It's a bit like really yelling it out with somebody one night, swearing to never see them again, and then stumbling into an encounter with them at the store the next day. Well, she hadn't yelled at Arcade or vice-versa, and it wasn't exactly the next day either, nor was it a store, but it was all the same to Max.
Arcade had given them instructions, they'd defied them, and the base chatters and patrols sent to Freeside had taught her that the scene didn't do much to favor the NCR settlers still there. She knew from the other soldiers that the situation in Freeside had grown a bit worse. The NCR found itself sending more and more soldiers to patrol the place. While those patrols kept their fists well away from the locals, their presence was more than enough to spark defiance and anger out of them. After all, Max and Emma didn't do much to endear themselves to the inhabitants of the slums. They'd threatened people, beaten up some poor street kids... There were many things that she still felt guilty of doing, even with her lack of remorse over the matter of Dixon. And knowing that the kindly Followers were dealing with the consequences of her mistakes didn't sit too well with her.
Having him appear in front of Max like that was ironic. The universe's way of telling her to shape up and stop fleeing from her responsibilities. Would he spill the beans on her involvement? The locals hadn't identified them, and their fellow troopers thankfully didn't care enough to report them to the top brass over their actions, but Arcade knew. But now that he was in front of her, he could use this opportunity to denounce her to the rest of the clinic. Max could picture it. He'd tell everyone this, Usanagi would kick her out, and Veronica would drag her back to McCarran and drop her off there in utter shame. And Doleetle couldn't properly criticize them for this, couldn't she? It was her mistake that was dooming the settlers.
"… Well, what are you staring at me for, private?" Arcade reached to pull Max out of her doomsday scenario. "It's fine and dandy to stand there holding the crate, but I need it in the back of the clinic." The PFC methodically walked along with the men carrying the wooden instrument, attempting to hold it up as much as she could in her current state. But it wasn't a big clinic at all, so it took about ten seconds of moving about down a short hallway before they walked into a storage room, where the crew deposited the cargo. They then prepared to leave and assist the others but noticed Veronica walking down the same hallway lugging two whole crates over her shoulders, looking barely bothered. Stunned by this, the brunette had to be walked out of the storage by Arcade, lest she ends up in Veronica's way. The third of the carriers took a quiet look at this and proceeded to walk out, throwing his arms high into the air.
"… How'd you do this?" Eventually, mumbled out Max, closing her wide-open jaw with her fist.
"By ingesting a copious amount of steroids, of course!" Veronica gave her a sly wink, not anticipating that Max would perhaps take it seriously. She didn't, but that was after about three seconds of doubting. "I'll take care of the rest of the delivery. How about you two use that free time to discuss of one topic or two? You looked really confused when Mister…."
The blond fixed his glasses. "Arcade." His awe was more subdued yet evident.
"Right. How about you settle something while I take care of things? It's my treat, really." Veronica walked into the storage room, and Arcade waited for her to politely settle down the crates before talking. He apparently had been wondering if she'd get them down nicely or just toss them to the ground.
"Oh, there won't be much to discuss. I've met this woman before and helped her out at the Fort when she looked for directions. We simply weren't anticipating meeting one another again!" The egghead stared at Max, silently asking her to confirm what he said. A part of the woman thought it was terrible of her to do this and that she ought to come clean about her impulsive and poor choices at Freeside, but the rest of her would later deal with that baggage in more emotionally favorable circumstances. So she laughed loudly and tried to wrap her arm around his shoulders, only to realize that his height was too high for that. So she settled for his stomach.
"Haha yeah! I asked him hhhhuhhhh directions, and he gave me a map of things! He's a good friend to the Republic!" The blond groaned slightly, and Max pulled her arm back, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "… Did I do it too much?"
"A tiny bit," From elsewhere in the hallway, a woman walked out of one of the rooms. She looked about slightly older than Veronica but was about the same size as Max. Like most of the Followers, her clothes were a bit ragged here and there, and she had bags under her eyes, but that didn't stop her from almost looking regal in contrast to her surroundings. She walked out just in time to see Veronica lugging around two more crates and tilted her head to the side in admiration and surprise. "Ah, Usanagi! Over here!" Arcade waved her over. Distracted, Max saluted the Doctor as she walked in.
"Ah, hello, Arcade! Julie told me you were carrying out shipments now!" Usanagi's vision swept over the two, and she pointedly stopped to look at Max for a little while. Still, that topic would apparently be kept for later. "But I've heard the Freeside situation is pretty overwhelming! Are you sure you want to give all those supplies away?"
"We had a negotiator handle things with the Garrets, long story short. And no, I have no idea how he did it," Arcade said, nodding at Usanagi's surprised reaction. "Julie was reluctant, of course, and none of us were that happy to work with them… But with the circumstances being what they are, it was hardly an opportunity to refuse. It's become easier to produce supplies and distribute them as a result, but we need to take care of the Atomic Wrangler's stills."
"I see… That's odd; I'd never imagined the Garrets could be convinced into working with us," Usanagi stroked her chin, thoughtful of the matter. She then smiled slightly at Arcade. "Would you mind if I borrowed that negotiator?"
"They've done great harm to Freeside, but at least we can do some good out of it," Arcade shrugged, sounding unconvinced by his own rhetoric." If you want to speak to him, he should be at the entrance."
"I'll greet him. He's done good for us," Usanagi pondered while glancing at Max, putting on a friendly smile. "Hello, Private Doleetle. Welcome to our humble abode," She smiled a bit more while speaking, and her tone became a little bit softer too. Were Max's issues this obvious? "We Followers and the NCR do not quite see eye to eye, but if it's treatment you seek, we won't turn you down." The private didn't say a thing, but it was nonetheless very comforting to hear that out of the good Doctor. She stood up even straighter as if a literal weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Veronica smiled.
"Thank you, doctor Usanagi!" Max almost saluted but froze her arm mid-motion and set it down. Should she let Veronica handle it? Certainly not. It already felt a bit humiliating for Max to have Veronica sitting down next to her as if they were mother and young daughter visiting the Doctor. She appreciated Veronica's efforts, she indeed did, but she had to establish independence or risk not being taken seriously. Her mental health was at stake. Why shouldn't she handle it? "I would like an appointment. I think I'm suffering from…." What did that guy say earlier on? "… Post-traumatic stress disorder." Arcade lowered his head very slightly, and Usanagi nodded.
"That can be as bad as any physical injury. I'll make time on my schedule for you." Max struggled not to hug either Follower at this point and guessed it may be awkward to do it to Veronica in front of a room full of strangers, so she refrained from saluting. For the briefest of moments, that concentration of stress vanished from her entrails, reminding her of what it felt like to live a life without constant stress dawning on her. The brunette would've jumped about the entire room and kissed those two ghouls if she could! "In fact, I could do it right now! My assistants will provide care for the other patients in the meantime. What would an hour-long session be like for you? We'll get to know each other, and there'll be enough time for us to get to your issue. Would you be alright with that?"
There were a lot of factors to this decision. Like ensuring she could walk back to McCarran with no accidents after the session, for instance. She could always hitch a ride on a caravan, perhaps? With the downfall of the Fiends, it had become much easier for them to reach the military base. But… Nah, Max didn't quite think of that yet. She sought good news, and she'd gotten one of the biggest of them all, so she temporarily put it all aside for later. Let Future Max be the one to realize, "Oh crap, how do I get back to the base?" while Present Max gets to enjoy something going right to her for once. Seriously, with her current unfortunate streak, it was a miracle that Usanagi didn't reveal herself to be a very deep-undercover Frumentarii before attacking. "Thank you!" Max said, barely struggling to contain her joys at the news. She gripped her own arms to avoid spazzing out… or to anchor her body to the ground. That sudden lightness made the private feel like she could fly out of the clinic at any time. It was only in these moments that she realized that the feeling of being happy at all had become unusual to the soldier.
"I'll need to first talk to that gentleman who helped us out, but we can start as soon as I'm ready," Usanagi gave Max a polite smile, amused by the soldier's great enthusiasm, and gave Arcade a glance. "Arcade, what do you plan on doing? We'd appreciate any help, but the situation at Freeside still has to be complicated."
"There's a ghoul from Freeside," Arcade pointed over Usanagi's shoulder, and there stood the smaller ghoul, waving them over. "His name is… Ron. Our good Samaritan would like him to join the Followers, and we've been told that you're still looking for students. Ron is enthusiastic and has some solid bases in medicine. Still, if you want, I could attempt to instruct him on our teachings…." The blond tugged on his collar. "Even though I doubt I could do too good of a job."
"The name used to be Rotface, but would you trust a doctor with that kind of name? I sure wouldn't!" Commented the ghoul from down the hallway.
"That would be good. I can always make room for one more student. Welcome aboard, Ron!" The ghoul performed a thumb-up gesture, looking happy to be doing something good. Max smiled slightly at it. She liked ghouls! They know many things about how the world used to be, and it's not their fault if they look a little off like that. "And as for you, Arcade, say hello to Julie when you get back. I'd send back supplies or help of my own if I could but…."
"Think nothing of it," He reassured with a gentle nod. "We have the means to keep our head up for now. At least, I can leave Freeside with no fear of the Fort going under. There's not much use I can provide there, at least. Would you mind if I stick around for a little bit? I can sleep on the floor if needed." Usanagi gave a little laugh. Max decided that she had better things to do than be a fly on the wall.
With a polite "thank you," the private first class walked out of the hallway along with that ghoul and reached the reception. "Ron," as he had called himself, immediately walked towards that cowboy friend of his.
"I've made it! They've accepted me!"
"Congratulations, brother!" Wayne gave Ron a firm handshake. Max looked on, hoping Veronica wouldn't do the same. Good lord, that woman could crush her hand!
"She said yes! And the session's due for a few minutes!" Max announced to Veronica, unconsciously imitating Ron. The scribe held her hand up in answer, and it took Max five awkward seconds to realize that she meant to perform a high-five gesture. The brunette made up for that by slamming her palm into Veronica's like a Cazador had landed on it. Reassuringly, Veronica only laughed at that.
"Very nicely done, Max! I guess I can leave now since everything's well-handled!" Veronica pondered for a bit. "… It'll last for one hour, right? I think I'll be knee-deep in sociopathic chem-addicts by then. You'll need to hitch another ride…." Veronica scratched the back of her head and gave Max a wry smile.
"… I'll solve that problem, don't worry!" the soldier lied, not knowing (not caring yet) about how she'd get back. She could hitch a patrol, maybe? Get a caravan? She'd figure it out.
Veronica didn't seem convinced by her rebuttal. "I could get Hsu to…."
"… I'll handle it," the two women glanced at the man in the beret, who was still on his seat. He hadn't moved a muscle for the duration of Max's absence, and his eyes were firmly set on a wall away from them. "I'm popular with caravans. I'll get you to hitch a ride on one," as he spoke, he dug into his breast pocket to pull out an ID card of a sort. "KEBAN, INGRAM" the letters next to his picture said. It had to be taken a while ago: The man in that picture had a smile on his face, and there was still life in his eyes. A person's hand was on his shoulder, albeit it was barely on the frame. The symbol of Crimson Caravan was imprinted on the front of the card, along with a bunch of red stamps marks. These were also all over the back of the card, but smaller, with barely any space left for them. Max whistled.
"You're an accomplished guard, I see!" She said, placing her hands on her hips, already glad to have her problem solved.
The corner of his lips shifted upwards very slightly. "A bit. I shoot raiders here and there. Take it as an assurance that I'm not planning to kidnap and rape you, hehe… heh…." Max and Veronica blinked twice, taken aback. "Sorry…" he pulled the card back into his pocket. And Max chuckled slightly, looking to shave off the awkwardness. Veronica didn't seem convinced either way, but it was perhaps better not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Still, she would definitely get one of the guards to see if he wouldn't lead Max in the wrong direction.
Oddly, this random trooper amongst many got the scribe to behave almost like a concerned mother. Maybe Max's baby-faced naivety got to her. Perhaps Veronica wanted to change someone for the better as a test before attempting to change her entire two-centuries organization. If left alone for long enough, she could even convince herself that Max was her first friend, or at least close contact, in a little while. With the Courier being, to put it mildly, a violent dunce, she'd come to enjoy Max's sweetness. Or, and that was the point where she considered getting an appointment with Usanagi as well, she could relate to suddenly losing someone dear to you and desperately adapting to a world without them. And at least Christine had to still be alive…
"It's fine. I found it funny!" Max lied, but he still smiled back politely. "So, what are you going to do next, Vero… Can I call you that?"
"Hmmm, that's sweet, but if I could pick a name, I'd like Vee!" Max accepted it without a fuss, and Veronica winked at her in appreciation. "Oh, I'm going to fetch the Courier, and we'll continue our little quest. It means going to Fiend territory, but at this point, I pity them more than I pity the old lug!" the scribe couldn't tell Max where she was going next. God knows it'd be distressing for her to learn of the Vault operation. Only two people –with a heavy chance of the other person turning on her mid-battle- against an underground bunker full of homicidal goons loaded up on the most eyeball-popping drugs to be dug out of the radioactive sand? That's a tall order.
"He has to be pretty strong if you say that! I'm glad you're keeping a leash on him!" Max answered, giving her a wide grin.
She could just ask Max to give her enough caps to complete the Securitron's demands via the reward for Nephi… but that'd felt manipulative. Making a friend out of someone, getting them to trust you, and then asking for a prize. It was an Elijah move, and Veronica would much rather not prove too good of a student in his case. Not the most brilliant move from a pragmatic point of view, but justifying everything as something that "needs to be done" is how some of the Elders of the Brotherhood ended up going wrong.
"But do leave some for me, alright?" Max pointed to the locker, where her gun had been sealed. "…Oh! And by the way!" the trooper approached Veronica by the ear and whispered, fearfully handing out glances everywhere around her. "The mole's name is Picus! Use that if you're sent to take care of our mole problem! I'm sorry I can't do more…."
Veronica leaned back in and silently moved her hand, acknowledging the info. "If you want to reward me, you could do it by getting better! Let those bags under your eyes be bygones by the time we meet again, Private Doleetle!" she spoke, attempting to imitate the way Hardin or Paladin Jenna sometimes talked to her. The chest all stuck out, and the vocal cords strained, bringing forth a voice fitting to intimidate a roomful of undisciplined recruits.
"Yes, sir!" Max saluted, and unlike Veronica, it probably wasn't done in jest. Nonetheless, the scribe walked out of the clinic and waited for the doors to be closed before she turned to the bald guard from earlier. His vision was fixated on her car as much as it was fixated on finishing up the delivery from Freeside via Brahmin. While its load was taken off, a few handlers were feeding and taking care of the placid animal. "Excuse me, there's a man inside the clinic. Have you seen him interact with the caravans outside or…."
"Ingram?" he gave her a knowing look. "Yeah. He's a bit off, but I've seen him arrive or leave by being picked up by the Caravans. I don't think the girl will struggle much with getting one if she wants it to," Veronica couldn't help but notice the disdain in his voice when Ingram's name came up. He spoke like speaking the word alone would fill his throat with a fast-acting acid. "A killer for the Republic than a killer for the big companies choking the life out of this desert. It's like he doesn't get the point of the therapy…."
"Not a star around the clinic, is it?" Veronica walked up to the vehicle and opened the door, already getting in. Another boon to traveling with Max: There is no need to clean the car to get rid of the stench of blood or… ugh, organs. Even bones at times.
He shrugged. "There's squads patrolling this area as well. The Crimson Caravan got them to patrol around Freeside and their offices. I assume some strings had to be pulled for that. It does mean that she could join up with the other soldiers."
"Excellent! Hey! If you tell her about it, I'll give you the car for a short ride next week!" His hatchet face lit up instantly at that, this answer being a better "Yes" than anything he could've said, and Veronica kept that in mind as her car roared out of the clinic's area and headed back into Fiend territory outside. Back into that world where it was her and a man with troubling hunger issues against the most vicious raiders this side of Colorado. Already, she missed not only Max but also the Followers' kindness and relative organization. The complete opposite of the Brotherhood: They had little to start with, but they shared what they could with the Wastelanders. They'd stumble at times, like with the Khans… but seeing clinics like this gave her hope. And she clung unto that hope as she headed out for a dark land where none was to be found.
"Good luck, Private Doleetle!"
…
Max sat back down next to Ingram, already missing Veronica. Obviously, the guards there would put up a fight, and obviously, the Fiends and even Jackals never roamed close to this place. But it was dangerous to be without weapons in the Mojave. She learned that much. And quickly breaching past the guards would grant the invaders lockers full of weapons to use on their bloody journey on top of that! But she didn't think of this, deeming it easier to do her therapy without the specter of stress looming overhead. Instead, Max thought of the future ahead of her, the therapy session, the ceremony… God, that was stressful, but it kind of made the Californian laugh. She hoped that one of her friends would see it on the news or even TV. Or better, she could sneak in a bit of an in-joke in there if she's allowed to make a speech!
"Those marks on your rifle… When did you carve those?" Ingram was looking at Max. As usual with him, his expression was unreadable, and his eyes certainly didn't move behind those shades, but his flat voice betrayed a very slight hint of curiosity. The Private adjusted herself in her seat, the happy thoughts fading away into fresh memories.
"I did it… yesterday. I've got a knife. But I didn't think of bringing it with me," Max still tapped the empty sheath on her right hip, where the blade would've been at. It wasn't the kitchen knife that Emma had given her, destroyed during her fight with Nephi. She regretted it, in hindsight, since she could've kept the weapon and reminded herself of her victory over that dull brute. "I kept track of the Fiends I killed, and I carved it in, for every one of them I've killed. It was… a busy day!" She gave a slight smile and grasped her legs a little bit harder at the memories. It had been immensely satisfying, for her, to put a bullet in the heads of those degenerate chem-addicts. Every dead Fiend meant one less dead trooper and one less broken family back at home. Some would say that it was terrible to act on such principles, but each successful headshot liberated her a little. Indeed, had Veronica attempted to drag her to the clinic a day earlier, she would have been much sourer about it.
People often lecture one another about wrath and revenge being destructive for the soul. It keeps you going. That much was true, but you get nothing back, and you only spread more purposeless mayhem… but she disagreed on that. When she was at that tower, shooting down the scum from above, she could feel herself suffer less and less from her injuries, like the pain was transmitted to the raiders. Besides, while it was revenge, no one would miss these dead Raiders, right? It was righteous justice, not a purposeless slaughter.
But still, Max knew that it was uncanny to think that way, so she hadn't yet shared it with Veronica. Because she feared that she'd end up thinking she was crazy or something and would leave her, as they often did. But Ingram seemed like a like-minded fellow! He knew what it felt like to be behind a scope and align a raider's head with the cannon of your gun. He'd tasted that raw power of being able to end someone else's life from afar without giving them any opportunity to be aware of their impending doom, let alone defend themselves. And because of that, she did something she wouldn't have done if her interlocutor was Nolan, Veronica, or even Hsu: the private leaned in until her lips were close to his ears. "… but if you ask me? It wasn't busy enough." Max leaned back in, satisfied with her answer. It felt good to confide in it with another soldier, but she didn't want to drive away from the people still close to her either. And will the Followers are a kindly bunch, they could deny her on the grounds of enjoying the act of murdering another human being, even if the "victim" would have the entire clinic's personnel and patients brutally raped and slain in a heartbeat.
In answer to her confession, he didn't emote at all. She learned that much from him during their brief interactions. His lips eventually parted. "… Looks like I'm staring into a mirror."
"You used to be a pretty Californian girl?" Max answered, his answer dialing her back. He was neither approving nor disapproving, simply blank. In many aspects, it was like talking to a statue.
"Ah!" he "laughed," very slightly moving the corner of his right lip. "Not quite, but they sure flocked to me when I was your age… still having hair probably helped with that," He passed a hand over his bald scalp. Max raised one of her eyebrows, silently asking for elaboration. He delivered but seemed pleased to have her confused. "I was a part of 1st recon," his flat delivery intensified a bit at the "was," and she understood what the grey beret meant. "The last thing you never see… I was a part of some rather prestigious operations, you know? I fought at Lake Wildwood, Hydra, the attempted sacking of Floriston… then I moved to the even sandier parts of the country. Operation Sunburst, the First Battle of Hoover Dam…"
Max knew that he had to be a veteran, but a guy who fought at Hydra? She'd never have guessed! That was a pretty old operation against the dreaded "Hands of Hecate," Vipers serving the whims of a mad tribal deep in the Sierra Nevada's mountains. While they were well-encroached and cunning, the stories tell that the Rangers and sharpshooters of the NCR turned their strengths against them, burying their camps under tons and tons of rocks and shooting out the stragglers from a safe vantage point until they were no longer a menace. The last bit sparked some controversy in the press since it was argued that the Vipers were no longer a threat, but Max, with her current hindsight into raiders, knew that it was a wise course of action. They'd merely group again if left alone, after all.
With their defeat of the stronghold, named after a titanic snake from the tales of the Old World, the Vipers finally crumbled as a raiding force of any importance.
"It was good, I'll admit that much," seeing that the wastelanders nearby were shuffling, he lowered the volume by a little, to a point where Max had to lean in. "I shot a Paladin through the vision slits with armor-piercing ammo… killed some raider jackass mid-speech to his men… I figured, with every dead son of a bitch in my wake, I'd bring more democracy to this land, right?" Max tilted her head, already feeling somewhat called out. "And then I quit. Honorably discharged for about ten years of service. I was told that I could now leave and go waste my money on New Reno. Or pick a farm near Modoc and tend to Brahmins. A crazy guy in my crew even said he wanted to check out Washington D.C, all the way to the East coast. I said no to all of them and returned to the Mojave to settle there."
"At the risk of repeating myself, why?" asked Max, who had been interested in his story so far. Could there be tips for him to share? For a veteran to a rookie? What crazy hijinks did he get up to in Hoover Dam, HELIOS One? He hadn't shared his whole life story, and she could understand it, they barely knew one another after all, but she was still disappointed.
"I told ya," he gave her that glance again. "I shed too much blood in that damn sand. Mine or others. I'm bound to it now. No matter where I go… it calls to me," Max nodded in understanding but glanced around the room. She thought they were kindred spirits, but the more he talked, the more she realized the very necessity of his presence in the clinic. "The home I used to inhabit before I left is as foreign a place as anything else. I do not remember the names or faces of people I think I once cherished. Only in the Mojave do I feel whole. But it's a lie. A trick. It's merely absorbed me into its fold. Like it's doing to the whole Republic or Legion."
He glanced down at Max and laid a cold hand on her left shoulder. She'd be more at ease if one of the two ghouls in the clinic was doing that to her. "I've seen the tally marks. You may have a bit of a gift, Private First Class Doleetle. But-"
"I don't think I've got a gift," Max said, perhaps more brusquely than she meant to. Gently, yet firmly, she grabbed his hand with her own and prepared to move it. "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't missed a critical shot. I'm not 1st recon material, mister Keban. I'm working on it, and I'm glad to be acknowledged by a skillful veteran such as yourself…." The sharpshooter aimed to deal with the situation respectfully, like a true soldier would, but the brief shaking in her hand and voice betrayed her true feelings on the matter. And she prayed that he'd be too deep on his spiritual nonsense to notice her current weakness. "… But I'll have to ask you to remove your hand off my shoulder, please!"
"You're right on that." He removed his hand from her shoulder after looking at her for a good six seconds. "It's not a gift. It's a curse. It dooms us to lead violent lives. I speak from experience, you know? I could never work a field or tend to livestock, but I could shoot better and farther than the other guys on the ranch. You may doubt it-" he said, noticing her doubting frown. "But it's the truth. Your talent probably had to be nurtured a little, but it's beginning to emerge. You're going to spend your life making everyone else's a little bit shorter."
"Shoot Fiends in the head," Max replied, letting her raw instinct handle things. "… And never miss again when someone needs."
"It's the former that'll drive you, do not try to pretend otherwise," he chided at her. His facial expressions, tone, and body language gained in intensity by the second but remained composed. "I know what's going on in your head. You're humoring the crazy near-homeless war veteran because you know you'll never make his mistakes. You're young, spry, got a nice friend or two to fall back on… but think of these tally marks, alright? Meticulously add a new one per dead Raider. Make it extra-large if it was an important kill. Even throw a party when you get to the triple-digit. But keep it in mind. T-try to remember each scream."
"I-it would make the gun look very odd for sure." Max moved to get up from her seat, and he too raised from his seat, locking eyes with her.
"When you'll cut short yet another life… I want you to think back of the tally marks and the moment where you lost track of them!" Max froze briefly. Wishing not to humor him, she smiled at the two wastelanders in rags and sat down next to them, in a tactical position away from Ingram. In him, she had hoped to find a kindred spirit, whom she could confide her darker thoughts with, but too many years underneath that Mojave sun had done something to his brain. She pitied him, still. This guy had been like her at a point. He'd enlisted to get himself a nice sum of cash or even see the world, landed himself a spot in a prestigious part of the army, second only to the Ranger in fame and skills, fought in the greatest and deadliest of battles this side of the Eastern Front. Yet, ultimately he was now freaking out at a clinic and being told to sit down by an exasperated guard and a really nervous-looking intern. The spectacle of it washed away any ill-feeling she might have had towards him, almost prompting the brunette to sit back up to try and intervene. The guard, however, rather sternly motioned for her to stand in her little corner. Would they blame her for his freakout?
The man protested some more, but to make up for their lack of a visible weapon, the guards in the clinic were about a head and a half taller and more muscular than he was. On the other hand, he was First recon, and he seemed to have lost little of his skills if he was still doing business in the Mojave. The way the idle chatter in the camp and even the likes of Emma described them, these guys' breakfast was dust and nails mixed together with the blood of their slain enemies with a touch of the salty tears of whoever survived their rampage. She imagined Ingram could manhandle everyone in that building at once if he wanted to… and promptly stopped thinking that since she was in the room as well.
Thoughts of getting beaten up by a crazed veteran… would she be like Ingram in a few years? A miserable wreck hassling younger soldiers eventually? No, Max shook her head. He believed in some mystical will to the desert, calling him back no matter what, but Doleetle knew that she'd be pretty happy to leave the damn place when it'd be the time to do so. Unlike him, however, she'd leave it a safer place for those of the Republic. It's the least she could do to carry on Emma's works, right?
"Ingram!" Usanagi rushed in from her office, accompanied by that tall ghoul. As soon as he got in sight of the Doctor, Ingram calmed down instantly and sat down with an apologetic little grin on his face. Seeing that he was calmed down, Usanagi crouched next to him and switched gears to concern, seeing that he was already cooled. "You're having one of these moments, again…" the Follower said, attempting not to sound too harsh on him.
"I'm sorry, doc, I…" the veteran gave Max a short glance to the side. "… I guess I had bad memories creeping up on me tonight."
"I think it's my fault." Max dared to intervene, sitting up from her seat. The whole room glanced at her, somewhat unnerving the private until she remembered that she's faced down Fiends and Khans ever since their arrival…
Immediately after that, Max remembered that her two big fights with the raiders sent her straight to the infirmary and many more straight to a grave, sending her confidence plummeting again. "I sat down next to him when I'm still in my uniform. I'm at fault here," she said, having gathered her remaining scraps of ego to stammer out an apology before sitting back down, having fumbled her big heroic moment.
"No one is at fault for anything," Usanagi reassured either. Max wasn't entirely convinced by it, being quite convinced that she must have messed something up in his own therapy. Usanagi had to be sneering at her from within, embarrassed at the soldier's thoughtless fumbling. The Doctor looked a little at the two Californians. "Ingram, would you like me to take care of your therapy for the day?" Max smiled, and quietly elbowed herself in the rib, perhaps displacing a few of her poor ribs at once. Good going, Private First Class Doleetle!"
"I'd like to," he said, nodding intently. "Could I take a bit of a breather beforehand, Doctor? I'm feeling a little bit tired in my old bones. D-down the knees, where a tribal tried to smash my leg in tiny little bits!" Ingram chuckled lightly at his attempted joke, and Usanagi rolled with it as well.
"Take your time. We won't be forcing you," moving smoothly, the Doctor then walked the way to Max, who froze up, already wondering if she was going to be scolded like a child. She kept herself as poker-faced as she possibly could, but Usanagi quickly saw through her façade and raised her hands to her chest as reassurance. "Don't feel too guilty about this, Max. Ingram is a… particular person, and you couldn't have known. He gets into these moods sometimes, so you didn't harm any progress at all, I promise."
Or did she? Perhaps Max's confession of her darker thoughts brought forth some of Ingram's own? She wouldn't admit it to Usanagi, either way, even when that one intern in the back looked like he really wanted her to do it. He looked a bit younger than Max, at about Conrad's age, but he'd shaved his head to put a bunch of hideous tattoos in it. The lights were a bit too dim to figure out their shapes, but Max didn't attach any particular importance to it. He was a threat to her visit here because he'd probably seen her whisper words to the patient shortly before he started to yell it out. What'd happen if they kicked her out? Veronica would be so disappointed coming back here and hearing that her little protégée stirred up troubles and got kicked out into the wastes.
Oh, and Max would perhaps not receive the treatment she sorely needs, but that seemed oddly secondary to her.
"… It's fine, we talked a little bit, and I must have been careless at points," Max answered, keeping one eye on Usanagi and the other past her shoulder at the young bald man. In the absence of any form of verbal protestation of his, she continued her story by joining her hands together. "I won't do it again, sorry, Mister Keban!" Ingram didn't say anything back, but she assumed that he was content with it.
"That's alright. You didn't mean to do harm," Usanagi said, satisfied at the drama is resolved. "Max, I'm going to take care of Ingram. But I've asked Arcade to help you with the therapy. He's had psychological training, and you seem to be both familiar with one another," the blond man did an enthusiastic wave of his hand in the back of the room. Max very politely waved back, with about similar grace. "Are you alright with that? I'm not prioritizing him over you, but…."
Max crossed her arms, wondering if she should fake outrage over that. Her common sense, for once, prevailed and told her not to. Having an NCR uniform probably damaged her cred enough, and the less attention she got, the better she'd feel. "I'm quite fine with that. I'm still grateful you're willing to take care of me when I'm a private and all!"
Usanagi got up and put her hands on her hips. "I'd have some very strong words with the NCR's upper brass, but I don't see any reason to refuse treatment. Again, Max, the Followers will not turn you down because you're wearing the colors of the Republic, don't forget that." Max smiled again, and her good mood from earlier seeped back in. The nice Doctor stepped back, and things sort of returned to normal. With the one exception of that one Doctor in the back, with the tattoos on his head. Max sought to ignore him, and ignore him she did, for that one cowboy ghoul walked closer to her, his expression unreadable beneath those thick black goggles and the wrap around his face. From a distance, she wouldn't have been able to identify him as a ghoul even! But the smell betrayed him. But she wouldn't tell that to his face: it's pretty insulting.
"… Not my first time meeting a Doleetle, not my second either, doubt it'll be my last," he tipped his hat again. Max froze into position to look at him in the eyes in an attempt not to spot the revolvers that he had hidden beneath that black cloak of his. "At ease, Max. I've got no bad blood, and it'd be a sore affaire to pick a fight in a clinic, right?"
This was all more than Max could take in. How hard was it to get a single session of therapy? She'd be fascinated to encounter somebody with a past story with the family at any other time. Still, all she could muster for him at the time was an exasperated sigh. "You've met my family before?" was all she could whisper out to him.
"Most notably in New Reno," he said, not saying anything else in hopes she'd remember. Max sighed and proceeded to put her face in the palms of her hands in exhaustion. He eventually shrugged at that, figuring the game was up. "It's alright. We'll meet again soon. I'll tell you my stories."
"I'm sorry about not being too cooperative, mister," Max got her head out of her hands with an apologetic expression. "I'm a bit tired, but if you want, we could speak about it after I'm done with my session?" He considered her for about four seconds and then did clicked his tongue.
"No. Our shadows will link in due time…" she stared back at him with a blank look. "You will see what I mean. But for now, I must depart. Freeside business… thank you." He began to walk back as he spoke, though his eyes were still set on her.
"You're welcome!" Max said, not getting what he meant and not caring that much for it. He walked out with a few of the other Followers, apparently to escort them back to the city. Whoever the ghoul was and what ties he had, it didn't matter to the private, who turned her attention to Arcade Gannon instead. She did it so quickly, imitating a predator after spotting a prey, that the blond man almost stepped back in fright.
"Well, an eager patient is always good for these kinds of therapies... If a Deathclaw were to magically materialize on the way to the room to block our way in, I'd almost pity the creature, come on," Max nodded and walked after him, content to finally have her little session for herself. Luckily for them, no Deathclaws suddenly manifested into existence on the way, and no guard walked up to her to reveal some mysterious family connection. Instead, the duo walked into one of the rooms down the hallway. Ever the gentleman, Arcade let Max enter first before proceeding into the office as well and closing the door.
As far as these rooms went, it was pretty barebones. There were desks and a locker on the right corner, all empty, a tiny spherical rug, two chairs, and a small black table next to one of them, with a small grey bell on top of it. Max looked at herself, looked back at the much taller Arcade, and wondered if he seriously thought that Max could be a threat to him. But she could understand it well enough and didn't want to raise any further fuss, so she settled into one of the chairs instead, a few seconds before he did as well, now holding a clipboard and a grey pencil. Silence settled in for the first ten seconds, each awaiting the other to speak up. Max took her helmet off and began to twiddle with it before spotting a previously-unseen dirt mark, which she tried to correct via generous elbow-scrubbing. Arcade, meanwhile, tapped upon his lap with his pen and said nothing yet.
Until came a time where even he had to step in. "Usanagi thought you'd be more comfortable with someone you met before, but if you find it troubling to confide to me, then… act as if our previous meeting never happened," he said, leaning in slightly. Max took her eyes off the squares, embarrassed somewhat. She'd been looking forward to it; why was it so hard to confess when it was her moment? "You're a private of the NCR Army here for a bit of therapy. I am Arcade Gannon, and I engage in whimsical yet pointless researches. I decided to change that up by helping you on the path to recovery. We're meeting for the first time, and I'm at the part where I'm telling you to confide everything. Nothing you said will leave this room, and I will not judge you for anything you'll say. Unless your hobby is skinning molerats." Arcade concluded. Max smiled slightly at the last sentence and squirmed in her seat briefly to assume a better position.
Was she going to be hand-held all this time, Max thought? When are you going to do your own jobs, Max?
"H-hello, Arcade. I'm Private First Class Doleetle, 5th battalion, 3rd company under the supervision of Captain Hsu," Max politely settled down her helmet and proceeded to put her hands on her laps, feeling the confidence seeps back in slowly. "I would like to talk with you today about my issues. My… plentiful issues," she licked her lips and prepared to mentally reveal herself bare to what had now become a stranger. "… It all started with my mom."
Arcade prepared his clipboard and pen.
…
"Well, if it ain't so! We meet again, friend!"
"Howdy, Victor," Wayne tipped his hat at the Securitron. He chuckled when the robot imitated the gesture, even if it had no headwear to tip with. "I'm herding the cattle. Care to help me out on that?"
"Ahh, partner! I'd love to!" The Followers guards stared in bemusement, or hostility for some, at the sight of one of Mr. House's robots. What could it be doing out of the Strip, they thought? They were hesitant to proceed to the massive North Freeside door in the distance. The roads out, oh, safe as they could be. But Freeside had become a tad too chaotic for them to handle without the assistance of a mean-looking cowboy and his revolvers. "But I've got a rattlesnake to stomp down on back at home. And I've got to admit, having another pair of legs stomping around the place would help me out a ton!"
Wayne cut to the chase. "You want me to head down to the Strip? If you're doing it, I guess House…."
"Partner!" Victor waged one of his massive arm-claws like a finger. "There's a business that's better settled when there are only two pairs of ears in the conversation, dig? Sorry 'bout that, folks!" He turned to the Followers and back at Wayne. "I'll be borrowing him for a bit if ya don't mind! Huddle up while we discuss business, and sorry for the inconvenience!" Wayne shrugged and walked out to follow Victor, ignoring some of the protestations. The machine wheeled backward until they were sufficiently far away from the group or other humans.
"I sure am pleased House would want me around, partner," Wayne huffed, "heard rumors the Strip isn't too pleasing to my kind of folks unless they're here to dance, tell jokes, or shed their dignities with the smoothskins."
"Well, ya could very well change that! would like you to handle a delivery job. See, that one Courier, number 6… Didn't handle the chip job too well. So wondered if you, who delivered that chess piece flawlessly, might I add, would like picking up the slack Ol' 6 left laying!"
"Pass. I don't need the extra caps," Wayne spun on his heels, but Victor's sudden tight grip on his shoulder dissuaded him from going back to the Followers yet. "… Better get your hand off this shoulder, partner; arms are hard to come by even for ya."
"What you could gain from this is much better than caps, Courier 1!" Victor did let go and swept his arms in a wide arc. "We'll be changing the whole fate of the Mojave and that of its Ghoul folks, of course!"
…
The death toll continues to climb around Camp Forlorn Hope, where Legion raiding parties are still chipping away at the NCR's hold south of the Dam.
An anonymous private has agreed to conduct a brief interview. "Our weapons break half the damn time. Those carrots they feed us are older than the Great War, and there are Legion raids constantly! At this rate, the whole damn's camp will eat the bullet and let the Legion claim it for themselves! Someone fucking helps us!"
Sources close to General Oliver denounce the report as "Legion Propaganda." "Forlorn Hope is equipped with weapons and receives shipments every day. It's up to them to make judicious use out of all that weaponry and claim Nelson back."
The source declined to confirm or deny rumors of NCR military personnel passing out after being informed they would be reassigned to the camp.
…
Hey there! What did you think of this chapter? First off, thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you're all liking my story, and I'm honored that this is a fic you're invested in, Pipopi! See you this Friday and every subsequent one. And thanks for the review, Golem!
And good theories, Adelkman! But I might be throwing a curveball. As another author did on their fic, I'm going to ask you all a story. Feel free to answer it even if you haven't reviewed the story yt, by the way, I appreciate all manner out of outlooks.
A: Next chapter is Wayne travelling to the Strip, with Andew appearing.
B: Next chapter is Max and Arcade's little bit of therapy.
Of course it might be a short voting time, but I won't write tomorrow or tonight, so you have a bit of time ahead to decide on what you want to do.
I especially love your interest in Max. But I'm curious, what do you think of the other characters, like Wayne, Andrew, Emma and others? Or even our Courier?
See ya next Friday!