Diana was divided by two strong thoughts, two great figures in her mind that wrestled and slapped at each other with a raging need to take control.
The first, demanded she flee this tent. Flee this camp of cruelty and evil and return to the familiar sounds of robots, their sirens, and the burning lights of New Vegas. And most of all, flee this strange man that confused and excited her.
The second, was more curious and frustrated. It was tired of the not-knowing. Tired of all the mystery. It just wanted to know who she was. What happened to her? How did she end up here? Did she have people looking for her? Who cared for her? She needed to know, or she would never be free.
But free from what?
"Listen to your gut." A third, not involved with the wrestling but more an observer of the violence, merely stood afar with crossed arms and a disappointed shake of their head. It was not a part of herself, but of the words of those around her. It was Boone, his silhouette, too far to touch but close enough to hear him. "Choose the gut."
It would be so easy to simply flee. It would ensure her freedom. But.
The platinum chip gleamed in the faint candlelight and she squeezed the cool metal until it imprinted that Lucky 38 logo into her palm.
Regardless, she needed to get to Fortification Hill for this delivery. And despite her knowing it was unwise, she felt a pull there.
Vulpes Inculta was that pull. And from what he had shown when he freed that family was he was not unreasonable.
But he had an agenda of his own and she would not forget this.
She still didn't trust him, not really. There was something about him that drove a primal need for self preservation within her. He was dangerous and capable of many disturbing things.
And yet.
She still felt his lingering touch on her cheeks, the memory of the sudden shift to painful squeezing he had snapped to when they were intruded on; fresh and sore.
She finally understood.
He had to perform: for his people.
And his need to pull her into his throes seemed an inconvenience. Something out of the way and impractical, that he would normally have not done with anyone else. Not with anyone unless they meant something to him.
So it was true.
Likely, her gut told her, it was.
She had a bucket of water and a cloth and was cleaning herself in the tent, hidden from the leering eyes of the men out there.
She cast nervous eyes to his cot, glad for the distance from hers, but wary that this still was treacherous territory.
But she would finally know, after meeting Caesar.
He appeared, the gentle ripple of fabric flaps from the tent entrance jostled her. She threw on her shirt while he was beginning to unclasp his leather armor.
She bit her lip. She knew she shouldn't. And yet something drove her to jump to her feet, taking careful steps towards him. I just need to see. She kept her eyes looking down at his sandaled feet.
"Yes, Diana?" He sounded curious. She placed one hand over his scarred knuckles, prying them from his straps and began undoing his fastenings with her deft fingers. She avoided the scrutiny of his watchful gaze as she helped him remove his clothing, until his bare chest revealed those carefully placed triangles and circles across his skin.
She should have stopped, once she had seen the tattoos. She should have simply turned and gone to her cot, curled into a ball and ignored him for the rest of the night.
But the black lines were not the only noticeable markings on the cool porcelain chest. The dim torch light cast shadows on the raised scars that marred him, so clear and shocking.
She could not look away. She recognized the familiar circles of dark pink, left from bullets buried in his left shoulder. Random raised lines, likely the bite of a machete had left claw marks into the side of his ribs. And there was a familiar image, branded below his stomach, off center and crooked. Caesar's Bull glared back at her, a dark and vulgar protrusion.
She didn't understand why her eyes watered. She didn't understand the hitch in her voice. "You've suffered so much."
"More than some," his hand swiftly grabbed her wrist when she raised hers to touch him. They stood frozen as her fingers hovered over his chest. He didn't push her away, though, so she raised her eyes to his. She saw a storm in his gaze, the pull of his lip rife with conflict.
A gray fog of cruelty swallowed her up. Yet as she dared to stare deeper, she recognized the inked darkness of fear between his lashes, and the frosted blue that narrowed with apprehension. "I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling a strong wave of protective sorrow. She didn't remember him and mourned this.
He blinked, confused. "What are you apologizing for?"
"For not remembering. Why are you with them and I am not?" She swallowed back a sob. "Did I abandon you to this life?"
He leaned forward. "No." He loosened his grip and freed her hand, finding it preferable to brush the hair from her forehead, his thumb caressing her scars. "Perhaps it's a mercy, to not remember," he sounded deep in thought, miles away. "Untethered to the past. Free to be whatever you wish to be. You should not feel regret for what you cannot recall."
She impulsively touched him, no longer stopping herself from the urge. At first he did nothing but stare at her as she stepped close to him. He smelled of leather, salt, and smoke. She felt his hand tighten over her scalp as she ran her fingertips lightly over his heated flesh, feeling the firmness of his muscles and the bits of rough hair on his chest.
He inhaled sharply, his grip tightening into her hair while the other swiftly grabbed her elbow to stop her exploration. "If you intend to test my self control, you will be disappointed tonight, Diana. You've learned some useful skills to take advantage of the profligates but I will not fall so easily victim."
The splinter of sadness had been dislodged from the room. She smiled, then, not daring to laugh but finding his reproach funny. "What happened to trust?"
He smirked. "Our deal does not go both ways. You have a terrible habit of brash behavior."
"Have I always been… brash?"
"Always." He pulled her closer suddenly, pressing his chest into hers. She could hear his heart and feel his rapid breath. His fingertips massaged her scalp and she couldn't help but lean into his touch, the contact pleasurable and almost familiar. "You once tried to cross a wide river before you learned how to swim." She felt his hand reach the bullethole scar on her forehead.
Her eyes widened, another piece falling into the puzzle. "That explains it." Her fear of the water. That was why. And the memory, a faint idea, of the taste of murky wetness and the chill of being swallowed by blue darkness made her shiver.
"Though our marriage was designed by our families, I had not wanted it at first. You tried to befriend me and I pushed you away. To prove your worth, you accepted a challenge to cross the river and you failed. You were taken by the river spirit until I made a bargain with him. To have you returned, I promised to be loyal to you, forever. And when you awoke, you were mine to claim."
"River spirit?" She wondered what religion he was alluding to. She wished Arcade was there to explain.
"You were blessed by the spirits of our tribe, destined to advise our people when we wed. I see this nature in how you lead the lost and weary. But you, yourself are lost."
"No, I am not. I am not the one causing so much pain in the world. Not like you," she went to touch a nearby scar on his shoulder, feeling the rough bumps as she began feeling the skin on his back. "What happened to our tribe?" She felt like she knew the answer but she needed him to say it.
"When we were young, the Malpais Legate liberated those that could be saved from their dissolution."
She knew what he meant. Despite his sweet words, his voice was full of venom. "Who survived?"
"Many. Those who acknowledged Caesar and serve him as he wishes live well."
"Our parents?"
His mouth twitched. "Our mothers survived and were sent east. I never saw them again, nor do I know where they are. Or if they still live."
"And what about our fathers? Desert Hawk? Cliff Pines?"
"They made their choice. They had rather died than served. "
She pulled away from him but he would not allow her to break free. He tightened his arms around her, as if afraid she would vanish if they stopped touching. He felt cooler than her and she shivered in his embrace. "So how am I not a Legion slave?"
"You… died that day with them. You were thrown off the Edge of the World. But I know not how you returned, only that you have. And I will not lose you again, princess."
She widened her eyes, parted her lips, but nothing came out. He closed the distance between their faces, his nose grazing hers. She felt as if she was being swallowed up. Only the rough, dry callouses brushing against her cheeks and the warm tickle of his breath on her lips were all she knew.
He kissed her with intent, pressing into her as he firmly held her against him. She let him. She melted into him from the way he bit her lower lip and explored her with his tongue, losing herself in his scent and taste.
He turned his face, broke away, pressed into her neck and nuzzled her. The words that came out were not English. It was not Latin. She heard the foreign words and somehow understood every word.
"We have returned, our first loves, my princess."