Chapter 10: I Can See Clearly Now

Even before she was fully awake, she felt an intense pain searing in her skull. She let out a low groan as she opened her eyes and tried to bring her surroundings into focus to figure out where she was. From what she could tell, she was lying on a bed with a hard mattress and a metal frame. A ceiling fan slowly rotated above her, making her feel slightly dizzy. Turning her head, she winced as the motion caused the pain to sharpen.

The room appeared to be part of a pre-war house, with wood flooring and paneled walls. The window was boarded up, but some sunlight shone in through the slats, providing most of the light in the room. There were various medical instruments on tables, another hospital bed against the opposite wall, and a chair between them. The air was warm, but not stifling; it smelled of antiseptic, desert dust, and some kind of stew with meat and onions. The smell of the food was nauseating to her.

"Hey, you're comin' around," came an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the room.

"Huh? Who are you?" she asked, groggily. "Where am I?"

With a squint of her eyes, she could make out an older man with receding gray hair and a mustache. He came more into focus as he approached her bedside. "I'm Doc Mitchell," he answered. "You're in Goodsprings."

"Goodsprings?" Why was she in Goodsprings? In spite of the pain, she pushed herself to sit up. She didn't like to be in a vulnerable state with a stranger.

"Whoa, there. Take it easy." After helping her sit up, he sat down on the chair next to the bed. "You've been out for a few days now."

"Days?" She looked down at the display on her Pip-Boy. "October nineteen. How is it October nineteen?" The last she recalled it was the eleventh or twelfth.

"You took a couple of nasty shots to the head. Hopefully, I was able to root around and fix most of the damage."

Now she remembered. She had woken up lying in the graveyard with her hands and feet bound. Then that asshole in the checkered suit shot her. It all seemed to have something to do with the strange package she was carrying. She had thought that was the end for her, but apparently not. "And I'm...okay?"

"There might be some residual symptoms," Doc Mitchell added.

"What kind of 'residual symptoms?" While she should have been able to name them herself, she was still having trouble focusing.

"Seizures, headaches, memory loss, dizziness, nausea, loss of fine motor skills, light sensitivity, mood changes, memory loss-"

"-You said 'memory loss' twice."

"Just testing you. Congratulations, you passed." He laughed as he gave her a broad smile under his gray whiskers. "What about your name? Can you tell me your name?"
"Yeah...Elizabeth...uh...Beth Evans."

"Well, Elizabeth-uh-Beth Evans, can't say it's the name I'd picked for ya, but if that's your name, that's your name."

She groaned at the joke as much as at her headache. "You're a real cut-up, you know that, doc?"

"'Cut-up.' Heh, I'll have to use that one. Good to see your sense of humor is still intact." From a nearby table, he picked up a mirror and handed it to her. "Let's see if everything is mostly back where it should be.

Looking into the mirror, she did fortunately recognize the face staring back at her. There was a large white bandage covering the right side of her forehead. She nodded and handed the mirror back.

"You should take it easy until that's healed up more," he instructed. "I've given you a few stimpaks, but unfortunately, they don't do as well on complex systems like the brain and nerves as they do on bone and soft tissue."

With a grimace, she nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Standing up, he opened a nearby cabinet and pulled out a syringe. "Here, I can give you some med-x for the pain. Gonna have to be careful with this stuff, though. Standard dose is-"
"-No more than one injection three times daily, at least eight hours apart," she recited without thinking.

He raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "You have some medical training or are ya an addict?" he asked with suspicion, holding back the syringe.

"I trained to be a vault doctor. Well, halfway, anyway. My training was cut short by...intervening circumstances." Those circumstances included being chased out of that vault by armed guards, but she didn't feel like delving into all of that.

With a smile, he proceeded to give her the dose of the chem. "Ah, so that Pip-Boy isn't just for show. I myself was once the doctor in residence of Vault 21 over on the Strip. I don't recognize you, so you must've come from some other vault."

The effect of the injection was almost immediate and the pain began to recede into the background, although not completely. "Vault 101."

"Never heard of that one."

"It's back east. Capital Wasteland."

He whistled. "Goodness. That is a long way. Plenty of former vaulties can't hardly manage to go outside, let alone travel across a whole continent. I'll bet you have some stories."

The relief from the pain and his understatement made her smile. "A few."

"Maybe you can tell me one or two later, but for now, you should lie back and try to get some rest. That injection will help you sleep."

"Thanks, Doc," she said, lying back down. Unsure of whether it was because of his manner or the chems, she decided he was trustworthy enough. He had taken care of her for this long, at any rate. "I'm not sure if I have the caps on me to pay for all this."

"Don't you worry about that. My bill has been taken care of and then some."

Before she thought enough to question that, her heavy eyelids closed and she drifted off to sleep.

Beth slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry and there was a white light shining in her face that was nearly blinding, but she could feel that she was on a hard metal table. She closed her eyes tightly to try to block out the light, but it was still too bright. The pain in her head was so intense, she felt dizzy and nauseated. It hurt too much to move or even to cry. "Am I still alive or is this Hell?"

"Where am I?" she mumbled weakly, hoping someone could hear her.

A stern voice answered, a man's voice she almost recognized, "You're safe. We're taking care of you."

Then she felt cold steel grasp her arm and the prick of a needle pierce her skin. "Wait, no..." she croaked out, but the injection came anyway. In a moment, everything went black.

When she woke again, she was somewhere else. The table had been replaced by a soft, warm bed and the bright light was gone. So was the pain. There was a figure sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, facing away and holding her hand. Seeing the familiar red cap on the person's head, she asked, "Boone? That you?"

Turning to her quickly, the sniper looked relieved as he gave her a warm, yet weary smile. "Hey, you're awake." His face looked haggard, his eyes dark and tired, like he hadn't slept in days. The aviator shades he normally wore were hanging from the collar of his t-shirt.

"What happened? Where are we?" she groaned, attempting to sit up.

Gently, he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her and she complied. "Take it easy. You've been through a lot. We're in the suite at the Lucky 38. House had you brought here from the New Vegas Clinic."

"Huh? Why would he do that?" None of this was making sense.

"You were in pretty bad shape, so his bots or whatever fixed you up."

She rubbed her dry eyes, trying to clear the grogginess. "How did he know where I was?" She didn't remember going to the clinic; she barely remembered leaving Freeside.

"Story for another time, but as much as I hate to admit it, you'd probably be dead if he hadn't."

This didn't come as a shock to her. The pain had been getting worse and she recognized how how erratic her thinking had become. She had been keenly aware that she had been running out of time. With the level of pain she was in, death hadn't been an entirely unwelcome prospect. Now that she was free of the pain, she was very happy to be alive.

Mouth feeling sticky, she licked her dry lips.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked and she nodded.

Boone carefully helped her sit up and handed her a cup of water. She noticed that he was acting strangely, touching her as if she were made of glass. The water was cool and pure like she hadn't tasted in a long time. She swished it around her mouth to clear out the cottony feeling before she swallowed it and handed the cup back to him. "Thanks."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I wasn't shot in the head and left in a shallow grave," she answered with a slight grin. The persistent, sometimes blinding headache that had been there since waking up at Doc Mitchell's house was gone. It felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted off of her. She never thought she'd feel this good ever again. "That's a pleasant change."

"Let's try to keep it that way."

"I'll do my best."

"Well, howdy there, Missy!" came a drawling voice from the doorway, causing Boone to bristle with a grimace.

"Hi, Victor," she returned, cordially.

"The boss wants you to rest up a couple days and get your sorts back, then you can come see him 'bout this li'l ole Chip business. Alrighty?"

"Yeah, thanks." Victor wheeled back to his post by the elevator and she looked over at Boone. "That's mighty big 'a him," she crooned sarcastically in a mocking drawl, rolling her eyes. "I'd say I owed him one if it wasn't his 'li'l ole Chip' that got me shot in the first place. Guess I'll call it even."

Boone gave a two-tone chuckle of amusement.

Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through her hair, then stopped and looked confused. She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her companion helped her to her feet. Looking at him, his face was so weary, she wondered when he had last slept. She walked over to the mirror on the dressing table and saw that her hair had been cut short. "Shit. At least they didn't shave my head." Fiddling with the tousled pixie cut with her fingers, she made another face. She'd never had her hair this short before. "You think it looks okay?" she asked.

Giving a shrug and clearing his throat, he said, "Looks fine."

"Not too...boyish?" she asked, unsure, turning her head to look at the sides, still pulling at the short strands.

He shook his head and replied casually, "No." For a second, she thought he was staring at her, but then he looked away. She tugged the hem of her bunched tank-top down self-consciously.

"If you say so," she responded dismissively with a shrug. Pushing the short bangs back from her forehead, she noticed that the scars from Benny's gunshots and Doc Mitchell's surgery were gone. "House must have one hell of an auto-doc," she thought.

"Glad to see you're awake, but what are you doing out of bed?" came an annoyed voice from the doorway.
She turned to see Arcade standing there with his arms crossed, also looking very tired. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Dr. Usanagi radioed the Fort for assistance with your surgery. We did what we could, but..." He shook his head with a small grimace. "'Victor' let me come with you and wait here while they did...whatever they did."

Turning to Boone, she said, "Glad they let you come, too." House hadn't allowed anyone inside the Lucky 38 in two hundred years. Now, not only was she invited in, her friends were, too. It was all very strange.

He looked down. "I...I wasn't there."

"I made him leave," Arcade interjected. "He wanted to stay, but I made him go get some rest. Which he clearly didn't do."

She frowned sympathetically. "Oh, Boone, you really should get some sleep." Looking to Arcade, she asked, "Is there another bed somewhere?"
He nodded. "Yes, across the hall. Come on, big guy. Two against one."

Boone stood up and gave the doctor a tired glare. Glancing back to Beth, he paused and it seemed like he wanted to say something. Instead, he just nodded to her and walked to the guest room.
When he saw the sniper go in and shut the door, the doctor turned to his friend. "Back in bed now."

"I feel fine. Better than fine, actually." With a broad smile, she gave a little laugh. "I haven't felt this good in a long time. Maybe ever."

"Indulge me?" He walked over to her and escorted her to the bed. She sat down and he sat next to her. Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "So, that 'courier' who was shot in Goodsprings they reported about on the news, that was you?"

"Yeah."

He looked at her seriously. "I saw you not three days ago and you didn't say anything. I'm your friend. More than that, I'm a doctor. I could have helped you before things got that bad." His tone was measured, but he was clearly angry.

"I'm fine now."

"Only because Mr. House has some very advanced medical technology, far beyond what the Followers have. Without that, there was an extremely slim chance you were going to survive."

Fidgeting, she looked down at her hands folded in her lap. Being scolded by Arcade made her feel like a little kid. "I'm sorry. I know you would have tried to help me if I'd asked. The only thing I can say is that I wasn't really thinking clearly."

"You scared the hell out of me. I know you think you're invincible, but you're not."

"I never said I was invincible."

"Yet you insist on taking these dangerous jobs: courier, caravan guard..."

"Travel guard for the Followers," she added, reminding him of how they met.

"Yes, that, too. We both know you don't take these jobs for the money. You could make as much or more with a safer job in Freeside. Your problem is that you can't sit still."

She knew he was right. It had been a long time since she stayed anywhere for more than a few days at a stretch. Spending too much time in one place made her uneasy, since it let her thoughts wander into the back of her mind where she didn't want them to go. "I'm sorry I put you through all this."
He sighed again and put his glasses back on. "I'm just relieved you're alright."

"Thanks."

"I know that Craig is, too." She looked up at him. "I think you should know that he carried you for more than an hour to get you to the clinic. He also hasn't left your side since he got here, despite my continued insistence that he needed rest."

Unsure of how to respond, she shrugged. "We look out for each other."

"It's more than that. Are you two...together?" He raised his eyebrow suggestively.

With a groan of frustration, she glared at him. "No. You know I'm not the 'relationship' type."

"Does he know that?"

"We're friends, that's it. And we have a job to do. Period. Besides, he's dealing with his own shit right now. I can guarantee he's not interested."

"Whatever you say."

"I mean, maybe he's protective, but that doesn't mean anything." It came out more defensively than she intended.

"Of course not."

She grunted in annoyance at his continued obvious suspicion. "Can we drop it, please?"

"Fine." He stood up. "I'll bring you something to eat in a little bit, but right now, you need to rest."

"Fine, if it will get you off my back." Lying back down, she folded her arms over her chest. "There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Reaching across her, he put the covers back over her. Then he switched off the light and exited the room.

Beth stared up at the dark ceiling, not feeling the least bit tired. Thinking back to what he said, she decided that he clearly didn't know what he was talking about. Boone's main interest was avenging his wife by bringing down as much of the Legion as possible. That goal certainly didn't allow for romantic feelings toward anyone. She wished Arcade would focus on his own love life, or lack thereof, and stop worrying about hers.