Leta couldn't sleep. The gentle whir of computers on the other side of the wall, which normally lulled her to sleep, was only a nagging reminder of the guilt which currently plagued her. House had cursed her as she unsealed his living tomb and then proceeded forward to put a bullet between his eyes. At the time she had no regrets, and had figured it much more humane of her to just kill him quickly than let some infection set in or his life support give out. But now guilt, raw and burning laid across her shoulders. She kept telling herself that he was ancient, and had lived long past his due so there was nothing to be guilty about. If anything, she had been mother nature's own hand, right? He wasn't exactly innocent, but he wasn't guilty of any harm to her either. The only people she had killed up to now had either been shooting at her or had a history of trying to kill her, but he had tried to help her. Even if his motives were ultimately selfish, he had given her a place to stay, food, and purpose. In return she had killed him.

The bed creaked as she rolled herself out of it. No sense in lying there if she wasn't going to sleep. She rummaged through a dresser to find a dusty per-war dress and slid it on. It fit well; eerily well actually. She hadn't worn regular pre-war clothes since she had left home, and it felt strange. She looked at her Pip-Boy, the little lights read: 01:22. Not too late for New Vegas. The elevator doors opened, closed, and reopened in a blur and she was at the door of the Tops in what seemed like an instant. She relinquished her weapons and was let in with a friendly hello. Apparently they didn't care that she had killed Benny or House, or they didn't know. Either way she was grateful to not be stopped or questioned. Leta made her way to the bar, which was pretty quiet and ordered an extra dry martini. She drank it faster than she probably should have and her vision began to slow. While her head spun with alcohol, she recalled the events of the past two days; it's easier to reflect when alcohol dulls your sense of guilt and judgement. She had stumbled home from the Fort, faced a rather pissed-off House and killed him. His Securitrons had given her some nasty burns and bruises, so once House was dead she had holed herself up in the Presidential Suite and licked her wounds. Leta hadn't thought much about Vulpes' strange offer of meeting since she had bumped into the addict on her way back to the Strip. She had just been moving, taking care of her own immediate needs. Tomorrow would be three days. The bartender caught her eye as she waved for a second drink.

An hour later she didn't care much about her guilt, decision or much beyond how much fun some of the old music was to dance to. She had been easily persuaded to dance by another woman in the casino and was happily making a fool of herself on the dance floor of the Tops. Some of the other patrons seemed entertained by her, others ignored her but she was beyond caring. The swinging of the music, the light feeling of the booze, and the rush of blood in her ears was just too much fun. Another woman was dancing with her and getting closer than she normally allowed strangers. A feminine hand soon rested on her waist. Leta stepped closer and swayed her hips in time with the music against her new friend. Just as she leaned in to whisper an introduction a new hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her sharply backwards. In her inebriated state she lost her balance and fell into the person behind her. A firm chest and arms stood her upright and started to pull her away from the dance floor,

"Hey!" She struggled, very nearly escaping, and twisted to see her assailant, "Who do you think you are? Let me go!" The back of a man's head with typical gambler attire was all she could discern, until she heard a familiar voice,

"Shut up."

"Vu-"

"Silence!" He hissed and she immediately shut her mouth. His grip did not loosen but she complied much more readily as they moved quickly to the elevator. She sobered as the doors of the elevator began to close. She wasn't sure what she expected, but he was silent as they ascended and it unnerved her. Once the doors opened he led her, no less forcefully, to a room which he swiftly unlocked and pushed her into. Vulpes locked the door and with venom in his voice whispered,

"Are you really so fucking careless?"

"What do you-"

"No. Just stop," Fingers pressed to his temples, he exhaled sharply, "You get drunk in the casino of the man you killed, dance with a prostitute well known for sharing secrets and information, very nearly address me by name in front of an audience, and aren't even close to sober enough to defend yourself among other things."

"But, I-"

"Bite your tongue, woman." And his words cut through her stuporous surprise then,

"I didn't ask you to 'save me' from making a mistake, besides, despite your almighty judgement of the situation I was in control. A little tipsy sure, but drunk enough to spill any of your precious secrets? No. Even if I had information to give your enemies, which I don't, I'm not really careless enough to kiss and tell. So I was dancing close to another woman, a woman known for espionage, even. I think the real truth here is that your ego can't stand knowing another person, a woman even, could please me as much as you!"

The truth was that he had not expected such retaliation, and he was just a tad taken aback. Rather than show it, his cold eyes sent her a glare than could possibly have killed lesser women. Leta only let it fuel her anger,

"Go ahead, Vulpes, tell me I'm wrong. You got jealous, and figured you could hide your sweeping me away under the guise of 'protecting Caesar's information'." It was then that she realized how tense her body was, but dared not move a muscle while he watched her, waiting for weakness. She would give him no ground.

If he was honest with other people, Vulpes would tell her she was right. But he wasn't honest with other people. His hand connected with her cheek and she reeled with the force.

"You self-important little worm. You really think you have that power over me? I know multiple factions in the area are vying for either your help or death. You have knowledge of the fort; that alone is enough to be dangerous to us."

Leta knew that he had held back, but her stinging cheek was still a nasty reminder of the dangerous man with no limits to the damage he was willing to inflict should he think it necessary. She stood as tall as she could, straightening herself.

"Well, then. Was there more for us to discuss?" She intentionally repeated and mocked words she knew she had heard him speak. Perhaps the fuzziness of the alcohol hadn't completely subsided or that stinging wasn't painful enough to trap her tongue.

When he moved for her, she had no time to react, and she wasn't completely sure she wanted to. His powerful hand grasped her jaw with firmness bordering on pain and he pulled her eyes up to his.

"Do not speak to me that way, are we clear? Perhaps when you learn respect you will receive it." His voice was low and chilling. The fingers holding her jaw relaxed just enough to allow her a response,

"Forgive me, I didn't think men of the Legion gave much respect to women, much less 'profligate whores'."

"I have never referred to you as such. It would be best to not assume such things about my character."

"Deepest apologies, but you can't say my assumptions don't have ground."

"Fair." His admission surprised her. He continued after releasing her from his grip, "Tell me Courier, now that you've killed Benny, what will you do?"

She couldn't tell him she planned on meeting with the NCR, that she'd be a complete idiot to help the Legion, or that she had a feeling an independent Vegas would wither away. As much as he piqued her curiosity and libido, she knew there was no life for her or any other woman under the Legion. And as long as she was being truthful, she didn't actually know much about this man. What did he expect her to say anyway? She had already hesitated too long, damn it.

"I'm not sure." The defeat in her voice was convincing.

"By killing House you have irreversibly involved yourself in the future of the Mojave wasteland. But I think you know this."

"I do," That's when the addict's words came to her mind, and her courage returned, "I will do what is best for me and the people of the wasteland." Slightly more altruistic that she felt, but honest. And once she said it aloud, she started to feel its conviction.

"Let's just hope for your sake, it doesn't involve becoming an enemy of the Legion. Because even if I turn a blind eye, Caesar won't."

"I would never ask you to. And I know better than to think you would disobey orders. What was it Caesar said about you? That you imitate profligate ways without becoming 'sullied'? Even if it's reckless, I know what I've gotten into."

"And what, exactly, have you gotten yourself into?" Playfulness danced in his voice, and Leta wondered if it was genuine.

"A sexual relationship with the head of the frumentarii, a man considered a monster by most."

"To the point, then," His voice became silk in her ears, that same sound which haunted her dreams, "Is it safe to say that you intended to meet with me tomorrow?"

"Yes." Her voice was a breathy whisper, and she intended it as more than just a confirmation of his statement.

His hands found her then, one tangling in her hair, the other digging near painfully into her rear. He pulled her body against his and brushed his tongue alone her collarbone, up her neck, down her jaw. Leta's head spun, and she had been turned sharply with her back against him before she truly registered the change. She could feel him, hard against her backside despite their clothing. Buttons tumbled to the ground as he swiftly jerked the front of her dress open, revealing perked breasts. His fingers found her nipple and began to roll it between his thumb and index finger. She moaned with the sweet prickling spreading across her chest and downward. And then his teeth sunk into the tender flesh below her ear.

"Ah!" She yelped in surprise not only at the sudden pain, but also how it seemed to turn into a hot ache that slithered down her spine and fueled the increasing need between her legs. Leta had never thought of herself as someone who would enjoy pain in any sexual context, but she was, and wasn't going to take the time to ponder its significance.

Vulpes licked the trickle of blood from his lips, "You are mine, Courier, and mine alone."

"Mm," Was her response as she pressed herself into him and wiggled into his groin, causing his breath to hitch.

"Understand me, woman," His grip on her neck tightened, and he pulled her up and backward so that it was impossible to ignore him and the discomfort of an increasingly narrow airway. She stilled and he continued, "You will have no other partner while you are mine. I will know, and I will not be forgiving."

Leta had imagined that this might be coming and was prepared. She really didn't care if she had any other partners; one was enough of a handful. And she couldn't help but feel strangely complimented by it despite herself.

"I understand." She squeaked through his grip. He eased her down and let go of her completely.

Suddenly, surprisingly gentle hands eased her dress off of her shoulders and down her waist so that it pooled on the floor around her feet. She didn't turn to face him, but marveled at the warmth and skill of his hands. She heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his own jacket, hat, and shirt. The telling click of the belt hitting the floor made her flinch. And then he turned her to face him. She met his gaze, those cool blue-gray eyes clear now that she was given a moment to really look at him, no hat or goggles, no hasty embrace. Neither of them looked away. A calloused hand softly pulled her head so that his nose was buried in her hair.

"You smell divine," His voice was low as he breathed in deeply. And then, cheek pressed to his chest, she realized that he too smelled wonderful: worn leather, Mojave dust, and lye soap. Her palms pressed against his abdomen, feeling the little valleys between muscles and occasional irregularity of scars.

"How old are you, Vulpes?"

He pulled away to look down at her, searching her face.

"I'm not certain. My parents were killed and I assimilated into the Legion as a child, and even afterwards, time has no meaning to a Recruit."

"Do you remember them, your parents?"

"They were tribals; unworthy of remembrance."

"Is that really how you feel, or what Caesar wants you to feel?"

Vulpes's brow crinkled at her words, "What Caesar wants me to feel is how I feel. Otherwise I would be a poor frumentarius."

"Come on. Our thoughts are our own, Caesar knows this, and you know this. For him to expect otherwise is delusional."

"Yes, however, the mind is such a fascinating thing. If thoughts are repeated, or stimuli consistent, they begin to take the place of other memories or feelings. After all, 'It's the repetition of affirmations that leads to belief'."

"You don't want to remember them, then." Crestfallen, she looked down at her feet. He was silent for a long moment, until,

"Or perhaps I am trying very hard not to."

When realization dawned on her, Leta looked up, empathy melting the frown on her lips. So this was what Legion life was, begin forced to forget where you came from, who you were before them, who loved you. Anger burned in her chest.

Vulpes was laughing. Not a chuckle, but a sound that rolled from his chest and shook his shoulders, filing the room. It was so foreign and unexpected that Leta glowered at him.

"The look on your face was something akin to a puppy attempting ferocity." As his laughter died down, she grinned playfully,

"You think I'm all bark, huh?"

His eyes darkened and through his smirk she saw his tongue rest against a pointed canine,

"I know so." His words were almost a growl. He lifted her up then, and began assaulting her nipples with his mouth.

The sudden change of pace threw her off, and halfheartedly she fought back until his ministrations really did have her jerking in pleasure. He walked them to the bed and without breaking their embrace pressed himself over her, pinning her down to the mattress with his mouth and weight. One hand pinned her collarbone down while the other made its way down her torso and began exploring her clitoris. She bucked her hips up against him and he clicked his tongue,

"Patientia sit virtus." The hand that rested on her collarbone pushed her head to the side, exposing her neck for him. The imprint of his teeth from earlier was red and swollen. A sneer curled his lips before he parted them to run the tip of his tongue over the wound. He trailed up to her ear and bit her earlobe as well, but with considerable less force this time. The hand between her legs smacked her thigh hard and one finger entered her. Her breath caught in her throat as he flitted his finger inside her. He turned her face to his. Her eyes opened slowly and met with his smirk. His hands relaxed,

"Turn over," His voice was raw but that same silky timbre. She complied readily, rolling quickly onto her chest. He entered her then, with enough force that she tensed up in recoil. A low groan escaped his lips. After only a moment of pause he rocked his hips into her and began a relentless pace. One hand held her hip and pulled her up into him, controlling her movement against him. With his bare chest against her back and the weight of him pressing her into the bed she hummed in pleasure. His hot breath tickled her ear,

"Tell me what you want, Courier," His words were harsh and breathless.

"You," Her words were barely audible between gasps.

"Louder."

"You, Vulpes!"

And he began to grind against her, faster and harder than before. Her whole body ached with the jarring but sang with pleasure and that familiar tension began to build. She made little sounds of pleasure that rose with her anticipation until finally he drove into her and sent her tumbling over the edge of her orgasm. She screamed his name and with her sounds and tensing of her muscles, he too came undone. For a brief moment his world stopped and there was only searing satisfaction and the woman beneath him.

When he came back to reality she was still trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm and this time she lay quiet, no wave of forgotten memories rushing back to her. The only sound in the room was their breathing, and he lifted himself up to hover over her. She rolled over to see him with half-lidded eyes. There was a rosy glow spread over her chest and cheeks, and her lips were a bright shade of red. He grinned and placed his lips against hers, biting her lower lip. He pulled away and stood, retreating to the cabinet across the room for a purified water. As she watched him walk, she couldn't help but smile at his back. His gait still echoed power and control, but there was just a hint of a swagger that comes only with a certain sense of satisfaction. He returned and handed her the bottle as well. She tilted it back and welcomed the cool mouthful. A trickle escaped her mouth and ran down her neck. His finger met it and wiped it away.

"Don't be so careless again."

She swallowed and scowled, "I don't need scolded like some child."

"Then do not behave like one."

"I don't."

He chuckled, "Perhaps not within the immediate past, but getting drunk alone because something is irritating you is childish and dangerous."

She promptly stuck her tongue out.

"You only prove my point."

"Careless and stupid? Yes, I'll give you that. But I wouldn't call myself childish, even if I'm being honest with myself."

He just sat in silence, watching her justify her behavior more to herself than him. She was unique. And he decided that perhaps it would be interesting to set up regular intervals to explore her, in more ways than one.

Author's Note: You have my sincerest apologies for the long interval between updates! I know how frustrating it is, and feel bad doing that to my readers. Thanks for sticking with me despite it! As always, feedback is welcome.