"Are you sure you won't have a shouting match with your father up there?"

"No, it'll be okay! I'll sweep in, take what I need, and leave. He won't even notice!"

Max ascended the stairs leading to her apartment, hiding her stressful thoughts beneath a composed mask. She wouldn't blame him, with the Doleetle habit of shouting matches over the most trivial matters. If he got curious, she'd merely say that she was going to be out partying, and there wouldn't be anything he could do. He'd probably try to tell her not to go, but she'd be gone before anything serious could happen. And all his needs had been taken care of: Before departing to the initial date with Andrew, she gave him a filled glass of water, a bottle if he ever ran out, some food in a plate and reminded him where the remotes were, for his television. And if he ever needed to sleep, then it'd be easy to walk to his room and lay on the bed, right?

"I'm just saying, don't be distracted by anything else than the gifts, alright? We gotta make it in time." Andrew leaned against the railing of the floor below Max's, looking up at her. "You go in, you grab them, you leave, alright? But if he's asleep as you said," the young man made his attempt at a charming smile. She said attempt because he'd tried it multiple times during negotiations only to be harshly rebuked. "How about you put on that dress I liked? Make every other guy in there jealous that you're around my arm." Max, who was fiddling with her keys, blushed brightly as that and stepped away from the door to lean in as well.

"It's a bit cold outside, though! And I don't need it to make the others jealous now, don't I?" she took a faux-indignant tone of voice, and Andrew made a slight grimace before stepping away from sight. Satisfied, Max unlocked the door and walked in. Meanwhile, her boyfriend leaned against the wall. He'd have gone in there too, but had difficulty sleeping and was probably still up. And he'd indeed be judging him all over again. Oh, he came up in those conversations; he knew it and didn't like it. But Max's dad used to be a prospector, and those guys were all bullheaded pricks, so he didn't think of starting a dialogue. He'd do like those weirdo old guys who rave on and on about how their "little angels" are being taken from them. Who always goes on about how they built themselves up, how they made their fortune with nothing but a wooden log and a piece of glue, and how "dickless little morons" like Andrew would have folded in their position.

Nah, what he'd do, is that he would wait until he got ahead in life enough to buy himself a car and a nice suit, maybe a spot somewhere important-sounding too. Then, he'd walk up to Max's home and would propose in front of the old man. Oh yeah, he could imagine his dejected expression. And maybe vague protests here and there that Andrew would skillfully reject while remaining polite. And then he'd be backing up the man financially for the rest of his life. For the pleasure of knowing that this old guy's livelihood depended on a dickless little moron. Maybe he would…

"Andrew!" Max hissed out, snapping Andrew out of his daydream right at the part where Roger, left despondent, was going to lick his boots. "Andrew!" she repeated, her tone more desperate. Had a robber broken in? The mustachioed neighbor had snapped? Another prospector had been wronged years ago and came back to inflict righteous vengeance? Whatever it was, he'd flee from it usually, but the panic in her voice convinced him to quickly get to her level anyway. If anyone was inside, well.. he didn't know what he'd do, but there'd be a reckoning, for sure.

"What's going on, Max?" He told her, stepping past her and in front of the door if something terrible was inside. To his surprise, though, she instead pushed him in quickly before slamming the door behind him. His senses flaring, Andrew glanced around the room to spot a weapon to use… and his eyes settled on a collapsed shape in the hall, between the living room and the kitchen. Immediately thinking of the worst, the youth's theories were proven wrong a mere second after, when the shape turned out to be a man, alive enough to look his way and wince.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Questioned Roger, attempting to sound commanding even in his current state. Andrew's witty retort died before he could formulate it, and Max didn't see fit to verbally retaliate like usual. Instead, she moved to her father's side to better kneel next to him and lift him up by the armpits as carefully as she could. A single pleading look from her convinced Andrew to step up as well. That empowered feeling from when he thought Max was in danger remained, and he hoped it would give him the strength to lift the older man overhead entirely.

"Put your arms around his ribcage, but slowly. We'll lift him to his feet, and we'll all walk to his couch, alright?" Max's voice was shaky but resolute in its own way. She wouldn't fail her dad while he was in "peril," and that got the unusually lax Andrew to make a similar promise to himself. Moving as instructed by Max, he got his arms around her dad's stomach.

"Careful with the hands there," Max's father groaned as the two worked to put him on his feet. He helped by putting his arms around their shoulders, but both youths were distressed to see how hard it was to stand up on his own for him. Once he was on his feet, Max transitioned to wrapping her arms around his upper torso. "… Careful with the hands, young guy. I didn't get to make Max or her brother by fucking guys."

"Would sure be useful if he was there…." Max mumbled as the awkward trio stepped into the living room.

"After one year of presence in the Mojave, the victory of the NCR seems complete. While the mysterious raider tribes of Caesar remain a challenge eastwards of the Dam, the other risks to democracy in the area, such as the Brotherhood of Steel or Great Khans, have been thoroughly squashed and are no longer a threat to the army, says General Oliver. Negotiations have been made with local leader to grant access to the city to NCR citizens. Travelers are advised to be cautious and remain on the main road at all costs on their way to the Strip or new homes. President Kimball, wish luck to our courageous settlers!"

"That Mojave bullshit bored me to tears, so I slipped off," Roger said after being set on his white couch. Max knelt next to it, pushing him a bit deeper so that he wouldn't slide off. Her quivering lips and big eyes must have affected him because he eventually emoted something close to remorse after a bit of time. "I'm sorry, I guess our rug sucks. I'll... go sell it tomorrow, we'll get a better one."

"You've had your daily drink, dad," Max cut him off, but not harshly, before composing herself to remain calm. "You didn't slip! Your legs gave out." At that, Roger looked very slightly shaken and lowered his head in shame. Whatever introspection he could have had got cut short when he spotted Andrew's legs, though: The youth was dumbly standing in front of the little black table where Roger's barely touched meal and drink were located, aghast at what to do next.

"You're expecting a thank you? Get out!" he tried to yell, but his voice was too weakened to give him any kind of edge towards Andrew.

"He helped you, don't get angry at him, dad," His girlfriend corrected, her tone growing slightly harsher as a reprimand. "… But, Andrew, would you kindly…." She bit down on her lower lips and looked aside. "take the plate and leave to the kitchen? I'll be there in a second!" the young man shuffled away politely, and Max turned back to her father, steeling herself for a new confrontation. He'd meanwhile abandoned the issue to look past her, at the TV. A Ranger, dressed in a long coat and equipped with a gas mask, was presenting the "spoils of war" of the defeated enemies of the NCR, from an unimpressive, hastily cobbled-up rifle to a clean AER9, along with the armor of the Paladin who was still wearing it, apparently emptied of its owner... Max moved in front of the ranger on the TV, obstructing him. "Dad!"

"Maxxie, I'm not in the mood to talk," he mumbled. "Just take my plate and water away, alright? I'll sleep on the couch again, so fetch me my blankets, and then you can go to your party," He pointed to his grey blankets and then glanced back at the tv, not even looking at her. "See ya tomorrow, sweetie."

"We are talking, dad!" She insisted, as firmly as she could be. "You fell again! I can't walk away like this when you could've gotten injured! And you could still get injured if you try to go to the kitchen to fetch a drink! Or more like the whole bottle, again!"

He smiled back at her, even if it was a little strained. "You remind me of your mother when you get like that, you know? She'd tell me about her big guy in the sky, and when I insinuated he wasn't that good, I-"

"I'd love to talk about mom, but now's not the time!" Max's hand cut through the air as if severing a thread. "Why'd you go there to drink, dad? You already had one! And it's probably why you fell in the first place!"

"Well, because I'm fucking thirsty is what it is!" He snapped. Max startled back very briefly but composed herself back to stand her ground. "I downed four bottles of that before going to work in my youth! I can handle one!"

"No, no, no no no!" Max reached out with her finger, attempting to jab him with her index, but pulling back at the last moment, fearful that she could accidentally stab through him... "You're not as you were back then! You've got a bottle of water right there to drink from if you need it, but you'll wait tomorrow for the alcohol! And you'd know that it's a big deal that you can get a bottle of fresh water all for yourself! Because right now out in the wastes, there's someone who wishes he had half that bottle to drink from!" Max concluded by pointing out of the window, with the means to guide her father's vision to whatever grisly scene was occurring in a less fortunate elsewhere.

Her father glared at her, and Max glared back, holding her ground well. He eventually relented… before suddenly going back in, slowly standing up again. "You're killing me, you know that? The alcohol dulls the pain, but the water doesn't! You're killing me!"

"You're drunk?! From that one glass? Geez!" Max walked in front of him and held her arms out. She was smaller than him, most certainly, but he'd grown much weaker ever since his glory days. He knew it, Max suspected, deep down. Worst came to worst, she could fetch Andrew, who… no, it was a Doleetle problem. Started with the dad, settled by the daughter. "I guess I could cut that one out because you sure get grumpier whenever you drink at all, dad! Now sit back! You're not getting off this talk, and I'll sacrifice my night out if I need to!" Max turned her head away to glance Andrew's way. "Sorry, love!"

Roger saw an opening and attempted to exploit it by pushing Max, startling the latter into blocking him with her arms. "Stop trying to control me and let me make decisions of my own, damn it all! You're all trapping me!" The older man tried to overpower her outright. Still, as she had feared, atrophy had really eaten away at what was once a daring explorer of the Wastes. He waged his right hand pointlessly, a distraction for his real "attack" on his left flank.

In a fit of anger, Max slammed her hands into her father's chest, throwing him back unto the couch. It was comfy enough for him to land without any injuries, but they both froze up anyway, out of shock. The young woman sat there in shock, and so did her father, both slowly processing what had just happened. And to make things worse, Andrew arrived unto the scene again, having heard the "struggle" from the other room. "Max!" She stared at him blankly, and he did the same in return, both unsure of where to go next.

"… You pushed me…." Roger glanced at the wall, which his head barely just missed, and very slowly settled his eyes back on her. While she'd never been intimidated by him in years, the… anger in them made her take a few steps backward in shock. "… You could've hurt me…" he covered his torso with his arms and glanced down incredulously, giving Max a brief reprieve from his glare before he looked up again. The anger in them had only grown worse, and if stares could indeed kill, then Max believed that he could've dropped her on the spot. "… You're an awful daughter, I hate you." He finally hissed the cold rage in his voice drearier than any of his previous yellings.

"Hey!" Andrew stepped in between the two, holding his arms out in front of his girlfriend like one would try and stop an explosion, "That's going a bit too far, sir!"

"This is a Doleetle problem. Get the fuck out of my sight." Commanded Roger, the threat in his voice evident. The curly-haired youth blanched at that and would've complied with the order if Max didn't intervene, the remark shaking her out of her buzz.

"Fuck you!" She froze, meaning to follow it up with something devastating and witty. Instead, Max stayed in a pointing position, her eyes watery, and left the room in a hurry, heading down the kitchen to flee. Bemused by the scene occurring before his eyes, Andrew turned back to Rogers. He was disgusted to see him smiling slightly at his daughter fleeing the scene.

"My parents always told me you were a piece of shit," he looked down, wondering if he was indeed going to torpedo away any chances of gaining parental approval. "… You're worse!" Zinger delivered, Andrew left the room to go to the kitchen, currently commandeered by Max. The brunette stood in the middle of it, having acquired the wine her father had apparently taken too much of. Andrew picked up the pace when he noticed it, thinking the worst, but she merely began to flush it down the sink in a rage. Her knuckles were pearly-white around the tip of the bottle, and he swore that she shook it like she meant to snap its "neck" or whatever it had. The youth watched aghast, having already thought of stealing and selling those bottles (a plan Andrew would've told Max of, of course), but didn't act, in case Max's rage would cause her to seize him like one of the bottles. Only when she slammed the window open to throw the empty container did he move swiftly, making a move to grab her wrist before she could go through with it.

Remembering those old pre-war stories his parents collected like crazy, Andrew immediately followed up on that by trying to wrap his arm around her waist to pull Max closer. "Son! There's nothing a woman loves more than a man who takes charge!" his father often quoted, sometimes in the presence of the woman in question. It seemed old-fashioned, but it couldn't be ineffective, else he wouldn't be there himself to try it out. He expected that Doleetle fury to be turned towards him, but instead, Max froze in place and stopped entirely. That was good. She then lowered her arm and dropped the bottle, letting it shatter to the floor. That was bad.

"He called me an awful daughter!" The teenager said once, then twice, holding back on the sobbing before finally breaking down to slam her face into his chest, letting it all out on his fabric. It made for quite the soap opera, and Andrew had been looking forward to a moment like these, where he could be the big careful guy ready to take care of his girlfriend, but his usual opportunistic nature did not prevail tonight. Instead, he could only hold her tight. The party, and the matter of making money out of this, had left his mind entirely. He'd realized how ugly the Doleetle family issues indeed were. No wonder the brother had fled to the Boneyard! And somewhere in there, he wondered if he shouldn't do like him and run.

But for now? He'd be there. It's the least he could do.

…

Max awoke to intense sunlight, searing heat, bumps that could lift her off her seat, and the knowledge that she'd be salivating on something while sleeping. The former two she'd grown very familiar of, but the third? The young girl detached herself from where her head had been laying and glanced at her surroundings: She was sitting, step one. A belt was tied around her, step two, she…

"Oh, good morning, private! Welcome back to the world of giant radioactive critters and bloodthirsty raiders!" cheerfully greeted Veronica, her eyes on the road ahead. It may have been a smooth scar through the desert two hundred years ago, but no maintenance for that long had made it complicated to navigate! "You've been sleeping for the past thirty minutes! Sorry, I've only got purified water." Before resuming driving, she took her arm off the wheel to point down in front of the soldier. "It's at your feet.."

"… Thanks?" Max managed to awkwardly stammer out. They were in a lovely red car. That much was obvious, but where was the rest of her stuff? Her gun appeared to be on the backseat, having been placed upright with the butt on the floor and the cannon pointing it at the roof (Veronica had put the safety on, of course). Her helmet was picking up the slack, though, being moved around erratically by the vehicle's movements. Upon spotting it, Max reached out and plucked the helmet from its perilous fate to place it back on her head. Its place secured, she reached for that water bottle and drank it up. If the driver had poisoned it or held ill intents, she indeed would've acted on those while her passenger was sleeping after all. The water was… mildly hot, but she was thirsty enough to ignore that. "Thank you." She repeated, now a little less confused.

"You're welcome!" Max glanced at Veronica and noticed that the clothing on her right shoulder appeared to be a little wet. Quickly deducing its origin, the NCR trooper set out to resolve the problem with a blank stare, partially hoping she could intimidate it into leaving. She did not, but her friend didn't appear to mind. "Don't worry about it. There's way worse stuff I ended covered by these last few days alone! And heh, it'll be vaporized by the heat soon, trust me."

Accepting this, Max set herself back into the chair, blushing at the thought that she spent a good deal of the trip sleeping on another woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry. It must've bothered you while driving…" the private gave a quick look around. The numbers of time she'd been inside a vehicle like that could be counted in one hand, even with the current instance taken into account, but she'd never seen an interior, or exterior, as clean as that! And Veronica wasn't using the vehicle merely for travel purposes: In the trunk, almost pouring out into the backseat, she could see a bunch of items. Sleeping bags, food, more water, rifles even, plucked from Fiends apparently. She didn't bother to see if there could be more since all that stuff had to be Veronica's. "… It's a good car. Y-you did a good work on it." Max settled back into her seat and glanced at the Mojave outside, seeing the Crimson Caravan HQ in the distance. Also confused merchants or tourists, briefly interrupted in their own journeys by quite the unique sight. It did bother her how many people awkwardly went out of their way to walk away instead of waiting to the side for it to pass. But she'd be scared in their shoes too. Cars weigh tons, and go fast, and make a lot of noises!

"Thanks! And don't be embarrassed about sleeping. It didn't bother me at all while driving," Veronica glanced at Max but focused on not accidentally killing an innocent trader. "You really needed the rest, but I couldn't put you in the backseat because it'd be too bumpy. And if you ask, you only fell asleep once we got to the car, so no worries!" The other soldiers could have thought I was kidnapping you if they saw that!"

"I'd get them…." Max rubbed her eyes a little, indeed feeling slightly less tired than before. And she only had one bad memory from a few years back to deal with this time, instead of a nightmare! The soldier had to be pretty lucky today. To add to this, there was no pain in her stomach, but she blamed it on resting up in the car. The pain subsided slightly when she indeed did nothing. However, as she figured, doing nothing wasn't the most tempting of things when she had many issues to resolve and as many Fiends to practice her aim at, of course. "… But thanks for being willing to get me to the doctor." Or was it? Max wondered if she wasn't outright kidnapped and dragged to be fed to a cannibal, But then maybe she was too cynical? Veronica was friendly after all!

"Ah, see? You came around! We-hold on, there's gonna be bumping!" Veronica weaved the car around to avoid driving over a couple of dead geckos and what appeared to be the Vipers who scored a draw with them. For someone who'd probably never driven a car in her life previously, the good samaritan of the wastes managed to avoid them reasonably skillfully. However, Max's rifle fell to the side. Out of reflex, its owner grabbed it before it could hit the ground, awkwardly holding it in until she managed to set it back to its correct place.

"You drive that car pretty well! I don't think that one like these has been driven in… two centuries, a bit more now," Max glanced about and looked at the roof of the vehicle: It appeared to be a bit too tall for an average car. Not that she'd complain! Helmet or not, it wasn't fun to bump her head on stuff. "… A good driver, a good mechanic, a good person! It all cumulates in being…." Max wondered if she sounded too sycophantic but carried on. "… Great!"

"Please flatter my ego more," she sounded truly touched by the soldier's words, though, aside from sarcasm. "Heh, I did test runs with previous cars before. It's also honestly easy to look like a good driver in a desert, where there's nothing to collide on! If you plop me on the streets of Shady Sands, I wouldn't look so good!"

Max chuckled lightly in agreement. "So, where are you taking me? I… erm, I kinda messed up with the Followers of Freeside, so I'm not sure I should be brought here," Max said, slightly reassured to see her drive away from Vegas's walls.

"Well, unless you're into gratuitous murder or stealing, I find it hard you could do anything to get outright denied by them," Veronica wondered and glanced at Max. "Did you?" The tone was half-facetious, with emphasis on the "half" part.

"I beat up a drug dealer in Freeside, and they said it'd worsen the relations between the NCR settlers and the locals. It's very fragile over there, and they don't need the extra suffering and work." Max tried to drum up her own guilt over the accident, as one should. Still, that warm feeling of satisfaction was all she felt upon thinking back, and perhaps anger at Freeside itself. How rotten could that damn place get when doctors ask you not to take rightful revenge upon a dealer in fear of the consequences the others would bring? If the Kings or whatever weren't busy saber-rattling or providing poison to innocent Californians and instead cleared the streets of the feces, drugs, and dead bodies, maybe they could turn around and offer legitimate claims of being good for the community.

But Max thought maybe Veronica would judge her if she said she didn't regret it. Max felt like her feelings over the matter should be guilt, not satisfaction, so she eventually settled for a timid. "… I kinda regret it."

"Freeside's that bad, huh?"

"It fucking sucks," Max replied, this time not carefully mulling her words over. The brunette covered her mouth, but Veronica only gently laughed.

"Bluntness! I like that in someone," she took one hand off the wheel to point at her but kept her eyes square on the road. "Don't hesitate to ever tell people what you feel, hm? You'll need it to see the doctor. She'll want you to come clean about everything you feel, so don't hesitate to unload. Consider it your one chance to tell everything that's on your plate without getting a court-martial after it."

"Well, I hope she's got the hours needed," the trooper slunk back into her seat, wondering if she should take another quick nap or not. But then she realized that perhaps talking more to Veronica would help her more than another bit of shuteye. Everyone else was busy or pretending to be. Nolan was away on a "patrolling mission" at Freeside, so was Hector. The doctor could be nice, but she'd met Veronica before, in better times, hell she even met Emma, so she'd knew her. Veronica also laughed a little at her joke, which gave the trooper confidence to carry onwards. "Blablabla… I did a lot of Brahmin tipping as a kid… and now I see them in my dreams, tipping me over and laughing."

"They'll listen to anything you have to say, including the Brahmin tipping." Veronica chuckled a little; the concept seemed new to her. "She might be… busy, but you could always see if there's somebody else with an ear to listen. They're kind like that in the Followers."

"Yeah, my brother used to be one of them but went for the OSI. He still has their ideals," a set of tiny buildings loomed in the distance, Max could guess it was the endpoint of the ride. "He dislikes the NCR's ways still, but he keeps on practicing because there are people who need his help."

"You could've always joined him, ya know?" Veronica suggested. "It's a bit dangerous to be a woman of peace in a world gone mad like this, though. I'd get why you would pick up a gun."

Max's smile froze slightly at that sentence. "… He only told me he was off for the Boneyard in a letter I found on his bed, late at night." That put a quick end to the light-hearted ambiance in the vehicle.

"He did that, huh? Did he ever explain later on?" Veronica looked ahead at the road to see if the Followers hadn't placed traps on the way here. As kindly as they were, they still had to defend themselves. And the roads around the Mojave were already dangerous enough with the traps and damage that had been done to them. They were lucky to be driving around a stretch of road where the NCR and merchants had teamed up to remove the various traps. Put her west into the areas where the Powder Gangers roamed, and it'd be a different story.

"No, but I think… me and my dad, we argued very often to one another, and he never liked it. I think he wanted us to care. Maybe figured the both of us would hitch a ride to the Boneyard and say we were sorry, but my dad was long past his traveling days, and I couldn't trust him to take care of himself. All that traveling he did caught up to him." Max began to rub one of her arms as a way to clear up the stress. Silence settled in, neither woman wanting to point it out. "… It's probably better if I keep this for the doc, hehe..." she eventually mumbled out, with a tired smile. "Say, if I'm not too privy…."

"My dad gave me away to a cult for blood money, ooouuhhhh!" when Max's eyes widened in actual belief, Veronica shook her head as she began to park next to the Followers safehouse. Being at a merchant outpost is helpful for a few things, like learning where the "important" spots in the region are at. Many people ask for directions to the Followers outpost to cure their sicknesses or bring water, food, or medicine. "No, no, my dad and mom are fine. That little accident at Boulder City brought a few visitors around, so they got wares to sell, and the NCR has to care about repairing the place now that people remember it was more than smoking ruins, five years ago." Veronica braked and shot Max an apologetic look. "No offense?"

"No offense taken," Max reassured. Inwardly she wondered how bad the family issues honestly had to be if Veronica was out there punching Fiends in the face… But it wasn't her place to care about. Maybe she wanted to see some of that wider world like she did. "Your siblings have it great with a big sister like you, you know?"

"Aw, stop it!" Veronica said, blushing ever so slightly. "… Well, don't actually! It's good to have another person to talk to like that." Both women left the vehicle, with Max almost balking at the heat outside. It probably wasn't all that different from within the car, but she still felt like jumping back into it right away. It was amazing how her friend could walk around like that with her hood on, with nary a complaint. It had to help, but jeez!

"Y-you're coming out too?" questioned Max, walking towards the building with haste. Halfway through, the mental image of her sobbing rifle left behind in the car prompted her to brave the sun for a few more seconds to turn back and reclaim the weapon from the vehicle. Veronica waited until she was focused on somewhere else before answering.

"If she can't take you in, I'll bring you back to McCarran. If not… I'll still go back, to ask good ol' Hsu if there's any patrol that could take you in on the way out!" the brunette was about to say that she could walk back just fine, and then sharp, if temporary, pain on her stomach mounted an effective rebuttal.

But the pain, she didn't mind much at the moment. "You must really like me if you're wasting all your time on moving me about; I feel like I'm a Brahmin Baron!"

"Wasting my time on helping you? That's an interesting choice of words here!" Max's smile faded at the mention, but she'd dwell on her words at a later date. For a man in leather armor was walking towards them, utterly unbothered by the heat. His weapon seemed to be in decent condition, even if he or whoever he took it from still had to tape it together at points. Emma would've probably identified it, but not Max, who knew why the guard looked so suspicious: She was dressed in the uniform of the NCR, and as she was reminded very often, the relationships between the Republic and the Followers could get better.

"State your business… if you please." He didn't sound hostile, but his tone remained blunt and not inviting for a discussion. Max, in previous days, or even weeks, could've been intimidated enough to let the other woman speak for the two of them, but she wasn't about to let Veronica handle everything. Not because she had disdain for the hooded woman, but because it was her that was about to get a consultation in the end. Why should Max let her friend go through all these efforts when someone else would be enjoying the rewards? Max nodded at Veronica with confidence, stopping the latte before she could speak up, and approached the bald guard, attempting to keep her eyes off his sun-reflecting head.

Try to be official, but not too official. The Followers don't care for military protocols. "Hello, I'm Private…" ah, shit! "… Max Doleetle! And I would like to visit Dr. Usanagi for a consultation to deal with an onset of post stressal… post disorder stress…" she began snapping her fingers, the heat truly not helping to jog her memories.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder," he corrected. "The NCR cares enough about its grunts to send them off to therapy now? Hey, didn't I see you in that newspaper? The Coyote Courier or…" Max attempted to imitate the smile that she'd done back then. "Ah, yeah. The Followers and your nation do not really see eye-to-eye, but we will not be turning you away either way. And what about you?"

Veronica stepped forward and pointed at her torso, moving her head around like she meant to search for another person. "Who, me?" Max giggled slightly in amusement, but the guard grunted in irritation. "Well, it's me then! Hm, nope! I've been tasked to guide this young lady to your humble abode so that she may get the treatment she needs from your illustrious doctors! And should you be too busy, I'll escort her back to her lair!" final bow, in tandem with Max, even though her helmet proceeded to fall off her head. The guard seemed slightly put-off by the collaboration between a local and a soldier of the NCR, but he did not question it. Perhaps he knew that good things can simply happen in the wastes, with nary a second motive?

"Fine, fine. You'll get in," he stepped aside to let them pass but pointed at Max once she was satisfyingly closer. "Please, do not ask us to lower our prices because you're "helping out," and don't think that being in the journal makes you liable to get free stuff," then it was Veronica's turn, the man hesitating slightly beforehand. "Nice car."

"Thanks! So it'd be nice if you could shield it from raiding strangers while I'm busy. It won't take long!" The bald man nodded and took up his weapon, letting them pass. The other guards kept an eye on the duo but resumed looking out as well.

"Oh, right! You were on that journal! You're a bit of celebrity, Maxxie!" Veronica almost smacked the private in the arm but settled with a very gentle tap. Besides being thin, Max's body was still reeling from the damage it had taken earlier, and who knew what even a light slap to the back would do.

"Is it? I never really read the journal," Max shrugged, "nor did the others particularly treat me differently. I was really messed up that day, so maybe it's because of that?" she reached for her throat to stroke it… and hissed in pain, as the pain around her neck area flared on contact. It's where that Fiend had hit her.

"Maybe they were jealous of you?" Veronica opened the doors leading to the clinic, leading to the reception room. Two guards were standing by the door. Another was sitting on a chair in front of it, with a revolver on his hip. The last hung out on a doorway leading deeper into the building, serving as the last defense if an attacker got in. There weren't that many patients eager for a check-up besides a man and a woman in grey drabs, a tall man in civilian clothing and a beret, another man in a black suit and sunglasses, and a blonde woman in a fancy red case. It was barely tarnished by the wear and tears that defined those costumes usually: She had to be from somewhere important. Most people tend to get sand stuck to their clothing by that time. But at least she believed herself to be important. She had that behavior that the folks from New Reno or the Hub had, at times. They think money's a reason to be respected on its own, and when they face what they perceived to be disrespect, like a kindly clerk somewhere in the desert not immediately knowing their names…

"I require immediate treatment! Immediate, I say! I was heading back from the Strip when one of those… lowlives at Freeside got within two meters of me! I immediately withdrew, but I simply cannot go back home without being assured that I am not ill!" she held her hand at a bandaged spot on her arm. "Provide me with the Stimpaks I will need to carry on through my journey back home!"

"Stimpaks can't be used to fix diseases, ma'am. They speed up the body's regenerative process, but to eradicate any potential diseases more easily, you may need medicine, um… "she marked a pause, wondering if she was about to make the situation worse with her next words, but decided to go in. "... "May" because I'm not sure you could get a disease from this, with all due respect. A lot of the poor souls at Freeside tend to suffer from drug withdrawal, and that isn't something you can easily transmit to another by touch, especially with tissue on the way."

"I just knew he had to suffer from something else! My arm felt very cold afterward!" Max and Veronica watched bemusedly before acquiring their own seats. Or at least Veronica did since one of the guards silently intercepted Max with a gentle hand to the right shoulder. He leaned in and waited for the clerk to answer before speaking up. It'd offer a brief lull.

"I would request you to give your guns away during visits. The sight of firearms could unnerve the patients, and we find it better for them to be generally kept out of reach." Max could understand, mainly because the look on that man was damning. But what if a group of Fiends got daring? What if they'd need help in dealing with errant Vipers or Jackals, perhaps less aggressive and fearsome than Fiends but dangerous all the same? The minute she'd let go of that weapon, she would be Max Doleetle, a mere Private First Class, with glass ribs and thin arms.

"N-no, I'm fine. I'll keep it out of his sight…" she mumbled out. Veronica, a bit further in the room, silently nodded at Max, inviting her to comply. She could handle herself, right? If she saw Fiends or anything else, she'd get rid of them. So it was perhaps safe to give the gun away, for now. Max sighed in reluctance, but the guard found himself with the rifle at hands soon enough, somberly looking at all the notches carved on the butt of the rifle. On the left side… and the right, as well. For one second, the private feared that he would turn the weapon on her next, but he merely put it aside in a locker, close to the entrance, and silently took up her sidearms. It would've been perhaps efficient to hide it? No... Too suspicious to do that.

If a group were to break in… no, it's better to keep stressful ideas out. Max observed her neighbor to the left, guessing that a conversation would be rather awkward given the current events. The man had a grey suit on and was not in a bad state either. He was tapping a nice pair of sunglasses against his right knee, the rhythm amplifying slightly with the intensity of the conversation nearby. He looked older than her and was clean-shaven, with a jaw as mighty as a rock. The haircut being a buzz was also damning in its way: The guy had to be a First Recon! There was the grey beret, the sunglasses, the generally aloof mannerisms, all of that extra mysterious aura! She'd never approached them at all beforehand. Firstly because she had other matters to attend to, secondly because she wondered what a mere trooper could say to them, thirdly because Emma told her to focus on...

The weight in her stomach came right back. Max pressed her hands against it, meaning to suppress the stress by... she didn't know what she was doing, really. Still, Max liked to imagine she could eventually grasp all that inner negativity and put it out of her body. Heh, maybe if she believed hard enough in it, it'd work? And then a sharp pain repelled that effort, and Max slumped forward in her seat, feeling both stress and pain down in her stomach. Veronica, silent thus far, winced in sympathy and laid a hand on Max's shoulder. "Don't give these poor doctors more work to do, Maxxie!" she chastised, her tone flippant yet concerned. Max nodded silently and waited for the pain to pass before speaking up. And that woman's "banter" didn't help at all with that! God! Emma would have knocked her out by now. And that man on her left was all but ready to pick that torch in her absence.

"H-hey, you there..." Max eventually called out to him, speaking in hushed tones to avoid getting dragged into that mess. He didn't turn his head to face his interlocutor, but his eyes set upon her regardless. Fair to assume she had his attention. "She's loud, r-right? Must be a Hub-Head." It was said in a friendly manner, in case he turned out to be from the Hub. Shady Sands, Max's home state, and the Hub considered themselves the most significant and mightiest states of the Republic. They often clashed on the matters of the trade routes and caravans. The woman didn't care too much about judging people from other states, perceiving the NCR as a big collective whole instead of five separate states with their own interests and politics. Still, she liked to collect those nicknames as a source of banter.

Five awkward seconds ensued before he smiled; it looked strained. "Hub-heads, yeah. You're a Shadist too?" Max nodded very fast, and his body language visibly relaxed as he put on the sunglasses again. He kept tapping his foot but occasionally stopped before doing it again.

"Y-yeah!" The trooper tried not to be too loud, but she was appreciative of seeing a fellow Shady. "How's the state back at home?"

"It's... same old, urm, there are cinemas now!" Max raised her arms in front of her body and separated them to show some width. "They pay people to pretend to be real people or not and amuse us. It's hilarious. W-well, that's in the main city though, I don't think it's there in others."

"Sounds fun... Haven't been home for a while."

"Why?" the brunette earnestly asked, truly confounded. "I mean to say, why are you still in the Mojave?" his smile dropped, and Max feared that she'd accidentally angered him. He didn't help his case by leaning in closer, only stopping when she could see his eyes past the sunglasses. Empty orbs, less alive than the artificial eyes that some ghouls or veterans had. It was scarier than any Fiends, like the fire behind them had been snuffed out to leave those two shells behind.

"Wherever I go, whatever I do, I will always be in the Mojave," he said. The guy likely meant to be cryptic, and he would have been a few weeks back, but Max understood his words ever so slightly now as if her past trauma could translate him. He seemed to pick up on that, too, even if his expression hardly changed. "You... so young, but you already understand."

"We're both here for the same reason, aren't we?" Max answered, her tone losing its mirth. He grunted dismissively at those words and slunk back into his chair.

"Do not compare our plights!" Max blinked, snapped out of her quasi-trance by his words. "... I'm sorry. It's good to see that you're taking steps to take care of your trauma," he eased up slowly. "I didn't, and look at where I am now." The Private glanced at Veronica and thought of asking her if she sounded the same only a mere hour or so ago. Whatever happened here, she needed to properly thank the scribe for her efforts. Why not give away half her entire sum of caps? Fifty percent for her family at home, fifty percent for Veronica. And before she could weigh in on giving a bit more to one side or the other, one of the guards suddenly entered the room.

Max's attention immediately snapped towards him and the opened door, and she feared that he'd deliver tales of a raider horde or sudden Super Mutant invasions. Her two neighbors remained calm but settled their sights on that guard as well. He was the bald guy from earlier.

"We're going to need two pairs of hands, so it'd be nice if the medical students could come and help," the woman opened her mouth, angered at the interruption, but he simply held his finger to her lips. "Quiet, you. Whatever status you have back at the Hub means jackshit here." The woman froze, almost catatonic, and her bodyguard got up to drag her out of the clinic. Everybody else sighed in relief.

The clerk wiped her forehead with a handkerchief and then proceeded to put it away. "Their consultations and Usanagi's should be done. Thanks, and by the way," the guard shrugged at the clerk's gratitude. "What's the matter?"

"The Freeside Followers have supplies to spare now apparently," Max's eyebrows furrowed at that. Weren't they scrambling for those when she visited? It wasn't that long. "They've got a guardian angel to help them out, and he's a part of the group coming here too." The guard motioned for visitors and entered a ghoul dressed in cowboy garbs. Regretfully, Max could identify him as such because of the smell, hardly tolerable even in the wastes, where there's hardly any soap to spare. He otherwise took good care of covering himself up in clothing, presumably because any displaced sand to the skin would be extraordinarily painful. While she at first thought he looked intimidating, especially with his face mask on, he proceeded to turn to the whole room and tipped his hat at them.

"Howdy," the ghoul greeted. "I'm Wayne. Don't mind or look at me because otherwise, you may need more hours of therapy."

"So that's the Followers clinic?" Yet another ghoul entered the room, and a few of the Wastelanders began to choke. Veronica, Max, and the mysterious man held up, though Max was brought close to her limit. But still, she didn't want to look bigoted in front of them, so she held firm and remembered that she once fought in Fiend territory, so she had experience with worse! "Hey! I'm the new guy around here! I'll put on some cologne, and it'll be alright!" both Ghouls looked at that, though Wayne's was barely a chuckle. More human followers walked forth, carrying wooden crates into the clinic. To the other ghoul's credit, he got to work on helping them out as soon as he could. The cowboy one simply moved to a corner and stood there, keeping his arms folded over his chest. A few more Followers walked from the back to help as well. And patients stuck to weaving around the crates on their way out, apparently not interested in helping out. The private was about to chide one when she noticed her two arms were missing.

So, with little to do, Max got up and approached one of the crate carriers to wrap her arms around the wooden box. "Let me give you a..." a nervous glance at the armless man later. "Let me help!"

Veronica got up as well, intent on helping out. Those people needed help, and Pvt. Doleetle could have a little workout, so it was fine, right? But then, as soon as she prepared to do it, she noticed the identity of one of the carriers: A tall, blond guy, with thick rectangular glasses...

Arcade, the guy from the Fort, was standing right in front of Max, as surprised as she was. "Private Doleetle?"

She heard the cowboy ghoul chuckle again.

...

And now, let's catch back with the adventures of Dashing Dick and the

Lost Treasure of the Sierra Madre!

"Well, butter my butt and eat it with marmalade, folks. The treasure was real, after all! So much gold bars a whole army of Super Mutants would be struggling to take it all away!"

"Good heavens!"

"Ain't it a bit ironic, Lacey, Goofy Joe, Charlantaplan? All those searches and the treasure is damn too big! Now that's a thing that I'd cry about! But actually, there won't be a single tear that'll be leaving Dashing Dick's eyeball today, gentlemen and lady! I say our teamwork and friendships are more valuable than any damn gold bar ol' Sinclair has gotten under the sun!"

"Bark, bark!"

"Indeeeeddd Dashing Dick! The last part of the puzzle required all four of us to trust each other and step on the right buttons together! I think the message here is that our friendship is more precious than one gold bear, a hundred gold bars, or more: ten gold bars!"

"Yeah, that's what I said, Lacey. Urm! Goofy Joe! My good friend! What is your opinion on this? Your chatterbox has been a nothingbox since we entered the vault room!"

"What I think is I want dat treasure! I'll bring back a whole army to undig it! The real treasure all along is our friendship? To hell with that! I can't pay for super extra jewels with dem friendship!"

"Gooooofy Joe! Nooooo! What are you doing!"

"Bark! Bark!"

"Goofy Joe in the name of holy thunder above what are you doing with that damn peashooter of ya?"

"Hahahahahahaha... I'm erasing your names from history, folks! Let the future books only acknowledge me, and me, and ME ALONE as the one who discovered the treasure! You all will be mere... collaterals, hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

*click, click, click*

"HELL AND DAMNATION WHAT IS THIS?!"

"I swiped the bullets away while you were distracted, Fiend! But here's something that I'll never run out of! KNUCKLES!"

POW!

PAM!

BIM!

"AURURUFHGHRHGHHHHGHGHHHHHHGNRHG!"

"I knew he was too poor to be honest... Goodbye, Goofy Joe! Pay a salute to ol' Sinclair on the way out!"

"Bark! Bark!"

A narrow yet dashing escape! But will Dashing Dick, Lacey, Charlantanplan, and their new friend Victor survive the wrath of untamed ZION next time?!

...

Low key unsatisfied with the chapter ending! But it looks like you were correct on some things adel! Thank you three for reviewing my work! It's heartwarming to have such in-depth theories and opinions from y'all here! I was so happy to read them all! I'm glad you're finding Max enjoyable too, and I'll be working on fixing the flaws you've described as well!

Here's chapter 19! Some characters are reunited today, including no less than two companions! And in about two chapters, a major game character will be appearing! Can you guess which? I can only hope to live up to his canon writing.

See you later!