I know your pain my friend. I too have a tale of heartache to tell regarding Cassidy, but rather than just spill it here I think I'll recount it in character...
You know, the long journey back to New Vegas gave us plenty of time to think. All Cass thought of was revenge, I knew that much. All I could think about was how suicidal this plan was. See, I'd done a little work for the Van Graffs. Not much, just a little door duty to pay the bills and fund my gambling habit, but it had taught me enough to know that there was no way in hell we were walking out of this alive.
The doorman didn't bat an eyelid when we walked up to him. He knew me, I knew him. He let us walk right in, guns and all. That was the first part of my plan. Inside we got a few looks, but I just gave Gloria and Jean-Baptise a nod and they turned their eyes off me. I could feel Cass' eyes boring into me, wanting to know when the shit was kicking off. I took her hand in mine and led her over to one of the gun racks under the pretence of admiring the hardware.
"Just keep it calm." I hissed. "Act natural. I want you to walk around a bit, then go and use the bathroom. I'll meet you there."
My mind wasn't in the game. All I could think about was how soft her hand was in mine. It was damn stupid; this wasn't the time to talk about love. Before long we were both in the bathroom, cocking guns and making ready for mayhem. I'd grabbed a couple of claymores and set them up ready to blow, loaded my rifle and set the spare guns leaning on the wall - there wouldn't be time to reload.
All hell broke loose with a well-timed execution. I pushed the door open with my foot, took aim at a puzzled looking guard, and put a shotgun shell through his face before he could react. His friends came running, but by then me and Cass had ducked into a cubicle. Sure enough the claymores made a kill, blowing the door off its hinges in the process. I hurled a stick of dynomite round into the hall for good measure, and together we opened up with everything we had.
I don't really remember much about the fight. I remember standing in the hall with my custom cowboy repeater clicking dry, shotgun and trail carbine empty on the ground at my feet. My vision was blurred, my ribs were cracked and I was bleeding from more wounds than I could count. Still, it was worth it; the Van Graffs were dead. Gloria I'd killed with the dynomite, but Jean hadn't gone down so easy and in the end I put a round through his head.
"We... we did it..." I had to say it aloud just to know it was true. "We fucking did it! Cass! We nailed those sons of-"
Cass wasn't answering. I turned back toward the bathrooms where we'd begun the ambush, stepping over the dead to look for her. There she was, face down in other people's blood with a plasma burn right through her.
"Cass?" I stood over her for a long time, not sure what I should do. I'd done the impossible for her, and she hadn't lived to see it. Knowing that hurt far more than the gun wounds.
What I did next might sound cold to some. I reloaded my rifle, recovered the trail carbine and reloaded that too. Then I shoved as many guns, grenades and power cells as I could carry about my person and I headed for the door. I stopped to shoot the doorman just to be safe; poor bastard had stood outside too scared to come in and help his friends.
You might say I should have cried for her, or at least had the decency to bury her, not just loot the place and walk away. Call me a cold hearted bitch if you want, but I loved her. I didn't cry for her that day for one simple reason; Cass' personal hitlist still had one name left on it. When Alice McLafferty was dead then, and only then, could I mourn for Cass.
