Chapter 41 - Goodsprings' Good Samaritans
Doc Mitchell gave a satisfied sigh, as he finally finished patching up his latest patient, and moved to clean his hands.
Another successful surgery, another saved soul.
God, he was tired.
Then again, he was getting rather old; back in the old days he could've pulled off multiple eight-hour surgeries back-to-back with just a cup of coffee.
As he stepped out of his makeshift operating theatre, though, and went to grab a glass of water, he spotted the second newcomer, and sighed.
He really should have let the youth continue sleeping in his waiting room; Lord only knew the kid looked like he could use it.
But he decided to share the news with him, if only to put his mind at rest, and get him to a proper bed.
"Hey, kid." Mitchell whispered, moving to tap the blonde's shoulder.
Jaune's eyes shot open, and his arm instinctively tensed, before his conscious mind realized what was going on.
He forced himself to relax his shoulders, before he could do something he would regret, and smiled at Mitchell, asking: "What's up, sir?"
Mitchell couldn't help but stare at Jaune. As a wandering doctor, he'd picked up a bit of a survival instinct, and he hadn't missed the moment. But still, it wouldn't do to pry yet, and instead he answered: "Just wanted to let you know that your friend's gonna be okay. She just needs to rest for a few days, and she'll be as good as new."
"That's a relief to hear." Jaune nodded in appreciation. "Thanks, sir."
"Now, I've got a couple of questions for you, if you don't mind." Doc Mitchell continued on. He had a duty to Goodsprings, the town his wife was buried in, after all. "How'd your friend get shot?"
He'd heard of some serious stuff going on around the Mojave Wasteland, and he needed to know if trouble was about to come to Goodsprings.
"I don't know." Jaune admitted honestly. "She was like that when I found her."
Mitchell blinked.
The kid didn't seem to be lying at all.
"You don't even know her?" Mitchell asked incredulously. The look of desperation on the kid's face, when he'd brought the woman into his clinic with Victor at one in the morning...
"Nope." Jaune shook his head. "I just came across her in a shallow grave."
"Why go so far for a stranger?" Mitchell raised an eyebrow, unable to hide his curiosity.
"Well, I mean... it's only right to help people who need it, right?" Jaune countered, before rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Also, my mom always said, "strangers are just friends you haven't met yet"."
Mitchell couldn't help it.
He chuckled warmly.
That sheer, utterly naive idealism... the kid just reminded him too much of Jim and Sum! God, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to them, after they'd left Vault 21 (and which relation of theirs had turned out to be an author)...
"Yeah, yeah, I know it's a bit optimistic..." Jaune added on, fighting down a blush, as he misinterpreted the look on Mitchell's face. "If I ever pass it on to someone else, I'm adding a second bit: "unless they attack you or try to rob you first"."
"No, no, I'm just laughing because you reminded me of a couple I used to know!" Mitchell hastily explained, waving his hand frantically to try and clear the misunderstanding. "Don't get me wrong, kid, the Wasteland could use more people like you."
Jaune grinned at the compliment, before a yawn escaped his mouth. He hadn't really had any time to actually sleep since he'd woken up, on account of the whole "desperately fighting to seize the alien spaceship" thing, and adrenaline could only carry him so far.
Mitchell simply clapped his shoulder, and said: "Get some rest, kid. I've got a spare bed over here. And don't worry; I won't ask for any caps for tonight."
Jaune decided to comply (if the doctor had wanted to do something to him, he could've just hit him while he'd been napping), though a small part of him was surprised to realize that caps were a currency here, too.
As Mitchell led the boy to his visitor's room, he belatedly realized that he'd heard that phrase before.
Eh, wasn't worth inquiring about, though.
After all, it wasn't like the Wasteland Survival Guide wasn't all over America anyway.
-DOC MITCHELL'S HOUSE, 19 OCTOBER 2281-
All she could remember, was that there'd been a bright light.
Warm, comforting, and inviting...
Where was it?
What had happened?
Where was she?
And why was her head pounding so much?
Had she gotten wasted in Vegas or something?
Vegas...
The delivery!
That stupid suited schmuck!
Pyrrha's eyes snapped open, as the memories flooded her mind.
The gunshot to the head.
The pain.
The light.
The stranger!
"You're awake, how about that."
She instinctively tensed up, as she heard a different stranger's voice, but before she could get up a hand pressed down on her shoulder, keeping her in bed, and the voice added: "Whoa, easy there. Easy. You been out cold a couple of days now. Why don't you just relax a second? Get your bearings."
Pyrrha took a deep breath, waited for a second, then pushed herself up.
"Surprised anybody'd want to tangle with you..." Mitchell murmured, rubbing his wrist from his futile attempt at keeping his patient in bed. :Heck, you could go deathclaw hunting with a switch."
"Who are you?" Pyrrha demanded. "And where am I?"
"I'm Doc Mitchell, the guy who patched you up." Mitchell replied drily, seeing that his patient was a very serious and impatient person. Whether she'd always had a stick in her ass, or whether he'd messed with her brain while patching her up, he didn't know, but she was very different from the guy who'd brought her in. "As for where you are... welcome to Goodsprings, I guess."
Pyrrha winced at his tone, and tried to explain: "Sorry... it's just, well..."
"I know." Mitchell simply held up a hand, forestalling her explanation. "The guy who brought you in told me he found you tied up and left for dead in a shallow grave. Anyway, I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. Let's see what the damage is. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?"
"It's..." Pyrrha began, before hesitating. Her name wasn't exactly unknown, to those in the loop. The doctor had treated her well so far; she didn't know how he'd react, how he'd change, if he knew he was treating the Failure of the Divide. "I'm... Courier Six."
Mitchell didn't miss the hesitation in her tone. Was she ashamed of her name? Well, it wasn't like there weren't weirder names in the Wasteland anyway. "Huh. Can't say it's what I'd have picked for you. But if that's your name, that's your name."
Pyrrha allowed herself to relax fractionally, glad that he wasn't prying.
"Okay. No sense keeping you in bed anymore." Mitchell continued his examination. "Let's see if we can get you on your feet-"
Pyrrha was already walking across the room, heading towards the door.
"Most patients don't get out of bed after being shot and then move like they was in perfect control." Mitchell groaned into his hand, before rushing after her. "Wait, where are you going?"
"Do you know where my belongings are?" Pyrrha asked, wheeling around.
"You're better off asking the guy who brought you in." Mitchell shook his head. "I left everything you had on you in the corner, but it wasn't much..."
Pyrrha cursed. She'd been paid a lot of caps upfront to get that chip from the southern NCR through the Hub to Vegas, and even if she didn't know why the client wanted it so much, even if she hadn't been paid... she had her pride as a professional courier.
She would get that damn chip back from that schmuck even if she had to force-feed him his own eyeballs.
"Do you know where he is?" Pyrrha pressed on, refusing to give up.
Before Mitchell could answer, the front door opened, and a blonde walked in, holding a bucket of fruits.
"Hey, Mitchell..." Jaune began, before pausing,
Blue eyes met green.
A flash of a memory, of the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, of a man who'd shone like the Sun, and a promise.
Pyrrha wanted to slap herself, as she fought down a blush.
What the hell had she been thinking? An Archangel? She must have really been out of it, after getting shot in the head! The boy in front of her was clearly human (and a very attractive one at that), and he most certainly wasn't glowing!
No, scratch that, he was glowing, but that was only because he was smiling so fucking brightly.
Jaune, for his part, wondered why the redhead felt so familiar to him, but decided not to bother thinking about it so much.
Even if he'd met another version of her, in some other reality, he'd learned that they were still two different people.
Instead, he grinned at her, and congratulated her: "Hey, you're finally awake!"
"Uh... yeah. I guess I am." Pyrrha was taken aback by the sheer positivity radiating off of him. It was like looking at a puppy! How the hell was he still alive in the Wasteland?! "I hear I've got you to thank for saving me?"
"Thank the doctor; I just brought you to his house." Jaune shrugged.
"Don't be so modest, kid." Mitchell just rolled his eyes, having gotten used to Jaune's... quirks, over the past week. "She wouldn't have made it if you hadn't brought her in."
"Well, anyway, thanks, both of you." Pyrrha inclined her head to both of them in respect. "So, I know who Doc Mitchell is, but what about you?"
"Well, the name's Jaune Arc." Jaune pointed his thumb at himself. "Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue."
Arc...
And an Arc never goes back on his word...
"Well, Arc, I guess you kept your promise." Pyrrha said, bumping her shoulder into his lightly.
"Promise?" Jaune echoed, confused.
"You know, to get me to a doctor?"
"Oh..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You... you remember that?"
"I do. An Arc never goes back on his word, right?" Pyrrha nodded, finding his embarrassment both odd and oddly entertaining. Odd, because why would he be embarrassed about saving someone, and oddly entertaining, because she didn't know why she was finding amusement from watching him.
"Well..." Jaune coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat. First time someone had thrown an Arc's word back at him. "Anyway, glad to see you're okay... uh?"
"You can call me Courier Six." Pyrrha filled in the gap for him.
"Glad to see you're okay, Courier." Jaune finished up, glad to have a name.
"Indeed." Mitchell nodded. "And, since you seem to be able to remember the events of that night, I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me."
"Oh? Like what?" Pyrrha couldn't help but feel a bit suspicious.
"I just want to know if there's a killer going around tying women up and shooting them in the head near my town." Doc Mitchell raised his arms, to show he meant nothing by it.
"There isn't." Pyrrha shook her head. "The men who shot me, they were after a delivery. And speaking of which... Arc, did you happen to take any of my belongings?"
"Uh, nope." Jaune shook his head. "All you had were the clothes on your back."
"Fuck." Pyrrha swore. "That damn schmuck must have stolen it from me. If only I hadn't gotten distracted by that sudden flash of light in the sky..."
"What sudden flash?" Jaune asked, suddenly having a bad feeling.
"It was like a second sun suddenly appeared in the night sky." Pyrrha said, closing her eyes in reminiscence, regretting her carelessness. "I couldn't help but stare at it... and that was when I got jumped by those yahoos."
Jaune managed to fight down a wince, but it was a close thing.
"Well, it doesn't matter." Pyrrha continued, unaware of Jaune's rising guilt. "All I can do now is go after them."
"You're going after the guy who shot you in the head?" Jaune's disbelief outweighed his guilt.
"I have to, Arc. I already took the caps from House for the job." Pyrrha informed him. "And even if I was willing to cross one of the most powerful men in Vegas, I wouldn't. It's a point of professional pride; I always finish my deliveries."
Jaune thought it over, before finally nodding. "Then I'll come with you."
Pyrrha sputtered, but before she could ask what the hell he was up to, he'd already gone to grab his stuff from the spare room in Mitchell's house.
"Heck of a kid, isn't he?" Mitchell asked, as Pyrrha just stared at the spot where he'd been. "You sure you two don't have a history?"
"We've never met." Pyrrha shook her head at the old doctor. "I've got no idea why Arc's going so far for a stranger."
"Heh." Mitchell just shook his head in fond exasperation. "You know what Jaune told me when I asked, Courier?"
"What?" Pyrrha leaned in, curious.
"Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet." Mitchell quoted. "I think the kid just likes helping people, you know?"
"Well, as long as he doesn't use a sword..." Pyrrha murmured, before seeing Mitchell look away. "... don't tell me..."
"He has a sword." Mitchell carefully confirmed. "And no, it doesn't burst into flames, nor is it electrified. Just to be sure, though, I asked. He doesn't even know about the legendary Lone Wanderer."
"So he's not just copying the power-armored myth from the East." Pyrrha groaned. "He really is that fucking idealistic."
"You know how he spent the past week, while you were asleep? He's been helping out around town, doing odd jobs here and there for the town." Mitchell helpfully informed her. "In fact... hey, Jaune!"
"What is it, Mitchell?" Jaune asked, as he stepped out of the room with a sheathed sword, a holstered pistol, and a backpack. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no... I just wanted to know, where'd you get the fruits?"
"Oh, Trudy gave them to me, for helping to kick out an unruly customer and moving some crates for her." Jaune answered easily, before frowning and adding: "Then Sunny came and gave me another one as well, and..."
"What'd I tell you?" Mitchell whispered, turning to Pyrrha, as Jaune began listing off all the people who'd chipped in. "Honestly, with the way he acts, I wouldn't be surprised if half the girls in town have their eyes on him."
Pyrrha could certainly agree. Tall, blonde, and buff, with a willingness to help and the disposition of a puppy? He'd certainly make a girl happy. Honestly, why couldn't she have found someone like that?
"What is it?" A confused Jaune asked, and Pyrrha found herself thinking that all he needed to do to complete the picture was to tilt his head to the side.
"It's nothing." Pyrrha said, shaking her head. He'd saved her life and was offering to help her; she wouldn't look a gift Brahmin in the mouths. "Let's go, Arc."
"Uh, sure... see you around, Mitchell." Jaune called back as he followed the Courier, who spared a farewell wave for the good doctor before she walked out of the door.
It was only as Pyrrha took her first steps outside, though, that she realized that she had no idea where to start. The doctor had said ahe'd been out for a week; how was she supposed to pick up a trail that had probably gone cold days ago?
As she grudgingly turned to Jaune, to ask if he had any ideas, she found her mouth suddenly feeling dry, as he followed, the sun catching his blonde locks at just the right angls to remind her of that memory, of him glowing like the Sun, of her mistaking her savior for an angel...
Damn it, why did near-dead her have such a wild imagination?!
"What's wrong, Courier?" Jaune leaned forward to examine her.
"It's nothing." Pyrrha coughed and looked away hastily. "Do you... happen to know where I could start looking for them?"
Jaune considered the question for a moment. "Hmmm... well, I guess we could try Trudy's saloon. Most travellers end up passing by there, or so she says."
"Sounds good." Pyrrha agreed. Some of the yahoos had been Great Khans after all, and if there were three things they liked, it was duels, drugs, and drinks.
The pair trailed off into an awkward silence.
Jaune still felt guilty about being partially responsible for her shooting, and was wondering how he should best break the news and beg for forgiveness without sounding crazy (his week in Goodsprings having taught him that the locals didn't believe in aliens).
Pyrrha, on the other hand, had no idea what to say. The boy had saved her, and was now offering to help her with her job. She wasn't about to look a gift Brahmin in the mouths, sure, but at the same time... why? Goodwill? Responsibility? Did he want something from her?
It was the Wasteland, so the third option was the most likely...
But for some reason, she couldn't picture that from him.
And why couldn't she get that damn memory out of her head?!
What was she even supposed to ask, "Hey, this is going to sound weird, but are you an angel and do you glow in the dark?"
Should she start with small talk, something to break the ice?
Did she even know how to make small talk? How do people break ice anyway? Hammers?
Fortunately, before either of them could say something they'd probably regret, a redhead in leather armor with a varmint rifle came running up to Jaune, shouting: "Jaune! We've got a problem!"
Author's Note: And here we go, starting with one of the big divergences between this story and the original (as usual); Pyrrha decides to wave off any thoughts of his divinity as just a near-death experience. Why? Because I want them to actually start off with a slightly more normal relationship first. Also because, well... now that he's not showing any clearly supernatural abilities, why would she believe her bullet-addled brain? Must have been a hallucination when she'd been near death, right? People don't glow.
And in another point of divergence... Pyrrha Nikos, aka Courier Six, is not a nice person. She's like the reverse of Ruby Ironwood; she grew up in the Wasteland, trained her whole life for the Wasteland, and when the Divide needed her the most... she failed it. If Beacon Pyrrha is a person hoping to find her destiny and someone who can see past her fame, Courier Pyrrha's a person who's seen her destiny go up in flames, and has all but given up on being seen beyond her titles. She shares the original Pyrrha's wish to keep her identity relatively secret, but whereas Pyrrha's secrecy comes from not liking her fame, Courier's secrecy comes from hiding the memories of her failure.
Also no, most people are not going to realize that Jaune Arc, the nice, friendly, and helpful guy in the Mojave, is actually Jaune Arc, Co-Lead Author and Subject Matter Expert who died in the Capital Wasteland. After all... firstly, how many people actually read and memorize a book's foreword? And secondly, why on earth would they ever associate the two? As they say, people tend to miss what they're not looking for.
And Jaune's probably in a better mood now than before, relatively speaking, because Goodsprings feels like a vacation to him. Nobody in mortal danger, and the fate of the land isn't threatened (as far as he knows). All he's been doing while Pyrrha was asleep was checking on her, helping out around town, and dropping by Mothership Zeta to give Elliott and Sally some food and water (while Elliott's all but forgotten about the whole power armor thing).
The story's probably going to be a much slower burn... I think. I hope. I'd plan for it to be such, but I don't really plan anything out...
