Fallout: New Vegas and its content are the property of Bethesda.

Author's note: I decided to write this after all the positive feedback on my other Joshua Graham/fxCourier story. This is AU, takes place after the end of the game. Courier is generic (I won't describe how she looks for instance b/c everyone has their own version of her), but personality wise she is a person who has a dark side and struggles with who she is: the bad guy trying to be the good guy. Same courier from my first Joshua Graham one shot, A Fearful Symmetry. It includes some elements of that story here. Also, there are slight romantic elements going on here between Joshua and the courier, but I like to try to create strong personal moments between characters rather than writing citrus. There is no hook at the end of chapter one - it's just setting up the stage for what's going on with Joshua Graham.


Chapter One


The leader of the White Legs, broken and defeated, kneels as the man wrapped in ivory bandages towers over him. Joshua grips his auto pistol in his hand firmly as he determines what must happen next. He hears the ghostly cries of the fallen New Canaanites feeding the demon within him and he knows the man must die. But he hesitates...his heart fights the demon's will and before a victor can be declared, a shot rings out and Salt-Upon-Wounds collapses to the ground. Joshua turns to see who fired the shot, even though he already knows who did it. It's the woman from New Vegas...the courier. He looks at her as she stares at the dying White Legs leader. She doesn't look the same as she did before. Her face and body are covered with dirt; her eyes are white and lifeless and her temple is marred with two visible bullet wounds. She looks like she's dead and alive at the same time: a breathing corpse holding a pistol...a pistol he gave her. She glances over at him and asks, "Tell me, he who was baptized in water and in flame…is there light in the darkness now? Does your demon sleep?" Before he can reply, she aims the gun at him and says, "Or does it want to come out to play?" She fires the shot, and he jolts up from his slumber.

He looks around and sees he's not in Zion, but back in his room at the New Canaanite settlement. He is comforted that this was just a dream, but the battle with the White Legs ended nearly a year ago and this same dream had been haunting him for the last few weeks. He barely knew her, but they were tied together by purpose and by deed in those few days. He looks over at the nearby lamp as the flame flickers and dances against the darkness. He reflects on the night of the funeral pyre, on their conversation after the battle. She was there to test his demon, but it was more than that. She was troubled, reaching out to him to help guide her toward the light of the righteous path as she struggled against the consummation by her own dark demons. He had tried to help. "But was it enough," he asks himself.

Joshua had come to know peace since that battle as the voices of the fallen had finally become silent. After the slaughter of the White Legs in Zion, the Dead Horses returned to Dead Horse Point, and he returned to what was left of the New Canaanites. His new home wasn't caves, but old abandoned buildings brought back to life by it's new inhabitants that had hoped to settle in and make a new life after the fall of New Canaan. There weren't many of them left, but those that survived were resilient. Life was quiet here, although the new Canaanites continued to aid the local tribes. But this time Joshua made the decision to not get involved. He feared his presence was too influential amongst the tribes he worked with...that one day he would not be leading a tribe, but a growing army…an army the courier warned him about. Even the markings on the walls of Zion Canyon outside their old camp...a giant white drawing of his bandaged face with spiked teeth…showed he was no longer a man they respected but a man they feared. He was bordering along the lines of deity or devil, and upon his passing he would become like the Father to them.

But it was more than that. He owed it to his own people to help them rebuild. He had caused their fall. It was the least he could do.

Unable to return to sleep, he gets up and walks over to a nearby mirrored dresser that is laid out with several covered bowls of water, stimpaks, and fresh badges. He lays done several towels, slides off his clothing, and pulls a nearby chair up to the dresser. After taking a deep breath, he quickly unwraps the badges on his right thigh. After so long, his wounds had healed but his scarred skin still couldn't bare exposure to air or water for some reason. Water stung rather than soothed, but air was completely unbearable. The doctors hadn't been able to explain it. He shouldn't need the bandages now, but the pain without them was very much real. As soon as the air touches his skin, an unbearable, intense burning returns as if he's on fire again. He grits his teeth as he injects a stimpak, and the pain stops immediately as cooling waves radiate from the injection point. Being immune to the effects of most chems was hell, but he was most thankful stimpaks weren't on this list. It's the only thing that eases the burning besides the bandages. He pours water over his skin to cleanse it, then quickly wraps back up.

He does the same with his right calf then right foot, repeating the same slow segmented procedure on his entire left leg, then his torso and chest, and finally with his arms and hands, making sure to take long breaks between each bandage replacement so he isn't totally overcome by pain. He had done this a thousand times... and it never got any easier or less unpleasant. He pauses to look into the broken mirror of the dresser and stares uneasily at the bandaged man in it's reflection. He quickly takes the badges off his neck and face, injects a stimpak, and pours the remaining water over his head and face. He looks back into the mirror and the only thing he recognizes are the cold blue eyes staring back at him. Everyday he forces himself to look at that reflection, a reminder of his old life and sins. But today, it's for a different reason. He looks to see who he is now...to see his own humanity...the man beneath the gauze. Not the Burned Man...but just Joshua. He stares at himself for a brief moment, then lightly touches his lips with his bandaged fingertips as he says, "Why…did she..." He doesn't allow himself to finish the thought as the burning starts to set in once again. He grabs the badges and quickly wraps back up, then redresses as the new day begins.