"Number Nine"


Ch. 23: Inside.


"It cries these lies
It keeps me up when I go to sleep
This need to feed on the weak the meek and the naïve.
I think I'd be a much better person
If I could just get a single wink.
Why do you keep me up at night?
God damn I just want to go to sleep."

- Warmer, "Inside"


She still wasn't too sure about how the hell she had gotten into such a bloody mess.

"What an ugly little worm you are. What pile of excrement did the Lieutenant pluck you from, worm?"

Oh, that's right: her hormones had made the choice for her instead of her brain, and now she had to deal with a very mouthy, very pissed-off Legion brute with way too much pent-up murdering frustration if his angry, sadistic glare was any measure to go by.

"Nothing to say? Perhaps, once the tide of the Legion has razed this despicable camp to the ground, you'll do a good slave, little worm." – he spat, leering at her – "Perhaps I'll end up purchasing you and the Lieutenant to admire the irony. But don't you worry, little worm: if you behave, I might even consider adjusting your collar comfortably enough for you to swallow without having to worry about getting that little neck of yours full of ulcers."

Eyeing the bound Centurion in front of her, Six couldn't help but repress the grimace threatening to surface above her carefully constructed mask of neutral indifference.

This was precisely why she hated politics so much: no matter which side you chose, you were always bound to do this kind of crap to prove that you were loyal.

"Well? This is all the NCR has to offer? Fucking silent treatment coming from fucking cunts? Your tactics are a joke. You're getting nothing from me."

Even if it was just for the sake of playing two sides simultaneously whilst coaxing that invitation out of the Legion's Head of Intelligence so House could begin making some serious moves with his upgraded securitrons.

Once the threat over Zorro's well-being in Vegas had been overcome, she could start planting seditious ideas on him. Once she assessed how his leader's mind worked, she could counter his arguments with some solid reasoning she was sure Zorro wouldn't like at all… but he'll end up giving them some questioning, hopefully, strong enough to consider attracting his brother and his men to side with House. For she was sure that Zorro wasn't turning coat without Gabban and vice-versa. She could understand that, and she was prepared to add Zorro's brother to the equation. He seemed nice enough.

The rest, she could provide by working an alliance with the Khans, then the Kings, then Vero's Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel… and even the very Boomers or Arcade's Enclave acquaintances should the need arise.

They now had the Chairmen and the White Glove Society on their side with Benny and Mortimer knocked out of the game; if they could change their situations with the Omertas as well…

Then MAYBE, these joined forces could beat the crap out of Burke should her efforts here at McCarran prove fruitless.

Theoretically, all of the aforesaid was within reasonable, achievable terms.

Shit will start hitting the fan if some of the more essential parties involved in her little scheme say 'no'.

Which was also a possibility. A big one.

For it was that, or siding with the Legion. And what she had witnessed from them so far was having her doubting more and more if they were truly the definitive solution Little America needed.

Zorro's men were decent enough fellows… if a bit ignorant, but that could be corrected in due time.

But this nasty piece of shit she had in front of her? If Caesar chose his high-ranking officers with their exploits on the battlefield rather than their ability to command – which also entailed questioning orders if the situation required them to – as a standard measuring stick, he wasn't making a fan out of her any time soon.

"Silus, variation of Silas, Latin origin meaning 'wood, forest'." – she enunciated falsely calm, crossing her fingers under her chin, resting her elbows over her quadriceps as she eyed the man from her sitting position a few feet ahead of him so he couldn't try anything nasty – "You are definitely not in your element, Centurion. Nor are you getting any closer to it, should you keep disgracing yourself by putting on such a puerile attitude every single time you see a woman in uniform and feel like regressing to the Neanderthal period, playing the helicopter part with your genitalia instead of remaining professionally detached, as one would expect from an officer of your rank."

Her little discourse met clenched teeth, and an irate glare that could have fulminated her should looks alone could kill.

Good.

However, the man seemed to gather himself fairly quickly before trying to upset her again.

"You must have some reason to be in your line of work. Tell me, what did the Legion do to you?" – then again, the leering and that perverse enjoyment she could read crystal-clear in his eyes. The man evidently thought he was dealing with a victim – "Did we enslave someone you cared for? Slaughter your family before your eyes to teach you a lesson? Or maybe is something even more… personal?" – evidently, he fancied himself to be so clever, because he was barking to the wrong tree – "Something that has made a miserable little wretch like you being in here in the first place, playing on the Lieutenant's sympathies so you can get your petty revenge? If that's the case, I hope I was there to give the order."

He had looked way too entitled sputtering shit, so when he hadn't gotten the reaction he had been waiting for, his eyes had turned suspicious.

"What the fuck is this?" – he asked, eyeing the naked chamber around for any clues that could give her away – "Are you…? You aren't recording this session." – he realized once his eyes examined the corner camera behind her, where the absence of red light had been plainly evident – "You aren't NCR."

She dedicated him a slow clapping, the same she knew Burke would have done.

"Bravo, Silus." – she deadpanned – "See? You still have half a brain you can put to good use instead of being a cretin brute flapping your tongue idly like some moronic dog." – the moment she saw him trying to spit at her, she got up from her chair, violently planting a boot between his legs with the reinforced point but a hair's breadth from his crotch – "Careful there, Centurion. You wouldn't risk angering this ugly little worm wearing ugly little combat boots, right?" – that seemed to make him rethink his actions – "That's a good boy."

She got back to her seat, allowing the man a moment of silence so he would be the one speaking again. And he didn't disappoint.

"So, you are a mercenary then." – he concluded, snorting sardonically as he added – "So, the almighty Republic have just resorted to circumventing their own policies regarding war prisoners' rights by enlisting the help of some honorless cur they pay to do their dirty job. How predictable." – he snarled – "You're even worse than those Fiend Degenerates that would sell their own mother for a handful of chems, but at least they don't know anything better."

Six cocked her head slightly.

"Such an interesting little theory you have there." – she replied – "For what I've heard, your men killed themselves before facing capture, whereas you simply handed yourself out." – this had been all the information she had needed to know right from the start before the interrogation had begun to tell from where she should attack him. That was what she was expected to get out of this session: to know how much this Silus man was able to disclose – "Wouldn't that make you as dishonorable as you accuse me of being? After all, you are supposed to lead by example, right?"

"And what would you know about honor, worm?!" – he lashed – "I've led charges against men with guns carrying only my knife, and I can tell you, it was they who feared me!"

"And still, you fear death more than you fear the wrath of Caesar."

"Suicide is a weak death on a battlefield! It says to your enemy that you fear capture. It says if you're caught, you can be broken." – he stopped his tirade once he realized something, squinting his eyes as if trying to exact something out of her appearance – "Wait… the pronunciation. You didn't say Cesar, but Caesar instead." – in a matter of seconds, his posture became rigid, his voice dropping an octave – "Who are you? Are you… with the Frumentarii? A woman?"

She gave him an insincere, sugary smile.

"What was that, Silus?" – she asked with an equally lower voice, trying to forget who she was talking with and who she truly was to replace all feelings she might have been experiencing to go full Burke Mode. It was better, it was safer, as disgusting and contradictory as it sounded – "Now you're divulging information you're not supposed to? My, my, you're losing points at a fast pace here."

"No, wait!" – he exclaimed while keeping his voice as low as he could – "I've done everything Caesar ever asked of me! I've told them nothing. They've gotten nowhere. I'm a Centurion, for Christ's sake! I deserve his trust!"

"Christ?" – she inquired as coldly as she could muster, knowing very well where all of this would get them – "Besides cowardice, desertion, and secret-divulging, you now add heresy to your already long list of crimes against the Legion? You leave me no alternative, Silus."

The man looked horrified.

"No! That's not what I meant! I…" – looking at the reflective glass on the oriental side of the chamber, he yelled – "Lieutenant! This woman is trying to kill me! She's not who you think she is!"

His hopeful eyes turned into pools of mute terror when the silhouette that entered through the door wasn't Carrie Boyd's.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" – a soft, oily voice she bet both she and Silus knew too well filled the suddenly quiet chamber – "Among the list of crimes already pointed out by the Courier here present, the worst of all by far is treason, Silus." – a pair of long, chalky hands came to rest upon Six' shoulders and, for the first time since she knew him, his touch didn't feel comforting at all – "To blow an agent's cover just to save your pitiful hide begs for a lesson you, apparently, didn't learn during your training years." – his long digits caressed her shoulders briefly before squeezing them softly – "Mercuria, do enlighten our guest about what happens when legionaries are disloyal."

Mercuria, that was how he had baptized her when she would be operating for the benefit of the Legion. The reference hadn't escaped her.

She hated having to play her part in this. Couldn't he simply kill him and be done with it? Who was going to witness this lesson of his anyway?

"Disloyalty among Legion ranks has some of the legionaries involved punished; the others are made to watch." – she repeated mechanically what he had told her before all of this farce had begun.

She didn't like playing these games. She didn't like it one bit.

"See, Silus? Your first mistake was allowing your men to die while you dishonored your rank by handing yourself to the NCR. Normally twenty lashes would have been a more than adequate punishment for such a seditious move on your part… should you have escaped, that is." – she didn't need to turn around to know how his otherwise pretty blue eyes were darkening like a thunderstorm right now – "However… given your readiness at selling a valuable asset to the Legion to the enemy… this can only qualify as disloyalty." – his fingers tensed around her shoulders and she wished she could scream that he would just stop, that he would revert to the socially awkward, suspicious to a fault, adorkably sweet dude she liked so much – "And there is no place for a disloyal legionary among Caesar's troops."

As if recovered from the initial shock, Silus simply lost it and began yelling.

"You think I'm going to slit my throat for some megalomaniacal self-appointed dictator?!" – he barked, hatred and venom seeping from every word he spat – "I didn't work my way up to have it all be taken from me out of some irrational paranoia! Caesar's losing it, and you know that I'm damn right, Inculta! He's been shutting himself in his tent, privately complaining of headaches! Whatever it is, it's affecting his ability to lead, and there's no telling what would happen to all of us when he cannot lead anymore and that Lanius psychopath steps into power!"

If still maintaining his cordial tone, Zorro's voice was downright chilling when he spoke again after a tense silence.

"Dearest Mercuria, would you be so kind as to leave us alone? I am afraid our guest might have overstepped his boundaries."

She didn't dare question anything and only risked a quick peeking at him when she was making her way out of the room, only barely glimpsing how methodically he was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

Outside the interrogation chamber, Captain Curtis (the first name, she had forgotten yet again) offered her his arm silently as he guided her outside the antechamber so she didn't have to witness what was going to happen through the reflective glass.

She gave the two soldier grunts at each side a doubtful look, but the Captain simply gave her a reassuring smile, and she had but to comply with his silent invitation.

His office, which also served as his private quarters, was on the first floor of the terminal building, right behind the right stairs leading up to the second floor.

"Please, have a seat." – he said cordially – "Would you like to drink something? A coffee, perhaps?"

This was so bizarrely surreal.

"A Nuka… if you please." – she dared to ask.

Nevertheless, he disappeared for a few minutes to reappear, bringing her the soft drink with a plastic straw and closing the door behind him. She sipped a few small gulps to calm down her nerves.

Meanwhile, the Captain had sat on his desk chair and was nursing a coffee himself.

"So… Mercuria, is it?" – he asked conversationally.

She blinked a couple of times before getting back to her drink.

"Yup." – was all she said.

Nevertheless, the guy seemed intent on talking.

"You have done a very neat job there with Silus." – he said – "I can see the potential the Master Frumentarius sees in you."

Why were they having this conversation anyway?

"You Frumentarii lot are awfully nice compared to others who share your profession." – she pinpointed absently – "I wonder why that is."

She was surprised when the man let out a small polite laugh.

"Because we have mental flexibility and knowledge on the customs our experience in foreign territory gives to us." – he explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say – "Besides, not all of us come from raiding, cannibalistic or even drug-addicted tribes the likes of the majority of our foot soldiers that end sooner than later with what they have left of their brains all splattered on the ground after a gunshot. In fact, Frumentarii tend to hail from more advanced tribes that know a thing or two about working the land, hunting animals, and healing remedies." – at seeing her thunderstruck expression, he laughed again – "We are a conglomerate of 86 tribes, amica, (1) don't look so surprised to discover that, even after thirty-five years, we still drag some awful inheritance from our tribal roots."

"Was it that bad?" – she asked, genuinely intrigued – "Tribal life, I mean."

The man shrugged.

"I'm thirty-one years old." – he suddenly said after a brief silence – "In NCR society, I'm still a fairly young man. In the Legion, I'm alright, still useful, and at a good age to get myself a wife and have children… If I were still living the tribal life, I'd be an old man already." – he concluded somberly – "I believe dying in your mid-thirties-to-forties looking like you are sixty is a price too high in exchange for a life devoid of preoccupations. Because it's also devoid of either aims or purpose. Was it comfortable? Up to some extent, yes. Would I regress back to those old customs should I be given a chance? Definitely no."

That was… something that had never occurred to her until this man had explained it with such thought-out reasoning. It sounded so logical that she could not argue with it. Not on this ground.

"What about life in the Republic's lap?" – she probed, testing waters – "Now that you have experienced it, it must be hard to renounce it once the Dam is won."

The undercover agent finished his coffee before answering.

"I will not bore you with dull Legion diatribe that wouldn't aid in my argumentation and get to the point instead." – he said sternly – "Do you know why the Master Frumentarius deemed adequate to put on such theatrics before bringing Silus down?" – when she shook her head, he continued – "Needless to say that it was meant as a test for your capabilities, a test that I assure you have passed with honors… it was also a warning."

"A warning?" – she repeated slowly.

"Those two soldiers you saw guarding the antechamber? Those are undercover Frumentarii as well, and they will bear witness of Silus' fate, thus passing onto the rest the message." - smiling tiredly, he added – "Caesar's eyes and ears are everywhere, and sure you can have some doubts when you're living off the easy life here… but those doubts are quickly smothered as soon as you remember to whom you owe your loyalty. And let's leave it there."

She kept sipping on her soft drink, mulling over all that this man had just told her freely because he thought she now was one of them. How incredibly bizarre.

So much for wanting to plant seditious ideas herself, huh?

"I wouldn't be telling you all of this if I didn't believe that your primary goal is to divide the NCR, as the letter you brought suggests." – he spoke again as if he could read her thoughts – "However, I am giving you friendly and totally free of charge advice: under any circumstances, do NOT piss Inculta off." – upon seeing her frowning expression, he pressed – "Don't misunderstand me: having the Master Frumentarius' favor is almost as good as having the word of the very Caesar himself, and he clearly favors you if his actions are any measure to go by… but don't abuse the privilege."

"Beg your pardon?"

"He has a long-standing memory." - Curtis insisted, his voice lowering so much she had some difficulty understanding what he was saying – "And he's notorious for holding grudges for years until he has managed to bring down the offender in the worst possible way. He's not someone you'd want to have as an enemy, amica."

Before she could pose another question, Curtis' eyes indicated the door, and she noticed nearing shadows under the bottom rail of the entrance. Steps that got louder once they got to the other side of the door.

Without bothering to knock, Zorro entered the room with his shirt's sleeves still rolled up and his hands wiping on a slightly bloody towel. The blood wasn't his.

And how easily could he walk around the terminal building with blood on his hands without at least being questioned about it? It seemed that Legion agents abounded amidst the Republic's military, indeed.

"Have you already briefed the Courier about our next movement, Picus?" – he asked with a very thin, very condescending smile neither she nor the Captain liked one bit after closing the door behind him.

"N-no. I was waiting for you should you want to change something in the schedule, sir."

Good answer, since what little Six could read out of his sphynx countenance seemed to indicate that he, indeed, had wanted to be present when Curtis… or Picus, whatever, would present to him his brilliant plan to cripple the NCR severely whilst still assuring that she obtained Hsu's trust. Everybody won; nobody suspected a thing.

"Good." – Zorro purred in that way Six didn't know if she should feel flustered or threatened; the more when he walked toward her, hands planting at each side of her hips, crouching until they were eye to eye – "You must understand that it will depend on the outcome of this operation both Hsu's collaboration with you and the signal Caesar has been waiting for so long that the NCR has a weaker claim on The Strip. This is a plan I've been devising for years, so I am putting a great deal of trust in you, Sullivan. Do not disappoint me." – he whispered in her ear before retiring from her vital space to face his subordinate yet again – "Very well, Picus, feed her the details on Operation: Racket."


To avoid suspicion, they allowed three days to pass from Silus' faux interrogatory that, besides getting Boyd fairly pissed off, also granted Six some points with Hsu when the fake report Curtis presented to him spoke something along the lines of having exacted information about an infiltrated Legion spy inside McCarran. An officer among their ranks, someone the Centurion might be able to identify… should he manage to recover from the beating he had been subjected to.

The method used to obtain such a confession… given Six's non-NCR ties and having been conducted under the supervision of an NCR officer with a superior rank to Boyd's, was warranty enough to wash her hands from consequences. After all, the prisoner hadn't died… yet. His injuries, apparently, had been grave enough to prompt the Lieutenant to interpose a formal complaint that wasn't likely to get out of Hsu's already packed desk.

All under Zorro's strict supervision, who was willing to raise the stakes by baiting the NCR with promises of a bigger treat as a personal favor to her. Six wasn't sure she wanted to owe him anything, given his abysmal shift in attitude. Now she was dealing with the leader of Caesar's Frumentarii, not with a friend.

And it felt like dealing with another entirely different personality, one she didn't trust one bit.

"Whereas I am not pleased to know that you went off script with Captain Curtis last night, I am willing to turn a blind eye this time considering the progress you've made where Lieutenant Boyd did simply hit a wall." – were Hsu's warning, although complimentary words once he summoned her the next day first hour in the morning with her having slept less than three hours and half her companions asking questions nonstop when she had been summoned so early – "The news are disheartening, but not something I wasn't expecting." – apparently, he had been well-aware of the presence of a spy in his camp – "You see, I'd like to have absolute trust in my men, but that's just not practical right now. I can't send a patrol on a bathroom break without it being ambushed by someone who heard they were coming… So somebody's getting the word out." – sighing tiredly, he had dismissed her to return to his unsurmountable piles of paperwork. Probably, to much of both parts' relief, given that she couldn't stand Hsu's inheritance and he, apparently, couldn't stand the amount of work her infamous letter had brought onto his desk – "Go ahead and look into it. See what you find. Given your recent arrival, at least I can safely rule you out as the leak, and you've got a whole crew that can also disperse upon the camp to see if they overhear something, right?"

Unsurprisingly enough, she had been sent to Curtis' office so he could also 'give her the details about the spy infiltration'.

"How do you intend to cover up once Silus awakes?" – she had asked the Captain. After all, she didn't want any of this Legion shit splashing all over her or her friends – "He could very well rat us out to Boyd once they've patched him up in the infirmary."

However, the Frumentarius had given her a knowing smile.

"What makes you think Silus will wake up at all?"

If nothing, Caesar's spies got the job done by tying all the loose ends.

For appearances' sake, she had informed the rest of the group about what had happened last night (embellishing her version of the events up to her and Zorro's convenience, of course) and also the mission Hsu had entrusted her with, asking all of them to spread throughout McCarran helping with minor tasks as well as keeping their ears and eyes sharp for suspicious movements.

That would also serve Zorro, Gabban, and the rest as an alibi once they reunited with Curtis and the others to put the plan in motion.

It was going to be an ass-huge operation.

It had been a child's play to convince Arcade to help out in the local clinic while, at the opposite end of the hall, she would also have Vero and Raul trying to fix the mess hall food processor and Lily teaching that Corporal cook how to make decent grub for a change, given that everybody was starting to get sick going almost exclusively on corn and beans.

Since Cass had known a thing or two about business transactions, she had been entrusted with working deals with various sources to get McCarran some decent food supplies. Also, since Hsu was still shifty at best, she had left the camp accompanied by Betsy and Ten of Spades. Not that she had complained much when she had been promised whiskey in abundance should she return with results.

The only real problem had been Boone.

Six hated with a passion having to lie this blatantly to her friends due to her own lack of foresight in dealing with Zorro's shady Legion plans (fucking last time she was paying more attention to her roaring hormones rather than her old reliable grey matter), but she also hated to make treacherous moves right under Boone's nose using him as a witness to back up her lack of involvement in what was about to happen to McCarran's Monorail.

Because Zorro's plan entailed crippling the NCR's ability to react in time should The Strip suffer an invasion, unable to deploy troops as fast as they had been able to with the Monorail fully operative.

They will be the ones doing the dirty work by diverting attention, planting an explosive inside one of the train's ventilation grills, and finding a reasonable culprit whose death they will stage to appear as typical Legion suicide.

She will only have to feign an investigation, find incriminatory evidence on the chosen victim's locker… and run to inform Hsu.

Boone had wanted to assist her with her so-called investigation, genuinely happy to aid in how relations with the NCR progressed due to mutual understanding and collaboration.

He really wanted to help her, to help his country get rid of the influence of shady CEOs such as Burke or the very House.

"You'll see, girlie." – he said as he strode confidently by her side, his mood definitely less somber than his usual self – "I know the NCR has problems, but I think we're on the right track."

Six simply nodded with her head, too busy feeling like a miserable rat to acknowledge a work she was doing only partially.

"Hsu is a decent fellow." – he continued, oddly conversational, which was becoming less and less a rare event, given how tight-lipped Boone had been when she first met him all those months ago inside a dinosaur's mouth – "You know, when I was serving under him… when he looked at you, you could see he understood. After some of the things we'd seen, that meant something."

She would know, Charon understood. Understood her and what she had been through on a level nobody could. When she had been out of men and comrades, Charon had appeared out of the desert with Laura and Dogmeat in tow and not the other way around, as much as that DJ on the Galaxy News Radio had wanted to make the DC Wasteland believe.

Laura could have been the one doing the talking and making decisions… but Charon had been the actual force driving her forward.

Charon had arrived as silent as a shadow, but it had been his hands the ones who had sheltered Burke's insignificant pet Birdie from the destruction Laura had unleashed.

It had been Charon the one who had caught her crying her eyes out after the Tenpenny fiasco, sitting on the floor with her, offering silent support to her unending sorrow and stinging guilt.

It had been Charon the one who had been patient enough to listen to the whole tale regarding her shameful exploits under the Stars and Stripes raising guns toward unarmed civilians marked by the military regimen as Communists; then the virtual simulators, where deaths were as authentic as the ones that happened in the real world… Then her pathetic attempt at freeing her men after seeing the fate that awaited them collared like animals.

Charon had understood all of the above, never saying she was innocent… but also never saying that she was to blame for what had been thrown in her lap to deal with.

Charon had trusted her with his own secrets. With the countless lives he took in Alaska and way more ever since then. With the family that he had lost to the bombs. With the masters he had served throughout the centuries and the crimes he had committed in their names.

With the orders he was never released from. With Chase and his sick game, giving name and circumstances for the first time to everything her Big Bro had always wanted to forget from his serving time. Those things he never spoke about.

Charon had been the only thread that had linked her to sanity, even in the distance… until Benny.

The bullet had scrambled her brains for a while, unsure of her surroundings, uncomfortable wielding a shotgun but appreciating the grip's curve from the old 10mm she had repaired on that Goodsprings doctor's house, having to relearn everything she had been taught about the Wasteland from the woman who smiled like the sun.

She had been stumbling around from Goodsprings to Primm like a disoriented gecko hatchling until she had found ED-E.

Unbearably lonely as she had felt, she had adjudged the eyebot human qualities that later had developed into a surprisingly cute friendship, with him fancying himself RALPHIE, from the pre-War TV show 'RALPHIE the Robot's Incredible Odyssey!' and her being his Sid, the kid that also followed in RALPHIE's adventures.

ED-E and Six, the unlikely pair's crazy misadventures.

"ED-E, fly far! Fly fast!"

The little eyebot had loved playing RALPHIE with her while they had been on the roads, throwing at her all manner of questions translated into beeping patterns, from why did she look sad when that cowgirl hadn't wanted to accompany her or why didn't she fear the Big Bad Wolf with the sports equipment.

Then, ED-E asked her why the man with the red beret and sunglasses that had wanted to accompany them looked so sad.

"Girlie?"

Why did all the people who followed her look so sad and broken.

Without thinking much, she simply rounded Boone's waist with her arm and butted her head slightly against his chest like some bighorner calf. Her other hand gripping Charon's dog tags tightly around her neck.

Boone's knuckles found her hair and messed it up even more than it already was. He reminded her sometimes of her Big Bro so much…

Maybe Boone hadn't shared his secrets with her yet; maybe he never will… but she still could trust him. Trust him like she would with a comrade. Her comrade.

She hoped to get over this as soon as possible to stop lying to him. After everything they had been through together, he deserved better.

Perhaps better than her.

Little did she know of the vigilant, jealous pair of blue eyes that had them tightly monitored from his privileged sight inside one of the derelict planes, aiding in creating the very explosive that would earn them a sweet, sweet victory over the Republicans.


"You gonna help, or you're gonna keep staring through those binoculars, Fox?"

Gabban was starting to annoy him on a basis so prevalent that Vulpes still had half a mind about beating the crap out of him until he learned respect.

Silus' treatment the other night had been but a warm-up, and he still felt like punching something. Or someone.

"I have to keep her in check." – he replied in his usual monochord intonation that screamed 'impersonal', 'pure duty'. He half-hoped his brother wouldn't be so perceptive this time – "That NCR dog isn't the best influence right at the moment."

"Then why don't you simply get rid of him?"

That was an appealing idea. One he had been entertaining as of late since Sullivan seemed more inclined to keep her companions busy – especially that filthy sniper cur she, apparently, was so disgustingly attached to – than dedicating Vulpes a small portion of her so-precious time. It was the third night they hadn't had a Pip-Boy chat, and he was becoming impatient.

It had been so glaringly evident that even Raul had asked him in private what he had done to annoy Boss this time as if something was wrong between them or… stuff.

Because everything was alright between them… wasn't it?

True that they were working to bring his scheme to fruition, but…

"Shit!" – Gabban exclaimed by his right, slapping angrily the dusted floor he was sitting on – "How I hate arming fucking plastic explosives!" – he hissed while taking a likely sore finger to his mouth, eyeing the tools in front of him as if they personally had insulted him.

Vulpes rolled his eyes, taking his binoculars off to assist him.

"And how I hate not having a good bar of soap at hand to cleanse that filthy mouth of yours…" – he emphasized, annoyed as he sat beside his irritating brother – "Does anyone actually pay attention when I explain things?" – he also hissed as he began connecting the wires between the bricks and the clockwork mechanism – "Yellow goes up, red goes down. So simple, even a slow child could do it."

"Aren't you charming today?" – if Gabban thought sarcasm would win his sympathies, then he didn't know Vulpes at all.

"Be quiet and pass me the duct tape."

It took him less time arming the bomb than the never-ending hour they had spent near the armory's door until the officer that now replaced Contreras had gone on his lunch break so they could pick the lock and steal only the necessary components to arm a decent charge strong enough to break the train in two as soon as it exploded.

"That's more like it." – he said, admiring his work after checking the synchronized signal between the mechanism and the detonator – "Take it to Picus and tell the rest to get to their positions."

For once obedient and silent, Gabban did as told, leaving Vulpes to gather the spare parts Becky had tasked him to collect from everywhere he could find amidst pre-War airport junk to repair the food processor. His alibi was ensured once he would leave to presumably gather more while he, in truth, would be persuading the imbecile prankster they had chosen as the perfect victim given the record Picus had delivered to him. His name was Davey Crenshaw, a retarded, undisciplined Private that liked a tad too much pulling particularly nasty pranks on his fellow servicemen to the point not a single soldier on his company could stand him, so he had been stationed inside the South wall of the base, far away as possible from any source of trouble he might cause.

The perfect scapegoat.

Now that he thought about it, wouldn't it be the cherry on top if the bothersome sniper dog would be, say, 'tragically' trapped inside the train before the charge exploded?

And wouldn't that be even sweeter if he were the one murdering Crenshaw, believing he had taken down a Legion agent?

Vulpes' inner fox licked its whiskers in anticipation as a slight variation on the original plan began brewing inside his crafty mind.

This fine evening, McCarran will be hosting fireworks entertainment. For everyone.


"Man, I'm bored…"

Whistling a tuneless melody, Davey took his heavy, annoying helmet off and fanned his heated face as he gingerly abandoned his post to rest his legs a little.

Not that anything could happen for taking a break, since nothing remotely interesting happened this far from the terminal building, and there was nobody who could yell at him for it. This had to be the most worthless patrol duty on the whole base.

"Private Crenshaw, I assume."

Lifting his face and shielding his eyes from the red lights of the twilight with a hand, Davey faced a tall, pale figure standing just a few paces ahead of him. Crimson lighting shone over his terse face and curly hairstyle like blood.

"Hey! Can't you see I'm busy here?" – Davey replied, already eager for some conversation that would kill this unbearable boredom – "Nah, I'm just kidding. They never attack this gate. They just put me back here because they don't think I can handle anything else."

The pale stranger, a young man that looked not much older than him, directed him a lazy smile.

"Is that so?" – there was something in his voice that Davey found oddly pleasant while, at the same time, slightly unnerving as well – "Why, doesn't that sound like a waste of your talents, Private?"

"Do we know each other?" – he asked, just in case. Maybe this polite stranger came here in retaliation for something Davey might have done, and he wasn't eager to start a fight if he could help it.

The lazy smile amplified.

"Oh, no." – he assured, to Davey's much relief – "However, your reputation precedes you, Private. I have heard you are kind of a prankster."

He already liked this stranger, even as slippery as his voice sounded.

"Yeah, I pulled a few pranks in my time." – he replied, returning the smile – "Careful, though. I'll talk your ear off."

He wasn't by any means into blokes, but Davey got some pleasant shivers when the stranger spoke again.

"Oh, do go on." – he purred. He also had a kind of a feline attitude that Davey found strangely magnetic – "I'd love to hear more."

"Aw, well… usual stuff." – he replied, flattered – "Brought a brahmin upstairs in the terminal once. They can go upstairs but not down. Two heads and both of 'em dumb as stumps. That got me some detention time, but it was worth it 'cause they couldn't get the brahmin back down, so it visited me a few times in my cell." – he laughed a bit at that one, and the stranger's smile turned even more upwards – "Dropped some firecrackers in the toilets too. That was the real bad one for me. Turns out there's no way to replace the toilets now. Toilet company blew up in the War. I think they'd just have shot me if they weren't shorthanded."

"Mischievous, aren't we?" – the fair-haired stranger asked, unfolding an also mischievous grin full of teeth that got Davey off guard, given that he had such long, pointy canines – "It is fortunate that I have found someone so… let's say, experienced in this sort of practices, since I myself have a very elaborated prank on the go with a friend… but we need a third wheel to complete our team. Interested?"

That caught Davey's attention almost immediately. Mostly because it sounded like fun, and since he was so bored…

"No kidding!" - he exclaimed, already jumping up the wagon. A good prank was still a good prank – "What'd you cook up?"

The other crossed his arms, inclining slightly to Davey conspiratorially.

"You see, we know this guy, an ex-First Recon that happened to arrive here recently with the Courier and company." – the Courier! Did this guy know something about her? She was quite the camp's talk right now! – "He's always so quiet and sour, so we figured up a way to shake him off a little, since he's so serious with security issues."

"Oh, man! You wanna pull a prank on one of the Courier's friends?!" – Davey asked, fascinated with this guy's bold move – "Ain't that gonna get you into trouble afterward? The Courier and her friends are off-limits."

"Oh, I very much hope so." – the other replied with a suggestive intonation – "It's harmless enough. See, we just want him to believe that the Monorail will go boom."

"Wait… you mean feign a terrorist attack?"

"With some fireworks and crackers over the train's roof, so they explode safely enough upwards. We want him to run up there and give him a surprise, make him loosen up a bit. That way, perhaps he would be more open to introducing us to the Courier. He has been acting like a jerk, playing deaf every single time we tried to strike up a conversation with him."

That was… something way bigger than he had ever attempted before.

"But…" – Davey hesitated – "What if Colonel Hsu hears about it? Security stuff is something serious around here."

That earned a pout out of the stranger, directing him a disillusioned look.

"Aw, you are no fun, Private."

Whoa, that was a no-no. Davey was fun. And he was game; what the hell! What could happen to them besides getting some detention time?

Besides, he was so sick of being here on the South wall doing basically nothing!

"Alright, I'm in." – he said – "What do you need me to do?"

He didn't know why, but the smile the stranger gave him reminded Davey of a pair of open scissors, all angles and steely points.


The girlie seemed a bit distracted as of late.

Working for House, working for the NCR… it seemed they never managed to catch a proper rest, but that was okay with Boone. He had had almost a year since… since what had happened to Carla… and idleness had almost killed him.

When she had gone missing, Manny had been the first person he had told.

He had tried to hide it, but Boone could tell right away. He was glad.

Glad that she was trouble no more, even despite knowing that both had been expecting to be parents in a matter of months.

The one he had thought his best friend since the two of them had enlisted at sixteen hadn't been the one who had sold Carla to those bastards… but his betrayal had been the only one that had mattered in that town full of hypocrites, given that it had been the one who had hurt him the most.

Fucking psycho, sending the wisp of a girlie that had arrived into town with only her good intentions and that floating pile of junk trailing after her to deal with the ferals up the REPCONN test site. Not man enough to deal with it himself, but willing to send a child to her death under the pretense of telling her right away what she was looking for once she fulfilled her end of the bargain.

She didn't know, but Craig had stomped his way to Manny's flat to give him a piece of his mind, then a whole knuckle ration when the motherfucker had dared to call him out for 'having his needs neglected'. Goddamned selfish piece of shit.

He had spat everything about that Benny piece of crap, Jessup, and his Khan cronies.

After that, he hadn't dared show face until he and the girlie had been far away from town.

Nevertheless, she had gone through the trouble of cleaning the test site despite everything. For a town that wasn't worth the dust on her boots. She had said that she owed big to the 'funny Chupacabra man' since it had been thanks to him that she had started suspecting Jeannie May right away.

He had asked why the deliriums of a crazy old man would be worth cleansing a whole zone infested, first with ferals, then Nightkin. Her answer?: because, thanks to her investigation, now she had him by her side.

Then he had understood just how lonesome she must feel to be glad having a murderer by her side. Not that she knew about that… but Craig could tell she, at least, suspected something, and she still accepted him anyway.

He had pondered countless times on telling her, to see if she got rid of him like he deserved… but the thing was that he was as much a selfish bastard as Manny was and didn't want to let her go.

He might get along with most of her group – not to count the albino shit and his gang of losers – but Craig was primarily with them because of the girlie. Any time soon she disappeared, he would unapologetically ditch the rest. It was her or no-fucking-body. Simple as that.

Sure, it may sound cold, but caring about one person was already more than he thought he could manage sometimes. He was being extra careful around McCarran since the girlie had informed him that there was a Legion spy filtering intel; he wasn't gonna allow her to investigate on her own while having one of those monsters walking around disguised as a soldier. Reds were sneaky, so he probably knew already that an investigation was taking place on his account.

So, the moment he caught the bastard, his brains were gonna splatter the ground, procedure be damned. He wouldn't allow him to get to the girlie.

He wouldn't fail again.

The same he didn't fail when the girlie's investigations got her to Carrie Boyd's office, and the woman started going difficult on her. To put it mildly.

"You stick out like a sore thumb around here." – had been her angry, though contained salutation – "Haven't you done enough?"

He had gotten pretty good at reading the girlie's moods, especially when she was nervous or upset, so he got her back when Boyd's eyes were literally digging holes into her skull. Not that the girlie needed more holes after almost kissing life goodbye thanks to Manny's 'family' and that Benny rat.

The Lieutenant got some pent-up frustration to answer for, so he cut the woman's cold, angry tirade when he stepped in.

"With all the due respect, Lieutenant: we have an emergency situation with someone filtering information to the enemy, and time's running short already." – he said as he always thought a soldier should address a problem of this magnitude: sticking to the point – "No time for ill feelings, so tell us real quick if you know something about suspicious activity going on around the camp."

The woman mustn't have expected him to intervene at all, so she switched to Soldier Mode and began recounting everything that came to her mind, from disappearances from personnel and supplies to break-ins. The girlie had asked her about the latter.

"Maybe break-in isn't the right word. We didn't find signs of forced entry. But I've had reports of someone sneaking into the control tower at night." – Boyd recalled – "It's probably just a meeting spot for a steamy military base love affair… But it bothers me that they didn't break in. It means they have an access code. Most soldiers around the base don't have that."

Boone suspected she had given them the code to get them out of her sight.

The girlie didn't seem to be in a hurry since she reasoned that the intruder wouldn't be likely to attempt to break in until the night came.

But it was already past six in the afternoon, nearly dusk, so darkness was close… and, somehow, the unnatural silence and the absence of guards in a few key points around the control tower and the backyard where silent pre-War planes loomed over their disquiet silhouettes made Craig suspicious almost immediately.

So, the very instant he saw what had looked like a common soldier, if his uniform was any giveaway scurrying around not very subtly, Craig was immediately on guard.

Both he and the girlie waited at a prudential distance, given that they were sure he had seen them the same they had seen him, so it seemed pointless to hide until he rounded the tower and simply disappeared.

"I've got a photo of him." – the girlie informed, showing him the screen of her Pip-Boy – "We should take it to Hsu so he can identify him and tell us where… Wait! Boone, where are you going?!"

Craig didn't listen to any single more word as he typed down the password on the terminal access and entered the tower.

"Um… Third Wheel to One and Two, do you copy?"

What the… there were more of them?!

"Second Wheel to Three. Loud and clear."

Craig remained hidden a few steps below, wanting to confirm his suspicions.

"Is the package ready? Over."

'Package'?!

"Affirmative. Charges are set. Detonation will occur as the train leaves the station. Over."

The Monorail!

"Roger Two. How long?"

"Couple of minutes. True to Caesar."

"Wha…"

You son of a bitch!

Craig shot the bastard before he could acknowledge him and ran to the corpse to go through his pockets.

Come on, come on, come on…

"Boone!"

He kept ignoring the girlie as he frantically searched every cranny and nook of what was now an overly-pocketed uniform until he found a folded piece of paper.

A disarming code.

"Let it be, Boone! Let's inform Hsu!"

To hell with Hsu. There was still time to stop this.

So he ran past her, past the stairs, tunnel vision encircling his world as he crashed through garage doors to enter the terminal building, jumping steps in two up to the second floor to the left.

There weren't any guards stationed at the door.

"The tram is about to depart. Please keep clear of the doors, and restrain any young children." – a female pre-recorded voice from before the War crooned in the background. The station empty as well.

They had known all the time! They had simply toyed with him and the girlie!

The girlie…

"BOONE!"

"SULLIVAN!"

His foot was on the stairs of the train's entrance when a beeping to his left and then a blinding burst of light was all he could process before he was propelled backward and the whole world went black.

So… this was how it ended… Heh… he knew she'd be the death of him.


Stupid girl! Didn't she have even the slightest self-preservation instinct in her?! Did she fancy herself immortal or what?!

Did she have a death wish?!

Vulpes could feel a thin trail of blood escaping his nose, whereas his left ear felt warm and sticky. His vision was blurry as his eyes eliminated dirt particles through itchy tears.

Pieces of broken concrete, dirty glass, and charred remains of what had been the train's carapace peppered the whole station perimeter.

Under his weight, he could still feel her wriggling form fighting him, small nails clawing blindly, feet kicking as she wailed.

"NOOOOOOOO!" – ashy dust cascaded down his arms and torso as she rolled him aside, as if he weighed nothing, still screaming – "BOONE!"

He allowed her to go, fisting a bunch of ashy dust angrily.

He could see her searching for the sniper amongst the rubble, her voice trembling, her arms frantic once they dug something out of the impact zone. More silhouettes gathered around. The world grey and blurry like smoke, shadows crossing the limits between reality and memories.

Memories of Nipton. Fire and ashes, a clean slate, strength overcoming filth and dishonor.

A chunk of pointy rubble dug hard on his palm, dirty blood seeping in-between his fingers.

"Stay with me, Boone!" – he heard her crying. Why did it sting so much, he had no idea – "Oh, please, stay with me!" – the way she implored… would she bargain with the Grim Reaper the same for just any other than the disgusting soldier? Would she fight the same for Becky, who deserved her love and dedication way more than anybody else…? Would she fight for him…? – "BOONE!"

Would she?

A lonesome silhouette approaching amidst naked crosses, no men nor mutts surrounding him, alone at the bottom of the steps that would lead them far away from the desert. Away from the NCR and the Legion. Away from House and the man of the East.

Away from everybody.

"Hold on there, Boone!"

Then she, the Messenger of those Gods that never had anything to do with him, would meet him dressed in white, small and ethereal, and she would cradle him in her arms…

"Help! Please, somebody, help him!"

… To encase a blade in his gut. Allowing him to bleed on the very soil he had soiled, kneeling where he made others kneel.

Life was a lottery, and this time the dog had won. Let the fox lick his wounds in silence.

And so, when unconsciousness claimed him, he recalled that he, whom the Gods love, dies young.

The Gods had never loved him.


No matter where you habilitated one, hospitals and infirmaries always smelled the same.

And that was of ethyl alcohol and meds, mostly.

Up the farthest corner in the entire terminal concourse, Doctor K. (because that was the only letter she got right from his name, and it felt creepy asking him a third time so she could write it down in her Pip-Boy Name Database that she had started building the day before to pass the time) walked up and down picking medical supplies from his cabinet, Arcade pointedly ignoring him as he checked her pupil response.

"I'm alright, Arcade." – she assured him, flinching when he huffed at that – "You should probably be attending Boone instead of me." – she added tiredly.

Because she was so… so tired…

From crying, mostly. She could already feel how puffy and sore her eyes were now that she hadn't more tears before developing a massive headache.

It had been therapeutic, to be completely honest. It had given her an outlet from the past few days' pent-up tension.

Now that she thought about it, she had been crying more in the last months than she had done in years since she had departed from DC. She wasn't sure if she should be worried or alleviated.

Anyway, now that her feelings were apparently more stable, she was ready to confront her favorite medic's usual rant relatively calmly after doing something particularly dangerous and, overall, stupid.

Because Arcade was pissy, she could tell by just feeling how tight the bandages he dressed around her head went.

"And you should probably stop trying to tell the medic how to do his job." – he replied acidly – "Just the same you should stop chasing bombs and the like. But, hey, who am I to dissuade you from pursuing the most suicidal outcomes that come with a courier's job?"

She had already tried to tell him that the one who had pursued the bomb had been Boone and not her… but she guessed that, given her long record with putting herself in danger as if it were a sort of a hobby, she couldn't blame Arcade for thinking otherwise.

Nevertheless, she had this funny feeling that he intended to also give Boone a piece of his mind once the sniper awakened. Luckily, she had been informed not an hour ago that he was out of danger… however, the burns he had received as a result of the explosion might leave permanent scarring. No matter how miraculous pre-War Stimpaks seemed to be, they definitely weren't the answer to everything.

"Audentes fortuna iuvat?" (2) – she probed, attempting to get back on his graces, playing on their silly mutual Latin-geeking. At least that was safe territory, unlike her current feelings.

"Very funny." – the blonde medic replied dryly – "Did you also know that ignorance is bold, but knowledge is reserved?"

Oh, Thucydides, is it?

"You might also agree that 'He who does much makes the most mistakes'." – she replied automatically. She couldn't resist a battle of Famous Quotations with Arcade, no matter how pissy he might be.

"Very well, Euripides; and how about 'Cuiusvis hominis est errare; nullius nisi insipientis in errore perseverare'? (3) Hmmm?"

"You always cite Cicero or Cato when you wanna win an argument. That's kind of cheap, Arcade."

"No, that's the geniality of experience. And let me tell you that neither Cicero, nor Cato lived in a time, under the paw of a megalomaniacal dictator, where one could allow oneself to make mistakes if they wanted to retain their head attached to their body."

"Well… that's the way of politics after all." – she muttered weakly, earning a long sigh from the Follower.

"Unfortunately, that is a truth I cannot refute, mi amica."

Six almost flinched upon hearing the substantive, recalling Curtis and his warning.

"He has a long-standing memory. And he's notorious for holding grudges for years until he has managed to bring down the offender in the worst possible way."

Her eyes diverted to the nearby occupied medical stretcher.

A concussion, a cut on the right hand, and a bunch of scratches were all he had gotten despite having shielded her from the worst of the explosion.

Duke might have been right on this one: he was tough as nails.

And he was incredibly dangerous. For her and for the rest of the group.

It shouldn't have come as a shock if she had used her brains for once instead of relying on what many other parts of her body may have to say. Like… Nipton? Hello? A lottery resulting in an entire city being burned to its very foundations with crucified NCR troopers, raiders, and Powder Gangers? Ring a bell?

And what about the stories that came from Searchlight? About a whole town irradiated to the ground?

He played big and got big results.

And it may have been just pure unfortunate casualty… but he knew how to read people. He had known how Boone may react upon learning that there was a bomb about to explode, tempting his hero complex with a chance, as slight as it may be, of disarming it in time.

Subtle, yet effective. But he apparently hadn't counted on her being almost as fast as Boone when running.

He had been there to watch the fireworks.

She had known all the time that neither Boone nor him could stand one another… but she hadn't anticipated that he would go ballistic this way.

She had to remove him from the equation.

"He's not someone you'd want to have as an enemy, amica."

Or she may try… dunno… negotiating something with him? She might just as well yell at him all the usual nasty stuff until she felt better and tell him to hit the road like he deserved… but that wouldn't solve anything and, instead, take things on an uglier turn she might not be able to fix afterward. And she was conscious that it was her anger talking here and not what she truly wanted. Suicidal as Arcade had accused her of being till the end.

Because she was furious with him. She was so mad she could just run up his stretcher and kick him in the head. Hard. See if that fixed whatever loose wires he may have inside it.

Inside that insidious brain of his.

Why did he have to do that? What exactly would he gain out of it besides making her mad?

He was VERY lucky that Boone wasn't pushing daisies yet. Because that would have been it. She would have literally set his cute ass on fire.

And now, she had to deal with him and his evident misguided notion that he could play god whenever he felt like it.

But what exactly could she do in these circumstances? Make him promise he wouldn't do anything like that again? Convince him that wasn't the best way to solve his differences with someone? Convert to Buddhism?

Talking Deathclaws more probably, yup. She would be saving herself some big troubles in the future if she simply handed him to NCR authorities.

But she didn't want to do that.

Why couldn't she just… throttle him or something?

Nevertheless, it was fortunate he had been rendered unconscious. She couldn't stand talking to him right now. She may as well need a couple of days to cool off before confronting him. Until then, she would just give him the cold shoulder. His brother could very well visit him at the infirmary, for she wasn't.

"As good as new." – Arcade announced once he had concluded with her medical examination – "Go, before I regain the itch to give you a long, mostly pointless lecture regarding self-preservation and life choices." – he grumbled as humorously as his current vitriol allowed him – "I believe they are waiting for you."

She gave him a hug despite his grumpy attitude. She was glad being able to squeeze and smooch him as she damn pleased without taking into account… Enclave stuff. Arcade couldn't be more opposed to an ideology that had destroyed countless lives throughout the centuries before and after the bombs, so he wasn't Enclave the same she wasn't a fan of what her Government had done with the Chinese occupation in Alaska and everything that had come afterward.

They weren't where they came from. They were their own person. That's why they were friends, after all.

After squeezing free serotonin out of that hug she right now had needed so much, she pursued more rewarding monoamine neurotransmitters first between Vero's arms, then Lily's, with Rex never falling short at giving humid love for free all to her. In contrast, Raul gave her an ice-cold Nuka, a half-eaten box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes (the other half, he confessed, he had been eating when they had been waiting for her since, you know, Raul had such a big sweet tooth… as rotten as that tooth might be anyway) and a pat in the shoulder. Always the same practical grumpy old man.

She loved them so much she could just eat them up.


Twenty-two hours later, Vulpes awakened to a lavish meal the mess hall cook had prepared for everyone to celebrate that the food processor was in working shape again, thanks to the combined efforts of Raul and Becky.

And also to comfort all of the base after the terrorist attack.

Despite having brahmin steak with spiced tatos garnish, he ate with a sour face in silence, pondering on his failures rather than his devastating success with the Monorail as he wordlessly dared any of his present Frumentarii to come up with any comment regarding his current situation. For he will bust the teeth out of their mouths.

Why did they have to be here, gathered around him like their presence was needed? Why couldn't they simply get lost and leave him alone?

He had put up with their presence more than he should, and so he later communicated to Gabban in private that they needed to return to Fortification Hill and tell Caesar he deemed the Courier adequate to pass His Mark onto her. They would reunite two weeks later in the Legion safehouse near the old nuclear test site to travel to Cottonwood Cove safely.

"So, you're going to do it." – his infuriating brother had had the fucking nerve to reproach him – "You're going to invite her into our territory despite knowing what she is!" - he had hissed, venomous like Vulpes never thought Gabban was capable of – "You're going to risk Caesar's safety bringing a thrice-damned pre-War spy to his very door! And for what? Because you're thinking with your fucking dick!"

He had been livid, incredulous that Gabban would muster up the gall to call him out for something so minimal! As if he hadn't the right to pursue whomever he fucking liked! After everything he had had to put up to ensure that Alex and him… all of them remained together and alive!

Nasty little ingrate!

"Don't YOU dare…" – he had warned. He always warned him, ALWAYS. But did Gabban ever listen?

"Don't I dare, what? Telling you the bloody truth to your fucking face?!" – why wouldn't he control that revolting tongue of his?! Why wouldn't he?! – "You think you're above all that you can throw security, procedure, and common sense to the gutter just because you wanna get laid?! Get a wife from the market, Vulpes, and be done with it! There are plenty better women than such a human wreck with a hole in her head that doesn't even remember the information she's given half the goddamn time if she doesn't type it down on her toy!"

He had almost risen up to the bait. Almost.

"Why, brother. Jealous that I can have a girl without having to pay or force my way to obtain her attention?" – he regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth.

The horrified, downright wounded look Gabban directed to him had hurt more than the immediate punch he had obtained in response.

After that, his grey matter must have taken up a temporary vacation because he had returned the punch.

They had never fought outside training, and both were vicious.

Somehow, he didn't remember what he had said and done or how they had gotten out the closed room where they had been shouting to one another until they had been separated, Gabban restrained by Cassius and Olivian; Vulpes by Lily since, apparently, the combined forces of Titus, Felix and Ignatius had proven to be insufficient when he had kept dragging them with him as he struggled to get to his brother to hit him yet again.

"FUCK YOU!" – Gabban had yelled, his nose bleeding and his swollen lips already presenting visible hematomas. His eyes watering virulently.

"No, fuck YOU!" – he had yelled as well, completely out of his mind, his left eye and eyebrow burning like hell, adrenaline pumping through his veins viciously, whispering to him to continue until he had the other bleeding on the ground.

So, the fight must have been briefer than he had thought, given that, later, he had found that he had gathered very little damage throughout the rest of his body.

It was better that way, he supposed as he nursed his swollen eye and a weakened molar that kept moving the more he prodded it with his tongue, alone as he was inside his makeshift nest in one of the derelict airplanes from the furthest part of the camp.

It was better that way because, despite Gabban's superior musculature, both knew who got the highest body count in the arena since Anguis and all the other idiots who thought they could challenge him for his position the same he had done and get away with it.

He had set camp in the vacant plane because he couldn't stomach sleeping in the same tent as Gabban. Not now.

The funny thing had been the utter and complete absence of NCR personnel coming to restrain unruly 'civilians' like them, causing a disturbance in the middle of the night. Keep peace and order even in your very base of military operations? What was that? Can you eat it?

That's what you could expect from a place that allowed mercenaries to use military facilities without applying to them the same norms as every other soldier with their due punishments… or even having a pair of trained guards that could reduce them should any problem arise as a minimum.

Very NCR.

He had stolen a caravan lunch, a Nuka-Cola, and a couple of pears from the kitchens to have some dinner despite not feeling one bit hungry.

He had used the full Nuka to reduce the swollenness of his eye, and he had used the empty bottle later to scare away a stupid couple of horny NCR soldiers searching for a quiet, discrete place to conduct their sexual affair by throwing it at their heads.

Turning off the amber lantern of his Pip-Boy, he huddled inside his sleeping bag, trying to catch some rest.

However, his anger had cooled as the hours passed, and he had gotten his much-needed respite from human nearness, overwhelmed as he had felt. Now was the precise moment his brain picked to torment him, confronting all the fuck-ups he had consistently been doing since they had gotten inside this damned military camp.

He tried very hard to deny that he had done anything wrong, given that he had acted how he was expected to act: obtaining the Courier's collaboration in an operation that had been successful thus far; attempting to get rid of an NCR-related target that hadn't gone so well due to circumstances; and putting a disobedient, impudent subordinate in his place.

See? Nothing wrong at all.

Then, why did all of the above feel like a long list of failures, one after the next?

He checked his Pip-Boy longingly, searching for a chat notification that wasn't there.

It hadn't been there for five days now.

He decided to put on some music that could lull him to sleep. Liszt mostly, even if he didn't know what a piano was in the first place, it sounded relaxing enough.

Half an hour later, when he thought he was finally managing to get himself drowsy, the headphones beeped softly with a chat notification.

He was alert and awake once he checked twice that he wasn't imagining things.

The notification read:

00:48 AM Friday, March 31, 2282

Courier VI: Can I get on your plane?


She was biting her nails again. A most unladylike habit Burke had loathed her doing, chastising her every single time, forcing her to wear gloves all day even if she had to go to the toilet until she would do it again, and the pattern would repeat.

Now Burke could eat a sock because she was biting her nails freely, giving way to her nervousness instead of vomiting.

She already knew both were nasty habits, but between the sword and the rose…

She had hesitated a while before risking getting out of the tent after… what had happened earlier.

Gabban had kept giving her nasty glares throughout supper with everybody else silent as a tomb while eating desert salad and a gecko omelet (thank Vero and Raul for their hard work) until everyone had gotten in their respective bunks, and she had been left with only silence to keep her company.

So, she basically had swallowed her pride and her still very much present anger and had ventured outside with Yes Man acting as a GPS to localize the other Pip-Boy.

She should have suspected he would camp inside a plane.

She had asked for an invitation and waited.

The answer, surprisingly, came almost immediately.

00:49 AM Friday, March 31, 2282

Fox: OK.

Okay? Just like that?

Hesitating a little when she recalled the treatment he had bestowed upon that Centurion, she then climbed the steps cautiously, careful to make her way inside, where she didn't use the device's lantern and merely crawled amidst the dusty, gloomy space until she found his lying form facing the opposite side where she had come from.

She sat near the sleeping bag, unsure as to how to act. Waiting for him to make the first move.

But none of them moved or talked for the next ten minutes. That was an uncomfortable, creepy silence.

She toyed with the idea of being the first speaking up or even using the Pip-Boy to communicate… but, given that she was a little done with these games and having to walk on eggshells around him, she simply took her boots off, unzipped his sleeping bag, and proceeded to get inside. She heard him gasping.

"What are you doing?" – his voice came out as if he were both shocked and outraged by her audacity.

"I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm not waiting all night for you feeling hospitable out of the goodness of your heart, so move aside." – she replied softer than she had truly intended since she still was pissed with him. Pissed and terribly unsure as to what she was going to tell him.

They ended up in an odd, awkward position with her sort of spooning him because of… height difference. Yep.

Then, silence again. It was starting to be annoying.

"You wanna talk about what happened earlier?" – she ventured, already knowing the answer.

"No."

"Okay." – she could live with that – "You wanna talk about why are you hiding in a plane?"

"I am not hiding." – his tone implied he wanted to make that particular point clear – "And no."

He was lucky he was cute. Otherwise, she would have already strangled him. Or kicked him in the nuts, just as he very well-deserved after being such an asshole.

"You wanna talk about the bomb incident?" – when he didn't immediately respond, she pressed – "I promise I won't lash out if you promise you won't."

She was behaving civilly. Was it too much to expect from him the same?

He didn't answer her. At least verbally.

Because he completely rearranged their positions when he turned around and, instead of facing her, he buried his face between her chin and her neck, enclosing her in an embrace that left her briefly stunned until she willed herself to react by reaching for his hair unconsciously. It was like dealing with an oversized, moody cat.

"Why did you…" – hell, how does one pose a question like that without making it sound as awful as it was? – "Why did you attract Boone to a trap?"

"I didn't…"

"Nununununu." – she chided him, still wanting to strangle him despite her apparent calmness. Cute or not, he still was a danger and an asshole – "You don't insult my intelligence, I won't insult yours. I know you did; I know it wasn't meant for me to be so quick, either. I've already covered your ass for the reasons you were present there to save mine, so you owe me at least some truth courtesy. Thank you very much."

His answer wasn't verbal again, as he simply squeezed her briefly. It was almost apologetic.

She sighed.

"Look… you cannot do stuff like that." – posing it like that sounded so utterly ridiculous that she briefly contemplated facepalming herself – "Luckily for both of us, Boone is still alive and hasn't taken much damage besides some burns, which are partly his responsibility, since he has been entertaining a death wish even before I met him. I accept he's fucking suicidal the same I accept you're fucking crazy, but you cannot go for each other's throats with killing intent. I draw the line there."

That was a fair warning, she thought.

"You knew what you were buying when you invited me over." – he breathed against her skin.

What she knew was that she was exercising a lot of self-restraint to NOT give him the S-L-A-P of his life.

"No, I didn't." – she replied, unsure if she was really telling the truth this time.

"No, you didn't." – he accepted – "So neither did I, it seems. Why did you want me to join you, anyway?"

Okay, time for some opening up.

"I like you." – she admitted grudgingly – "You were the first stranger to be nice to me since Goodsprings. Truly nice, without wanting anything more complicated out of me than spreading the word about your campaign. You didn't ask me to cleanse your stupid city of raiders and rescue hostages for information or to risk my hide for some food and lodging." – now that she thought about it, those 'favors' had made her incredibly angry and frustrated at that time, but then she had recalled that the Wasteland wasn't anything like pre-War America, where you expected to receive help from law enforcers and not the other way around – "I didn't care about political alignment: you were nice, and I liked you. I just wanted to be friends."

"Friends…" – he repeated slowly.

"I gather you aren't very familiar with the term. I don't suppose you have many."

"No."

"I'm not surprised."

"I don't care about friends."

"Pity, since I still want us to be friends."

"Why would you, after what happened?"

"Why, indeed. Maybe I still like you, even if you are unbelievable nuts." – it sounded excessively simplistic, for what was worth it – "However, this time comes with a price: try anything like what happened with the Monorail and Boone again, and I don't care if you are successful or not, you're out." – sensing him tensing, she added – "I'm not sure if you are with us out of mere political interest or you actually care about some of the people in this group, but I don't think it will benefit you getting out now. And here, some folks actually care about you. You might unbeknownstly have made some friends… even if you don't care about them."

He seemed to mull over her words before opening his mouth again.

"I… apologize."

That was unexpected.

"Don't say that if you aren't truly sorry."

"I am partly sorry."

Well, that was more than she had expected in the first place.

"Okay, I can believe that." – she acquiesced, her index finger twirling around a snowy curl – "Are you gonna do it again?"

"No."

"You promise?"

He took his sweet time before answering.

"… Yes."

"Okay."

With tension quickly evaporating between them, her throttling instincts also had disappeared entirely. She wasn't sure if that should worry her or not since it spoke volumes about her character and how quickly was she forgiving such a grave transgression that had almost gotten the three of them killed.

Maybe those bullets had scrambled her egg in ways she might not have been aware of until now.

"Hsu has approved my petition about lending us some manpower to take back the NCRCF." – she informed – "I suspect he's more than happy letting me go since I, apparently, am a walking headache to him. So, we'll be departing once Boone awakes and he can walk." – she continued playing with his hair since he didn't seem to mind at all, and she wanted to keep her hands busy with something soft – "You're in?"

"Yes." – no hesitation. Good.

She kissed the top of his head and prepared to drift asleep until his voice found her ears again.

"I've told my brother to travel back to Fortification Hill along with the rest to inform my Lord about your imminent arrival."

So, that was why they had fought. Gabban wasn't okay with allowing her near Caesar.

That implied that he feared her… which she didn't know how to digest at the moment.

The bright side of this outcome will be no more awkward Frumentarii floating around.

"You're inviting me to your house, then." – she mused – "Like the fella once said, 'Ain't that a kick in the head?'"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Translated into your overly-formal vocabulary: I'll be very honored to meet your Lord to discuss ideologies and goals, see if we can reach an agreement." – liar.

"And if you don't?"

That was actually a good question.

"I'm still polite enough to help you lot out with non-political-related tasks to show I mean no harm to you." – she decided – "Does that suffice to guarantee my good intentions?"

"Yes… for now, anyway."

'For now'. That was the equivalent of 'you will be asked to show more commitment, eventually'. At least he was warning her in advance.

They slept great that night, waking up in the very same position they had fallen asleep in each other's arms.

Neither of them had wanted to admit, even to themselves, that it would be nice to awake like this… from every day on.


LATIN:

(1) - friend (feminine form).
(2) - "Fortune favors the bold."
(3) - "Any man can make a mistake; only a fool keeps making the same one."


A/N: who said Vulpes was a nice guy? I didn't. Very Evil Karma is for a reason, guys.

Anyhow, sooner than you expected, huh? This chapter, for some reason (besides the copypaste of several In-Game dialogs while rearranging them to my liking), was easy peasy to write. It flowed naturally and very quick, so here it is.

Hope it's more agile than the last one since I suspect the 22 was dense as fuck with very little happening in truth. Here's action, drama (what else?), feelings and a little bit of more politics. Soon we'll be facing the mighty Caesar and his particular distorted image of how societies ought to function in the first place. See ya!

PD: I'm toying with the idea of Old World Blues Syndrome, since I believe that must be what primarily gets Sullivan permanently grasping at her past. It must be traumatic waking up 200 years in the future with all her shitty circumstances, you know.

PD 2: forgot to mention that the next chapter will deal with "Meanwhile... what's Burke doing?" Just so you know :P