wasn't Cooper Howard, this time, but a smell.

A strong, invasive, nasty smell.

She sat up straight. Taking a deep breath, she tried to determine what exactly it was.

Was someone grilling something foul in the city?

Steph sniffed again.

No...something was burning.

Trash?

No, this was closer and more like...

In an instant, what that was came clearer to her than her apartment currently was, what with the smoke quickly filling it and all.

"Crud!" she called out in the smoky, but otherwise empty, apartment.

Although her feet screamed at her for it, Steph rushed frantically to the toaster oven, still hearing the unmistakable sound of the timer going strong. She ripped the plug out from the socket and could still hear it ticking away, even as she opened the oven door to find her meal a crispy shade of charcoal inside.

So much for not wanting any reminders of being nuked, she thought ruefully.

Coughing once or twice, Steph ran to the nearest window to help prevent herself from being asphyxiated. She stuck her head outside, gasping for fresh air and wondering if she should call for help, maybe some handsome fireman to come give her CPR to make the day not a complete waste.

Still expelling bad air, she thought that the smoke had cleared out of the kitchen a little better (more than she could say for her nostrils), as she turned to face the remains of what was supposed to be her supper.

It was inedible, a lost cause, a potential cause of cancer, all smouldering away in the tray it had come with.

And, as if to taunt her, the timer just kept right on with it's now useless and cursed countdown.

Frowning, Steph studied it again, this time with clearer vision.

It didn't move.

Not at all.

The dumb thing was apparently stuck.

Just a few weeks after the warrenty expired, the thing had up and broken.

Steph felt her face burning.

She was certain the ruined frozen dinner was issuing slightly less smoke than she was.

The thought of chucking the whole toaster oven out the window, along with the meal, occurred to her then, but she had an even better revenge available.

In a frenzy, Steph ran to the hamper where her seduction dress from earlier in the day was lying. Frantically she dug out the sealed card, still lying inside of the bustier, only to tear it open and find just what she had expected and wanted.

A phone number supplied to her from Robert House, one obviously intended for when she changed her mind and not if.

The man's calculations were only matched by his confidence, Steph thought, her face now ablaze in a vindictive smile.

Chapter Text

The sun was shining in the bluest Vegas sky imaginable, all the talk of a war feeling about as far away as the moon instead of China, but despite the loveliness of the day, and the seemingly cinema tinted hue of the heavens, Miss Calculations was standing, waiting beneath it all rather miffed.

No, in truth, she was completely pissed off.

Although, she'd called the number provided four nights ago, right after her Vault-Tec oven had so rudely betrayed her, Steph hadn't heard a single thing back until late last night. The call she'd received had been as seemingly automated as whatever piece of tech had taken her call in the first place. Infact, for that initiating one, a voice which had sounded so old-time-robotic it might as well have been the equivalent of a caveman cousin to a Mr. Handy, she'd merely been handed the advice, "Press 0 for No and 1 for Yes."

House seemed just as "let's get down to business" as always, even on the phone.

She'd pressed 1 quite eagerly, however, smoke still searing her nostrils and propelling her into action. The whole phone call had then ended so abruptly, however, she couldn't be sure she had even made it.

The next day, after wakening from a sleep more like a brief coma, it had all seemed like a dream.

The day after that even more so.

In the 3 days before she'd actually heard anything again, Steph had half fancied storming right on over to the 38 and either asking House if she'd, by chance, phoned him after their meeting or else giving him a piece of her mind for leaving her hanging for so long. The only real problem with such notions was that her mind was still spinning as badly as a roulette wheel did, and just like a roulette wheel, she had no real idea of knowing where her number would come up.

But that was Vegas for you: you took hold of the dice and then rolled them, always in the hope of two sixes and the fear of a pair of snake eyes staring back at you.

By the end of the third day, she thought House and this Askins, whoever he was, were both a couple of snakes, lying in the grass and ready to take a bite of the dumb, long-legged showgirls whom went trespassing stupidly by.

Then she'd received an actual phone call last night, another mechanical voice telling her to wait outside the apartment the next day at such and such a time.

The time was now, her dressed up less dazzlingly in a Come to Vegas T-shirt and a simple pair of old black capris, and it was obvious she was being kept waiting again, getting angrier the more the sky turned azure. With every passing minute, a little storm cloud was quickly forming over her head, something not even the sunshine could help evaporate

Robert House had some nerve by asking her to give up her current life and then waste some of it by standing about waiting for him.

If she had felt like it, Steph would have returned to her apartment and let him know just how it felt, but she still hadn't replaced the toaster oven yet, and it only served as a reminder of why she'd contacted House in the first place.

She was stuck somewhere in limbo between a tardy businessman and a useless appliance.

About a solid half hour after the designated time, her chariot finally showed up, betraying no signs of repentance.

The limo pulled languidly up to the curb, a different model than the previous one, but still a beauty, with its dark tinted windows and freshly polished shine. Steph was impressed, despite everything. Only then, admist her admiration, her instincts suddenly went on high alert.

It was a difference.

And any difference should not be ignored.

Not when Robert House had contacted her to help play spy for him.

What if someone had caught wind of her employer's scheme and now were doing their best to intercept her on the way to a followup meeting? They could have sent the limo, only to drive her to some unknown location where torture would be ruthlessly put into effect, all to make her talk.

Fighting a shiver, Steph did the only thing she could think of: She walked straight up to the driver's window and began rapping on it, hoping she was at least a good enough judge of character to be able to appraise the driver.

"Excuse me...excuse me please," she stated, a perfect mixture of politeness and impatience. "I need to talk to you."

The window began to roll down, sending Steph stumbling several feet backwards and almost tripping on the rise of the sidewalk.

It would be pretty hard to judge the human character of the driver when she had never encountered anyone like them before.

See, the driver was not human this time.

It was a robot.

Made of steel, the robot was constructed as part of the car seat, giving the appearance of growing out of it almost, some abominable union of metal and upholstery. On its head sat comically a chauffeur's cap, but the face wasn't even formed, just a dome of steel with a blinking slit for a mouth.

On the bright side, it had a RobCo plate, but that really told her absolutely nothing, seeing as though most robots these days were manufactured at the RobCo factories.

"I...I...well, I," she had no idea what to say, at first. Gathering her courage, Steph took a step forward, trying to gain a closer look at it and the front seat, hoping for clues, though, she had no real idea what they would be. None presented themselves, just perfectly maintained seats of what looked like red velvet, a Radiation King radio beneath an uncluttered black dashboard and an odd device which looked like a phone beneath the same radio.

"I will drive you to your destination," the robot now stated, cheerfully, but with the proper amount of mechanical reserve.

"And that is to...?" Steph coaxed, hoping to urge the thing to tell her the 38 or some other evidence that House had sent it.

"Your destination," it repeated just as friendly.

"Which is?"

"Your destination."

"At the...?"

"Your destination."

Steph realized that this was getting them ultimately nowhere.

Suddenly a ringing sound occurred, sending her jumping about a foot in the air, while the robot remained perfectly calm, what with its nerves (and everything else) made of steel.

Mechanically, the robot reached over to take hold of the device which appeared to actually be a phone instead of just looking like one.

After listening for only two seconds, the robot chauffeur handed the handset to her with its tool like hand. "It is for you, Miss."

Not knowing what else to do, Steph took it, bringing the set to her ear after giving it a quick sniff for any trace of chemical.

"It's House. I sent the limo, now get in."

It did sound like him.

However, having just met a robot driving a limo with a phone in the car, Steph couldn't be one hundred percent certain that it wasn't just another miracle of the modern age.

"Get in...my own Lili Marleen," the voice said on the other end, after what sounded like a sigh of exasperation.

Convinced now, Steph handed the phone back to the robot and walked to the limo's back door, her shoes making a loud, hollow sound with every step. Maybe still a little upset about having been kept waiting, she flung the door open a little violently and climbed inside, her head held down as she slid onto the seat (more pricey well kept red velvet), mumbling to herself about men, both the flesh and metal kind.

"Good afternoon, Stephanie."

The voice startled her into instantly halting her inward griping. Raising her head, Steph was shocked to see that the limo seat facing her was not as empty as she had expected.

Robert House was sitting there, staring at her, his dark eyes glinting in the shadowed back of the limo as much as the lit tip of the cigarette in his hand, currently at rest on his knee.

He looked even better without the desk blocking him. The suit he was wearing obviously cost about four months of her salary and it fit his slim body perfectly, making him look every cent of his worth.

If she wasn't so mad at him, she might have took him as irresistible, Steph conceded.

And if the limo's door hadn't locked shut, and a barrier of more metal risen to separate the back seat from the front, scaring the daylights out of her, she might have thought it even a little more.

As it were, the back seat of the limo now resembled one of Vaults of the about-to-be-spied-upon Vault-Tec, hardly a comforting setting. Maybe if she wasn't so certain of House's lack of interest in her, Steph might have been completely terrfied and broken into a concerned riddled sweat about what might happen to her now that she was locked in and alone with him. However, the man had already made it perfectly clear that their relationship was to stay professional, making her current environment claustrophobic but not alarming.

The limo pulled away from the apartment, the ride smooth, the movement almost imperceptible.

His other arm resting on the limo door, its hand rubbing away at his chin, House studied her apparently well pleased over something. Steph very much doubted it was the scowl on her face.

Finally, after a few moments of contemplative silence, he was kind enough to tell her what it was.

"I admire how you checked out the driver before you got in," House stated now with brusque sincerity. "Without being told, you're already thinking a step ahead. You're guard is up, as it should be."

"What's with the RobCo driver anyway?" Steph asked, still bristling, despite the flattery.

"I didn't approve of your first two drivers," he stated matter of factly. "One wasn't civil enough, while the other took one too many liberties; in his manner, if nothing else."

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, aware of a disconcerting fact the revelation revealed. "You were watching?"

House nodded, not the least bit embarrassed about the blatant intrusion of her privacy. She, on the other hand, was livid. The Sin-Gal was one thing, security and all, but filming a simple limo ride to and from his place was crossing a boundary that was unnecessary.

Ignoring her anger, House explained himself without qualm. "I need to be careful, especially where you're concerned. Besides...this is better. Robots are preferrable to human beings. For the most part, you can trust them. They are programmed to stay loyal."

Steph thought of her Vault-Tec toaster oven and doubted it. Unless it was showing all its loyalty to the company which had made it instead of to her.

"There remain very few things where a robot cannot outperform a human," House mused almost proudly.

Giving the statement its due consideration, and trying to ignore how good her employer was looking sitting across from her, Stephanie had to disagree.

"Oh, I can think of a few things," she argued meaningfully.

His moustache twitched and Steph wondered, from the otherwise odd expression on his face, if he was close to debating her over the statement.

Luckily, he decided against it, continuing on with his earlier explanation.

"This is my regular limo. I didn't send it to you first because I was uncertain you'd be accepting my offer. With that in mind, I engaged a service tied to one of my shadow corporations."

"Good to see you trust me so much," she snorted and turned her head to the side.

Silence followed, one where Steph could feel herself being analyzed throughly through.

"If you pardon my being so intrusive," Robert House finally broke the quiet discomfort, "What made you decide to accept my offer anyway?"

Steph took in a deep breath. The answer seemed so trivial now, the turning point so inconsequential, that she seriously considered spinning some invented yarn about having had her own concerns about Vault-Tec seeming to be looking forward to a war and how they could profit from it,  whilst simultaneously creating some underground utopia in their image, but she doubted the billionaire would fork over even a paltry dollar to buy the lie from her.

Instead, Steph shifted once on the limo upholstery and gave him her best pout along with the truth. "The night we talked, I went home after work and fixed myself supper in my fairly new little Vault-Tec toaster oven. The damn timer broke and burned it to a crisp."

Though, she was expecting to have to defend herself from such a stupid motivation, House surprised her by merely lifting one half of his moustache in some snowman's sardonic form of glee.

"If you forgive the choice of words...how wonderfully delicious," Robert House joked.

"More than my supper," she smirked, folding her arms across her chest and pressing her back into the back of the seat.

With his last remark, plus the name of his strip club, Stephanie was beggining to doubt the claim he abhorred bad puns.

"Before you go planning some similar form of revenge for having kept you waiting, Steph, I offer my apologies," he said after an interlude with his cigarette. "I assure you, I am hardly ever late."

"No, you just happened to be after I called you," Steph stated, her eyes rolling, her arms unfolding and unashamed she was letting her irritation show. Best to let him know now, she reasoned. If she was about to play spy for an unspecified amount of time, she'd be lying enough as it were. "That and you wouldn't see me for days."

"I was detained, personal business."

It was hard to picture a man like House having anything which constituted as personal in his cold, unfeeling life.

She refused to speak, but readily stuck her bottom lip out an extra inch.

"It's something you'll have to get used to," House addended, his voice tensing. "We won't see each other for long periods of time and you won't be able to contact me on mere whims. We can't have you acting like a petulant child whenever that happens."

Steph's eyes flashed angrily now, her mouth opening in revolt.

She was close to arguing that she wasn't the one playing with robots and snow globes, but she also believed that Robert House did not seem the type willing to forgive easily, and so she remained silent.

It was an assumption proven correct by his next confession.

After weighing the effects his words had made on the showgirl, House leaned forward, his elbows lying against a leg each, and his face nearer to her own legs.

"I'm about to show a level of trust, that I show very few people, Stephanie. Afterall, I'm going to entrust you to be my eyes and ears over at Vault-Tec Inc. and I want you to trust me as well. How can you trust me if there exist secrets between us?"

Steph, yet again, chose not to reply. Still, she met his eyes, his words having ignited her interest. The word most often associated in the press with Robert House was "enigmatic". If she was about to learn something about him, anything, it put her in a privileged rank of very few.

House leaned back in his seat, studying her with the same detatched intensity she was becoming familiar with and Steph realized she was holding her breath.

"You wanted to know what I was doing yesterday?"

She nodded.

"I was trying to destroy my only brother," he answered casually.

Stephanie felt her eyes widen, then her brow furrow, all as House watched her with unmoving face.

"When my parents died in an autogyro accident," he calmly explained, as if giving a simple science fair demonstration at school, "my half brother stole both the family company and my inheritance from me. I've waited patiently, years, but it seems like now I can finally reclaim H&H Tools as my own...and more importantly...I can drive my brother mad in the process."

He could have been pulling her leg, or going for effect, but Steph knew from the way he had said it, devoid of all human emotion, that he was being completely honest with her

Stephanie was more than shocked and a little sick at his words. She had no sibling, did not know what it felt like to be betrayed so badly by one, but the idea of taking away both a livelihood and sanity from flesh and blood was incomprehensible to her, especially for a man whom had made himself as successful as House had. "But RobCo has outshone everyone, including your brother...your only brother. I don't understand...Can't you just turn the other cheek?"

House held her gaze, unblinking. "I see, despite your trespasses, you were raised to be a good little Christian girl. But I wonder...Would you be so quick to tear out an eye to keep you from wanting something you shouldn't have?"

His words were so blunt, Steph shuddered. Yet, she had no way to answer them either. Losing an eye had always sounded so drastic, and she hated to turn herself into a hypocrite. Especially when it meant offending one of the most powerful men in the world. Like countless others before her, she just prayed God in His much farther away Heaven would overlook it.

"But, see, I've told very few people what I have planned," Robert House continued. "And never any of them as openly as I just told you. But I want that openess to exist between us. Infact, for the next few months, if not years, you will be the single person on the planet I allow myself to share that level of closeness with, Steph."

He had disarmed her again by sharing a certain respect.

She didn't know how to respond. All she could manage was a very soft, "Thank you, Mr. House."

He flinched as she used the name, as if, instead of thanking him, she had used the palm of her hand against him.

"I'm sorry, but I'd rather you abstain from using my name, or Robert for that matter," House chastised her. "Names are intimate in nature. When people get aquainted with each other, it so happens they often get lax and less cautious with them. There is a reason the Israelites worshipped a God with a name they couldn't pronounce. If you become familiar using my name, you might say it one day at an inopportune moment and risk any progress we've made at Vault-Tec and with Askins."

"What am I to call you then?" Steph scoffed, finding it unfair that he could use her name so freely but she was forbidden the use of his.

The genius considered it briefly, then nodded, more with pride at his own ingenuity than at her. "Call me 'Bert'. It's different enough from my name, and yet close enough for you to get used to it."

"Bert," Steph repeated, letting it fall from her tongue and trying to associate it with the eccentric, egotistical businessman before her.

They didn't seem to go together.

And yet, it would have to do.

It was all she would be allowed, afterall.

During the rest of the drive, as she was still upset over the fact that she had to refrain from using his real name, but he could invoke hers so often, his even doing so several times in meaningless small talk about the city where they both lived, Steph gradually realized her mistake.

Robert House was not a hypocrite.

He could so freely use her name, Steph understood, because he never needed to worry about saying it by accident. There was little more than professional courtesy in how he intended to treat her, proven by the emotional distance she felt coming off from him. All closeness in their scheming aside, House would never grow so attatched to her, or suddenly human in his heart, to ever let it slip out without intent.

Just as he had said, names were intimate things.

And Robert House had no intention of ever becoming intimate with her.

Once again, just like the thought of war on such a lovely, blue-skyed day, House might as well have been as far away as the moon from her, Steph soon came to understand.

But since she had no real desire to ever go to the moon either, it hardly made a difference.

Chapter Text

Although, she'd had a few men insist, Steph had never allowed any one of them to take her to the Sin-Gal's washroom. Some of the customers (as urgent as they had been and willing to pay a pretty penny for it all right), had found their hopes suddenly dashed, when she'd laid down the simple rule for them: no public lavatories. She had spelled it out to the letter for them, that they either take her to a motel (one with good security) in order to turn their fantasy of bedding a real Las Vegas show girl into a reality or let them sneak away to one of the club's upper rooms, where costumes and props were stored, where they could easily get down to business (and where, once again, the security was great).

Never had she agreed to (or ever would), some tawdry tryst in the lavatory.

It all seemed so cheap and indecent.

In painful truth, Steph hated to even need to sink to selling herself, but if she had to do it, the notion of doing it in the john with a john just further made her feel like her life was going straight down the toilet.

That was why, it was with the greatest of trepidation, she let Robert House escort her to the public washrooms of the Lucky 38.

That hadn't been where she'd thought he was taking her, at first, following behind his steady, assured gait, glimpsing the casino then and seeing a few more renovations seemingly taking place since her first visit. Sounds, work sounds, were coming from lower down in the structure, in what sounded like the basement, but House showed them little, if any, interest. He strode through the building like a man whom owned the place, which he did, leading her straight to a section of the 38 which turned out to be the washroom.

It was a class act, that was for certain. It was, infact, twice as large as Steph's apartment, complete with almost grecian looking decorative pillers joining an opulent ceiling with the gold-veined, black tiled floor beneath it. Everything in between looked like white marble, polished almost as much as Robert House's fancy limo had been. The towels were pristine and white with the same Lucky 38 logo gracing the tower embroidered in red in their left hand, bottom corner.

Still, though messing around in here might have been more appealing than any other washroom in the city, what the room was designed for was pretty hard to forget and made her a little uncomfortable on why they had visited this place first rather than House just taking her to his office where they could further negotiate terms and what he exactly was expected of her.

"So, you have to use the potty before we get down to business?" Steph asked rather impudently as she fell back against one of the pillers, choosing to stop her obedient little following of him.

"Stop the belligerence. Askins didn't show interest in you because you were a bitch," House stated while he continued to cross the lengthy washroom.

His expensive shoes, meanwhile, made a distinct tapping sound on the tile, obviously steel coated at the tips, something Steph could appreciate: he was trying to be more like his machines.

Making it all the way to the far stall accompanied by the tapping, he disappeared inside of it, leaving the door wide open in his wake.

"What's with all the renovations?" Steph called out, hoping he wasn't the type of man crass enough to leave the door open while he conducted his bodily affairs. That was another thing that always bothered her about men: their indiscretions. Probably a large reason she'd never shacked up with one. "Are you going to reopen for business soon?"

"Hardly," he called out, a hand emerging to carefully place his suit jacket on the hook of the stall door. "As far as I'm concerned, the Lucky 38 will never be open for business again."

"You can do that sort of thing?" Steph inquired, her face scrunching in disgust. "I mean you're rich enough to buy a whole casino and keep it just to yourself?"

House was emerging now, his hands filled with what looked like a bowl, a pair of gloves and a box. His smile was more wry now than insulted however. "It's not just for myself," he replied enigmatically but refused to further elaborate.

"What's all that?" Steph asked, stepping away slightly from the pillar to get a better look.

House was still smiling at her, a charming mixture of smugness and amusement. "We're about to turn you into a blonde, Stephanie," he informed as he placed the contents of his arms on the edge of a sink, thereby freeing his hands.

"We're?" Steph repeated, not liking where this was heading.

"Rather, I am," House amended.

As her mouth fell open, House loosened his tie.

"I meant what I said, Steph," he stated, cooly observing her surprise, all whilst unbuttoning his cuffs and beginning to roll up his sleeves. "I intend to make you the only person I allow myself to become close with during this time. You and I are to be what constitutes as a partnership from now on. That means I'm the only one fit to handle your transformation."

"You don't only expect me to cut and dye my hair, you expect me to let you do it?" she balked, aghast at the idea. Making billions was drastically different than bleaching brunettes into blondes. And though he'd stepped on quite a few people to formulate his fortune, at least, they were strangers to her, the show girl thought. Steph was less in a hurry to let him endanger her own scalp.

She was starting to head for the door when House stopped her with his cutting reply. "I hope this won't be your response every time I make a suggestion that doesn't appeal to you. Especially without letting me explain. That would get exceedingly tiring."

Steph stopped on a dime and turned to peer at him from over her shoulder. Frowning, she spun around, folding her arms. "Explain to me then why you are doing this instead of a professional?"

House completely removed his tie now, draping it against the sink next to the one he had targeted as his apparent workstation. "It's simple," he nonchalantly began his defense. "The least amount of people whom can tie us together, the less we need to worry about big mouths and loose lips. I put very little trust in the type of women you find working at the barbershops and spas in Las Vegas. Not that they aren't efficent at their jobs, but they do like to talk. Overall, that's counterproductive to our goals. Hence, if I can perform the task myself, I see no need to involve an outsider."

"But can you perform it?" Steph scoffed, folding her arms across her Las Vegas tee and obscuring the tourist enticement.

"You doubt me?"

"Yes. I'd doubt anybody who'd never done it before."

"Who claimed I'd never done it before?" he inquired with a raise of an eyebrow, slipping one latex glove over his hand.

For a second time she was staggered. "You've actually done something like this before?"

He nodded, putting the other glove on. "Not something like, but this exact thing. I couldn't risk wrecking my own little Lili Marleen now could I?"

Stepping forward, Steph was genuinely interested, sensing the man wasn't lying to her. "Who did you practice on without that becoming the talk of the town?"

House smiled widely, pleased with himself. "Hopeful actresses."

Steph was the one to smirk now. "Like they won't talk."

House looked just as condescending as usual as he prepared to educate her. "It's all about context, Stephanie. An actress tells a tale I like to do her hair and dress her up like a doll, nobody will think twice. I don't know if you've heard, but my reputation can hardly be sullied when it comes to my dalliances with starlets. One in particular, as already seen fit to mention my unusual proclivities. It would not be unheard of. I'm even connected to them, silently financing a few films in Hollywood. On the other hand, why I would pay some hairdresser to dye a random show girl's hair? That act would seem more suspicious to those I'm trying to escape the notice of."

He had a point, Steph unfortunately realized.

Dammit, he usually had a point.

If he found her irritating for her temper, his intelligence and arrogance was equally annoying.

"Now, are you going to continue to doubt me, or would you like the opportunity to, at least, prove me wrong?" he motioned to the sink like a seasoned Vegas showman on sedatives.

Sighing, Steph stepped forward hoping it wasn't a miscalculation on her part, particularly the part that was her hair.

A billionaire was about to turn her blonde.

Yippee.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked, seeing them both reflected in the large, ornate mirror above the sink, them both choosing to meet each other's eyes inside of the reflection. 

"Are you fond of that particular shirt?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied with a shrug.

He leaned over towards the towel rack, and grabbing one, placed it delicately over her shoulders. "Your pride in Vegas is commendable,  by the way," he stated, renewing his gaze into her reflected eyes.

"Thank you."

"Now I must cut your hair, my darling Miss Calculations. That way there will be less to bleach."

"Okay."

Other than that concession, Steph was too busy rolling her eyes to watch him start hacking away inside of the mirror.

She'd always been happy with her length of hair, now it was mostly all ending up on the washroom of the Lucky 38's floor. It was over fast enough, House lightning sharp with a pair of scissors, but it wasn't entirely painless when she looked at herself in the mirror to find it cut off to her shoulders' length.

When House then began to mix up some sort of chemicals inside of the bowl, Steph crinkled her nose at the mixture and the overwhelming smell it had created. Trying to buy some time, she asked the makeshift hairdresser if he wasn't going to actually wash her hair first before applying the toxic seeming mixture.

For the question, she received yet another lecture.

"See Stephanie, I know what I'm doing," he remarked, placing the bowl down so he could segway into quickly sanctioning her brown hair off into four quarters. "When bleaching hair, it is advised the hair be unwashed. That protects the follicle etc... from damage. You'd be smart to remember that when you have to do it yourself."

Steph witnessed herself laughing in the mirror. "I'll be going to an actual hairdresser when I have to do it, Bert."

Tilting his head to one side, House offered up another mysterious smile. "That luxury may not always be available, not with what's to come."

She was close to demanding what he meant by that, when she was instantly prevented, House applying some of the awful gunk to her hair. The scent was even more overpowering and offensive now, being dunked right on top of her head. Her nostrils were reeling. Meanwhile, House just kept on methodically covering her now cut hair, leaving about an inch to the roots. Only at the end did he add it there too, probably one more bit of wisdom he'd picked up playing with his Hollywood beauties.

"Let me guess," she stated. "Now we let it sit."

He nodded, leaning with his back against the washroom wall. "It won't take too long."

"So, I don't have to listen too long to your exploits masquerading as a hair stylist?"

"No," he answered, folding his arms. The muscles on them were visible now, looking lean and yet pronounced. Steph would have thought with a reputation for business, Robert House would have spent too much time behind a desk to care about his health and physique. She guessed, she was wrong.

Steph's eyes suddenly dropped to the towel around her neck.

"Sorry if I wrecked the towel," she apologized.

"Why?" House asked, fishing into his pocket and pulling out a cigerette to smoke. "I can just order a new one. There's a closet here full of them anyway."

What followed was a brief discussion about how long he had owned the casino, and if he'd known the infamous, Shanghai Sally, most of which seemed evasive, as if discussing it in greater depth would either help incriminate him or he simply didn't care to go more in depth about any of it.

When Stephanie finally outright asked "Well was she a spy or wasn't she?" House just gave another smug smile and replied, "Let's just say, you'll be a better spy than Sally ever was."

Steph blinked twice as House checked his watch.

"Time to get this out," he announced, coming to stand behind her. "Then we'll give it a wash."

Not expecting it, House bent her forward until her head was underneath the faucet, instantly turning it on and rinsing the bleach out. The push was gentle, yet strong and she was grateful that his motives were purely business then because she would have been no real threat to him otherwise.

Aware of his strong body still behind hers, Steph was hoping she could stand up straight again when he started to wholly wash her hair, complete with shampoo even, as promised.

It was awkward.

Him standing behind her.

His hands running through her wet hair, with her trying not to bump her rear up against him.

She supposed he was just making good on his claim that she was to be completely in his hands now.

But she liked the way he was touching her, his fingers lacing through her now blonde locks and massaging her scalp. It felt good, her never having experienced a man doing this to her whom didn't share an interest in men just like she did. At least, she was assuming House didn't, what with his interest in starlets, no matter how twisted it was.

He had a nice touch, more than his cold manner would suggest. It was a shame he was so robotic when, with just a little warmth, he could appear to be almost human.

Steph was liking it, really enjoying herself, when House pushed her head under the running water again, getting out all of the shampoo. She suddenly wished the water was cold, instead of being the perfect temperature of warmth. His fingers were still up against her head, soothing her and Steph had to fight a sigh, betraying her pleasure.

To dissuade herself, she thought of how annoying the man could be and all of the instances of it from their recent conversations. One readily came to mind, which she was grateful for as House returned her back to her previous standing position, using the towel around her shoulders now to help dry off her hair.

"What did you mean exactly by that 'what's to come' business?" she inquired, her vision coming and going as he moved the towel frequently over her head.

He hesitated but then replied, "It's the same business of why I can give you anything you want, so long as it is within reason."

"Why anything within reason...what's this reason about anyway?"

A longer moment of silence then, enough time for Stephanie to realize the tap was dripping, either House not having turned it tightly all the way or the washroom now requiring renovations too.

Finally, he answered, dropping the towel so it resumed its place around her shoulders.

House met her eyes inside the mirror once more and Steph thought his gaze, though reversed, was perhaps the most forthcoming she had found it since their first meeting.

"Because, you'd have to enjoy anything you're after within a very limited amount of time since, according to all my calculations, the world is going to end very soon."

Chapter Text

After having dropped his bomb of a revelation, Steph had been frustrated when all House had proceeded to do was take off his gloves, hold a lock of her now bleached hair between his fingers, rub the strands together in evaluation and announce somewhat diffidently that she would now need some gloss.

Because Bud Askins liked shiny things.

Dying as she was to get back to the now introduced topic of the end of the world, House, it seemed, would rather drag her virtually all the way upstairs to his own personal bathroom for more hair work. She was close to ripping said hair out in frustration, yet hadn't protested too much, nor had he needed to force her to follow. Wrapped tight around her throat was the leash of curiousity he had stirred inside of her, and she felt as if his hands were tight around her neck pulling her along with him, though his hands were by his well fashioned sides, the suit jacket now leaving the hook on the last stall empty, as he casually strolled upstairs, with it back on his lithe frame.

Stephanie followed, trying to figure out what he had meant by his statement.

The end of the world?

Things did seem headed that way some days, but other times, like today, not so much. 

Was Vault-Tec somehow planning the end of the world, and that was why he needed her?

Was he?

How could either of them be so damn foolish, and what good would her spying for him do if the world was about to end, either from his, Vault-Tec, China or God knew who else's machinations?

Maybe he was planning on having her help stop it, Steph thought with a small trace of pride, climbing into the elevator with him....

But no. It seemed like his end goal always included the end of everything.

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving her locked in with a possible mad man.

But what did he expect to gain from anything if everything was gone?

Didn't he depend on customers to turn a profit? Wasn't that the cornerstone of a decent Capitalist society? What use would a dead world, filled with equally dead people, be to him?

Steph tried vainly to figure this all out the whole way up, glancing at her boss occasionally, whom just stood with his back to the elevator wall, untalkative but at irritating peace, as if he hadn't just set loose a bombshell right in her face.

Once they'd reached his private bathroom, a smaller but no less fancy affair than the 38's public one, he'd tossed her a box of hair gloss, told her he'd be waiting for her in the adjoining room, off to the right, and left her to her own devices.

"Straighten your hair while you're at it," he further ordered, not even bothering to look back, as he left the bathroom, his hands pushed deep in his pockets. "It'll help complete the look "

Steph stood there dumbstruck, infront of yet another mirror, her mind reeling over what the man had told her downstairs more than the glossing of her hair.

Was he serious? Did he just expect her to be a good little minion, aheed to every one of his nitpicky little whims and not be staggered by the immensity of his words?

Could he just possibly, for once, forget he was the genius billionaire,  Robert Edwin House, and just get over himself?

It was with only the most iron of wills doing battle with her befuddlement that Steph eventually struggled to make it through the gloss' instructions, hoping that by focusing on them she could calm her heart and prove to House that she deserved to be spared, at least, from whatever he had planned.

They always talked about the last man standing.

Well, she intended to make it the last woman standing, let House fend for his own male self.

Glossing her hair actually helped tremendously, in more ways then Steph could have even imagined. She even gave her boss some credit for that. Perhaps it was just another of his endless calculations, afterall. The icy blondeness helped her feel more detatched than her brunette locks had, and by straightening her waves away, she adopted a ceftain smoothness in her atittude too.

She was resilient.

She could survive.

She had a million times before, like after losing her dream job at the Tops.

In the mirror, her hair having been quickly blown dry, Steph saw someone else staring back at her now, a new her, a beautiful, frozen goddess. The only thing left of her old look, besides her features now amped up to an almost California sheen, was the darkness of her eyebrows.

They stood out like dark awnings protecting the windows to her soul.

Still, they added character to her, a certain wisdom.

The only thing she wasn't crazy about now was her Vegas shirt. Not that she was a turncoat, or anything, but it was wet in places and completely offsetting to her new look which screamed of class and repose; it looked almost cheap when she felt like a million bucks. Her blue eyes sweeping around the bathroom, complete with all its luxuriant trappings, they soon landed on several robes on a rack by the ornate tub.

Steph smiled mischievously naughty.

House had promised her anything afterall. If the world was to end soon, she might as well start by taking something that was his.

In a few seconds, her transformation was complete.

She felt, in a way, like a new woman born all over again as she fastened the long, elegant sash of one of the billionaire's expensive, silver silk robes around her thin waist. She was wearing only her underwear beneath it all, but with House's apparent lack of interest, she was allowed a certain freedom in that area too. It was throughly refreshing to not be looked at like fresh meat. Steph briefly wonder if she were to walk out there naked if they could conduct the rest of the day's business with her in her Sin-Gal/birthday suit, but she shot the idea down. Better yet to make a statement by striding out in what so rightfully belonged to him: it was a perfect visual statememt that she intended to collect on what he promised.

Especially if they were all doomed.

Sliding the bathroom doors open, Steph emerged, barefoot, in defeated triumph.

If the world was about to end, at least she would look good as everything went belly up.

It took her a few moments to gain her bearings and find the office room House had directed her to, unsure of what was left and right, now that she was facing the other direction. It was not the same office as the one where they had originally talked. Opening the large wooden door, she marked the whole room as more of a sitting room than the normal place she'd presume business to be made. Several chairs were placed around, House sitting in one at the far end of the room, smoking like the proverbial chimney.

Handsome as he was, and emanating extreme power, it was not the business magnate himself which garnered her attention but more of his playthings.

Four shelves were filled with snow globes, running across the length of the room in all their glassy glory. They distracted her in that moment, making her almost forget about everything else. Although she could not spot the musical one with the wartime themed love song, Steph knew it was there. She could not look for it, however, that mission probably promising to take up too much time, as Robert House sat waiting,  obviously willing to talk now.

Still her eyes involuntarily searched for it, seeing her own reflection in many of the globes whilst she did, an almost unrecognizable woman.

"Look at you," House meanwhile stated, blowing out smoke and already used to the marvel of his collection. Now his admiration was for his handiwork alone, on par with how Pygmalion must have felt when first viewing his Galatea, even if the actual emotion was nowhere close to love or obsession. "You really do make a stunning blonde, Stephanie."

More smoke escaped his lips and he seemed cold enough to be reptilian, a dragon if anything.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Steph saw herself reflected once more in the rows of polished snow globes, this time making her way to the chair opposite the one where their owner sat. Chit chat wasn't on her mind, nor useless compliments. Her reflections trapped within the globes of eternal winter had somehow slapped her out of her self absorbed reveries. Now, having been made to wait for her employer's explanation, the only thing which interested her was what he had to tell her about the end of their own world.

She walked methodically to the chair facing his, one long leg oftentimes escaping through the slit in the robe, making her fold the robe demurely as she sat down, preventing revealing more than she intended to her would be benefactor.

Now was the time for House to be the one revealing things.

"What did you mean, the world will be ending soon?" she asked, her voice controlled even.

House stretched out his hand, flicking off the accumulated ash from his cigarette in the tray she now noticed was balanced perfectly on his knee. "I was being a tad bit overdramatic," he replied drolly. "Let's say, the life everyone knows will be coming to an end."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she replied coolly. 

House shrugged but continued staring at her intensely.

"So how...how will the world end? And how exactly do you know this, any of this, by the way?"

House studied her, his eyes often drifting without care to her hair, probably patting himself on the back for a job well done, she took it. Only after he had held her gaze for a good thirty seconds, did he bother replying. He was so much like his dumb robots, she realized, needing time to process and analyze things.

"I don't like being surprised. I much prefer being the one whom administrates them to others. For this reason, I've spent my whole professional life weighing the odds and likelihoods. Stare at anything long enough, and you can see patterns emerging, so much so that you can tell those very same people and industries which will survive from those which will inevitably fall. It's one of the reasons, we forbid certain gamblers from our casinos in Vegas: They learn and adapt to those same rhythms. For years, I've spent my free time designing and running mathematical paradigms based on global political and socioeconomic conditions to help predict the future. I'm afraid, by 2065, these projections helped prove to me that it was only a matter of years, fifteen to be precise, before nuclear destruction became a reality and not a trap used to help sell papers and vaults. My desire is to spare Las Vegas from all this."

"And you think Vault-Tec is going to be behind it somehow?" Steph inquired, comforted that he wasn't going to be.

House looked far less committed now, tilting his head to the side with his dark eyes glancing in that direction. "I'm not sure. Right now, everyone is so irrational and filled with fear it's a question of who will pull the trigger first. Vault-Tec definitely is in possession of a gun, however, no matter how badly they are trying to hide it."

"You want me to find out where it is," Steph stared, cluing in.

The billionaire nodded, his eyes back on her. "And every other single piece of useful information you can find along the way. They are all pieces of an intricate, and far more vastly, reaching puzzle."

Stephanie considered this, feeling it fit in perfectly with everything she had seen and heard from the man since their initial meeting. The genius was adept at figuring things out, perfectly illustrated by his judgement of her decisions weighed against the turns of the music box key on the day she had first come here. Still, some thing bothered her, mostly because, she feared, it indicated more how he viewed her inside of his world of many calculations.

"Why didn't you just tell me all this when we first met?" Steph leaned back in her chair, her robe opening slightly at the top but without her caring to fix it.

Looking only slightly apologetic, probably more for show than for anything else, Robert House handed her a truth she couldn't be content enough to argue with. "People rarely give themselves over to any cause without personal investment involved. I could have told you all of this and it wouldn't have made a difference," he stated, leaning forward. "Oh, you might have enjoyed saving the world, but without some selfish motivation lurking underneath, I doubt it would have worked. You seem fairly level in your ego to avoid the trappings of martyrdom. You needed to personally loathe Vault-Tec in order to acquiesce to my offer. Lucky for me, you have crap taste in toaster ovens."

Steph rolled this over in her mind, surrendering to the logic of Robert House, all save for one aspect. Eventually freeing her leg completely from the slit of the robe to cross it over the other, she defended, "The toaster oven was on sale, and my boss doesn't pay me well enough to splurge on a higher brand."

"That's all about to change, my dear Stephanie," House soothed, his lip lifting at the corner. "I like the robe, by the way."

"Thanks. I thought you would," she lifted the corner of her own lip,  throwing the same smile right back at him. "You do have excellent taste."

House nodded, smiled and smoked.

Steph looked around again, her eyes on the room and the snow globes. Stretching out further in the comfortable chair, her attention turned to her bare foot. Like a child she flexed the toes, twiddling them about and admiring the way the arch looked so prominent. "So when this is all over, when I'm done playing the role of your little spy, I'm to come back here?"

Another of House's glowingly characteristic pauses.

"You won't be anywhere near Vegas, when the bombs go off, I'm afraid," he finally answered.

The toes instantly stopped moving.

"You will be assured safety, however," he explained. "If I'm not mistaken, since I endorse your paycheck every month, you do not have anywhere near what space in a Vault-Tec vault would cost. You'd be one of those left on the surface to fend for themselves against the radiation, elements and...whatever else comes along."

Stephanie cringed, suddenly unsure and disconcerted by what House might be leaving out, but hinted at by his tone and the look in his eyes now, both of which were ominous. Was he trying to spare her from the full horror of what else he had seen within his many paradigms and calculations?

"Make yourself one of Buds Buds and your place in a vault is assured."

Feeling like she was falling into the chair, her shoulders nearing level with her now blonde head as it sank into her neck, Steph saw that her robe had fallen completely open along the way. She could hardly give a damn about it, though, besides her current companion had seen everything before anyway. Maybe not in person but probably on a pretty good security cam.

"I can assure you of that, at least, my courageous Miss Calculations."

Hearing her stage name, Steph equally recalled House's own words that they had both been underestimated. Her eyes on her reflection inside of one snow globe, she saw cool, smooth hair of bleached yellow sun rays and felt her wrinkles of gloom being suddenly ironed away, her nerves becoming similarly strong.

When she finally realized the globe she was gazing into was the music box of Lili Marleen, she suddenly sat up straight, facing Mr. House with fresh determination ablaze inside of her soul.

House had not only appointed himself to save Las Vegas but, in choosing her to play his role of spy, he had offered salvation to her simultaneously.

What more proof did she need of his good intentions?

Readjusting her robe, she met his gaze with purity of will and a renewed feeling of safety and the belief she was doing the right thing. At least, by herself, she offered him another blinding smile. 

"Where do I sign up for this spy biz, Mr. Ho...I mean, Bert?"

House's eyes went to her hair again. "No contracts, no written proof. Your hair is as good as a signature or piece of paper to me."

"And for me?" Steph retaliated, feeling like she needed something.

Still foregoing any evidence, Robert House leaned forward, offering to her the sign of good business of many decades past.

A single handshake.

"Well, it was good for my father, and his father before him," Stephanie declared resolutely, stretching out her hand and boldly shaking Robert House's in a sign of the business they had agreed upon: the noble business of saving Las Vegas, if not standing side by side when the rest of the world ended, at least, still saving it together.

Chapter Text

When House announced that, now it was time to compliment her new look with the appropriate wardrobe, Steph had expected for them to take another trip out to the limo and then pay a visit to the finest boutiques Vegas had to offer; she was even looking forward to it. Then House squelched her excitement with the unexpected announcement that the 38 already possessed everything they would require.

"Don't I need a stuffy salesgirl looking over my shoulder, handing out unwanted advice about what would look good on me and what wouldn't?" Steph had inquired a little testily.

"Why?" House had shot back with a look over his shoulder, while he made his way to the sitting room's doors, expecting her to follow. "I can tell what will look good on you. And I know what would be to Bud Askins personal taste even better.

"Oh, so besides being a hairstylist, you dabble in fashion too?" Steph teased, close behind.

"Yes. I like deciding what my girls wear. At all times."

"And a control freak. Attractive."

"You don't need to find me attractive, what matters is that you stay that way to Askins," he observed, keeping on with his steady gait.

They were in a different area of the 38 now, one with a spiraling staircase. House climbed it with grace and agility, the showgirl at his heels, almost breathless from his pace and the speed which everything was proceeding at. House apparently was well versed in his plan, the steps needed for success and just when everything needed to happen. She felt like just another cog in the machine of his making, with little choice now that she had told him yes. If she were to stop moving, she would gum up the works, she surmised, or worse, for her sake, be crushed.

Coming to a room graced with a set of wide double doors, House took a knob in each hand and threw them carelessly open. The show girl's mouth dropped open too as she finally  joined him inside. Now she knew why he needn't take her out to a boutique. It looked like he'd stuffed three secretly inside of the Lucky 38. In a 13 foot tall room of pink and white stripes, lined with mirror upon mirror and closet after closet, rack upon rack of clothing sat waiting for them. Several mannequins were also present, almost scaring her half to death when she mistook them for actual women and believed, unknown to the world, that Robert House had several prisoners trapped inside of his tower.

She was amazed, astounded, slowly approaching one mannequin adorned in the most beautiful horse riding getup she had ever seen. "These are beautiful," she murmured, but House had already thrown open one closet and disappeared inside, ignorant and uncaring to her opinion.

He returned with a chessboard checkered box, placing it on the floor by one mirror. Then in an unspeaking bolt he strode towards her, all intent and motivation. Grabbing the robe's sash around Steph's middle, he untied it effortlessly, pulling the robe off of her and letting it crumple into a heap by her feet before she could even find her voice to complain.

"Hey!" Steph cried out as she stood there, offended and in her underwear. Having contemplated it herself was one thing; his doing it for her was another.

"You forget, I've already seen everything," he reminded, without meeting her defiant eyes. "Besides, I haven't forgotten...the robe is mine."

Steph pouted, rubbing her arms as if she were cold although a heated, angry blush had overtaken her.

"Get out of those," he stated next, eyeing her all over. "I decide everything you will be wearing from now on, from top to bottom. When Bud gets you, he can dress you for himself. Now it's my turn."

Though she wasn't sure she liked all this talk about men controlling what she wore, both now and in the possible future, Steph began to reach around to unhook her bra, feeling like it was best to get it all over with. For now, House had all the power and the sooner she was completely dressed again, the better. Afterwards, she could try to find some wriggle room to regain some control. Now was the time to play pliant.

Besides, he still wasn't as bad as some of the backstage lechers she'd had to deal with.

Her bra and panties soon joined the robe on the floor, and House looked her over in the least sexual way imaginable. He was staring at her, obviously trying to see her through this Bud Askins eyes and not his own, but without all the actual sexual attraction he was hoping to inspire. He was leaving that for Bud

Steph was once again feeling insulted now and hating herself for it.

Chastising herself at this stage of the game, did no good, but she really should have taken into account how badly the man infuriated her before agreeing to his proposition, she realized.

Too late now.

She had to shut up and deal with it.

"I've got several things that will do," he declared, before strolling over to a rolling set of drawers.

"Will do?" Steph repeated.

He returned, his arms over brimming with some of the prettiest, sexiest, frilliest, laciest undergarments and accoutrements she had ever seen in her life and her protests instantly flew out the window. Or would have, should the room have had any.

House was reaching out to slip the brassiere on her but Steph took a step back in revolt. "Nuh unh, I can do that."

"Suit yourself," House remarked, stepping back.

She tried on several successfully, Robert House patting himself on the back egotistically after each triumph, and she didn't need his help until trying to put on a complex pair of hosiery and garters. They were absolutely stunning, but with so many straps, laces and buckles she was lost, even for a show girl whom had thought she'd seen and tried it all.

The billionaire was getting impatient as she struggled with them, no more less so as she needed to sit on a nearby stool and try it all over again.

"Here, let me," House said, falling to a knee as she continued to sit, unimpressed and breaking into a sweat on the stool.

She might have protested, save for the fact that he did it so swiftly and perfectly that there was hardly any time. The feel of his knuckles brushing against her, along with his fingers directly on her, was also disconcerting. She remembered his touch while doing her hair and became flustered all over again. The man had a touch at complete odds with his detatched nature. It was a pity really, a man with that much money and sensuality but no real human emotions to pair them with. What a great waste in God's design.

"There," House said, the last strap buckled on and his head hovering over her lap in a way that made her blush afresh. "Stand," he ordered.

Only when he had backed away did she, rising to her feet to see herself reflected from multiple angles and looking like a blonde dream in each.

"You do have an eye for this," she conceded.

"Good," he replied. "I think we can move on to actual clothing now."

Now she let him dress her, as he seemed anxious to do from the beginning. His fingers were all twitchy desire, his moustache even catching it. He wanted to play dress up with her, it seemed, and Steph surrendered, almost getting a laugh out of it, if it wasn't so peculiar, that was.

Still the way, he kept touching her, gently moving her body this way or that, presenting her to the mirror, Steph was still distracted by his hands...and his handsomness. If things were different, if House was different, she would have much preferred him to return to stripping her then dressing her up.

Unfortunately that wasn't the type of man he was.

What type of man was he, she wondered, getting bored as he had her trying on sailing attire? Why was he so damn good at this? And what was with this room? All the clothes belonged to women, not a single article of menswear amongst them, not even a pair of socks seemed designed for a male foot. He really enjoyed dressing up women this much?

Why?

"You do this often?" she asked, House slipping her into a cute striped shirt with a red anchor emblem at her breast and then placing a similarly colored red cap on her head.

"Yes," he answered, busily focusing on the way it all worked together with her black pair of shorts.

"So all the odd stories are true then...about you treating women like dolls?"

"When it comes to the tabloids, Steph, you're only ever getting half the story," he said yanking off her hat and pulling the shirt up over her head.

"What's the other half of the story?" she asked, aware that she was back to being in her bra and close to pushing into his clothed chest.

"My side of the story," he replied, without true commitment.

She smirked and he was back to trying something new, this time an evening dress.

It was another stunner...Nassau blue and clinging to her every curve and cranny.

"If only the girl's at the Sin-Gal could see me like this," she cooed. "I'd be the envy of each and every one of them, especially Thrope "

The idea tickled her. Yeah, let the girls see her, particularly the one whom disliked her the most. Maybe she would be allowed to take a few outfits back to her place before she performed tonight and change into one after the show, just to taunt her. How wonderful that would be.

House had a different plans in mind, however, ones more yeilding to his own whims and fancy.

He was behind her, raising the zipper, when he handed her the news she had never even considered.

"Unfortunately, your coworkers are never going to see you again, Miss Calculations, just as you will never see them."

Steph saw her dark brows furrowing in the mirror again. "What do you mean?"

She had moved her gaze to stare into his face, just as attractive as ever and hovering over her shoulder, but then he was gone, left to get the box on the floor. He had opened it quickly enough, revealing the contents to be a red fur, real or synthesized, and of the finest quality. Back even faster, his head had returned to loom over her shoulder, now drapped in what she was still hoping was an exquisite faux fur.

"You didn't think I could allow you to be seen now, not following your transformation. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but our new agreement terminated our old business arrangement down at the Sin-Gal."

"Shouldn't you have told me this before," Steph spat in amazement at his sheer audacity and poor communicative skills.

"Probably," he replied, straightening the fur. "Just like I should have let you know, I'm having all your possessions brought here. You're never going back to your apartment either. We're to stay here, together actually, at the Lucky 38, until I ship you out to California and Vault-Tec."

Now she was even more staggered and left feeling objectified. Her job he was in control of maybe, but not where she lived and played. Sure, the apartment wasn't great, but she had made it hers. The bed she was used to, along with the okay view, when she wasn't contemplating throwing toaster ovens from it anyway.

Staring at her reflection, she felt for the first time, that she had let herself willingly become not only a part of his well oiled machine but trapped inside one of his infernal snow globes as well. He was taking over her life more than she had foreseen, controlling everything she did and not even bothering to dictate it to her first. He just was shaking the globe and then casually seeing where the snow fell.

He possibly saw the anger on her face, the previously pale skin turning the shade of the fur on her formerly white shoulders.

Robert House said nothing to her then to help smooth it over.

Nothing of bending his rules or letting her have a say in things.

Nothing of letting her stay at her stupid apartment, if only for tonight.

All he did was pull a long, thin object from out of his pocket and drape it slowly, sensuously around the pretty throat she would have used, had he let her.

Stephanie gasped.

It was a diamond necklace.

Without a doubt real.

Unlike the fur.

Each diamomd glistened as it encircled her neck, catching her attention and holding it enthralled.

In an instant, the diamonds had suddenly become the snowflakes inside of the world Robert House had intended for her.

And, all of a sudden, she was warming to it tremendously.

A smile playing on his ever dashing face, Robert House leaned his face close enough to her neck so Steph felt both the diamonds and his breath on her naked skin.

"You can keep that. Part of your new salary," Mr. House cunningly coaxed. "Now...let's say we try on more jewelry, shall we?"

"Sure," Steph consented, her teeth glinting as much as the diamonds in the mirror.

Chapter Text

While Steph had expected a reprieve after their little dress-up session (perhaps given some sort of freedom to roam about, even if she was only allowed to stay inside of the 38 like Beauty when she'd been trapped inside of the Beast's castle), she was somewhat surprised when House announced that he wasn't finished with her yet.

"We still have a few more intial arrangements and itineraries to sort through," he'd informed, throwing a pair of striped socks he'd fancied her wearing to join all the others he'd already selected, now all rolled up and lying in a jumbled pile. "We can make those while we have supper."

"It won't be a date then?" Steph joked, pulling down over her torso a fresh tshirt her boss had allowed her to keep, along with a new pair of black capris.

House smirked and raised his eyebrows. "Consider it a business dinner and nothing else. Have you ever experienced one of those?"

Steph shook her newly blonde hair. "If I'd been lucky enough to stay at the Tops maybe...but no. I remember some that my father and grandfather attended. I was allowed to go to a few of those, but only as an observer, never as a participant. And always with the strict rule to use my mouth only to eat and never to speak."

House's smirk became slightly less pronounced. "I will insist that you open your mouth besides eating. Your feedback is integral to this. If we aren't on the same page at all times, we'll most likely fail."

Steph nodded, deciding this was reasonable.

House studied her intensely, most likely admiring his handiwork again. My how the man loved to gloat, Steph mused. Eventually, his mind probably went to the start of their meeting and just how she had agreed to become his canvas. The tycoon casually reassured her, "I can assure you the meal most certainly will not be burnt."

"That's good to hear," Steph laughed with sincerity.

House quickly motioned her to the door and she gratefully walked by him, seeing their reflection in one of the dressing room's many mirrors along the way. They made an odd couple, the now platinum showgirl, in her casual wear, beside the rigid, dark businessman, in his terribly expensive clothing. She'd caught glimpses of the strange couple before, sometimes the woman stark naked with the fully clothed man, whom seemed not to care, attending her. Even now, with the woman fully dressed, they were somewhat mismatched, and yet still looked suprisingly good together, like the stars of a recent Cinderella themed Hollywood blockbuster maybe. A fairytale in real life. She watched the man's hand rise momentarily and wondered if it might go to the woman's back, a human and comforting motion. Instead, it disappeared inside of his suit jacket's pocket. The woman frowned then looked away, Steph unable to watch the pair any longer after she did.

* * *

They had their supper in a large banquet room, one she assumed the casino had kept for large meetings, conventions and various types of celebrations, when the place had been up and running. They sat at a table placed in the center of the empty and echoing room, and it all seemed somewhat creepy; not the company, at all, but rather the absense of anyone else to join them. In Vegas, one became used to an endless cacaphony of background small talk in this sort of glitzy setting, the clinking of glasses and cutlery, the presence of a cocktail singer crooning. Here, there hadn't even been any sign of waiters or waitresses, butlers or anything else to help serve, not even a robot. When they entered the room, it was to find the table already set, the food hot, the beverages chilled, and everything waiting for them.

As if in a nod to their previous conversation, although there wasn't possibly enough time, the napkins and plates wore the logo from The Tops, most striking of which was a large silver dome placed to the side of the table. Steph knew that House had most likely preordered out from one of Vegas' other best casinos, though his timing would have needed to be perfect. The Tops offered the service (plus delivery), something she had learnt from her brief stay there. Had he predicted their earlier conversation before they had left the vast changing room or had he done it as a nod to her having caught Bud Akins attention during her short time working there? Knowing House a tiny bit better than she once had, both were possible.

Now, however, she was too busy being famished to actually care which one it was.

She sat down at the table and was preparing to rip into the chicken, arranged so nicely on her plate and smelling like it had bathed in all the right seasonings, when House stopped her abruptly from taking a bite.

"No," he chastised, sweeping by the table and elegantly slipping into the chair opposite hers, like he'd practiced the arrogant move a thousand times. "You're forgetting something."

"Forgetting what?" Steph spat in hungry annoyance, dropping the chicken back onto the plate and disliking the way it had left her fingers feeling dirty and greasy. She would have licked them clean if she hadn't been half afraid he'd chastise her for that too.

"To say thank you," House replied, with a slight nod of his head.

"Thank you," she rushed out then hastily prepared to eat again.

"Not to me, though, that would only be the truth."

She dropped the chicken back onto the plate for a second time. "You want me to say grace?" she asked in shock. If ever there was a man whom seemed adverse to showing gratitude to anything other than himself, it was Robert Edwin House. Granted, she'd only spent about half a day with him, but she didn't need to spend any more than that to see he was a true egomaniac.

House smiled at her. "Bud Askins will want you to. He might find the whole thing as unnecessary as I do, but he will appreciate the show of it. Askins is big into cordiality and politeness if nothing else, always the executive at heart, it seems. These tendencies are what we are here to discuss: how we are to spend the next few weeks finetuning your attitude and wearing off the edges of your personality to better appeal to him. We might as well start now...with your saying grace."

Steph's tongue felt the inner wall of her cheek, the smoothness there and lack of taste. After first methodically wiping off her fingers on one of the Tops napkins, she then pressed them together, closed her eyes and uttered the prayer of mealtime thankfulness she used to hear her grandfather say, although it had been years since she, herself, had said it. She could feel House watching her, although she could equally feel that he was refusing to join her. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen."

Opening her right eye, Steph saw that her hunch was right: House, though studying her, had kept one hand down on his own napkin while the other was probably at rest on his knee beneath the table.

"Other than that peek at the end, I'd say that was sufficient enough," he proceeded to rate her as adequate.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "Now can I eat?"

House nodded complacently and lifted his fingers off the table in approval.

Like the starving woman she felt like, Steph tore into the evening meal. It was heavenly, well worth the grace she had given for it. She had to fight moaning in absolute pleasure, while House casually poured himself a glass of wine, ignoring her lack of repose. "Yours?" he inquired, extending the bottle to her own glass.

In a rush, she picked it up and held it all the way out to him. She began to say, "Please," but stopped herself, chewed what was in her mouth and then swallowed it, before talking. That was one rule she needn't be reminded of.

House was gloating again, as he poured, congratulating himself probably more for his good instruction than her quick learning.

"Is it good?" he asked her while she sipped it with as much withstraint as she could manage.

"Mmm, yes," she said, not wholly holding back.

"It is, but not great or anywhere near the best. When I'm done with you, you'll be able to tell the difference."

Steph scowled between chewing, unsure if she should be flattered by his words or take away only the fact that he hadn't chosen to present her with what he could darn well afford for their first meal together.

Her eyes drifted to the dome, thinking about how it was just the right size to hide a human head underneath it, a thought that made her shiver. "What's that?" she asked cautiously, after her mouth was once again empty.

Smiling enigmatically, all House would tell her was, "It's dessert."

He leaned back in his chair and began to eat with her now, a polished eater, savoring his food without any visible or audible delight in it. He might as well have been a machine. Steph wondered if that was what wealth taught people: to plunder and exploit their money but minus the real passion of the poor.

She still felt like Beauty exiled to the Beast's lair, only her father was already dead and so this wasn't some sacrifice intended to save him, nor was Robert House a beast in any way regarding his appearance. The man was absolutely handsome, the knee shaking variety. The only monster lay hidden beneath his level of attractiveness, betrayed by his manner and words, which often seemed inhuman.

He spared her very few words during their meal.

Most of it was about what he had planned for her, lessons in her speech, in her posture, walk and demeanor. Maybe she was taking things too personally, but Steph was left feeling like he was unduly criticising everything about her, from the way she talked, to the way she sat and even reacted to his endless stream of critical talking.

When he finally shut up, she wanted to offer up another grace for the blessing.

When Robert House pushed a small plate infront of her, revealing a delectable slice of cheesecake, she was more than confused. Her eyes darted to the previously forgotten silver dome and stated, "I thought that was dessert."

House's moustache twitched and his dark eyes glinted in an even darker amusement. "You can have more than two desserts, Steph. Remember...I said you can have anything you want."

Wary of his words, or at least how he had uttered them, Steph still took the plate and started to make its contents disappear.

House was staring at her again, watching her dig into the cheesecake, when, a little cheekily, he turned the dinner conversation around in a totally different direction.

"So...your time at The Tops...you enjoyed it, did you?

Steph stopped eating. There was a little sting at her eyes as she remembered it with the brightest of nostalgia. The Tops had been her dream job. The clientele was so much better than anywhere else in Vegas, as were the tips and the benefits. They'd given her a room and a wardrobe to dazzle the eyes. She hadn't needed to seek out extra income and everything had made her feel classier.

More worthwhile.

It was a place that truly lived up to its name.

"I loved it," she decided to give him her honesty.

"You were sad when they fired you?"

She flinched.

Having already been truthful, could she tell him just how disappointed she had been? Was it even possible to convey to a man whom had everything what it was like to have that partly dangled infront of you and then taken away.

"Yes," was all she could reply.

She thought of the other girls at The Tops, about how, though they had all been outwardly nice, they'd probably been glad she was the one chosen to go. Her mind wandered to the girls at the Sin-Gal. Would they suffer the same emotion, believing her to have been fired instead of sitting up here in the 38, enjoying a feast they could only hope to experience at least once in their lifetime?

Her mind wandering to Miss Ann Thrope, Steph derived a little pleasure over the knowledge that her rival would not be reaping the benefits of Mr. House's extracurricular requests. Still, the thought of the overly modified, snooty show girl delighting in the idea that she had been fired, leaving Ann to be the star attraction of the Sin-Gal, suddenly didn't sit well with Stephanie.

It didn't sit well at all.

"I guess, your coworkers will be finding out about your absence soon," House remarked, perfectly hopping aboard her train of thought.

"I guess," she mumbled.

"And how do you think they will react?"

Steph didn't need to think too long about it, her mind having just been there. She shrugged and answered, her voice hitching a little, "They'll feign regret...pretend that they miss me. Besides that...they won't really care. They'll thank God it was me and not them."

She looked up from her crumb littered plate to find him staring at her, across the remains of their supper. "And how do you think our Miss Ann Thrope will feel?"

He knew, Steph realized.

Of course, he knew.

He'd probably seen everything on his little security cams, either that or in his algorithms. All the backstage animosity, jealousy and anger.

Would Thrope ever know what it felt like the day she'd received that pink sheet of paper at The Tops, falling all the way down the Vegas strip because her "skills" were no longer needed? She doubted it. People like her squeaked by on their confidence and the way they used other people's backs to always climb a step above. Miss Ann Thrope would probably make good on her name and only rise higher in the world of Vegas, aided by all the unnecessary filler she was inflating her body with.

Swallowing, Steph tried to keep down all the bitterness claiming her, like a bad case of acid reflux ruining her supper.

Yet...

If only the woman could know what it felt like...

Really know.

Steph wished that she would.

It completely skipped her mind that she now possessed the aid to help transform her wish into a reality.

Now House was leaning forward, his eyes even darker under shadowed brows. "I promised you anything, my resourceful Miss Calculations...anything within reason. I think you will find that I am a very reasonable man."

Steph met her employer's eyes, the same employer of her enemy, and knew just what he was saying.

Her eyes lowered, again seeing the crumbs scattered on the plate. It was how Thrope had always made her feel: just an insignificant crumb in the grand scheme of things.

Things were different now however.

Now she was a cog necessary to Robert House's grand scheme.

Steph's eyes lifted with weighted purpose to reentangle with House's, and she surprised herself only with the speed with which she answered him. "Fire Miss Ann Thrope...fire her tonight. And do your best to make sure that she never works in Las Vegas again."

Sitting back in his chair, Robert House smiled in absolute, coldhearted, self satisfaction and approval. His hand leisurely went to the silver dome and he lifted it, revealing for the first time what had been patiently waiting throughout their entire meal.

A telephone.

Just as always, he had forseen her next course of action perfectly.

House grabbed the receiver of the phone, immediately asking to be put through to the Sin-Gal, where he promptly made the arrangements for Miss Ann Thrope's prompt dismissal. After that, he followed it through with a few extra calls to all the major strip clubs and brothels in the city.

The dome might not have housed any literal head, but it had most surely reserved a place for the figurative kind.

Stephanie, meanwhile, sat silently listening to it all, slowly sipping the last of her wine and wondering at how delicious the delivering of just desserts could actually be.

Chapter Text

After their shared supper, when Steph was relatively stuffed and still giddily thinking about what her former, and now unemployed, coworker would think when she ended the night without a job, House announced that he would see her to her new room himself.

She couldn't be sure if it was pure gallantry or that the man didn't trust her ability to follow instructions. Whichever it was, she chose not to put up a fight about it and instead played the role of a grateful female being escorted to her home, uncertain if it was not still a sneaky test to check out her manners.

In truth, she kept forgetting that she wasn't allowed to go back to her apartment, but was feeling rather a little tipsy after all the good wine (no matter how average it was to House) and thought it was probably best she stay at the 38 anyway.

A whole lot better than ending up sleeping with a cab driver or getting robbed.

Whenever she felt a little melancholy about never seeing her old apartment again, nor her neighbours, some of whom had been halfway decent, she'd think of what was waiting for Miss Ann Thrope, following her grand exit off stage and she'd feel even better. There was only one thing that would have sweetened the pot of revenge long left boiling a little bit extra, but that was an impossibility.

Steph began to hum to herself, the song of Lili Marleen.

House glanced at her portentously while they continued walking, side by side, down the former casino's hallways, the place feeling empty and almost haunted with the lonely sound of her voice echoing strangely off the walls.

"If you wish to see the look on Thrope's face when she's fired, that is perfectly manageable," he stated.

The song stopped, the hummer suddenly stunned.

"You've really gotta stop that," Stephanie warned.

"What?"

"Reading my mind. You really don't belong in there."

"On the contrary, I think you'll find me inside your thoughts a lot during the next few weeks."

Steph rolled her eyes, not sure if he was trying to flirt or just being his usual pompous ass of self. "You know you could really get a job being a prodigitator..."

"Prestidigitator?"

"Or whatever the hell they call those, in Vegas...the ones that tell a person's history from their car keys? The way that you're wired to figure things out, well, you'd absolutely mesmerise everyone."

They were still walking together, it having transformed itself into an almost casual stroll. Steph was stumbling a little, unfit to walk a line, and yet Robert House was walking alongside her perfectly, not missing a step and still coming off as elegant and poised.

"The job would bore me," he confessed. "Reading the minds of such silly, trivial and unintelligent people."

Steph laughed, the wine still going to her head and finding his offensiveness more amusing than corrosive partially because of it. "You talk about them like you hate them...why are you so keen on saving them all then?"

"I'm keen on saving Las Vegas...and a small portion of the population, which is only necessary to rebuild the human race. If I could pick whom would be here when the world ends, and thus select my own group of survivors, I would. Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the ability to do so without warning others about my future intentions. As they say, I'm stuck with what I get, I'm afraid."

Steph thoughtfully considered his words. " Would you choose me?" she inquired, unsure why his answer would mean much to her, besides her own ego.

"Why not," he declared, clasping his hands behind his back and having looked her over once in appraisal. "You outfitted yourself rather nicely today. I need people willing to adapt. Your children will probably carry strong genes, and if not, you promise to be a more than adequate mother to help guide them to an above average intelligence."

Steph smiled and shook her head. Even his compliments were weird.

"I also appreciate how you saw fit to deal with your enemy. You cut her celebration short and I admire that. Although, if I am being honest, I probably would have fired her in a few months. She was grating on my nerves with her antagonistic work ethic and obsession with her appearance. Normally that would remain her own business, not mine, but she getting difficult to costume, her measurements always changing as they were."

"You were really going to fire her?"

House nodded. "She was not as pleasant as you. I will find you much harder to replace, Miss Calculations."

Steph fought her smile and warred with a blush. It wasn't fair of the man to assault her with a compliment while she was so badly inebriated.

They walked a few more paces, her mind returning to her showgirl foe and the tape she'd been promised. There was still one thing she would have loved...

"You know, I can get that video of Miss Ann Thrope filmed from every angle, if you so like," House suddenly remarked.

Stephanie's jaw dropped.

"Oh, brother, you're really creepy," she teased, partly serious.

House offered her another one of his wry smiles, "How about a compilation video? One accompanied by the song 'Hit the Road, Jack?' or something of the like?"

"Oh, I'd like that," she practically purred in pleasure.

Though she might have been wrong, Steph was certain that his moutache was twitching.

Climbing a set of stairs, House behind her under the presumption she might lose her balance and need to be caught, Steph could tell he'd been admiring her new appearance all the way up when he asked at the top of the flight, "So, do blondes really have more fun?"

"Do the rich?" she tossed back from over her shoulder, admiring how her newly golden locks bounced and caught the light all at once.

House refused to answer her, his hand remaining on the rail, where he had unexpectedly paused. There was a sudden look that entered his dark eyes, something off, something, dare she call it lonely, and she instantly regretted the question.

He'd talked of her making a good mother in the most militaristic of manners, but she'd never given it too much thought really. Now, however, she was fighting the urge to see him as some sort of child and thus rush to him with a physical attempt made to help soothe him out of getting upset or throwing a tantrum. Maybe if he had been someone other than Robert House she might have gone through with it.

Maybe that reluctance was at the core of his problem though.

"Sorry," she whispered.

He shrugged and brushed past her, physically bumping into her as if in retaliation for the remark she had made. It wasn't a violent bump, but her shoulder felt it for seconds afterwards. The man had steeled himself to ward off unwanted emotions and so had become tense and literally hard.

"As with most things in life, balance is ultimately important, along with perspective," he finally answered. "After my brother stole my inheritance, I was considered poor. I can't say that I had more fun then than I do now...but then I was very young and had no idea what fun was, per se."

She was tempted to ask if he had ever managed to figure it out, but bit her tongue. With the way he liked to play dress up, she seriously doubted it.

They travelled the rest of the hallway in silence, with Steph regretting the whole way her seemingly faux pas, missing the easy enough camaraderie they had previously fallen into.

Now he was frozen.

Steeled, perhaps, had been the wrong description for how House had protected himself. Apparently, he was more like a lake of ice, the type she'd seen during family visits to New York, the same city where the few business dinners she'd attended had taken place. You never knew where the thin patches were, or when you could slip on its too smooth surface and land right on your ass, which always hurt so badly in the end.

Ice was more dangerous than you could ever expect, not just in the fact that it could chill you.

House seemed slightly less tense as he deposited her at door, some of the ice having thawed.

"My room?" she asked, to which he nodded. "I take it, yours is close by?"

"There you would be wrong," he stated, elevated slightly by her mistake, her weakness reasserting his own superiority inside of his mind. "I have my business to attend to, plus my own personal affairs."

Steph raised an eyebrow. "Will I be allowed to keep mine too?"

He met her eyes and answered rather abruptly, "No."

Steph pouted, a little of her tipsiness fading. She wasn't by nature promiscuous, but she did have her needs. It didn't seem fair that House could do whatever it was he did to relax, while she was expected to stay shut in and play the part of a cloistered nun.

When he opened the door and showed her her new prison, however, she was slightly willing to forgive him.

The room was huge, much larger than her apartment even, the belongings that used to adorn it now placed pell mell throughout the new living space. Whomever House trusted and hired as his workers, must have dropped them off all while they were trying on clothing and eating.

"I apologize it isn't more organized. Your privacy was of the utmost importance to me, so the less time they spent manhandling your possessions the better."

Steph was amazed, not only at the businessman's thoughtfullness but that he could ever consider anyone's privacy being important when he probably had cameras hidden all over the city.

"Now, you've had a long day, as have I," House announced, grabbing the door handle. "I'll leave you to bed and hopefully a good night's rest."

"Wait!" Steph cried out, stopping his departure. "What do I do if I need you? I have no idea where you are."

House walked over to the wall, where an intercom was now clearly visible. "Press 38. That will get you to me."

"Thank you," she replied.

He was studying her again and Steph hated how it always made her feel both like a bug under a microscope plus a little uncomfortably excited too. It was just the attention and the fact he was rich and good looking, she guessed, but knowing the type of guy he was, she still felt embarrassed by the reaction. "Keep that up," he praised.  "Watch all the Ps and Qs  if given the proper attention, they will help you when you're an executive over at Vault-Tec."

For the first time it fully hit Steph that she was about to spend most of her time playing at being a brown nosing, boring executive. Thank God she was also going to be Robert House's spy or else she'd probably go crazy from the boredom.

"Good night, Stephanie," her boss said, not revealing now if he had been able to read her thoughts.

"Good night, Bert," she returned, still finding it difficult to associate him with that name.

She kept the door open, watching the man's nice back in his expensive suit, walking away and it struck her as odd that this was only, technically, the second day she'd spent in his company and yet she felt like she'd known him for years. It was strange that level of familiarity. It wasn't like she didn't have her own walls up...maybe that was why she felt at home with House. They were like two isolated mansions in a nicely secured neighborhood.

She shut the door when he was out of eyesight, gone off to play with his robots or make more figurations for the end of the world, leaving her alone for the rest of the night.

Or morning.

Or whatever schedule he intended for them to keep.

It was Vegas, afterall, where everything came alive when the moon was high in the night sky.

That was where it still was, when, roaming around her new room, exploring things, Steph started to reaarange the belongings of her former existence, finished before she was even aware the end was coming.

It suddenly made her sad.

Very sad.

All of her life had been easily packed and transported in less than a day. Had she really made so insignificant an impact here in Vegas? Were her roots so shallowly placed to be so effortlessly uprooted in so short a time? Even going to the closet, now filled with her clothes, she realized how small it was compared to the large dressing room where House had played dolly with her earlier in the day.

"Reading the minds of such silly, trivial and unintelligent people."

She found her jammies easily enough and changed into them, leaving her clothing (or rather the clothing which belonged to House) crumpled on the floor. If there was a maid loitering about, she could deal with them. Either that, or she could find a hamper in the morning, Steph supposed.

The room's accompanying bathroom was staggering too. The bathtub was so large it was built apparently for two or three, something she tested out for herself and found to be true when she filled it to only a third of its capacity, and everything was suited for royalty and not some lowly showgirl at the far reaches of the strip. She left it, smelling of the soap left in the trays, roses and lavender.

About to go to bed, the glowing lights from Las Vegas caught eye her through the suite's window, and Steph decided she could spare a few moments on the one thing she hadn't checked out yet, before fulfilling the House requirement of a good night's sleep.

The curtain billowing with the breeze, the woman pulled it back, gasping at the view that was laid out spectacularly before her.

This wasn't what she had been expecting.

It certainly wasn't the view she'd have seen of neighboring brick and crumbling mortar if she'd thrown her Vault-Tec toaster out from the window of her old apartment.

"Oh my," Stephanie muttered, not having the breath to say anything else.

Had Shanghai Sally climbed down from up here?

If she had, how had she not been blinded by the beauty and tumbled instantly to her death?

What a way to go, if she had.

Steph whistled and stepped a little bit closer, resting her arms on the rail.

The Tops might have been called the Tops but this was truly Heaven.

"Look at me, dad," she whispered, wondering if he could hear her, or possibly see her, from up here.

From the heights of the 38, she could see all of Las Vegas sprawled out in front of her, a sea of lights and glitter, all surrounded by nothing and calling out to any brave wanderer to come and win their fortune. Seeing it again like this, Steph could well remember what had brought her here as well. It was a beautiful place, full of promise, even if that too was all secretly formed on thin ice inside of the desert.

With a view like this, no wonder House had chosen the Lucky 38 as what would likely be his castle and central point of operation after the world had ended. Everyone was an ant from this distant, and he could simply sweep his well polished shoe over the opening of the ant hill if he grew tired of them or longed for some kind of amusement. 

No, from this height it more resembled one of the genius' snow globes, only with the snowflakes exchanged for lights. He could turn the world over and easily sit back, letting things fall where they will.

She marvelled again at how this was the perfect tower for him to reign from. If it hadn't been made before he had, she could easily be swayed into believing he had deduced and orchestrated that too.

Continuing her appreciation of the city, she realized again how easily it was to experience the beauty of Las Vegas from here without seeing any of the actual people living in it. They were all not even ants from up here, actually, but more or less like dust mites, what was left mostly to appreciate was all they had helped to create. It must have been another reason House fancied it: he could see the city he loved and not be reminded of the other people living there.

The people he would be saving more as an after thought, when the time came.

It truly was like one of his snow globes, she laughed without humor. From up here he could view Vegas as just another in his already enormous collection. It was something that he could break, but which could never break him.

Not that he wanted Las Vegas broken.

If he loved anything, it was it.

Squinting, the bright lights suddenly hurting her eyes as well as her thoughts, Steph could both understand the man, his distrust of people and the events which had probably helped form him, the death of his parents, the betrayal of his brother, and yet still cringe over how unashamedly detatched he was from his fellow man. The last of the wine must have worn off, because she was finally sobering up, yet with the city casting its own intoxicating spell over her.

A knock came to her door, finally distracting her from the scenery and drawing her attention to both the time and the door.

She left the window, reluctantly, but was rewarded for the sacrifice when she opened the door to find a black tape sitting on the doorstep.

Grinning, Steph knew just what it was as surely as she knew that House had brought it straight to her himself. His pride would allow nothing less.

Forgetting all about Las Vegas, Steph snatched the tape up and ran back into the bedroom, almost squealing.

There was a player in here, along with a tv, she'd seen them both when she'd been putting her stuff away. She rediscovered them now in a cupboard, throwing the doors open and rolling the cart with both electronics over to the bed. Sitting on the edge of it, she popped the tape in and instantly saw "The Dismissal of Miss Ann Thrope From the Sin Gal" playing out right before her eyes.

Oh, it was brilliant!

House had staged it perfectly, better than any act of a play even. There was the stripper coming off the stage, there was her getting the envelope, a flower accompanying it. The rose was a nice touch, lulling her into a false sense that maybe it was something good...

But it wasn't.

With satisfaction coursing through her veins, straight to and from her heart, Miss Calculations watched her bitter rival open up the envelope, a huge smile on her primarily fake face...

Only to see that she had been canned.

The woman's face fell, her over plumped bottom lip almost causing a hole in the floor from when it fell.

Then, out of nowhere, a securitron appeared, ripping the rose out of the woman's hand.

And the best part of all...

House had somehow managed it so the securitron broadcast the brunette face of a former showgirl called Miss Calculations on its screen. 

Steph fell back on the bed, wriggling and moaning in joy.

Only when the chords of music came on did she bolt up again, seeing the footage suddenly turn into the compilation Robert House had promised her.

"The bastard did it," she said in awe, her eyes transfixed on the screen, while her mind was fixed on Mr. Robert House and his accomplishment for her. "He actually did it."

Her wish really was his command.

Within reason, of course.

Lucky for her, he was one reasonable son of a bitch.

She giggled once or twice again.

Then replayed the whole tape several times over.

By the time she was ready to go to bed, she must have watched it a hundred times.

As Steph drifted off to sleep, she wondered if House had heard her laughter, wherever he was inside the 38, and offered up another one of his self satisfied smiles for it. Even if they were far apart, she hoped that he had, a vast array of technology at his fingertips, afterall.

Even if the thought of his spying on his own spy should have disturbed her.

She was too happy then, too powerful, to care.

Going happily off to dreamland, her first night at the Lucky 38, Steph replayed the look on Miss Ann Thorpe's face constantly inside her mind, feeling like, truly, the luckiest girl in all of Las Vegas.

Chapter Text

As things turned out, Steph would replay the tape often in the next few weeks, gathering strength from it as House continually critiqued and corrected her, turning her this way and that in a neverending stream of lessons, and what wound down to constant rehearsals, trying to mold her into the type of woman Bud Askins wouldn't just be intetested in at first sight but would fall instantly head over heels in love with.

As if something like that was even possible outside of the world of fairy tales of Greek myths.

Galatea had it easy. Afterall, she had been chiseled from rock with all the beguiling attributes pre-endowed by a man aiming to create the "perfect" woman. To Steph, she had it far worse, always failing to please her own "creator".

She often tried to argue with her personal Pygmalion that Bud had already been attracted to her at the Tops, so this was all ultimately unecessary, but this only caused House to be all the more snippy and critical, often snapping at her something like, "That was mere interest. If he'd truly been smitten by you, you'd have been on his private jet taking an allnighter to Paris that very night."

On that occassion, Steph had folded her arms, sitting indignantly in the chair intended for her instruction (one where she was made to feel like a schoolgirl all over again) and spat back "I don't think so. Bud Askins hardly looked my type."

House studied her like a science teacher would a foreign amoeba on his petri dish. "What is your type anyway? I tried to discern that from what I saw, but with no such luck."

She'd been made uncomfortable by that statement, even though she'd also felt a certain pride that she'd deprived him of his usual foresight and easy calculations. Still, it hinted that he had studied the type of men she'd chosen of her own free will, instead of being essentially bribed to. Even more disconcerting was that she couldn't really answer what her type of man was. She'd usually gone for what was at hand and whom didn't offend her too much when her needs required appeasing. While growing up she'd only been moderately interested, small crushes here and there, nothing spectacular or time consuming.

She guessed she was secretly waiting for a Prince Charming of her own, but had never found him.

Forget about Bud Askins, she had been seduced equally by the myth of a love at first sight.

"Why do you need to know?" she inquired defiantly, deflecting the question with a more reasonable one of her own.

House put down the stick he'd been using to point at the chalkboard, a board bearing his countless indecipherable scrawls, and stepped a little closer to where she sat, putting her even more on edge.

"Your loyalty to Askins will be one of the single most important factors of your job. If you were to see something that truly intetested you more, and then made a foolish attempt at it, you'd risk everything. Especially if you were drawn to the most deplorable type of human being possible, one willing to run to Bud's office and tell him all about how you'd been fooling around behind his back."

Steph pouted, hating how much sense the man could make.

"Besides, I value my current place within the workings of Vault-Tec," he continued. "If I was discovered through your indiscretions and lust, I would lose more than just a job or my life. I would lose mankind's best chance at survival."

"My life?" Steph virtually leapt up from her chair, leaving it shaking in her wake as she stared Robert House directly in his dark eyes. "I might end up killed?"

"That is always a possibility, even when crossing the street," he silkily downplayed back to her. "But, I assure you it will not happen, not if you pay attention to my instructions, play by my rules and place your entire faith in me and not the needs of your body."

Steph had swallowed harshly, falling back on her chair and closing her mouth, while opening her ears. What else could she have done? She was out of both a job and an apartment. She also wagered that, if she pissed off House badly enough, karma would slap her right on the cheek she should have turned when inventing revenge on Miss Ann Thrope.

House had nodded, looking pleased and resuming his lesson on proper tactics for letting someone believe they had won an argument.

She'd tried her best to be a good little pupil since then, so willing and happy to learn, plus observant, infact, that she'd managed to even figure out for herself the exact areas within the 38 that House frequented the most.

She'd have earned straight As and stickers if House had been the sort of teacher to hand them out.

However, just like anyone else, Steph had her breaking point, and a temper to help her reach it.

One day, in the afternoon following a late morning spent learning about what made for a decent cut of steak and how to properly cut it while it was plopped down on a man's plate, Steph had been allowed to retreat to her room, while House attended to some matter of his own. She'd flopped down, back to the mattress, and stared at the ceiling, feeling mentally exhausted. When was she going to be allowed to do something for herself, she wondered? It had been ages since she'd even been allowed to watch a new movie, not something she'd seen a thousand times already on the TV set. There was a new film starring Cooper Howard playing down at the Fremont, but, while she normally would have been first in the lineup, now she most likely would only see it after it had aired several times on TV.

That was if the world didn't come to an end first.

She guessed Cooper Howard was the closest she'd ever come to love at first sight or a heated passion. Yet even that felt somewhat imitated more than anything that truly belonged to her. Everybody loved Cooper Howard afterall.

Wondering if there was any way she could convince House to let her sneak out for just one night to see the film, Steph climbed off from the bed and went to the intercom the man had shown her her first night spent there. She typed in the appropriate number and House's voice came instantly to her, almost as if he'd been expecting it.

"What is it?" he sounded curt and somewhat vexed as he usually did, but also slightly out of breath, which was novel.

"I was wondering, if I try my best to not be recognized, could I maybe go out tonight to see the new Cooper Howard film playing at the Fremont?"

Silence came back through the speaker.

He was thinking about it, at least.

But not for long.

"Sorry that will not be allowed, nor is it appropriate. You should have known better to even ask."

The intercom then went dead.

And to her extreme annoyance, no matter how many times she tried to reach House afterwards, she never could.

"Bastard."

Enraged more than she thought possible, Steph stormed out of her room, determined to find the man in the flesh and finish the conversation face to face, where he couldn't pull the plug on it, like he probably eventually did with all of his electrical creations.

Running through the many hallways of the 38, searching the rooms she'd managed to pinpoint as belonging to House, Steph was losing her own breath, praying that she'd find his location before she had none left to yell at him with.

Finally she found him.

Throwing open a large set of double doors, Stephanie found herself having arrived at what appeared to be a large work out room, complete with several excercise machines, mats and weights. In the center of the room, House was lying on his own back, benchpressing a large weight and illustrating why he'd been out of breath when she'd talked to him. Now she could only see his legs practically, bent and facing her. He was in a pair of black shorts, but while seeing the man out of his usual suit should have shocked her, she was too livid by being denied the right to her freedom to be staggered for even a second by the deviation of routine.

It was only as she marched forward to where he lay, her perspective finally allowing a good, full look at his body, that she was stunned.

"What gives you the right, Mister Bigwig to tell me..."

She stopped dead in both her words and her tracks, all while the man continued, unabated, lifting the weights, not paying her the slightest bit of attention, not even to acknowledge surprise that she had found him inside of the virtual maze.

"That..."

"That..."

She was stuttering like a fool, her mouth hanging open and her hands starting to flutter around out of embarrassment.

It was just she couldn't concentrate.

Her brain was busily trying to prossess a couplet of facts:

That Mr. House was without his shirt.

And the tycoon was absolutely toned and well muscled.

"I...I..."

She'd never really given it much thought since the day he'd stood behind her, dyeing and washing her hair, what the man would look like minus his usual high class suits. She'd assumed he was thin, and by no means out if shape, but she'd had no clue that he was almost like a Greek god and not the mortal Pygmalion she'd been thinking of him as, when he'd finally decided to take them off. His muscles were bulging from the weight's heavy pressure, which he still managed to give the appearance that he was lifting only the equivalent of ice cubes. His skin was tight and oiled, the veins steadily pumping blood throughout his body. Her eyes drifted to the various areas on his body they could be sending that blood to and the same fluid instantly rushed to her face, turning it red.

When faced with her poor communication skills, probably assuming his weeks worth of lessons were all for naught, House placed the weight on its rack in order to sit up and meet her eyes. Steph thought she might die, the same body she hadn't known existed underneath his fancy buisness shirts, jackets and ties now on a different sort of display before her. Sweat was rolling off of his body, looking like the morning dew on Olympus.

"I...I need to talk to you," she finally managed to pertly say.

House grabbed a towel off the floor beside him and started wiping the wetness from off his face. "Talk. But if it's about my letting you go to the Fremont, I still expected you to be wiser than to ask me."

Thank you, Steph told the man internally, even though it would have killed her to actually say the words out loud. Thank you for reminding me just how much I can't stand you.

"Why?" Steph demanded. "I would be careful. Why not use it as a test to see if you could trust me?"

"I don't need a test," he replied, lying back down on the bench. "I don't trust you "

Steph groaned, her arms falling limply to her sides.

"Not yet anyway."

While there was the dangled promise that there might be a time where he did, Steph could hardly derive pleasure from his words in the present.

Beginning to lift the weights again, House then diffidently informed her, "I wanted to tell you that in a few days, I will be leaving the city."

Steph became angry again in a second, while still hopelessly admiring the man's physique at work. "So I'm not allowed to leave the 38, but you can?"

"You think that's unfair?"

"You determine the odds on that one, hotshot."

House smirked. "It isn't unfair, I can assure you that much."

"Why?"

Continuing his weight lifting, House tried to defend himself in his usual enigmatic way.

"Stephanie, I'm about to let you in on two little trade secrets. Actually, they are two rules that generally apply to anything in life. The first being that, should someone deviate in any small way from their usual routine, it usually indicates that something is off. Pay close attention. Second, if someone also offers up too much detail for any event in question, it is as good as an admission of guilt. Do you have any idea why?"

Steph shook her head. "I don't have the foggiest."

Truth was, she didn't care enough to make any effort. And her mind was still mostly distracted.

House looked a bit ticked off as he continued to lift the weights. "Usually people are not so observant as to pick up every small detail. Maybe only writers or detectives, but even that is questionable. If suddenly someone remembers just what model of car they were driving alongside in traffic, or what the man sitting next to them at lunch was eating, it denotes fabrication or they were expecting the need to defend themselves and so took the time to observe more."

Steph's blue eyes rolled. "So? I don't see why this explains why I can't go see a Cooper Howard film."

He lifted the weight one last time and let it sit back on the rack, rising up and almost immediately walking towards a rack of larger, dryer towels than the one he had discarded.

"The point is, Miss Calculations, I don't want to deviate from my common course of actions and set behavior now, which involve the usual out of Vegas business meetings, and risk scrutiny and raised eyebrows in doing so," he explained, finally getting to his point, while wiping down his sweat covered body. "When you are over at Vault-Tec, working for me and not Askins, I want you to avoid such traps too, all while keeping your eyes open for anyone else falling dimwittedly into them. Pay attention to detail but never admit it, even if you think it might save you."

Right, then Steph knew she was already in trouble.

If overt attention to detail raised suspicion, than it was not particularly careful of her to be noticing how every bead of sweat was rolling off of House's taut and tanned flesh, dipping into the curves of his muscles and heading to the lower regions of his body by the pull of a dirty and nasty thing called gravity.

She licked her lips when he was returning the towel to the rack, his back turned to her, feverently hoping he'd never rewatch any security cams to catch the act.

Now facing her again, House studied his employee, as he always seemed to be doing, and Steph tried not to look at his body, now on even better and unobscured view for her to get away with studying in greater depth too.

"If you want to see Cooper Howard, you will see Cooper Howard," her boss eventually promised. "Howard's wife, Barb, works for Vault-Tec. He often goes there to see her...Odds are you will see him in person. That should please you more than a mere projection on a screen. Besides, he's an honest man, completely loyal to his wife. Should you be tempted by him, you would ultimately fail and he would have the decency to keep his mouth shut about the whole affair, or rather, the lack of one."

Though excited at the prospect, Steph was now disturbed more by the very fact of how being in person with a shirtless Robert Edwin House was making her feel than meeting any old Hollywood star. For all her by the rote fawning over Howard, she'd never once felt this powerful an electricty coursing through her body and soul for the cowboy. Why was she suffering it for such a madman of a mechanical, mathematical genius then? It was terribly uncomfortable. Still, she managed to say, "Good," to the man eliciting the reaction inside of her.

House offered an unamused smile and then, thank God, grabbed a nearby undershirt and partially covered himself with it. Not that it completely wiped away her embarrassment. She was suddenly ashamed of having stormed into the room and all of the strange feelings it had only lead her into feeling. Gosh, she really had been cooped up for too long if even House, with his detatched and arrogant personality, was starting to look good to her.

She really needed the companionship of someone else, someone more human.

Her mind twitching at the sudden revelation of what House's impending absence could mean for her, Steph fought a smile of her own and decided to adopt the role of penitent child to further placate him. "I'm really sorry I came here...you were busy, I could have caused you to hurt yourself, and, besides, you never invited me."

She wrung her hands for effect, shifting in her shoes while she averted her head in assumed shame.

House seemed to fall for it hook, line and sinker and Steph tried her best to keep from gloating.

"Save your apologies, although it puts your lessons into practice, and so isn't totally without merit," he remarked. "In truth, I would have introduced you to this room soon enough. In light of our previous discussion about your physical well being, I believe it is best for us to finally put it into use for your training."

"Meaning?" Steph asked, genuinely curious.

He was back to studying her and Steph loathed how he was starting to even look good in the undershirt.

"Which means," he began. "I'm about to teach you how to defend yourself, incase your role as my spy really is ever discovered. We are about to teach you how to kill or be killed. More or less, the cornerstone of every executive on the planet."

Chapter Text

Mr. House couldn't get out of town quick enough for Steph's liking.

Every day before his departure was filled with boring lesson heaped upon boring lesson, now including physical excercises on top of things, and she was slowly losing her mind from the drudgery of routine and the closeness of a break in it. It promised to be a taste of the summer holidays long gone, a feeling of that certain type of freedom she'd believed she'd been forced to abandon years ago when she'd left school. The nearer the day appeared, however, the more she felt like she was going crazy. It often happened to her: she was pretty okay when a destination was far enough off, but when you could actually see it within walking distance, oh how the stupid thing became a torment!

The same principal just as easily applied to time. She could keep her cool when some event was hours away but when the countdown was ticking off the minutes, oh, then she would start suffering this inward itchy tickle, certain the minutes were just eons in disguise.

She would have asked House to teach her some patience, certain that it too would be eventually something necessary for her to master, all as she spied for him, but didn't dare do it incase he figured out what she was up to. He was a crafty bastard, a silky, smooth snake with a moustache. Best not to give him any warning signs so he would postpone his plans.

She wanted him out of the 38 as quickly as possible.

And yet she was dreading it too.

The place was too huge to even contemplate being stuck inside of it on her own. And, in truth, she'd become sort of used to the egomaniac's constant presence, and not just because she was finding it very hard to forget House's impressive physique. Maybe she was literally going insane, but throughout all of their lessons together, he was gradually growing on her, like a fungal infection. It was causing a little smug satisfaction to take hold of her whenever she pleased him, as was happening more and more these days as her knowledge, and practice of it, steadily grew.

Even during her physical training, she was surprising him with her eptitude and quick cunning.

Why, infact, a few days before he was set to head on his private jet to some place he never really revealed to her (possibly due to his dratted and overwhelming paranoia again, she deduced) and Dean Domino's song "Saw Her Yesterday" or "Something's Gotta Give" (she was never too sure what it was called) was playing on the radio (a luxury House allowed her during these lessons if not the more cerebral ones), Steph had earned an appreciative nod from her teacher, after she had both climbed and decended the rope he had placed inside of his gym, in some kind of imitation of what he knew of police training. She'd done it in pretty remarkable time too, better than any of her previous not-too-terrible tries, causing him to nod in approval. As her feet had met the ground, she'd given a proud little gesture, arching her back and holding out her hands, like she was in the circus and the genius was her one and only audience member.

No, more like Ringmaster, she'd soon corrected, realizing how badly the man always needed to be in control.

As if to punish her for her self satisfaction, the man had walked towards her, and none too tenderly taken those same outstretched hands in order to examine them and find fault.

"When an irrepressible smile such as yours
Warms an old implacable heart such as mine
Don't say no because I insist
Somewhere, somehow
Someone's gotta be kissed..."

Unsure what he was up to, Steph tried to be on guard, even though the touch of his skin on hers was disturbing, more because of how it sent an unwelcome thrill through her.

His studying her hands intently, Steph stole a moment to study his face now suddenly so close. He looked incredibly younger than how old they said he was. His eyes were dark and attractive, his lips usually irritating in how they were most often used to smirk, sneer or scowl, were also rather nice.

"I'll try hard ignorin' those lips that I adore
But how long can anyone try?"

She was staring at those lips, inexplicably daydreaming over what they would feel like, as he finally passed his judgement. "Your hands are becoming red...calloused. That'll never work on Bud Askins. He ultimately believes a woman's hands should be sitting in sink water all day, but feel as soft and smooth as a peach. You'll need to start using the appropriate handgear. It's good that I'll be going soon and then they'll have a rest. While I'm away, I want you to moisturize them, return them to the state they were in when you and I were first introduced: soft, smooth, gentle."

Wounded by his criticism, Steph was equally as shocked by the buried compliment. "You actually noticed my hands the day we met?"

House instantly dropped those same hands to meet her eyes instead, there being very little flattering in the look he offered, but Steph still burning from the gaze anyway. "I noticed everything about you, but only in trying to discern what it was that sparked Bud Askins initial interest."

The man was too skilled at taking what should have been a nice pleasant remark and transforming it into a bullet meant to shoot down any feelings of elation or joy.

Steph folded her arms and watched as House strolled casually over to where he'd left an ashtray, taking the opportunity along the way to light a fresh cigarette.

The memory of his shirtless back flashed across her mind, and she seized her own opportunity to put him on the spot for a change. "You smoke like a chimney, dress yourself from head to foot in thhe most concealing of clothes and yet you spend hours in here, working out. Care to explain?"

House turned around to stare at her, draping his arm across the bar of a treadmill and still smoking. "I've run the odds of my developing cancer and am in the clear. Besides, I'll be forced to go without a single cigarette soon enough."

She raised a brow, aware he was referencing his so called end of the world for the upteenth time.

"After that, it is imperative that I be in peak physical condition."

"Why?" Steph laughed outright. "Is the famous Robert House going to turn gladiator on us all of a sudden? Take down the enemy or bombs or whatever with his sheer brute strength?"

For effect, she flexed her arm, in parody of the typical he-man.

House offered her and the gesture one of his well worn smirks. "No...I won't even need to physically lift a finger, so to speak. I can just sit back and let it all happen."

Steph shook her head and folded her arms, exasperated by his now-to-be-expected vagueness.

"But muscles wear out without use...I wish to meet the end of the world with a fair bit in reserve."

"Spoken like a true rich man," Steph commented, making an exagerated expression of disapproval. "As long as there's money in the bank, everything's good."

House outright smiled and lowered his head. "Touche."

Across the barbells and excercise equipments, the man and the woman held each other's gazes.

"Tell me, Steph, will you miss me when I'm gone?" House inquired, pushing his cigarette brutally into the ashtray and virtually killing it in the process.

The former stripper was taken aback by the question in their usual battle of temperments. He'd pretty well read her thoughts again, but, at least, not the ones she did not want him to read. "Yes," she replied. "But only because you've isolated me so badly and this place will feel so empty without you."

His moustache twitched.

The bastard was amused and obviously thinking about telling her something.

"Oh you won't be alone...meet me tomorrow morning at eight, by the lift, and I'll show you how wrong you are about that."

As Dean Domino continued his warbling, Steph rolled her eyes, thinking how just like House it was to try to offer her comfort by rubbing her nose in her mistake.

* * *

She was waiting by the lift, bright and early by eight but House was nowhere to be seen. Instead, all Steph found was one of those same peaches and cream colored note papers she hadn't seen since the first day she'd come to the Lucky 38. It told her to head on down to the basement without him, and like the good little soldier she was becoming, Steph followed the instructions to the T, entering the lift and pressing the down button to send her to the netherworld of the Lucky 38. She remembered the first time she'd made a trip inside of the machine, how her shoes had been heels and the sounds of her thoughts, the sensations of all her worries, had felt like bullets ricocheting off the enclosed space.

It was a far less nerve wracking journey now.

As the elevator went lower, the constant sounds of the work she'd associated with renovations to this part of the old casino intensified, making her more curious about Robert House's claim that they weren't alone.

Were there other people here besides workers she never saw?

Was that comforting or alarming?

Steph had to wonder if she was ready to see what surprise House had in store for her.

The man possessed a wicked sense of humor afterall.

Was he cruelly planning on springing something on her before he left her alone at the Lucky 38, amusing himself while he was off performing his business that she was suffering back at "home"?

No longer did she feel like Beauty.

Now she felt like Bluebeard's wife, but instead of being told to stay away from a dark little room filled with horrifying secrets, House was inviting her inside, about to throw his dead wives into her face, to go along with all of her other mistakes.

Only as the sounds increased and a smell came to join them, Steph felt her fears lessening. It was not the smell of decaying flesh and blood that was rising up to meet her, but one of metal and oil. She should have known that House wouldn't have had too many skeketons in his closet: humans possessed skeletons, afterall, and Robert House was too adverse to those.

No, of course, his secret would have to involve machines.

His own company called Robco, House would always take great delight in his robots.

Stepping out from the lift, Stephanie saw the secret of the 38 laid out in steel and sparks before her eyes. When taking over the casino, House had transformed it into, not just his main headquarters of operation, but also a factory where he could manufacture his army.

But not one involving humans, which he could never truly trust.

No, House had made an army of securitrons to follow his every order, similar to the ones he had working at the Sin-Gal but different too...stronger somehow, more robust.

Marveling, Steph made it further away from the elevator, its doors sliding shut behind her. She walked to the rail and grasped it, looking down at the army of robots, a series of mechanical men, likewise made by machines. They stood in lines, there being several of them, more than any group of robots she had ever seen altogether in one place. In astonishment, her hands tightened on the railing and she laughed, leaning back slightly in awe of what her boss had managed to do and keep secret from the rest of Vegas, even from her.

"Do you like them?" a voice whispered into her ear, the breath moist and hot and the moustache tickling her skin. Steph jumped about three feet in the air, spinning around to find House standing behind her, a more sincere smile on his face then she had perhaps ever seen so far.

"It's fantastic," she answered in truth.

House seemed even more pleased by her words, suddenly becoming a shy boy showing off his favorite toys to a new playmate. His hands resting behind his back, he looked past her shoulder at his creations and seemed almost glowing with pride.

"They aren't the same as the ones used at the Sin-Gal, which were an earlier model. These have been vastly improved. I'm always modifying them infact. They allow for upgrades, something the earlier models at the club would not."

"What are these for?" Steph asked, her eyes returning to the ocean of robots.

"Mostly for security, protection...I intend to keep two for company, but the rest will be needed to run New Vegas "

"New Vegas?" Steph repeated.

House nodded. "For the future, we must put away what has been lost."

The words suddenly saddened her, conjuring up a sentimentality she had thought forgotten or lost in an endless stream of lessons. She suddenly mourned for the city, the way it was now. It stirred within her an even stronger ache to experience it before it fell to the salvation, then rule, of Robert House.

Regarding that last, the man seemed fit to suddenly remind his other more human creation of what those were, in regards to her. Slipping effortlessly beside her, his hands took hold of the same railing, and he leaned slightly forward, projecting his head further out. "I don't need to remind you, while I am gone, I expect you to stay here. If you have other ideas, the security within the building is superb, I must warn you. I also will have several securitrons on guard throughout the building."

Stephanie kept her eyes focused on the securitrons, trying to appear placid, while she was instantly reformulating her old strategies instead of forsaking them, updating and improving them, just like House did with his securitrons.

If her only chance to see Las Vegas would occur when House was away, she intended to seize the opportunity. Luckily for her, if not for him, his education of her had made her realize her own resourcefullness and strength, her mind paying special attention to that last one in particular now.

"I expected nothing less," Steph said, turning her blonde head to offer him a sweet and obliging smile.

He smiled back, but with the usual level of coldness so she didn't feel too bad or regret what she planned to do. When the cat was away, afterall, it was only expected for the mice to play.

Staring out at the securitrons, one thought now entered her mind, insidious and enough to make her uncomfortable. "And if there isn't a war..."

"There will be a war."

"But if there isn't," Steph insisted, knowing that the man would never create so many robots without some other plan incase the first fell through. He'd always want some form of return on any investment he made. "What are you planning to use these for if your prediction for war never happens?"

Her hands tightened on the rail.

"You aren't planning on taking Vegas for yourself any way...are you?" she whispered.

Robert House turned to meet Stephanie's eyes, no outright answer on the lips she had admired just yesterday but one glistening vaguely inside the abyss of his eyes.

Looking away, Steph's gaze dropped to her fingers grasping the railing.

They had become pure white, no sign of blood to be seen lurking inside them, just like the bloodless army beneath them.

* * *

Although, she should have expected it, House left her without a goodbye.

The night before his departure, he had flippantly informed her there would be no lessons tomorrow since he wouldn't be there. He'd thoroughly pounded it into her to continue with her studies and revisions, to which she had promised she would. Then, right before leaving the dining room, this last lesson having involved more eating etiquette which always made supper contrarily unappetizing and more like a chore, he'd told her to pay special attention to returning her hands to what he mockingly referred to as "their former glory".

She showed him the finger of one to display how she felt about that, remembering what he had said about deviations from normal behaviors.

"Good night, Miss Calculations," was all he had said for her effort.

In the morning, he was gone, no word about when he'd be back, or the slightest indication he gave a damn about her, besides for what she meant for his plan.

Was she hurt? Yes. More than she would have thought she could be.

But Steph tried to throw herself more into her own plot for a vacation to help soothe her pain, trying to overcome it and succeed..

The securitrons now were guarding the 38 as promised. She found them creepy, in all honesty, but welcome too. The place didn't feel so lonely with them rolling by, though, she still missed House and she hated herself for it.

Still, the first day of his absense, she was able to learn quite a bit, the robots possessing their own routines which they rarely, if ever deviated from. By the fourth day, she had their programming down to a science, from where they were and when, and how that related to how she intended to leave and return to the 38. She'd read once that machines could not be random: only organics possessed the trait of spotaneity and chaos. It appeared to be true and her greatest aid.

The carmeras proved to be a little more tricky, since they were always watching, but she had a tactic to avoid them too.

House had said they were only inside of the building afterall.

Her heart beating like the gunfire at the Ultra-Luxe which had stricken down Shanghai Sally's supposed gang, Steph tried not to think about it too much as the fifth day finally came 'round, the day which would mark her escape, put now into effect.

Weaving in and out of the casino's hallways, Steph made her way first to the dressing room where House had essentially played dolly with her. Inside, she collected what she needed, intending to use the excuse, if House should replay any footage back, that she was perfecting her look as he had instructed her to. Just another day in her own endless routine. She collected what she needed there and then returned to her room, having pocketed several things, hopefully without his notice since they were underneath her clothing.

Passing the securitrons, she gave nothing away as she made it back to her room, which she had searched endlessly for hidden cameras under the guise of sharpening up on her housework, another commandment from her employer. She'd found none, and so felt secured as she dressed up in the disguise she'd pilfered from out of House's virtual mini fashion boutique.

Out of respect for the man, she'd chosen absolutely nothing House had handpicked for her seduction of Bud Askins. She wasn't going for wholesome, she was going for pure vamp and to also stay further clear of hurting House's agenda, she had taken a wig of long ebony hair she'd discovered stashed away in one of the man's many boxes in the closet, along with some tubes etc... of makeup. For weeks, House had taught her to use modest make-up to look more natural but now she piled it on. She gave her eyes a more thin cast, almost oriental, and intended to help the look with a pair of brown contacts to put in after the pivotal part of her plan was achieved.

If it could be achieved, she thought and saw herself swallow in the mirror, rubbing her lips together to help spread the two layers of thick lipstick.

Maybe she took a little too long rechecking everything, but she was postponing the inevitable, trying to talk herself out of the ludicrous mission she had cooked up but knowing it was impossible.

She'd made her mind up when House had basically told her she was a prisoner inside of his tower.

And now nobody was going to stop her, if she had a say in it anyway.

It was do or die time, maybe a little of both.

Grabbing her purse and slinging it around her shoulder, Steph went to her own closet and grabbed the five days work effort she'd achieved by herself when she'd visited so many rooms inside of the 38 she'd up and lost count of them all.

Maybe her inspiration had gotten by with only the ones in her own suite, but Steph wasn't about to take any chances.

When House came back, he'd even find his own bed missing a pair.

She walked over to the window with the item, tied one end to the railing, and then sparing a look at her hands, in gloves now but underneath which weren't really much different from when House, himself, had stared at them, Miss Calculations said a few words to her father, whom still might be able to hear her from this height, and then boldly stepped over the railing of the balcony.

"Eat your heart out, Shanghai Sally," Steph muttered, beginning her climb down the impossibly tall Lucky 38 and using Robert House's own lessons and bedsheets against him.

Chapter Text

When Stephanie had decided to climb down the Lucky 38 for a night of freedom, she had made herself a singular promise:

Never, not for one single second, not even if Cooper Howard was pledging his undying love to her from the concrete below, to look down.

She had believed that this would be the best course of action to prevent her from freezing up, and yet it was also her biggest source of temptation. If she looked down, she would see another glimpse of Vegas rarely seen, one that probably even House, whom was obsessively in love with the city hadn't even viewed. For all of his criticizing her, and endless physical training to highly tone and strengthen his body, she doubted he had the balls to ever do what she was doing now.

That possessed a level of guts one didn't find while running a treadmill.

Unfortunately, House would also probably be the first to say that he also possessed too large of a brain to actually try something so rash and foolish.

"Oh would you not now?" Steph asked aloud, pretty convinced that only God and anyone having made it to His Heaven could hear her. Certainly not Robert House, he wasn't God, no matter what he thought, and the chances of him getting into Kingdom Come were not only as slim as a camel going through the eye of a needle but as the personal jet he'd, no doubt, left the city on fitting through one too.

"Oh you...you egotistical freak," she continued, her hands grasping the bedsheet in an iron grip and hoping to God that the knots House had also taught her to tie would hold and that his choice in linen was as superb as it was in everything else. She hated having to rely on him for her welfare, forcing her to essentially put her faith in him even while he was so far away. "You had to put your crummy robots throughout the 38 so I couldn't actually take the elevator on my way out of this empty dead casino...no, you couldn't just let things be that simple. You had to force me into actually scaling down my prison's walls..."

Steph's fear lessened as she thought of his smirking face and how vexed it could make her. Unexpectedly, she suddenly shrieked into the night, the very words to help encapsulate her feelings towards the man at the moment, "OHHHHH, I HATE YOU, ROBERT HOUSE!"

Yes.

Maybe that would help.

Maybe if she just concentrated on all of her long bred and bad feelings towards the man whom had essentially made himself both her maker and warden, she would make it down the 38 in one piece. Because right now she was frightened half out of her mind and was decidely freaking out as her heart raced like the more foolish teens did down the Vegas strip.

She had to distract herself.

And besides...

She had to think of something to keep her from either breaking out into a sweat or tears...

That would only ruin her makeup afterall.

"I hate your stupid moustache, for one thing. How long do you spend each day trimming that thing anyway?" she asked, lowering herself a little more down the bedsheet, her shoes up against the outside of the building. "Or is that just another excuse to spend time looking at yourself in the mirror? Why not, you vain little piece of shit...or should I say snot, since the only thing your moutache is probably good for is catching the stuff."

Now she really was banking on him not having bugged the place, because she sure as hell hoped he never heard any piece of her vitriol fueled rambling. Not that it wasn't all mostly true, of course, but mostly because then he might want to throw her from off the top of his crummy casino himself.

"And let's see...let's see..." she resumed trying not to see what was below her. "You are aware that robots are the only ones who could ever stomach you, right? If you didn't preprogram them, I bet they would roll out on your sorry ass faster then you could make another million."

More climbing down, more ranting in an effort to help give her something else to do other then freak out, and Steph vaguely and happily realized that it was working. She didn't feel like looking down in the slightest.

"And why are you so certain you'd know what would satisfy Bud Askins, anyway? You two have something going on on the sly? Maybe I should bail out on you and sell that particular story to the rags: 'Robert Edwin House Knew Exactly How to Please a Vault-Tec Executive!' Talk about a high-tech merger! HA!"

She laughed out giddily at her own bawdy joke, her thoughts eventually going to the billionaire's more plausible relationships, since, if she was being honest with herself, she was well aware that House would never lower himself for an executive.

He fancied well known starlets afterall, women in the spotlight.

"Huh," she laughed, suddenly frowning over how she felt with the sudden realization that, when she'd been a stripper, the man probably never would have given her the time of day. "I bet you never satisfied a single woman in your life! You'd probably need a robot for that too."

Another flash of House's tight, muscled body trespassed through her mind and shocked and overwhelmed by it and her own body's involuntary reaction, Steph lost control, her grip slipping for a moment.

Her legs frantically kicked, her shoes sliding and making the most awful screeching noises against the Lucky 38's wall, as the loose hand shot out and down. The sounds surrounded her, giving her the worst sense of tin ringing inside of her ears until she fumbled back into resuming her two handed hold on the sheet. Both hands back on the bedsheet now, Steph hugged it tightly, needing to resume her position of shoes against the building's side so then her body wouldn't suddenly feel so heavy and like gravity was in an obscene hurry to help pull it down. Jeez, Steph thought, she knew she'd always been tall, but was thin too, so she was suddenly trying to understand why she might as well have had a pig tied to each of her feet.

Back in a more comfortable position, Steph tried not to cry, the breeze attempting to instantly steal her tears away and threatening to dry her eyes out at the same time. At least, her mascara would be okay, she comforted herself.

"Something's gotta give
Something's gotta give..."

The Dean Domino song returned to her mind then at the thought of her slip up, the one she had just heard with House two days before as did House's subsequent comment:

"Can you turn that radio off now...I never enjoyed Dean Domino's singing...it reminds me too much that he shuts up sometimes to actually talk."

"Hey!" she had protested. "I like Dean Domino."

"My sympathy to you then," he had hurled back, cool, calm and unfeeling as ever.

"You...you...you," she began again, centering her anger on House and not her mistake, all while moving her body lower, as the strength in its upper area was receiving the workout of its life. It was best to stay far away from anything about sex, or that reminded her of Robert House's body that seemed to be begging for it, she understood then as she tried to decide on the next safe insult, just so her mind didn't play stupid tricks on her while she was at this altitude where oxygen was getting sparse.

Maybe it was best to stick to her own body.

"How would you feel if my body was just a big splat outside of your casino and all of these months had been wasted? Serve you right, having to scrape me off of the sidewalk, you jerk. You couldn't just let me see one little movie? You couldn't risk me being seen that much?"

Her words made it impossible not to wonder then if people might possibly be noticing her now. What would they think of a blonde in a red skimpy dress making her way slowly down one of, if not thee, tallest structure in Las Vegas? If she dropped would she momentarily be a star like Cooper Howard, the whole city lamenting her daredevil death as she made every single news broadcast and paper headline for her failed attempt at freedom?

"No," she swallowed. "You'll probably just tell everyone I fell on my way up, trying to break in. Either that or that I was crazy. You won't dare tell anybody that you kept me a virtual prisoner inside of your tower. What would that do for your public relations? Ha! Robco stocks would go plummeting!"

Just like I might, Steph thought, far less jubilantly.

"Maybe I should go and tell your brother, Anthony, a few things while I'm out. Maybe about how you're personally driving him crazy...just about as crazy as you make me...maybe you're right...I AM CRAZY! CRAZY TO BE DOING THIS AND CRAZY TO LET YOU COUP ME UP THIS LONG RIGHT FROM THE GET GO!"

Why had she ever agreed to that anyway, she wondered, her wrists hurting?

Oh, right.

He hadn't been completely honest about that part until he'd suckered her in.

Robert Edwin House:

Con Man.

"Should have known," Steph laughed dryly. "All you are is a gangster, doesn't matter you've got a decent side business...you're just still a mobster like any wealthy, well-to-do man in Vegas."

The sound of the traffic of that same city was finally reaching her, she realized. That was a good sign. She'd heard once, while apartment shopping, that the higher up the floor was, the more it usually was sought after, besides just having a cost that was also "high rising". When she'd asked why, they'd told her it was because the upper levels were spared from the more obnoxious sound of the cars, crowds etc...below. Back then, she'd never expected to test that out personally for herself.

It was true though.

Using it as a warning sign, Steph lowered her breath when next she hurled venom and her "benefactor".

"What kind of control freak moves a girl out of her apartment without even a heads up? No warning, no choice? I guess, I should be grateful that the only news making the yellow headlines about you is that you like to dress up and then scan women's brains..."

Her mind was reeling now, having never really contemplated it or House's own words from just a few days ago: "I intend to keep two for company, but the rest will be needed to run New Vegas..."

"What's with that anyway?" she asked, in danger of breaking out in a sweat again, but no longer from physical exertion. "Why do you scan women's brains...are you playing Merlin...are you performing your own bit of alchemy? Are you transmuting women into machines? Is that even possible?"

No. She could remember the starlets House had been rumoured to be involved with having been just as gossiped over when they had soon become intimate with other men. Surely, the men would have noticed if their lover's bodies had been made of metal by then.

House was obviously scanning them for some other reason, just as kinky and personal, sure, but not a circuity switcheroo.

She thought of his vast army of securitrons of him preparing for a future...

Of his inability to trust most human beings.

Was he planning to keep company with one during his reign of what he called New Vegas?

She thought of the securitrons she had seen, how two of them had been kept over to the side. Their bodies were so strange though...the thought that he could become romantically involved with one...well...well it...

It kind of disturbed her and made her feel sorry for House in a weird way.

A person had to be pretty messed up to prefer machines even when it came to physical pleasure.

Unwillingly, she thought of House's fine body and pictured it with one of the titanium alloyed creations of his own making.

"You'd probably need a robot for that too."

Her own words came back to haunt her then, echoing around within her ears, now feeling more like tin than ever as the sound of traffic became even louder.

What a waste, Stephanie thought, believing it to be a sin if the man's skin never met the skin of another human being.

She swallowed harshly and remembered what had happened last time. Without intending to, she broke her vow by instinctivly looking down, expecting a bad case of Vertigo to sweep over her and send her spiralling to her death, just like in a film.

As her eyes lowered to what lay underneath her, however, she knew that she'd have to make a pretty heavy fall if she expected death to come claim her soul.

The ground was only four feet away from her.

"I made it, I made it, I made it!" she started to whisper in joy. Hurrying the rest of the way down in the way that one did when the destination was so near it was frustrating.

When her feet his the concrete, and her hands let go of the bedsheet, she actually jumped for joy and clapped her hands together in ecstasy.

She'd managed to outwit both House and death.

What a feat!

It was sad though, she realized having made it to the bottom now. There was nobody there to celebrate with, no one waiting later to hear the tale of how she'd scaled down the Lucky 38 on her lonesome.

That was how she truly felt now...

Lonesome.

Looking around sadly, Steph accepted the fact that her life hadn't exactly been overcrowded with friends before either.

Robert House had become the closest thing she had come to having one recently, actually, though he had cut off the chance for her to find any other.

And if she was grateful for having made it down the casino all in one piece, it oddly felt it was only because of the fact that now she would see House again.

Oh it was just to gloat, she vowed to herself defiantly, while she packed away her sadness inside of the bag slung round her shoulders, adding it to the rest of the items left for another time. Either that or to spit everything she'd said up there directly into the smug billionaire's face.

But as she quickly turned and walked away, so that she would not be seen loitering at the 38's base and thus damage her boss' plans, a small, not-so-vocal part of herself had to wonder if any of the things she had been saying had really been true or if she had merely been trying convince herself that they were.

Regardless, she tried to avoid thinking of the question, let alone answering it. The sounds of Vegas were calling to her even louder now, and she intended to rush towards them, even if it was just a siren luring her and she rushed straight into the rocks.

She was Persephone, having escaped from the underground by descending this time, with her Hades, thankfully, very far away.

Chapter Text

About a block and a half away from the 38, Stephanie was feeling much better and far less confused.

She'd dipped into the first public washroom she could find, to both refresh her look and finally add the final touches to it too, needing a few quick fixes in the makep department, as well, but suprisingly few altogether. Then, and only then, had she triumphantly emerged feeling properly unrecognizable on the outside but closer to herself underneath it all.

Her head felt cooler as she stepped back onto the Vegas Strip, her chin held high and her eyes soaking in the sights and sounds she hadn't experienced for weeks now.

Goodness, Steph thought in giddy glee, she never knew she could miss the city so much!

Gone was the cloud that had settled on her after the descent from the securitron swarmed casino, her need for House like the sort of disease they warned soldiers about catching when they went overseas.

Now her thoughts were suddenly more clear, like she'd received a shot of penicillin.

Maybe it was the wig.

All she knew was she must have been crazy to actually miss House or to want to see his aggravating face again.

Yes, that was it.

She was being intentionally driven crazy by the madman to help him keep her in line. That was what abusers did, after all, wasn't it? They took a beautiful, vulnerable, sweet, naive girl and locked her up far away from everything, isolating her from all the support she might need, so that then they could brainwash her and make her completely dependent on them.

It was like that stage play, "Gaslight".

Yes.

Robert House had certainly done that to her.

And she had let him.

And for what end?

Some grand promise of giving her anything she wanted?

She was no better than all of the married women out there whom had fallen for such lies, even if House had the actual wealth to pull it off, instead of some average Joe schmuck.

I'll give you the world if you want it, honey...

Or, at least anything within reason before it all goes kaputski.

Puhlease....

When was that actually going to happen for her anyway? It had been weeks now, and he'd droned so many lessons into her blonde, little head, that she'd even forgotten to take him up on his promise since Miss Ann Thrope's dismissal, let alone remembered that one even existed between them. How was she supposed to remember that he was meant to be her own personal genie in a bottle when he denied her even the small request to go out to see a stupid movie?

She suddenly felt like she'd only ever been a horse, with Robert House, sitting behind and dangling some elusive and invisible carrot in front of her.

Not that the billionaire would ever lower himself to actually ride on a carriage. It was all limousines and jets for him, while she was forced to climb down bedsheets hanging out of windows or walk down the strip in a pair of heels.

With any luck, House's jet would crash, and with Tony declared mentally incompetant, she could make some wild claim about how the RobCo founder and she had been secretly married and living together all this time in typical wedded bliss, thus making her the sole beneficiary of his vast fortune. Given some time, she could even splice the security cam footage together and make a reasonable case that they were man and wife.

There was probably enough film of them bickering to make it believable afterall.

Wouldn't it be glorious!

It would only be what she deserved for having put up with him for this long with no real big payoff

She was strutting down the strip now, winking and smiling at the men whom were paying her attention after too long of being starved of it. It was funny: she used to hate it when men looked at her like that, like the taxi driver whom had taken her back to an apartment that was now no longer her own. Now, having suffered House and his rules and restrictions, plus his lack of general affection or compliments, she was absolutely basking in it!

Though she very well remembered each and every one of his instructions on how to seduce Bud Askins, by being demure, proper, sweet, reserved and moral, now she was putting each of them to shame by flirting with her eyes, letting them roam and linger without discretion over every man in some well put together outfit and licking her lips in visible appreciation. It was all great fun, as was seeing their wives and girlfriends then let them have it with a knee to the groin or a purse to the chin afterwards.

And, should the time come where she needed to defend herself to her boss, she could just pull out the excuse that she was intentionally acting contrary to all of his boring little lessons to make her even less likely to be marked as that particular blonde, respectable lady that would soon turn up in California looking for work at Vault-Tec.

Unless, House was planning on pulling the proper strings and plopping her right, straight down in her own little plush and prearranged office. Maybe he could orchestrate something like that. Maybe Askins would be stupid enough for him to get away with it. House had never really divulged the particulars to her. He probably had it all plotted out, as fond of forecasts and procedure as he was, but, like always, he viewed her as being strictly on a "need to know" basis.

Fine by her.

That was what she was treating him to tonight, Steph thought with a delicious grin: her own little need to know affair. House needn't know anything about it, because he was far away at business, which was what he did best, while it was now her time to play at what she never knew she could do so very well.

The Fremont was about an hour walk, but though she'd considered taking a taxi after scaling the Lucky 38, Steph honestly was on too much of a high to hail one. She was exhilarated and if she was cooped up in a cab, the less of an opportunity the men would have to look at her and offer their admiration. Besides, following House's work out regimen, she was feeling in perfect shape to tackle it. Fine and better than fine.

Checkmark, Steph thought, adding another thing to her counter argument list should House ever get wind of what she was up to. She was just putting his training to use, that was it...Going around a block or seven. Surely, he'd want her to test that stuff out right? She just got tired and snuck into the movies, where it was dark, so she could get a breather.

Whew! Was he ever a smart one! And because he was so smart, she'd discovered, by putting all his lessons to good use, that he really needed to train her even more!

He'd probably just love that...to send her climbing up a few more hundred ropes or run fifteen extra miles on the treadmill.

If she stroked his ego in just the right way, certainly House would be human enough to give her some slack. It was what most men came to the working girls of Las Vegas for afterall: an ego boost and a stroke. That last always involved two anyway, the physical and some other thing as well, their brain, their heart...their soul. Not that her employer possessed either of those last ones. But could Robert Edwin House really be all that different, she mused? What would he like pampered the most? His brain, his id...maybe the damaged child she'd spotted for a second on the stairway?

She'd turned a few tricks in her time, but Steph had never been so curious about what would turn a man on as she was now about Robert House.

It made her pick up her pace.

As if by increasing her speed she could get away from it.

Why on her big, long-planned-for night out, did she have to spend so much time thinking about House?

The more distance closed between the 38 and the Fremont, Steph noticed a strange thing happening. Her exuberence was gradually wearing off. Not willing to consider it had been her thoughts which affected her mood, she told herself it had mostly been the success in her plans, and having personally done Shanghai Sally one better, that had empowered her so much and that sort of high never lasted very long anyway. The stares of the men, though pleasant and flattering, were becoming redundant. Her response to them merely pretend. No longer was she trying to convince herself she was keeping to House's plans by returning their intetest. Now she really was putting on an act so that she wouldn't spoil what her and the man whom had been training her had worked so hard for together.

For the first time, Miss Calculations truly felt like a secret agent. She was not looking at Las Vegas as her playground but as the resource of her boss...

As her enemy.

Now she was trying to trick it into thinking she belonged there and not back at the 38, locked away in its roulette shaped tower. She supposed that was how she'd feel when she finally went to Vault-Tec: all she'd want to be is back at the Lucky 38, surrounded by snow globes.

Had House planned it out that way too?

She couldn't wait until she just got to the freaking Fremont and could just disappear down the aisle, hopefilly at the far back, where she could watch the film in the dark without being seen.

When she finally made it to the theater, she was grateful to see that the lineup wasn't too long and the picture starring Cooper Howard was still playing. Not that that was any big surprise. Howard films usually ran for months on end, raking in cash. He was a national treasure, afterall.

She skipped the concession stand on the way in, having paid for the theater ticket but not willing to risk denting her figure, even though she'd worked off enough calories this evening to gamble it. The money she'd used for the ticket she'd ironically enough found during one of her usual roamings through the 38. Ond day, she'd just casually pulled the lever to one of the slot machines, only to hit the jackpot, money spitting out at her like epithets, but, thank You, God, the audio bells and whistles having been disabled. She guessed it had shown that House was so damn rich he hadn't bothered to bleed the machines of coins before taking over the place, but had delighted in stealing away their voice and power.

Typical, Steph had thought at the time.

That's what she felt he was doing to her too.

Now, slipping into a theater seat, she wondered where old Bert was exactly.

Had he seen this film already?

Rumor was he liked Cooper Howard, and his westerns especially, although she personally would have pegged him as more of the sci-fi film kind of guy.

What would seeing a flick with thee Robert House be like anyway? Maybe the starlets he dated would know, but he and she spent all of their time together primarily with her learning and him teaching. Would he take one of his starlets to the movies while he was out on business, she wondered? Why did the thought fill her with jealousy? Hopefully, just because it was the age old problem of seeing someone get so easily what you had to beg and humiliate yourself for?

She stared at her hands, a little bit red and still rough, despite the gloves and the moisturizers.

Steph frowned and placed them on her lap.

The seat she had chosen, wasn't at the back like she had hoped. It seemed that several couples had already chosen those to make out, not that westerns were typical for turning a girl on. She guessed, when it starred Cooper Howard, it was a different story in that department.

The middle aisles were too oddly occupied and she didn't fancy having to weave her way out in a hurry.

Drat, that House had really made her paranoid.

She ended up taking a seat near the screen, which she wasn't thrilled about honestly, but which she unwillingly comforted herself by saying that House would approve and think she had chosen wisely.

Even when he wasn't there with her, the man was still there with her and she loathed it. She guessed that was still a part of his nefarious scheme. Condition her to think like him so when he was gone it was like he was still controlling her.

His excuse would probably be that it would help keep her alive.

Steph looked around the theater, spotting some guy from the dead set middle row unabashedly staring at her. There eyes would have met, if he hadn't been wearing shades, and Steph turned her head casually, pretending that she was more interested in rearranging the purse on her lap than avoiding his gaze.

When she glanced behind again, it was to find him still staring.

Great. That was all she needed. Some jerk paying her attention.

He did look kind of familiar, but her wig was getting in the way and staring back at the lecher to help place him seemed like an all around bad idea.

When the lights finally went down, Steph was just grateful to be lost to the darkness with the movie, everyone else around her forgotten about as Hollywood worked its illusion in magnificent film front of her

By the time she was forty minutes into it, however, she was less impressed.

Stephanie sighed, the arm she'd draped across the adjacent seat, and the hand she'd been resting her head on while she stared at the screen in boredom, all slipping.

Who wrote this crap anyway?

Maybe she'd been locked away for so long she'd lost her taste for cinematic fantasy.

Or maybe House, with his prophecy of doom hanging over everything, had made fights over cattle land just look...silly. What did it matter if some settler didn't have enough space to squeeze a dozen heifers udders anyway? The whole world was going to go to hell in a hand basket, in only God and Robert House knew how long, so that the rising price of milk seemed like a joke.

Worse, while Cooper Howard was still a dreamboat, she found herself studying his face and comparing it to House's and being highly critical.

She missed Robert House's nose.

While it wasn't like Cooper Howard didn't actually have a nose, he did, it just wasn't as majestic, nor did it have the same amount of character.

There was something lacking in Howard's profile, whenever they got a shot of it, and she inevitably kept on thinking of House's own, rather interesting one.

She missed the moustache lying beneath that nose too.

The same moustache she'd been hurling insults at,  while atop the building its owner had commandeered to control the future. Steph missed the way it twitched when she had done something to amuse him, or the way it curled. Watching the movie now, she guessed usually the bad guys wore most of the moustaches in films...

Guess that made Robert House the villain.

Normally she would have agreed, now the prejudice just annoyed her.

Her thoughts traveled down to his lips and she missed the same arrogant smirk that could bring her blood to the boiling point of fudge.

Even listening to the drawl of Cooper Howard that used to give her goosebumps, Steph was left questioning why she was yearning to hear the educated, inflections of House's arrogance instead?

Steph was wondering what Robert House's head would look like projected on a giant screen, his voice emanating from a pair of massive and high quality speakers, when a different voice altogether cut through her daydream in the dark, making her jump about an inch or two out of her well upholstered seat.

"Hiya...what's a gorgeous dish like you being in a movie theater instead of sitting at a restaurant table being served to me?"

Steph turned her head to find the guy, whom had been checking her out from the centre of the theater, having snaked his way through the seats to the aisle behind hers. He was leaning forward now, an arm on the back of the chair where hers had just been. His shades reflected Cooper Howard back at her in double, smaller now but still leaving her cold.

But not as cold as this creep was.

"I'm too expensive," she shot back, modulating her voice to sound deeper, House's grand plan still protected and at the forefront of her mind. "You couldn't afford me."

"I wouldn't bet on that one sweetheart."

She glanced at him, but still refused to pay him too much attention.

"I cheated and saw the odds," she retaliated, folding her arms and sinking in her seat, as if that could save her.

"Shysters....They must have handed you the wrong cheat sheet, because I can tell you differently," the man argued. "Why most of the restaurants here...they feed me for a song."

In the darkened theater, in no more than a whisper, the song that had run through Stephanie's head when she'd almost plummeted to her death, started to play in perfect clarity.

The words traveled straight to her ear, the sound not coming from any speaker in the theater other than the jerk behind her's lungs. His breath was hot on her skin and uncomfortably moist. She didn't like it and yet she was attracted nonetheless.

Celebrities could do that to you.

Sitting up straight, Steph turned around and finally recognized the stranger for whom he was.

"Dean Domino..." she whispered.

One of the many people Robert House hated in the world he wanted to help save a part of.

"In the flesh and ready to please," Domino smiled,  his teeth glinting like a wolf's in the darkness.

Chapter Text

Somehow they ended up leaving the theater halfway through the movie.

Dean Domino took her to a little Italian restaurant about a block and a half away and Steph sat there listening to the man talking about himself, for close to an hour, and wondering the whole time how she had wound up there.

She'd always thought Dean was a good singer, she liked his tunes and he seemed charming from what she'd read about him from the magazines and news shows. Now she knew it all must have been his PR team's doing. Oh, he was still charming all right, but in that way that men sometimes could be when they wanted to get into your pants and little else.

She had suspected that since the first second she'd seen him sitting in the aisles, and it had been confirmed in about three minutes of talking to him.

So why she had let him waste half of her ticket in order to let him take her to a restaurant, where she would have to suffer his attempts to seduce her with long winded ramblings about whom he had worked with and which poor women he'd kissed, was a complete mystery to her.

Perhaps it was because he had promised her a meal not provided by Robert House this time?

Even though he seemed to order the cheapest thing he could from off of the menu, an individual sized spaghetti to split, accompanied with a wine she now knew was middling thanks to House's instruction.

At least, the piano player was doing a fine job of hitting the right keys.

On occassion, she would lift her eyes from off the red and white checkered table cloth to stare at Domino and wonder why she didn't just leave.

Maybe it was the moustache?

No.

Wait.

Grabbing a breadstick in the basket across from her, and breaking it loudly in two, she knew it was definitely only because Robert House had said that he hated the lounge singer.

If the man had said he was Domino's biggest fan, she would have been out of there faster than the singer could probably turn to look at himself in a mirror. But, then again, House possessed better taste to actually like Dean Domino. He'd met him, sized him up as a miscreant and then no longer wanted to waste his time on the singer, not even his music, which had been soured to his ears after having found out for himself the speaker from which it had emerged from.

In a strange way, it made her flattered that House could and willingly suffered her. Apparently, he liked her in some way. That knowledge made her glow inside even more than the candle lit on the table, burning away and already half melted. Steph should have probably realized it was possibly related in some way to the old adage of the moth and the flame, but her night had been too chaotic to allow herself that self reflection.

And Domino was still too loudly talking to himself, and now actively trying to involve her in the conversation, to let her.

"So Grizelda...that's what you said your name was, Grizelda?"

"That's right," Steph said lifting her glass to falsely smiling lips and praying that the wine helped soften the breadstick enough to make it edible.

"Well, Grizelda, just as I was saying, I've placed my loafers under some of the biggest skirts in Hollywood's beds...even the actress in tonight's film had the pleasure of seeing me first thing in the morning after coming to one of my concerts."

The wine was a bad choice, Steph lamented, swallowing harshly. At least when the bread had been hard, the loud crunching had somewhat blocked the noise of her companion's talking.

"Really? The woman playing the cattle rancher's daughter?" she listlessly inquired.

"No, not her. The blonde saloon girl with all of the curls."

Maybe he was afraid he hadn't impressed her enough with the divulgence, or maybe he just hadn't lived up to his own ego, but Domino soon dropped an even bigger name than an extra to help him sound more important.

"I think, though, that the love of my life, the girl that broke my heart...well that has to be Miss Vera Keyes herself. Ever heard of her?"

Steph, whom had just been breaking another breadstick to rectify her last mistake paused. "Yes, who hasn't heard of Vera Keyes? Her films break records."

It was only the truth. Vera Keyes was possibly one of the hottest actresses in Hollywood these days, an impossible mixture of sexiness and innocence, whom made any romance believable, no matter how maudlin. What would Keyes be doing with such a lowlife as Dean Domino?

"I don't like to get into it, mostly because we're still close, but she isn't what she seems...not by a long shot, as they say in Las Vegas."

Steph tried not to roll her eyes, but only replied, "And as they also say in Vegas, I bet."

Unfortunately for her, Domino thought that was cute and mistook it for flirting.

She was just thinking how, if she was looking for a little company to take home that night, it was also a pretty safe bet it wouldn't be Mr. Dean Domino, when he leaned across the table, one elbow resting on it, a big no no as per her recent lessons, and peered over his sunglasses at her. "I know thee Mr. Robert House too. Ole Rob and me go a way back. Infact i just saw him before I flew up here. He was down in Hollywood, with that favorite starlet of his...Jean or Mary or whatever she's called."

Suddenly the light music being played by the pianist became off key and grating, Steph's heart also beating loudly and almost blocking it out. She blinked strongly once but tried to regain herself. "What did you just say?"

"Robert House. I just bumped into him before I headed to the airport to fly here. He had his favorite girl on his arm."

Steph didn't know what to say.

Never would she have expected the news that House was off having fun with some woman she didn't know, or likely want to know, could hurt her so badly or make her so horribly furious. There he had virtually locked her inside of the 38, with his blasted securitrons on constant patrol, forcing her to risk her life by playing daredevil and climb down the building, while he hadn't been at business at all!

He'd been...

Been...

Just like whomever this woman on his arm was, Steph didn't want to know what he'd been doing either.

Only now there was one unknown thing concerning the woman eating away at her more than either her or Dean had eaten their evening meal.

"Was she pretty?" she asked.

"She's gorgeous, absolutely a stunner," Dean Domino crooned, making Steph's heart feel like it was sinking into her heels. However, then his hand smoothly crawled past the pasta to take her palm inside of his. "But she can't hold a candle to the likes of you."

With that remark, he even showily grabbed the candle and put it close to her face, making Steph almost bolt back, hoping it wouldn't reveal her overuse of makeup and what she actually looked like underneath it.

But why?

Why, she wondered, was she still so reflexively trying to help Robert House when he was off having fun after months of putting her to work.

It made so little sense to be careful now.

Infact, snce she was in Vegas, it made even more sense to risk it all for the biggest payoff of them all: revenge.

Or, more like it, justice.

Giving her best seductive smile, the former showgirl squeezed Domino's hand even tighter back, leaning her head forward and hoping that her wig didn't get too close to the candle and catch on fire.

"You're sweet," she lied, reaching out to touch the tip of his nose and grabbing hold of his tie, both of her elbows on the table now without her particularly giving a damn. "Sweet enough for dessert."

Like a sandbank, he got the drift.

"Want I should call for a taxi?" Dean asked, his lip curling slyly. "I can take you back to my hotel room...I have a nice little room at the Luxe."

"Ummm...no," Steph stated, still toying with the tie. "I think I'll take you to my place instead."

"And where would that be darling?"

Steph knew she could be coy, pretend to make it a surprise, but how much of a surprise would it be when he saw the taxi pulling ever so closer to the sky high roulette shaped tower?

"The Lucky 38," she replied.

"Mmmm," he sounded, apparently very impressed. "Makes sense. Looks like we're both about to get lucky."

* * *

Waiting outside for the cab to arrive, Dean Domino having ended up calling for it himself, claiming it would be quicker that way after they heard whom it was for, they'd been waiting for about thirty minutes when the woman approached them.

She was the type of woman that you sometimes saw in Vegas. Her clothing was torn and dirty, her hair frazzled and a mess, equally collecting the filth and the grime in its net. Her face was a mess, sunken and hollow, bearing the typical signs of addiction.

"Can you spare some change?" she asked, her voice sounding a little familiar to Steph, whom went fishing inside of her bag, just hoping to give her some money so she would be on her way and not prove to be too much of a nuisance or a downer.

"Don't bother," Dean Domino whispered into her ear. "We both know what she'll use it on. Besides, here comes our ride."

Heeding his advice, Steph let him sweep her into the back of the taxi, only to make the mistake of looking up and into the downcast face of the beggar woman.

Both of Steph's hands went to the window's glass as she stared into the woman's haunted eyes, eyes that gave no sign of recognizing her in turn.

She guessed the costume and makeup had worked well afterall.

As the cab drove away, Steph kept her eyes on the derelict for as long as she could until Domino pulled her towards him and into a passionate yet somehow sleazy kiss. Shocking herself, Steph eagerly returned it, trying to forget the face she had just seen outside of the window.

Had it really been Miss Ann Thrope?

Or had it not?

It was hard to tell past all the grime and through the shadows of the night. The woman had also kept her head somewhat lowered and her shoulders hunched, due to the stress on her back from an overripe figure, but probably more out of shame as well.

Dean's hands on her back, his tongue trying to enter her mouth, Steph told herself that it couldn't have been the other woman. No, though fortune fell about as fast in Vegas as she could have done from the 38, and though she knew for a fact that it had turned for the other showgirl (all with her help), it couldn't possibly have been Ann.

She'd have never of let that happen to herself.

Besides it had been dark.

Too dark to tell fir sure.

Too dark to be confident it had been her.

And Thrope's overinflated pride would never allow herself to go so low.

In an attempt to keep her own pride intact, Steph contrarily lowered herself at the same time, pulling Domino even closer as the beggar woman was left behind, both on the street and inside of Stephanie's thoughts.

* * *

She led Dean Domino in through the front door of the Lucky 38.

She'd rigged it, a while after House had left, to allow her easy entrance back inside. Learning the passcodes etc... hadn't been too hard with the amount of delivery men she'd seen House postpone a lesson to willingly let into the 38, and the genius had taught her a little too well to still remain an complete imbecile when it came to computers and other electronics. Apparently, they were more commonly in use at Vault Tec than they were at the Sin-Gal.

Now, Dean whistled as he entered the casino, bowled over by his surroundings, but Steph, about three feet in front of him, just cringed. They'd have to work this perfectly if they hoped to avoid the securitrons and he wasn't helping with all of the noise.

"Swell place. You got it all to yourself, pretty lady?"

"Not exactly," Steph stated, grabbing the man by the tie and deciding it was best to drag him on up to her room.

Avoiding the securitrons turned out to be like something out of a game.

She'd memorized their pattern so well, but still had to zig and zag just right to get where she needed and when. Hopefully, House had programmed them not to attack her, and they would be able to scan her properly past her disguise to recognize her, but Domino was another matter. If he ended up murdered, lazered to death or whatnot, on the Lucky 38's ground, they could hardly avoid the scandal of a dead lounge lizard having entered the building to perform in an entirely different way.

Still, she was well equipped at maneuvering him where she wanted, though he was, more or less, dead weight.

They made it to the lift in one piece and Domino wanted another piece of her once safely tucked inside. She let him have a tease, her mind more on the security cams than his lust. She wasn't worried about them too much. It would look like Domino had snuck into the place with some dark haired stranger. He had probably been here before. Maybe House would assume he had busted in. Of course, he'd never find footage of the beautiful femme fatale leaving, but it would serve him right to have a securitron or two repeatedly sweeping the building in his paranoia.

The creep.

Forget the fact that Dean Domino felt more like one with his hand trying to crawl up her dress.

She pulled him out of the lift in a hurry, no robots to be seen, but with  her not being able to wait until she reached her room, and, most certainly, not because she was in any particular hurry to have sex with Dean Domino.

They made it, but Steph was certain she heard a securitron rolling around a corner just as the door closed. She dropped her bag to the floor and wiped at her forehead, the fake bangs giving her grief.

"Nice digs," Dean complimented, instantly walking towards where she'd left a bottle of wine chilling in expectation before she'd left. "You live in luxury, my dear "

"Thanks," Steph commented, her heart finally starting to calm down.

"All thanks to House, huh?"

Steph met the man's eyes, feeling her heart beginning to do yet another lap. "Wha-what?"

"Robert House," Dean commented, taking out two glasses from the same bucket as the wine, and placing them casually on the night stand. "I heard, through the grapevine, mind you, that he owns the company that signed the papers on the lease for this place...am I right?"

Not knowing what to say, she just stood there more frozen than what remained of the ice in the bucket.

"Let's see, Grizelda...that would make you Robert House's mistress?"

A little bit of relief swept over her. At least, he wasn't completely on target.

"And that would make this," Domino continued, unwrapping the top of the bottle of a wine much more expensive than the one he'd paid for at the restaurant. "A nice dash of revenge sex?"

He let the cork go flying. Steph flinched as it hit the door behind her, missing her head by an inch.

"Which is just fine by me. Never could stand Robert House anyway. Uppity bastard with too big of a brain to suffer us normal people, and too big of an ego to know that we don't need or like him anyway," the man commented as he started to pour.

Her mouth staying closed due to sheer willpower, Steph now knew that Domino had a much bigger intelligence than she had given him credit for. She might have to pay the price for underestimating him. However, what with it and the moustache, the man was looking frustratingly better to her. Plus, he was just saying how she'd felt for months now. They both resented House, albeit for much different reasons. Still, it was nice for misery to have company for a change.

Even if it was cheap and miserable company.

Domino strolled over, his hands each bearing a glass of wine.

"So you are his mistress then? When did that start?" he asked, and she could tell now he was scrounging for more information.

Believing she might as well give him what he wanted, and help get him off on a different scent, Steph decided to play it up. "Yes," she answered. "He found me over in the Orient during a visit."

Domino raised an eyebrow. "You speak mighty good English for being Asian and without any discernable accent."

"Daddy was a missionary."

Domino's free hand went trailing up her thigh. "Not a very good one, I take it, or a little too good at speading the 'word'."

Steph continued, still aware that Dean Domino wasn't quite as stupid as he seemed, but still banking on the fact that she was still smarter and if she only gave him what he wanted, in two very important ways, she could get out of this with her employee's plan still intact.

"No...a very bad one. He went astray with my mother, but he used to beat us both...when House came over, papa sold me to him for big bucks."

"You look kind of old, to be sold," Dean took a drink from his glass.

Tricky.

A way out presented itself, of course, but would Robert House want her to take it?

If it helped save his scheme?

Of course.

"House wouldn't want it known but...it was quite a while ago...I was much younger then."

Jackpot.

Dean was back to looking at her from over his shades, the first hint of something truly unsavory happening having truly appealed to his nature. Steph guessed she could have been more concerned she'd just wrecked House's reputation with the hint, but she knew that, if Domino breathed a word of any of this, he would first be hit with slander charges and then, if anybody actually bought it and went digging, Robert House would come out looking about as clean as a daisy in that particular department, nothing so rottenly despicable found in a past which likely included more nuts, bolts and wires than human flesh.

Other than the occassional of-age starlet.

And with that memory rushed back all of the feelings she hated.

Jealousy and possessivness, as if House was hers and not the other way around. As if he somehow belonged to her and was the one paid for.

"He acquired you when you were young?"

"Too young to be acceptable in your country," Steph said, her finger crawling up his sleeve, while his hand began clutching her bottom. "He's kept me locked up..." That much was true. "And, with only him, I've never really known a real man." That likely would be true if the bull she was spreading was accurate. "Not one like you."

It was another bullseye.

Appealing to Domino's ego had worked.

"Awww...poor thing." Dean consoled, "Then, on top of it, I go and unknowingly let you know your Sugar Daddy's been icing up Hollywood without you."

"Yes," Steph turned her head and tried to look sad, when what she was feeling inside was mostly anger.

Mostly.

"Don't worry," Dean cooed, finishing his wine and letting the glass drop to the floor to help stain the carpet with the trace amounts left. "Big Dean Daddy's here for you. Tonight, we'll make House pay; he's certainly rich enough for it, as we both know."

He brought his lips to hers and Steph returned the kiss, letting her own glass join his on the floor.

"Mmm...just desserts..." Domino stated, licking his lips when they came up for air. "I guess the sweetest ice cream is on the menu tonight, you know, revenge being a dish best served cold."

"I was thinking more like Baked Alaska," Steph retaliated, grabbing the back of his head. "Cold and hot all at once."

While not having terribly enjoyed the previous ones, she pulled him down for another kiss, all while pushing him back towards the bed. The singer fell back on it, while she landed on top of him, absently grateful that her wig was agreeing to stay in place.

"You the type of girl who likes it on top? Not a missionary like your father?"

"Yes," she replied, the answer really being a more-depends-on-the-situation kind of deal, but with her not wanting to get that much into depth with the man over her sexual proclivities. All she wanted now was the completion of her night out from her towering trap, plus her revenge on Robert House.

She had liked her time at the Tops anyway.

Better than any other place in Las Vegas.

"Why not," Dean commented, placing his hands behind his head. "I hate having to do all the work myself. Women get it so easy."

Slightly irked by the comment, Steph kept going regardless. She didn't have to like him afterall. All that was important was that they both hated House and House hated him.

Still, she had to be careful about doing it.

"You have...you know?"

"In my jacket pocket. I never go anywhere without it. Don't want to be blamed for mistakes that aren't mine."

Reaching into his pocket and pulling out the man's insurance policy, Steph discovered that he expected her to do all the work in this area too. She did, but reluctantly. It wasn't something she hadn't done before but...really?

Everything good to go in a few seconds, Steph proceeded with the end stage of her mission, fuelled on by her animosity towards her absent benefactor, if she could actually call him that. All he'd given her was a single request and a video tape afterall. Her mind quickly going to the poor woman on the sidewalk, outside of the restaurant, Steph perhaps rushed a little forward, trying to block it from her mind with the push of physicality.

"Hey, not so harshly!" Dean protested. "Not only am I a national treasure, I'm delicate too."

"You don't sing out of this end," she remarked.

"You'll find out differently in seven minutes."

Steph frowned down at his still sunglasses wearing self, finding him growing more tasteless by the second. Luckily, she hadn't needed to actually go in that particular direction with him.

Ready set go to having both her revenge and unmet needs satisfied, Steph carried through with it, finding it less fulfilling than she had hoped. Domino seemed to be enjoying himself, all right, but the experience was lacking for her.

Finally, she had to think about House to feel any bit good.

First she thought about him off with his la-ti-da LA beauty.

Then she thought about how he'd ordered her to stay at the 38, locked up like a prisoner, while he enjoyed himself.

She briefly relived her experience, earlier in the evening, of climbing down her prison tower, one far more impressive then the one she was ending the night off with.

Her thoughts swiftly went to how much House hated Dean Domino and how she was now having sex with him right in Robert House's safe place, the building where he was all set to rule a post-war out of.

Oh, how he'd hate that!

That ignited her engine a little more and Dean grunted in approval.

House would loathe it and possibly kill her if he knew what she was doing with the lounge lizard loser in his private castle! If only she could have done it in House's very own bed! What a riot that would have been! She soon realized that he might have the whole thing caught on camera, if there had infact been a spot she'd missed searching. She doubted it, but he might even be filming her while she was thinking all that she was.

She decided to put on an even better performance and make it look like she was actually having a better time than she was, although the thought stimulated her mentally, which helped her out in other departments.

She usually hated how it was always House whom pushed her into an intensity of feelings these days, but now she greatly needed the help.

"Oh baby," Dean was saying, but she ignored him completely to keep her focus on the man she hated instead of the mild annoyance underneath her.

How would he react when or if he saw this? If only she could have a film of his reaction...

She pushed away with full violent force the memory of her recording of Miss Ann Thrope's dismissal.

Yes, if only she could see House's expression, what it would look like if he were to walk in right at this very moment and see her unabashadely screwing Dean Domino.

"Oh oh," the man being screwed then uttered.

"Oh oh," Steph repeated, knowing those weren't exactly the words one used to express their extreme ecstasy.

For the first time since she'd gotten him into bed, Domino finally lifted a finger for her, using it to point directly over her shoulder.

Hesitantly, watching herself in the reflection of the man's shades, Steph stopped her movement and slowly turned to look over her shoulder.

"Oh oh," she said of her own accord now, followed by the act of making a rather audible gulping noise.

From her climb down the 38 to her sucessfully reaching the room without a securitron blasting Dean Domino away, depending on how you looked at it, she had either gotten lucky or that luck had taken a nose dive.

In any case, she no longer had to wonder what House would look like.

She could see it for herself.

Robert House was standing in the doorway behind her, his face sporting a shade of red she'd never before seen on a human being and looking like it was himself and not one of his many securitrons about to commit bloody murder...

Chapter Text

Though her blood hadn't exactly been pumping, seeing Robert House's livid face glaring at her from the doorway made it stop altogether cold inside of her veins. His eyes were two black holes that threatened to suck both her and Dean Domino into them, annihilating both their lives in the process. Meanwhile, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side; Either they wanted to wrap around her throat, Steph wagered, or pound Dean Domino into something resembling a man.

Which, more or less, was what the guy essentialy was deep down anyway, past all of the superficial charm.

It was a point well proven by the reaction of the renowned singer upon being faced with the man of the supposed mistress he was in the act of screwing.

"Hey there, Bob," Domino now had the nerve to calmly greet the other man, even offering a little wave to go alongside the nickname, adding more insult to injury. "I thought, while you were out of town and all, I'd help out by keeping your nice little Oriental dish warm for you."

Steph kept her eyes fixed on House, still terrified and yet sublimely curious how he would process all of this and proceed with his reaction.

It took about seven seconds for him to reply, his expression never faltering.

"How very thoughtful of you," House hissed through teeth about as clenched tight as his fists. "They should add it to your headline: Dean Domino: Thief of More Than Just Your Cash and Time."

Ouch. Stinger.

But Domino was quick with his own rebuff.

"And they should add to your stock reports how you can't keep your female 'workers' satisfied, so they need to call for outside *ahem* assistance."

Horrified, Steph felt Domino's hand reaching around straight to her buttocks, slightly lifting up the red dress so that House could achieve an even better view of what was going on. Suddenly, she was very grateful that they had done the deed with their clothes on so then she wouldn't feel even more exposed.

The action, plus Domino's words, seemed to just about do it for Robert House though.

He had insulted the businessman's work ethic and that was going a little too far.

House lost his cool in about the same way he would have if she really had been his mistress and he had walked in on the betrayal. Her boss striding into the room and obviously meaning business, Steph instantly scrambled off of the lounge singer, throwing herself onto the floor in a painful push that still seemed like getting off easy compared to what House looked like he was planning to do to them.

As she hit the floor, it knocked some sense back into her and she realized that, of course, he was acting just as insane as if she really did belong to him: although they'd never actually slept together, he probably still saw her as his property in a way. Things were likely always to be about property and dividends to the man, afterall.

"Hey, wait, it was her idea..." Domino, the creep, was justifying as House grabbed him by the collar, hoisted him up, as if he was nothing but the schoolgirl he was suddenly whimpering like, and dragged him from off the bed and on to the floor in a single, smooth motion.

Peeking over the bedsheet-crumpled-mattress, Steph was hoping she might actually get to witness House putting his muscles to good use by pummeling the guy, or maybe see a full on fight occur between both men (if Dean could stop blubbering for that long), but all she ended up watching was the enraged billionaire looming over the other man, now on his knees, and threatening him only with his words and the furiously flying spit that went with them.

"YOU TELL ANYONE ABOUT THE 38 OR WHAT YOU'VE SEEN HERE, DOMINO, AND I WILL PERSONALLY DELIGHT IN REVEALING EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU AND VERA KEYES, TO ANY RAG THAT WILL HAVE THEIR PRINTERS READY. I THINK FREDDY BOY WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO READ ALL ABOUT IT! I CAN RUIN ALL OF YOUR LONG LAID PLANS FOR OUR DEAR FRIEND SINCLAIR! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? I CAN WRECK EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND VERA!"

If she'd thought that Domino had been cowering before, now Steph believed that House's words had damn near well near driven him into the carpet.

The man was still badly shaking, and using his well known voice to beg for mercy, when House dragged him all the way to the still opened doorway, the tips of the shoes that had supposedly lain under the beds of so many actresses now digging a groove in the carpet's pile. The lines were straight too, Domino not even putting up a fight at all. His fear becoming almost contagious, Stephanie wondered what House had been shouting about and why it had frightened the other man so much.

A securitron had rolled to the door by the time Robert House had reached it, and its maker roughly threw Dean Domino into its waiting grasp. "Show Mr. Domino out, Victor. He has more than overstayed his welcome."

"Got it boss," Steph heard a deeply country accented voice replying and it reminded her, with regret, of the movie she had snuck out to see earlier, and how it had all led to this gargantuan mess she was no longer sure how she could get out of.

Suddenly remembering the long string of bed sheets waiting outside of the window, she started to crawl towards them in a hurry, hearing House closing and locking the door behind her. She was almost there when she heard his familiar voice, much calmer and lower, addressing her.

"Miss Calculations...I don't mean to spoil any plans you might be harbouring too, but if you are intending on using that haphazard thing you call a rope in order to climb down to safety, I'll inform you now that it will only lead to your living up to the name I so wisely gave you."

All fours still on the floor, Steph reluctantly looked over her shoulder at her employer for a second time that night, the ass she was trying to save aimed directly at him.

House stood there, having regained a little of his usual composure, yet still seething. Maybe it was the way that his fingers were twitching or the dark fire inside of his eyes, but Steph understood that she was nowhere close from having escaped his wrath tonight, not just yet anyway.

"You see," he continued, his fingers digging into his palm, "you would only make it about half way. You apparently were so busy with your carnal endeavors that you failed to hear me ripping the rope in about half after I came back to see it dangling from the rail."

Steph swallowed loudly.

"You're lucky it didn't tear so easily while you were on it."

Luck was still all about perspective, the woman absently mused.

With little other choice, Stephanie rose to her feet and turned around to face her possible killer, aware that it was time to face the music and settle all bets, her having come up the loser.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, the room all too quiet, and Steph hated how good he still looked in a suit and how revved up she was feeling without having reached her intended destination. She was frightened near to death of House, and yet still almost strangely happy to see him.

It also didn't help that it suddenly felt like all of the wine she'd had that night had finally caught up to her.

She was feeling almost giddy.

Of course, it might have just been hysteria.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable, and shame and guilt were suddenly starting to gnaw at her, something inside of the man's gaze bringing it to life. I trusted you, his look was saying. I trusted you and you blew it.

House just continued staring at her and she felt then like his dark eyes really were black holes, afterall, because they were calling her forward, right to about a place where she was standing four inches away from him.

However, instead of apologizing out of her guilt, she decided to lash out instead.

"Why couldn't you throw Domino out yourself, huh?" she confronted, her hands resting on her hips. "Why'd you have your large, metal errand boy do it for you? Why didn't you even hit him, for that matter? What? You aren't man enough to get your hands dirty?"

House glowered at her in distaste, his moustache raising on one side in a sneer. "You would like that wouldn't you? Us going at each other's throats like two barbarians? Like two primitives fighting for your non-existent honor?"

"Yes!" Steph cried. "Why not? You're both two conceited jerks, just cut from different cloths."

"Nice bit of paraphrasing there, my lessons are apparently working. Yes, that would be accurate from a material viewpoint: me being silk while he's cheap polyester," House took a second to stroke his own wounded ego. "Speaking of clothing, I think I would rather we have this conversation without you dressed up like a Wisconsin bred actress appearing in a Chuckie Chen film. You really did think you were Shanghai Sally this evening, didn't you?"

With that question posed, before she could even answer him infact, House ripped the wig off from her head in one unexpected yank.

"Hey!" she cried out but was then completely dumbstruck when, in another forceful action, House grabbed the back of her dress and tore it away from her body, the fabric making a horrible, loud ripping sound as it went.

Steph stood facing House, in the center of her bedroom at the 38, almost as she had when he'd tried different fashions on her in a dressing room lower in the building: wearing only her underwear.

However, this time his stripping of her had been far less gentle.

Unfortunately, being in such a state as she was, the action had the opposite effect of the humiliation probably intended: instead it only reminded her of Domino's lack of participation in their lovemaking and how toned and muscled House was underneath his own clothing, a fact she hadn't been aware of the last time she'd been in this particular situation.

She had to get her mind off in a different direction.

Had to think of something that would help sober her up.

"Are you going to beat me up now?" she shot back. "Is that it, Bert? Maybe you were saving all of that energy to use on me, a woman, and not Dean, a grown man."

Oh oh.

She really shouldn't have said that, Steph thought to herself. For one, she didn't really believe it for a moment, and secondly, it conjured up other images inside of her imagination, fantasies involving the many other ways that House could use his energy on her.

Oh craps, she was still wound up and horny.

It didn't help either that she was excited by the man's return and his sudden realized closeness to her.

"Actually, Stephanie, resorting to physical violence is not really how I operate," Robert House replied, just as calm and dispassionate as ever, and she suddenly envied Dean for having made the genius so angry and willing to spend actual human emotion on him. "I don't destroy people from the outside, that is too easy and can oftentimes heal. I prefer to destroy them from the inside out. Healing is more chancy in that arena."

Steph threw her head back and freed a big laugh into the ceiling before letting House have the tail end of it, hot and moist and right in his face. "Spoken like the true sadist you are," she stated, up in his face again. "Locking me up in Vegas while you go and party in Hollywood."

House was quickly reassessing things, his eyes narrowing as he came up with a new figure. "Is that what Domino told you? Is that really what this was all about?"

"No, no!" she protested probably a little too promptly. "That's just how I've felt ever since you left me alone here."

Ohhh...not how she wanted it to come out sounding, like she was some clingy housewife.

House studied her, his analytical mind at work, before bothering to address her previous remark. "I don't need to offer you explanations for my actions. I do what I need to. You should always trust in that and nothing else. Remember, you are my employee and not the other way around."

Steph took a step forward, her face now an inch away from House's own, getting an even closer experience of the moustache. "Well you should remember that I'm the one that Bud Askins is interested in, not you, not anyone else. Me! Me! Me!"

She had made it about half an inch now, carefully avoiding bumping into the nose she had missed so much, while House continued to eye her like just another one of his vast calculations.

In the meanwhile, Steph realized she liked being this close to him, having an excuse to be this close. That, if she wanted to, her tongue could flick out and lick the tip of his nose or give his moustache a good brushing.

"You're drunk," House finally remarked.

"Am I? Well, no wonder they call you a genius!"

He didn't reply to that one either, but looked her over once again, it becoming more difficult with her getting closer.

"I would also guess, having interrupted your escapade prematurely, you are in a state of extreme sexual frustration."

"Another wise assesment from Mr. Living Breathing Computer."

House didn't seem to take the insult too personally nor did he seem to offer her much sympathy for her plight. "I wouldn't be too upset. From what I hear, even if Domino had finished, you'd still be left unsatisfied. It looks like you still require more instruction on what products perform best."

Oh, but Robert House could get her blood boiling, like nobody else, and Steph feverently wished she could teach him a lesson for a change!

Maybe now was the perfect time.

She tilted her head slightly, moving her lips closer to his while avoiding outright contact.

"Care to help me get satisfied? she whispered, proud of her own bold cleverness as she worked it just right to brush her bottom lip against his. "So...do you wanna take care of me yourself, Mr. House!"

Their lips lingered in the vicinity of each other, hovering without making any more incidental contact.

Eventually, he was the one to break the silence, stunning her with his reply.

"Why not?" House answered and Steph lifted her eyes to peer into his.

His face was open, straight, honest, not a smirk nor a sneer to be seen.

A smile suddenly stole across her lips as she realized he was being earnest.

The booze must have been making her happy.

She was not expecting it, then, when the man grabbed her around the waist, turned her around so they were no longer facing each other and carried her into the hotel room's bathroom by force.

"Hey! Hey!" she cried, fighting him every inch of the way.

It was no use. The same body she had admired was once again her own personal downfall. She was no match for it, even with how much stronger she had become. With great confidence and strength, Robert House moved her about like she was little more than a mannequin, bringing her straight to the huge tub she'd tried out the first night she'd stayed at the 38.

Bending her over the tub, the rim pushing into her naked stomach on one end and Robert House's strong, hard body pushing into her from the other, the billionaire reached over and turned on the faucet.

But only the cold one.

And it, all the way.

"No! No! No!" Steph cried, struggling and aware fitfully about what was to happen next.

She tried to struggle, but it didn't work, he was too powerful and all it was doing was further turning her on.

"My dear, Steph...You didn't get what you were after. I think we both know what the next logical step is," House whispered into her ear, his tone betraying that he was having, at least, a little more difficulty in restraining her then his body was indicating.

When the tub was filled, House reversed the faucet and backed away, but only so he could scoop Steph up completely in his arms.

"LET ME GO!" she screamed, realizing too late it wasn't the right choice of words.

"As you say," he remarked, holding her over the now filled bathtub and letting her drop straight into it.

"NOOOOO!" Steph cried, which soon became an ear splitting screech as the cold water hit her bare skin.

There was a fairly big splash as she hit the water, and with it being so large, it was fairly deep as well, completely submerging her for a second or two.

She emerged to find House peering down at her, that irritating little smug smile back now and dancing on his face. She could tell by the see-through quality of his shirt that she had ended up spraying him, at least.

However, it was not enough for her liking.

Not enough by a long shot.

"That should bring your fever down," he remarked, folding his arms across his chest, an act which caused a hill to form in his tie.

"Oh yeah," Steph remarked, wiping the wet strands of hair away from her eyes. "You look like you need to cool down too."

Quickly, with the startling speed of a mink, she took firm hold of the slope in the tie and used it to pull Robert House down into the tub with her.

Although he was much larger than her, and far more strong, the element of surprise (as well as the element of balance) was successfully on her side. His arms shooting out in a futile effort to save himself, House joined her in the bathtub, landing virtually on top of Steph and sending a strange little rush running all throughout her cold body. Suddenly it wasn't so cold to the ex-showgirl, not that House was feeling any of the heat for himself, however, as he backed up against the rim and suppressed a shiver. He wiped at his face and glared at her, wet, cold and annoyed.

"I should really thank you for getting my clothes off beforehand," Steph remarked precociously. "I don't think your suit will get off so luckily."

Angrily, House splashed water into her eyes and Steph swiftly retaliated, until, before either knew it, they were having what constituted as a full out, small fight inside of the tub, small only because, when both opponents were wet and slippery, and one of them was obviously holding back due to his sex, it could be nothing but. They manhandled each other for a few minutes, finding in the process that his anger and her sexual frustration were ebbing. His was seeminly evaporating, despite the cold, thanks to the act of physically letting off steam. Hers, on the other hand, had been embarrasingly taken care of amongst all of the struggling in the tub, an overwhelming moment that had made her momentarily stop in her assault on the man, only to resume it so to save face and give the appearance that nothing had actually happened.

Steph told herself that it didn't mean anything that House was the one whom had helped bring it about.

Anyone would have done.

He just happened to be handy, what with his actual hands slipping all over her, along with his strong thighs pressing against hers, it was bound to happen sooner or later, especially with her being all wound up like she was.

It also didn't help either that, besides from herself, he was the warmest thing in the tub, a fact that was funny given his frozenesque personality.

She only hoped he hadn't noticed, especially when they both found themselves sitting at their respective sides of the tub and he could actually have a good, long look at her, her palm not barrelling into his chin. She hoped he mistook her blush and heavy breathing to just be from exertion and nothing else.

That was her only wish.

Lucky for her, If House suspected anything, he kept his calculations to himself.

Instead of talking, they just sat and stared, two enemies at a truce.

After a nod, House reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. When his lighter made a similar appearance, and a flame actually appeared at its tip, Steph suspected that the man used his inventing skills to help him out with his habit as well, not just with trying to save Las Vegas. When the cigarette actually lit and he began to casually smoke, she was convinced of it.

She only wished she could ask him for one too.

But that might give herself away.

"So," House began, exhaling a cloud of smoke in her general direction. "Feeling better now?"

"Mmm hmm," she sounded, hating that he probably was thinking he'd won. She also hated how the statement could indicate he did know just how much better she felt. She needed to tip things in her favor again. "Of course...I'd feel even better if you could have seen the look on Dean Domino's face when I told him you bought me underage in Asia."

The result was the one she desired. House leaned forward, his eyes freshly ablaze.

"You did what?" the man asked, obviously losing his cool and not just from the cigarette he was smoking.

"Well it was to keep your plan safe afterall," she defended coyly, then let the innocence drop just a little as she added, "I told him you corrupted a minor...daddy-san."

"Why you little..." House leaned even more forward, grabbing her laughing head and pushing it beneath the cold water in his freshly ignited anger.

Unphased, Steph used the opportunity, while she was under, to grab at the front of his pants, taking hold of his zipper and trying to pull it down.

The zipper only made it halfway.

House didn't exactly bolt out of the tub, but neither did he leave it at a leisurely pace either.

Steph's head popped up again, bright eyed and smiling, just in time to see her boss grabbing a towel and robe from off the back of the door. The woman moved to the rim resting her arms on it, and then resting her cheek on one of them too, all while she admired House's assured movements and the way that his wet suit clung to his body.

He's back, she kept unreasonably thinking.

He's back.

And past that, further at the back of her mind, went the thought she didn't even dare contemplate: What will it be like when I'm all the way down at Vault-Tec and he's still up here?

"There," House said, throwing the towel and the robe onto the floor halfway across to her, and avoiding hitting a puddle. "Get out, get dry and get changed. We can continue this discussion in the morning."

"Oh, is that what we were having?" she retorted. "And here I thought we were fighting." Her eyes darted to the floor and then back up again. "And you just threw in the towel, I might add."

House smirked and she had the distinct impression he was avoiding rolling his eyes.

He was almost out the door when she heard her voice calling out to him, without even realizing she'd opened her mouth. "I'm glad your fancy jet didn't crash into a mountain or something."

Her cheek was back against her arm and she watched in sideways, dreamy vision as he turned to slowly face her. His look was about as cold as the water. "If Dean Domino spoils my plans, you'll wish that it had," he confessed.

He wasn't smiling as he left her, and Steph couldn't be sure, as she stepped out of the tub, if it was the coldness of the water, the chill of the breeze or just Robert House's warning that sent a shiver down her spine.

Chapter Text

Upon waking up on the floor, Steph was first confused as to why she was sleeping there exactly, and secondly embarassed over the realization of why she infact was. Her bed wasn't decent for sleeping on after her tryst with Dean Domino (even with the protection and interruption) and all of the change of bedsheets she'd possessed had been used on climbing out of the window.

The floor had seemed a good enough substitute; It would do, at least.

She was still in the robe that House had thrown at her and its softness was one plus side, even if there weren't many of those now that her memory was fully returning.

Sitting up, she remembered fully the events of the previous night and almost cringed, feeling mortified all over again. Running a hand through her blonde tresses, Steph realized how much she'd risked and almost lost, and for what? A roll in the hay with a creep? Seeing a movie she never even made it to the end of? Oh, boy, she'd almost blown it!

As it had turned out, her revenge had almost been arsenic to herself instead of the intended target.

Remembering the look on House's face, she recalled the beggar woman on the streets now too and thought of Miss Ann Thrope. With the way she was feeling, the sad sunken feeling in the pit of her stomach, maybe that old Chinese proverb about starting revenge by digging two graves had been devastatingly right.

At least, House was back now and hadn't murdered her.

Steph rose to her bare feet, feeling a crink in her back, which was less grateful for her taskmaster's return than her head was.

She made it to the bathroom, the patches of water on the floor now dried, and walked over to the full length mirror waiting in the corner. Standing in front of it, she dropped the robe back to its place on the floor to examine her body for the signs of her bathtub fight with Robert House. Turning this way and that, looking over her shoulder at one point behind her, Steph was surprised to see that the man had been forceful enough and yet still gentle to not have left a single bruise.

The most impact he'd apparently had had been inside of her body, where it could remain safely unseen.

Steph caught the blush in her reflection and looked instantly down so as not to see it. Instead, her head was lowered in the direction of the heart now pounding inside of her chest at the prospect of seeing the man whom had satisfied her need without even realizing it. The man whom had said they would be resuming his reprimand of her that morning. And this time it wasn't just about which fork to use with a salad or how to best look through an office drawer while the occupant was away and you only had five minutes until their return.

This time House had returned and she'd been caught right in the midst of being in another man's drawers.

* * *

He was waiting for her in their lesson room when she went down to it. She hestitated in the doorway, staring at his back as he finished clearing the last lesson off the blackboard and then walked over to his desk, sitting down and staring at a snow globe lying in wait upon it. It looked like a new one to her, one he had acquired on his little business trip. His face had an inscrutable quality while staring at the globe in his hands, and yet she chose to scrutinize it, believing she was safe from where she was standing and would not be seen.

"You can enter, Miss Calculations," House instructed out of the blue, his head never lifting to look at her but staying firmly on the globe inside of his grasp.

Not so safe, afterall, Steph thought ruefully.

Swallowing harshly, she fully entered their classroom, immediately going towards her desk, the penitent student still fearful of a suspension or ruler lashing. She loathed how her chair sounded on the floor as she pulled it out, some noise akin to that of chalk screeching on the blackboard, but while she cringed, House just sat staring at her, as frozen now as the world inside of the globe now that the snowfall had ceased.

Sitting now, Steph believed she might owe him the courtesy of meeting his gaze, at least, although she was mortified slightly by the thought.

What if the somewhat fine enough mood he'd adopted when he'd left her last night had suddenly evaporated?

What if he'd run it through his algorithms and now she was more of a liability than an asset to his plan?

Forget about when she was at Vault-Tec and he was here (a worry that now shamed her because it sounded too much like she was in love with him), what would she do if he terminated his plan with her entirely and threw her out?

What if he never wanted to see her again?

All these fears were stirring turbulently inside of her soul, as she stared into his eyes, but there was really only one fact she could not escape from, no matter what happened to her after its fulfillment.

She was about to receive a lecture.

And probably a pretty unpretty one at that.

House was still staring at her, his eyes, dark inpenetrable.

Now he was placing his hands on his desk, the fingers interlocking while he refused to say a single word, Steph's guts feeling like they were doing their own bit of locking, a horrible feeling of tightness she couldn't fight herself free from.

It was going to happen any second now, he was going to give her a blast, just really let her have it, his sense of betrayal rejuvenated after a night's sleep, or lack of once.

Taking a breath, House opened his mouth and then...

And then the words he chose were ones she had never associated with a lecture before in her life.

"I wish to apologize to you, Stephanie."

She was stunned, sitting at her desk and feeling like one must feel when, either a huge joke was in the midst of being played on them, or a bullet had just gone whizzing by their head.

"You want to apologize to me?" she stated, resisting the urge to actually point at herself.

House nodded and then rose to his feet, walking to the other side of his desk and talking the whole way. "Don't get me wrong, your actions were once again petty, foolish and spiteful, I suspect they were more to defy me than because you really wished the end results, never a wise choice."

He had reached the front of the desk and now leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest as he met her eyes full on once more. "And yet, I do accept some responsibility. For one, you would never have accomplished anything, learning the securitron's routine, scaling the 38's wall, if it had not been for the excellence of my lessons."

Oh brother, Steph thought, even when House was trying to be ingratiatingly modest he still managed to inflate his ego.

"I taught you too well, I fear."

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes, especially now that his own were focused directly on them.

"But...I also have been a little unreasonably strict in my handling of you. I should have expected you would inevitably revolt...you surprised me, Steph. Very few have managed that, and though it might sound peculiar, I thank you for it."

While she had never encountered any of the cleaning staff House hired to tend to the Lucky 38, be they human or mechanical, Steph was positive that now she was inevitably going to since they would likely have to come scrap her off of the room's hardwood floor.

"I don't know what to say," she replied, her heart fluttering oddly.

"Say you forgive me."

Her cheeks feeling red hot, Steph nodded shyly and said, "You're forgiven."

House studied her intently then nodded as he said, "Good."

They were staring at each other again, the sole people in the room, let alone probably the entire building, and Steph was feeling that the air conditioning system must have been on the blink, considering how warm she suddenly felt.

"So what do I learn today?" she asked, needing a relief from the silence, which was heavy but not as much as House's always enigmatic gaze.

"I think we need to go back to a basic," he stated, leaving the desk to walk to the cleared blackboard. "One you have failed to exploit, potentially because I did not impress upon you the full extent of what it meant."

At the blackboard, he grabbed a piece of chalk and started to write down this simple sentence: Anything you want.

"Steph, I am perfectly aware of the inequality of our rather unique partnership. However, I believe that you have not realized that I am completely good for, and capable of, living up to my word...that means when I promised you anything you wanted I meant..." With a forceful stroke, one which still did not elicit an annoying screech for his amazing smoothness, Robert House underlined the first word he had written.

Anything.

He turned to study her again, and for the length and import behind his eyes, Steph felt like she was missing something he wanted her to know.

"I...I'm sorry...I don't understand," she said, her voice meek and mild to even her own stunned ears.

House left the board and grabbed another desk lying in the corner of the room. Easily, he brought it to Steph's own and placed it directly infront of it. Instead of using it for its intended use, however, House sat directly on it, facing his student and able to look down at her from its taller height.

"You wanted to go see the latest Cooper Howard film, correct? I wouldn't let you out of the 38. In retaliation, you first had a pout and then staged your own little revolt, that might have cost you your life, and me my plan, I might point out. What you failed to do was find an alternative. Alternatives can help you reach your more valuable goal, even if it admits a certain concession."

Steph continued to stare at him, not getting the full drift of his words.

House took another deep breath and forged onward. "You forgot my promise to you, Stephanie, and have also undervalued your own ingenuity at getting what you want. You had another possible solution always within your reach, but your mind is still so set on its everyday trajectory you failed to seize the opportunity presented."

Steph fumbled, feeling insulted again, and still not wholly understanding what he was getting at. "Which was?" she asked, her face burning for entirely different reasons now.

House smirked, "Which, my dear Miss Calculations, is: if I would not let you go to the Fremont, you should have demanded that I bring the Fremont to you instead."

Her brows furrowed, her mouth back in a pout as she tried to understand what he meant. It was impossible for House to actually bring the Fremomt theater there, brick by brick, it was far too large and that would take time. But if he...

Her mouth fell open, but eventually her lips pulled it shut again as they curled into a disbelieving smile. "You aren't being serious?"

Folding his arms for a second time, Mr. House nodded, his smile dry and nowhere near as wide as hers. "You have my utmost assurance, I am."

Steph started to laugh at her desk, and it eventually dwindled down into a giggle. "That's not too much of an inconvenience," she suddenly inquired.

House unfolded his arms again, placing his hands at the desk's edge instead, and looked at the ceiling, as if begging for strength. "Steph, I am afraid you are too naive and precious in your requests. You are afraid to inconvenience me, while I am planning on inconveniencing you for what basically amounts to the rest of your life, that includes both before and presumably after the war. Inconvenience me, by all of your means take advantage of me, just never request anything that jeopardizes our mission!"

Steph thought his reasoning, like usual was sound, even if it reminded her with full force of what she had gotten herself into. The rest of her life had been sold to this man: suddenly it didn't seem like being too much of a bitch to be creative and taxing in what she asked for in return.

If that was only being fair, then she might as well go a bit further with it.

"Can I have something else then?" she asked, sitting up straight. "Something besides the Fremont?"

"Name it?"

"How about new sheets?" she asked rather dantily. "Mine are a little messy and I seemed to have used up all of yours."

There was a beat before his response.

Robert House began to laugh, a dry, hard, almost mirthless sound, admittedly, but a laugh nonetheless. It was a laugh, that Steph gingerly joined in on, but only when she thought it was safe enough to.

* * *

It took about thirty minutes for House to make good on his promise of new bedsheets (having foreseen the need for them when he'd apparently found them missing elsewhere inside of the 38 and already had them on order) and about a week and a half on his one to bring the Fremont to the casino.

Stephanie could hear it, the sound not the construction of an army of securitons this time, but something else.

Something just for her.

A fact that made her smile and whistle throughout the buildings hallways, wherever she went, feeling about as special as a lunar eclipse that rained gold.

She might have actually felt grateful to House, except for the fact that he himself had reminded her it was what she only deserved anyway.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Besides, the man now being back, had lost no time in reminding her of what he was like.

An insufferable, pompous, know-it-all jerk.

Why had she thought that she would even miss him when she left for California and Vault-Tec? Ha! It would be a blessing to not have to see his smirking, overly familiar face every day.

She must have been drunk to have felt any other way.

He reminded her of this fact when when, ten days after his return, they were in the middle of a karate lesson and he was already finding fault with every single thing she did. No kick was perfect, nor any punch. She felt like she could do no right in his eyes and it put her in a bad mood real quickly. He'd started these lessons the day of his instruction for her to be more creative in her demands, and Steph felt like it was motivated by both of their residual feelings of anger and resentment. Perhaps, House believed it was best to get it all out in sessions of physical training, ones where they could actually unleash on each other, yet for a reason.

Everything had a reason when it came to what House did.

It was exceedingly vexing.

They were in their matching white Gi, House's always seeming pristine, as if he wasn't so human as to even sweat, while hers clung to her damp body.

She had kicked a second too late and too low to be effective, and he had punished her for it by sweeping her leg, thus sending her sprawling to the floor.

"You aren't precise enough," he stated in annoyance as she propped herself up on the mat, looking upwards into his glaring, unpleased face. "You'd be incapacitated and caught if they discovered you."

"Well, sorry," she mockingly apologized. "I suppose with this short of time at it, I should be tournament ready by now."

He paused, considered it and then remarked, "You're right. I should consider who I am working with and not raise my hopes so high."

Ohhhhh, Steph glowered on the floor. He was a piece of work.

She got to her feet and saucily strolled over to where her water bottle was waiting.

"Get back here," House instructed. "We're not done yet."

"I'm thirsty," Steph replied through a mouthful of water. "Besides, my ass is telling me we're finished if it has to break my fall another time today."

She swallowed and took another big swig, only to find House staring at her as she turned to face him.

"Speaking of finished, the Fremont is done," House revealed.

"Yippee," she declared, hiding her genuine excitement.

After analyzing her again, House inquired, "I wanted to know if you would attend the showing of the latest Cooper Howard film with me tonight? I know you've seen it already, but I haven't had the pleasure yet."

"Not even when you were in Hollywood?" Stephanie asked, loathing how tight her voice sounded.

House restrictively shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Business would not allow it."

"Business?" she repeated, her eyes rolling.

"You might still doubt it, but yes, business," House returned, sounding irritated. "But I have the evening free tonight and I am fond of Cooper Howard's work, in general. Would you do me the honor of joining me? You can tell me, what you think of the end result of your request."

Steph scowled, visions of House stepping out with his starlet still flashing through her mind. Still, she was curious about how the film ended, or, at least, that was what she told herself. She wouldn't bother telling House that she had left before the film's second act with Dean Domino, enjoying the idea that House might fear she'd spoil the ending for him.

"Sure," Steph said, dabbing at the sweat on her face. "I think my calendar's clear tonight."

House bowed. "That's a sign of respect," he stated and then teased drolly, "But then you'd know all about that before I brought you over here."

Steph rolled her eyes, stepping back onto the mat. "Ha ha. Now are you ready to beat my butt again, Bert? Or, at least, to point out all of my mistakes? You're very good at it."

"Better at it than you are at learning from them," he rebuffed, instantly knocking her off of her feet again.

As she lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, Steph wondered when she had become a masochist? Was going to see a movie with Robert House bound to be much different than this? He'd probably spend the whole film criticizing everything,  from the acting to the plot to the sets.

How much fun would that be?

Consider it business, she thought.

That was what House most likely would be seeing it as.

* * *

Though he'd given her directions on where to go, the truth was Steph had heard the noises inside of the Lucky 38 for so long she could have found her way blindfolded.

Why she'd bothered dressing up for it was another mystery, however.

Because she had the chance to go without wig and heavy makeup?

Because she could actually be herself for tonight?

So dressed up in a pretty pink dress, the types the movie stars wore, her hair looking golden, sleek and yet still soft, Steph had walked in a pair of matching heels down to the specified place at the alloted time, only to find House, dressed in a tuxedo which made him look like an A list actor, lying in wait for her at the bottom of the staircase.

He didn't say a word, but looked her over and was so genuinely pleased, that Steph felt the parts of her body that were exposed turn an even darker shade of pink than her dress was. House offered her his arm and they made the rest of the journey together to where the Fremont-hidden-inside-of-the-Lucky 38 was ready and waiting for them.

Steph's eyes enlargened in shock, something she immediately tried to hide from House. How he had managed to make a virtual replica (on a smaller scale, of course) of the Fremont, in such a short time, astounded her. Everything looked almost the same, except for the fact that it wasn't sitting on the Vegas strip but inside of the casino now unopened to the public.

Even as they went inside, Steph recognized the concession stand she had bypassed on her girl's night out. This time, House was the one who insisted they visit it, ordering the concession worker, a securitron, to serve them up a large bucket of popcorn and two drinks (a Nuka cola and a ginger ale), before seeing them off without rendering a payment and with a jovial, "Enjoy the film!" besides.

"Good help is hard to find," House remarked, handing her the bucket and a drink. "It's much easier to make."

She might have had a snappy comeback for him, but he'd opened the cinema doors by then and she now saw that what he had managed on the outside had been repeated inside too. Before her lay an exact duplicate of the Fremont, so much so that she was having flashbacks to her dilemma of where to sit, even though this Fremont was empty save for House and herself.

Oh, it was perfect!

And that he had done it for her was what thrilled Steph the most.

"Do you like it?" he asked, as if reading her thoughts.

"It's okay," she replied nonchalantly.

They walked down the aisle, House eventually asking, "Now where to sit?"

Steph pointed to a seat in the middle of the middle row, and when House wasn't looking because he was going in that direction, zipped down the aisle to the row at the front. She only looked over her shoulder at him once she'd sat down, and that was only to throw him her own version of a little smug smirk while she ate some of the popcorn.

Now settled in his seat, House just lit a cigarette and sat back, as if he had been expecting her deceit all along.

Steph turned back to face the theater screen, tossing another handful of popcorn into her mouth, some being caught on her tongue.

When the picture started, and the lights dimmed, House called out once, "Would the woman in the front row please duck down? I'm getting a glint off of her hair. It's terribly distracting."

For a second time, Steph turned around, throwing the actual popcorn at House this time, whom only leaned back to turn his full attention to the screen. Steph did the same, sitting up straighter in a chair that even felt like the ones at the Fremont had.

Even though she had not necessarily enjoyed it the first time, Steph found the movie far more palatable the second time around. Of course, it might have been the whole conceit that how she was actually watching it this time around was of her own making.

Or it could have been the fact that House was only a few rows behind her, puffing away on his cigarette, and with his presense, giving her no reason to actually miss him.

It made for a rather fun enough experience.

Despite her belief that he'd spend most of the movie nitpicking it, the few glances she threw back at House always found him watching the screen in a state of pure rapture. He seemed mesmerised by the bit of Hollywood make believe, more enraptured than she had ever seen him before, besides when he was admiring his beloved snow globes.

He also seemed to be moving up a row each time she stole a glance, the screen pulling him closer, until she realized, as the film neared its ending, that he was directly in the row behind her, the scent of smoke even stronger now.

The villan defeated, Steph wondered why her boss seemed somewhat satisfied with the act. Did he fail to see traces of himself in the bad guy? His wealth, ego, ruthlessness and his overall greed? She guessed it flew right over his inflated head, never once seeing that men like him were being mocked in the type of films he obviously loved.

Instead he just ignorantly accepted it and seemed well pleased.

He was less impressed with the love scene at the end, however.

When it got to the part where the rancher's daughter and Cooper Howard declared their love for each other, then and only then did his criticisms finally come into play.

"That about washes as much as the water they bathe the hogs in," he snorted. "I don't understand why they always insist on wrecking a perfectly good film by adding that nonsense at the tail end of it."

"You didn't buy the romance?" Steph asked, taking her eyes from off the screen to look directly at House.

"No. I don't buy any love story. I don't buy love. Certainly not as the grand end goal they always present it as."

"Well, what about you and your starlet or starlets...whichever you saw when you were down in Hollywood?"

House met her gaze and held it, thoroughly nonplussed. "Stephanie, as I have already told you, I need to keep up appearances. I already achieved what I needed from Jane quite a while ago. However, I needed to see Bud Askins while in the city, he wanted to show me his 'Bud's Buds' project in person, and even he would have thought it invariably odd if I wasn't spotted with my favorite actress while there."

"You got what you needed from her?" Steph repeated feeling both pleased by his words and disgusted. "What exactly?

House smirked and took another drag from his cigarette. "A digitalized copy of her brain patterns. I don't intend to spend an eternity of ruling New Vegas with the actual decaying model by my side, but her brain patterns vigorously controlled inside of a securitron should work out nicely."

"You're warped," Steph commented, after a few seconds of staring at him with her mouth hanging open. She turned back to face the screen, fishing some popcorn out of the bucket, though it was nearing the bottom of it now and was mostly kernels.

House surprised her by leaning forward and getting a handful for himself. For Jane's sake, she hoped he crunched down and instantly found out for himself that he was too late for the good stuff.

Howard and the girl were still on the screen making their drawn out declaration and it suddenly left her feeling more annoyed than it previously had. "So if you don't believe in love what do you believe in?" Steph asked, not bothering to turn around to look at her "date".

"Companionship, partnership, attraction, compatibility," House answered. "Those things can be counted on."

"Hmph," Steph sounded.

"I love you," Cooper Howard stated, looking deep into the eyes of the daughter of the rancher.

"I love you, too" whispered back the ingenue, her eyes full of a not entirely feigned adoration.

The two lovers began to kiss and House leaned forward in the row behind her, resting an arm on the back of the chair beside Steph's own, the cigarette casually held between his fingers.

"I can promise you, my dear Steph, I'd never use those words, even if I did fall in love," Robert House stated, his voice as cynical and devoid of warmth as always. Steph took her eyes off of the film's supposed big emotional payoff to stare at her boss' face as it was illuminated by the bright light of the projector. "Those words are so ordinary, made cheap with their overuse. They really mean nothing these days. No, if I fell in love, I would use an entitely different set of three words."

"And what would those be?" Steph asked, her heart in her throat.

"Come with me," House answered, his eyes still on the screen and reflecting the image of the two lovers in an embrace.

When Steph managed to tear her eyes away from House's face, which had not looked at her once during his confession, it was to find the words "The End" sprawled out on the screen before it faded to black.

She suddenly felt like it was the second time she'd missed fully seeing the end of the film, although she'd never admit that to House.

Hearing his rising to his feet behind her, ready to lead her away from the faux Fremont, Steph felt tears coming to her eyes, although the movie's ending had been a happy and not sad one. Her eyes must have become dry, sitting too near to the screen, she reasoned.

"Now that you've had another night at the movies, I hope that need has been properly fulfilled and can be struck off the list. You can request any film you'd like to see from now until you are sent to California, when, if all goes as planned, Bud will bring you to see them all. Till then, my wish is your command," House informed, his fingers at work refastening the buttons on his tuxedo's jacket, even though they hadn't come loose. "Now, if I can escort you back to your room, I would consider it another honor."

The theater seemed dark and empty before the young woman spoke.

"Yes," Steph replied, blinking away the unexplained tears from her eyes, and trying not to think about how much the request had sounded like a boy offering to walk the girl he liked home.

Unfortunately, the Lucky 38, was destined to never be a home which actually belonged to her.

Chapter Text

House now having returned, animosities and resentments somewhat smoothed over, things fell into routine at the Lucky 38, with Steph now basically taking advantage of House's "Anything You Want" instruction.

If a day turned up where she felt like ice cream, the billionaire might as well have had a cow somewhere stashed on the premises, one that had been milked that very morning with a maid to churn the outcome in time for the afternoon, because it was waiting in a bowl at her table by lunch, fresh and tasting absolutely delicious.

She had clothes flown in from the fashion magazines she'd read out of boredom following her lessons with House, and had attended several films (both old and new) at her very own replica of the Fremont, sometimes with him present as her sole company, or sometimes bluntly refusing if the film wasn't his taste.

Fresh cut flowers (whatever she was in the mood for) adorned her bedroom (the bed now wearing sheets of silk) and several times she had the carpet completely covered in rose petals so she could walk through them in her bare feet, if only for the experience. She enjoyed the way they felt when they fell between her toes, and had left both feet smelling very pretty when she'd slipped a fresh pair of white cotton socks over them.

On rare occassion, she was even let outside of the old casino to walk around it, but always with a securitron present and never when the traffic reports complained of conjestion on the Vegas Strip.

It was an easy life, besides the lessons and House's usual critiques, but after a while, like the cut flowers in her suite, the novelty began to wilt and Steph found herself becoming bored with it all.

Even if she kept thinking of new "demands" for House to give her.

Part of it was done, she feared, to impress him more than her own wish fulfillment. She was trying to keep him satisfied and make him present her with that little pleased nod he would whenever she had thought of something particularly creative. Maybe the problem was, and always had been, that now she could have anything she wanted, she'd discovered that she possessed very simple tastes. She often thought back of her childhood, and how all she had needed was a particularly sweet tune playing from a music box, or the little spinning ballerina which sometimes accompanied them, to bring a giggle of delight to her.

She didn't think House was much different, not when his stupid old snow globes had relatively the same effect on him.

But could she ever make a man like Robert House understand that on a primary level?

She doubted it when he seemed to enjoy throwing his wealth and standing around.

It was sad, but she'd found herself almost waiting in excitement to put all of her lessons to use...some part of her couldn't actually wait until she spied on Bud Askins!

During another of her many self defense courses, back in a Gi she was managing to not dirty up with her sweat too much these days, seeing as though she actually was improving, House apparently sensed her general impatience and ennui, for he announced, remarkably out of the blue, "You're lessons are almost complete. I think it's just in time too. You're beginning to look like a winning race horse chomping straight through the bit."

Ignoring the comparison to a horse, Steph gave a semi kick to the mat with a foot that still bore residual whiffs of rose petals and tried to find some solace in the statement that it wouldn't be long until she was done with her tedious routine.

Except...

That meant being away from Robert House.

Which really shouldn't be a minus, but rather a major plus.

Only she'd gotten rather used to him.

Which was probably, like his isolation of her, just another abuse tactic...

Only he wanted her gone...

So it couldn't be.

Odds were he'd never miss her as much as she would wind up missing him.

To counter the negative spin her thoughts were taking, Steph held her head up and suddenly replied, "That's great because I'm getting super bored with all of this."

She hoped he would construe that to include his arrogant ass too.

"Even having your every wish catered to?" House inquired.

Steph sighed, her shoulders rising and falling. "To be honest...yeah, even with that part."

The man looked well pleased. "Good. Subsequently, take that away as one of your most invaluable lessons."

"What?" she demanded, her impatience on clear display now.

House smirked. "Only the precious few, whom have the power to have had their deepest material desires answered, are wise enough to realize how unfulfilling and drab it soon becomes. Truth be told, Stephanie, if you hadn't come to the epiphany yourself, I may never have trusted you enough to go through with my plans, and would have likely aborted my mission entirely."

If only, Steph fumed, if only she could keep the moments like this one, where House was being an overintelligent, inhuman, gloating, egomaniac, bottled up like a Nuka Cola, she could take it out to sip when needed and never, NEVER, run the risk of ever, EVER actually missing the man.

"You could discard me that fast?" she asked, walking directly up to him.

He looked past her shoulder, giving it some minor thought. "I wouldn't use the word 'discard' per se," he mused, his eyes finding hers near the end of the statement. "You would have been properly compensated, I'd say, in experiencing a luxury few have in their lifetimes and I would have insured that any work you might have sought or desired in Vegas was instantly yours."

"How about when the world ended?" Steph took an inch of a step closer, her hands resting on her hips. "Would you have bought me a place in one of those stupid vault things?"

His eyes were still fixed on hers. "I'm afraid, that would have compromised any future plans I'd need to reformulate, so, no, I couldn't have dared risked it," he answered without blinking even once.

Steph momentarily looked down, seeing that they were still on the mat, where House had once taught her that everything constituted as a fight and all moves were fair. Now really wasn't any different. He'd probably understood just how much his honesty would hurt her, and refused to pull a single punch in delivering the truthful blow.

She hated how he knew her so well.

How she had gotten to know him in return.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she commented.

Steph looked down at the mat again, displaying a sorrow he was probably eating up.

Good.

That way, she prayed, he would be looking at her face and not her hands.

Instantly, her right hand shot out, then her left, grabbing hold of Robert House's arm before he could even compute it.

"Ay Ya!" Steph called out, putting all of her hatred and frustration in the sound as she flipped her boss over her shoulder and on to the mat behind her.

Quickly, she turned around in time to see House lying there, confused and on his back, in the same position he usually found her. Smiling, Steph leaned over, her blonde hair flopping forward as she beamed down into the man's moustached face. "Consider that another lesson learned," she gloated, her hands cupping her knees.

House's face was calm once more, viewing her from what must have seemed an upside down sort of point of view. "Perhaps," he replied. "But not perfected."

Before she knew what was happening, or could properly defend herself, Steph felt House's strong hands grabbing her at the calves, taking hold of them and pushing them backwards, sending her spilling forward, her face on level with an embarrassing and yet thrilling area on House's own body, while her complimentary area was on line with his own head. Not that the arrangement lasted for long. He slipped out from under her almost like the snake his business rivals saw him as, and soon, Steph felt his body pressed against her back, his muscles too easily felt through his Gi.

"You're willing to play dirty, but not dirty enough."

She was breathing heavily, while House's own breath was perfectly even.

Using the difference in their sizes, her smallness allowing for some leeway, Steph slinked easily enough onto her back, so she could then stare directly up into his face, a smile just as easily slinking on to her own.

"Really?" she countered "Because I thought I played rather dirty when you pushed me under water in the tub that time..."

Her hand went to where her head had gone then, her eyes staying on his dark ones, all while her fingers suddenly pulled up, reaching for the obi of his Gi instead. Smoothly, she untied it, pulling it free so that it would open, should he choose to move against her. With her other hand, she had loosened her own, making that an inevitability for herself then as well. Her hand moved to House's cheek, her thumb stroking the cleanly shaven skin there, which would probably be showing signs of roughness in an hour or two.

"Did you like that?" she breathed, her lips close to his, arching her back to push her body further into his.

Just as he had done before, House ejected himself hastily and with skill from the whole situation.

And just as she had expected, his Gi fell open along the way, exposing his wonderfully muscled and tight stomach. In response, Steph stood as well, intentionally letting her own Gi open and reveal whatever it would then too. House didn't deny himself an analytical look at it all, however, his expression and attitude was still so infuriatingly detatched to Steph that she wanted to scream. A very good opportunity had presented itself, one where they both could have any of their other physical and mental frustrations resolved on the mat, and yet he refused to seize the chance, still keeping her at an arm's distance!

What was wrong with him?

Was he so unused to human interaction, even his body's natural responses as a man played no role in his life?

Sizing up the situation, House stood up straight, retying the obi and thus denying her the sight of his perfect physique. In time, he addressed her calm, cool and collected, while she stood their disheveled, hot and partially exposed, sweat dripping down her pale smooth skin before him like it was, at least, allowed to release the tears of frustration she was too proud to.

"I'm afraid you, still have one need left unsatisfied," he remarked, giving the belt one last good pull. "I am also sorry to see that you have confused business with pleasure."

Business with pleasure? Her confused? Hadn't he been pressing a little too closely? Hadn't his eyes dilated slightly when she had arched into him, so closely imitating something more personal than what he'd done with that girl Jane up in Hollywood, during his last visit?

"You're the one who's confused," Stephanie retorted, tying her own obi back up. "You've mistaken teasing for honest interest. Apparently, you're so socially inadequate and without friends you don't understand a little playful mockery."

She meant the wound her words might cause, remembering his behavior on the staircase, and she succeeded, even if it felt like a somewhat empty victory.

"How witty of you," he commented, but his tone betrayed he considered it anything but.

Apparently, they were now like the obis to their Gis: tied.

To her surprise, House wasn't wholly finished with his comment though. "I do concede, however, that your little play was fitting in its contrariness to my request for tonight."

"Oh? And what would that be?" Steph inquired.

"You have seen fit to partially undress us; I ironically request that you put on your best evening dress for this evening."

"Are we going to the movies again?" she asked, somewhat hopeful for all of her annoyance.

"No, for tonight only, we will be dining in the Lucky 38's grand ballroom," he divulged. "Partially in celebration of your aptitude and success at your training. Mostly to display how proud I am of you."

Steph swallowed and swayed slightly on the mat, two acts that, no doubt, had not gone unobserved by Robert House. How she loathed him, how he could make her feel like, even when she had won just a little, he had still managed to defeat her.

In defense, she folded her arms and looked away, refusing to believe he had meant it as anything but another battle ploy.

They were both still standing on the mat afterall.

* * *

There was no warm pink dress wrapped on her slender body when she met Robert House that night. For this occasion, Stephanie had chosen a light blue affair, one far cooler to match her current mood. Her boss appraised her with the same amount of professional appreciation, however, failing to sense her intended chill. The tuxedo he wore appeared to be the same as the one he'd adorned for the Cooper Howard film. He offered her its sleeve, and his arm inside it, as he intended to sweep her into the ballroom, but Steph was intent on keeping her feet firmly on the ground.

It proved to be slightly more difficult, however, when she saw how fancily the ballroom had been decorated for the celebration of her, complete with streamers, balloons and glitter. It was a beautiful room to begin with, all white, cream and gold and the enhancement was done to compliment rather than detract. What surprised her even more was the inclusion of a band there, constructed of actual living and breathing human beings and not robots. Each of the band members had been blindfolded with an electronic device of House's own design it seemed, one which probably helped to somewhat muffle their ears as well.

"They can't see us that way," House gently leaned forward to whisper into her ear. "And any musician who couldn't play, even if he was blinded, isn't worth his instrument, I surmise. They probably walked in here thinking you are a married woman I am planning to seduce. I won't correct them of their error."

"You're so kind," Steph replied coldly.

House led her to a table, set and ready for two, sole diners, complete with a stunning arrangement of flower and ice at its center. A swan had been carved from the former, lying in a bed of red roses which surrounded it like a tiny pond. Sometimes a bead of water landed on a petal, looking like the morning dew had kissed the rose.

Pulling out the chair for her, Steph would not look at House as she reluctantly sat down on it, wanting to remain as frosty towards him as the frozen bird at the center of the table.

"I hope you don't mind, but I already ordered our individual meals for us," he informed, "It will help save time."

"Suit yourself," Steph remarked, her eyes focused on the band and not the man. "I'll leave on the plate what I don't like."

Her statememt proved harder to live by when every single dish that was served (all by securitrons, of course, blindfolded waiters finding it more difficult to maneuver tables than musicians did playing their instruments) proved to be too delicious, and too much to her liking, not to eat all of it at once. Once again, House had calculated perfectly everything she would like or want and all she could do was shoot herself in the foot if she wanted to defy or deny him. His own meal was consumed in between giving her what equaled as an oral report card, one listing her skills and accomplishments as well as his many various quibbles with her.

Steph much preferred listening to the band.

"You still have a tendency to talk back, which will lesson your appeal in Bud's overly sensitive eyes," House remarked at the tail end of his report. "But I'll mark that down to your attitude towards your current company and that your behavior will change while in his presence."

She finished the sip of wine she was enjoying, glancing stealthily as House reached over for his own glass.

Dessert almost finished, a truly remarkable torte of the freshest raspberries on the whitest, crispest crust she'd ever tasted, Steph could sense House staring at her, although she kept her eyes on the fork slicing through the torte, and how the juice of the fruit resembled blood on pale skin.

"Will you miss it here?" Robert Edwin House inquired suddenly, both out of the blue and boldly.

It was just the sort of uncomfortable question she'd been avoiding thinking of.

"I guess," she replied with a shrug, bringing the pierced dessert to her lips.

"It might surprise you, but I will miss you," House confessed almost softly, disregarding her apathy. "This place has become interesting while you were here."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth then Steph felt in danger of choking on a piece of torte. She only saved herself in the nick of time and then hid the way her jaw wished to drop by dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

"You have to be lying to me," she accused, once out of harm's way.

"No, I am being completely honest," House assured soberly. "I've been on my own here since I first aquired the 38. I have grown accustomed to seeing your face haunting it."

Steph wasn't sure what to say.

Her head was too busy trying to process what she was feeling to busy itself with thinking up a response.

She knew she was no longer as incensed as she had been seconds before.

Her heart, infact, had melted like the swan eventually would when given the proper amount of time.

Earlier in the day, House had merely been speaking from experience when he'd arrogantly told her that he'd been counting on her losing interest in having all of her wishes granted. He wasn't some genie inside of a bottle, having manipulated her into anything, but rather was the voice of wearied experience. He respected her enough, on some lower level at least, to hope she would eventually find out for herself what he had discovered years past.

It was sad really in a way.

There he was the richest man in Vegas, envied by millions of working men and women, and yet nothing exited him anymore, except envisioning the end of the world, one where he could play savior to the city he viewed as his sole refuge.

Vegas was his very own damsel in distress and he longed to play her hero.

How romantic it all was on a deeply distressing level.

Feeling her eyes starting to water like the ice swan sculpture, Steph now took her napkin to daub at them instead of her lips.

"Are you crying?" House asked.

She could lie, she knew, but what was the point? He'd just see through that too. It was ironic, House was the one whom seemed made of ice, yet she was the one whom had always seemed transparent to him, never the other way around. "Yes," she replied, putting down the napkin and trying to offer him her sweetest most genuine smile. "I lied before...I was just thinking about how much I really will miss this place too...and you."

Shyly, she looked down at her nap, where another napkin had been resting.

House studied her, reached for his wine glass and smugly took a drink of it. "You are a thoroughly charming woman. A man like Bud Askins doesn't stand a chance against you."

Once again, even when she should feel victorious, House always had a way of leaving her defeated.

"Thanks," Steph said, trying not to remoisten dried tears at the realization that he obviously did not include himself in such a category as this Askins.

The band switched songs now, the old one ending as the new one began and distracting her from her sorrow.

Steph recognized it immediately...

The Blue Danube Waltz.

One of her grandfather's music boxes had played just that tune, and the man had taught her to dance to it when she had been no taller than his knees and had needed to stand on his feet to learn the steps.

Her mind more on the music than her reservations of looking like a childish fool, Steph suddenly rose, taking hold of Robert House's hand, formerly at rest on the table, and trying to pull him to his feet by it. "Let's dance," she eagerly invited, whilst her intended partner remained seated.

"I don't waltz," House stated, looking, slightly, just slightly, caught off guard by the request.

"You think that matters?" Steph asked, close to laughing with nostalgia and with even more effort spent on trying to get him onto the ballroom floor. "I'll do all of the dancing, you just stand there if you want."

If it was her words, strength or his willingness that brought Robert House to his ever polished shoes, she did not know. Still, he slipped into place before her, with some trepidation, yet still agreeing to the dance.

"Here and here," Stephanie instructed, placing his hands where they should be and feeling a surge of power from being the instructer now while her professer was the unlearned one. 

Gradually, she began to move them across the empty floor, her gliding act far more a part of the actual waltz than her partner's contribution, whom still managed to follow her well enough, though his focus remained more on watching her than particularly perfecting the craft.

"You have very good timing," he remarked after a minute or two's worth of observation. "Is that something you picked up from your father's business?"

"Mmm hmmm...maybe," she answered, letting herself become lost in the moment of the music and being in House's arms. "I learned to dance from a music box...with my grandfather. Then my father, well, he thought I had some talent and used a little of our nest egg on lessons for me."

"Money well spent, it seems."

A tinge of melancholy seized the daughter of the music box maker as she confessed, "I was a fast learner and it was fortunate: the nest egg broke shortly after that."

House was looking down at her with as much compassion as he could muster. "Fitting. That's why you move as delicately as if you're on egg shells. I, on the other hand, waltz like I'm the one who broke the eggs in the first place."

"You're not bad, for someone who doesn't know how to dance," she smiled warmly at him. "I worked for a time at a taxi dance hall, I should know: I nearly lost my toes from all the times the guys stomped on them."

House smiled wrly, "Better for us all that, afterwards, you only lost your clothing."

Steph rolled his eyes at the misguided attempt at humour but continued to enjoy the dance and the feeling of the man so close to her.

She could have danced forever, Steph believed then, be it with a pair of red shoes to clash with her dress or from her own willpower. Anything to stay there forever at the 38 and with Robert House.

Unfortunately, fate must have read her thoughts, as it often did, and saw fit to remind her of her complete lack of control or sway with it.

"I had prepared to oversee, if not participate, in your dance instructions," House remarked suddenly. "They were to be your last piece of training, but, unfortunately, that will have to be delayed indefinitely, while more fortunately you already seem to be skilled at dance regardless."

Of course, he'd be thinking of business at a beautiful time like this, Steph thought, ready to shake her head in annoyance until the full weight and import of his words dawned upon her. "Delayed indefinitely? Why?"

House's gaze was steadier now, more assured, while they continued to waltz across the floor. "I am afraid, an opportunity has presented itself that is too good to resist. Of course, it creates a major disruption to my previous schedule but with my recalibrations, I have been able to seize the chance to better suit our plans."

"You're sending me to California early," Steph stated, her knees feeling weak and grateful that House, at least, had her in his grip.

"No. I'm afraid that is what has changed. I'm not sending you to California, but if we work it precisely, you will wind up there and at Vault-Tec's main office nonetheless."

"Well, if I'm not going there, where the hell am I going?" Steph demanded, stopping the dance and only then realizing that the music had stopped along with it, another move that seemed perfectly timed.

To help further prevent the orchestra from hearing his words, Robert House pulled Stephanie close to him, causing a shudder to run through her body at his closeness and the nearness of his lips to the sensitive skin of her ear. "I'm sending you to Massachusetts tomorrow," he whispered, his voice sharp and like a dagger piercing her heart with each well formulated and blood chilling syllable. "One of the star attractions of the ever tacky Nuka-World was brutally murdered three nights ago and they are now looking for a replacement. Congratulations, my dear Miss Calculations...you're to be the new Nuka-Girl."

Chapter Text

NEXT NUKA-GIRL NOW NEEDED AS NOW NUKA-GIRL NAUSEATINGLY NIXED AT NUKA-WORLD!

Leevee Malone

Boston, Massachusetts. The latest model used for the Nuka-Girl, the face and worldwide representative for the famous Nuka-Cola beverage, was found murdered this past Wednesday morning when a worker for Nuka-World found her body outside one of the amusement park's most popular attractions.

Though few details have been released to the press (as of yet), we have heard that the cause of death was highly unusual and distressing, though lacking in any real blood to report.

No suspects have been identified, though, Detective Nick Valentine (lately transferred from the Chicago Police Department to that of the Boston department, under his own hush hush circumstances) has stated that he will not rest until the killer is captured and justice has prevailed. We assume that means Detective Valentine will be taking a reprieve from his previous pressing case (whatever that might be) to investigate this more public one!

The Nuka-Girl had been set to embark on a new press campaign in a few weeks, a campaign rumoured to feature one of Hollywood's hottest celebs (unfortunately, probably not Cooper Howard since he usually shuns endorsements other than those his wife recommends. What a dutiful husband!) and we're certain her legion of fans will be disappointed and yet comforted by the fact that we have been assured a suitable replacement is bubbling to the surface.

Certainly, it's a job to die for!

When approached by the press, Nuka-Cola Corporation founder and creator of Nuka-World, John-Caleb Bradberton, seemed rather distressed by the whole ordeal, exclaiming, "Life is so short and fleeting! I must, I mean we, must make sure to make it last for as long as possible and then savor it forever like a sip of Nuka-Cola!"

We, at the Las Vegas Times, couldn't agree with him more! Go out and buy a Nuka-Cola today!

~

Fingernails inside of her mouth, teeth biting down on them and making a mess of their previous printine, polished and painted state, Steph finished reading the article for what must have been the fiftieth time, trying to ease her mind about what had been troubling her ever since last night, after House had informed her that she was set up be the replacement for the old, now expired, Nuka-Girl.

She could pretend that she was horrified over the poor girl's death and concerned for her family and those whom loved her now left behind.

She could even say she was on edge about the news of her soon-to-be departure from the 38 and the fact that the job brought certain dangerous risks along with it.

But no.

It wasn't any of those.

The morning after what was meant to be a little respite from her grueling lessons and some positive reinforcement for all that she'd done, what was truly worrying her now was that her boss had had something to do with the whole grisly affair of the last Nuka-Girl's sudden termination.

And the really odd thing was, Steph couldn't even quite pinpoint the exact moment this fear had begun.

"But what does Bud Askins have to do with Nuka Cola!" she'd demanded of House in exasperation, after the band had been dismissed and the ballroom was empty save for them, the perfect opportunity for them to discuss her being wrapped up and shipped out all the way to Boston in a few hours in how ever loud a voice that they wished. "I fail to see what a cola company has to do with a company that sells vaults!"

"First, what you haven't learned yet, Stephanie, what I did not have time to teach you, is that all of the major corporations, and I do mean all of them, from a manufacturer of measley paper clips to those that design the arms for those up in Washington, are connected in some way, as either allies or enemies," House had replied, sitting back cooly in his chair while she stood before him, overheated and feeling oddly like she had just been betrayed. "Maybe, I didn't bother educating you about that aspect, because I wanted you to remain a novice in the matters of how things operate, so you would seem properly naive enough to be convincing. However, now I can briefly inform you of the fact. Infact even RobCo and Nuka-World have formed a close partnership, both companies benefiting from it."

Steph folded her arms, a finger tapping on her bare skin. "That doesn't explain anything about Vault-Tec and Nuka-Cola though."

"Secondly," House went on, commonly ignoring her brief interruption as if it had never occurred. "You don't know Bud Askins either. He drinks Nuka Cola by the gallon. His veins might as well be pumping the stuff instead of blood and his own underlings joke that it's a good thing he has his own washroom,  so as not to keep theirs in constant use. Rumor has it, he's written a few love letters to this Nuka-Girl in the past, letters she never bothered to return. If you, as the new Nuka-Girl, are on the receiving end of Askins affections, however, I encourage you to become instant pen pals with the exec. It will make our job an easier one."

Steph sighed, living on the planet and thus being somewhat familiar with the old Nuka-Girl. "Won't he notice just a tiny bit that the object of his affection has upped and changed on him?"

House had smirked and deposited his cigarette's ash onto the plate he'd turned into a makeshift ashtray. "She wasn't even the first Nuka-Girl herself. There have been several by now, changing as soon as the best before date pops up. Consumers are such a fickle bunch.  Besides, Buddy boy's more into her as a product. Askins is one of those men whom they could switch actors on his favorite TV show and he'd just accept it. He's loyal as a dog in his own way, but to things and objects more than to people."

Staring at her employer, Steph had to wonder if he was much different from the focus of his current derision.

After having given another sigh, she half fell into her chair, the fancy ballroom dress now as seemingly deflated as her spirit.

The room now much quieter without the band, her thoughts easily had returned to her predecessor and the rather morbid reason of how she had left an opening for a new girl to take over her probably much coveted position.

"What happened to this girl anyway? You said she was brutally murdered? How? Why?"

House took a deep breath and leaned forward, virtually demolishing his cigarette as he pushed it forcefully into the plate. "Speaking of Askins having written her pathetic little letters of love, he naturally wasn't her only fan. She'd apparently had her fair share of admirers, a fair majority of whom were insane, probably from drinking all of that Nuka garbage. A few nights ago, one caught her outside of Fizztop Mountain and decided to showcase his love for her. He dipped her in a silver solution. Turns out, the police can eliminate all scientists and chemists from their list of suspects: The solution was off. While he thought she'd dry and harden quickly, all she did was suffocate. The Nuka-World janitor interrupted him during the wait and he managed to run off with only the briefest description garnered. Nuka-Girl was left behind, however."

"Oh my God," Steph whispered in horror.

House's eyebrows raised swiftly and fell in seeming agreement with her reaction. "John-Caleb Bradberton is actually considering finishing the haphazard job that her killer started and erecting her as an actual monument inside of his amusement park. Maybe a statue...Either that or an animatronic. He contacted RobCo to look into it for him."

"You wouldn't!" she scoffed.

House shrugged. "If the family agrees to it, I don't see why not. Besides, I am not in a hurry to sour our relations with the Cola Corporation."

"Corpse-o-ration more like it," she'd commented in outright disgust.

The man had snickered in wry amusement.

Stephanie had been left aghast by the whole tale, however, the delicious meal she had only just finished, including the wonderful torte, now churning around queasily in her stomach. "And you got me a job at that place?"

Like always, House had been viewing things from a purely business standpoint, aware of Nuka-Cola Corporation's popularity and stocks, and had read her question as that of a person whom had been impressed instead of repulsed. Rather self satisfied, he'd replied, "I managed to pull a few strings, knowing Bradberton personally, and having helped him out in the past. He was agreeable to the suggestion, especially seeing as though becoming the next Nuka-Girl will not be the most sought after of a job, what with a stalker still on the loose, no matter what the media may print."

"Well thanks for volunteering me!"

"You're welcome."

"I'm being sarcastic, Bert!" she'd then bluntly told him. "I'm not exactly thrilled about working at that freakshow now either!"

"Why not?" House had asked, genuinely surprised and incredulous.

She'd practically groaned before answering, "Because I don't want to end up a living statue either! I want to live long enough to see this end of the world event you keep talking about."

House had rolled his eyes, as obviously irritated with her ignorance as she was with his. As per routine, he'd resorted to verbal abuse to help himself vent. "The heart of the matter, like usual, has gone over your pretty little bleached head. While Askins adores any old Nuka-Girl, our on-the-lam lunatic fanatic was devoted to this one girl. You will be perfectly safe. I would not risk all of the time, money and effort I've spent on you, Stephanie, on this serious diversion of plan if I did not consider my investment secured."

"Well, that's a relief," she'd stated, her heart wounded that he was back to seeing her solely as a "project" after his earlier confession that he would miss her.

She had fallen back into her chair after that, her eyes roaming sadly around the now primarily deserted ballroom. The streamers still had been hanging, along with the still full, tight balloons, House's celebration of her acheivement on full display to Steph's unblindfolded eyes.

One other thing had been made perfectly clear to her then too.

The party was definitely over.

Now staring at the paper she'd requested House have brought to her doorstep this morning, sitting sideways on a chair, so her legs hung over its arm, Stephanie scanned it repeatedly for something to help eradicate the fear that had caused her to bolt up, dead awake in the middle of the night, its sheer diabolicalness something she could not clear from her mind on her own, a fact that had made it hard to fall back asleep until she had appeased the concern with the morning paper.

But what if the fear was true?

What if House had hired someone to kill this Nuka-Girl for him, thus making it easy to plant his little spy deep into the heart of Nuka-World, itself, getting one step closer to the intended target: Bud Askins, Nuka-Cola fiend?

She guessed everything had seemed too planned...

Like if this Askins dweeb really did drink that much Nuka-Cola, and had been crushing on all of the Nuka-Girls for this long, it just seemed too perfect for Robert House's grand scheme to be entirely coincidental.

He was the master of calculations afterall.

Far more masterful than she was at trying to figure things out just by reading a stupid newspaper.

She'd seen a movie once about this famous detective. Maybe Cooper Howard had played him, but she doubted it. One remembered Howard in a role and this character had an accent or some snooty inflection anyway, not the down home country charm of everyone's favorite cowboy. This detective was closer in personality to House, actually, but decidedly more British. In any case, though, he'd had a brother he'd claimed to be an even better detective than the genius he was. Something had been said about this other brother being able to solve a case just by reading a news article, only he didn't want to do any of the legwork involved to gather the necessary evidence, so he'd left that up to the brother.

At the time, she'd been fascinated, fully swallowing the possibility that such a genius could exist.

But now...

What a bunch of crap!

Reading the article about the Nuka-Girl murder, Steph believed it was absolutely impossible to play armchair detective.

Entirely ludicrous!

For one thing, you needed clues, and the paper hardly offered those. Not any that mattered anyway. So what some detective cutely called Valentine was looking into the case? And what did it matter he'd come to the area straight from Chicago? Big deal! She wanted to know about the Nuka-Girl's death! Not read a virtual advertisement for a soft drink! She needed big things not all conjectures and possibilities.

All it helped prove to her was that you couldn't go off on slight information and help solve a case, either confirming your worries or helping to clear them.

Unless you were Robert House maybe.

Only House claimed to manage such skills, and blindly put the faith in them that he could pull it all off, both predicting the end of the world and saving his precious Vegas besides.

And House having such an ability did absolutely nothing to quench her fears.

Meanwhile, she could read a newspaper article and only come away with the fact that the New Romans Times print, Times Roman or whatever the heck it was, was a rather nice font.

Steph set free a small yet forceful gust of wind from her lips, blowing some stray hair from out of her face.

Why, she couldn't even be certain that this really was the morning paper, and House hadn't prophesied her soon-to-be formed suspicion and had a false one printed freshly up for her eyes only just that morning.

She did exist in a tower shaped bubble afterall.

Throwing the paper on the floor, Steph sighed and slunk down into the chair even more.

She shouldn't have bothered with the paper or the mystery of Nuka-Girl's death at all. It had only led her to think about the two detective brothers, which had once again led her thoughts straight to House and his own estranged brother Anthony. That the paper had also featured an article on how the stock of H&H Tools was plummeting with rumours of the owners madness worsening, along with an ad in the very same paper declaring some sort of out of season clearance sale, had been an awful reminder of what Robert Edwin House was capable of.

Now that she was close to leaving the 38, she remembered her discussion with the youngest House brother on the day he had brought her to his very own personal Vegas tower. How calmly, how cruel, he had discussed his revenge on the only brother he had, the one whom had turned his back on him, along with stealing the family fortune and empire.

House had a vindictive idea of payback.

But he wasn't alone in this regard.

Painfully, Steph's thoughts went back unwillingly to the beggar woman she'd encountered outside of the restaurant the night of the fiasco with Dean Domino. It still worried her sometimes that it had been Miss Ann Thrope and that she had caused the woman's unintentional unravelling by getting her fired. The best moments came when she could momentarily convince herself it wasn't Thrope at all or forget the whole thing completely.

She wasn't sure she could live with herself if she knew she'd caused someone even as nasty as the conceited showgirl to stumble.

Could House do that to his own brother then? Cause his complete mental collapse to a point where the man would be as good as dead? Would House still be able to live with himself, if he became some modern day Cain?

And if he could, was a man so ruthless incapable then of such an act as murdering a cola corporation's token spokeswoman, especially when he saw the opportunity to get what he wanted out of it?

Steph's head fell back and she stared at the ceiling.

She wished to God that she could tell herself that, no, House hadn't had anything to do with the woman in Massachuchetts' murder, but even if she did, it would only be a lie, one as unhealthy for her to swallow as a can of Nuka-Cola.

* * *

Just as in the reverse to when she had first arrived at the Lucky 38, there was very little for Steph to pack before she went.

House was very strict on the fact that she was to bring nothing that could connect her to him, which negated the few mementos of her time at the 38. Nor was she to take anything that would outright tie to her time in Vegas at all. She resigned herself to take the few family trinkets that she'd brought to the strip when she'd first moved there, seeing these as being safe.

All else was contraband.

With her lessons halted, and only one suitcase to barely even fill, she was left with nothing else to do before House's own limo took her to the airport. Instead, she took to casually strolling around the casino, trying not to feel so melancholic that she'd probably never see it again.

At one point, she almost bumped into the securitron that had "shown" Dean Domino out of the building, still serving his boss happily by surveying the vacant halls.

"Vic?" she'd asked almost shyly, blushing and afraid that the robot might remember her and the dubious sitiuation their mutual boss had found her in that night.

"Why, hello there, pretty lady," Victor had greeted. "Steph, am I right?"

Her smile grew, shocked that he knew her name. "Yes...but how did you know that?"

"Aww shucks, I know all about you. The boss, he's always tellin' me how smart you are and how you'll be takin' care of things outsida Vegas for us."

Awestruck to hear that House had mentioned and talked of her frequently, hearing the robot's words were the boost she needed before she left, Steph felt. "He does?"

"Why course! He says yer set to be his own livin' little securitron out there in Boston!"

The smile instantly fell on the beautiful blonde's face, replaced instantly with a smirk. It made perfect logical sense that House would see her like that, she conceded. Maybe that was all she was to him afterall: an organic creation he'd managed to program into doing his bidding.

However, despite the unintentional bite to the robot's words, Steph couldn't muster much ill will towards him or let it lessen her sadness over saying goodbye to what had been her home for months.

She guessed, underneath all the new gloss Mr. House had personally applied himself, she was still just a sentimental girl beneath it all.

It was a sadness which only intensified when it same time to say goodbye to Robert House himself.

Standing outside of the towering former casino, House had come to see her off in person, all as the limo, which had first brought her there, waited patiently over to the side. Like on that first day, Steph could not see the driver, the windows still tinted, but she assumed it was the same piece of nuts and bolts chauffeuring the machine: RobCo's own creation.

She was similarly concealed. Blonde hair hidden beneath a red gingham kerchief, and her eyes of blue covered behind a thick pair of sunglasses. Her dress was orange and sleeveless. Her neck covered in a scarf of yellow, being tugged on by the wind.

House, meanwhile, stood before her undisguised, his business suit pressed and well cared for, his face on blatant display. The eyes of that handsome face were casually looking her over, as the silence grew heavy between them, Steph unsure of what to say to the man, and overwhelmed by the beating of her heart (which was frustratingly aching at the same time), was far too emotional to speak.

After a little while, House reached forward and took her hand. Instead of shaking it goodbye, however, his eyes went to her fingertips, examining the nails with a trivial amount of concern

"You've taken to chewing your nails...any particular reason?"

"I'm nervous," Steph stated, a perfectly reasonable reason. Heck, it was even true. She was frightened now, despite her previous impatience to get going, terrified out of her refreshed blonde head she would blow it all somehow and House wouldn't get what he needed from her.

On top of that, too, was the fear that House had already gone to great lengths to seize this particular opportunity by disposing of her predecessor and she was standing in the presence of a cold blooded killer.

The thought sickened her.

There was something even stronger than that feeling of illness or her suspicions though...

The former showgirl at the Sin-Gal was distraught beyond the telling because she realized fully she wouldn't see the man whom had been both her secret and known boss for such a long time now, not tomorrow or the day after that or for who knew how long after that day either.

"Don't be," House tried to comfort her, letting her hand fall back to her side. "There's a nice little apartment waiting for you in Bradberton Massachuchetts, where all of the Nuka-World employees live. You'll like it, they have all of the comforts, even if some of them are from unreliable companies and cheap. You will be working primarily in the Galactic Zone of Nuka-World. There you might feel more at home," he remarked somewhat mysteriously, his moustache twitching as if he knew something she didn't "There you can also see the way the different corporations all work together, as I explained to you just last night. RobCo has an attraction there called Battlezone, as well as Vault-Tec's own Among the Stars. The connotations are delightful, don't you think?"

"I guess," Steph stated, rubbing her bare arms as the breeze began to blow somewhat more coldly. "What will you be doing while I'm off in Massachusetts? Or aren't you allowed to tell me?"

House briefly looked off, only to bring his stare, direct and full, back on her in an instant.

"I have plenty to keep myself occupied. My life's mission for one thing. The final stages of my plans to acquire H&H tools away from my dear brother as another."

Steph looked away, the wind flapping the kerchief round her head and pulling at the stray lock of yellow that had escaped its trap. She saw the sky she knew to be bright blue around them and hated the way that her shades made it look so dark and cloudy.

"What happened to Miss Ann Thrope?" suddenly she asked, when her eyes returned to the man whom had promised her anything within reason and had lived up to his word.

"Her? You still have time to think of your old colleague now and again, do you?" House inquired, unaffected by her seeming compassion and curiosity.

Steph nodded.

He spared no time in giving her a reply.

"The last I heard, she'd gone off to California, to try her hands in film. She's probably using those same hands right now on her lover, bedded down with some married Hollywood producer to get the roles her overamplified attributes will never solely help her achieve. It seems in Hollywood even they like their illusions, at least, a little bit real."

Lowering her head and sighing in relief, Steph hoped that the same sunglasses which stole away the sun, stole away House's ability to see that there were tears of genuine gratitude in her eyes. She was just so happy that she no longer needed to worry about the derelict outside of the restaurant, she could no longer contain them. Her own hands were clean of that particular sin.

Startlingly, the horn of the limo honked then, making Steph jump at first and then turn to look over her shoulder in apprehension at it.

When she turned to look back at House, he was staring at her with none of the nervousness or lament that was quickly seizing her. "I guess, the time has come for us to part ways."

"So this is goodbye?" she asked, rubbing her arms even more violently now.

"Don't think of it as goodbye," House replied. "We'll be seeing one another again, that much is inevitable. It might not be soon, but it will be, that should be enough to keep your sentimentality at bay. Goodbye will occur for us only when the end of all things happens or if our mission fails, whichever comes first. For now, it's like I said: A mere parting of ways until the next time we meet."

Steph swallowed back fresh tears.

Oh, how she hated this! How his words both made her feel better and worse all at once!

The horn sounded again and Steph took a deep breath.

"Unless you want to miss your flight, I must insist you leave, my most trusted Miss Calculations...my dear Stepha...

Before the words were even finished she had gone to him.

Her arms wrapped around his body, her head resting against his chest as she allowed herself the luxury of a parting embrace, though she had not properly requested it from him. Her lips then found his ear to whisper "Goodbye," and his cheek to give a quick kiss, the stain of her lipstick staying there, as she tore herself away from him, walking to the limo, head lowered and hoping that he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes, pooling behind the shades.

Steph practically threw her thin, tall body into the back seat, choosing to sit on the side farthest from House and his tower so she would not be tempted to look at them as the limo drove away. She could not resist it forever, however, her strength not that fortified, tearing off the sunglasses and gazing through the rear tinted windshield after a few feet had been placed between the limo and the 38.

However the place where they had been standing was now completely empty.

There was no sign that House had been there at all, let alone herself.

They were both ghosts now, it seemed.

A little piece of unknown Vegas history.

* * *

At the McCarran International Airport, waiting for her flight to Boston, delayed by a few unesitmated minutes, Steph had found herself standing in the gift shop, buying a pack of cigarettes, and wishing hopelessly that they sold House's own imported brand so she maybe wouldn't miss him so much or feel so damn lonely.

Paying for the brand she'd finally chosen, her eyes had fallen on the same newspaper she'd been reading only that morning and the old feeling of dreadful paranoia had seized her again, making her stomach churn.

"Could I also have a copy of the Vegas Times?" she asked, pointing directly at it so the man at the counter wouldn't get confused. "Actually, could I have two copies? The one in the front and the one at the back?"

Though the cashier looked at her like she was crazy and an inconveniece (and she half felt that way herself), he grudgingly complied, and a few seconds later she was standing back in the terminal, studying both papers and seeing, with the same relief that House's words about Thrope's current whereabouts had invoked in her, that both were identical to the one that House had given to her that morning.

At least one of her fears had been disproven.

"Thank You, God," she whispered.

Her hand at her forehead, and feeling the sweat against her palm, Steph heard the announcement come over the loudspeaker that the plane to Boston Massachuchetts was finally now ready to board and a fresh wave of a different source of nerves claimed her.

Still with resolved determination, and desiring to make her boss proud, she grabbed her too-light-of-a suitcase and headed for the boarding area, leaving both copies of the Vegas Times in the wastebin behind her.

Chapter Text

The flight was somewhat long, albeit nonstop, and it offered Steph, if nothing besides a great look at the country from almost coast to coast, at least, the chance to think things over without intrusion, save for the stewardesses occassionally asking if she needed anything, like a pillow.

What she really needed was answers, but highly doubted the smiling women could serve it up to her on a silver tray along side a few peanuts.

The concern over House's having committed murder to secure her a position, one which would garner and pique Bud Askins interest in her, was still the cream of all her worries rising straight to the top, but a certain resolve had come to be mixed up with it now too. This was helped by the realization that, once she was in Nuka-World, she could put all of her training as a spy to good use, both for and against her employer, although she hated how that last one felt.

As aggravating as he could be, House had still done a lot for her and the thought of betraying him unnerved her more than any jetlag she might experience once she landed in Boston.

It was just, nothing said she couldn't use what House had taught her to discover certain things about him, just as much as she would about what Vault-Tec was up to, and maybe it would help ease her mind in a way.

Certainly, he wouldn't want a jitterish, paranoid worker creeping around the scenes and mistrusting him with every step, Steph convinced herself, smoothing out the wrinkles of her dress.

Once in Nuka-World she wouldn't have to rely solely on newspapers, news reports or even what information Robert House willingly volunteered. She'd have an amusement park's worth of eye witnesses, gossips and coworkers, perhaps even a few suspects too. A stalker, afterall, could just as likely be a person someone saw day in and day out. Hadn't the girls down at the Sin-Gal all complained at some point over some creepy jerk or lovestruck puppy at a former workplace, anywhere from the mailroom to security, whom had lusted after them? If she suspected House, well anyone could have made the murder look like the work of a stranger, only for it to have been friend, family or lover.

Steph knew that, once she was there, she could give this Valentine fellow a run for his money and could freely go around and question anybody she thought might know something or whom seemed the least bit suspicious.

Only problem was...

What if House had his own spies there, ones working on reporting her own actions back to the man in Vegas? Sure, he might act like he trusted her to her face, but did men as rich and powerful as House ever trust anybody?

She'd have to be careful, trying her best to appear merely curious, another lesson House had taught her.

It would be a fine tightrope to walk. But, besides the circus, an amusement park like Nuka-World was the perfect place to attempt such a daring feat.

Resting her head against the back of her airplane seat, Steph was determined to do her best work for House, as his own personal undercover Nuka-Girl, but also to play detective for herself as well, proving her boss' innocence.

Or perhaps condemning him.

Looking at the sky surrounding her, reminded painfully of her tower top room back at the Lucky 38, Steph prayed that it would be the former and not the latter.

* * *

By the time the plane landed, the sky was no longer blue.

The change had somewhat zapped Steph's newfound resolve, but she feared what was bothering her even more was the fact that, when she stepped onto the tarmac, she knew that she was officially on a state separated by many others from her teacher, boss and sometimes (dare she say it?) friend of the last few months.

Funny, how you could lean on, and become used to, the very thing that could drive you insane sometimes. It was like the soda pop she was set to represent: wholly unhealthy for you, but something that still left you craving it.

Just as she suspected, she felt no better as her heel met the ground and made its lonely sound, lost amongst the footfalls of the other passengers. She soon felt like a fish swimming to the terminal where both her luggage and someone, she hoped, was waiting to take her to her new home at Bradberton Massachusetts. She'd hate to take a taxi to it this late at night, and it had been years since she'd been to Boston and the East Coast at all. She suddenly wished for House's guiding hand again. He could be a pompous jerk, but he also had a commanding, know-it-all presence, one that was usually somewhat chilly and probably effective for that fact: he glided along like ice.

The one thing he had told her to do when the plane landed, Steph did now, taking off the kerchief wrapped round her head and shaking her golden locks loose, her eyewear, simillarly discarded and placed inside of her black, little, leather purse.

She noticed a few of the men looking at her with newfound interest now as she tried to make her way to the luggage carousel, and a few of the women looking on with envy, both sexes judging the image House had made her into. It was a far more freeing feeling then when she had snuck out to the Fremont. This was her, at least, highly remodeled, but still her underneath it all.

And it appeared to be the headturner her boss had hoped it would be.

Steph reached the carousel, collecting more admiring stares along the way, standing there patiently as the various suitcases and bags appeared and were returned to their rightful owners.

All while she continued to wait.

She was feeling a little anxious, and then downright perturbed, as she witnessed mostly everyone she recognized from having been on board with her seamlessly collect their bags, while her sole suitcase never made its grand appearance back to her.

Come on, she thought, it's only one bag!

Close to tapping her toes in irritation, Steph finally flagged down a passing airport worker, suffering his glare to directly, and yet politely, ask in confusion, "Excuse me, sir, but where's my luggage?"

"It will show up, just give it time and patience. You know, you can't just get off the plane and expect it to be waiting there," the worker replied rudely and then throughly intended to move on.

She grabbed his shoulder then and gratifyingly used a bit of House's defensive training to keep the man from going anywhere, not until she had received a more satisfying answer anyway. "You know, I'm not some Quaker that just stepped off the plane straight in from Pennsylvania," she returned forcefully with a fair sprinkle of sugar. "I came in from Vegas, and that was about thirty minutes ago. Now I want my suitcase and I want it now. Otherwise, I can contact my boss. Maybe you heard of him: Mr..."

She'd wanted to say House's name so badly, certain that that would hold some sway (and also just to hear his name to help lessen her loneliness a little), but caught herself in time, switching to a name, at least, he would be equally familiar with, being a resident of Massachusetts. "John-Caleb Bradberton! I'm sure you've read all about him. I'm going to be his new Nuka-Girl, and he can damn well make sure that you never drink another Nuka-Cola in your pathetic little life if you don't find me that suitcase!"

The worker looked no less irritated, but the information of what flight she had been on, and whom she was working for, did somewhat persuade him to go and have a look. She was starting to think he'd become as lost as her suitcase when he returned. "I'm sorry, Miss, but there's no sign of your luggage," he informed her, obviously not sorry at all, but maybe even gloating a little. "It seems to have cleared the baggage area, so it should be here. Maybe someone took it by mistake? Or on purpose perhaps? I'm sure you've read all about what happened to the last Nuka-Girl. And as for the threat of never having another Nuka-Cola again in my life, that's fine by me. As your predessor can tell you, that stuff will kill you."

The worker then smirked (a far less attractive sight than when on House's face) and then walked off, leaving Steph standing there dumbfounded and still luggage-less.

What had happened, she wondered without answer?

Most everyone else on board had gotten there bags, she'd seen that for herself.

And if they said it had made it to Boston...

An uneasy feeling began to creep over her, like the darker hue taking over the cyan sky and she shivered involuntarily. Suddenly throwing a glance over each of her shoulders, Stephanie checked to see if anybody was watching her as well. The area around the luggage carousel was suddenly deserted, as empty as the revolving wheel which still didn't show a trace of her suitcase.

Whom had taken the bag? Was it by accident or on purpose? The airport worker's words came back to her and the realization that the previous Nuka-Girl's killer was still on the loose. She'd been so busy worrying about how deep House's involvement was in the poor girl's death (if he had merely taken advantage of it or if he'd been the cause) that she'd neglected to spend much time concerned for her own safety. Sure, House had promised the murderer had solely been interested in this year's model of Nuka-Girl, but if she could doubt his sincerity in not having had a hand in it what was preventing her from doubting his belief that she was completely safe as well?

As vague as it was, the article in the Las Vegas Times had suggested a replacement was on their way to Nuka-World...What if the killer had been here waiting for her?

A hand going to the collar of her dress, Steph was suddenly grateful that House had insisted she pack light and with nothing much to lose now, except basically the life she'd brought with her.

Her brain rapidly trying to conjure up reasons to lessen her unease, the thought occurred to her then that maybe House had underhandedly ordered her suitcase taken and searched once she reached Massachusetts. It could have been just another favor called in, just as he'd pulled strings with Bradberton to hire her. Perhaps, he distrusted her promise not to take anything incriminating with her and had just been feigning innocent faith in her to not check it himself before she left. If he had the suitcase stolen altogether, the threat would be totally eliminated without tainting its owner's own faith in him. Never before would Steph have believed the thought of House being such a doubtful, duplicitous weasel could bring her such comfort.

Now aware of the alternatives, she could kiss him flat on the mouth if it were true.

"You must be the new Nuka-Girl, I presume."

Steph knew she must have jumped about three feet in the air, she was sure of it, as the words came from behind her and she spun around, her hands instantly going into a protective position as she confronted the speaker with the unrecognized voice behind her.

An man was standing about four feet away from her, and as the eyes behind his thick glasses fell to the hands prepared to attack him if he were to close the distance, she realized he was as grateful for this fact as she was.

With his business suit and air of decided professionalism, he seemed a far cry from a killer.

He seemed far more like an accountant or executive.

"Heh, heh," he nervously laughed, yet tried to make it sound all in good nature. "I see, Stephanie, you have the necessary fighting skills all ready and rearing to go for our beloved Nuka-Girl! Still, if you don't mind me saying, I'm relieved you don't have her blaster...not yet anyway."

"Sorry," Stephanie mumbled, standing more straight and less prepared to beat the shit out of the stranger, now convinced he was from Nuka-World itself. "I was a little nervous. My suitcase never showed up in baggage."

"Oh dear," the man stated, his eyes darting to the carousel wheel that kept spinning without it. "And you were worried that the killer had claimed it first?"

"Yes," she replied, startled that he had managed to read her thoughts so easily and a little back on guard because of it. "How did you know that?"

"I'm Peyton Huxley, Mr. Bradberton of Nuka Cola Corporation fame's Executive Assistant," he explained and Steph noticed that he was wearing one of those things, what did they call it, a PipBoy? on his arm. "It's my job to weigh damage control for both the NCC and Nuka-World too. As such, I'm afraid, my mind tends to go to the worse case scenario and then try to instantly find a way to help diffuse it, while lessening the level of discomfort for Mr. Bradberton himself, of course."

"I see," Steph replied slowly, not sure that she did or if she admired or resented the man's blunt honesty in telling her all of this.

"Maybe I can calm your nerves, a little, by explaining that the odds of an article of luggage going missing during transit is .05%. That might not seem very high, but consider that if you take one hundred flights, you are demographically be assured to lose one piece of luggage. Do you fly often?"

"No," Steph answered, her head spinning a little from the man's demographics.

"Doesn't matter," he replied, shaking his head. "The baggage attendents don't know that. You merely might have taken some other passenger's place. And if that doesn't make you feel better, another likely scenerio presents itself: with you being the new Nuka-Girl, devotees staking out the airport only needing take a gander at you for a second or two to suspect such a fact, it was more likely your luggage was stolen to be treasured by your new adoring fans, worn by your wannabes or maybe sold at secret auctions. These are more probable options than the fear you're feeling right now."

Steph tried to smile and allow the thought that some weirdo was either sniffing her underwear or prancing around in it to not bother her so much. "That's a relief," she chose to reply in semi-serious gratitude, but only in comparison to it having been stolen by a murderering madman whom had her next in his sight.

The also relieved executive smiled back, apparently grateful to have smoothed over this dangerous terrain for his company too. "Anyway, whatever you lost, can be replaced, " this Peyton Huxley stated. "What I really must apologize for is my tardiness, however. Time is irreplaceable. Mr. Bradberton was in a meeting with General Braxton and it ran later than expected."

Steph raised an eyebrow, "A General? Does Nuka-Cola supply our soldiers, or something like that? How admirable!"

Was she being charming enough, as per House's instructions? Too charming, Huxley looked embarrassed, his collar suddenly a little too tight. "Umm...a high percent of soldiers must drink Nuka-Cola, their being American and Nuka-Cola being irrevocably American..."

It wasn't really answering her question, more like just another string of statistics, but she was tired and just accepted it.

"I understand how things are," she commented, hopefully putting an end to things. "What matters is you're here now and we can get going."

Peyton Huxley looked just as relieved by her words, holding out his arm for her to take, which she did with another display of her well practiced smile. Together they walked out of the airport, minus one piece of luggage that should have been  accompanying them. Steph was still a little concerned about that, but was just grateful to see the parked Corvega Sedan waiting by the curb, assuming it was Huxley's as he walked to the driver's side.

Likewise, she went to the passenger side, her hand on the handle, her eyes peering through the car's window. It had started to rain apparently, some time while she'd been staring at the baggage carousel, a light pitter patter, and the raindrops had hit the glass, spattering it with what resembled teardrops.

"No! No!" Huxley exclaimed, about to open his own door. "You're to sit in the backseat, not front."

"More factual statistics?" she almost cringed.

"No," he denied. "There's just something waiting back there for you."

Hesitantly, Steph let go of the handle, going to the back of the Sedan. Leaning over, first she peered inside, looking for anything suspicious, but seeing only something that looked undeniably like a food basket. Comforted, she slid into the back, her long legs now slightly wet from the rain and glistening.

Peyton slipped in behind the wheel now too and they left the airport, the windshield wipers beginning their constant sweep back and forth.

The rain continued crying on the windows, while she examined the basket more in depth, seeing a variety of fruits like apples, cherries, peaches and grapes cast amongst an assortment of cheeses.

"Oh how sweet!" Stephanie stated, genuinely touched by the thoughtful gesture from the leading beverage manufacturer in the world.

"We like to greet all of our 'special' employees in such an extravagant way," the exec informed.

Steph took out the card attatched to the basket and read it in her warmest voice. "Our deepest sympathy for your loss in the testing of the Nuka Quantum project....please accept this Nuka Condolescenes fruit and cheese basket?" she finished, her voice trailing off in confusion.

"Ha ha," Peyton laughed, slightly nervously. "I was in such a hurry to get to the airport I must have picked up the wrong basket. Condolence, Congratulations they're so close and, really, what's the difference?"

"But...a condolence basket?" Steph asked mortified.

"Oh, yes, my idea," her driver said vaguely proudly. "Mr Bradberton loved the idea! It helps appease the family and squelch any lawsuits. The waiver they sign first doesn't hurt either, I can tell you."

"Are there many accidents at this Nuka place?" the new employee asked, her voice now slightly high pitched in concern.

"Nuka-World," Huxley corrected. "No more then your average amusement park," he replied a little defensively.

His eyes were fixed on hers in the mirror above the dashboard as he added, "And then there are incidents we have no control over whatsoever...like what happened more recently."

Seeing the perfect opportunity present itself for her first attempt at playing detective, Steph carefully inquired, "Did you know the last Nuka-Girl very well?"

"Me? Goodness, no! I had a Nuka Condolence basket sent to her family, but that was about it. I can't even remember her name, they come and go so fast, by now...not that you will though, don't misunderstand me...your dye job is superb! Did you do that yourself?"

Steph felt the smile on her face becoming warmer, actually genuine as she fondly remembered House doing her hair the first time and teaching her how to the times after. "Yes," she partly lied, partly told him the truth.

"Amazing, simply amazing!" Huxley remarked.

"Yes, it was," she agreed, her words a whisper and hopefully too hard to hear past the sound of the wipers and the rain. Her thoughts were still on House, the memory of his body so close to hers when now it was so unbelievably far away. She wondered if she were to cry if Peyton Huxley might not also miss hearing it or if he might mistake any tears on her face for the rain somehow having gotten in.

"This weather really is something, isn't it?" Huxley began the appropriate small talk for her thoughts. "Did you know that people die more often while driving in the rain? Of course, it will be snowing sometime....people die even more often then, nothing to do with Nuka-Cola Corporation, I assure you. Although, accidents involving our loyal employees coming to work from Bradberton, increases 40% from November to February."

"Bradberton, Massachusetts?" Steph repeated, falling harder against the seat. "I can't wait until we get there. I'm so tired."

The driver's eyes nervously darted to the mirror again. "Oh, I'm afraid I'm not taking you to Bradberton, well not that Bradberton anyway. You'll be seeing Mr. John-Caleb Bradberton the person first, not the place. He requested I bring you to him immediately after the airport."

Steph's stomach sank and she felt apprehensive again. Leaning forward, she asked, "It's a little late, don't you think? Wouldn't the morning be better?"

"No," Peyton shook his head. "Mr. Bradberton has several appointments already scheduled then. This whole business has occurred suddenly and he can't shuffle around things that matter more to him, just because an employee suddenly died. He has a life and intends to keep it. So he'll see you when he sees you and that's the end of that, I'm afraid."

Sighing and falling back into place, Steph felt exhausted and close to tears. Last night around this time she'd been waltzing with House. Now she was basically being forced to dance and sing at a stranger's commandment, a stranger whom saw a girl's death as little more than an inconvenience.

House could be a real piece of work, but, at least, she was familiar with his eccentricities and the way he could sting back when provoked.

It made her miss the devil she knew even more, and help create a fear of the one that she didn't.

Longingly she began to toy with the edge of the Sedan's seat, the Blue Danube bleeding into Lili Marleen inside of her head.

"I forgot to ask," Huxley inquired, perhaps analyzing her silence and sensing something else to help smooth over. "Was there anything of value in your luggage?"

"No," she answered, truthfully believing the only real thing of value she'd momentarily possessed had been left behind in Vegas, moustache, expensive suit, snowglobes and all.

"For the best. Travel light, I always tell, Mr Bradberton...that zero point five percent and everything."

Steph remained silent, staring at her legs and how they were now dry.

Meanwhile, the exec made small talk around the subject of the scenery which surrounded them and the Massachusetts mortality rates, which only reminded her of how she wished she was back in a city where they were even higher.

How many people died at Nuka-World anyway?

It had to be a lot for the top Executive Assistant of its creator to be absorbed in such a morbid topic.

Although, maybe he was only being right on target, Steph realized, because their new Nuka-Girl felt very much like she was dying inside right about now.

This whole detour to see Bradberton was reminding her a little of her first two trips to the 38, but there would be no House on the other side waiting for her, and this realization made her feel just as badly as she'd always secretly feared that it would.

Eventually, she turned to look out the window, letting the streetlights help her see through the rainy darkness, and trying not to think about House back in Vegas and what he might be doing without her.

Her arms wrapped round herself, realizing she was still dressed for desert weather and not something far colder.

Exhaling and realizing she had been holding her breath, Steph soon saw the loud and audacious sign declaring that Nuka-World was only a mile away, and accepted the resignation she now suffered that it was there she was heading and not her new home at Bradberton.

It was just as well.

Her home was back at the Lucky 38 anyway, not that House had ever seen it that way.

In a few minutes, Peyton Huxley addressed her, breaking the silence he'd adopted after seeing the sign that marked their destination.

"I'm afraid, Stephanie, I must have left the window open...there are raindrops on your face."

"Now how about that," Steph replied softly, wiping them away with the back of her hand.

Chapter Text

Maybe she needed to be a kid to fully savor it, but Nuka-World left a lot to be desired to her as an adult, Stephanie mused with much regret, as she experienced her first taste of Nuka-World.

It hadn't closed by the time they finally reached it, even though it was now a more fully realized darkness of night, highlighting all the money Bradberton had apparently spent on lights, glow work and all the other bells and whistles to make the whole attraction go BLING! Still, it was a little bit stuck between brash commercialism and sickly sweet quaintness that didn't particularly appeal to her. Of course, it could be the fact that she was aware the whole time that a poor girl had died within its supposedly safe sanctity that took off half the shine.

Not that that had effected the general paying customers. From the long line up outside the front gate, and the crowd gathered inside, a little murder hadn't seemed to detract from business. Infact, it looked like it might have possibly doubled to Steph's curious eyes, although she was all kind of new to this kind of thing.

Regardless of the unspoken demographics of how a grisly death had increased or decreased ticket sales, Huxley drove them straight in to the theme park, via some top secret employees' entrance, it seemed, and Stephanie felt her dread increasing not lifting by one of America's premiere escapist entertainment sites.

It was still raining too.

But, on top of all that, whoever was in charge of the weather up there had decided to throw in some thunder and occassional lightning too, striking up even more bad feeling inside of the soul of the ex-showgirl. She might as well have been visiting either Dracula or Frankenstein's castle, for what she was currently suffering. The Sedan sliding in smoothly to Nuka-World, Steph tried not to actually shiver, a neon glow stealing into the windows like rainbow fingers reaching out to try to touch her with some deceptive lie that nothing bad could ever happen inside of a park filled with as much sweetness as the infamous cola it was made to honor.

Too much sugar could eventually kill though.

That was a fact.

And most often it was just used to cover up something that was truly distasteful underneath.

Wasn't that another lesson House had taught her afterall? Steph could remember it like it was yesterday.

"If you think someone's not buying what you're selling just cover it up with even more sweetness, my dear Miss Calculations," he'd instructed. "What is it they always say...A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down? Infact, if Vault-Tec ever develops its version of a cyanide pill, I'd be willing to wager they'll make it either Banana or Grape flavoured."

As Steph closed the Sedan's door, the vehicle now at rest in the secret parking lot, she wished that House was standing beside her while she was about to make her way through Nuka-World in order to see its inventor. She bet he'd make the trip amusing, at least, offering up his usual dry commentary the whole way.

Seeing her reflection in the mirror, the woman realized her tears had dried, at least. That was one good thing anyway. She didn't fancy talking to this Bradberton with any sign that she was closer to Robert House than she wanted to admit and this whole separation was painful. She was already deathly afraid she'd make some mistake in House's carefully constructed plan, and this information could make his scheme even more vulnerable.

Worse.

It could leave her heart that way.

She ran to meet Huxley, whom was waiting rather impatiently by the employees' entrance to Nuka-World, holding his suit's jacket closer to him as it became increasingly wet. "The news said nothing about rain!" he spat loudly, rain collecting even on his glasses. "I didn't bring an umbrella."

"What that wasn't in your statistics?" Steph took the opportunity to ask, both wry and soft, during a clap of thunder.

"WHAT?" Peyton Huxley shouted in return.

"Oh nothing," Steph replied innocently enough, reaching into her purse to find her kercheif to once more tie around her head, accepting what ever small protection it could offer.

Somewhat impressed by her quick thinking, the assistant still looked rather miffed that he was exposed to the rainfall as they ran into the amusement park, the sound of screaming patrons instantly meeting their ears.

Why were they all still here, Steph wondered as she was led deeper into the Nuka-Town U.S.A segment of the place, Huxley's hand wrapped tightly around her arm? Not many of them had been expecting rain either, by the looks of it, but they were all still standing around gawking, instead of running to the nearest exit. It didn't take her long to realize that they weren't there to see some exhibits showcasing the country's love of a soft drink. No, they'd come and decided to stay so they could say they'd been there the day after the news had been released that the Nuka-Girl was dead.

Nothing said touching immortality like being close to an adored celebrity you managed to outlive. Oh, how it shouldn't, Steph thought sadly, but that didn't stop it from being the case from the looks of the packed park.

And there was the painted Nuka-Girl staring back at her from almost every second wall or street corner. The image that represented the half dozen or so girls that had already played her throughout the years, smiling pleasantly at them all in a space suit that clung to every curve of her body, like she had planets hidden inside of it and not just your average human breasts, hips and butts. She was an image designed to invoke the ardour and lust of men and the envy of women the whole country over, while some poor working girl was cast in her real life place, with all of the pros and cons that went with it, the latter including warranting the attention of the worst sort of "admirer".

And now she was about to pick up that blaster from the last one, Steph thought without much amusement inside of the amusement park that had been her coffin for a night.

Oh joy.

Peyton Huxley now brought her straight to a building across from what looked like a restaurant, and she was just grateful to get in from the rain, at this point. If they had to wade through the rain for a second longer, she thought she'd have to switch the Frankenstein castle to the Creature from the Black Lagoon's underwater lair instead. Her legs were back to being wet as they stepped inside of the office building of John-Caleb Bradberton,  not to mention her arms and virtually everything else on her.

"Thank goodness, that was awful!" she couldn't help but exclaim once there was a roof over her head. She then blinked a few times, afraid she might endanger offending Bradberton's right hand man by the honest remark. "I mean, I was getting wrinkled from all of that rain."

"Wrinkles!" Peyton exclaimed, tearing his eyes away from his Pip-Boy to pay a closer examination to her face. "We can't have wrinkles...Certainly not! Nuka-Girls with wrinkles are a big No-No, favors or no favors."

The man's glasses almost pushed so close to her face she might as well have been wearing them herself, Steph felt. She was offended as the man continued with his examination, increasingly insulted that her looks were more important to him than the fact that she might have caught a chill.

"I was just joking," she tried to say agreeably enough, although her teeth were close to clenching and not from the cold either.

Only after another few seconds of studying did Huxley seem convinced, returning his attention without another word back to his Pip-Boy. He brought her to a desk in the waiting room, going behind it and searching around. "Here," he said, placing some towels on the counter top. Steph grabbed one and saw "Nuka-World" embroidered in their corner.

"We confiscated these from a few employees whom were taking them home. Technically they are still evidence until we can have the thieves persecuted to the full extent of the law, but I don't think it would hurt at all if we use them temporarily. I mean, it's just rain, afterall! It'll dry clear."

Steph offered an unsure smile but started to dry herself off (hair now once again freed and the kerchief placed under her arm), after seeing Huxley doing so first, the Pip-Boy receiving most of the towel's attention.

Meanwhile, Stephanie could feel her dress sticking to her own body in a way she wasn't completely comfortable with. She much preferred the feeling of being wet and in her underwear during her bathtub scuffle with House. That had been exhilarating in its own way, with one delicious and unexpected payoff.

This was just...weird.

The whole office seemed dark, quiet and dead, the sounds from outside barely reaching them from a room that suddenly felt isolated and too empty. It didn't help that Peyton Huxley was a stranger to her.

Oh crap, should she have even have gone with him, Steph began to wonder?

Shouldn't she have demanded some concrete proof verifying that he was whom he said he was? And would it have even mattered if he had some? A worker at Nuka-World could have been just as guilty of the last Nuka-Girl's murder as a paying visitor. She was a babe in the woods and every guy she didn't know might as well be a wolf.

Why, this Peyton Huxley could have lured her here,  knowing that Bradberton was long gone back to his billion dollar mansion. Maybe this wasn't even Bradberton's office! It could all be just a deceptive ruse. The condolence basket might as well have been Peyton Huxley's nasty little in joke, Steph eyed him in suspicious yet veiled fear.

As if God didn't want her adding grey hair to her nonexistent wrinkles, endangering her role as the new company mascot, a now drier (but not by much) Huxley suddenly saw something else beneath the desk and bent down to pick it up. It wasn't a knife or bucket of chemicals, however, but another basket that he soon placed down on the waiting room desk. "Ahhh! Here's the basket I intended to bring!" he announced cheerfully.

After cautiously having walked towards it, Steph plucked out the card. This time, she did read a message that didn't illicit confusion, but rather calmed her nerves instead.

CONGRATULATIONS, STEPH, OUR BRAND NEW NUKA-GIRL! WELCOME TO THE NUKA-COLA FAMILY!

No sooner had her heart stopped pounding then the sound of someone talking to her right made her almost jump several feet in the air.

"You planning on sending one of those little fruit and cheese numbers straight to the victim's family?" the unknown voice asked. "'Cause I'm thinking that spreading some brie on a cracker ain't gonna make anyone suddenly more accepting to the fact that their baby girl is dead and Nuka-World is to blame."

Fast enough to send the excess water off from her hair in a spray, Steph turned to see a man standing in the doorway, his relaxed kind of body casually dressed in a trenchcoat, the pockets of which had both left and right hands plunged into them. The face, under a much relied upon fedora, was handsome, albeit a little worn and sad, like he'd seen too much of life spread out over a short duration of time and none of it had made him particularly happy belonging to the human race.

"Detective Valentine," Peyton Huxley stated, less than pleased. "What are you doing here?"

Steph caught her breath, aware now of whom the man was and what his appearance likely concerned.

"Nobody answered the front door, so I let myself in," Nick Valentine answered with a shrug. "If you don't mind me saying, I'd look into a better locking system in the near future instead of fretting over if you should go with Granny Smith or Gala Reds."

"You mean you've been in to see, Mr. Bradberton?" Huxley was looking about as upset as if he'd just received one of his own baskets. "Unacceptable! Unacceptable! And when I wasn't here? What will Mr. Bradberton think?"

"Relax," the detective instructed, casually walking forward. "If Bradberton's the kind of fellow whom would fire you just because you were gone when a policeman comes a calling about his Nuka-Girl's death, well, he might not have killed her, but he's just about one step away from being a cold hearted killer himself, in my eyes."

"You don't think that John-Caleb Bradberton would commit murder, do you?" Huxley asked, his voice stuck between outrage and threat and his eyes darting between the detective and the blonde. 

"I never said that," Valentine stated, and Steph watched speechless as the man stole an apple from out of her basket and took a healthy bite from it. "Infact, you should be grateful you were out so I could finally have a word with your boss. After talking to the man, I'm convinced enough to strike him off of my suspect list."

Peyton Huxley look connivingly relieved. Still, he tried his best to still adopt his previous air of offense. "Excuse me, Stephanie, I have to make sure that this out of state pig hasn't bothered Mr. Bradberton too much. Please understand. Wait here; I'll be back," he nodded at her before returning his gaze to Valentine. "You, of course, can show yourself out, having let yourself in already."

And with that order the executive ran off, probably to inform his boss of the pleasing news that he was free from the police's further scrutiny.

Being left alone with the police detective was just another thing Steph wasn't prepared to have to suffer so shortly after landing in Massachuchetts. It was uncomfortable, but no more so than the prospect of meeting with Bradberton, one unpleasant event delaying the other. She still wished she was at the 38, sitting through another lesson or landing on the mat after failing to defend herself. 

Nick Valentine studied her like a mugshot, his eyes lingering on her hair and she was left feeling like she might have to defend herself in an entirely  different way now.

"I take it you're the new Nuka-Girl," he commented after a few seconds, his hands back inside of his pockets, and the once bitten apple sitting on the office desk beside the basket it had come from.

"How...how did you know?" Stephanie asked, having a hunch already.

Valentine shrugged. "What the rags and the word off the street tell me, and that you're set to have audience with Mr. Too-Good-For-the-Public when the police couldn't even finagle it that easily. Besides, your amazing hair's the right color for it." Steph was just about ready to say an obligatory thank you, when the detective added, "It's about the same shade as the things they serve up on sticks and pass off as confections around this joint."

Before she could wallow in the insult, however, the man soon distracted her by asking, "You from around here?"

"No," Steph replied a little more icily than she had in her interactions with Peyton Huxley. "I was just driven here straight from the airport actually."

His eyes darted to either side of her legs. "Where's your luggage then? Bradberton struck me as the sort of fellow who'd like to rummage through it first for recorders or other corporate espionage material."

"Actually it was stolen from the airport," Steph replied, the detective unknowingly offering her another possibility she hadn't considered. Perhaps her new boss had secretly confiscated it. Maybe it would even be waiting for her in the Nuka-Cola founder's office, his having received enough time to search it by now. If this Valentine hadn't shortened his time with his impromptu interrogation, that was.

An eyebrow of Valentine's lifted in interest. "You file a claim?"

"No actually, I didn't," she answered, slightly embarrassed. "Peyton showed up and whisked me away to Nuka-World before I could."

"Could be important," Valentine remarked. Both of his hands finally emerged from his trenchcoat again, the left coming out complete with a rutty tutty, flip notebook and the other bearing your standard ballpoint pen. Steph watched as he scribbled down, the information she had just told him.

"You think I should be concerned?" she inquired.

Detective Nick Valentine looked at her with intense seriousness. "A young woman's been murdered. I'd say that should concern us all."

The weight to his voice suggested that a concern born of compassion should be at the heart of everyone involved, and yet all Steph could feel was suddenly defensive about her guilt and the role she was playing after the first Nuka-Girl's death.

"What's your name?" he asked and the replacement Nuka-Girl surrendered it easily enough, quickly adding, "You can call me Steph. All my friends do."

He eyed her no more differently for the invitation and then posed what was possibly the one question she was hoping not to be asked at all. "So anyone in particular benefit from you being hired?"

Steph was speechless, left thinking, great, this wasn't how it was supposed to go! She was the one whom was supposed to be clandestinely getting information from this Valentine, not him grilling her while causing all of the fears she'd temporatily forgotten about to resurface.

"Of course not," she laughed. "How could they benefit?

Valentine remained silent, his eyes telling her he had possible answers for that one she hadn't even considered.

"It was a crazy man who did it, not someone in their right mind," she tried to remain calm, although her voice sounded too high pitched near the end, when recalling House's own peculiarities. "Why would anyone who was sane and rational do something like that?"

"You tell me, sweetheart?" Valentine tilted his head. "They coulda wanted it to look like a nutcase did it to avert suspicion, now couldn't they have? But maybe they were specifically after something they could only find at Nuka-World and they needed an inside case to do it."

Steph bit her bottom lip. Why did this guy have to be throwing every possibility she was afraid of with House right back in her face.

"Well, everyone I know is virtually back where I came from. I have no real family left and very little in the way of what you call friends, Detective Valentine."

He smiled, an incredibly frustrating thing. "So very few people calling you Steph then, huh?"

A scowl adorned the lips underneath the tired young woman's glaring eyes. Sure he was throwing her own words right back at her, but now, on top of making her remember her suspicions of House,  he was reminding her that the man she fearfully suspected was one of the few people whom she'd heard say her name all of these months...

One of the few friends she had in all of this miserable world.

Luckily, Peyton soon reappeared through the doorway and Valentine saw this as his exit notice.

Stuffing the notebook and pen back inside of his pocket, Valentine turned to leave, with the rather personal declaration, "I'd better get going. Nothing I like better, on a night like this, than to go home and let the fiancée help dry me off."

"Lucky girl," Steph snorted. "I guess, the last thing she wants you to be is wet."

Already halfway to the door, Valentine stopped dead in his tracks. Turning slowly to look over his shoulder at her, Steph offered him that same sweet, innocent smile that House had taught her all about. From the knowing smile the policeman offered in return, however, she understood that Valentine had her number and probably had right from the start.

He probably could sense the bitterness that had always lingered somewhere inside of her brain and soul after living a life of a frustrated Las Vegas showgirl. Well aquainted with the worst that humanity had to offer, the police detective probably had a trace of it too, though their lines of work ran so seemingly opposite, and so could easily recognize it.

"Please know now..." he said with a fair enough level of sincerity. "If anything seems suspicious to you down here in Nuka-World, or you remember anything funny from up there in Vegas, you contact Detective Valentine at the Boston Police Department straight away. I might damn well be the only person you can trust not to violate your statue of limitations."

Steph heard Peyton Huxley grunt in disapproval beside her, but all the woman could think of was how her blood had suddenly begun to run cold.

Detective Nick Valentine then bid his farewell with a tip of his hat and a remarkably kind, "Evening Steph."

The police detective then opened the door and walked out into the cold night lying in wait outside of it, the sky brightening once in a flash of lightning, which seemed to highlight the silhouette of the man, the wires in the air and the electricity that seemed to surround them both.

Chapter Text

The waiting room seemed both better and worse without the detective's presence inside it.

On the one hand, Steph didn't have to field any more unwanted and uncomfortable questions about what she was doing there, running the risk of exposing House, which she dreaded to even contemplate.

On the other, the aspersions he'd made about someone close to her being involved in the previous Nuka-Girl's death were deeply unsettling and lingered in the air like cigarette smoke, making his physical absense not even much of a relief. Valentine had somehow sonared in on all of her fears, leaving them disturbed like freshly shoveled earth. Of course, it was just his job to be suspicious and dredge up information, looking for anything that was relevent.

The thought of which now left Steph even more unsettled.

How had he known she was from Vegas? Had she mentioned it and then forgotten all about it? She didn't think so, but how could she be sure? It was the type of question that drove her even more insane trying to answer.

Steph's hand went to her forehead, finding it damp, but not from the rain. She'd broken into a sweat and could only hope it had happened after Detective Valentine had shut the door behind him and not before.

"I'm glad he's gone," Peyton commented without shame, sharing none of the turmoil the man had left his companion with, his own boss having supposedly been cleared.

"Me too," Steph whispered in agreement, deciding no more risk of sticking her foot in her mouth was still better, at least, then the bad vibes and worries still present now that he was gone.

Turning to face Peyton Huxley, Steph noticed something she hadn't before, and it wasn't just the fact that the man loathed Nick Valentine as much as she did. "You changed suits," she commented, noticing how dry he currently was and feeling all the more drenched for it.

"Yes," Peyton said, taking off his glasses to give them an extra wipe. "Mr Bradberton, said I should change while I was in there. He has extra suits and he didn't want such a public face for the company looking blemished. He's ready to see you now, by the way."

Steph tried not to smirk or sound too bitter as she replied, "That's great. I hope he won't mind the face of the new Nuka-Girl looking like a sponge though. With my suitcase stolen, I don't exactly have anything to change into "

"It should be fine," Huxley commented, after giving her a somewhat critical appraisal, the glasses now returned to his eyes. "You aren't going out to see the crowd this very second, you know."

"Neither were you," she smiled sardonically.

"Touche," he countered, thankfully not offended.

"Mr. Huxley?"

"Oh, please call me Peyton."

"Peyton," Steph repeated, her smile becoming warmer, even if the remaining wetness to her clothes was suddenly making her feel cold. "Did you or Mr. Bradberton tell anyone that I was from Vegas?"

"No, that was confidential," he answered and then the eyes back behind their small shield of glass enlargened. "You're right! How did Valentine know that? I mean, Mr. Bradberton might have told him but I doubt it. He's incredibly cautious about such things. Hey! If the detective knew that, maybe he had something to do with your missing luggage. You know, confiscated for evidence or the like."

Although grateful to have another suspect, Steph was doubtful, "I don't know...Don't they need a warrent for that sort of thing?"

Huxley looked grim. "He didn't need a warrent to bust in here to talk to Mr. Bradberton, now did he? Besides...there has been talk."

"Talk about what?" Steph asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Talk about the Boston Police Department getting a little unhinged and unethical lately. They've been trying to take down Boston's worst and most dangerous criminals, they say, but all they've been getting is a round trip to nowhere. That's bound to make anyone a little unhinged and think about resorting to dubious tactics. What's that saying...be careful of looking into the eyes of monsters lest you become one?"

Steph shivered and not from the cold. The implication that Nick Valentine might have a few screws loose did little to calm her already raw and stretched nerves. Her only prayer was that it was in the name of justice and that he hadn't gone the other way there too, adopting that other famous saying: if you can't beat them, join them.

He had a fiancée, sure, but that didn't forbid him from developing an eye for other women.

Huxley glanced at his Pip-Boy again and looked displeased. "Enough of this dilly dallying, I'm afraid," he remarked, placing a hand on her back and essentially pushing her forward. "Mr. Bradberton wishes to see you now, no more delays, not even from the long arm of the law."

Almost half against her will, Steph was led through the doorway Valentine had first appeared in, then up a large flight of stairs, Peyton's hand dropping off her back. She turned to look back, finding she had left him standing on the bottom step. "Keep going," Huxley instructed. "He's waiting for you. I'll be waiting back down here for when you're finished."

Unsure of herself, Steph climbed the rest of the stairs, more nervous now than ever. She'd have liked someone to be with her when she was first introduced to Bradberton. There were plenty of creeps in Las Vegas whom assumed that, just because you worked under them, you literally were supposed to work under them. Huxley didn't seem the sort, and even if he went along with everything this John-Caleb Bradberton wanted, she could use him as a shield, at least, if things turned sour and she needed to run.

Although taking the last few steps, Steph hoped that House didn't expect his plans for her to eventually seduce Bud Askins to extend to every man she was to meet on her way to get to him. House probably viewed them, afterall, as little more than the steps she was now making: mere objects meant to get her to where she needed to be.

If she could help it, though, Steph wanted her sex life to remain her own before she finally reached that final step.

Her body was eventually essentially to be sold, but it belonged to her up to that point.

She intended to hold on to that.

As she entered what looked like the Nuka-Cola creator's office, however, Steph knew that the worry about him wanting to have sex with her was completely without foundation. From the look in the eyes of the man sitting behind his desk, a man she presumed to be the Cola King himself, the last thing Bradberton wanted to get was close to her.

His eyes fixed on her like a glare, he might as well of hated her.

Infact, he looked down right afraid of her!

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" the middle aged man with the shortly cut greyish hair and beard shouted before she could even reach the middle of his office. "You're soaking wet! And on a night like this! Who knows what you might have caught!"

He was looking at her like she might as well have stormed into the room waving a gun at him and it stirred her own anxiety level to a whole different level of thickness. Still, it was in House's best interest that she not react in any way short of sublime politeness, so she steadfastly held on to her months worth of training.

Steph clasped her hands in front of her, demurely, then responded with all due kindness and sweetness, "I've barely seen anyone since coming here, Mr. Bradberton. Only Peyton Huxley, and you weren't so afraid of him that you didn't allow him to change in here."

"That's different," Bradberton scoffed, his eyes angry orbs of terror. "Besides you were on the plane coming over to Boston. Dirty cramped things, people breathing in the same germ filled air, coughing in to it like sardines or tuna in a can, all packed in tightly together."

Steph didn't mention the fact that fish didn't breath air or that,  being in a can, they were already dead and needn't worry about much else.

"Then there's the airport to consider...that can't be healthy either..." he continued. "Disease and death at every corner. Do you know the percentage of ill people travelling somewhere to see some other State's doctors, all in the hopes that they can miraculously cure them?"

"No...no I don't," Stephanie answered, although she was quite sure that Peyton Huxley could tell her.

The airport referenced, she now realized that there was no suitcase on his desk waiting to be returned to her. There was also very little in the way of closets or drawers around, leaving her to wonder where Bradberton's assistant had actually found any dry clothes to change into. There just seemed to be his boss' business accessories and some Nuka-Cola paraphernalia, one being a lifesize mannequin, model (or whatever you called it) of the Nuka-Girl, a reminder of what she was doing there.

Another piece of memorabilia was a vending machine of the cola itself.

Steph guessed that the inventor couldn't get enough of his own invention.

Maybe it was, unfortunately, what had made him so hyper and paranoid.

Traits in full evidence as he continued on with his tirade.

"There's always something that can kill you," the man now stated bluntly. "The thing must always be to avoid becoming sick in the first place...then no cure is necessary."

"Yes," Steph replied, trying to humour him as House would want. "Of course, you're completely right."

Bradberton nodded, not in any way that indicated his animosity was lessening, but only that she'd be a fool not to agree with his reasoning.

When she had left the Lucky 38, it had never crossed Stephanie's mind that she might encounter a man more arrogant and conceited than Robert House. Her new employer was currently challenging such a preconception.

Bradberton studied her for a few seconds, a harsh critical stare about as cold as the cubes of ice that sometimes accompanied his world famous beverage. His eyes bounced back often to the Nuka-Girl replica and he grew possibly even more cantankerous and disapproving if that were possible.

"It won't do," he suddenly verbalized his dissatisfaction. "Your measurements are all wrong, for one thing, and your demeanor. Your hair color's about the only thing that is right, but I can't be forced to be mistaken that the style is anything close to what I'm after and I remain skeptical that you will ever be Nuka-Girl, my Nuka-Girl! I knew as much when I first saw your photograph."

Stephanie felt sore, insulted, as if all of those areas that were most sensitive to her had been sliced open and salt poured in to it to rival the vast amounts of sugar they added to Nuka-Cola itself. "If I am so distasteful to you, why even agree to my hiring then?" she inquired, folding her arms infront of her chest.

"I did it as a favor," Bradberton answered, lacing his fingers together where they rested on his desk. "What is equivalent to a requirement in regards to the rules...just as I am now required to inform you that I have little to no idea whom I have accomodated by your employment."

"You don't know who's behind me?" Stephanie asked in genuine shock.

The cola creator shook his head. "We do not operate in such a way as to know which favor belongs to whom. That would prove detrimental to business. The call, more or less, comes in and we simply fulfill it, ending the deal. We each have our collection of markers...this is mine."

His fingers unlacing, Bradberton's right hand reached into his desk drawer and soon threw out an object, which landed on his desk with very little accompanying sound, save for something metallic. He looked at her like he expected her to know what it was, but it was up to Steph to correct him. "I can't see it from this far away."

Looking beyond inconvenienced, his hand disappeared into the desk once again and came back with a mask now, the same type doctors used while operating. "Come closer," he instructed once it was covering his mouth.

Walking forward, Steph leaned over the desk, finally seeing what the object lying on it was: the cap from off the top of a bottle of Nuka-Cola.

"Pick it up," he instructed again, with the wave of a finger soon placed under his chin.

Her own fingers reaching outward, Steph lifted the cap up, finding on the other side an unexpected object that made her gasp. A ruby had been fixed to the bottle cap, glittering, shining and absolutely beautiful.

"Here," Bradberton snapped, accepting her gasp as a sign she had seen the cap's true worth and holding out a small envelope for its immediate collection. "Drop it in here."

Aware the man didn't trust her, Steph let the cap linger two seconds too long between her finger and thumb, then when Bradberton looked anxious, let it fall into the paper pouch.

Bradberton stuffed it back inside of the drawer and scowled upwards at her, his eyes like daggers and his mouth probably twisted in to a sneer underneath the mask when he addressed her again. "That came in and I knew I was screwed. But whom I have to thank for this troublesome disruption, I have only mere presumptions. You came to us straight from Vegas, but I have aquired several debts in Vegas already. It would seem most likely that you are connected to one, Robert House, but I doubt he would ever be so stupid as to send you directly here from his base of operations. He's too sneaky a bastard for that...unless he's assuming I'll think in that fashion..."

His eyes were boring into hers and Stephanie took some pride in the fact that she did not make a move, not even a blink, to help incriminate her one and true boss.

"I know it must be damn important to whomever it was, but I have better things to do with my time then trying to source out the rat whom cursed me with a Nuka-Girl whom will only be on the weak side of efficient and in no way live up to the last one we had. She was brilliant, a marvel! You...why you're nothing more than what I believe was a two-bit, failed Las Vegas showgirl!"

Now Steph did blink involuntatily, betraying her own wounded self before she had betrayed House.

Bradberton smiled, probably lapping up the tear he saw housed in her eye and soon falling down her cheek, like a bead of condensation on a chilled bottle of his commonly consumed cola creation.

"As such, while you come and work for us here at Nuka-World, I deem it advisable for you to know that I have no reservations whatsoever about you meeting the same fate as our previous Nuka-Girl. Infact, I would look rather forward to it if you did. The faster the killer can dispose of you, the sooner I can begin looking for a more suitable replacement."

Steph pushed down the sharp, intense urge to slap the man's face and hopefully rip his cursed mask off at the same time as the ears it was attatched to. It would be satisfying, for sure, but it might also allow him to terminate her position all the faster, a single, simple and unthreatening act of violence somehow violating the rules of the favor.

Maybe that was even what he was banking on: to have her driven straight to his office in the dead of night, after a long flight, all on the hope that she would be tired, confused and lonely enough to lash out at him.

If it was, Steph was happily willing to disappoint him.

There was more at stake then just her shredded feelings afterall.

There was the fate of Vegas.

And all of Robert House's hopes and dreams.

Once more, Steph demurely folded her hands infront of her, helping to also prevent her from using them unwisely. Then, tilting her head to the side and addressing Bradberton in all sweetness, she said, "I regret to hear of your doubts in me, Mr. Bradberton. However, I look forward in doing my best to prove them...mistaken. I promise to become your best Nuka-Girl ever, just you wait and see!"

The smile remained on her face as the cola kingpin fell back in his seat in instant dismay. Then to further throw him off, Steph stepped about six feet back, telling him in the same polite, good little girl voice, "You can take your mask off now if you like, by the way. I'm far enough away."

Begrudingly, he tore it off, taking a deep breath now that his mouth was free, as if it had somehow been suffocating him. "At least you won't be costing me anything in way of your housing...not even for one tacky piece of furniture."

"What do you mean?" Steph asked, confused.

"Your apartment," her new boss snapped. "Most of my employees try their best to trick me into furnishing their rooms, or complain about it when I deduct the rental of furniture from off of their paychecks. That won't be the case with you. Whomever your mysterious benefactor is, they insisted on dressing up your new place themselves. It was another one of their requirements. If you have a problem with that fact, leave me out of it and take it up with them yourself. You'll know who it is afterall."

Stephanie wanted to smile (the first real one since setting foot in the office), but couldn't, every part of her body feeling frozen in place except for her irregularly beating heart.

"Now get out of here!" Bradberton commanded. "Huxley will pick you up at five tomorrow. You'll need a complete makeover. That hairstyle for one. You aren't in a stupid Vault-Tec commercial, understand. For Cappy's sake, you're a girl of the future not some stupid housewife!"

Her heart still feeling strange and fluttery, Steph nodded and offered a good night before she turned to head down the stairs. Bradberton shooed it away, looking throughly disgusted with both it and her.

How she got back down the steps, Steph never knew; her legs felt gelatinous, her brain simply mashed. Even the arm on a railing didn't feel like it belonged to her. She had somehow managed to survive her first official meeting with what was to be House's surface level replacement, all while he still controlled her in the background from Las Vegas. But it hadn't excited her as much as she had hoped it would or disquietened her fears about moving forward.

Infact her soul felt like a Nuka-Cola can when it had been shaken: in danger of popping.

Peyton was waiting patiently in the waiting room, just as he had claimed. A magazine was in his hand and his legs were crossed as he sat in one of the waiting room chairs.

"Oh good, your done," he remarked, the magazine cast casually to his side. Then, apparently seeing her current state, he gently inquired, "Are you okay?"

"I'm tired," Steph offered a partial truth for his concern.

"We'll just get you to your new home then," he commented, patting her upper arm and heading to the door. Dutifully, she followed, straight back into the night and the rain, all the way to the parking lot where the Sedan was still waiting.

As they drove away from the lot, and out of the amusement park, Steph, her head pressed to the glass of the window, obligatorily commented, "I enjoyed seeing Nuka-World."

Huxley just laughed. "Goodness gracious that was just the Nuka-Town area! There's much more to see. You'll be working in the Galactic Zone. That's a whole different section."

Steph let her head roll against the glass, feeling the coolness of it against her hot-to-the-touch skin. Hadn't House mentioned the Galactic Zone? Something about her liking it or feeling more at home there? It seemed like a million lightyears away and she was just so weary...

She might have dozed on the way to the company town of Bradberton, she couldn't be certain. Or maybe it was just so uneventful it didn't really matter if she had or not. In any case, she didn't remember Huxley rattling off any more gruesome statitstics, but maybe he was just too tired himself. Maybe trying to please John-Caleb Bradberton just left a person feeling that way.

The town he brought her to looked nice enough in the nighttime, but it was difficult to tell in the darkness what it would look like under full light; In the morning she could hate it Steph knew.

"I'll walk you to your door," the executive assistant announced, and Steph tried not to think about how House had walked her to her room back at the 38 the first night she had stayed there, the one she had been given when he had forbidden her from going back to her old apartment building.

The hallways were lighted but quiet and they made it to her door without much intrusion or curiosity, although there always was the chance for an eye to be up against a keyhole, Steph supposed, and no one else the wiser. The thought made her shiver again.

"I'll be picking you up tomorrow, five sharp," Peyton repeated the boss' they shared instructions. "Here's your key."

He went to pass it to her, and though Steph held her hand out flat to catch it, she still almost managed to drop it. She was just so exhausted. Worse...she felt broken. Everything from her worry about House having orchestrated murder to ease his plans along to the missing luggage to meeting Bradberton with all of his cruel criticsms had made her feel raw and shattered. She wanted now not only to go to her apartment but to sink into the floorboards themselves, becoming a part of the scenery, and not just some vital cog in someone else's machine, one she had no control over.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, a hand returning to her forehead.

"It's quite all right," Peyton Huxley said, patting her arm again. "Get some sleep. When you see how much the world loves its Nuka-Girl you'll feel a whole world better."

One of the eyes behind the glass shut in a knowing little wink and then Huxley turned to leave.

Stephanie watched him, placing the key in the lock but waiting to turn it until he was gone.

Her feet dragging, she walked into her darkened apartment, her hand reaching around for the light and choosing the wrong side before eventually landing on the switch. "Don't let Bradberton hear about that," she mumbled to herself. "It'll only convince him I'm not his precious Nuka-Girl. If I can't even turn on a stupid light, how am I supposed to turn on America?"

The light found and flicked, Steph's criticism of herself was suddenly interrupted by the sight the lightbulb illuminated.

When Bradberton had stated her apartment had already been furnished, she had possessed no real way of knowing that it would be so incredibly lavish, nor had the amusement park founder had any way to understand just how personal it was to be for her.

It was honestly like walking into the pages of a catalog where every article of furniture was designed exactly to her liking. Steph stepped into the apartment as if it were some enchanted cottage in a fairy tale.

Everything was lovely and...

New.

Her hand trailed over the back of the couch, a magnificent piece that was newborn to the touch, no previous owner obviously existing before her. She need not worry about living in the shadow of the last Nuka-Girl here, Steph realized: she was the first and the foremost.

Steph kicked off her shoes and ran to the bedroom, her feet traversing the plushest of rugs and carpets only to throw the door open and discover the most beautiful boudoir she'd ever seen in her life.

The bed was huge, something to become lost in, and the escape was aided by the most luxuriant sheets that had ever graced an ex showgirl's bed. If these had been the sheets at the 38, Steph knew, she'd never have had the heart to turn them into some paltry, make-shift rope. It would have been a sin and so she'd have stayed a prisoner.

House had truly outdone himself, nothing coming close to it except for the false Fremont.

The apartment was far grander than even her room back at the 38, where everything had been used by who knew how many strangers, despite its pristine condition. No this was something else, something devoted to her and her alone and something House would have needed to put his own hands in to help conjure up for her use and enjoyment.

It rivalled anything she'd even seen in the movies.

A fact House cheekily reminded her of.

On all of the walls, from the living room to the bedroom, Robert House had chosen the posters for the films they had watched together in their very own Fremont, but only the films she had particularly enjoyed, whether she had let him know or not.

Altogether, the apartment was proof, maybe all the proof Steph needed, that House had been paying attention to her. That while she had been studying a million crappy lessons that she couldn't care less for, he'd been equally studying her, at least, too. Whether it was due to a genuine interest or because he needed to understand his greatest asset, she couldn't give a ruby hiding behind a bottlecap for either.

It just meant the world to her that he had.

Giddily, her tiredness lessened by her rejuvenated joy and excitement, she opened the closet door and found a complete wardrobe hanging on wooden hangers, all of which had been hand carved into long necked swans.

She could have swooned, except a phone was ringing somewhere behind her in the apartment. Her eyes swept around the bedroom but saw nothing there that remotely looked like a telephone. Maybe Bradberton would demand one be placed next to her while she was fast asleep, but for some reason, that hadn't been high on House's priorities.

Unsure of who would call her here, but a teasing glimmer of hope dancing inside of her soul, Steph rushed back to the living room, finding both the phone and her hope answered as she picked it up with trembling fingers.

"So...how do you like it, my dear Miss Calculations?" a familiar voice asked before she could say a word.

"I love it," she answered, falling against the wall as her heart pounded. "But why are you...how can you?"

"It's not something I can ever do again, call you, I mean, not decorate your room. They'll likely place a bug on the phone after today; sometime when you're not there, odds are. But tonight, when it's just been installed...well, I thought it would be okay

"Thank you," Steph whispered, grateful above all the other things he had done for her just to hear his voice again. "Oh...thank you for everything."

She could almost hear the self satisfied smile on the other end and it was equivalent to an angel's singing. "I thought I knew you well enough by now. Check out the kitchen, though. I think you'll find something particularly amusing there."

Oh please don't go, Steph wanted to say, knowing what he would say next. Stay and talk forever, at least all night long, about anything, from what Vic was doing around the casino after she'd gone (even if it was cleaning out her old room) to what the Vegas sky looked like outside of the tower top window. She just wanted to listen to him, to know that he was out there holding a phone to his own ear, just as she was, and that they were linked by a telephone wire, something magically transformed into an electrical vein at this point in time.

Her lifeline if nothing else.

She should mention the stolen luggage, Steph knew, or could discuss Bradberton's rudeness, but feared these risked spoiling things too, bringing a darkness to a conversation which was healingly light to her, and just the sort of comfort her soul and heart needed right then.

Instead, she kept her mouth shut, just trying to be grateful for the blessing she never expected instead of getting greedy and wanting more.

"Good night Stephanie," House said, his voice perhaps softer, kinder than she had ever previously heard it, although maybe it was only in her mind and wishes.

"Good night Bert."

The sound of a click and that was the end of it.

Still, she had his last words to cling on to as she made her way to the kitchen, finding it even handled remarkably to her taste.

What he'd been talking about specfically was waiting for her on the counter, pristine and perfect in all of its injoked glory. Smiling, Steph made her way to the gift, her heart glowing as she stopped infront of the nice little toaster oven and read its manufacterer's nameplate:

RobCo.

On a whim she opened it, her bottom lip bitten, only to find a little peaches and cream colored note ready for her.

I think you'll find this far more dependable.

Feeling not so tired now, but actually hungry, Steph went to the fridge, wondering if it would be "furnished" too. It was, complete with anything and everything she could ask for, except for a chef to cook it all. Opening the freezer door, she found it well stocked with some of her favorite types of food from appetizers to desserts.

Sitting upfront, however, was a solitary frozen dinner.

The exact type that the Vault-Tec oven had burned to a crisp.

Steph didn't think too heavily on that coincidence or possibility this time.

Instead, the former Vegas native had simply grabbed the box, opened it and threw the rock hard tray into the RobCo toaster oven. The timer set, she waited patiently while it worked, literally like clockwork, the whole thing done perfectly in record breaking time.

Nuka-World's new Nuka-Girl then sat at her new kitchen and ate the thing with her new pieces of silverware, not caring that the freezer had provided plenty of other more expensive and tastier options.

To her it didn't matter.

Like the rest of the apartment, it was absolutely heavenly.

The only thing that could have possibly made it better was if House was sitting and eating his own dinner across from her.

Chapter Text

As per usual when her mind was racing, and even as exhausted as she was, Steph still found it difficult to sleep. Finally, after enough tossing and turning to almost strangle herself in her bedding, she nodded off, only for the alarm clock to wake her up after about only fifteen minutes of sleep.

Not that she'd been given much time for anything that resembled a decent attempt at rejuvenation.

With Bradberton setting the time so very early for Peyton picking her up, Steph half suspected that the Cola Creepo wanted her to show up looking wretched for her big transformation into Nuka-Girl. She didn't know the exact terms of the "favor" but something told her if she made a poor showing during her introduction Bradberton would have cause to fire her inexperienced ass in a week's time,  bottle cap or no bottle cap.

"People will want you to fail," House had warned her once. "You don't get anywhere in this world if you don't realize that first, my dear Miss Calculations. They always sleep a little better at night if they are somewhere on the ladder a rung or two above you...and they like it best when your fingers were crushed beneath their shoes as you go falling to the ground."

She never felt that bitter truth more, as she swung her legs over the edge of the wonderfully perfect bed her secret boss had given her, while her mind endlessly replayed the previous night's conversation with her visible employer. Her eyes fell to her chest, now wearing another one of House's gracious gifts (a satin nightgown of blue) and she recalled all too well Bradberton's words that she didn't quite "measure up".

So he didn't think she could succeed at being his Nuka-Girl, she thought rancidly, stretching the sleep out of her eyes and the rest of her body. Well, give her enough time and she'd have him eat those words and wash them down with a bottle of his sickly sweet Nuka-Cola too.

That was if she wasn't killed first.

As she went to scrub herself fresh for a day at her new workplace, where she feared her appearance was once again all that mattered, Stephanie wondered if she should have mentioned the missing suitcase to House on the phone last night. If he wasn't behind it, he might have been able to help solve the problem or get her out of there, at least, if things seemed dangerous; Bradberton and all his assumptions that she couldn't cut it be damned.

Still, it had been so nice hearing House's voice again, and after such a rotten day, where everything had seemed to go wrong, she hadn't had the strength nor the heart to spoil something that had finally been so right.

The apartment bathtub, more adequetely a shower, was in no way as luxurious as the one where she'd once scuffled with House, but right then it didn't have to be. The important thing was that she was clean and awake, something the 38's tub could help you forget was the whole purpose of a morning scrub down. It was a blessing at all that House had even saw fit to decorate the bathroom, so her surroundings were pretty too. As Steph stepped out of the shower, she smiled at the toilet seat cover, bright yellow and with red roses embroidered all over it. Her foot soon felt the fur of a matching rug tickling in between her toes.

Dry, dressed and ready to go, there was the barest kiss of light in the hallway as Steph stepped outside into it, meticulously dressed in an outfit that would soon be exchanged for the getup of Nuka-Cola's most famous spokesperson.

Locking the door behind her, Stephanie heard a woman's voice saying hi and instantly jumped a foot in the air, almost dropping the key for a second time.

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you," Steph turned to see the speaker standing and seeming genuinely repentant behind her.

Knowing that the woman was obviously just trying to be friendly and aware that, living in Bradberton too, she must be a coworker, Steph served up a warm smile and tried to soothe the stranger's regret over with her own pardon and pleasantries. "No, need to apologize. Guess I'm just on edge...it's my first day."

"I can only imagine," the girl said, a hand resting just above her heart. "And especially with what happened. I take it you're the new Nuka-Girl right? Or have I up and made another mistake?"

"Yes, that's me," Steph confirmed, seeing no reason why not to when it would be common knowledge by the end of the day. "But I'd rather you just call me, Steph. Nuka-Girl...kind of makes me uneasy."

Her neighbour smiled in understanding. "I know what you mean. I play Princess Cherry over at the Kiddie Kingdom and by the end of the day, I'm begging Oz to just call me Rachel again."

"Rachel," Steph repeated. "And Oz..."

"Oh, I guess I forgot to introduce myself. It's too early," Rachel almost cringed. "My name's Rachel Watkins, very glad to meet you, Steph." She held out her hand and Stephanie took it, giving it a friendly if somewhat light shake, confused if the girl's somewhat chaotic manner was just due to the earliness of their introduction or if she was a spy of some sort. She remembered the feeling of being watched last night and felt in no way comforted by the memory.

"Oswald Oppenheimer. He's my boyfriend and works over at the Kiddie Kingdom too, only he gets to keep at least half of his name. Oswald the Outrageous they call him. He goes into work even earlier than this, if you can imagine. Always trying out whatever magic act he conjured up the night before so then he can amuse the kids. I just play a Princess, nothing so dazzling. They just want me to look pretty in a dress..." Rachel's voice trailed off as she shrugged. "What I really want to be is one of Bradberton's renowned Beverageers, but I thought this was an okay place to start. I didn't waste years at university earning a degree in organic chemistry for nothing, you know."

"I'd say," House's personal spy agreed, while she slyly made an inward deduction. The girl could probably be struck off of the suspect list for the Nuka-Girl's murder. House had, afterall, stated, that the killer wasn't skilled at chemistry and Rachel had to be more than adequate to have earned a degree, unless it was through correspondence school. It didn't clear her boyfriend, however, whom suspiciously headed into work at such a wretched hour only God was awake by then. Still, Steph hoped for Rachel's sake that the magician was just passionate about his work.

Watkins was staring at her now, in something close to admiration and awe, although they had only just met. "You're lucky, though! You get to be the Nuka-Girl!" she exclaimed, her hands resting on her hips. "The things you'll get to do, like riding the simulated rocket! I'm so freaking jealous. Plus you won't have a bunch of prepubescent boys trying to look up your dress all day long."

"No," Steph smiled wryly, not ready to volunteer that,  being a former showgirl, she had paraded around in far less in front of such boys' fathers. Instead she confessed, "From what I see of the costume, I might be wearing pants, but they'll sure get an eyeful anyway."

Rachel nodded in concession. "Yeah, that's what the last one used to always say too. I heard she once told Huxley to coax Bradberton into changing it."

Seeing an opportunity to learn a bit more about her predecessor, Steph seized upon the moment, asking what might become her common refrain, "Oh, did you two know each other well?"

Expression faltering in guilt, but more or less because of her forthcoming answer, Rachel truthfully replied, "Not really. She lived on a different floor and kind of snubbed the gang over at the Kiddie Kingdom...I think she really took the job for ulterior motives, just like I did. She had her eyes on the movies though, not the actual product production."

"Ever see anything strange before she died?" Steph delicately inquired. "I need to know if I should be careful. I don't like that they haven't found the guy."

"You should be careful anyway and I shouldn't be so jealous," Rachel returned with some sympathy. "There are always nutcases drawn to the Nuka-Girl! Princess Cherry has nothing on her compared to admirers. And just like Nuka-Girl's galactic image suggests, many of her fans seem to come straight from outer space." The comment seemed to invoke a memory inside of the chemistry grad, her face scrunching in some sudden realization. "Now that I think of it...I do remember something strange, something I should probably mention to that Detective if he ever shows up here again."

"What was it?" Steph asked, almost urgent in her curiosity to hear something even Valentine hadn't.

"Well, a few days before her murder, I saw this..."

"Stephanie! So good to see you awake. With the busy day you had yesterday, I thought I might have to break down the door and drag you to Nuka-World half asleep!"

Both women turned to see Peyton Huxley walking down the hallway towards them, slapping his hands and rubbing them together, while a huge smile spread across his face like the first rays of the morning sun. "And I see that you've met our very own Princess Cherry! That's what I like to see! We're all one big happy family at Nuka-World, now aren't we?"

It was too early in the morning for such cheery bullshit, and Steph was close to rolling her eyes at it, but when she turned to Rachel to see if she shared the sentiment, the other Nuka-World employee was grinning widely as if she actually agreed with the man's viewpoint. Steph hid a sneer. Maybe Bradberton was no real indication of the general attitude of his workers. Maybe they all actually enjoyed working at the tacky tourist trap. Of course, Watkins lover also worked at the amusement park... Having the person you were in love with working by your side was an added benefit that could make all the difference in the world, Steph understood all to well.

Her thoughts instantly went to the Lucky 38 and Robert House, wishing she was sitting back at her desk inside of his makeshift classroom.

"Well, a new day is dawning, so shake off all that yawning," Huxley said making a playful, exagerated hit at the air. "We'd better get going to greet it."

Steph's bewildered sneer escaped partially as she wondered if these people consumed too much of the same overly candified product they endorsed. Was this all part of the show too or did they actually believe it?

Soon the same hand that had punched the air was grasping her upperarm and urging her forward. Luckily all of the man's touchy feeliness always seemed appropriately businesslike or else he'd be slapped with a lawsuit sooner than later, Steph thought. Or maybe he wasn't too familiar with the statistics for sexual harrassment charges these days.

Looking over her shoulder, Steph was determined to persevere. She waved and said, "Bye Rachel! It was a pleasure meeting you!"

"Oh and you too!" Rachel called out, a hand cupping her mouth. "Once they get you all suited up, I'm sure you'll have a BLAST-ER!"

Outside, Peyton promptly pulled her to their ride and then deposited her into the backseat, while he, once again, got behind the wheel. In the meantime, it allowed Steph a moment or two to regret that she hadn't had more time to hear Rachel's confession about what suspicious thing she'd witnessed in regards to the victim. She was also left considering how genuinely nice the woman had seemed, sincerely supporting her success, while she looked to her own, in a far different avenue. Maybe what House had told her about people greedily hoping for the failure of others had been wrong. Or maybe, more accurately, that was only the way paranoid-bussinessmen-whom-thought-everyone-was-out-to-get-them, thought.

The car moving down the road, showing off a different look at Bradberton Massachuchetts, Steph turned her gaze to the dashboard mirror, looking at the bespectacled eyes of Huxkey as he focused on the road.

"Is it really like a big family at Nuka-World? That's something Bradberton honestly encourages?" the newest employee asked one of its most influential.

"Oh, yes! Camaraderie is highly esteemed by Mr. Bradberton," Peyton answered. "It keeps things running smoothly..."

"And people out of his hair?" Steph smirked, folding her arms.

"Now, I didn't say that, Steph. But there isn't a workplace I know of that doesn't benefit from a happy, healthy atmosphere of kinship."

Thinking it over, Steph nodded; the executive's words were valid. Only other businesses benefitted from disharmony, like RobCo with what was currently being done over at H&H Tools. Shivering, she remembered the article she had read in the Vegas Times only yesterday, about a million hours ago. Apparently whatever House was doing was making employees distrust their boss, Anthony House, whom was becoming increasingly insane. No matter how horrible Bradberton was, apparently he didn't encourage in-company distrust.

He just didn't like his new Nuka-Girl personally.

Huxley seemed to have more to say on the subject, observing after a few beats of silence, "Maybe if the last Nuka-Girl had made more friends within Nuka-World she might not have...you know."

"I thought she was popular," Steph remarked, getting a far different picture now, albeit in pieces.

"To her public...outside of it, she was standoffish...cold,  aloof."

Steph raised an eyebrow, wondering now if Huxley's hands on approach wasn't so innocent afterall. "Oh, did you try to get friendly with her?"

The car almost swerved, not a sign of Huxley's guilt but rather because he had started laughing so hard. "Me? Are you kidding?"

Suddenly Steph was wondering what Peyton Huxley's tastes were exactly. She already worried that House's interests leaned towards the robotic...Did Peyton have his own intimate secrets?

"Besides," Bradberton's right hand man continued, trying to squelch his guffaws. "You see one Nuka-Girl you've seen them all. They're really nothing special."

"Gee...thanks," Steph snapped.

"Don't take it personally," her driver instructed, now far more sober. "You'll be perfect...ideal even."

Steph sighed and turned her gaze outside of the window at the overpass they were crossing. "I wish your boss thought so."

Peyton Huxley was quiet for a few minutes, probably having heard for himself the Cola King's complaints and criticisms over the new girl.

"He just has a lot on his mind these days," Peyton stated almost apologetically. "Not just the murder but other things too. On top of all that, Mr. Bradberton is a real artist and like any artist he resents his vision being compromised. You have to understand and give him time to warm to you."

Steph laughed. "I doubt it. Not even if I was a chunk of the sun fried up at 500...or an actual nuke going off in the California sun."

Huxley shut up after that, either not having anything to say or his thoughts now off on something else too, a reference made to something that seemed to be weighing heavily on most peoples minds these days.

At least most people whom paid any attention to the evening news.

Sitting in the backseat, quietly, Steph wondered if Peyton Huxley knew what the statistics were for a nuclear war: the deaths and destruction, when it would happen? Or had Robert House successfully cornered that particular market when it concerned the end of the world?

Chapter Text

They drove straight into Nuka-World via another entrance that seemed somewhat hidden to the general public and Steph wondered just how many secret ways in Bradberton had managed to conceive. The probably inconsequentual question of where Huxley had managed to find a dry suit in a seemingly closetless room came back to her, but she didn't bother to press the man about it, his thoughts still soured from their earlier conversation. In any case, all of the secret rooms, roads and passage ways left her feeling in no way better about Nuka-World's safety and its old Nuka-Girl's death. With all of those openings and ways out, who could tell whom had gotten into the place and out without security being any the wiser?

Why the killer could still be lurking inside of, or under, the amusement park...it wasn't that hard to imagine.

Waiting patiently for the next object of his adoration to arrive...

Steph shivered and Peyton must have caught sight of it in the dashboard mirror.

"Cold?" he questioned. "You probably should have dressed in something warmer."

"Probably," she replied.

He looked on the verge of asking how she'd managed to dress at all, what with a stolen suitcase and her current outfit not the same as before, but apparently dropped it upon realizing that it might not be any of his business. What was his business was was Nuka-Cola and all that represented it, and that solely involved getting her to look like their most popular icon. Right then, it probably wouldn't have mattered if he'd dragged her in naked, so long as there was a bag over her head so as not to sully his company's reputation.

Parking in another parking lot, this one underground, a whole lot smaller and filled with a variety of more interesting vehicles, Huxley once again pushed her forward once she stepped out, this time directly to a door of what looked more like an elevator to whatever building they were underground to. He encouraged her to enter it and Stephanie complied, her thoughts still anxious with the at-large killer.

"So is this the makeover section of the park?" Steph asked, leaning against the bar of the elevator car.

"Not really," Huxley cringed, typing in a number and then fixing his tie, as if the slight jolt had somehow disheveled it. "But we do use it for odd, unexpected jobs and the sudden need for a new Nuka-Girl is of the utmost importance. Sorry if this all is an inconvenience and something you are not used to. We do things differently in Massachusetts than Vegas."

Steph's upperam pushed against the wall. It wouldn't do to tell the man that she'd already had an improptune (if anything House did could be called that) makeover in a Las Vegas public restroom. She was used to life throwing her into the oddest of situations by now, ever since the collapse of her family's music box business; that was probably something House couldn't have taught her in a classroom either. It was something you only learned by living.

Butterflies filled her stomach as the elevator rose, but they were probably only half from that and the rest because she was getting nervous the more awake and alert she became. What if she did look horrible in the costume? What if the audience didn't buy her as the sugary spacegirl supreme? Worse, what if Bud Askins heard of the new girl and instantly loathed her as much as John-Caleb Bradberton had? She'd be screwed then, both in the public's eye and House's. Her hand going to her stomach, Steph was grateful she'd opted for a light breakfast of a half bagel from House's gifted bounty. If she hadn't, right now, she might have set her breakfast flying with all of the butterflies.

"Here we are," Peyton announced his hand waving her forward as the doors slid open.

Steph stepped forward and then out of the way, as Huxley confidently moved on, intending her to follow despite the momentary "ladies first" gesture. He knew where he was going, as opposed to she, so Stephanie proceeded, passing many doors along the way with frosted glass, where only misty figures moving on the other side, gave away that they weren't alone in the building. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been so sure, the sound of their shoes hitting the hallway practically the only sound besides a Nuka-Cola jingle playing over the loudspeaker.

"Your staff is silent," Steph commented.

"The walls are soundproof," Peyton Huxley remarked. "Bradberton and his associate's orders."

"His associates?" Steph repeated. "Who in league with a cola manufacturer could be so paranoid?"

Peyton briefly glanced back at her from over his shoulder but otherwise remained quiet. In his volumous silence, Steph remembered him mentioning something about a Sergeant or Colonel or something. What the hell had Nuka-Cola gotten itself into if it was partners with the military, she had to wonder?

"Here! This is the room where your makeover was assigned," her guide stated, coming to rest at a door not unlike all the others, bearing no titles or plaques saying what it specifically was.

He threw open the door and they both went inside, one of them shocked and the other merely disappointed.

"I'm sorry," Peyton said, shaking his head and taking his glasses off to clean with his tie. "You'll have to accommodate the discomfort. Unfortunately, there was such short time to arrange anything better, the former Miss Nuka-Girl dying on us like she did!"

He said it with blame in each syllable, like the ex employee had gotten herself murdered just to spite the company. Steph only barely registered the rudeness however. She was too amazed by what Huxley took to be inadequate to unfortunately linger on corporate cruelty. House had managed to reconstruct the Fremont inside of an old casino and Bradberton had actually managed to transform what was probably a vacant room into something that actually resembled a high end beauty spa: pink and silver chiffon everywhere and cushioned circular chairs placed in just the right spots, complete with fashion magazines strewn about to cast the boredom away. Even the gaggle of men and women standing about ready to get their hands on her looked like consummate professionals. They certainly weren't House with his toilet stall of bleach and a towel, in any case.

When a woman stepped forward, her own hair tied back in a bun tight enough to make her black eyes bulge behind her mammoth glasses, Peyton dispensed of his criticisms, grabbing Steph by the shoulder and pulling her forward to make an introduction.

"Here she is, Idith," he announced almost handing Steph over to the shorter woman as if she were some sort of human sacrifice. "Our new Nuka-Girl. Or, at least, she will be once you are done with her."

Idith sneered in her own disappointment. "Miracles! You expect miracles when you give me a cows ear to work with and expect me to do it in what equals to a high school washroom? Huxley, you and Bradberton should both be ashamed of yourselves!"

Steph knew she once again should have been insulted,  but the comment only brought back good memories of the first time she'd gone through a makeover at House's hands that she was too busy too.

"Come now don't be so melodramatic," Huxley stated, his pleasant manner dropped. "I know you come to us from showbiz, but keep the theatrics for Broadway. You've worked with worse. Or should I remind you of Gilda Broscoe again."

Rolling her eyes in deadpan horror, Idith took hold of Stephanie like she was a particularly cheap purse. The young woman was dragged unceremoniously to the perfectly spa like chair infront of a wide mirror and a sink that seemed fashioned straight from a magnificent and ornate bird bath. Idith wasted little time, while Steph stared in dismay at her reflection, bags from lack of sleep making fallen brackets beneath each eye. Idith slapped a sheet over the younger woman's shoulders and then clapped her small hands together, making a noise closer to a thunderclap then the striking of mere skin, further winning everyone's full attention.

"Come on boys and girls! Time to get galactic and let us work some of our magic!"

Slinking in her chair, Steph cowered as the group of hairstylists and beauticians pounced on her like she was a bowl of kitty kibble and they were all a bunch of hungry alleycats.

For the next three hours, not a second less, Steph was subjected to a makeover done like some sort of battle strategy, where no expense was spared and no tiny detail overlooked. Her body was examined and treated from the end of a hair's follicle to the tip of a toe, as if anyone would even see that in a pair of boots. It might have been unpleasant vein6g manhandled and turned this way and that aside from the fact that Idith's team knew what they were doing and possessed hands that were swift, knowing and delicate enough not to hurt what equaled to just another one of Bradberton's "products".

Steph was sure that it was probably what a lot of Manhattan socialites spent oodles on up in their expensive little beauty parlours. As a kid, with her dad and granddad often taking her to New York on their business trips, she'd even envisioned a glamorous day at the spa, such as this, one where she could be pampered and treated like a real and proper princess, not the daughter of an ailing business.

Unfortunately, it only made her miss the intimacy of what House had done to her over a plain (if still upscale) porcelain sink in the Lucky 38 all the more. It had just been them then afterall. Oh, how she was missing that now, when he was so very far away and she was surrounded by so many people she couldn't really care less about! If only the whole damn room could be empy and it could just be her and Robert House again! Steph would have given all of her salary as the Nuka-Girl to have the millionaire be her makeover king for just one moment!

"You're a kept woman," Idith stated, pulling on a lock of her subject's hair and then glancing at her eyes in the mirror. "Don't bother telling me you aren't. You have all the signs of it."

The older woman started grabbing more locks of hair and tugging at them, trying to gauge their length, willingness or maybe even something else.

"What would those be?" Steph inquired, genuinely curious.

"You look pampered, but maybe not at the same level as a wife," Idith answered. "Your dye job is excellent but not professional, your clothes stylish but not right off the rack of the Paris showrooms."

"Anything else?" Steph asked, questioning whether or not House tending to her as his personal spy meant the woman was right or wrong.

"Your thoughts are obviously with him now," Idith replied, sourly looking at her eyes once again in the reflection. "Probably because of the separation; you came to us from Vegas, Huxley let that much slip. Your placement here was too quick. Bradberton wouldn't exactly waste time in finding a replacement for his fantasy girl, but wouldn't allow himself to before the last one had been put to rest. That would look bad and he already spends too much hushing up bad press. No...it was a favor...which means that somebody is looking out for you. That's a double edged sword though, girl. Your being here means your both important to whomever your sugar daddy is and replaceable at the same time. He can find another dish to help keep him warm while you're all the way out here."

The woman looked almost glad to be telling her this, but Steph kept her own smug smile at bay. Little did the tightl- strung-stylist know that House would sooner replace her with a machine made of steel and wire than an actual flesh and blood "dish" that could provide any real warmth. Idith's error made Steph's jealousy not as pronounced from the simple fact that she could gloat. Trying her hand at acting, Steph attempted to look wounded, the glass version of herself seeming to pull it off not too badly.

"Don't take it so personally," Idith said, her face more pinched than ever. "If he's from Vegas, and he's rich, he's a gangster...you don't mess with those kind of men ever for too long. No never."

"Vegas as its share of businessmen," Steph argued, shifting in her chair. "They needn't be mafia to be rich."

Idith laughed, a sound as bitter and toxic as the fumes of the chemicals she was abusing all in the name of beauty. "A successful businessman is only a mobman dressed in a more decepive sort of suit. I should know, I gave most of the bastards fashion tips  Trust me: everyone with money in Las Vegas is a gangster in one form or another."

Now the expression on Mirror Stephanie's face wasn't a complete act. She'd never given much thought to the question of if Robert Edwin House was mafia or not. Even if he wasn't, it didn't mean that his family wasn't...did it matter though? Probably not. Still it bothered her. It cast House's objectives in saving Vegas in a disturbingly darker light...wasn't that always what the big Families were fighting for anyway: whom would control the city at the end of the day?

Now, not only did she have to worry about the end of the world, she had to be concerned for Vegas' if the end came and House was in control...

Could she live with herself, even if she was miles away and locked in a vault several feet underground,  knowing she had let some robot-crazed-kingpin-daddy in charge of the survivors lives?

Reliving the phone call House had made to her last night, and how it still made her feel, Steph was as equally frightened of herself and her ultimate motives in the whole scenario. As long as he treated her right, was she willing to ignore how he would treat everyone else?

Luckily, in a few minutes after the question had been raised, her transformation was almost complete and, just like with Valentine from the night before, she would no longer need to see the face of the gardener whom planted such distasteful seeds to grow wild inside of her mind.

What hurt her most had been left until the virtual end, Idith bearing the pair of scissors and chopping away at her head like she was a lawn hedge. Steph hated thinking of the hairstyle House himself had given to her brutally mowed away in order to make her the latest Nuka-Girl. Seeing herself in the mirror wearing the hairstyle she'd always found somewhat odd, Steph almost started to cry.

The tears had threatened to actually fall when Idith turned to the wardrobe and casually remarked, "Pushup bra desperately needed here to give her what the audience paid for." Steph was thinking of Miss Ann Thrope's enhancements when Idith turned to catch the wet streaks on her cheeks. "It's not you, it's Bradberton's f-ing exagerrated design! He expects too much for a natural woman to live up to, just as he expects too much of the livers from anyone drinking his poisonous cola! Believe me, girl, all the women I've worked with in Hollywood use a certain type of brassiere to help get by, all in the name of the audience's fantasies."

Steph nodded and bit her lip, pushing down old insecurities. "Okay," she whispered.

Maybe it was in that moment of unabashed human vulnerability, the woman suddenly warmed to her, having previously been exposed constantly to the jadedness of the starlets in showbiz, because Steph felt Idith's mood subtly shift towards her when the assistant returned carrying the pushup bra

"What is that thing?" she asked, the assistant  holding it up and letting it dangle like an odd sort of globular, coneshaped earmuffs from her fingertips.

"Don't you remember?" the assistant, sporting a foot tall beehive, asked in between gum chews. "That's a variation of the contraption that the weirdo up in Vegas sent you last summer, you know, for that actress he's involved with."

"Weirdo in Vegas?" Steph repeated, knowing before it was even answered just whom they were referring to. A New Vegas freak whom had been involved with an actress? It could only be one mad scientist she knew of.

"Robert Edwin House," Idith stated, grabbing it from her underling's hand, the straps unintentionally hitting Steph on her bare midriff. "He thinks his love of the movies and money means he can help out in their construction." The stylist turned her studious gaze on her again and added, "Still it can do the job when needed. And to appease Bradberton, why not try it now? It couldn't hurt anyway and Nuka-Girl is intended to defy gravity and the laws of all known physics."

Pushing the brasierre into the new Nuka-Girl's trembling hands, Idith spun Steph's half naked body around like a driedel and pushed her towards a thick curtain of pink velvet, the young woman assumed was meant to represent a makeshift dressing room.

Behind the curtain, as she now saw House figuratively standing behind his own while he continued to orchestrate her movements and decisions, Steph stared at the bra and its odd design. He was always trying to get his hands on everything, a man with a need for control, playing puppetmaster and trying to shape all things to his liking...even Hollywood.

Steph looked down at her chest.

Instantly, House's evaluation of her breasts hit her right back.

"No, they're lovely."

The memory caused her to smile as she undid her old bra and slipped the new one's straps over her arms. It was odd but she felt closer to House wearing the stupid thing, not so delusional as to believe it was his hands cupping her breasts instead of fabric, but still like he was closer to her heart in some way. If she did delude herself, she could even imagine him having specifically designed the dumb contraption knowing that she would need it someday for her big transformation into the measurement defying Nuka-Girl...

But that would also then mean he had planned in advance the need for that role to be unoccupied...

Steph shook the thought away, her hair now so doused in hairspray not even a single strand moved. It was just nice and safe enough to picture House having worked on something touching her, while that was a physical impossibility at the moment, to wreck it by daring to go even deeper.

There were no mirrors back there to see how she looked wearing the bra, but Steph could feel the difference it made. Now, when she stepped into the Nuka-Girl uniform, she would feel more confident...

And once again it was all Robert House's doing.

Idith virtually said as much as Steph walked out from behind the curtain.

"Beautiful!" Idith exclaimed, giving a chef's kiss to the air. "Promise me, if you ever bump into that nutcase over in Vegas, you'll thank him for the both of us by giving the loser a kiss."

Steph nodded, hoping that with the vast amount of skin on display the goosebumps popping up all over her body would go unnoticed by the woman in her enormous glasses. Trying to put on a good bit of acting, however, and hoping to shield herself beneath it, Steph made an exagerated X over her now amplified chest and stated "Cross my heart."

Chapter Text

"Well look at you," Peyton Huxley stated as Steph walked out from behind the curtain, having fully, and quite literally, stepped into the boots of the nationally famous Nuka-Cola symbol and emerging completely in costume. It might have irked her that Huxley was seeing her in full garb before she even had a chance, but right then she was just so happy he'd stayed outside of the room when she'd been trying out House's push-up bra that she had very few complaints.

Steph offered a smile to the man whom had been her constant guide for the last few hours and then turned to look at herself in the full length mirror, almost gasping at the sight that was waiting to greet her eager eyes.

Standing in the mirror wasn't the same bleached Las Vegas show girl whom had stepped off the plane from Nevada. This wasn't even the girl whom had left her new apartment in Massachusetts this morning, only a few hours ago. This was the Nuka-Girl herself, straight from the stars and the heavens. Moving closer, she saw the same image she'd seen on countless billboards staring back at her. There was the mostly white and red striped top and matching bottom, separated by the sea of flesh of her bare middle. Her arms were draped in sleek black gloves, to pair with the also shining boots, and the holster around her hips held a blaster which simultaneously advertised the product she was known for promoting, its logo emblazoned across its own body. Even her hair was perfect, the stylist's constant fussing over it having wrought something that looked exactly like John-Caleb Bradberton's creation.

Steph believed even House would have been pleased, nodding in approval, though his own work had been trampled upon and replaced by another's.

"Idith Pied," Peyton stated as both the woman he was addressing and he flanked the new Nuka-Girl in the mirror's reflection, "You have gone and done it again and Mr. Bradberton, Nuka-Cola and myself are indebted to your unrivaled genius."

Of course, no matter how softened the woman had been by her client's human invulnerability, Idith was still there to put a wet blanket on her joy.

"Hold your horses there, Huxley, you might still need to print up a card with my name on it for one of your stupid baskets," she said in retaliation, looking her work over and not being anywhere close to satisfaction. "No...not right...not right at all. She is not the Nuka-Girl."

Steph was about to speak when Peyton stole her exact words, it making for a surreal moment when she saw them coming out of his mouth. "How come?"

Idith shook her head, as if it should be obvious to anyone with a pair of somewhat working eyes. Then,  grabbing Stephanie's shoulders, she gave them a little shake, like she was a malfunctioning piece of equipment in which you could simply cause the broken piece to fall back into place with a little jostle. "There's an attutude about this sort of thing..." she verbally explained. "You don't just put on the costume and expect it to work...any critic covering Broadway will tell you that after watching an amateur stomp around the stage for a few hours thinking that a fancy stagedress can get them by...no, the audience can tell if the actor embodies the roll...or if they don't"

Now poking Steph in the upperarm, like she was a biscuit she was checking to make sure was done, Idith shook her head in disapproval over the recipe. "And I'm sorry Hux...She doesn't have that special quality. Not yet anyway."

Feeling her heart sink into the ebony toe of her out-of-this-world boots, Steph felt both angry and sad and struggled with the right rebuff to say, if it should be polite or sassy, when Peyton, looking to his watch, groaned and grabbed the same shoulders Stephanie could still feel Idith's fingernail digging into.

"She will be, or, at keast she's got to be...I promised I'd have her over at the Galactic Zone thirty minutes ago!"

Pushed back towards the door without any label on it, Steph was feeling like a piece of cattle when she heard the famous stylist call out in repartee, "Well you give me a cow's ear to work with, what the hell do you expect? You should be happy you aren't an hour late!"

And with the feeling like this was almost where she came in, Steph was pushed out of the room, her insides feeling like the many failed attempts Bradberton had probably made of his unhealthy concoction before it was approved by the FDAA on the grounds that it wouldn't kill anybody...not right away anyway.

She went to move back in the direction towards the elevator, feeling awkward in the costume now that she was outside of the makeshift beauty parlour, where, at least, such a getup felt suitable, but instead Peyton grabbed her by the elbow and made her spin around so quickly, with the bright white and red stripe, she might as well have looked like a human top.

"No, not that way, this," he reprimanded. "It's faster and we can get you to the Galactic Zone without the paid crowd seeing you."

"Is that somehow important?" Steph asked, feeling practically dragged.

"Yes," he replied without elaborating, then hurried on both in words and feet. "Luckily we are in the Nuka-Town area as we speak. We can get to where we need to be easily enough from here, as opposed to any of the other attractions such as World of Refreshment or Safari Adventure."

Still being dragged, Steph wondered how Rachel was doing over at the Kiddie Kingdom and if she had met up with her boyfriend yet, Oscar the Odorous or Orwald the Obnoxious or whatever he was called.

Lead down several corridors, and taking several elevators up and down, it was with no small relief that she rested against a wall as Peyton suddenly stopped outside of a door to search his pocket for a key. The boots weren't exactly uncomfortable but she was still getting used to them and the assistant's speed was making the transition even more of a struggle. All she wanted to do was catch her breath, something that seemed ironic when Peyton Huxley pushed whatever he had dug up from the finally opened closet directly over her head.

"The Nuka-Girl helmet," Steph stated unimpressed, her voice sounding bubbled and echoey even to her own ears. "I almost forgot about that."

Peyton looked proud of himself as he grabbed a backback and attatched it to her back now too, shoving her arms in the straps and attatching a hose from it to the astronaut helmet. As far as Steph could tell, it was for decorative purposes only, no air coming in to battle the bit of instant claustrophobia the finishing touch of the costume invoked. "Thanks," she replied and noticed that, at least, her voice was clearer and louder now outside.

"You're very welcome."

The plastic of the helmet was very shiny, new, making it easy to see through, at least, as if it didn't even exist. A thought occurred to Steph and she realized that now was the right time to voice it when she could finally be heard. "Umm, Peyton...I heard that the last Nuka-Girl, well, that her killer tried to turn her into a human statue..."

"How did you hear that?" Huxley demanded, his brows bunching together. "The papers weren't allowed to print it, not until Bradberton gave the go-ahead."

"Valentine let it slide," Steph lied, hoping there was no security camera footage of the office yesterday for the man to study later. "I think he was trying to scare me."

"Stupid man," Huxley hissed. "I should have known you couldn't trust a man with that sort of name...Valentines were always diappointing for me."

Ignoring an unecessary visit to Peyton Huxley's "traumatic" past, Steph continued onward with her true intent. "But was she wearing this when he did it? I mean, that's kind of hard to imagine..."

Especially after actually wearing it.

"No, he took it off of her," Peyton stated sticking his hands into his pockets. "Then he took it with him when he left, as a souvenir I suppose. It was horrible..." he stated, for the first time displaying some genuine sadness over the young woman's death.

"Yes," Steph agreed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"We had to have a new one made, fast, and that wasn't cheap," Peyton Huxley finished, giving the impression once again that the dead girl's death was more of an inconvenience than anything else. Although she had previously sort of liked the man Steph now wished that the blaster were real so she could zap him with it.

Steph stood away from the wall. If she were to die would he treat her untimely demise in the same callous way? If so, she'd rather get the chore of being Nuka-Girl over with, make Bud Askins fall in love with her and then get out of there as quickly as possible. "Better take me to this Galactic Zone," she stated resolutely, now feeling like she was carrying extra weight both literally and figuratively on her shoulders.

Peyton took charge of leading her for a second time, probably noticing the wetness on her cheek and fearing the odds of her turning the helmet into something that resembled a fishbowl if he left her contemplating her dead replacement, what with the horrible burden of her female hormones and emotions and all.

They marched down another corridor until they arrived at a lift, which Peyton stepped into. It was pretty small, much more so then the previous ones, but Steph had no more qualms about being in cramped quarters with Huxley. As previously stated, he obviously wasn't interested in the Nuka-Girl or anyone whom resembled her. She could be in just the bra that House had designed and it wouldn't matter a jot. The lift provided her with enough time to compare House's reactions to her against Huxley's. While the genius of Vegas had been cold and detached, he'd also still been man enough to generate a chemistry, even if he refused to ever acknowledge or act on it. Huxley in comparison, though always civil, obviously was disinterested in her completely.

She supposed it could easily be said that she felt, at least, House saw her as a human being, though he was unused to such things. Huxley merely saw her as a commodity, no different than the cola or amusement park wares he was helping his boss to sell. It gave her an even greater appreciation of House...she was probably just seeing him through rose colored glasses but that still seemed better than the all too clear plastic of the new Nuka helmet.

They emerged into the park, straight into it infact, right from the lift itself, which seemed to emerge from the ground in a pill like dome of fiberglass and then retract once they had stepped out, with very little notice from the crowd around them. It wasn't too hard to figure out why: This was obviously the Galactic Zone she'd heard about from both House and Huxley and the customers, no doubt, just took it as another marvel of the future, not some clandestine way for employees to sneak around their place of work.

Feeling about as exposed now as when she'd been in her underwear, Steph stepped behind her guide, feeling nowhere closer to the attitude that Idith had criticized she'd lacked. Whatever he'd brought her here for, however, her hiding behind him wasn't an option for Peyton Huxley. Reaching roughly behind him, he pulled her around to his front, making sure that all eyes were on her and not him.

Steph reeled for a second as now the people surrounding them, the passebys and the gawkers, stopped and paid full attention. They seemed to recognize the suit and all that went with it, but to Stephanie...well they were as warm to her as a Nuka-Cola left too long in the icebox.

"Get out there, be our Nuka-Girl!" Peyton encouraged, pushing her about a foot forward and almost to the ground. "The press will be here any second. Thank goodness they must be late."

"But I...I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she stated, her voice desperate and almost like a child's.

"You've seen the ads...just wave the blaster around and do the same silly schtick!" he urged in what sounded close to a threat as it came out between his clenched teeth.

Steph gradually took a few steps forward, her boots feeling worse than ever as she drew out the blaster from its holster. Smiling a grin that felt as genuine as a presidential candidate's promises and as forced as a Jehovah's Witness' vote would have to be, Steph waved the blaster about, her hand trembling the whole time.

It certainly didn't help when she dropped it, actually causing a few shocked bystanders to cringe and another few to outright snicker.

Squatting to quickly pick it up, Steph looked in embarrasment to her side as Peyton was instantly squatting down next to her, as if trying to pick it up first. Thankfully she beat him to it and they rose in unison, luckily not bumping heads on the way up and further accentuating her incompetence. She looked to him, unsure if she should be grateful or resentful,  but he was only motioning her forward again, on with her walk of humiliation.

Maybe Peyton was having some doubts now too, though, she noted before resuming. There was something in the eyes behind the glasses, some flash of anxiety probably akin to how he felt whenever a grieving family sent back one of his condolence baskets.

She continued to put one boot in front of the other, not out of bravery but to get away from the devastating look on his face.

Not that the expressions around her were any more comforting.

The men were not lusting after her, nor were the women jealous. All she could coax from them was either shock, confusion or pity. Idith was right. She might look like the Nuka-Girl but she definitely didn't have that needed spark inside to make her the famous icon, even if it could only ever be a fantasy.

The crowd was gathering now, everybody drawn to her like people to a car accident.

They might be mourning the old Nuka-Girl, but from the way they were looking at her...the replacement felt like they personally wanted to kill her themselves.

Right then, the walk she was making suddenly resembled what the first Christians must have felt like when they were going out to meet the lions.

Steph went from waving the blaster around, halfheartedly to forgoing any attempt at all, choosing to hold herself instead. Suddenly she was feeling very cold, her bare midriff not helping any. Not close to whom she was supposed to be, the woman actually felt more like she was the Emperor in that old fairytale, complete with his nonexistent suit that was supposed to be so brilliant but was really only nothing.

Nothing at all.

Maybe she wouldn't be able to cut it...maybe both Bradberton and Idith were right and this time Robert House was horribly wrong, to the wastebin with all of his guesses and calculations. Funny how that usually would have pleased her, House being wrong, Steph lamented, but now it only made her feel queasy and admonished.

She turned to look behind her again, hoping that maybe Peyton would see what a failure this was turning out to be and then get her out of there and back to her apartment to pack before the press could witness the fiasco for themselves and put it in print.

Then she saw what was behind them...what had been there the whole time, standing in all of its beauty like a beacon of hope playing shadow.

"What's that?" she murmured.

Annoyed by the interruption, Peyton still followed her gaze straight to the tower, looming at their backs, like the tower of Babel trying to get to heaven.

Or, more importantly to Steph, like the Lucky 38 keeping its silent watch over Las Vegas.

"That's just Starport Nuka," he answered, unimpressed by a sight he'd seen a million times before.

"What's it for?" Stephanie inquired, her voice lighter inside of the helmet than it sounded outside of it.

"It's kind of a museum to space and the military..." he then leaned forward, whispering something so only she could hear it. "We also control all of our robots from it."

Remembering the army of Securitrons that House had manufactured beneath the Lucky 38, and his eventual plans for them across the city, Steph's heart took flight, past the stars you couldn't see in the sky past the brightness of the day and all the way to the moon...

No longer was she thinking about Idith's words about gangsters in Vegas or her fears about House becoming a tyrant in time...

Now she all she could think of were a few vague, portentous words uttered before her leaving...

"You will be working primarily in the Galactic Zone of Nuka-World. There you might feel more at home." 

A smile spread across Steph's face, House's prophecy instantly coming true.

When she turned back to the crowd, the former Vegas resident had left the old insecurities behind her like a cloak that had fallen quickly to the ground at her feet. Steph stood there confidently while the mantle of the role she had been entrusted with took its place with super speed.

Her eyes rolling over the crowd that had come to witness her failure, Steph gave them a full on assault of her beaming smile, followed by a knowing and bold little wink...

Then in the beat of a second, her reflexes so well honed by Robert House himself, she whipped out her blaster from its holster and stood with it in perfect and fearless imitation of the famous Nuka-Girl pose.

"IT'S HER!" someone in the crowd began screaming. "IT'S THE NUKA-GIRL!"

Screams of delight and respect began to wave through the sea of people as they started to cheer and clap, all in awe at the resurrected public icon standing in their presence.

Eating it up like it was the big breakfast she'd skipped that morning, Steph continued to pose, imagining in her head the whole time that House was watching her from atop the Starport Nuka, patting himself on the back for the grand success of his creation.

In time, a professional flash bulb went off, beckoning the arrival of the press Huxley had mentioned earlier. With their arrival, the journalists found Bradberton's new discovery being adored by her audience, the new Nuka-Girl just as eagerly feeding off of the flash of their bulbs as she continued to strike pose after pose, some even verging on the provocative. For this, Steph was easily aided by her past as a Las Vegas showgirl, a past House had buried so deeply none of the reporters would ever dare discover it to cause any sort of unnecessary and unpleasant scandal for either her or him. All the newsprint vultures would have to report, when the next edition ran around, was countless articles declaring the resounding triumph the replacement for the last Nuka-Girl turned out to be, each showing off on their respective front pages the photographic proof, Starport Nuka standing proudly in the distance behind her.

What their cameras failed to capture, however (and what Steph was equally unaware of, at the time), was how the vibrant young woman virtually had on either side of her the Galactic Zone's very own Among the Stars and Battlezone.

One being the property of the powerful Vault-Tec, the other the possession of the revolutionary RobCo Industries.

Nuka-World's new Nuka-Girl stood sandwiched between both attractions, a beautiful, radiant smile on her face to rival that of the glow of the sun, all while she remained blissfully ignorant of the tug of war which was waiting for her, practically written in the stars.

Chapter Text

It was amazing what a bit of good publicity could do for your ego, Steph thought as she stared at the headline in all of its glory, presumably straight off the press from the evening edition of the Boston Bugle itself:

"NEW NUKA-GIRL 'NOCKS 'EM DEAD AS DEAD NUKA-GIRL'S KILLER STILL AT LARGE!"

The picture accompanying it didn't hurt either, forever preserving, and helping to always invoke, the memory of the crowd cheering her on and offering the full extent of their respect and affection right at her feet.

Steph smiled, far more at ease now that the day was coming to its successful closing,  as opposed to its nervewracking and blind beginning.

Now she could put all of her anxieties to the side, kick her boots off, put her tired feet up and relax.

Unfortunately, since she was back in the backseat of Huxley's Sedan, he wasn't too happy about her doing it just then.

"Would you mind!" her driver exclaimed, taking his hands off from the steering wheel long enough to shoo her feet off from the top of his backrest. "I'm trying to drive here! Do you know how many accidents happen due to passenger hijinks on the highway?"

"No, but I know the odds were 100% that you were going to tell me," Steph said with a laugh, shifting in the backseat and dropping the paper Huxley himself had given to her onto the upholstery.

They had been on their way out from the amusememt park and the Bugle had been waiting on the floor of the empty hallway directly on their way back to the parking lot through the underground offices. Huxley had looked it over once, well pleased with what it had to say, and then given it to her. "Keep it...as a souvenir," he'd explained.

Now finally letting it go after having read it twenty times already, Stephanie picked up the other present that had been waiting for them in the bowels of Nuka-World: a perfectly chilled bottle, of champagne.

Thank God it hadn't been Nuka-Cola or she might have puked.

It had apparently come from Bradberton himself, in lieu of a tail between his legs, and Steph intended to savor it all on the way back to his namesake of a town. He was probably still hoping her success was a fluke, but she'd accept his momentary relapse graciously.

The cork made a terrific popping sound as it flew out and hit the back of the passenger seat, making Peyton, whom was jumpy enough already, almost go straight through the Sedan's roof.

"Jeez, watch it with that, will you? I think I liked you better when you were nervous."

Spray getting all over the backseat, including her, Steph only smiled smugly as she grabbed a glass and poured it, feeling already tipsy,  even though she hadn't even taken a single sip yet. She guessed acceptance could do that to a person; it was simply intoxicating. Afterall, weren't some of the best moments she'd had at the 38 when House had finally acknowledged and appreciated her?

"Please, Steph, I know you want to celebrate, and you very well deserve to," Peyton sighed. "But could you not wait until I get you safely home? If a cop turned up, he could arrest us both for having an open bottle in here...You don't want to suddenly sour the day do you?"

The question echoing in her head, Steph looked down to her legs. They had champagne on them, slipping down in beads like teardrops instead of the rain that had covered them on the night of her arrival in Massachusetts. This inevitably, besides Huxley's words, conjured up the bitter meeting with her new boss. If the champagne was any indication that Bradberton's opinion of her was on the upswing, she didn't want to risk it. Demurely, she brought the glass to her lips and took a lady like sip. Still, she was inwardly gloating enough to tease her driver, asking, "We wouldn't want to incur the wrath of a detective Nick Valentine, now would we?"

She watched as Huxley rolled his eyes in the dashboard mirror. "Oh please no!"

Giggling, Steph leaned back against the seat and savoured the champagne. It was good...but nowhere near as fine as the stuff she'd sampled with House. Or perhaps it was just the company...There was a world of difference between the temperament of Robert House and Peyton Huxley,  and she admittedly had become quite use to the former.

Of course, she hated the thought of drinking alone...

And since she didn't need to worry about breaking House's rules about personal mingling, seeing as though she held no attraction to Huxley whatsoever...

"So, you want to help me to polish off this bottle once we get back to my pad?" she inquired, letting her now empty glass dangle between her fingers. 

"No. Sorry. Can't," he replied in a stacatto like fashion. "Bradberton sent news that Robert House requested more blasted 'modifications' for RobCo's Battlezone attraction and I have to personally oversee them, or, at least, the paperwork."

There it was again, Steph thought. The same little thrill she always suffered whenever she heard House's name, like some young girl and their childhood crush. Oh, she hoped to God she didn't have a crush on House! She'd never let herself live it down, her self being the only person she'd ever let know about it.

Her driver continued, no such concerns obviously plaguing him. "I have to smooth that tediousness over, plus there are tons more baskets to send out...Hey...you're from Vegas...You ever meet that guy House before?"

Steph tried not to blush or blink.

Was it a trick question? Trying to get a feel around for his boss to see if the Vegas megalomaniac had cashed in his bottle cap at last? Or maybe it was just Huxley's general curiosity and annoyance with the man, misery loving its own company. She could share and understand that last one, bearing her own scars from a man named Robert Edwin House.

"I might have crossed him in passing, but in Vegas, it's always hard to say," Steph replied, letting the glass swing some more. "So...is this House big on following the rules?"

"My heavens, yes!" Huxley exclaimed. "At first, he acted lax, like he had no intention of meddling, all laissez faire, but then he turned into a real dictator! Do this, don't do that, I like this, scrap that! It's like living under an authoritarian!"

Steph suppressed a knowing smile. "How's Vault-Tec in comparison? Are they any better?" she inquired, now genuinely curious about where she was heading off to if the Nuka-World gig was successful.

Peyton's shoulders tensed but he contrarily replied, "They are much better. Of course, they are far more hands on than House, whom stays in Vegas, thank God! We have Vault-Tec people actually at Among the Stars, maybe that makes the difference. They are already so involved and busy in what they do over there they don't hand out constant decrees."

What was there to do at an amusement park exhibition, Steph briefly thought? Make sure the Vault-Tec logo was painted properly or their wares were advertised enough? However, she instantly moved on to an area that more concerned her, leaving that question behind. "Do any of the bigwigs show up from there? You know, business matters or just to check up on things?"

"We've had the pleasure of hosting Barb Howard and her husband. She's always a dear, a true professional and their daughter, Janey, just loved Nuka-World! We also get Bud Askins quite a few times a year, and not just on business either. He's a huge Nuka-Cola fan and so he adores Nuka-World."

"And what's he like?"

"The complete opposite of Robert House! For one, Askins has something that resembles a heart, something I've never seen signs of with that robotic bastard. Sure, he sucks up more than a vacuum cleaner, but he's genial and accommodating and Mr. Bradberton appreciates that."

From the dark quiet of the Sedan's backseat, Steph wondered if she would actually like working for this Askins guy. It was possible, but not a wholly comforting thought. Liking the guy she was spying on seemed so...dishonest.

Unkind.

Duplicitous.

Bitchy.

It really should have been Miss Ann Thrope sitting there behind Huxley, Steph feared. She was the type of woman whom could stab someone in the back and not bat a false eyelash.

Of course, she too had stabbed Thrope in the back by having her fired...

Steph looked to her legs, seeing that the champagne had dried from them now.

Her high spirits were about to experience a similar drought until she saw the Bugle beside her and remembered the cries and faces of the crowd that was obviously crazy for her. Smiling again, she poured herself some more champagne and basked in her new roll as the living Nuka-Girl.

Looking out the window, she saw the stars had all come out, alongside their master the moon. They twinkled around it like the flashes of celestial cameras and she raised her glass to the man inside, silently saying a toast to House and wishing on one of the many heavenly bulbs he might somehow hear it.

* * *

Bradberton was quiet for a second time as they pulled into it, but Steph couldn't decide why. Last night was so late, it seemed likely nobody had been awake. Now, maybe her arrival was contrarily too early and she had left the rest of her coworkers back at Nuka-World. Huxley had been insistent she depart early; give the crowd a taste and leave them wanting more, he'd basically imparted, like it was the product he helped to peddle.

"Now, I'll pick you up again tomorrow," he said, leaning across the upholstery.

"Early?" Steph cringed, her hand resting on the car door.

"Not as...say about nine?"

"Fine, that's better. Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," he stated with a frown. "When you see all that Bradberton as scheduled for you to do, you'll regret it."

"Mmmmm," Steph sounded, holding the newspaper to her chest and still feeling the pleasant buzz the champagne had left her with, like the bubbles were all aglow inside of her veins.

Closing the door, they bid each other a good night and then Steph went to her apartment, on her own this time, sans Peyton Huxley's watch. She was only slightly aware of the threat of her predecessor's killer still hovering over her head; what she felt more than anything was the lingering high of triumph, the fact that the public loved her and, right then, she was frankly crazy about them too.

She began to whistle the jingle for Nuka-Cola she'd heard all day and had previously thought might drive her nuts. Hours before it had been annoying, now it was the best darn tune she'd ever heard...except for Lili Marleen and the Blue Danube...maybe.

On her way to the front door, she glanced in the direction of Rachel's apartment, hoping she might emerge to introduce her to this Oswald and then she could show them both the paper describing in great detail how she'd so majestically won over her audience. Only that general vicinity of the hallway stayed quiet and still, the couple still probably entertaining the tykes over at the Kiddie Kingdom. She shrugged and placed the paper under her arm; there would be plenty of time to show it to them later. Besides, they probably had already heard about it anyway.

She was the Belle of the Ball afterall, or, in this case, the Nuka-Girl of Nuka-World.

Steph turned back to her door and unlocked it slowy, the silence in the building not so threatening as last night and not hurrying her on in haste. Now, more or less, it made her feel special more than anything, like she was the only person in the world, or one of the few whom really mattered.

It was egotistical as hell to think that way probably, but she was on such a high she thought she could afford it...not everyone in the world was on the front page of several dozen papers the country over. Not everyone was loved by so many strangers.

The fact that one of them was a murderer frighteningly didn't even bother her at all with a whole bottle of champagne running through her system. It was a distant thought she didn't even contemplate for more than a second.

Perhaps, for her own personal safety, she had toasted a little too much to Robert House in the moonlight to make up for the distance between the man and her.

Now the apartment he had furnished as a surprise gift greeted her as she stepped inside, the same moonlight stealing in to make the carpet seem to glow. It was just as cozy as the previous night, a veritable petite posh palace hidden away in Bradberton, Massachusetts. Steph flipped on the lightswitch and it became even warmer, the moon now only a voyeur in the window instead of a thief creeping in.

Maybe he'll phone,  she thought, looking down at the paper she had taken out to hold in front of her like a trophy. Maybe he'd call to congratulate her on a job well done. He'd had to have heard of her resounding sucess by now...he was a man whom prided himself on knowing everything. Come to think of it, he was a man with too much pride to begin with. He had to be off gloating about being thee ultimate Henry Higgins, a fact he couldn't share with anything but his securitrons, so he had to be fighting the urge to express his success to her.

This increased the chances of a phone call exponentially in her eyes.

His calling was a crazy thought,  but Steph entertained it eagerly, thinking that maybe he had her place staked out enough to know whether or not the dumb phone had been bugged...and would Bradberton really have even bothered when he'd expected her to fail so badly? He'd probably believed he'd have just cause to fire her by the end of the week, so he wouldn't bother spying on her until then.

House would call if the phone wasn't bugged.

He just had to.

In the meantime, she could make herself comfortable. It was early, earlier than yesterday, and old Rob House was probably just waiting for it to be later, not knowing she'd been rewarded for shining so brightly with the priviledge to set early when night finally came round, kind of like the sun.

She passed by the window with the moon she had toasted on her way to the bathroom and its small shower. She was no longer whistling the Nuka-Cola jingle but Lili Marleen instead.

* * *

Sitting on the sofa in the living room, close to two hours later, every drop of water from the shower having dried just like the champagne on her legs, Steph was still waiting. Hope, that had once been too eager to bubble to the surface like in a carbonated beverage, now had virtually all popped in its many fragments.

House wasn't going to call.

That much was obvious about an hour ago, but still bubble after stray bubble had risen to the surface until they were all gone and she felt as flat as soda or champagne when it had been through too much back and forth action.

She should have known, she chastised herself, sobering up quickly when faced with disappointment.

It was just like him afterall.

He could take a day like yesterday, an awful piece of rubbish, and somehow save it all with an unexpected phone call.

And now, on the flipside of the coin, he could take a perfectly marvelous day and spoil it all by not coming through.

Did he do it on purpose? Or was it worse, indifference?

Steph stood and rubbed her upperarms, feeling them through the silk of the robe she was wearing over the flimsy nightgown she had on, yet another gift from House. It seemed his presents were the only way he still sought to maintain a presence in her life now. Walking over to the phone, she picked up the handset and studied it, wondering if it was really bugged or not. Still having no answer, she placed it back down, silently accepting it wasn't going to ring, at least, not tonight and not any other forseeable night from House.

Dejectedly, she turned the lights off, though her spirits had dimmed long before.

She walked over to the window and stared out of the glass, her eyes on the moon which seemed farther away than it had before; even it was keeping its distance from her. She rubbed her arms again. Massachusetts was cold, so much more so than Vegas had been...

Regardless of the chill, Steph impulsively let the robe slip to the ground and then raised her arms, taking off the nightgown too, all brazenly in the full view of anyone passing by or perhaps looking through their own window. Naked, she walked over to where the moonlight had moved onto a different piece of the same carpet House had bought for her and lay down in its glow. She lay there, letting the moonlight kiss every inch of her body, as if the man in the moon was making love to her.

As if House were.

Her body responding, she remembered her scuffle with House in the mammoth tub in the suite back at the 38. Eventually, her cheek pressed into the plush pile of the carpet, making it wet with her tears.

She closed her eyes then, remembering his face and imagining that it was his lips all over her skin.

Would his kisses be as cold as the moon's, his own heart as seemingly frozen?

It was only when the morning sun was kissing her with all of its warmth that she awoke, realizing she had fallen asleep unsatisfied and with only dreams and fantasies to help soothe her. Sitting up then, hugging her bare legs to her, Steph finally accepted that it was far worse than she had even suspected.

She did not have a crush on Robert House.

She was in love with him.

Chapter Text

In the week following her grand introductory appearance as the refreshed Nuka-Girl, Steph wilfully tried not to bother herself with the question,  or fact, of if she really was in love with Robert House.

It was only one of those various things that could drive her crazy if she thought about it for too long, afterall, like the previous one of if she had led to Miss Ann Thrope's descent into a derelict begging for money on the streets. Thank God that one she needn't have concerned herself about too much, it having turned out to be untrue, Steph often consoled herself! This, on the other hand, was potentially dangerous since she pretty well already knew for certain that she was in love with a man whom could never love her back.

For wasn't House fully prepared, eager infact, to virtually sacrifice her to Bud Askins, all for the sake of his plan?

That could hardly be construed as love.

Not any version she'd ever believed in anyway.

So to keep her thoughts more on even, safe ground, Steph buried herself in her work and remarkably managed to find some semblance of peace within it. It was clear that the Nuka-Crowd loved her and their affection was some balm for her aching heart, even if the love of a vast many could never quite compensate for the lack of love from a single solitary person.

For now, it was all Steph had and so it would have to do.

At least, she eventually managed to show Rachel the newspaper and finally even met Oswald "The Outrageous" Oppenheimer in person. The last was difficult to achieve, the man always seeming to rush off to work first thing in the morning and then return equally as late.

Steph would have started to suspect some infidelity on the magician's part, except for the fact that she'd sometimes heard the couples' nighttime reunions, which were always enthusiastic to say the least. Oswald seemed like a pretty energetic guy himself, but she doubted even he had that much energy, especially after she saw his show in person one day, Peyton having arranged for a Nuka-Girl appearance at the Kiddie Kingdom. Oswald looked more likely to use his wand on her due to professional jealousy than because he possessed any roving eye.

She'd questioned Rachel once about Oppenheimer's weird hours, House's distance always on her mind, and thus not understanding why Oswald wouldn't want to spend all of his free time with his own close-at-hand lover.

"Oh, we see each other all day! It's quite scandalous," Rachel had laughed, sitting across from Stephanie on the plush sofa and indelicately sipping tea from one of the fragile cups a billionaire in Vegas had gifted his star employee. "Everybody whispers about how Princess Cherry and Oswald the Outrageous have the hots for each other. A group of kids found us making out once backstage. We received a prompt memo from Bradberton himself, chastising us to remember to behave ourselves. As if we ever could! Besides, the crowd loves Oz too much and if I get dismissed he'd quit. But, really, we need a few moments away from each other; it's only healthy, to be apart, for any strong couple."

Steph had nodded, her own full and steaming cup waiting by her lips. She knew all too well about the time apart thing, but the actually together bit, and in such an obviously intimate way? Well, of that she was incredibly oblivious and envious of.

Her eyes had traveled about the room then, the hot liquid finally meeting her lips and burning them. She hated coming back to the empty apartment when for one night only it had been the only thing to help lift her spirits. The place felt too much like that of a mistress now, just what Idith had insinuated she was to her mysterious benefactor. Sure she was living a life of luxury, but her bed was still empty come daybreak and her feet still cold without any one else's to warm them against.

"Steph!" Rachel had exclaimed in concern. "Are you crying?"

The Nuka-Girl's hand had quickly gone to her mouth then, as her eyes batted away the offending drops of moisture. "No...I just burned my lips...that's all," she lied without effort, House having taught her so well.

Rachel Watkins swallowed it as easily as she had the offered tea.

Besides visits from Rachel, and visits to the woman and Oswald's apartment in turn, Steph found herself discovering the rest of Bradberton Massachusetts and Nuka-World itself. That latter was mostly done on the job, so to speak, orders given daily of which attraction she was set to visit and what stunt she was to perform there. But while doing so, she would take any spare minute to wander around aimlessly, soaking in the admiration bestowed upon her by the paying customers (albeit never once spotting Bud Askins amongst them) and never ceasing to smile at the obvious love the children had for the Nuka-Girl.

She'd been big game hunting (all for pretend, of course) in the bush of Safari Adventure, taken part in Dry Rock Gulch's very own Wild West Show, helped bottle Nuka-Cola in the World of Refreshment, held a concert (much of which was lipsynced) at Bradberton's Ampitheater in Nuka-Town U.S.A. and held audience with King Cola over at his castle at the Kiddie Kingdom.

Most of her stunts, however, had been saved for the Galactic Zone, Nuka-Girl's most common haunting ground, as it were, just as House had predicted. It was altogether crazy the sheer hijinks and publicity gimmicks that Huxley had staged for her over there. All of her physical training had been put to good use, welcomely saving her body from too much wear and tear. She'd been prepared. Otherwise, she might still have been fired for not being able to perform her physical duties. Already she suspected that Bradberton was testing her limits, pushing her past what he perceived to be her physical limitations in an attempt find cause to fire her.

Instead, she'd risen to the occassion.

On more than one occassion quite literally.

Visitors to the Galactic Zone had already witnessed her hovering above the theme park in her jet pack, or whizzing by on the same rocket Rachel had promised. Another time she'd blasted away falling "meteors" outside of the Starlight Intersteller Theater or "protected" spectators from encroaching martian seaweed somewhere in the vicinity of where she'd made her grand appearance.

"Does Mars even have any seas to have seaweed?" she'd asked Peyton, only for the exec to crinkle his nose in disgust, "Oh I hope we never find out, all of those potential drownings!"

The man's focus on casualties could always stun her more than Nuka-Girl's blaster could an enemy.

During most of her performances, Steph's gaze had inevitably lifted to Starport-Nuka, still imagining House watching her from above and gaining strength from the fantasy. While her eyes had visited it often, however, she'd been so run ragged Steph had yet to actually set foot in the tower or even RobCo's own Battlezone, or Vault-Tec's Among the Stars either, for that matter.

Most days, Steph was so exhausted, after her work hours were complete that she just wanted to go home. Sure the apartment depressed her as much as anything,  but at least she was assurred that she'd pass out in her bed fast enough, making the loneliness somewhat bearable in unconsciousness.

The one time she did finally have a moment's breather at Nuka-World itself happened after another staged event, this one at Nuka-Galaxy, another of the amusement park's thrilling rides. This one featured a roller coaster shaped like a rocket, and she was to lead the attack on the encroaching aliens as she rode it. Seeing as though the aliens were robots, Steph had more of a blast than usual taking them out, picturing each nasty one as being in some way connected to RobCo. It was another opportunity to be close to House again and she gleefully revelled in it. She was having so much fun infact, she'd soon received a transmission from Bradberton himself, inside of her helmet no less, warning that she shouldn't be smiling or laughing so much.

If anything could have produced that sobering effect, it was John-Caleb Bradberton himself and she'd eventually arrived at both the end of the stunt and the track a little shook up and far more somber. Huxley was waiting nearby however, motioning for her to return back to her former elevated spirits for the cheering crowd. If anything could put a smile on her face at that particular moment it was watching Peyton Huxley trying to mimic the Nuka-Girl poses and gaity.

Steph was back to beaming as she climbed out of the rocket, the area blocked off from the general public for the time being until the publicity stunt was finshed.

"Perfect, or, should I say, out of this world?" Peyton remarked, beaming only as a man whom expected a huge bonus from his boss at Christmastime would.

"Just say I looked good and that's all that matters," she laughed.

"Better than good, you looked like a million dollars," he smiled, obviously calculating what his percentage of that would be.

"So what's next?" Steph asked, her gloved hands clasping before her bare midriff.

"That's it for the day," Peyton announced, patting her arm in a genial manner. "You can take off the gear and go home, by taxi, of course, seeing as though Mr. Bradberton needs my assistance tonight. Unless, you wish to remain at Nuka-World until I'm free. He will need to eat some time"

Steph smiled, rejoicing inside. "Great! That means I can check out the other sites!"

Peyton scowled. "I'm afraid that goes against contract...we don't want our star promoter aimlessly wandering around the park, as if she's sightseeing, do we? It creates an undesriable image."

It had been days since she'd formally signed the contract, but Steph could easily recall the pages of fine print and her unfulfilled desire that House could have gone through it all for her, making sure that none of them involved the selling of her soul. There'd been no such long printed, long winded, contract to sign when she'd agreed to be a spy for House, just the simple rules of loyalty and no fraternizing with strangers or anybody other than Bud Askins.

Eventually, after minutes of internal debate, and both Bradberton's impatience and Huxley's fraying nerves, she'd buckled down and signed. Now she knew that one of those unread clauses prevented her from visiting RobCo's Battlefront or Starport Nuka, unless under instruction, and she had to wonder if there hadn't been a decree for her to hand over her soul to either satan or the Cola kingpin once she'd expired too.

"I guess, I'll head home then. Are you sure that taking a cab and not spacecraft's fine or will that also damage the Nuka-Girl image?"

Peyton smiled and grabbed a handful of Steph's face between his fingers while commenting, "Cheeky!"

Then the man was off, gone to do whatever his boss wanted, leaving Steph to wonder what exactly Huxley's role entailed, besides dispensing condolence baskets and being her chaperone.

Seemingly alone now, still behind the barricade, Steph decided she could, at least, wander around this part of Nuka-Galaxy before she returned to her lonely, little apartment. Slowly, her boots suddenly feeling too tight and her shoulders heavy, she began to wander about, wanting to steal some glimpses of the place where she worked and which others enjoyed but she never could.

She didn't see anything that really interested her, perhaps her thoughts too much centered on Robert House to actually enjoy anything that did not concern him. This ennui continued until she walked a little farther and looked up to see something that did have to do with her, if not the man whom so often occupied her thoughts these days.

Before her, in all of her glory, was an animatronic of the Nuka-Girl.

It startled her at first, with its movement, but soon the waving became a beckoning as Steph moved closer towards it, and that beckoning called forth an additional gasp from the animatronic's living counterpart as she more closely examined the face and recognized it for what it truly was.

A chill ran down Steph's partly exposed spine as she realized that Bradberton had received his morbid wish, and probably with more than a little help from Robert House.

Though disguised to look like nothing more than a moving mannequin, this creation wasn't a fake or illusion.

This had once been a living woman just as she.

Steph knew beyond a doubt (though she might have wished for one in this case) that what she was looking at was indeed the Nuka-Girl.

Or, rather, the previous one.

The poor murdered girl she had replaced.

Fittingly, also, the woman had been situated in a place that echoed her life and career at Nuka-World: at the end of the ride

It had been so long since Steph had thought of her, Bradberton and Huxley having controlled her body and House, though absent, helming her thoughts, but now the woman intruded once again, making her reapparance in so grotesque a way that it further shamed Steph over having forgotten about the lost soul she had benefited from.

"I can't believe they went ahead and did it," Steph heard a male voice comment in restrained disgust behind her, and almost jumped straight to the stars without the aid of any rocket like the one her predecessor was currently perched atop.

Spinning around, Steph saw Nick Valentine staring at her, almost apologetically, and she never once would have believed that seeing the police detective could have brought her such relief.

"Sorry," he finally vocalized his regret, coming to stand beside her.

"It's okay," Steph forgave, her hand now fluttering at her tightened throat as they both turned to stare at the waving and very dead Nuka-Girl.

"When the chief told me he had to relinquish the body and what they were going to do with it...I nearly quit," Valentine confessed. "I didn't think it was possible...but her family supposedly didn't want it, either that or Bradberton paid them well enough not to. I don't know...maybe I shouldn't judge. Funerals are expensive and maybe they had no other choice. Still...this."

It was hard to disagree. 

They both continued to stare at a monstrosity that only they, and a few others, would even be aware of, the truth going over the heads of most of the other paying Nuka-World customers. Lucky for them, Steph thought and shivered.

"Why are you here?" she suddenly asked, just to cover the motorized sounds coming from the animatronic.

"Me? Still looking for clues, I guess...The boss wants me to leave it alone until something turns up, to focus on what I came to Massachusetts for, but today's my day off and so..."

"You thought a little visit to Nuka-World was in order?"

"You got it, sister."

Steph tilted her head and fixed the detective with a bemused grin. "Even past the barricade?"

Nick Valentine turned and offered her his own smile and a wink. "Well, as I see it, I still carry my badge on off days."

Shaking her head in begrudging amusement, Steph returned her gaze to the Nuka-Girl animatronic.

Eventually, Valentine asked his own question to help block out the mechanical noises. "So...if we don't catch the guy who did this...would you fancy ending up forever memorialized in this way?"

Steph didn't need to ponder for too long. "No, thank you. I like being alive and human. How about you?"

To her surprise, Nick Valentine actually gave it some thoughtful consideration. "I don't know...I mean, not like this, this is a travesty and useless, a mockery of existence. But if I could still serve some good...I'm guessing it wouldn't be too bad to be a machine."

For a moment, Steph was genuinely moved by the cop's humanity, even while he was contemplating not being one, and as he turned to leave, offering her a tilt of his head and a genuine, "Good afternoon, Steph," on the way, she stopped him, calling out, "Detective Valentine!"

When he turned and met his eyes, she urged, "Never quit, don't even joke about it. The world needs more cops like you."

For a second, he stared, his face like metal, then the man smiled and tilted his head again. Walking away, heading towards the exit, Steph was honestly sorry to see him go this time.

She lingered for a few seconds in front of the Nuka-Girl animatronic, not out of morbid curiousity or because she exactly wanted to per se, but out of respect and regret that she'd forgotten about the woman.

Finally preparing to head away from the Nuka-Galaxy attraction, Steph heard another sound off to her side, something like metal having been dropped, and hoping it was Valentine, with his badge again, or maybe Huxley, with a calculator for all of his statistics she called out, "Hello?"

When no one answered, and fearing that it was the killer coming to view what Bradberton had further done to what he had started, Steph debated on if she should leave or investigate. She was so close to the former, until she realized that Valentine was probably still within earshot and she could end all her renewed fear and torment if she only had the guts to choose the latter.

Cautiously, she went and peeked around a corner, seeing immediately that it lead to a flight of alternating stairs heading downwards. On the lower most steps, she then saw a man hurriedly making his descent bound departure.

Catching a glimpse of his face, for a third time in the space of minutes, Steph was taken off guard, feeling like the air was stolen from her lungs and that she might very well plummet over the railing and down the stairs herself.

Though dressed in what looked like a work man's smock, the man had definitely been Robert House.

Instantly, without thinking, believing he had come to spy on her in secret, Stephanie descended the staircase after him, like Alice carelessly chasing after her white rabbit.

A door sounded from the bottom of the stairs and she assumed the man had entered whatever room lay at the end of the flight. Though it was foolish to follow him into the bowels of the Nuka-Galaxy building, Steph continued her pursuit on instinct alone, convinced that House had come all the way to Boston to watch her progress in private. It was just like him afterall...

To be so underhanded and sneaky.

Right then, she wasn't as angry as she knew she probably should have been though.

She just wanted to see him face to face.

Throwing the door open, no security on it, Steph was running past the threshold without thinking twice about the dim light coming from inside. In what looked like a badly lit storage room filled with mechanics, tools, and broken bits of blinking or dead robots and metal, Steph saw the object of her pursuit plainly a few feet before her, his back turned, but with the height and hair screaming out to her that it had to be House.

"BERT!" she called out in return, her gloved hand reaching out to almost touch him.

Then her rabbit turned around, revealing a face that, while it resembled House strongly, from the dark eyes to the moustache, was still obviously distinct enough from the mogul she'd left behind in Vegas not to be him.

She stopped in her tracks as the man stopped and stared at her, his gaze going from her eyes to her boots and then back to her face again. "Actually, no," the stranger replied, a wrench held in his grasp like a weapon. "Tim Wittingstone's the name"

The stranger's eyes made yet another roving over her body, this one made more sensuously and slow, before he added with a smouldering smile beneath his thick moustache, "But since I take it you're the new Nuka-Girl...you can call me anything you damn well like."

Chapter Text

Alone in the dimly lit room with the stranger, Steph knew that she should be above-all else frightened.

She'd never seen him before, for one thing, and besides that, for crying out loud, he had a wrench in his hands!

If anything she should be screaming for her life and running for the door.

And yet the traces of Robert House strongly contained within his features were helping to make her not afraid, not afraid in the slightest actually.

Maybe her soul was just aching so badly for any word from House that she was willing to accept what she now knew was merely coincidence. Perhaps the genius billionaire had secretly conditioned her to physically react in such a way to his image to help further insure her loyalty. He was smart enough to do it, afterall... and manipulative enough as well. Maybe he'd placed subliminal messages on his chalkboard or had brain altering chemicals in the smoke of his cigars, chemicals he'd naturally be immune to of course.

For one's emotions to be affected, one needed to possess them in the first place it only stood to reason.

Whatever it was, though, Tim Wittingstone was not frightening her as much as he logically should have and that fact, rather than the man himself, was alarming. As he continued to look her over unabashedly, her training came into quick effect, however, and Steph began to circle him, feeling that making herself a moving target gave her some leverage, no matter how small.

"And what should I actually call you? Maybe the most beautiful and disarming Nuka-Girl I have ever had the luck to see?" he asked, a charming full-on smile and not a smirk gracing his handsome face.

"Stephanie," she replied easily. If he really was a killer, his having her real name was the least of her current concerns and if he was just your average, innocent Nuka-World worker he'd find it out for himself soon enough anyway.

"A lovely name for a lovely girl."

She was behind him now, stricken by how the man resembled Robert House's physical stature from this angle also. He wasn't as toned most likely, which was rather a lark considering the guy was probably on his feet all day while House spent a lot of hours behind his work desk, but it was still obvious the man was in pretty fine condition, his shoulders strong, his back nice and the ass that it lead down to pretty attractive too.

So attractive infact, that Steph decided to stop circling him so she wouldn't be so easily distracted by it.

"And you're Tim Wittingstone, huh?" she stated, looking him over as blatantly as he had done with her, but letting her eyes stay longest on the face where the similarities to House still attracted her and the differences still left her indifferent. "And I take it you're...what....?" she asked, her arms folding to help obscure a chest still amplified in the bra made by Robert House's own design, "a janitor or something? That's the only excuse you have to still be allowed here while management had this area specfically blocked off?"

"You're smart as a tack," Wittingstone stated, aiming the head of the wrench directly at her. "A trait I admire in any woman." In a charmingly smooth manner, he then brought the wrench a tad closer to himself, tossed it in the air in such a way to make it spin a few times, and then caught it just as effortlessly. "Actually, I'm a mechanic for the robots 'round here. Huxley noticed one of the aliens not working too well before your little pre-sent-tation and so he called me in. Usually Dayle handles stuff over here at Nuka-Galaxy but he called in sick and so I was called in to fix it. Lucky for me, I'd say."

The man's easy-go-lucky attitude was disarming Steph for some reason, making it difficult for her to reply straight away. After a second or two she knew it was because he was pretty well the opposite of House in demeanor. He was friendly and good-natured, warm and completely approachable as opposed to the cold and aloof Robert House.

"Lucky for you and not this under-the-weather Dayle," Steph finally spoke, one dark eyebrow raising.

"Lucky because I got to see the new Nuka-Girl in action," Tim Wittingstone stated with an ever so gracious bow. "I don't think Dayle could properly admire your beauty in a darkened room...not with a wife and three children at home anyway"

Steph smiled unwillingly. My the man was a charmer, she thought. In this case, his obvious resemblence to Robert House wasn't hurting him one bit either, despite the dissimilarity in manner. She realized she needed some kind of saving grace so she didn't fall completely under his spell because of it.

"Is there a light switch around here?" she inquired looking around as her arms fell back to her sides. "If I'm expected to do battle with more malfunctioning aliens, I should be thinking of my vision, now shouldn't I?"

"You are the vision," this Tim fellow stated with an appreciative laugh and she returned her gaze to his in order to fix him with a no-nonsense glare.

Apparently willing to be of assistance, Wittingstone walked over to the wall and hit a switch, making them no longer reliant on the eerie glow of broken machines to help them see one another by. When he turned back to face her, Steph tried to keep her cool, while managing her disappointment. His features still bore obvious echoes of House's but they were less pronounced now in the full light, the unique characteristics helping to hopelessly soften them. It was what she had wanted, but still made her somewhat depressed, her longing for House only intensifying after further proof that this wasn't him.

"I thought you said Nuka-Galaxy wasn't your regular gig..." Steph stated in suspicion, aware of something contrary suddenly. "How come you found that switch so fast?"

Instead of being resentful about her obvious doubt, or condescending as House might have been, the man seemed more amused than anything. "Oh, Dayle's brought me in here a few times when the Battlezone's been missing a spare part or two. Us technicians tend to stick together, unlike some of the Nuka-Actors."

"Oh, I don't know, us Nuka-Actors get along just fine."

"That's not what I heard about the last Nuka-Girl," he remarked, coinciding with Rachel's earlier claims that the woman had kept mostly to herself.

The whole time Wittingstone talked, he was playing with his wrench, twirling it, moving it quickly from hand to hand, every motion smooth and confident, leaving Steph to wonder involuntarily what else the man could do so well with his obviously skilled hands.

"And you really have to come here for spare parts? The Battlezone doesn't have everything you need?" she asked, determined to stay focused and ignoring the shade he cast on the Nuka-World performers, such as herself. "Afterall, it's run by RobCo, isn't it?"

The wrench came to an abrupt halt, as did Tim's seemingly good humor. Something darker came over his features and Steph loathed how it made her secretly delight about how it made the guy look even more like the founder of RobCo Industries. "Look, that skinflint Robert House barely remembers us enough to keep up the copyright symbol at the end of his attraction's sign! If us techies and engineers weren't looking out for each other around here, this place would have fallen apart ages ago. Do you know how many accidents we have here each year? Or are your thoughts only on the woman you've replaced? I'll tell you something, Steph, to us, every bit of negligence was cold-blooded murder."

Steph backed away, floored and shamed by the man's words which struck her suddenly like recriminations and hidden animosity. Peyton hadn't volunteered the stats on the actual worker casualty rates, but, then again, he didn't exactly need to: the amount of little sympathy baskets he sent out spoke volumes for themselves.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "Maybe it was stupid of me, but I had no idea..."

He looked regretful now for his own sudden outburst of temper, but there was something else lurking in his dark eyes, something she still didn't trust and considered to be a bitterness other than just one stemming from on-the-job risk factors. "I should apologize to you...just we've lost the lives of a few good workers here...Either that or their limbs. As Dayle always says, 'It's always a guess what's to be our last ride.'."

Thinking of the animatronic Nuka-Girl, Steph found the words even eerier than she previously might have.

In her silent contemplation, Wittingstone hurried on, perhaps believing she didn't believe him and needed even more convincing. "That and I can't stand that tightwad House."

So this was what it came down to...House. she should have known, Steph chastised herself with an inner smile.

"Oh, so you know him personally?"

"Yes, I know him," Tim Wittingstone answered in a hiss which sounded like he was his very own piece of overheated equipment.

From his reaction, Steph took it to be very personal indeed, perhaps even stronger than her own feelings of love...that meant it could only be hate.

"You really don't like him? Any particular reason?"

Maybe now, she was the one being pushy, Steph suspected. The man seemed to hate House, true, but it wouldn't take much for anyone whom had met the billionaire to instantly dislike him: House was a workaholic but that was one thing he needn't ever work too hard at. Plus there was the fact that most employees loathed their bosses. Wittingstone also looked very much like your average working man, a far cry from House with a fortune in the bank and assets the world over. As a fact, the poor often despised the rich. It was just, with her being so foolishly in love with the impossible Robert House, and missing him so badly, she yearned for any conversation that centered around him, even one that might possibly be only your basic level social-class related stuff...

But what if there was a reason, and it was a throughly nasty one?

Stephanie examined her own motivations and possible reactions? Would she hate House for it? Was she purposely looking for a reason to hate House to help lessen her current pain? Was that truly what all of this prodding curiosity was about?

In his own silence, Tim Wittingstone seemed to be gauging her, another betrayal of something darker lurking beneath his seemingly affable surface, while simultaneously adopting an air of apathy that could either be real or just a monstrous act. Either way, Steph had the unpleasant sensation that he was trying his best to find out what made her tick, and his resemblance to what currently was, gave him all of the advantage he needed.

Eventually, he tilted his head, shrugged and admitted, "Maybe, I wasn't being fair. It's not all his fault and House is actually the only reason I got this job, when it comes right down to it...I shouldn't be ingrateful. Bradberton carries his own amount of guilt, possibly even more. With the amount of errors and mishaps at all of the attractions at Nuka-World, it wouldn't suprise me if the Boss man is funnelling the funds sent to him for his own personal use. I can hardly blame ole House for that."

"Any ideas on what Bradberton might be using it on?" Steph asked, feeling no loyalty to the man when he'd continually expressed his disuse for her and hoping to maybe shield her interest in House behind a quickly adopted penchant for gossip.

Some cruel smile played around Wittingstone's lips, like he had a secret he would love to share with the world. All he replied, however, was a jovial, "Oh, I don't know...keeping his head when others lose theirs maybe?"

They stared at each other then, Steph sensing she wasn't completely getting the joke.

It left her with a bad aftertaste, no matter how wonderfully smooth and sweet the man had been before hand. She had little use for a Nuka-World technician (even if he bore a striking resemblance to House), one with an obvious interest in secrets, when she was harbouring and keeping her own vast many safe, was even less welcome.

"Well it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Tim Wittingstone," she said, adorning the usual act of coy pleasantness she commonly put on for acquaintances she was unsure of these days. Stripping off a glove, she added, "But I rarely get any time for myself these days and I intend to head home and get out of these boots, which, frankly, are killing me."

Maybe with the last Nuka-Girl's fate, she should have picked her words more carefully, but getting out of there was her primary goal, not playing clever, little wordsmith.

She was walking away in the same pair of murderous boots when Wittingstone called back to her, "Would that happen to be at the Bradberton community?"

Steph stopped and looked over her shoulder, uncomfortable both in poise and that by doing so she was giving the man ample enough time to admire her assets as she had his. "Yes, I live at Bradberton."

"What do you know, so do I," he grinned, amazingly managing to keep his eyes on hers. "No big coincidence there though...not when the whole damn town was made for us Nuka-World employees. Unfortunately for us, Bradberton keeps the place running as smoothly as he does his little amusement park...I'm afraid when it comes to men like John-Caleb Bradberton and Robert Edwin House, they always come first, their employees be damned."

Tim Wittingstone then offered her a most endearing wink.

As Steph turned and walked away, she tried not to show how badly his words had effected her, or the worry that maybe he knew a little more than he should. He'd said House had gotten him the job at Nuka-World, possibly having cashed in another of Bradberton's coveted jeweled Cappys, but why?

Could the man possibly have been sent to spy on her, as she was to eventually spy on Bud Askins, should the Vault-Tec exec ever happen to show up?

"Bye Stephanie," Tim Wittingstone called out. "Remember, if anything of yours should happen to need fixing during your stay in Bradberton just ask around for me! I can tend to any need you might have. I'm a real handy man that way!"

Steph continued her walk to the door, trying not to think about what it would be like to take him up on his offer, the technician bearing a stronger resemblance to Robert House than just Dean Domino with his moustache.

From the sound of it, Wittingstone was right back to playing with his wrench behind her, throwing it presumably high up into the air, where it would seem to spin forever, like it was twisting imaginary gears that only he could see.

Chapter Text

It never ceased to amaze Stephanie how you could go so long not knowing that something existed in the world and then swiftly, after finding out that it did, the item in question started popping up everywhere, reminding you of its presence.

It happened all the time, with everything from songs to food, tv programs to actors, nuclear threats and various countries.

Tim Wittingstone was kind of like that.

Following their informal introduction in a Nuka-Galaxy storeroom, she had repeatedly spotted the man around Nuka-World, the technician always finding time to offer her a friendly smile, wave, and the occasional wink, while they both juggled whatever it was they were doing. For Steph this often included some new outrageous stunt someone in charge had cooked up for her; for Wittingstone it involved fixing more of the malfunctioning robots and technology.

Seeing as though this latter was sporadically throughout the park, and not just at RobCo's exhibit, Steph took it to mean that the man was still covering for the unwell Dayle. Wittingstone either was a very good friend or was secretly enjoying the overtime or whatever deal they had struck behind closed doors. She seriously doubted that either Bradberton or Huxley would have allowed any employee to deplete so many sick days; they'd have fired the other technician by now and simply hired another. Seeing Tim popping up in his place so often indicated something else, which made her reluctantly marvel at the man's ability and willingness to oversee so many different jobs.

He was apparently in fine shape himself to handle two workloads.

Off the job, Steph had begun seeing him around too.

Not only had she made the discovery that Bradberton was so vast a community it possessed its own police force (Nick Valentine and the BPD be damned) but that Tim Wittingstone lived about only a block and a half away from her own little apartment. She'd bumped into him a few times on the streets or seen him on the adjoining sidewalks, still smiling affably and offering to her large grins and enthusiastic waves.

His resemblence to House always managed to catch her off guard, but still moreso in the dark when the dissimilarities were blurred.

More and more often, Steph had found herself taking nighttime walks, hoping she would catch a glimpse of the man in the darkness. It was foolish she knew, what with a killer prowling about uncaught, but her longing for Robert House had become such a desperate ache it had clouded her judgement about as much as she hoped the moon would be during such strolls.

Still, it was better than staying home with a kitchen faucet which had started to drip (annoying, untended to repairs running on clockwork, just as Tim had predicted) and a phone that never rang, unless it was Peyton Huxley (Bradberton having had a phone installed by her bed, just as Steph herself, had forseen as well).

Fresh word from House still hadn't arrived, not since the day of her arrival.

Steph tried desperately to keep herself busy, which wasn't too difficult with endless new performances and constant, ever changing modifications to and instructions about the stunts she was set to perform.

She only wished that Bud Askins would finally turn up and witness one; only then could they actually get the next act in Robert House's grand plan started. If only Askins would show himself to be as omnipresent as Tim Wittingstone. Then she might not be reminded so often of the habdman's offer to help "fix" her problems.

The faucet certainly was no help either with its perpetual dripping.

One shining autumn morning, the trees ablaze in their colors of red, orange and yellow, almost making her glad she was in Massachusetts and not New Vegas, Huxley brought her directly to his boss' office instead of her usual first visit to wardrobe. She was wearing a kerchief over her hair and glasses to help disguise her from the civillians, as Huxley liked to call them, but there was very little reason for either. At this time of the day, there were only employees roaming the park. She passed one, a tall, middle aged man with hair to match the trees seemingly on fire around them and read the nametag on his work smock.

"DAYLE"

Her mind instantly realized whom he was.

The technician looked okay but still not exactly all well. His skin had an odd sheen to it and was as white as his hair was red. His eyes had the look of someone whom hadn't been sleeping well. As she passed him, those same eyes of green didn't even bother looking in her direction. Maybe he was too intent on making up for all of his lost days.

Steph was absently wondering if that meant she'd be seeing less of Tim Wittingstone around the park then, believing it would be a relief instead of a disappointment since it was usually only daytime when she saw the man at work, when Huxley looked over his shoulder, on the verge of speaking, his eyes narrowing as he registered that her mind was already heavily occupied.

Trying to cover, Steph took her glasses off. "Is it okay? I hate wearing them and I love the trees...we don't see much like them around Vegas."

Peyton stopped to look at the trees and their foliage too. He made a deep sigh and then remarked, "I guess you don't. They are rather lovely. That'll all change when winter comes 'round. When it's all white, the branches look like skeleton arms reaching out for this whole damn place. Not that many see that besides maintenance, Nuka-World being closed by then."

"Nuka-World closes for the winter?" Steph asked, genuinely shocked.

"Yes, it always does. What did you expect? Customers who wanted to traipse through the snow? Perhaps some who wanted to ski down the Nuka-Galaxy tracks? Maybe those whom relished freezing their asses off?"

"I get it, I get it," Steph stated, plunging her glasses into a pocket and both appreciating, and not, how she felt like she was back in House's "classroom" being lectured.

"And could you imagine the cases of frostbite?" Huxley tutted, resuming his walk to Bradberton's office.

"Or the chance of an avalanche!" Steph teased, playing along now, as she'd oftentimes wanted to do with her former teacher.

"Exactly!"

Thankfully, Nick Valentine wasn't in the waiting room when they arrived, but Huxley went in to speak with his boss first again, leaving her alone in the waiting room. In the meantime, she wondered how much of one's time was spent in either fear or waiting or both. Not that she was as scared of Bradberton as she'd previously been. That was wearing off by now, having seen him several times and garnering a sense that the man's bark was worse than his bite. If he had wanted to really make her time uncomfortable as his new Nuka-Girl, she knew he could have done it besides just giving her a million action scenes to perform.

When the exec returned, she was told she could go into see Bradberton and she sauntered up the stairs with far less unease then her first trip ascending them.

Bradberton was at the vending machine in his office when she made the last step, a bottle of his famous drink clutched in his hand as he journeyed back to his terminal, never once looking at her.

"Winter will be here soon," he stated, greetings and other such formalities ignored. "My Nuka-World will be closed for several long, bleak months."

"Peyton just told me," Steph stated, her hand on the rail as she lingered at the top of the stairwell, watching her boss as he turned to face her. "I would have appreciated more of a notice."

John-Caleb Bradberton stared at her, the bottle still clutched in his hand, but otherwise untouched. "Ahhh yes...I guess, you would be unaware of our routine here; a further betrayal that you were forced upon us."

Steph met his stare bravely. Her only response was to reach for the kerchief around her head and slowly pull it off, revealing the instantly recognizable hairstyle beneath it and how good she looked wearing it.

In response, Bradberton slightly raised the bottle of Nuka-Cola in her direction.

He suddenly turned his attention to his computer screen instead, standing the whole time that he typed. "If you expect this to be what amounts to a paid vacation, however, I enjoy informing you that I have a full itinerary planned for you until spring, a full cross country publicity campaign, one starting with the filming of a new commercial for Nuka-Cola. It's already been delayed a few times. Now, sometime before the park closes, actually, is the perfect time to finally do it."

Walking to the chair before his desk, Steph was positive she had heard of the campaign somewhere before, but couldn't remember where precisely. What interested her more was the fact that she would be on the move now, without any surety that House could reach her if he needed, or wanted, and with no set odds that she'd have any chance of Mr. Bud Askins being nearby either. She sat down, her mind trying to process what this would mean to House's grand plan.

"You're against the idea?" Bradberton asked gruffly, if not hopefully.

"No," she answered. "I'm all for it if you are, Mr Bradberton, and frankly more than a little flattered that you're committed to having me as the new face for your Nuka-Girl."

The older man studied her, a frown making him look even older. "Don't take it as a compliment. The truth is simply the company can use the good press at this time. Especially in light of the most recent headline."

He threw a copy of a newspaper on the desk and Steph grabbed it, needing to read only the large, bold print to understand Bradberton's concern:

BOSTON BUGLE EXCLUSIVE: SOURCE SAYS SLAYED SODA SWEETIE'S SPACE HELMET SWIPED AS SOUVENIR BY STILL-AT-LARGE SLAYER

The Bugle having a source, if not the knowledge, was news to Steph whom hadn't subscribed to any paper since being somewhat independent again; all the talk of impending war and nuclear disaster was nothing she wanted to see after a hard day of work when she simply wanted to relax and wind down.

Bradberton finally sat, the chair making an exhausted sound as the entirety of his weight was received with a great amount of its own depression. "I need to wipe that nonsense from the readers minds, help remind them that we have a new Nuka-Girl so they need not be worried about the last."

The words were brutal, a full confession of how little the lives of his employees mattered to him. It seemed very much then that Tim Wittingstone's accusation about Bradberton not caring about anyone save himself was right. She was horrified into a state of speechlessness until the man met her eyes again. "You can rest assured, you will be given the best protection possible during the tour, Stephanie...It wouldn't do to have two Nuka-Girls die in a row."

Steph hated herself for how his words lessened her revulsion of him, simply over the fact that her own safety was being considered now.

When Bradberton's eyes narrowed, however, her relief slightly ebbed. "I have no idea how the Bugle knew to blow its horn about the helmet...that was kept safe under Nuka-World secrecy, or so I believed. Infact, Peyton informed me that the only employee he told about it was you..."

Feeling like she was being accused, Steph replied in controlled anger, "I didn't tell them!"

Bradberton looked both offended by her ire and pleased that he had rankled her. "No. I know you didn't...Infact, someone has been selling park secrets for a long time now; long before you came to us."

Exhaling deeply, Steph sat back in her chair, feeling like she was out of breath from the constant whiplash of emotions she'd suffered after entering Bradberton's office.

The Cola kingpin typed something else into his computer, his focus once again there and not on her. "You will receive fair notice when the commercial is to be filmed and when the park is to close."

"There's no set date for the latter?" Steph inquired in surprise.

"No," Bradberton answered. "It depends on the weather...if it stays warm for longer than expected, or the leaves remain on the trees in all their splendour, I might be able to keep Nuka-World open for an extra week or two. More days and more customers means more funds for the necessary renovations when we are closed."

Steph thought instantly of her own pressing problem. "That reminds me, the faucet in my kitchen is leaking. Is there any way you could send someone to fix it?"

If he said yes, Steph believed that two of her troubles would be solved: the annoyance of the sound of constantly dripping water and the temptation to call on Tim Wittingstone to fix it.

This being a man whom still harbored animosity towards her for even being there, however, the only thing Bradberton fixed her with was a withering glare. "Soon the season will be over. Once you're out of town, frolicking across the continent, I'll send someone in to tend to it. Until then, a little leaking faucet isn't going to kill you."

It was probably true. The look he was giving her just might though, as well as the murderer on the loose.

When no other words came from John-Caleb Bradberton's mouth, Steph took it as a cue for her to leave. The chair scraped across the floor as she stood, causing her boss to cringe as he turned to look at his computer screen.

She was almost to the stairs when she heard him say one last thing to her, words which were wholly unexpected.

"I might not agree with your hiring, but you do look more like the Nuka-Girl than I would have ever suspected...and physically...well, you perform all the stunts quite well."

Steph's hand reached out and grabbed the railing. It was the nicest thing the man had ever said to her.

It touched her.

Maybe not as much as when she'd earned praise from House, but that could be expected given the difference in the way she felt towards both men. She wanted to turn around and say "thank you" but she understood that would somehow wreck the moment, diminishing her in Bradberton's eyes should she come off as weak and too grateful. Instead, she adopted the poise of the character she played, holding her head up high and moving like a woman born for the stars descending the staircase.

When she reached the waiting room, Huxley was standing cleaning off his glasses by the front desk and she offered him the bright smile she wished she could havd given their boss.

"It went well, I take it?" Peyton surmised, blowing on one lens.

"Out of this world," she beamed.

* * *

The middle of the day, in what constituted as the Nuka-World employees cafeteria in the Galactic Zone section, a couple of benches and two vending machines, Steph was semi-enjoying her lunch of a chicken salad sandwich when Tim Wittingstone unfortunately found her.

Sitting on a backless bench, the technician approached while she'd been looking the other way, only realizing he was there when movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, only to find Wittingstone standing there, the helmet she'd removed so she could eat her lunch held almost reverently in his hands.

"This is a new one then right? From what I read they didn't find the old one."

"Yes...and if you don't mind," she placed the rest of the sandwich on her lap in order to grab the helmet away from him, "I'd like to keep it away from murderers and nuisances."

Safely, Steph placed it out of his reach on the opposite side of her. Unfortunately, it left the other side of the bench free, something the man instantly registered.

"Mind if I join you?" Wittingstone asked, quickly sitting down before she could say no. If there was any plus side to it, it was that he was, at least, sitting on the other side of the bench, facing the other way from her.

Rolling her eyes, Steph resumed eating the sandwich, wishing it wasn't so dry so she could have more help in swallowing and thus be finished eating faster.

She glanced at her unwanted eating companion to find him beginning to devour his own sandwich. From the angle she was on, he looked even more like House than he usually did under full light, making her heart fluttery and nervous. Why did the man have to bear such a strong resemblence to someone all the way across the country?

"I saw Dayle's back," she commented, trying to forget about Robert House and how Wittingstone invoked his memory so painfully.

"Yes, he is."

"He still doesn't look completely well."

"That's Dayle for you...always worried and pushing himself to his limits for his family. Trust me, he's feeling better. He seems way more relieved. And its a good thing too; I don't think I could cover for him much longer, especially with things at the Battlezone being what they are. Heh...Typical RobCo for you."

"Oh, is there a problem?" Steph asked, picking at the crumbs on her now empty wrapper, just as if she were picking at a scab. Why couldn't she ever successfully divert the attention away from House? Why did it always come back to him and she, like a masochistic idiot, always took the bait like a mouse with a wedge of cheese lodged in the jaw of a springtrap?

"Same old crap...literally. They were supposed to send us new robot models, instead they sent rejuved up ones."

"That's bad?" Steph asked, unwisely delighting perhaps in how the techie shared her own frustration with House, while looking so much like the man at the same time.

"Yeah! The customers pay to see new designs, that's what Bradberton advertises. It won't be long until they wise up and the complaints start rolling in. When the park reopens, mark my words, all of us over at the Battlezone are going to receive a memo from that jerk Karroll,  whining about the amount of complaints they've been getting. Between that and the robots themselves going wonky, the exhibit lives up to its title, I can tell you."

Knowing that House's priority lay with the army of securitrons he was making at the Lucky 38, it didn't surprise Steph he was sending out inferior robots to Nuka-World.

Wittingstone's own theory about the whole thing did however.

"I guess, what with House's upcoming nuptials, he's thinking more of his honeymoon than an amusement park attraction."

Suddenly it was like history was repeating itself, Steph feeling like she was back talking with Dean Domino at the crummy little Italian restaurant.

"His what?" Steph asked, her head spinning fast enough to hurt.

Tim turned to face her, stealing away the vantage point that made him look so much like the subject of the conversation. "It's in all of the papers, sweetheart...the gossip section anyway. Rumor mills running rampant he's about to marry that doll of an actress he has stashed away in Hollywood."

It took another piece of acting, one she hoped her time at Nuka-World had honed her acting skills for, to make Steph smile widely and exclaim, "Jane! That beautiful, sly, little gold digger! Why, that's great! I'm sure she's pleased. I'm...I'm such a....a fan of hers. Can you imagine marrying a billionaire? Now, not only is she famous, but she has it made too, after her looks go to pot. Some girls have all the luck, I guess."

The words were more true to the speaker than the listener probably could have ever known, and Steph felt her heart rupturing into two parts in her envy.

Tim studied her, his lip curling in that naughty way he seemed accustomed to. "Money sure do make the world spin, don't it? The haves and have nots," he remarked, something dark twisting his grin it seemed. Then he added jovially, "But your average worker like me...we don't need it. Infact, give me any old free night, Steph, darling, and I'll show you the time of your life on a dollar bill and a nickel! Why I could even show you the wonders of this very tourist trap, if you let me?"

"Oh could you now?" Steph asked, trying to act her outwardly flirty best to make up for the grief that was overwhelming her inside.

"You bet your pretty bleached head!" he laughed, smoothly reaching around her and grabbing the helmet where she'd hidden it. He started throwing it into the air and catching it, all while he grinned almost maniacally. "Although, we should probably skip out on the Vault-Tec. gig...that place can seriously mess you up."

Asking him why exactly wasn't really on Steph's mind right then, her thoughts racing with the rumor that House had busied himself in her absense with proposing to a woman he'd told her he had already received all that he needed from.

Had he changed his mind?

Even more...

Had he proposed by simply saying "Come with me"?

Stephanie hated the wave of hopelessness taking over her. House had instructed her to trust him, should she do that now instead of believing idle talk? 

She didn't know.

There was one thing she was certain about though:

No way was this Jane risking as much as she was for Robert House. She, afterall, still possessed something he wanted: the ability to seduce Bud Askins.

"Not that Nuka-World has anything that compares to the Nuka-Girl herself," Tim Wittingstone finally grabbed hold of Steph's attention by grabbing her chin, his thumb pressing into it in a way which might have felt too harsh if she wasn't hurting so badly inside of her heart. "Right now Steph you are the only attraction here I truly want to ride."

Tim's lips were closing in on hers and Steph was tempted to bridge the distance, they were so similar to Robert House's, until she turned her head violently away, remembering where her loyalty lay even if House had sworn none to her.

Wittingstone's hand was left hanging in the air, as if he were a beggar waiting for something else to be placed within it.

* * *

She finished the day in a bit of a fugue, trying to survive but finding the work more difficult than usual. Wouldn't you know it, on the day she'd finally received a sign that Bradberton was pleased with her, something had happened to dampen her mood and risked spoiling her performance.

It was a relief when she was finally back at Bradberton, Nuka-World closing early due to an accident of some sort. Bumping into Rachel, the Kiddie Kingdom worker had seemed to sense her friend's melancholia and asked Steph to join Oswald and herself for a nice little walk.

Together they enjoyed the last rays of the evening as they walked around the town, taking advantage of the nice weather, which honestly felt like summer was giving them one of its final farewell kisses, just like the ones sometimes shared between the princess and the magician. In turn, they all discussed their plans for the winter break, where Steph discovered that her friends were to remain in Bradberton and even expected to celebrate their New Years there.

"Join us, Steph," Rachel invited.

"Yes, we would immensely enjoy it if the great Nuka-Girl rang in the New Year with us! That is if she could lower herself to share champagne with Nuka-World's second most popular performer," Oswald teased, still playing off their professional rivalry.

"I'd love to, but I don't know where I'll be by then. Bradberton didn't bother giving out details about my little publicity tour."

"I wonder who your costar for the commercial will be," Rachel gushed. "If only Cooper Howard would get off his morals and do an ad or two."

"Howard's just your typical good old cowboy. You forget, they always come complete with a high horse," Oswald joked, in especially good humor.

"Jealous are we, oh outrageous one?" his girlfriend asked.

"Maybe," he answered truthfully. "Whenever he's on screen, you look at him more than you look at me."

Steph lowered her head and studied the leaves beneath her feet. She willfully concealed the fact that she too had been jealous of Cooper Howard once or twice herself. Now it was an actress, not an actor, whom had put a stronghold on her jealousy.

When she looked up, it was to find they were directly outside of Tim Wittingstone's apartment. Infact, the man was entering the building, turning to smile at them and shout out a friendly "Hello!" before disappearing inside. Steph didn't think it was solely inside her imagination which made her believe his eyes had mostly been on her and nobody else.

"What do you think of him?" Steph asked, acknowledging to herself that they had known the man for much longer.

"He's not really my type," Oswald answered after a little contemplation.

"Quit it," Rachel warned, elbowing the man playfully in his stomach. "Tim's a real nice guy. He's fixed a few things around here when they've broken down and Bradberton won't do anything about them."

Steph smiled until Oppenheimer chimed in with what seemed to be his real opinion. "Oh that Tim. I don't like him. Not at all."

Rachel laughed at what she took to be his audacity. "What? You're jealous of him now too?"

"Him I'm not jealous of," Oswald said with a flip of his hand, a carryover from his Nuka-World act. "I just don't like the fellow."

"Well, I never heard a single bad thing about him myself," Rachel retaliated.

"Why don't you like him, Oz," Steph inquired, genuinely curious because Oppenheimer usually didn't seem the type of guy to badmouth another Nuka-World worker, unless professional or romantic jealousy was somehow involved. Actually, he was usually pretty protective of his fellow coworkers, often referring to them as his friends. Steph had been touched on several occassions to be included amongst them.

Now Oswald merely shrugged, refusing to apologize for his feelings and yet unable to explain them satisfactorily either. "You don't have to hear about someone to know if they're somehow bad or not. Some people work overtime trying to seem good when really they're really not. I get the feeling Tim Wittingstone's like that."

Rachel stopped their stroll for a second. "Why Oswald the Outrageous...can you see through people's skin now?"

Similarly stopping, Oz gave another showman's florish, this time a bow and a hand sweep. "Didn't you know, my darling, Rachel? I really can work magic. "

Steph watched as Rachel walked into her lover's arms. "And here I thought I was the one to work a spell on you."

"Hmmm..." Oppenheimer sounded, wrapping his arms around her. "No, you are what keeps me sane and patient...I'd wait a million years in the Kiddie Kingdom just as long as I'd have my princess at the end of it all."

As they went to kiss, Steph turned away, not from embarrassment but to give them privacy and so she wouldn't feel so horribly lonely in comparison. Her eyes rested on the bright golden, amber and crimson leaves they had started the walk in part to admire. Ablaze now, soon they would fall from the trees, leaving the trees barren and frozen.

Somewhat like she might feel in a few weeks, Steph thought as an early chill ran over her body and she held herself to ward it off.

Back at their own apartment building, Steph interrupted Rachel as she was going up the stairs. "Hey, could I have your copy of the Bugle? I never bothered subscribing and now, with me leaving in a few weeks, I don't see any point."

"Sure," Rachel smiled. "Say what, I'll give you every copy until your tour starts. Oz says he has no use for them after finishing the crossword...but I know that he just likes reading the comics."

"I HEARD THAT!" the Magician called out theatrically.

Rachel comically cringed and whispered, "How quick I forget....he has superpowers!"

Laughing together, both women climbed the stairs, disapearing into the building that was such a short distance from that of the neighbourhood handyman's.

* * *

The used copy of the Bugle was in Steph's hands well before eight, the small squares of the crossword puzzle filled out to perfection with no error to Steph's gaze.

Not that she was particularly looking for any, her concentration on something else entirely.

She found it where Tim Wittingstone had said she would.

One where the current busybody passing as a journalist was talking all about how her "source" had passed on that any day now news was coming in fresh from either Las Vegas or Hollywood that Robert Edwin House was set to marry the starlet he'd long had his eyes on, and his measuring tape and scanner too if wagging lips were to be believed.

A photograph accompanied the article, one much larger than the written tidbit which could not have been much longer than a few sentences long. Not that length mattered: each word drove the press that had printed them straight into Steph's heart, crushing it and causing it to bleed out red ink.

The photograph was even worse.

There she could actually see House beside this Jane, his face cast in halftone, but still the first real glimpse she'd had of him anyway since she'd left the city where they'd taught and fought together.

She'd have traced his handsome face with the tip of her finger if she could be sure that the ink wouldn't be smudged in the process.

Instead, she grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the picture out, making certain to leave Jane behind for someone else to take, a Tarzan perchance or a Mr. Bingley...anybody but the man whom had originally been standing beside her.

Although she knew it was foolish for her to keep the clipping, dangerous infact for it betrayed a connection between he and she, Steph refused to let the photo of House go, choosing to hide it beneath her mattress instead, where it would soon be joined by any other photograph of the man the Bugle chose to print. Then, her eyes sore enough for one evening, she crawled into the same bed it was hidden inside, but did not weep herself to sleep, for Steph could almost hear Idith Pied chastising that tears caused red eyes and dark circles beneath them, and she could not risk Bud Askins finally showing up and finding a Nuka-Girl he was less attracted to than usual.

Afterall, right now Bud Askins, and his presumed interest in her, was the only certain power she held over House.

As Steph kept the tears at bay, and the sadness from encroaching round about her, the tap in the kitchen kept its endless dripping, sounding like a clock gleefully ticking away the time she had left at Nuka-World.

Chapter Text

"Stephanie, I wanted to introduce you to Keith McKinney, the celebrity you'll be starring alongside for the new Nuka-Cola winter campaign," Peyton Huxley introduced enthusiastically, putting special emphasis on the word "celebrity" as if to help stroke the actor's ego.

It was probably a good idea.

Though Steph hadn't truly believed that Cooper Howard would star in the ad, she would be lying if she ever said her hopes hadn't been up that he just might, making it all the more probable that House would be giving his attention to the advertisement and its overall promotion and thus increasing the chance that he might send word to her. What she'd gotten instead, however, was Keith McKinney, not a particularly adored, or even as well known performer. Infact, he was one she could even remember House making several disparaging remarks about when the man had been in any film they'd watched together inside of their minature Fremont.

"Nothing more than a bargain basement Cooper Howard," House had commented once preceded by large groan as Keith McKinney's credit had appeared on the large screen. "I heed you to remember this Steph: you get what you pay for and basements always reek."

"And what's your pricetag list?" Steph had asked, not looking at the row behind her but secretly delighting in her companion's commentary,  as she always did; House's remarks had become an ever greater entertainment to her, far exceeding whatever the projector was projecting out.

"Why? Are you interested in making a payment?" the man had infuriatingly asked, forcing her to look back and try to display how uninterested  she was in him.

"No, I don't buy on credit and I don't have enough collateral to ever afford your massive ego," she smirked.

House had seemed to chuckle to himself. "Let's just say my cost is sky high...to the moon infact. Dare to suppose you could afford me, my dear Miss Calculations?"

She'd rolled her eyes and had returned her attention to the moving picture, eventually begrudgingly admitting to herself that Robert House's opinion about the actor had been, at least, halfway true: McKinney was no Cooper Howard.

Still, meeting the actor in person, he was handsome enough and his smile seemed genuine as he reached across the small divide to take her fingers in his. "A pleasure," he commented, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "If you don't mind me saying, you're even more beautiful without the helmet and whole garish costume on."

Huxley was pouting, as if the remark was an insult to the brand he promoted, but Steph took it as the flattering glad-to-meet-you greeting it was intended to be. "And you are even more handsome," she replied. "It will be my absolute pleasure to be working with such a well respected and adored name in the business," she stated, remembering House's reaction to that very same name when it had appeared on the theater screen.

Her comment pleased McKinney, whom shifted in his well polished shoes and whose face lit up instantly. "I'm glad. You know," he began leaning forward and confessing. "I was afraid you might be disappointed I wasn't Cooper Howard."

Steph only smiled, refraining from admitting she was actually more disappointed that he wasn't Robert House.

* * *

The commercial wasn't scheduled for weeks, but McKinney had already been booked for a tour of Nuka-World before it began filming, albeit not for that exact day. As it turned out, the man had brought his wife with him, Gilda Broscoe (a woman House had commented was a sufficient actress,  but an almost intolerable human being), and she needed to be seen somewhere else in Massachusetts, her husband on her arm, for her own bit of publicity.

McKinney had been very apologetic, Huxley very understanding, if perhaps a little stiff, and Steph a little disappointed that her interaction with the movie star had been cut short,  so quickly. It wasn't that she was attracted to the man in any way, nothing of the sort, but she was still desperately seeking distractions and this ephemeral blip had been pleasant enough. When her soon-to-be costar was gone, her thoughts went right back to bouncing all between House, his own Hollywood starlet named Jane, the annoyingngly present Tim Wittingstone and her even more obnoxious leaking faucet.

When she walked though the door that day, the sound had begun to sound like what one might hear should they be in the vicinity when a boulder fell from off the Grand Canyon. Already in a foul mood, the several clippings of Robert House's purported engagement weighing far more heavily on her mind than on the box spring of her bed, Steph had slammed her keys more into the counter than on, glaring at the constant falling drops of water that resembled the tears she wanted to set loose.

Running a hand through her hair, she was out the door before she even knew it, striding towards Tim Wittingstone's apartment building as her emotions felt like the drops of water had accumulated into a wave inside of her, threatening to pull her under. She was up the stairs and reading what room number was Wittingstone's from a buzzer located in the foyer when she suddenly came to her senses. People drowned when they succumbed to the power of waves.

Turning around, she swiftly sped back to her apartment, where, at least to her unusual fortune, the Bugle skipped a night revelling in all of the latest whispers concerning how Vegas' richest and kinkiest bachelors was about to be taken off the proverbial market.

* * *

Although he had not attended to their introductions, John-Caleb Bradberton did attend to showing Keith McKinney around Nuka-World himself, a task he insisted the Nuka-Girl join them for. As it turned out, Steph was grateful for the reprieve in her daily duties, especially when she learnt that the tour would end at Starport Nuka, offering her, at last, the opportunity to finally see the attraction.

What she was a little less thrilled about was the fact that the actor had brought along his wife this time.

Not only did Gilda monopolize the conversation away from her husband, she behaved as if she might as well have been starring in the ads instead of him, leaving Steph more grateful than ever that it was Keith McKinney, at least, she was to work with and not Gilda Broscoe.

"What a beautiful park!" Gilda stated, her arm looped through Bradberton's while her husband strolled about three feet behind, keeping pace with the new Nuka-Girl. "I think its soooo charming! We really should have paid a visit much earlier shouldn't we have, Keith dear?"

"If you say so, Gilda," McKinney agreed, his hands behind his back as he seemed to slow his pace even more, increasing the distance between himself and his wife.

Steph caught the glance the red headed Gilda threw her better half and knew from the way her eyes flashed daggers that there was deep resentment brewing between the two. Even here, though, most of the passion lay on Gilda's side, her husband seemingly distant and about as unmoved by his wife's glare as he was unattracted to her. Unfortunately, maybe this accounted for the extra oomph to the actress' emotions: Steph knew all too well how a woman's ardour could rise in either direction of love and hate when the man she loved remained indifferent.

Briefly Stephanie wondered if the society column had any slanderous talk about the couple, gossip she might have overlooked in her highly focused pursuit of news solely about Robert House.

She bet House would have noticed.

Not unlike a blackmailer, the man probably collected information like it was as good as money in the bank.

Through the visitations paid to most of the attractions, Steph was eventually able to discern for herself a little better what might be the source of the couple's marriage woes. This was betrayed by the difference in ways that Keith McKinney's attention was paid to the attractive men they passed to that of the pretty women. No column in a confidential rag was equal to what his eyes confessed or the way his posture and gait altered when he saw something he liked...

And nothing that he liked remotely resembled Gilda Broscoe or her sex.

Something Steph found herself hoping the crowd would not notice if she was next in line to try to use the actor to generate some chemistry in order to sell some cola.

Luckily, the day now turned to late evening, they finally arrived at Starport Nuka, this particular attraction closed currently to the public and thus saving them from the crowd and casually placed professional photographers inside Nuka-World, all of whom were ready to sell their photograpgs to help spark interest in a promotional campaign before it even begun, and all under John-Caleb's payroll, of course.

Steph's soul itself was sparked immensely by entering the Starport, her thoughts with House alone however instead of on John Caleb-Bradberton's tourguide monologue. It was so similar to the Lucky 38 in small ways, and so linked to House's own interests and plans, that she was enraptured. To think that this was where all of the robots were commanded from! And it was hidden away under the guise of a museum too.

She wished that it was House beside her instead of her soon-to-be costar and House about to describe the workings of the tower itself. Oh to hear his even tempered voice explaining it all to her! With a mattress harbouring too many articles prophesying the man's walk forever beside his starlet and use of his voice to sweet talk her for the rest of his days, Steph would have given anything for it.

The fact that Gilda Broscoe was herself an actress straight from Hollywood transformed into a thorn digging into Steph's side, reminding her now instantly of another starlet she'd never met, whose name was Jane, and whom House was poised to marry despite already possessing a scan of her brain. Steph felt her teeth clenching as their small party of four (Huxley sitting this one out for whatever business reasons Bradberton had pressed upon him) made their way first to the lower level, entitled Star Control, before they began their journey up to the top of the tower.

Star Control, it appeared, was where the robots were controlled, but this aspect of the park failed to interest Gilda much. "Robots are so very mechanical," she stated. "Being warm flesh and hot blooded myself, well it's skin that really gets my heart beating."

A finger on her free hand was brought to John-Caleb's cheek and she let it trail down from its starting point to the tip of his bearded chin. Bradberton looked altogether more annoyed by the gesture than even Broscoe's husband, whom remained ambivalent to his wife's extramarital flirting. Steph, meanwhile, would have pondered at how well McKinney could defeat his jealousy while she always seemed to constantly lose to hers, except now she'd been granted some indication why.

"Let's take the elevator to the observation deck," the founder of the cola and park announced, obviously tiring of being the target of Gilda Broscoe's relentless flirting.

They managed to fit into the elevator despite Broscoe's swollen ego and it stopped with a jolt to belie the otherwise smooth journey.

At the very peak, the door opened and Steph felt the breath being suddenly stolen from her as she saw the view of the whole of Nuka-World spread out before and around her, at night no less. These were the same grounds she'd spent the last few weeks running, jumping greeting and generally working up a sweat at but everything looked so different from this high in the ground and with the lights all on making it resemble a massive Christmas tree having lain down and gone to sleep. The moon, full and bright above, might as well been the topper left behind, deceptively seeming within reach.

She fought a giggle, imagining the height might be making her more than a little dizzy.

"Your first time?" Keith inquired, deriving more enjoyment from her reaction to the view than his own.

"Yes," Steph replied, a hand going to her stomach where butterflies felt caged. "I never had the time to before and I haven't been here all that long to be honest."

McKinney nodded solemnly. "I heard. Terrible business that."

Steph blinked a few times, her eyes searching through the glass, trying to pinpoint the murder site of the last Nuka-Girl.

"MY NUKA-WORLD!" John-Caleb Bradberton suddenly announced in ultra loud pride, either oblivious to the talk of the stars of his latest commercial or trying to be. "A little piece of Heaven in an otherwise miserable world!"

"My my! This is divine! Simply divine!" Gilda cooed. "I feel like we are in the clouds!"

Begrudingly agreeing with the woman, Stephanie looked above and below again. Everything seemed so far away from this distance. When House was ruling his New Vegas from such similarly lofty heights it would be all too easy to forget about the people on the ground below, their lives and scurrying becoming as significant as ants.

She supposed she would be included with them, though, from what he'd intimated she was to be in a Vault several feet below by then.

Was that what she was to House now, she wondered, the distance between them so great. Worse, was it what she had always been to him, is that how he could forget about her so cruelly now.

"Sky high," she whispered remembering House's evaluation of his worth and his brutal estimation that she could not afford him.

She fought a shiver, afraid it was true what they always said: space was so damn cold.

"Supposesly heat rises to the top," John-Caleb Bradberton was contrarily stating as he walked away from Broscoe and towards some sort of panel. "The founder of RobCo, one Robert House, made the suggestion to me, at the beggining of our alliance that we place the Star Control right here in the tower and not the basement, so as to better keep the mechanics dry and warm. I denied his request."

Steph smiled wider, her heart feeling both warmed and pained. That sounded just like what House would suggest.

While she was endeared, however, another member of their party was less fond of the man's invocation.

"Seems about right; if anybody was to know about hot air it would be Robert House," Gilda Broscoe groaned in the most elegant and melodramatic way possible, her hand, now free from its link through her tour guide's arm, going to her chest. "Although, his being such a cold fish, the air is the only thing hot about him."

"Gilda..." Keith chided, his own face caught between consternation and a cringe, unaware that the woman standing to his side had also lost her own smile.

His wife exhaled a sharp and biting snippet of a laugh. "Luckily that particular fish is swimming up some other actress' pond and not mine."

Jane.

"Do you know the happy couple?" Steph asked, trying to affect the right air of curious gossip monger and not jealous, snooping girlfriend.

"Yes, but mainly in social circles," Keith answered.

Not content to let her husband speak for her, Gilda turned to look over her shoulder at the questioner, paying the Nuka-Girl the first true bit of attention she had since their halfhearted introduction.