Author's note: Hello, this is my very first fanfiction that I've published. It's not complete, and I've only written part of the second chapter (but that was sometime during early summer). I've started university and I'm not so sure if I'll be updating or not, but it is a possibility. I just wanted to publish my work somewhere for the first time, even if it is just this one chapter.
Enjoy. I do not own any concepts pertaining to Fallout except for my two main characters.
Baritone voices faded in and out of her subconscious, and she couldn't discern if it was a dream or not. Taking a breath, she attempted to move her arms but was taken aback, opening her eyes to see them bruised and red from chafing. They were tied by a thick rope to two ends of a cross—a crucifixion cross. All oxygen was taken from her lungs and her chest tightened, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise as a familiar form approached from below.
His piercing gaze strung her out, reflecting through the shadows much akin to a fox's. Sly and ephemeral, they brought to her a feeling of calm before a storm, a sort of tranquil unease before a war.
"Maria Caroline." His voice flowed through her being. "You are being persecuted for treason and for going against the laws of the Son of Mars. Vita turpis ne morti quidem honestae colum relinquit, aeternum vale." Vulpes spoke the last part only as loud so she could hear and even in death he brought on a certain stillness.
Suddenly the scene shifted and a bright light blinded her, beating down hard on her shriveling form. Her tongue felt like sandpaper and the back of her throat was unbearably dry; with each passing hour she was heaving harder and harder. Her arms were slowly being displaced and when they popped out of her sockets, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. It flashed from the flames to the harsh desert of the Mojave, and the woman couldn't decide what was worse: smelling the deterioration of her own flesh and feeling herself turn back to what man was made from, or feeling her joints dislocate and slowly die of asphyxiation.
It was then she screamed and she realized it wasn't her own cries, but a man's. There was such raw, primal terror in his voice. It was unnatural and unnerving, much like hearing your own father scream. Colours of crimson passed through her vision and she heard Caesar's voice, along with the clamoring and murmurings of her fellow Legionnaires, all clustered into white noise.
"Verberabilis!"
"Legirupa!"
Everything changed once more and she was in her last moments, barely seeing. The cool air of the Mojave did nothing to alleviate her agony. She was hanging once more. Someone had entered her space on the cross and she felt warmth on her foot, hand smooth and shaped. Vulpes. She watched his lips through her eyelashes. He murmured something under his breath but through her heaving and weak pulse she couldn't hear.
Even so, Caroline was content that he would be the very last thing she would see. Caroline was content that this was what her life had come to. Caroline was content that she wouldn't have to suffer or fight anymore.
Everything slowly faded to black and she welcomed a cool, damp darkness.
She woke with a start, soaked in a cold sweat. Heart racing, her eyes adjusted and fingers brushed the handle of her revolver, but subsided once she recognized the browns of the tent she was in. Caro relaxed back onto the blue mattress and breathed slowly, consistently blinking as she roused herself from sleepiness.
Slipping into her boots and pulling her crimson scarf tighter around her neck, she stepped out into the moonlit cove, standing aside Decanus Severus.
He side-eyed her. "It is nearly midnight Caroline."
"Ah shut it, I'm on break—I do what I please," she yawned.
"Not for long," his mask turned and Caro watched him observe a recruit, "I'm sending you to the Strip to monitor NCR presence. Vulpes is attending to other matters at this moment so you'll be going alone this time."
She inwardly groaned at the thought of another stealth mission alone. Days were slower and she hated slogging through afternoons and evenings doing nothing but eavesdropping and discretely blending in with other gamblers. At least with Vulpes, arguing and colloquially complaining about things passed time, something she inwardly enjoyed. Despite this she nodded, keeping work a priority—the sun did not rise and shine over herself after all.
"When shall I leave?"
"It is preferred that you depart tonight, as requested by the Aurelius." Severus responded quietly.
"Guess I have no choice then," she retreated back into the tent to grab her machete and satchel. "I'll be back in a few weeks, give Vulpes my regards and vale."
The Decanus nods and sees her off. "Vale, amica."
Making her way through the rocky outcrops, Caro decides for a pit stop at the sniper's nest to sort through and organize her inventory. By the time she'd crested the rocks she felt her hands become unstable and head light. The woman inwardly cursed herself and settled down, quickly lighting a fire and rummaging through her bag to search for what she needed. Her fingers slipped over something metallic and smooth and she yanked it out, fingers fumbling around the case to open it, box labeled mentats. After downing a tablet or two with water, something clenched at her chest.
What a joke. She was a joke, a living paradox that was somehow still breathing and abiding under Caesar's law. Something whispered at the back of her mind but she shook her head, blinking excessively and setting her mind to organizing instead.
There was no such thing as weakness as a servant under the Son of Mars. Her dexterous hands separated the items and reorganized them accordingly, making sure to bury the pre-war waste below everything else.
In her mind she told herself that she was to sell the items (which consisted of med-x, psycho, stimpaks, and buffout), but she couldn't bring herself to believe that. Every time she looked at the items she'd felt something akin to rage burning inside her chest at herself for even possessing them, but she had the feeling that she needed them. Just like she needed those fucking mentats. Brushing rogue strands of dark brown hair behind her ear she sighed, pocketing the orange box and slinging her satchel back over her shoulder.
It usually took a while for the symptoms to lighten, but she figured two would suffice. But as she went to snuff the fire, a stray tin can kicked across the ground rendered her frozen in her tracks. Before she had time to react a shadow knocked her over dangerously close to the flames, hitting her head against a rock. Her machete clattered away somewhere off to the side and she swore.
Feeling the heat on her arm, she rolled away from the fire but was immediately pinned down by the shadow. Her eyes met the stranger's in the dark and bared her teeth aggressively, blindly reaching the area where she estimated her weapon would've fallen. Sharp features suggested a male, hearing strange clicks emanating from his form.
"Vapula," Caro spat, instead opting to knee him in his midsection; she was rewarded with a deep grunt.
Strong hands gripped her arm, but as he did so Caro took this chance to knock him off balance, shoving him away. She reared back onto her hands and steadied herself upon her haunches, carefully eyeing the stranger as he too regained his bearings. Her hands swept the dust for her machete and she gathered it none-too-gracefully, standing and gripping her weapon so hard her knuckles turned white.
Through the dim lighting of the flame, she watched his figure closely and gauged his leg movements, stepping out of the way when he attempted a charge. She quickly and blindly swung her machete behind her, whipping around to strike bare ground.
He'd disappeared. Her arm was grabbed once more from behind but this time it was twisted the wrong way; her brain didn't register that the stranger had her in a lock. The pain increased and he twisted further until she let go of the machete, being forced onto her knees then finally onto her stomach. He'd kneeled beside her, locking her arms behind her back and using his knee to pin down her legs and prevent her from moving. Caro could hear his panting which signified she'd given him a little trouble at least.
This seems familiar. The whispers in her mind started to build back up but she shut her eyes tight and focused on the distant popping of the firewood. It sounded like gunfire which seemed to rile up the voices, but they receded when the stranger spoke up.
"You," there seemed a distinct tone to his voice; a baritone timbre that had the potential to cut through any noise.
You? What is he, stupid? "The fuck you want?" She growled from below, cheek uncomfortably pressed against the sand. She could feel something warm dripping down the side of her face.
The stranger's green eyes fell towards something that had fallen out of her pocket. It was orange and it illuminated amber in the flames, and he recognized it as an opiate, sneering at it with disgust. He chalked that up to why the woman seemed feral for a moment there, nearly mistaking her for a ghoul, and he would've if not for her impressive hand-to-hand ability. And that damn machete of hers. When she'd looked up at him, her eyes were wild and her pupils were dilated to pins, her skin pale and face ghastly. Maybe she was turning after all.
"I need your Pipboy," he muttered irritatingly, noting the condescending tone in her voice.
"Well, why not just kill me and get over with it, stulte? It's easier to take a Pipboy off from a corpse."
He'd thought about it, sure—the rifle on his back was never heavier but after noticing the state she was in, it resonated inside and he couldn't bring himself to shoot. Seeing her in a sickly state, although being a complete nobody, brought to him a sort of familiar ache.
"You use an awful lot of Latin," the stranger sighed, somewhat amused by her complacency with death, "and because I won't—I am not going to give you a rundown as to why, but I won't."
"Well, prepare to die you gallows-bird!" She screeched, feeling a sort of hate-induced rage flare within her chest. If he was going to be weak—an incentive that seemed to be the norm with citizens—she would show that she wasn't going to give in.
Wrestling away from the man's grip, she quickly rolled onto her back and kicked him away, eyes frantically searching for her machete. The stranger had been jarred by her sudden movement, but recollected himself and fixated a stance, eyes gauging her shadow. Once he saw a glimmer of metal in the dark he swore under his breath. Her machete.
The worn-down grooves of the machete's handle were home to her, and she slashed forward, feeling adequate. Her hands no longer shook but the arm he twisted was sore, and her head was still lightweight. As she attempted to strike flesh, she noted his reflexes—they were quick, but whenever he tried grabbing her arm to lock again it was slow. Her eyes landed on the rifle on his back and wondered why he wasn't using it. Perhaps if he tried to grab her again, she could cut his hands off and that would be a golden chance to bring his head to the Decanus.
As she recovered from a particular slash, panting, he barreled into her midsection and sent the both of them flying. He gripped her wrists and wrestled the blade out of her hand, throwing it somewhere over the rocks and she inwardly cursed. Her head pounded.
"Vermin! You're nothing but a pile of shit." The woman snarled, butting him in the head. She was getting tired of somehow getting pinned under him, and the attack did nothing but make her head feel worse.
The stranger recoiled with a grunt from the assault, but never let go of her arms. He flipped her over seemingly without effort and forced her to submit once more under his strength.
"Degenerate," she panted, nearly sobbing from how angry she was, "let me go. I seek your head as a trophy!"
"Calm down, will you?" The stranger hissed. "I will not kill you; your death will mean nothing to Caesar and it never will."
"You don't know what you're talking about,"
"You really think he cares if you die or not out there?" He pressed his weight down further as she squirmed.
"If I do die out there, surely he'd send patrols to search for me." In reality, Caro wasn't so sure now that she thought about it. Despite serving under his hand for a little more than a decade now she knew him, memorizing his ways, she knew he was dishonest. He did not mourn. He did not cry.
But there was only one time she saw him cry, a time so distant it was hazy and oftentimes couldn't distinguish it as a memory or a dream. Caro remembered him uttering a name but it didn't come to mind. Vulpes had hurried her away from his tent before he could see the both of them, and remembered he'd hidden her under a table when a Centurion came along. He'd received a beating for disobeying the rules for her, and she'd teased him the next day, laughing at his sullen expression and bruised arms.
"You know that will never happen," he watched her side-eye him, "you are just a pawn in this game of his. He is a king who will fall to his demise seeking his honor."
She bared her teeth, spitting in his direction. "You haven't an idea what honor is!"
"Oh, shut it." The stranger sighed. "but maybe you're right. If not killing a Legionary isn't, then I don't know what is."
"Killing in the name of Caesar, that's what—"
"Look, I'm heading to Utah," he ignored her statement, "and I want someone of your ability to escort me along the way."
He noticed she stirred at the mention of Utah but tried hiding it vainly. A feeling of pride blossomed in her chest; at last this imbecile finally recognized her for who she was and what she was capable of. She would have his head before they made it to Utah - but wait. There was someone she was looking for, someone she'd only ever heard of in legends. Someone who went through the flames of hell but still stood today.
She didn't know how to make it outside of the wasteland and she figured the stranger had his ways. This was her golden chance to escape the joke she was. But she didn't trust him, much less see what he looked like for that matter.
"Why would you want to travel with a Legionnaire?" Caro inquired, finally still beneath.
The stranger shrugged. "Why not?"
"It's just not many would want to," she turned her head towards the fire, "especially for what we're known for."
He remained silent.
"Anyways I'll tell you one thing: that I was lookin' for a way to Utah as well." Caro said quietly, eyes fixated on the flames.
He eyes the fire as well. "Okay, so I'll make you a deal."
"I'm listening, asinus."
"I get you to Utah, and you lead me through the wasteland past Caesar's parties. Sound good?"
"Good," she relays.
"Now I'm going to let go of you, you make sure not to try n' kill me," he mutters, slowly letting go of her wrists.
Immediately she pushes herself up off the ground, sitting on her heels as she quickly gauges the stranger—only to see the browns of his outfit and the red beret. Her heart began to pound.
"You—you didn't tell me you were NCR," she snarled, immediately regretting her decisions, "I ought to strangle you right where you stand."
He reached into his pocket only to light a cigarette, refraining from grabbing his rifle. "You won't kill me, I'm your only way to Utah. Without me you won't ever escape Caesar or these." The soldier kicks the mentats towards her, causing her ears to suddenly feel hot.
"Tace!" Caro blurted suddenly, "I can kill you if I want."
He turns around, taking one last drag and stomping it beneath his boot, eyes intently fixing on her fire-lit expression. "I'm getting tired of your boasting," the soldier sighs, "you're acting like a child."
"I am not a pup! I am a seasoned warrior—"
"A child." He butts in, ignoring her fiery gaze.
Caro seethed silently, stuck between the option of killing him and continuing on with her mission for Severus or letting him live and escort him to Utah.
"Look, we need to leave 'fore the sun rises, okay? Quit acting up and let's go."
"Fine," she spat, "but I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for myself, stultus."
The soldier snuffs the fire and they're left in the shadows. He gestured towards the direction of the main road.
"Lead the way,"
"Where's my machete?"
"We're leaving it; I can't trust you with a weapon." He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I need my machete," Caro responded through grit teeth, "it's mine."
The soldier exaggerated a sigh. "Alright," Keeping a careful eye on her, she goes and searches behind the rocks, returning moments later with it in her holster.
He gives her a look. "Give it to me,"
"Why—"
"You got your wish. You have your machete, but now you must give it to me." He said calmly. "I will keep it for you."
"It's mine," she insists, crossing her arms.
"I will keep it for you." The soldier tries again, this time holding out his hand expectantly. He waits.
A few quiet moments pass, neither breaking their gaze through the shadows. The woman muttered something unintelligible under her breath and shoves her machete into his hand, stalking away towards the road. He picked up her bag. Carefully packing it within his own bag he follows suit, taking cautious steps through the rocks.
"You'd better not let me die," she called over her shoulder ahead.
"You need not worry."
Slow jazz music emanated from the woman's Pipboy as they walked in silence, neither wanting to talk to the other. She turned her head every now and then to make sure the soldier was still behind her—but mainly to confirm that he wouldn't blow her head off at any given moment.
He was struggling to keep tabs on the woman and their surroundings, contemplating whether or not to ask her to turn on her light so he could see both better. But that would compromise their position. Even when he saw her for the first time fireside, he couldn't make out her features with the blurriness and double-vision. Curse this bum eye of his.
Still lost in his mind, he heard the woman's footsteps cease and he too stopped, straining his ears.
"A bunch of geckos ahead, looks like seven or eight of 'em." She relayed, remembering he'd taken her machete. "Can you handle all of them or do you want to wait it out?"
He was about to respond when he sensed quiet hissing to the right.
"Go," he quickly ushered her off-road to the left, following her figure around a rock, "I'll take 'em out."
Clicking his tongue to gauge the environment, he listened for a moment before shooting. Beside him the woman watched as he took out the geckos one by one with that rifle of his, each ending off with a headshot that even she was jarred by. Her thoughts were interrupted by another series of hissing. She turned around to see two more flanking them and she fell backwards into the soldier who grunted. His eyes focused and he struggled to reload. They were huge.
Caro steadied herself on her elbows, kicking one to buy him time. It stumbled backward but recovered immediately. She didn't have time to react as it lunged for her leg, teeth sinking into her flesh and causing her to scream. Normally she didn't regard geckos as a particularly tough enemy, but without her machete, she thought twice.
The soldier finally reloaded and shot the gecko biting the woman, relieving her before decapitating the other. Immediately he reached for her wrist and pressed a button on the side, ignoring the way she flinched away from his reach. Light flooded their environment and he felt relief flood his chest the same.
"Faex," she muttered, gritting her teeth at the burning sensation that seemed to numb her entire lower leg, "this hurts."
Hunching around her leg, the soldier examined the bite. "We're going to have to use some antivenom for this," he sighs.
"I don't have any on me but I do have a few bitter drinks." Reaching around herself she struggled the open her satchel.
"Here." He opened her bag for her and rummages around, pulling out the bottle and pressing it into her palm.
She downed it in mere seconds, wiping her lips as she steadies herself against the rocks. The soldier glanced at her and noticed the dried blood on her head, furrowing his brows.
"Hey, what happened to your head?"
"That was when you attacked me, vacca stulta." Caro muttered, brushing her hair away from her grimy face.
Her muscles tense as she carefully watches him lean in, eyes inspecting the damage done. She noticed his right eye is amiss; where there should be a circular pupil there's not, the bottom instead tapering out into his iris like a cat's. The soldier realizes she's staring and he averts his gaze, busying himself with digging into his bag.
"What happened to your eye?" She inquired quietly, eyes following the broad slope of his shoulders.
"A fight," he grunted shortly.
She pursed her lips. "Did you hurt th—"
"That's one question too many."
Caro noticed that he cuts her off a lot of the time. Every time he does frustration piques her and she is tempted to snap at him, but she doesn't. She eyed his rifle and the handle of her machete sticking out of his bag. Sighing, she rested into the rock and noticed the burning had subsided into a pulsing ache. Her muscles remained tense and she leaned away from him uncomfortably as he shifted closer to clean her up.
"Stay still," he wiped the dried blood away with calloused but careful fingers.
Her gaze averted, not wanting to meet his eyes again. Despite this she marvels at his medical abilities and nearly inquires about the depth but refrains from doing so. Because it would be another question too many. Within moments he'd cleaned the wound on her head and was halfway done with the gecko bite. The raw wound burned but the pain bordered more on the annoying side: the bitter drink was doing its job nicely.
"We're waiting for a bit," he grunted shortly, his tonality brusque as to ward off any protesting.
Caro wanted to, but didn't. She nodded, watching him turn his back to hone in on his thoughts and senses. Her eyes caught sight of his stiff posture and noted his taut muscles, signifying his discomfort.
She too turned away.
By the time they were off, Caro was slightly limping and the soldier attempted to ground their party for a while longer, but with a look from her he brushed it off. He'd asked once more before they left the safety of their rock.
"I'm fine," the woman had insisted, testing her weight.
The soldier continued to strain his eyes, keeping close to the woman yet maintaining a distance in case she suddenly retaliated. Her movements were as liquid but her steps were loud, so loud that even a coyote could hear—this was the one thing that grated on his mind. He had clunky combat boots yet he wouldn't scuffle at all.
"You really don't know how to walk quietly, do you?" He inquired over the quiet music.
She exhausted a loud sigh and the soldier nearly cringed—this "woman" was turning out to be more work than he thought. He remained quiet for the rest of their travel through the darkness. By the time blue tinged the skies, dark rings had settled around the woman's eyes, accentuating her pale complexion and the soldier noticed her sluggish movement. She hadn't initiated any forms of conversation of her own, and the only form of contact they'd had consisted of hard glances. Despite this they could both see the giant dinosaur signifying they were nearing the town, which was practically a godsend to Caro. Simply thinking of collapsing into a bed or couch was enough for her bones to ache.
The soldier behind wondered if she'd be able to make the trip. Her steps seemed uneven and the way she strangely wrung her hands as they walked caused him to keep a careful watch on her shadowed form.
"Hey," he suddenly called out, by way the woman slowed, "you're not going into town like that."
Caro shot daggers over her shoulder. "Excuse me?"
"People recognize you as Legion," he started, "and I hear there's NCR up ahead. So if you want to not get your head blown off, I suggest you wear my cap and keep your head down. That means let me do all the talking, so make sure you stay with me." He handed her a spare crimson beret of his own to which she incredulously wrings.
"You really expect me to wear this?"
"Do you want to make it to Utah?" The soldier pointedly asks to which she frowns at.
"Don't you have another hat?" She inquired, but his face is kept a blank, silent mask.
Caro sighed, looking down at the stupid cap then up where the dinosaur was situated. If Vulpes, the Decanus—or any of her fellow Legionaries—saw her at that moment, she knew it was definite that her head would be put on a spear. She looked at the soldier again with hot ears; he doesn't move or shift his gaze, instead patiently waiting like he did when he'd asked for her machete.
The heat spreads from her ears to her cheeks as she dons the beret, smoothing out her hair and pulling her scarf up over her nose. The soldier adjusted his own, keeping stride with the woman instead of lingering a few paces back as he had. He notes movement in the dinosaur's mouth as they approach but no bullets whiz past their heads. Good.
The pair circled around, pushing past the gates, walking through the courtyard and stepping up into the dinosaur. He walked first, holding the door open so Caro can sidle past him almost sheepishly.
She nearly bumped into another man who has the same hat as they do. His eyes are amicable and he hardly avoided her, throwing his hands up as he circled around to the other side of the door. The first thing she noticed was his hairy complexion.
"Watch where you're goin'!" He exclaimed, eyes shifting from the woman to the other soldier.
She stood awkward, gritting her teeth and trying to not audibly hiss as she crossed her arms. Her hazel eyes avert, not wanting to look at the despicable man.
"Quintus. What're you soldiers doing here on this fine morning?" She turned away but perks up at mention of his name.
"Vargas. Just passing through is all," her companion said quietly, "on our way to the Strip."
"Wanting to win big?" He poked, chuckling. "Now who is this stranger?"
Quintus eyed Caro's stiff form and nearly smacks her upright. "She's—a recruit. Viable, but I'm out here with her on the field to give her some extra training."
"I didn't know you could do that, huh!" Vargas exclaimed and Quintus thinks them lucky to his lack of common sense.
"Yes, after the Strip I'll be takin' her back to Camp McCarran where Major Dhatri can shape her up."
Vargas grinned. "She'll be a fine one, I'm betting."
Her stiff posture only seems to escalate to the point where he can't see her shoulders move with each breath. Quintus wanted to kick her.
"Anyways, we're getting rooms. I'll see 'ya around Vargas."
"Alright Quintus, my man. You know where I'll be." He parted with a rough pat on Quintus's shoulder.
Once he's gone and out of earshot Quintus firmly shoved her form with his shoulder, knocking her slightly off balance.
"Asinus!"
"Could you be any more awkward?" He growled. "I know I told you to be quiet but you're making things obstinate by not acting normal."
"How am I supposed to act normal when these are the degenerates I'm trained to kill?" Caro hissed, "this is a filthy place filled with atrocity." She quieted when another man came from the back room.
"Welcome, welcome! Name's Cliff Briscoe, how can I help you soldiers this fine morning?" He donned a bright smile.
"We're looking for two rooms to stay in," Quintus began.
"Ah, I'm afraid there's only one room available at the moment," Briscoe looked between the two, "sorry for any inconveniences there."
Caro is holding back a sneer and the soldier coughs to cover it, shouldering her towards the door. He gave a half-hearted, apologetic smile.
"It's fine, we'll take it."
"Fifteen caps per night, first door on the second floor to your left," Briscoe watched as the soldier placed a small bag of caps on the counter and tipped his hat politely.
He exited the shop, expecting the woman to be waiting there for him but doesn't catch any sign of her. An audible sigh escaped him, but quickly made his way down the rickety steps as he heard shouting. She is shouting curse words in Latin at the merchants nearby, mentioning something about their despicable lives, causing a small crowd to gather round.
"Sorry about that, she's very tired and she gets irritable easily. Don't mind her, please." He shooed the staring passersby off, giving a sheepish glance towards the merchants that the woman was yelling at.
He could feel the stares burning holes on the back of his neck as he roughly escorts her towards their room. Practically pushing her inside, he locked the door behind them, taking his beret and running a hand through his hair. Their bags drop beside the dressers.
"What the hell were you doing out there?" He snarled.
"They were giving me strange looks," the woman responded, crossing her legs as she sits at a small table, "I didn't like it and they don't deserve to denounce me in such a way."
She took the beret and threw it on the bed.
Quintus sat on the sofa, glaring at her from under his thick lashes. "Just because you don't like something or someone doesn't mean you can act with such unacceptable behaviour."
"But—"
"No buts, you're going to get us kicked out if you keep acting that way. Don't go anywhere, don't talk to anyone, don't leave this room unless it's with me, got it?"
Her arms crossed once more, a sullen expression on her face. "You're treating me like a child."
"As I've said before, that's because you are one." The soldier gathered his face in his hands, peeking out from between his fingers.
"Fine." She doesn't say anything more, keeping her fiery gaze locked with his until he breaks it off.
It was then he noticed her shaking, her dilated eyes and the inability to keep still. She tried to hide it by shifting in her seat and fiddling with her Pipboy, but he doesn't miss a second of it.
"You need something." He muttered.
"No shit,"
"Make sure you stay, I'll be right back." She questionably watches his sloped shoulders disappear from the room, gently closing the door behind him.
Not knowing whether or not she'd obey this time around, he lightly jogs towards one of the merchants and inquires quietly for inventory. After haggling the price down for a few items, he gives his regards—and bottlecaps—and quickly makes his way back to the room. Quintus walks in with her curled frame on the bed, back facing towards the door. She looked over herself and sat up, eyeing the pack of fixer he threw beside her along with a bottle of clean water.
"Take that, then we'll see about your wound."
Caro gave a wary glance in his direction but obliged; it wasn't Mentats but she'd give anything to ward off the shakiness. She found the gesture odd, but then again everything about this is odd. Never before had she had a companionship where the other was looking out for her—and not in the sense where it was mandatory, either. Normally she was the one to look after her own needs, after her own wounds, after herself. She feels a strange sort of shame crawl up on her, but the soldier doesn't do so much as give her a reprimanding word or a second glance.
I bet Vulpes doesn't need a stranger to take care of him, she thought. Silently berating herself and her hot ears, she takes the fixer and waits. The woman watches as the soldier took his own time to tend after her and shifts on the bed uncomfortably. He set aside sterile supplies.
Quintus chalked up the movement to be her general demeanor and focused his attention on her leg. She shifted away uneasily.
"I'm okay, you don't need to do this." Caro tried. She hated this feeling of inadequacy, that she couldn't look after her own needs.
"Stay still," he admonished, "I need to take a look at your leg."
"I am a warrior I told you, you have no nee—"
"Do you want to lose a leg?" The soldier asked with a straight face. "What use will you be to Caesar if you only have one leg?"
Her mouth opens then closes with uncertainty. Never has she seen a handicapped soldier out there on the field, and it would most definitely ruin her scouting missions with Vulpes. Vulpes. Caro gives him a long, hard look but extends her leg so the soldier can work on it carefully.
He unwrapped the gauze, examining the dampness around the wound and the dried pus. It was swollen and red. Her leg seemed to be a couple centimeters bigger than the other, and Quintus takes care to dampen a cloth with rubbing alcohol, cleaning the area. He ignores the tense muscle signifying her discomfort. She was also quiet, which was a welcome change for the time being.
Meanwhile Caro changed the radio station to a strange broadcast that emanated jazz. She hadn't seen it listed before, but the change of pace with tonalities was nice. She leaned back into a pillow, taking another swig from her water as she watches the soldier hunched over her leg, brows furrowed in concentration.
"It's infected," he murmured, knowing she's watching, "we're gonna have to keep this clean."
She doesn't miss the brusque formality. "Quintus, huh?"
"Yes." The soldier's shoulders tensed and squared at mention of an unfamiliar tone with use of his name.
"Latin for five…" Caro murmured to herself, suddenly piqued. "Were you a part of the Legion too?"
"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, re-wrapping her leg, "there. Keep it iced and we'll check in on it later."
She nodded, finally shifting back away from him and folding her leg into herself protectively. Her hazel eyes inspected the room and a disdained scowl flit across her face as she took in the interior.
"What a disgusting place." She muttered. "Fit for those just like it."
The soldier didn't respond at her statement, finishing packing the medical supplies back in his bag. He made sure that the woman's machete is hidden from view, placing the bags further away from the bed before crossing the room. She doesn't notice but observes his stiff frame and march-like stride. His shoulders are rigid. Caro leaned back on the bed, adjusting herself and stifling back a groan as her muscles stretched further.
"Are you going to sleep?" He inquired, leaning back across the length of the couch himself.
"Perhaps," she responded warily, "I just needed to lie down for a bit."
The soldier peeks out at her from the corner of his eyes and notes her convex complexion. She could be pretty, if the dark circles under her eyes weren't like ink, and if her cheekbones didn't jut out so much. The woman was reminiscent of a ghoul, but he doesn't inquire anything else because it was that obvious she was exhausted.
Thinking of ways to keep himself awake, he folds his arms behind his head and listens to the jazz accompanied with her level breaths, allowing for the sounds to calm him. The sleepiness tugged at his eyes but he swung his legs over the couch, knowing now that sleep was a definite no. As biased as it sounded, he couldn't trust sharing a room with a Legionary—heaven knows what she would do if he were to fall asleep.
He cast a careful glance at her, noting her slack muscles and jaw. All hardness from her face disappeared as she rested, and the soldier occupied himself as to not be rude. She did look like a child as she slept.
Popping open a bottle of Nuka-Cola, he let the fizz settle on his tongue and leaned back against a dresser beside the fridge. He carefully slipped a little book from one of his many pockets and stood under the kitchen's fluorescent light, losing himself in the quiet jazz and his thoughts.
By the time it was late evening, the woman was tangled in the bed sheets and Quintus's eyes burned from lack of sleep. He'd stepped out for a couple moments, breathing in the cool air outside. The courtyard was quiet, the sky was a beautiful indigo and he almost felt at peace. Until he heard a loud bang coming from their hotel room inside. He carefully opened the door to find her awake, looking like she'd thrown herself off the bed.
She had. When she woke up she lost all semblance of where she was, quickly observing the unfamiliar wallpaper and scrambling to search for her machete. Where was it? She wasn't supposed to fall asleep like that, especially in such a strange, unfamiliar place. Caro took a wary step back as the door opened and a low hiss escaped her. Clicks ensued from the open doorway.
"You alright?"
Seeing the familiar browns of the man's outfit, her face twisted into a snarl and she immediately lunged for the man. Quintus side-stepped her assault and strained his eyes to look at her face—that was when he noticed her dilated pupils and feral scowl, putting her arms in a lock. His internal alarms were going off.
"Vacca stulta!"
"Hey!—" he shouted, "calm down, I'm not going to hurt you." He was met with an elbow to the face and grunted from the shock but didn't relent.
He didn't let go until the woman had given up, panting and on her knees. Suddenly her muscles relaxed and she looked over her shoulder, a questionable glare fixated on her face. Her entire demeanour had shifted and her eyes were no longer dilated (or from what he could see with that bum eye of his).
"Perite!" Caro pulled her wrists free, stumbling back away from the soldier who had a blank look on his face. "What in the hell were you doing?"
Her Latin dialect never failed to jar him.
"You woke up and attacked me," he shortly said.
"I—I.. What?" She murmured, stumbling over her words. Sure, she didn't particularly like this guy, but she had to tolerate him or else her free ticket to freedom would be gone in a flash.
"Your pupils were dilated, you looked hungry, to say in the least—and you were hissing at me."
The woman quieted and the soldier noticed, watching as she sheepishly avoided his gaze. She was blinking excessively.
"Forgive me for the unacceptable behaviour," she sighed, seating herself on the edge of the bed, "I know we're not particularly on good terms, but this behaviour wouldn't also be condoned by my men."
This is the first time she's apologized about anything. Looks like she does know general etiquette after all.
"It's fine. As long as you don't bite me or anything." He said expressionlessly. "Let's take a look at your leg."
Caro obliged silently and leaned back so he can unwrap the gauze. As he does, he takes care to unwrap the last layer to prevent peeling of the skin and his eyes widen a fraction at the sight. There was still dried pus around the area but no semblance of a wound; the inflammation had also gone down and it only left him with a mild cleaning job.
"Impressive," he murmured.
She too marvels at her leg, worry picking at her mind when she realizes this isn't supposed to happen. Her stomach flip-flops and she was short of breath, glancing at the soldier's blank face and wonders how he could even say that. It made her want to clobber him over the head with the sharp end of her machete.
"Asinus," he noticed that word seems to be a favourite of hers, "that is not impressive. That is atrocious."
"You'll be fine."
As soon as he finishes she immediately darted away, shuffling to the other side of the bed. He ignored her. Poking around the area he didn't bother to wrap, she noticed her skin was no longer tender and it resembled something akin to a gecko's hide. It was marred a slight tinge of black which she guessed to be a fading bruise.
"I'm making some eggs and cram if you want some," he mentioned quietly, going to rummage through his bag.
How could she eat if she was turning into a ghoul? "Sure." Caro carefully wrung her hands in her lap.
Quintus remained in the kitchen, busying himself with the hot plate until it was done. Since Caro was void of anything she owned at the moment, she simply sat idle on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The soldier approached her a few moments later with a heaping plastic plate of eggs and cram, more than what he'd given for himself.
She hesitated at his complacency but it faded as quickly as she bites into the food. Their meals were eaten in an almost polite manner without a complaint from the woman; that counted for something.