A/n: Hey, yo. Trust me, maybe. Almost everything has a meaning or a strong reason behind it in my fics. If you read my last fic, you know that I tie things up with a nice little bow by the end, even if the middle of the roller coaster is a shitfest. I'm very aware that none of my characters are perfect.

Sorry for the delay in updating. I was in the final few weeks of my last semester of college, and I haven't had time to do anything other than work.

"You're lucky, you know."

Six swallowed and looked down at the floor. She barely slept the night before, replaying what happened with Vulpes in her mind and attempting to remember the gaps between something awful that he said and her staring at a cracked bedroom door and glass all over the floor.

The shock and terror of the scene – of what she apparently did – made her retreat to the penthouse, a place of memories of happy, forgetful times. Six couldn't bring herself to sleep in the oversized master bed, and instead, took one of the other beds in a small room next to the master suite.

"In what way?" she asked.

The Courier knew many ways in which she was lucky, but she had to hear what Yes Man's opinion was.

"You're lucky he didn't fight back."

Six bit her lip as she thought of how close she was to getting beaten. Yes, she regretted what she did. Lately, anger came easier to her. Last night, it came in a force so powerful that she had no control over her actions.

As Six thought about what Yes Man said, the anger slowly seeped back.

"Why?" she snapped, "Should I congratulate him that he didn't put me in my place? That he didn't assert himself as a man over me?"

The bot sighed as Six seethed.

"You're lucky that he didn't use his upbringing as an excuse to do the wrong thing."

The Courier stopped and thought about it for a moment. She supposed that was right, then. He controlled himself better than she did.

"I'm worried about you," Yes Man added. "You haven't been yourself lately. How is your head feeling?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

What if the other person was coming back?

"I'm worried," Yes Man repeated. "And I'm not saying that conversationally. I'm legitimately worried about you. Do you know what that means?"

Six shook her head. It meant that Yes Man was worried.

"When I was created," Yes Man said, "I was made to analyze data and seek out the best possible outcome. When you put me into House's network, I found some interesting data. Naturally, I sought the best possible outcome."

"Yes," Six nodded, "I remember you training yourself to say no. The change was very dramatic."

"So, you're aware of what happened?"

The Courier furrowed her brow and shook her head. Yes Man was obviously trying to get at something else.

"I became something else," he explained. "I developed thoughts and emotions, on top of my probability calculations. I became something called an 'artificial intelligence'."

The Courier shrugged.

"You're the same person I've known all along," Six said.

There was silence and the Courier wondered if calling him a person was an insult. After all, he was so much smarter than just a person. But Six knew Yes Man, and just knew that he was different than a securitron. He confirmed as much to her, anyway.

"I don't know why I was so worried," Yes Man sighed. "Of course you'd understand. And you knew all along and thought of me as a person."

"I'm worried, too, Yes Man," Six murmured. "I'm worried that I'm no longer a person. Or, at least, I'm not a good person."

She hugged her knees and stared at the floor.

"I regretted it, you know."

"Which part?"

A bitter laugh escaped her as she closed her eyes. Which part, indeed?

"I don't feel right," she said. "I don't feel right anymore."

So, which part did she regret?

"Maybe, I regret the whole 'waking up' thing."

There. It was out there. Because, what good she had done could be overshadowed by evil, given enough time. What was this darkness in her heart? Who was this angry person?

"Have you had your brain scanned?" Yes Man asked.

Six lifted her head to look at his screen. She wished he had a real face, just so she could understand if he was joking or not.

"That's a thing?" she asked.

"Of course it is!" Yes Man chuckled.

And while Six was glad that maybe there was an answer out there, at the same time, she was hit with a stark realization:

Vulpes was right. She was a dumb girl.

"No, no, no," Yes Man protested, "I know what you're thinking, and you're not stupid. You didn't wake up too long ago. How would you know that your brain could be scanned?"

She wasn't sure.

"You should go downstairs to meet him," he suggested. "Clean up the glass together. Leave the door the way it is. Talk about a strategy to hold each other accountable."

Six swallowed and nodded. She had to fix this, and hopefully, Vulpes would be okay with keeping her around.

They needed each other, but the Courier realized that maybe, she needed him more than he needed her.

There wasn't too much glass, but what was there shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. Vulpes didn't clean – that was women's' work – but he supposed that cleaning up the broken vase and God-knows-what-else meant more than just a broom.

Yes Man's suggestion was silly and transparent. Cleaning up the mess was a metaphor for healing, cleaning up their fight, getting their relationship right, and finding peace.

But damn if it wasn't working.

They apologized to each other, Six becoming a skittish creature he didn't know. He watched her compartmentalize her emotions on the matter. Was he worth the tears she held back? The thought stung, but at the same time, he realized that the thought was selfish.

Why would he want her to hurt again?

Instead, he leaned over and held the dustpan so she could sweep the shards of their fight into its mouth.

Vulpes looked up; searching her eyes for a hidden meaning that he knew wasn't there. Six spoke plainly.

"Anything else I need to know about?" he asked.

Six stared down at the floor in shame.

"When I found Hardin," she whispered, "I staple gunned him to a fence and left him there."

Vulpes' eyebrows shot up. Those were his kind of theatrics.

"He was a criminal of some of the worst kind," Vulpes shrugged. "He deserved it."

"I don't do things like that!" she protested. "I don't hurt people!"

The broom dropped to the floor, and he found himself with an armful of sobbing Courier. He reached over her shoulder to deposit the dustpan on the nearby desk. Vulpes was glad that he allowed the use of stimpacks on his arms.

She suffered enough, at her own hands. Six didn't need to see what she did to him.

"I still maintain that he deserved it."

Six sniffled and drew back to look him in the eye.

"And you?" she asked. "Did you deserve it?"

Vulpes held her, staring into her eyes as he remembered what he said. In one sentence, he reduced her to a brain-damaged idiot similar to the trash he used to bring to his bed every night. Not to mention undermining every decision she did for the Mojave.

"Yes."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

"Yes," he repeated.

Six dissolved into tears again, shook her head, and shuffled forward into his embrace. She would never agree that he deserved the attack. Vulpes wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head into his shoulder.

"When I came here, I expected to see you one last time, then die," he whispered. "You ensured my survival and created a home for me in a land where I was unwelcome. Somehow, you forced the people into accepting me."

Vulpes hugged her close and leaned over, his cheek against hers.

"I am sworn to protect you, even from yourself."

They stood for a while, their embrace slowly mending the strain their fight caused. The repairs would always be there; neither would forget what happened.

Vulpes stepped back and looked into the eyes of the woman he thought he knew. For a brief moment, he knew that he could leave, and never be found. The thought soured his stomach immediately.

Vulpes remembered what he told Arcade:

How would he know what tomorrow would bring if he didn't stay around to experience it?

He smiled at her and leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the forehead.

"We're a smart pair," he said, "we will figure it out."

Six smiled in return, and Vulpes found himself kissing her again.

"We're also damn good looking," he drawled.

His words lacked conviction. He wasn't in the mood.

"Yes Man suggested a brain scan," Six said. "What if the person I was before is coming back? What if she was a bad person, and that's why nobody knew her?"

Vulpes considered this probability. While it was likely that who she was before would be considered bad, he didn't find it likely that she would have a second personality inside her.

"Schizophrenia seems unlikely," he countered. "But damage? It could be likely, depending on the area of the brain that is damaged."

Six nodded and he let go. Together, they continued to clean up the mess in silence until there was nothing left. The Courier seemed to be pondering what he said.

"I'll be thinking about a head scan, then."

Vulpes nodded in agreement.

He was afraid of what they would find.

She wore her pink pencil skirt with its matching pink blazer, ivory blouse, and little ivory heels. In fact, she even had the time to put on her purple brooch, ivory gloves, and pink hat – the one with the lovely satin flower at the top.

It was her hope that the social rules for making a house call hadn't changed in all these years. The metal briefcase was heavy in her hand, and she wondered if she could find a cab somewhere out there on the road.

A brief glance into the small town of Nipton made her freeze. No, this was not the world as she'd left it. Quickly, she left the skeletons strung to telephone poles behind and followed the signs toward Vegas.

The road hadn't been repaved in many, many years, and judging by the amount of rusted out cars littering the road, she immediately second guessed her attire. There would be no cab coming for her any time soon.

She took another glance behind her and sighed. She couldn't go back, not with the briefcase and the stolen technology inside.

So she continued onward until her feet blistered and her mouth felt dry and she wished she wasn't wearing a polyester blazer and hose in the Mojave desert.

Up ahead, she made out figures in the distance. She wasn't sure if they were friendly or not, but then again, there was no way they couldn't have seen her and the shiny briefcase. She continued onward until she was able to make out the figures.

It appeared to be a traveling trader of sorts, with an armed guard. A two-headed pack ox carried various beat up wares, plodding along on a long lead.

They saw her as well, and the guard lowered his weapon and jogged over to her.

"Miss, what are you doing out here all alone?" he asked.

He stunk of sweat and dirt, as if he hadn't bathed in a few days. And from his mouth came the most horrible smell of decay.

"I am going to Las Vegas," she stated.

Behind him, the trader took a swig of water. She was a thin, dark-haired woman with freckles dotting her gaunt face. When the woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she saw a long, silvery scar on her arm.

"Too far to be going dressed like that," the trader huffed, "and around Nipton of all places! No offense, but were you born yesterday?"

"Yes," she nodded, a smile growing on her face.

She was born yesterday. She became muscle and flesh and skin and bone and tingling nerves. It made her want to test each of her senses – to eat until she was stuffed, to run until she was out of breath, to find a handsome man and drink her fill until she fell asleep from exhaustion. And she knew that Vegas could sate her. The information she held in her briefcase could buy almost anything – maybe even a night with someone handsome.

"Can't leave her around here like this," the trader sighed.

The guard shot the trader a questioning look, but it was clear that the woman was in charge.

"We'll take you as far as Primm," she shrugged.

"Thank you very much," she smiled, giving a small nod.

The guard lifted her up onto their pile of wares, and the frowning trader gave her a burlap sack to veil the sun away. Her hand clutched the briefcase, refusing to let go even as the guard shuffled the junk around in the wagon to make room for it. He shrugged at her refusal, and they turned the caravan around and headed north as the sun rose to its peak over the desert. As the two-headed ox plodded on, she watched a town grow on the horizon, until it was mid-afternoon.

They traveled along a tall wall that encircled the town, up toward a guarded main entrance. The guards were young, and armed with rocket launchers and an assault rifle. When the guards nodded, the caravan was allowed to pass through into the town.

Everything in the town was run-down, old, and filthy. It was old, but nothing like home.

She remembered the pristine, ancient streets she traveled in her youth, wearing her best traditional clothes to leave an offering for her ancestors. She remembered a ritual, but no faces – the way she had to wash, clap, bow, but didn't remember the name of the shrine nor the city that grew around it for centuries.

Who was she?

Before she realized it, the guard had helped her down from the animal and led her inside a building. She and the briefcase were inside a dimly lit, dusty casino, standing in front of a wrinkled man.

Behind her, at the bar, the guard filled the bartender in on why they were back so soon.

"Chinese girl wandering around all by herself," the guard sighed, nodding over in her direction.

She wasn't Chinese, but Ayumi couldn't remember why this incorrect assumption upset her so.

Ayumi. That was her name. It felt strange in her head.

She turned her attention back to the man in front of her.

"Name's Johnson Nash," he smiled, giving her hand a shake. "Now the Mojave isn't quite as wild as it was before, but you'll not want to travel alone through here, missy. Much safer closer to the towns, though."

She nodded slowly in thought. Then how was she going to get to Vegas?

"What's in the briefcase?" the man asked.

"A delivery."

"For who?"

"His name is Vulpes," she clipped.

Johnson Nash fell silent and nodded. He motioned for a pair of guards in the corner to come forward and she froze. This was dangerous. She shouldn't have said anything. They would take the briefcase and have no idea what was in it and the secrets would be lost forever.

"I don't need to know what's in it," he frowned, "all I know is that this is obviously a very important delivery. The government had to violently put down some bandits that killed an innocent girl. And we sure as heck aren't going to let you walk around alone."

The guards reached the table. They couldn't be more than teenagers, but they were armed to the teeth with guns and explosives.

"These two will keep you safe," he nodded, "They're from the Boomers, a tribe that set up in Nellis Airforce Base. They've been protecting the town, and I reckon they'll keep you and your delivery from being harmed. Wherever you go after there, I'm sure Vulpes' wife will make sure you stay safe."

She swallowed thickly as she remembered that the person who inspired her to strike out on her own was married.

So she was whisked off again on top of a pack animal, wrapped in burlap until well after the sun set over the horizon and the briefcase felt like a burden. In front of them, the city of New Vegas flashed and blinked, blasting music so loudly she heard it outside the gates.

A pack of greasers guarded the gates into a place called Freeside. The guards that escorted her told them what they knew. The greasers sneered until she dropped the burlap covering.

Her appearance made the hooligans grin.

"Look at China doll here," they whistled.

She swung her legs off the animal and dropped to the ground on her own accord.

"I am not Chinese," she clipped. "And I speak perfect English."

"Of course, doll!"

She glared at them and stood as tall as her short frame would allow her.

"Do you know how many PhDs I have? I demand respect!"

The men shared a worried look.

"Is that PhD a weapon?" he asked, nodding toward the briefcase.

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Of a sort," she replied. "Vulpes would have an interest in it. The briefcase is for him."

At the sound of Vulpes' name, the greasers straightened up. They rushed through an explanation of where he was and offered to escort her there and keep her safe.

The pair led her through the run-down city, around crumbling walls of rubble, and through a wrecked bus.

"You're going to love it here," one of the greasers said, "Vegas is the jewel of the desert. I promise you've never seen anything like it before."

They drew closer to the heart of the city, until they passed through another open gate to end up on the Strip. She stopped to take it in, her heart pounding in her ears.

Barbed wire and piles of junk fenced the casinos in, as dim, mismatched lights flickered on the street and buildings. The road crumbled beneath the feet of sunburned tourists wearing ill-fitting, stained clothes. To her right, a gaggle of nearly naked prostitutes stumbled around in front of a casino that had been renamed, 'Gomorrah', some obviously starved and strung out. A light in front of the casino burned out, joining hundreds of others that were likely irreplaceable.

And above it all was the overwhelming smell of sweat and animals.

He was right; she'd never seen anything like it before.

She felt ill. Humanity let itself down. And this happened here, in the middle of nowhere. She was certain, then, that the island she once called home – the ancient buildings, people of ritual, memories buried – was gone forever.

"You should rest, baby," one of the escorts said.

She nodded, not trusting her voice. The man directed her toward her destination; it was the tall building on the left that had no visitors.

Her shaking legs led her up the stairs to a call box. Before she could push a button, the speaker crackled to life.

"Hello there!" a voice called. "What do you need?"

It was entirely too happy for the state of the city around it. Was this truly normal?

"I have a delivery for Vulpes Inculta."

"Do you? I wasn't aware we were getting a delivery. Let me get him."

She couldn't blame them for regarding her with suspicion. Voices murmured through the speaker, and she strained to hear them.

"Who are you?" the original voice asked.

"I am Dr. Dala."

She heard Vulpes mumble to himself, and then, another long pause.

"I'll be down immediately."

The sound of his voice gave her an unexpected, forgotten feeling, but she was used to the constant newness. With him, there were all sorts of unexpected feelings, forgotten yet re-remembered because it was just what he did.

When the casino door opened and she saw him again for the first time, it reminded her that she was a woman.

"Came to deliver it in person, did you?" he drawled.

She had different hardware to process him with. He leaned against the doorframe, a roguish smile on his face. Where she once thought him scrawny – and in comparison to his traveling companions, he was – she found him to be incredibly tall and physically capable.

She swallowed. Capable of all sorts of things.

"You have to say the words," he chuckled. "You cannot merely think them and project them."

I want you.

He ushered her into the casino, and the door closed behind them.

"Yes, of course."

A short bow in apology, and he smiled in reply.

She balanced the briefcase on one arm as she unclasped it. With a quick swipe of her hand, she drew the lid back and placed it underneath to join the other. She bowed again to present her work to her client.

"It appears to be a spray gun."

"Yes. It can be sprayed on top of the damaged skin to create new skin. In testing, it showed that scarring was eliminated. It requires a small sample of existing skin."

He leaned in closer, and she realized that she could smell him. How many centuries had it been since she smelled something, let alone another human? She barely remembered a time when she did, but he made her remember.

A quick glance into his eyes, and she painfully remembered another thing:

Married men were completely off limits.

"Are you well?" he asked. Vulpes took the briefcase from her, sealed it, and returned to steady her.

She nodded slowly and swallowed.

"I am sure that the change back in to flesh has been difficult," he said.

Her chin quivered, and before she knew it, her eyes were excreting. Vulpes wrapped an arm around her shoulder as she shook.

"I remember places," she said, "but have no names for them. I don't remember anything but Ayumi and buildings."

"The preservation process must have erased your memory," he mused, "though it makes no sense. Your entire brain was preserved."

The leaking slowed as she thought about what he said.

"They wanted you to forget," Vulpes concluded.

"But why?"

"Without memory, there would be no distractions from your goal. You would exist purely for your purpose."

She nodded, and she felt clarity stronger than the one that drove her to recreate her skinvelope.

Science, the great and noble pursuit, would set humanity back on course, starting with her skin technology.

Dala would guide it. This was her purpose.