AN: Thanks again to those that continue to read. As always, I hope you enjoy :)


3


Jane carefully peeled off her cotton top, hissing slightly as the material that had dried in her wounds ripped free. She knew that Vulpes was watching her from somewhere nearby, but she didn't care as she pulled off her boots and pants before slowly sinking into the frigid water of the nearby stream.

This wasn't the first time she found herself watching her own blood dissipate in water, creating reddish-brown streaks on the otherwise pure water. Yet for some reason this time, despite not being severe or really all that physically painful, the wounds seemed to be deeper than what they were. She felt her chest tightening as a suffocating pressure filled her body, her breathes coming in ragged waves as her whole body shivered. She knew the Legion would look for her, she knew that they would even probably find her, but for some reason the presence of Vuples Inculta felt like a pin pressing into a very delicate balloon. It was only now, after he had walked away and she had been left to wander the valley alone that she felt the sharp intrusion of the Legion in her life.

With a shaking hand, she splashed some water on her chest, her skin rippling with goosebumps as each handful added a new, freezing assault. She knew that she should be feeling angry right now like she did when Mr. House had manipulated her life from afar, or even the empowered sense of righteousness when she turned away from the never-ending selfish demands of the NCR, but she didn't. Caesar's influence instead made her feel numb, his constant surveillance and orders killing the small sense of freedom she had only just tasted.

To make it worse, they had sent the master spy to find her, forcing her to face the only man in the entire Legion she knew she was powerless against. He was stronger and faster than she was, as were many others, but on top of that he equaled her in the power of words and wore a mask that flawlessly covered up any of his weaknesses. Even with her time at Fortification Hill and New Vegas after the battle, she still didn't have any better understanding of the man, what he liked beyond Caesar, and if he had any guilty pleasures she could manipulate. The man was all business. Coldhearted, bloody, lying, cheating business.

Well at least you know his natural hair color isn't black, she thought blandly as her body began to acclimate to the water and the shock wore off. A small laugh escaped her at the thought of his shaggy, blonde locks that left no trace of the short black hair that he had sported during their time together in the Mojave. What need the Frumentarius had to dye his hair when he always was wearing his coyote hood was beyond her, but it seemed he hadn't thought to bring anything to touch it up with on the long journey to Zion. Hell, she even had to cut her hair during the trip with a knife to keep it from getting much longer than her shoulders during the trip.

"His hair color doesn't solve your problem," she muttered to her reflection in the water, her own chestnut hair looking like a tangled mess over her tanned face. It was obvious that Vulpes could track her even when she had a head start, and he could to do it without being seen for months. The chance of slipping out of Zion unnoticed and escaping into the wastes did not seem like a good gamble at the moment.

"So that leaves killing Graham."

Her mind flashed to the Burned Man's fiery eyes, his hands expertly handling gun after gun as he talked with her. That, too, didn't seem like a good idea if she expected to still have her health fully intact when she left the valley.

"So this is what a rock and hard place feels like," she laughed dryly as she pulled herself out of the water and did her best to wash the blood from her clothes. She didn't know what she was going to do, but it wouldn't help her situation if she bumped into Graham with her white shirt streaked red. Too many questions would be asked from yet another man impossible to read beyond his hate towards the Legion.

You're delivering supplies, so do that and let fate work itself out, she told herself, using the old mantra that had both blessed and cursed her twenty-some years in the desert. For better or worse, though, she knew that eventually only one option would present itself. Until then, she would let the no-win situations play themselves out a bit more, buying her time to come up with some sort of plan.


The cliffs of the Narrows were dry and fairly warm, making Joshua at least feel happy that he wouldn't risk infections while he watched for the woman's next move. He had found her easily enough, clumsily navigating the winding streams of Zion without the guidance of Follows-Chalk or any other Dead Horse for that matter. Still, she had managed to find the home of the Sorrows on her own, showing she had some skill in survival that he would have to take into account if she proved to be an enemy.

For the moment, though, she seemed content with delivering the goods he had asked her to collect. She even looked impressed with the Narrows, her pace slowing as she looked at the towering walls of redrock and waterfalls. He preferred this to the darting glances towards the cliffs she had used out in the valley during her travels, as if expecting to see someone she didn't want to see.

Joshua could only guess at who in the Legion had visited the Courier while she was collecting supplies. The Dead Horse scout only reported a light-haired man with plain armor and a machete, leaving any number of men to fill the description. Yet he had his top choices, though one seemed more likely of Caesar if what the Courier said about the dam was true.

"And if we're watching for Vulpes, then death won't be far to follow," he muttered as he kept to paths only the tribals knew how to reach. He had know the Frumentarius for years, of course, seeing him raised to be head of the pack of spies shortly before his final battle as the Legion's first Legate. He doubted that the past five years had done much to dampen the man's passion for the Legion or zeal in following Caesar's orders, making him a dangerously driven enemy to have so close.

Though he would probably be visiting me soon anyways, he thought darkly as the Courier finally slipped into the Sorrows' camp, meeting their medicine woman and being led away. Now that the dam isn't a distraction for Caesar I'm sure he would have sent his best after me eventually.

The truth in his thoughts did little to ease the growing apprehension and anger that was in him. He knew he wasn't equipped to deal with a Legion attack, whether from the shadows of the master spy or by a small company of initiates with something to prove. It would be suicide to face them with the way things were currently. Yet he wanted nothing more than to spill their blood and see them thrash while the life left their bodies. They deserved it for the crimes they committed, the false gods they worshipped, and for believing in a man that had become the devil-incarnate. He wanted to act as the righteous hand of God, casting out judgment as the prophets and judges before him had. Yet he knew he couldn't do this on his own. He couldn't even take care of the White Legs on his own.

Looking back down into the Narrows, he watched as the Courier confidently spoke with Daniel, her body language quickly shifting from that of a mercenary to an empathetic healer. Even from the height he was at, he could see his fellow Missionary soften like butter in a flame to whatever the woman was saying to him. In a matter of seconds, the young Mormon was leaning in as the Courier spoke, his body moving closer with each light touch of her hand to his arm and his head shaking vigorously to whatever she was asking.

Joshua couldn't help but smile at the display, suddenly understanding how a woman, of all possible people, could win the favor of Caesar and bring him the prize of the century. He knew his old friend was a sucker when it came to a slim body and alluring smile, as were many other sinful men that lived in the desert. They would be easy targets for someone that could get a reaction from the staunchest Mormon he had ever met. The man didn't even react to the half-naked tribals and here he was, eating whatever words the Courier fed him, his body giving away his obvious desire for the woman even if his mind didn't realize it.

And he'll do whatever she says, he thought wryly as he continued to watch the display. He probably won't even realize that what he's doing isn't his own idea

The world seemed to stop as the words that had been flying in his head suddenly took on a greater meaning. Daniel, like other men taken in by beauty and smooth words, would act as a pawn to the woman much like the legionaries were to Caesar and his hypnotic influence. If this courier could win the Legion's favor, conquer dams, and be left largely unmarked by the whole process, he couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of power she could hold over people. Suddenly everything became clear.

"Elijah had Elisha when he judged Israel," he whispered, his eyes glancing towards the heavens before returning to the woman. "And I will have the Courier as I do God's work in cleansing the Mojave."