Coming out of the Northern Passage was like entering another dimension. In the months that Boone had been gone, New Vegas changed a lot. Farms dotted the roads, field workers punctuating rows upon rows of plants. As they passed by, people stared at them, though whether it was because of Joshua or him with his First Recon beret, Boone wasn't sure.
Follows-Chalk waddled alongside them, making a valiant attempt at wearing the clothes that he had been given. He looked around at everything in awe; this was the adventure he had been waiting for.
While the scout was excited, Boone couldn't help but feel a wave of nervous energy coiling inside his gut. Emotions – something that he had boxed away long ago – were foreign to him; it was exciting, but mostly scary. The nervous anticipation grew the closer they got to New Vegas, until he stared at the gates to the Strip. He was frozen in place, afraid of the very friends that took him in and didn't judge him when he was at his worst. Boone almost didn't want them to take him back; it would be what he deserved. Still, he longed to be with them, and he couldn't decide which outcome would be better.
"Are you ready, Craig?" Joshua asked. His voice pulled Boone back into the terrifying, nauseating present.
"Yeah," he sighed.
They approached the guarded gate, stepping into a fenced area that reminded Boone of a cattle-chute from his parents' ranch. The gate to the Strip was always intimidating, and it appeared that it remained so. Boone wondered why this was; he figured that Six would have torn the thing down and allowed people to come and go as they pleased. This must have been the bot's doing.
One of the sentries wheeled up to them, scanning Boone's face.
"Welcome back to New Vegas," it greeted, "enjoy your stay at the Lucky 38."
Relief washed over him; he was still allowed into the Lucky 38, and that meant that he still had a chance with everyone. A hand settled on his shoulder and Boone turned to meet Joshua's gaze.
"People who would take you in when you were at your worst," he nodded, "would certainly take you back at your best. Remember that."
Boone replied with a smile and ushered them toward the gate. He walked backward as it opened in front of them, wanting to see Follows-Chalk's reaction to the Strip. If one light bulb was fascinating, then hundreds, all of different colors and blinking, would be something incredible.
He wasn't disappointed. The scout's fascination reminded him of Six's when she first entered the Strip, all wide eyes full of wonder.
"What do you think?" Boone asked, chuckling.
Follows-Chalk snapped out of his looking and shook his head.
"A man could get distracted here," he replied, "it is no wonder people travel great distances to find this place."
Boone nodded and grunted in agreement; that was what New Vegas was all about. It was a city dedicated to making travelers forget their problems, and often, it created more problems for them. A shout drew Boone's attention, and he turned his gaze toward a small crowd that had gathered outside the Lucky 38.
"Sniper!" he called, "you're one that can go inside the Lucky 38, yeah?"
Boone nodded reluctantly. He didn't want to help these people with their problems, and wanted them to leave him alone. Boone chided himself for being selfish.
"A few days ago or so," the man frowned, "an armed escort of securitrons led what they called 'refugees of the state of the Legion' into the Lucky 38. But they didn't look like no refugees to anybody; they looked like Legionaries. We haven't heard a peep out of that place and folks are getting nervous."
"They could have been slaves disguised as Legionaries," Graham noted.
"Maybe," the man shrugged, "the one guy was beat all to hell. His back was nothing but ribbons. But slaves don't have muscles like those other guys."
"No promises," Boone grunted.
The crowd began to protest as Boone trudged up the stairs. He turned around to face the increasingly angry people.
"Christ," he growled, "I'm going in, aren't I?"
They were silent in an instant, leaving Boone to hear Joshua sighing behind him. Boone mumbled a quick apology to him and marveled for a second that he was apologizing for saying that particular curse. He wouldn't have bothered to do so before.
Boone greeted the bot at the bottom of the elevator and wondered if he could just go on up. None of the securitrons stopped him, so he figured it was okay. He ushered his traveling companions into the elevator, then exhaled as he set the course for the presidential suite.
"Veronica will be fine with us," he said, "Cass should too, probably. Arcade might be a little mother hen-ish, since he protects Six. I have no idea what Six will do. She's very sensitive and I was a huge jerk to her. But if Fox is there –"
He trailed off at the thought of Fox entering the equation.
"I hope to God Fox is there," he concluded. Fox would be a voice of reason if Six got hysterical.
There were also these supposed Legionaries to deal with, and Boone didn't savor the idea. What was Six thinking?
The elevator dinged and the door opened to reveal the empty hallway. There was a rustling in the kitchen, an all too familiar clinking of bottles; Cass was up. She peered out of the doorway and did a double take.
"You're like a tumbleweed, Craig Boone," she smiled, "Breakfast?" Cass held out a bottle of whiskey.
"No thanks," Boone replied. He would never touch alcohol again.
The caravaner lifted an eyebrow then grinned.
"Good," she chuckled, "because I ain't sharing."
There were sounds coming from the bedroom, the bed moving as someone woke up.
"Gotta ask you," Boone nodded, "What's this I hear about Legionaries?"
He expected a laugh, maybe even a shrug, but what Boone didn't expect was for Cass to frown and step closer.
"Why?" she asked, "ya lookin' for trouble?"
He didn't sleep well, not after hearing what Marcus overheard Vulpes telling the Courier. Crassius wished that he was close enough to Vulpes to have been told firsthand. Then again, he couldn't blame Vulpes for telling Six; she was the one that he loved and trusted, in the same way that Crassius loved Marcus.
He yawned and stretched in bed, the sheets clinging to his shirt and pants. The room was hot and smelled of stale alcohol from the previous night's festivities. Under his and Marcus' suggestion, everyone, save Vulpes and the Courier, piled into the secondary room at the corner of the suite to spend the night. After hearing of what Marcus overheard, they both agreed to keep it to themselves, as well as ensure that the couple had time alone together.
Foggy memories of the night before came to Crassius' mind; Marcus dragging him to the bathroom to talk quietly, their sadness and subsequent quick moment of intimacy, then drinking more. His mouth felt stale, and his head unclear. He had to get something to drink to wash the taste out.
Crassius slipped out of the bed and cracked the door open, causing Marcus to groan as light from the hallway spilled onto his face. He peered out and saw a group of people standing in the entryway, speaking quietly with Cass. One person in particular looked strange, and according to the superstitious tales spread throughout the Legion, Crassius had a good guess as to who it was. He turned around to crack open the bedroom door again.
"Burned Man's out here," Crassius murmured. There was nothing more than a grunt in reply.
He left Marcus in bed and shuffled toward the kitchen, intent on grabbing a cola to wake himself up. With a tug, the fridge door opened and cold air curled its way around his toes. Crassius snagged a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla, popped the top, sat down, and downed the drink in a quick series of gulps. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and grinned lazily. The Burned man was in the hallway.
Oh, shit.
The chair fell backward as he bolted upright and darted back out into the hall. Staring at the bandaged man, Crassius backed up until he was next to the door to the Courier's room; he'd let Graham get to Vulpes over his dead body.
"Disarm," he frowned. Crassius had never seen Graham before now, but the bandages along with the Salt Lake Police Department vest were an obvious giveaway.
"Unnecessary," Graham replied. His voice was smoky, his aura peaceful. But Crassius couldn't trust him; they were of opposing sides.
Marcus peeked into the hallway and saw the Burned Man as well. Hurriedly, he took his place next to Crassius in flanking the doorway. The recruit appeared soon after, staring on in horror at the apparition-turned-man in front of him. He was frozen in place, and Crassius could tell why he had been put in charge of the new captures instead of being on the field.
"Who are they?" the NCR sniper asked, nodding toward them. Cass didn't reply.
The doctor was the next to come out of the bedroom. He adjusted his coat and glasses, staring at everyone.
"Hey Boone," he smiled, "I think I'll be back in just a second."
Crassius allowed Arcade passage into the bedroom to check on Vulpes. He overheard the doctor administering medication, as well as talking though the door. Arcade mumbled something to him, and it was obvious that it wasn't meant to be overheard. Vulpes didn't seem to catch the hint.
"And what would you like me to come out as?" he asked. Vulpes' voice seemed to put the NCR sniper at ease; he must have known Vulpes, at least, when he was undercover. Perhaps, Arcade's plan was wise.
The door cracked open and Marcus moved to the front of the door, just outside of its path. He physically blocked any shot that could be aimed at the occupants inside, as was standard protocol. The red-faced doctor led Vulpes into the hallway where he could hopefully smooth everything over.
Crassius certainly didn't want to take his chances with the Burned Man.
Vulpes Inculta.
Graham remembered him well. He'd been an arrogant young man, a colossal prick with a hot temper with a voracious sexual appetite. Vulpes had been eighteen when Edward chose him to be one of his Frumentarii. He had seen the kid off and on for the last few years of him being the Legate and watched him climb the ranks quickly and ferociously.
Apparently, he had grown into his large features, save his hands, which looked large like paws. It was a physical manifestation of humanism.
The man that stood before him was a pale shade of the prideful child he had gotten to know years ago. Vulpes looked defeated; his sad eyes a bottomless well of raw despair. There were various wounds all over the young man's body that painted a gruesome picture of what happened. Graham was reminded of an abused animal.
"Mr. Graham," Vulpes rasped, "usually it is I who has attempted to keep in touch. It is so nice of you to visit. I'm sure that you received one of my many messages, though I never got a reply."
Internal and external bruising of the throat indicated that he had been brutally strangled.
"I'll admit that I was lax in my reply," Graham nodded, "but then again, venturing into Zion is generally a one way trip, in particular for Frumentarii."
Vulpes offered his hand for him to shake and he took it. There was something wild in the young man's eyes, his pupils contracted far beyond normal. He had taken drugs to ease his pain, an action that was worthy of execution in the Legion. This was a man who had hit rock bottom.
"The messages were just business," Vulpes smiled, "I'm no longer in charge of such things. In fact, the Frumentarii were disbanded altogether. I was given 'other tasks'."
It was obvious that Vulpes was trying to suck up to him, which was completely unnecessary. Not much remained of the violent, angry man he had been and Graham harbored no ill will toward him. The guilt that he felt over the things he had done in the Legion increased as he looked upon the product of his actions. This one had been raised from a young age as a member of the Legion.
A nervous animal of a man stood before him and Graham again wondered what happened to the man who had been the embodiment of the seven deadly sins.
"And what has Caesar's fox done to deserve the eye of the praetorians?" he asked, nodding toward the muscular Legionaries that flanked him.
"Vulpes is the rightful Caesar," the shorter one remarked.
Vulpes' eyes grew huge as he shook his head violently.
"I said no such thing," he protested, "and I want nothing to do with it. Make your own decisions, and I'll make mine."
Edward was dead? Graham wanted to know how and why, but now wasn't the proper time; he had to see if they were welcome in the first place. Craig looked at Vulpes as if he was hurt.
"Fox?" he asked, his face unsure.
"Yes, Boone," Vulpes sighed, "fraternizing with the enemy. If there had been a way –"
Loud thumping noises sounded behind a closed door, interrupting the moment.
"What is that?" Craig asked, tilting his head toward the noise.
"Six is putting her pants on," a short brunette chirped.
She adjusted her brown robes, yawned, and glanced about at the people who had just arrived. With a smile, she waddled over to Craig and gave him a hug. Joshua couldn't imagine his relief at being accepted back among his friends.
The door to the bedroom opened to reveal another woman. She fit Craig's description of Six perfectly, and judging by the flood of emotions on her face at seeing her friend, this had to be the Courier. Without hesitation, the woman hurried over to Craig and embraced him tightly, mumbling apologies into his chest.
"No," Craig protested, "I should be apologizing. You shouldn't say you're sorry just because you don't like conflict. I said terrible things to you."
Six stood back and looked him in the eyes.
"Friends?" she asked.
"Of course," he smiled.
The Courier led Craig into the kitchen, the others following close behind until only the Legionaries remained. Graham waited for them to make a move. If he wasn't welcome there, then he would leave, no questions asked. He was done with conflict.
"He's sober," Vulpes smirked, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.
Graham shrugged. Helping Craig was the Lord's work, not his. He was merely the instrument.
"Sometimes," Joshua remarked, "things that happen in a man's life can change him permanently."
Vulpes grunted and nodded in agreement. Whatever baggage he carried, Joshua knew he wouldn't be let in; there was too much history between them. But Vulpes seemed at ease, and the Praetorians let down their guard, if only a little. Graham noticed the shorter guard slip up, his eyes drifting over to give Vulpes and the other guard an appreciative glance. He couldn't help but chuckle; after all the time Caesar spent attempting to stamp out certain things, they sprang up under his very nose.
Vulpes perked up at the sight of the Courier returning into the hallway. Though he was clearly enchanted, clearly wanted her attention, Six turned her gaze toward Graham instead.
"Hi," she smiled, "I'm Six. Who are you?"
Such curiosity and ignorance, though dangerous, was refreshing. New, bold ideas were what the Mojave needed, and without previous experiences to tell Six that she couldn't make a difference, things changed for the better.
"Joshua Graham," he replied, "he-who-shall-not-be-named, apparently."
"Probably me too," Vulpes chimed in.
"You don't think he'd do that, would you?" the shorter Praetorian asked.
"Butcher would probably just kill anyone who mentioned me until they figured it out," he snorted.
The Courier linked her arm in Vulpes' and led him toward the kitchen. Graham had to reconcile the fact that the wonderful things that Craig told him about Fox had been Vulpes, and he wondered how much of it had been an act. From the quick time that he had seen him, Joshua believed that Vulpes was, as Craig said, head over heels for Six. The Courier wore Vulpes' mark as well, though Craig told him that she refused Fox's advances. Perhaps, she knew what she was getting into with Vulpes, and intended to keep him at arms' length. He wouldn't know until he observed more.
Graham followed the group into the kitchen, prepared to be an outside observer to their group. He sat at the far end of the room, away from everyone else and the suspicious stares of the Legionaries.
"Gotta ask," Craig frowned, "What were you doing?" He stared straight at Vulpes.
"Ideally," Vulpes sighed, "you would have joined us. You all would have."
Craig snorted and shook his head, earning a smile from Vulpes.
"I know that would be your response," Vulpes continued, "so I would have those who resisted executed quickly."
"I doubt Caesar would have gone for that," Graham interjected.
Vulpes smirked and chuckled, his prideful expression reminiscent of the man he had known before.
"I have my way," he replied, "with anyone I want. Regardless, when I heard Boone, I expected a fight."
Craig sighed deeply and stared at the floor, his hands clasped.
"I might have," he admitted, "but I'd be a hell of a hypocrite if I did."
Graham couldn't help but feel touched, that Craig considered what happened with the White Legs and decided to stay his hand. It seemed that they learned together, and he couldn't be more grateful. This brought to mind more personal things that he had to ask, in order to hopefully close a chapter in his life once and for all.
"So, Caesar is dead," Joshua remarked, "If I may ask, how did that happen?"
"Rocket to the face," Vulpes replied, his eyes un-focusing as he stared at Six. A smile drifted across his face, and it was safe to say that he felt no pain. Graham wondered what it was like.
"Butcher is in charge now," one of the praetorians grumbled.
Joshua nodded. He never met the man called Lanius; all he knew were the rumors, same as the next man. But the rumors were on par with what appeared to happen to Vulpes, and he wondered what exactly happened. Perhaps he would find out in the coming days.
Until then, he was content to start his life over again.
