Ace.
Eight of clubs.
"Shit." Lawrence cursed when she turned over the second card. Bitter smoke evaporated as he reached through the cloud for the neck of the bottle.
"Dealer wins!" Her well-practiced and ruby-lipped smile never faded, even when she lost. The dealer gathered her chips across the table then the cards. Stools rotated; one player left only to be replaced by another. He had been at the table for some time waiting for Vincent. Not that he was complaining.
"Place your bets," She instructed. Lawrence glanced at his pile; fifty caps worth remained from eighty. His chips had fluctuated wildly. Only five minutes ago he had 120, but every stroke of luck faltered. Surely Vincent wouldn't mind. He had practically thrown the caps at Lawrence to occupy himself while Vincent discussed "things" with Mr. House.
He set twenty chips in the felt circle, eyeing the rest of the table discreetly. Cards flung with an expert flick of a wrist. Rounding, the half-circle, landing just before their recipients' hands. He pondered his own methods of winning every time those cards came around. Sure, you could try and count them, but that became obvious after a while—rather that's what he told himself. Or hide cards up your sleeve if you wanted to get kicked out. It was better to just rely on sheer luck more than anything. A smirk pulled his lips when he saw a king as his next card. The table creaked. An elbow leaned on the glossy trim. It wasn't unusual to draw observers. He liked it, but only if he was winning. It was best to stick to the tables rather than the one-armed bandits. The flashy lights, the cheery dings, then those bells and whistles that approved whenever they spat out a generous ticket. Always calling you back for more fun like an old friend. But then those generous tickets ran out quickly.
"Winning or losing?"
"Mord?" Lawrence glanced at the stranger. "That you?" He smiled as his gaze was lured back to the table by his mystery card.
Ace.
"Congratulations!" The dealer cheered mechanically. "Forty caps to the gentleman."
"Winning looks like," Lawrence turned back to the man. A new goatee framed his lips along with lines around eyes that weren't there before. A new, darker glint tinted earthy irises, or perhaps it was those deep pits they recessed into. Had it really been so long since they last saw each other? "What are you doing here?"
"Just so happened to be looking for you," He stated as both watched the dealer slide Lawrence's winnings across the table. A nice, colorful, but short stack of chips. "Can we talk?" He leaned on Lawrence's shoulder. "Private."
Two cold, swarthy bottles clinked together before they took a drink. At the edge of a bar in solitude, the scene recalled older days passing through distant towns and out to the wilderness on some mission that blurred into all the rest. Usually, they went unnoticed in those places. None knew they were rangers, and the same was said about their sudden reunion. Just two civilians enjoying afternoon drinks in a busy casino. Yet from the look of his friend's face, there was more to this visit. "You always drink so early?" Mordecai laughed away the bitter taste.
"Only when you're around."
He scoffed, "Well get used to it. Rest of us are coming up from Baja. Just made it here myself a week ago."
"I heard," Lawrence nodded, suppressing the cheeky smile vying to make its way to the surface. "What took you so long? Get lost?"
"Hey." Mordecai shook his head. His humored grin bore through. "Last time I listened to your directions I wound in the middle of a Legion training squad."
"Nah, nah, nah." Lawrence wagged his finger, shaking his head, while Mordecai did just the opposite. "You just suck at following directions, that's why you always needed a babysitter to come along." A cheery cacophony of jabs and laughs echoed out from their corner of the bar. Neither managing to get another word between the banter and sore smiles. Despite the new wrinkles and maybe a few gray hairs here and there, both were just the same as they remembered.
Mordecai wrapped his hand around the neck of a half-empty bottle. One finger poked Lawrence's shoulder. "So I've been hearing some stories about you."
"What is it now?" Lawrence sighed, hushing his displeasure with a long swill.
"Well…" Shoulders broadened as Mordecai straightened his hunch. He leaned against the bar top, a smile remained while brows rose. "I heard you been inside the Lucky 38."
"I have." Lawrence noted, retrieving the carton of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He jerked the case and a loose stick sprung up. "What of it?"
"It's why the brass wanted me to talk to you," He explained, finally sitting on the bar stool he avoided. Lawrence's stare returned to him. The distinctive click of his lighter ignited a flame under his cigarette. His smiles always left quicker than they arrived. Has it always been that way? Smoke clouded the space between them, left by a vacuum as Lawrence leaned away. "They want information." Mordecai's smiles faded, leaving behind an awkward curl of his lip as if caught between sobriety and juvenile laughs. "On House and whoever that kid is you've been with."
Nostrils flared, pushing out heavy streams of gray. "What do they know about Vincent?"
"You've been seen with him," Mordecai shrugged. A hand waved to his next bit of evidence. "Going in that tower, then something about McCarran for a passport and I just got word about Nelson." An approving pat on the shoulder broke up his seriousness. "Congrats on that by the way." Mordecai tilted his head, searching Lawrence's eyes beneath stern brows. An urgent expression restrained the ranger from outright begging. "It would help prove to the tops you're ready to get back in the field."
"Spyin' on him?" A quizzical expression twisted Lawrence's face. "He ain't up to trouble. Just one of House's people."
"It's all for the better," Mordecai added. "NCR don't trust House."
Lawrence knew that much, hell anyone with two brain-cells to rub together could figure that out. It would only be a matter of time until House wanted full control of his territory again. Now, he could enforce that claim with the securitrons Vincent mentioned. But would the NCR fight back?
Lawrence took a long draw, yet the rush and smoke tingling across his tongue did little to ease his nerves. He cursed himself for not predicting something like this would have happened. If the Legion wanted to get to Vincent so would the NCR. All because of House, all because of the dam, and Vincent was caught in the middle of it. That boy had no idea what he was in for. No idea the magnitude of the fallout this could bring. And now, Lawrence managed to plant himself in the middle of it like a splinter.
His stomach dropped, twisting down on its ashamed descent. Eyes fixed over Mordecai's shoulders. Of course, he had finished whatever discussion with House just in time for this. Vincent carried his head a little higher than usual. Something changed about him since the Fort, but Lawrence could only hope it wasn't the Mojave's bad habit of building you up only to spit you out into the steep canyon the Colorado ran through. Not unlike those slots he reminded himself to stay away from.
Mordecai followed Lawrence's gaze behind him. He whipped back around. "That… him?"
"Yes." Lawrence sighed as he stood up from his stool.
"Huh." A quick turn stole another glance "How old is he? Lil' small and girly." A laugh accompanied his observation. "I don't think the NCR had anything to worry—."
"Get lost."
"What?"
"Go."
Frigid eyes bore through him. The sincerity in Lawrence's face had disappeared to that of a man Mordecai seldom saw. Someone anyone rarely saw. The lines of his forehead creased and eyes slanted. "The hell is wrong with you?"
Vincent paused at those words then looked to Lawrence. He'd seen it only once, just before Vicky got between him and Milo. Hushed, but obviously harsh words spat between the two men. Too quiet for Vincent to hear. Questioning whether he should join the ranger or stay back, the stranger turned away to make that decision for him. His glare settled on Vincent as he passed. Reflexively, Vincent returned a critical eye to the stranger.
"What was that about?" Vincent asked as he took the stool next to Lawrence.
His expression drew tight, and he shook his head. "Nothing good as usual." Lawrence downed the rest of his beer. "He was an old friend of mine."
"Was?"
Lawrence sighed as he looked at Vincent. He reached to the boy, running fingers through a thick mane. Chestnut waves licked about his fingers. Sun-bleached highlights, nearly blonde shimmered as they bent and curled back to their proper position. His hand slid down to cup a cheek, filling his palm with warmth when Vincent smiled. Lawrence returned the grin, closing in and sealing the gap between them with a kiss.
"Are you trying to quiet me?" Vincent whispered. Lips lingered, caressed by gentle breath. Soft, skin against skin, barely brushed each other as both waited for more. Another kiss nearly made him forget his own question. Lawrence pulled away.
Guilt stabbed him like any knife, but this one twisted where the rest would pull out. "A little." Lawrence shrugged, but pretending it away only seemed to dig the knife of guilt deeper. He learned that lesson a long time ago when it came to Marcus. Although, hiding a relationship with your other half wasn't the same as deceiving that person.
"Well too bad because I got to tell you about what House wants me to do now." Sarcasm tinted his voice as he rolled his head from one shoulder to another. "What do you know about Nellis Air Force Base?"
Lips thinned and eyes glossed over. "Enough that it's not somewhere you wanna go." Lawrence snuffed his cigarette. A long column of ash burned through it before he realized he had only a few puffs off the thing.
"House thinks those people occupying the base can be a threat or an ally," Vincent explained.
"They're whackos."
"So I've been told," Vincent sighed. "If we can get them on our side, that's more firepower against the Legion."
"How are you gonna get them on your side?" Hands accented the man's dismissive tone. "They'd blow up a passin' tumble-weed if it got in their territory."
"By convincing them that the Legion is a threat to them as well, we'll form an alliance and if my plan is going to work, they will need me." Vincent crossed his arms. An indomitable display of his assuredness that once seen, Lawrence knew he couldn't dissuade. Lawrence pressed a palm to his face. A muffled sigh barely escaped between his fingers. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."
Lawrence dragged his hand down, revealing tapered brows as a barbed gaze widened. "Hush up, I'm going with you."
He wondered which was hotter; the road that shimmered beneath a mirage or the sun-bleached and sanded rock they were perched upon. The sun crept into their shade by noon. While the simple tent they set up did good to keep the sun out, it didn't shelter from steamy winds. Lawrence lay on his stomach, ditching most of his clothing earlier in their reconnaissance.
Back glistened by gathering sweat beads, highlighting pleasing contours of arc and dips. Streams seeped down the sides of his head, dampening hair to spikes, each one collecting their own sparkling droplets. Somewhat jealous that he couldn't do the same, Vincent settled for rolling up the legs of his once-was-a-jumpsuit. Eventually though, the heat had gotten the better of him. He caved, removing the ratty vest for the solace of a breeze through the loose undershirt. Interested eyes glanced at the discarded vest, then a split second peep to Vincent before returning sternly forward.
"Ought to get you a new vest," Lawrence suggested. "Something more tactical and thicker." He paused, then sputtered, "Only cause the danger you tend to draw. Safety n' all. Y'know."
Vincent laughed. "Thought rangers didn't back away from danger."
"I'm here ain't I?" He mumbled, squinting into the scope.
Another sigh and he shifted his position. He must have scoured the whole base from their perch in the mountains by now. So far, neither came up with any solution. The Boomers—that's what everyone called them because it was the only sound they were known to make—would attack any on sight. It didn't help they managed to hold themselves up in a military base stocked to the brim with full munitions. Some argued they were more trigger happy than the Legion…. Older folks say they moved in some fifty years ago, long before Vegas's second coming. Quickly, word spread about them, since any scavenging the old base were blown to bits. Now, people kept their distance, for the most part. Lately though the Boomers' reach began to spread. Nellis's old residential area sitting outside the base was now a part of their firing range as evident by the huge craters littering the suburbs. More signage sprung up on the roads, warning anyone foolish or brave enough to enter. Yet, the old buildings had clearly been salvaged of their infrastructure. Almost as if the Boomers needed something…
Lawrence groaned and turned on his back. Writing in his pocketbook, a few long strokes signaled he switched to drawing. The boy's eyes eventually wandered to the ranger. It was hard not to travel the contours of his neck. So, demanding as moistened skin highlighted their curves and strength. Then down to collar bones. A pillowy chest. Short and sparse hair originated at the center crease, combing outward towards his arms. Vincent reached for him. A light finger traced along his lower breast, just before a bump of rib. Lawrence glanced over the pocketbook and winked.
Sometimes he felt for his own muscles. Vincent wondered far too often what he would look like with a normal body. The right body. It was hard not to when it was all wrong to begin with. Lately, he felt the beginnings of muscles underneath his collar bones since Lawrence incorporated him into his daily routine. He figured the ranger saw through him better than Vincent liked to admit. He didn't even ask to join, but he did watch on in curiosity, so maybe Lawrence did have some kind of hint. Vincent knew the man occasionally caught him in his bizarre habits of inspecting himself for elusive traits of masculinity. The flexing in the mirror. The poking and prodding what muscle he could see. Or the close ups in search of thicker and darker hair on his face. Nothing would change, Vincent knew that. Just one of those bad habits of his that sent him in a terrible downward spiral on the worst days.
Yet, when he followed the ranger during his routines, he felt better. Running around the rotunda of floors. Climbing the stairs until he was out of breath or lifting himself up using the railing in their room. Even if soreness hit him the day after. When he managed to complete the whole workout, did he feel the first small victory in something he never imagined he could conquer.
The ranger sighed again, mumbling to himself as he set the pocketbook down, for good this time. "I'm sorry, Vincent, I can't conceive of any way of gettin' in there without riskin' our asses gettin' blown to the next century."
Vincent pursed his lips and looked to the distant airfield. Several hangars remained. Observation towers, like the ones he had seen during their visits to McCarran stood at the perimeters. The black top of the airstrip shimmered like water beneath the looming sun. Craters dotted the landscape to the West and North. Junk arranged just so that he figured it may have been a practice range. Yet a little to the East he saw a few more. Irregular patterns even in the desert's dust bowl. "What if we gave them some kind of offering?"
"Like a peace offering?" A brow arched over heat-exhausted eyes.
"Yeah," Vincent nodded and turned to Lawrence. A budding smile beamed his inspiration. "Something to show them we mean no harm."
"Well," Lawrence craned his neck as he looked out on the horizon. "It's a start, but how we gonna get it to them?" He nodded towards the Southside of the base where the main highway ended. "Their artillery can reach that far out."
Vincent hummed, thumb pressed his lips. A howl funneled through the valley mountains when the breeze picked up. Whistling, taunting the two and never gracing them with a cool flush. His shoulders slumped and a sigh deflated him. Lawrence looked at the boy. An astute expression remained on his face. Glassy eyes reflected the midday colors of the landscape. A mirror he loved looking into for the world they echoed. Once reddened, now the bridge of his nose had tanned, albeit the area his sunglasses covered lagged behind. "Well," Vincent hummed. "What if we try infiltrating at night?"
"We still risk them seeing us." Lawrence came back to reality after a few blinks. "Once we hear those rockets launch it will be too late—" Lawrence paused. Eyes wandered down in search of his idea. "If—If we can get stealth-boys, they can mask us from just about any pre-war tech they would definitely have in there."
"What are stealth-boys?"
"Small lil' things. Technology. Highly sought after," Lawrence explained. "They disrupt radar fields so you aren't detected. They also have some weird tricks they play on the eyes. Like, nearly for-real invisible."
"Oh," Vincent hummed as he fanned his shirt. Cool air rushed in over sweat-damp skin for a much desired chill. "I've never heard of those…"
"They're hard to come by, but they exist." A hand rose to stroke the hair of his chin, goading out all the logistics of the operation in-conception. "Maybe I can try and shake a requisition officer or two and get us some."
"Um." Vincent shifted on aching elbows, then another tug of his shirt. "Isn't that… not a thing you should do?" Lawrence arched a brow as his eyes wandered to Vincent in his peripherals. He gave a stiff shake of his in place of honest affirmation. "Well… If you can and think that could get us in, but what about when we actually get there?"
"Then we can use your idea and soften the blow that we're trespassin' but—" He suggested as a hand gestured to Vincent. "Either way, we're going to put ourselves in a bad situation. I was taught not to do that on day one of ranger training."
By early evening, the two had found themselves back at Camp Golf. It was a familiar scene on the water, but now Lawrence had to leave Vincent alone at the shore. Just the first stop in search of stealth boys, only because it was the closest. Lawrence anticipated it may take some convincing, but the ranger had a better feeling about Camp Golf's requisition officer. Then it would be onto McCarran if that didn't work. Few good things were said about the one there, or so he heard from the grapevine. Disappearing items, ammunition, rations, sometimes whole weapons...
Last time he was at the lake-front range, he had been mostly confined to the medical tents—although he probably could have snuck off and wandered a bit. He was good at that. Learned it from Marcus. It started before the romance. Usually, they'd wander off for late night drinks or walks on sleepless nights, sometimes with other friends. Then one night, it was just them. After that it was just them for six years. Walking around the halls of the old resort choked him up. Turning the corner to the mess hall one too many times just like before, he half expected to bump into a ghost.
"Don't suppose you came to your senses."
His steps halted. He looked over his shoulder to Mordecai. The man sat at a table in the company of a few other rangers and an evening meal. A few glanced at him, but the only one he knew was Mordecai. It took all his willpower to not cuss out the man when they met again for the first time in years and once again he had to channel that resolve. This time he needed something from him. "That is why you're here, yeah?"
"Obviously," Lawrence scoffed as he put on the best amicable and playful grin he could muster. "I have a problem so I need something, otherwise I won't have the information you need," Lawrence clarified.
"Oh?" Mordecai's brows furrowed. He sat up a bit, "You could have given me a warning. I really thought you were pissed at me back there."
Lawrence shook his head as he slid into an opening on the table. "Sorry," He retorted. "It's just… He likes me. Looks up to me. I saved him from a deathclaw the first time we met, so he can be a little clingy." Lawrence shrugged then crossed his arms on the table. A bland meal gave off some kind of smell, but even as hungry as he was, whatever that was couldn't rouse his stomach.
"Ah," Mordecai nodded. "I know. You're good at the subterfuge stuff."
"I can tell you some things," Lawrence glanced at the others. Lost in their own conversations. Two soldiers listened intently to one man at the end of the table. Starry eyed while the walrus-mustached man told them some embellished story. Lawrence leaned to Mordecai and hushed his words, "But I need stealth-boys."
"What for?" Squinting with a cock of his head, Mordecai raked through what was hopefully mashed potatoes.
"Boomer territory."
He paused as the fork fell to the plastic, "Oh boy."
"I think House is testing the kid. Last time he sent him off to the Fort." Lawrence shook his head as he recalled a memory with more holes than a mole rat range. "Something about chasing down that chairman who disappeared, but—"
"Benny?" He pushed his tray out of the way and leaned closer to the intriguing story. "I heard about something him missing on the radio. Was he important?"
"He was House's prior lackey," Lawrence explained. "Vincent was supposed to recover some information he was going to sell to Caesar."
"So House isn't working with the Legion?"
"No," Lawrence shook his head. "I wasn't there at the Fort, but from what Vincent told me House is gonna keep looking neutral to the Legion."
"Wait—" Mordecai held a hand. "What does this have to do with the Boomers?"
"Leverage."
"That's crazy!" He croaked through a hoarse whisper. "How does he expect to—"
"Stealth-boys," Lawrence reminded him. "I don't know enough about this just yet to give you a clear picture. We need the stealth-boys to get on their base for some up-close-and-personal espionage."
"Alright," Mordecai nodded. A tense expression crossed his face as he glanced away. Half-truths and half-lies were his friends growing up and somehow those same friends he thought he could evade managed to keep on finding him where he least expected it. Marcus wasn't one for spying. It wasn't the lying, but that depending on who he was lying to. It was the danger of it. When it came to their operations, he had an uncanny knack for getting anyone on his side. He told only a few stories that put him in a legionnaire's uniform. Stories he obviously wasn't fond of. "It was like becoming another person," as Marcus described with a solemn face. Some with a hint of shame. Lawrence never pried too much about those ones.
Lawrence never got that far. He proved himself much more useful hiding up the mountains with a sniper, lying low in an ambush, or breaking in and out of facilities. The closest he came to that kind of work were times like these. When he had to deceive his allies, but those were internal investigations. Investigations into people who may have been selling information or working against the NCR from within its ranks. Investigations that could be launched against him in the future. Maybe that's what Marcus felt. A little shame at betraying some part of himself. It was the bigger picture that mattered though, even if he didn't see it so clearly.
"Something on your mind?" Vincent whispered.
Insect noise filled the night. Breezy, still warm even as close as they were to the lake in their tent for the night. They agreed they could take it slow as long as they were in Nellis by nightfall the following evening. Lawrence suggested the two of them take advantage of the shooting range for target practice. Then it would be back to the city to restock not only munitions, but also courage. The boy was getting better, though. Finding his way in the wasteland, the same as Lawrence did at just about the same age.
"Yes," Lawrence returned the whisper.
Vincent inched closer to him. Turning on his side, another hand entwined in his. Smaller and a little softer, not so roughened and callused. Lawrence looked for him in the dark. Just a faint outline under a cloudy moon. "The man I was arguin' with…" He sighed, resting his free hand on his forehead. "He's a ranger. A friend of mine. He came to me with an offer from up top."
"Oh?" Vincent muttered. "Getting back into action?"
"That too," he admitted. "Brass has always been suspicious of House, but now you've come along and muddied things up." His chuckle was weak, one of those that sought to ease tension before that tension was even revealed. "They want me to spy on you."
"Oh."
"I fed some bullshit to Mordecai so we'd get the stealth-boys."
"I don't want to get you into trouble," Vincent shook his head as he stared at the peak of the tent. A thin silver triangle at the opening of the simple shelter. "But you're telling me this…"
"I don't want to lie to you." He squeezed the boy's hand. "And because of everything you shared with me…" Lawrence's voice faded to a whisper. "I think that shows how much trust you have with me."
"I take it you've been thinking more about what I've told you?"
"I have."
"I will never ask you to throw away your career," Vincent whispered. It was the only way to hide the knot balling in his throat. At least it was dark too, otherwise he'd be ashamed to let Lawrence see the look on his face. Surely his eyes were red by now. Teary at one too many predictions he conjured up on the fly.
"I still don't know what the right thing is," Lawrence added. "If anything, I've learned there's no easy answer."
"I won't fault you for whatever your cho—"
"Nevermind it all," Lawrence urged. An arm draped over Vincent. His hand found its spot supping the boy's jaw then a kiss on the forehead. "I rather get you hot 'n bothered by stories of Skinwalkers."
Vincent rolled his eyes. "Oh god." Laughter overtook his groan as the ranger pulled him closer for a tight hug.
But, Vincent wasn't one to forget words. The ranger had a difficult decision. He got a glimpse into something he couldn't turn away from. He had clear criticisms about the NCR. Vincent got that earful once in a while, but those words from that day they went to the Lucky 38 stayed with him. Maybe it was the defeated and exhausted look on the man's face that got to him. He knew being a ranger wasn't easy. They did good, but difficult work. And now this one was going to be confronted with another difficult call to make because of that boy he found on the side of the road.
Vincent's hand tightened on Lawrence's shoulder. The silver outline of the tent twisted behind the tears that gathered. He hushed his quivers. Whatever the choice was, was Lawrence's. Vincent couldn't deny someone that, especially after being on the receiving end of ultimatums. He made his own pivotal decisions, and it wasn't his place to take that from another. His decision. The one that was right for him. The one that led him here and eventually in the embrace of a man he may love. The first he could love. Yet, nobody wanted to lose that. Nobody wanted to lose the one person who might love them back.