In the cover of bleak darkness of night, you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face. A clouded moon barely glowed enough to shine through a nocturnal overcast, but that would be an advantage. Through the breaks in the clouds, he caught a glimpse of a starry sky hidden behind. For once, he would just like to enjoy it. Sit back and relax and watch the world go by. Preferably in the company of the ranger he found a little over a month ago.
"If we survive this, we better get a goddamn break," Lawrence spat as he pushed in the fusion cell. The stealth boys required exactly four. Each one a fully charged fusion cell. It took more ass-kissing than Lawrence liked to get a hold of them, let alone the stealth-boys themselves. Convincing Mordecai was one thing, but lying to the whole chain of command who put the orders in for Lawrence to spy on the boy… The cube cell sprung out from its compartment, drawing another agitated grumble from the ranger. Distracted hands fumbled. The only thing going through his mind: what the hell was he going to do?
As much as he was suspicious of House, the reclusive fossil had a point. With the securitron army underneath Fortification Hill and now with the sudden "upgrade" on the ones that policed the strip and those same ones beneath Caesar's camp, House had a good chance to hold the place. All he had to do was keep them on rolling to the dam and spook the republic into thinking twice about starting another war. That's if the NCR wasn't obliterated by the Legion in the meantime. There was no way they could hold back the Legion on their own, but House could. Not to mention the whole reason the republic was out here was for the dam, the water, the electricity, the territory… He knew things weren't good back home, but this wasn't the answer.
"Do you think House would use the Boomer's against the Legion?"
Vincent crossed his arms as he leaned against the rock face. He stared at Lawrence. Sour faced, more broody than usual. "Boomers themselves? Don't think so." He watched the ranger fumble with the things by fire light for the last half-hour. Even though he offered help, the man got testy and determined it was only him who would conquer the stealth-boys. "He's more interested in their firepower and keeping it aimed off New Vegas."
"Hah!" Lawrence exclaimed. He jumped off the rock and shoved the device to Vincent. "And we still have time to spare."
Vincent pushed off the rock face, inspecting the stealth-boy. They didn't look like much. More akin to a landmine. Flat, round, a little heavy with a simple center display in a narrow window. A few lights and buttons surrounded the black screen. Once properly powered, one of the tiny lights glow green.
Lawrence moved on to organizing their belongings. Bringing only what they needed. The lighter the better, since they may have to run for their lives if it all goes south. House predicted them as a volatile variable in his overarching plans. Vincent could see why, but the old man in the tower foresaw the base as being a potential strategic point. And if there was anything House didn't like, it was not having the upper hand. The Boomers were dangerous. That was the most pressing issue. They made plenty of people nervous, but only if you were passing close to Nellis. Outside of that, they were just another group of tribals whose only difference was their extreme firepower. Strip that away, and they were just people.
"I'm sure we can find some room for a break when we're done here," Vincent suggested.
"I'd like that." An intrigued brow arched at over a glance. He folded his duster over his arm, then again to make it as small as possible before stuffing it in an over-stuffed duffel bag. "The Millennium is my favorite." He reached for the spare bag they bought this morning during their supplies run. Metal clinked within as he carefully unzipped it. "Good food, better bar…" He inspected the wrapping job of the missiles. Four fit before it became too heavy for him. A gesture of goodwill, but Lawrence had his doubts. A smile broke through the frown he had worn all day. "I'd like to show you a few things too."
"Like what?" Vincent cocked his head, eying the ranger as he stood up from a squat.
Lawrence pulled the boy to him. A familiar and mischievous grin crossed his face. One Vincent had missed lately. "Wouldn't wanna spoil it, so all the more reason to make it in one piece." Vincent laughed, wrapping arms around the ranger's neck. Hands conformed to the sides of Vincent's head. Fingers split by his ears while cool cheeks flushed away the warmth of Lawrence's palms. Staring up at the man, their eyes met. Wind rustled his black halo. A smile stretched the recent stubble framed around his lips. Little pricks that tickled his hands or cheeks or lips. A feeling Vincent came to love. The sunset sealed their kiss. One both hoped wouldn't be the last.
When activated, nothing felt different. At least until he was sure he waved his hand in front of his face. Then again as close to the fire as he could. Practically invisible. A strange kind of shimmer, transparent where one expected solid objects. Everything in the stealth-boys' field, was transparent. Lawrence led the way through the suburbs. Both studied the old and new maps of the area, however the ranger proved better at memorizing the complicated cross-hatch of roads and intersections. Little remained to use as landmarks. Remnants of the world scattered not once, but twice by bombs. Not to mention how much had been picked clean by scavengers. To the west were the ruins of the residential area once part of outer Vegas. A faux boundary line that told any wandering not to pass into ranger of the Boomers' artillery. Only once on the ground did both realize the true expanse of the maze of armatures and artillery craters. Each blast a reminder of looming danger. Yet, it was only the gentle breeze that carried sage and pinion, the hum of hidden crickets, and the faint moans of exposed armatures filling the void of explosions.
Instead, those artillery shells dispatched inside Vincent. Lawrence's whole work as a ranger led him into danger constantly, yet he didn't fumble with his steps. He was sure. Precise. Confident in ways Vincent only hoped to be. Not just with guns, but his words too. Just the way the man carried himself from the sway of his shoulders, to holding his head high. The way he didn't back down from someone trying to intimidate him or the shootouts that could have ended badly. It was the way a real man carried himself…
A blind hand splayed across the boy's face as if pulling Vincent out of his own mind. "Oh, sorry," Lawrence whispered. Beyond him, a few yards away, the gates. Decayed chain-link, topped with barbed wire like the garnish on a plate. Floodlights stared into the swath of destruction behind them. Guards patrolled up and down the perimeter. Standing at the gates. Looming in the watchtowers on either side. Completely surrounded. "Stay close." Vincent reached for Lawrence, finding his shoulder then the strap of the duffle bag. "We'll approach the gate and I am going to take out a missile, then we deactivate the stealth-boys."
"Got it."
Crossing the threshold, the lights barely caught a glimmer. No reason to have them staring down right on the gate if no one ever got this far. The ranger stopped in front of the gate. Vincent listened for the zipper, slow and steady. Then a small clink from the missiles as he withdrew one. With one click, vision obscured by Lawrence's duster.
"Don't move!" One yelled. Surprised gasps and shouts gathered the guards around them. The floodlight on the watchtower creaked as it swiveled down to focus on the intruders.
"Don't shoot, otherwise you'll blow up everyone here." A single missile in his hand where they could all clearly see it. More guns than he liked pointed on them while reinforcements rushed to the scene. Vincent peered over Lawrence's shoulder. Maybe twelve had scattered at the gate. All heavily armed. Trigger happy and antsy. Then from the watchtower, Vincent heard radio chatter.
The lead guard approached the gate, "Why are you here? How did you avoid triggering our artillery?"
"We're here to talk," Lawrence stated. "As a show of good faith, we're gonna give you these."
"More like you stole them from us.".
"Then you can check your reserves," Lawrence spat back. "If you're honest then you'll see I'm being honest."
"Stand down!" She bellowed and all stopped. Every head turned as she approached. A sour face and stern eyes fixed on Lawrence and then flashed to Vincent as he stepped out from the ranger's cover. She wore the same uniform as all the others; some kind of blue-gray jumpsuit beneath Kevlar vests. Brown hair drawn back tight to bare an angular face and a glare sharp enough to stab. He knew the look of a CO. The one in charge not just from the orders she barked but the way she walked, carried that rifle, and browbeat her underlings with a glance. "Let them in. Pearl's orders."
Ticking clock hands filled the silence. Almost untouched from the years. Only a few patches here and there on the convex roof or the walls gave away the bungalow's age. The little burrow reminded him of his mother's room. The way in which old ladies decorated was universal. Memories everywhere, odd knick-knacks splayed about. All the little things her children had given her. He knew even the string of lights with a bulb missing meant something important to its owner.
Lawrence sighed. No longer denying the comfort of the old floral-patterned couch, he sank into its depths. Hands twiddled in his lap, glancing about the living room. Pearl, as they called her, stood oblivious in her kitchen. She gathered a chopping tray, one hand holding down the mound of diced vegetables, then dumped it in a boiling pot. Steam fanned out, fogging the kitchen window adjacent to the stove. A gentle hum began as she wiped hands on her apron. Turning around, she smiled at her company, wrinkling an aged face and twinkling eyes on the shuffle over. Hunched shoulders, burdened by a lifetime of surviving in the Mojave. White hair. Short in precise, playful curls and strong laugh lines creasing sagging skin. "Raquel," she waved, shooing off the young woman. "No need to worry. If our guests were trouble, we'd know by now."
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" Raquel. The same woman who silenced the guards with just a look also escorted Vincent and Lawrence to Pearl's home. She was the quiet type, but only because she was evaluating them. Sizing both of them up like a deathclaw before pouncing on its prey.
"I'll be fine dear," she nodded. A pat on the woman's shoulder assured her.
"I'll be near." Raquel slipped one last glare to strangers before finally leaving, dragging the heavy atmosphere out with her.
Pearl sat across from them on a matching couch. An ancient coffee table between them. Circular stains dotted the wood. Magazines sat on the shelf below along with a few trinkets. A miniature model of a jack mine. A small model of a Mr. Handy sat atop the stack of magazines. A battalion of those things wandered the base in tow of human guards. Modified by the current inhabitants with additional eyes and utilities.
"I hoped Sava—Outsiders." she raised a delicate hand to her lips, a bashful smile hidden behind. "Sorry. Would make it to our gates before one of those armies out there comes knocking." She sighed, leaning back on the sofa. Dim lights cast their shadows across her face. All those wrinkles, especially the ones that came with a squint reminded Vincent of the probing gaze of the brothel madame at home. "Times are changing outside these gates." One leg crossed over another, then her hands met atop the apex of a knee. "It may be time for us to change too, if we want to survive."
"That's why we're here," he glanced at Lawrence next to him. Still tense. Still suspicious, but at least he attempted to hide it. "Have you been keeping tabs on the conflicts across the Mojave?" Vincent had his doubts too. It was another delicate situation just like what happened at the Fort. One that could make or break the outcome of the dam… The future of the region. The future of the NCR. His future. One he promised himself he could have—Maybe not every aspect of it, but at least a good portion of it.
"I know enough to see a storm is gathering," she agreed. Her smile had since faded for a more serious look. One of worry that gave her all those lines on her forehead and between eyes after untold decades. "This has brought you to us for a reason."
"The Legion, the NCR—The main contenders. Will no doubt try to come here for an advantage," Vincent explained. "I sooner think the Legion rather just take what you have by force while the NCR may be more friendly, but it wouldn't benefit you."
"Many have tried," she shrugged. "Those Howitzers aren't just for show."
"What you've dealt with isn't an army like the Legion," he shook his head. "This conflict won't be something you can ignore. If we made it in here unnoticed, so will others. I'm here to make you an offer. An offer that will ensure your peoples' survival, and solitude if you wish."
She leaned forward. Wise eyes evaluated the boy. "I'm listening."
—
A single bead of sweat streamed down the side of his head. The height of the noon sun wouldn't be reached for another three hours and he was already. The basin Nellis sat in was no different than the rest of the Mojave. The heat suffocated any life on the surface. The dryness sucked not just the moisture from the ground but also squeezed every last drop of sweat out of you even in the safety of shade. A desolate expanse that went on for miles in all directions. That was the current problem on a long list of problems. Nothing grew.
The fields, loose soil and sand. He could count on his hands the few things that did grow. Most of which were just weeds. "Nothing but the cactus grows out here and even then, it's not much," the gardener stated. "Too slow growing to harvest the pads. Don't fruit either." She stood up, bones cracked with a quiet groan. She dusted her hands from pulling those weeds. "Pearl says you're here to help, but unless you know something about farming, I don't think there's much for you to do."
"Are those the only cactus you have?" Vincent pointed to a humble patch, one which looked closer to natural deposits rather than a deliberate farm.
"For now, yes," she tucked a stray lock of hair, the same color of the dirt she worked, behind her ear. "We used to have more, but the land here isn't best for farming."
Vincent raised his wrist. He had since donned the pip-boy he much preferred to hide while they toured the base. Occasionally he paused for notes yet had to say anything of his ideas to Lawrence. But now the man may have had his own. He tapped the boy's arm as eyes stayed fixed on the field. "Why don't we check out the NCR farms outside of Vegas?"
"For food supply or help farming?"
"Nah," he shook his head. "That land was never used for farming until we moved in. They grow water intensive crops though, but—" He looked at the boy. Even behind the dark lenses, the sun's glares beat eyes to a squint. "I'm sure they use something on the soil to make it more than just a pile of typical dirt."
"And it'd make our crops grow?"
"It could certainly help."
"Well, that's a good start," Vincent agreed. "But, from the looks of it, you don't have a lot of water either for what the sharecropper farms are growing."
"Not one bit." She sighed as arms crossed against her chest. "Rather stick to native plants that can survive this and still grow."
"Unfortunately, you won't until Vegas has full control of the dam, but I have an idea," he smiled. Vincent pressed a button on the pip-boy before resting his arm back at his side. "One of the farmers where I lived, often just transplanted cactus and succulents from the wild onto her farm for easier foraging."
"Just… uprooted the whole thing?" The ranger arched a peculiar brow.
"It worked," Vincent shrugged. "Pissed off some people, but it worked."
"We've never done anything like that, but it beats leaving the base and dealing with savages out there." The gardener turned to him. Her intrigued expression lightened a suntanned face. "That actually might work if you can also get something to help the soil."
"If we can use the robots around the base, it would make this much easier," Vincent added. "Unless you don't mind sending some people outside."
"Some might be antsy out there, but I wouldn't mind," she confirmed. Defensive arms unfolded from her chest. "What's your name, stranger?"
"Vincent."
"Gina," she said, extending a hand to him. "If you're here to help as Pearl says…" They shook hands, but still her apprehension peeked through. "I'll talk to someone who may be able to temporarily re-program some of the Mr. Handy to help."
Anybody outside the fence of Nellis was a savage to them. But from listening to Pearl recount the story of when her people emerged from their vault, he could see why. From the outside though, others thought the same of the Boomers. A more reasonable sentiment.
Lawrence looked over his shoulder at the humble farm. "Do you think it's really a good idea to help these people?"
Brows furrowed as he looked up to the ranger, "What's on your mind?"
"They're a liability. Help them, maybe they help you… What makes you think they'll agree let alone keep up their end of the bargain?"
"They can't survive out here on their own," Vincent said. "Pearl mentioned they left their vault, what 50 years ago? Nellis was still stocked and locked down, but their supplies are finite, and they refuse to leave or trade."
"Then there's also that nutjob prophecy," Lawrence derided, rolling his eyes and jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the prophesiers in question. "Seriously, what the hell is that about? House should use these people against the Legion as fodder."
"Lawrence, that's a little harsh." Vincent raised a hand as if to halt the man's train of thought. "I get what you're saying though, but I don't think the prophecy—" Fingers curled around his own words. A fevered-dream of restoring an old-world bomber plane. None of which remained intact after two centuries. For the sole purpose of delivering "savages" from themselves. "—is anything. We just need a little finesse in dealing with them."
"Finesse ain't my forte if you haven't noticed."
"It's alright," Vincent laughed. "The main thing that I have planned is enticing them with a supply deal once we take the dam."
"I heard, but…" Lawrence paused. The ranger looked to his friend as a finger rose—That light went on behind his eyes. "If they ever become a liability, they can be cut-off from the dam."
"Make them rely on us," Vincent nodded. "Without the water or power, they won't survive and it'll make them think twice about pissing off the hand that feeds."
"Shrewd," he remarked, yet Lawrence wondered that was Mr. House's idea.
"Manipulative too"
"It's an unfortunate part of life," Lawrence noted. "You have to make hard decisions. Who lives and who dies."
"I just don't think I'm really justified or qualified in doing that."
Lawrence stopped. A hand grabbed Vincent's shoulder. Lawrence spun him around, yanking off his sunglasses then met the boy's eyes. "No one is. Not President Kimball, not any of those generals sitting in their own Lucky 38s back home while their people starve in squalor, and not me either."
Vincent sighed. He hung his head and stared at the tarmac. Blacktop sweltered in the sun. Shimmering beneath their boots like a mirage of black water. It felt so much like trying to look into the future. Dark. Murky. Sometimes bleak. All those hard decisions were what Caesar, House, the NCR, and countless others had to tackle in the pursuit of what they thought was right. Decisions he would have to make to have what he needed. Vincent looked up to Lawrence. "I just want to at least try and make things better if I can."
Lawrence petted the boy's back in wide circles. "Let's head back to Vegas and talk about it when my brain's not being fried in my skull."
In the decent hours of the day, the strip wasn't flowing with tourists or talents working the streets in search of caps. Make no mistake though—it wasn't for a lack of interest nor such the vast number of thrill-seekers too hungover from the night before. Not at all. It was the god-awful heat. It swept in like a plague, deathly quiet and still. Then it hit you. Sucked the life out of you. It had become one thing on a growing number of reasons why Lawrence had begun to hate the place. The war and waste topped that list.
Lawrence pushed up the sunglasses gliding down a sweat-slicked nose. He left McCarran as reluctantly as he went. Another string of truths and lies he had to juggle to keep his superiors happy. A half-assed recollection of what happened at Nellis, the true outcome of which he would probably have to keep secret too. As far as the NCR knew, the Boomers wanted nothing to do with the Legion, New Vegas, or the dam. But that wasn't enough, even as plausible as it seemed. The general pushed for more. An alliance. A security net for the impending attack on the dam. Sweeten the deal with an offer to join the republic—That one he did his damnedest not to laugh at. Nothing was ever enough for glory-hounds; just more, more, more.
It was times like these that made him question whether his loyalty lay with the right side. He knew his own actions, their reasons, and his moral compass he wondered if he had been following faithfully for the past few years. The republic stretched their resources thin enough as is. He'd seen the outcome of that a little too often for his liking. Yet the orders kept coming in and sending him and countless other rangers all over the Mojave. A skirmish here. Recon there to confirm they lost control of an area. Either to Legion, highwaymen, raiders, you name it. Throw soldiers at the problem. Fresh out of boot camp. Then go draft some more when the previous ones are slaughtered. What would Marcus have said? Done? Thought? Lawrence sighed, stepping out of the shade of the terminal station. He would never know and that bothered him the most.
"Well, well, well." A throaty voice cooed. He looked up; sunglasses slid down his nose. "Y'know, I'm pretty good at this MP stuff. Trouble comes to me."
A wide grin crossed his face at the sight. She leaned against the railing, a cocky smile on her face as she turned to the monorail corridor. Full uniform and a red beret adorned curt brunette hair, curling around her ears at poignant ends. "Jackie."
"What brings you to the strip?" She tilted her head, eying Lawrence as he joined her side.
"Business," he explained. Head tilted opposite to hers, between a shrug. "And pleasure."
She scoffed. Arms crossed as she leaned back for a better view of her subject. "You better not make me do my job."
"I don't make promises."
Jackie shook her head but couldn't shake her smile. "Eve's here. Just got in late last evening with a caravan from home."
"Really? We gotta get together soon."
"I got tickets for an opening show, and it just so happens to be your favorite place."
"I have someone I'd like you two to meet," Lawrence added, the bashful glance to the floor telling more than his words. "Which reminds me…" He licked his lips—a stall to a burning question he had no better person to ask, unless he wanted a slap to the face. "I have a friend—"
"Ok—" She leaned back as a limp-wristed hand pointed to him. "That's where this is unbelievable." Jackie laughed, drawing out Lawrence's own chuckle. She landed a playful hit on his shoulder. "Go on."
"I've been looking for something…" A hand rose to his chin, stroking the goatee but it did little to coax the words out of him. "To help him…"
"Ah huh…" She nodded as slow as his words came.
"He's a little—" Awkward hands cupped his chest. Face twisted to a quizzical furrow. "Top-heavy."
"Top-heavy?"
"It gets in the way," he explained. "And makes him self-conscious."
"Ah." Another slow nod. "And you might be wondering how I keep my top-heaviness in?"
"Please tell me I ain't makin' a fool of myself asking this, but I just—"
"Not at all," she laughed. Lawrence sighed in relief as tense shoulders relaxed. "I have some things I recommend my girls in the field use, but if he's a heavy-set—"
"He's pretty thin—" Lawrence corrected, but just as quickly as he said it, he realized his mistake.
"But he's 'top-heavy'?" She craned her neck as brows twitched. A humored smile tugged the corners of her mouth.
"Please," he begged as open-palmed hands rose to highlight his plea. "Go with it. He's shorter than you, probably a little thinner, so if you have something, I'm sure it will fit. Just something to keep things flat. Whatever it costs, I'll give you the caps."
A tongue pressed the inside of her cheek as she stared at the man. "Alright," she nodded. "I'm off in three hours so meet me at the McCarran barracks."
Lawrence finally exhaled. Tense shoulders relaxed, smoothing out a blate smile. "Thank you, Jackie."
"Also! Come with us," she urged. "Shows not for another few days and Eve would love to see you again—Oh, and bring this someone you wanted us to meet." Intrigued eyes gleamed under her shades. Of course, the two of them would have to pry once they met Vincent, but he already knew they'd like him
"I'd think we'd both really like that."
Life always breathed back into him when he set foot inside the cooled air of the casinos. The Lucky 38 however, seemed chillier than the others. The stillness of a place that should have been bustling with. Eerie under the dim lights and ghostly chill. After the back and forth all day gathering information, putting on his best show and face had a way of leaving one fatigued long before their body, he couldn't complain.
Meanwhile, Vincent immersed himself in the pages of a few books from Mr. House's personal library. A library he didn't know even existed until he sought the old man's two cents on the present matter. "Taking the long route, but playing the long game," he said and from the hint of his voice, maybe even found the boy's plan commendable. He then directed him to a level beneath the penthouse. An expansive office adorned with relics of the old world. A collection of books, magazines, holotapes, and more information than he or anyone in their life would ever lay eyes on. Some still bookmarked by who he imagined were, once upon a time, placed by Mr. House, but it was the thick layers of dust and papery musk in the air that cemented his hypothesis.
Vincent paused at the click of the door. Eager for a change of pace, he stood up to meet Lawrence at the foot of the stairs. A moment he had waited on each time the man left, but this one was what he had been waiting for all day. When Lawrence would return for the night and they'd relax together over dinner, maybe a drink, but his favorite thing was just cozying up to the man and discussing whatever came to mind. The wide smile on Lawrence's face lent the boy a hint that it was also what Lawrence looked forward to as well.
"How'd it go?"
"Good," Lawrence said, pushing one boot off with the other. "Found out some interesting stuff, met an old friend." Twinkling eyes set on Vincent with a smile that teased he knew something Vincent didn't. "Got something for you."
"Oh?"
Lawrence presented hands he hid behind his back the moment the door opened. Grasped in his fingers, a neat square. Solid black. A matte piece fabric. Hidden in the folds, a note from Jackie he'd find once unfolded. Just a little something instructing how she had made it should whoever it was going to need more. One of those little thoughtful things beneath that "tough-gal" veneer that occasionally peeked through like a rare cactus flower. "What's this?"
"Try it on," he suggested. "Let me know what you think."
When Vincent disappeared to the privacy of the bathroom, the ranger set for his final destination; the sofa. At the end of every long day and the moment he sat down, his feet began their rant of disapproval. Aches and pains scolded him for walking so much without rest. The soreness following the next day would chastise him to remember he was getting older. For a moment, peace and quiet, save for that dull ache traveling up his calves. The turn of the doorknob sent a rush through him. Head jerked up and eyes opened. Staring at the corner as anticipation trickled down his back. His stomach had been in knots the moment Jackie had given him that thing, but now it may as well have jumped up his throat. He second guessed himself. Wondered if it would offend the boy. He was never any good with gifts.
Vincent turned the corner. Nervous hands fidgeted with each other while timid eyes glanced between the ranger and the geometric shapes of the carpet. Lawrence pushed off his other boot before he stood up. The top fit to his form—The one Vincent wanted. With nothing to hide under the compressed top, he didn't bother hiding under the usual tactics; crossed arms, drawn shoulders, hunching, or fanning his shirt. Whatever the boy was hiding underneath, Lawrence hadn't even noticed. Not that he was particularly interested in knowing either. Maybe those tactics worked then. Those eyes looked up to Lawrence. The moment of truth. Glassy and reddening. Brows quivered. Lips thinned as a congested snivel escaped.
He rushed to Lawrence, arms outstretched. "Thank you." Vincent's muffled voice barely escaped the folds of Lawrence's shirt. He squeezed the man. A tight hug he'd never been able to give without the vest between. As if it were the first hug they shared, newfound excitement soared through him. Pressing a flattened chest to Lawrence. No longer concerned with shame or fright of him knowing some awful thing about him. Now he never wanted to let go. "Where did you—"
"I asked a friend. It's a long story." Lawrence looked down at Vincent, wiping away the boy's sparse tears of elation. "But, we were talking about comfortable clothes in the field and…" He rotated a wrist as shoulders hung in a shrug. "Well, I hoped maybe it'd help you. I didn't mention anything specific. I promise."
"It's perfect."
Vincent buried himself in another tight hug. As if unwinding the gauze of a wound now healed. A wound he never imagined would heal. Already watery eyes overflowed, unable to fight the odd and overwhelming emotion he'd never felt before. A gift borne of love and acceptance! The gift of looking into the mirror, looking natural, and looking at himself for the first time again.
The same relief when he left Yucca Valley for good. The last argument with his mother that took him on another long walk through the hills. All the times before, he packed his satchel with everything he needed then set out. The few worldly possessions he had. But the most important thing he'd needed was lost along the way. Except for the one time he didn't lose his nerve. He kept walking until he reached the I-10. Night consuming the sky. He stood there in one piece, despite what his mother told him. That nagging voice in his head he tried to ignore most of his life then asked him in the moment of triumph: How much farther could you go if you already made it this far? The same relief he witnessed cutting off all the hair the same weight as a burden he bore for too long.
Lawrence hummed as he stared in the mirror. He took the slack of the shirt by the back. "How's that feel?"
Vincent slid his hands down his chest, evening out the wrinkles and folds of the shirt. He smiled. "Right."
"Go ahead and unbutton."
The boy did just that while Lawrence held onto the excess. He always had trouble finding the right size clothes. Vincent tried to make the best of what he did find, but that usually meant cutting off sleeves or shortening pant legs. If he was in a city, he could find a seamstress. His mother was good at that and naturally fixed all their clothes. Except all those clothes were fitted for someone else. Once Vincent prided hearing her listlessly complain how easier it was wrangling mountain cats than getting him to do something he didn't want to. Only out on his own did he regret not learning from her.
Lawrence searched his little box, a reserve of basic sewing supplies; needles, threads, the little things to make patches here and there. "So…" He inverted the folded excess, then went to work. "I found out something interesting after talking to the science officer at the farm."
Vincent nodded, crossing his legs and turning to Lawrence. It was one of those lazy nights in the comfort of their own suite both came to enjoy. The ones where they didn't have to keep half-awake to listen for danger. A real shower washed away the troubles of the day. Dinner was a given fact and the little treats after, a reminder to savor it. "She mentioned a project her colleague is working on," he explained, reaching again into the box. Several bobby pins held it together as he tightened the shirt. "Something about research that could multiply crop yields, so I was wondering if you'd like to check it out?"
"That could be helpful," Vincent agreed. Scissors cut away black fabric. It was a simple shirt, something like what ranchers wore. Bought a while ago with the intention of hemming it to suit Vincent instead. "But wouldn't me showing up rouse some suspicion?"
"Yeah…" Lawrence grumbled. "I can't think of a way to play it off. I already put in some vague info about Nellis," he shrugged while precise fingers pinched the needle, holding it there as he gathered his thoughts. "Convinced some uniforms our work will neutralize the Boomers from being a threat."
"Think they bought it?"
"Seeing as I'm the only one close to you and what you're doing…" He removed the pins, then cut the thread. He fanned out the shirt. "Alright, try it on again."
The shoulders fit snug. He stood straighter without the vest. Lawrence rolled up Vincent's sleeves to match his own. Vincent gleamed. A beaming smile. A real one that stood in defiance much like the city planted in the middle of a desert. Lawrence stole Vincent's hands, turning him around and pulling him back to the sofa. "It suits you."
A kiss closed the distance between them. Inviting arms wrapped around Lawrence's neck. Vincent pulled him closer for more. Lawrence's light touch traveled down his side. Noting every bump of the boy's ribs before flattening against his waist. Goosebumps scurried across Vincent's arms as that hand crept inward and undid one of the buttons. Hand slid, admiring a flattened chest under a careful touch. Legs tangled around Lawrence's. Eyes flickered, meeting Vincent's. A playful smile teased him. The glint in his eyes dared the man.
He leaned into the boy beneath him. Another button followed. Already half undone, Lawrence paused. He hovered over Vincent. Held up by one elbow dug into the cushion. A half smile glossed over Vincent. Glances gauged the boy's reaction as smaller hands unwound behind Lawrence's neck. Just as adventurous as the man, Vincent's hands lowered to squeeze his arms. Testing their strength and shape. Once satisfied, palms slid up to the solid curves of his shoulders.
Still wearing a teasing smile, he met Lawrence's eyes. A curious finger traced the slopes of his neck. A strong mountain of an Adam's apple. Skin roughed and grayed by a recent shave. Trailing down, down to the dip between his collarbones. Admiring the bow of a broad chest. Desire ignited those pensive eyes. Dreamy and reading Lawrence's mind. Teasing him, yet saying nothing at all. And those legs tightening around him, brushing against his. Daring. Begging to come closer. Lawrence dove in for his vulnerable neck. First a kiss to disarm, then a few more trailing down the boy's neck. A soft bite. A little gasp flooded his ear when he pressed hips together.
"Do you know what I'm going to do?"
Even hushed to a whisper, Lawrence's voice resounded through his chest. Vibrations resonated through his body. Hackles stood on end. Vincent combed nails through Lawrence's hair. A smirk tugged Vincent's lips as he watched the man's eyelids flutter. "If you don't I will."
–
He heard of them before. Just a few passing headlines in the papers. The organization dubbed the Office of Science and Industry. Better to just call them the Office of Industry. Science didn't seem to matter unless it produced caps and results. Similar, yet opposite of the Followers of the Apocalypse. Where the Followers were happy and eager to extend helping hands and knowledge, the OSI was dead set in practicality. There wasn't denying the OSI had made progress in recent years; the infrastructure, the military and logistics advancements, the growing agricultural sector… Their current "big" thing all the papers loved to gossip about was the desalination project. The holy grail of the wasteland that would save the NCR from its impending water shortage and permanent drought. Once Lawrence learned it was one of their directors in control of the project, he knew it would be pulling teeth. Yet when met with an unusual level of cooperation, suspicion simmered.
Returning to the suite, Vincent was still tangled up in the bedsheets. Just as Lawrence left him. Only the enticing smell of breakfast finally roused him. Grumbling, scowling, parsing a mess of hair with a comb before finally giving up and just drowning unruly locks under the sink. Nothing about the boy could be categorized as a morning person.
"Hi," were usually his first words. When he had woken up enough to be pleasant, that is. Voice still weak from sleep along with squinting eyes. On the worst mornings, the lights blinded him. One eye just refused to cooperate, making him walk about like a blind man groping for where he knew a chair, or table lay then up the one step and over to feel for the railings.
"Morning," Lawrence lent him the first smile of the day with a full plate. "You look hungover."
Vincent groaned, rubbing away sleep and a threatening headache with the heels of his palms. "Where'd you go?"
"Back to McCarran," he explained, stirring a topped-off cup of coffee. "About what I found out yesterday."
"Oh, right," he said through a full mouth.
"I have good news, but also bad news," Lawrence tilted his head, arching a brow as a fork clawed scrambled eggs. "The OSI doesn't have what we need—" He glanced up from his plate and to one that was full only moments ago. "Anyway, the bad news is what they're looking for is probably located in a vault."
"A vault? Where?"
"Northwest of Vegas, but—" Lawrence shook his head. "Vaults are dangerous. Death traps."
"I've never explored one. Exciting!"
"Of course you are…" He muttered. "Supposedly this one was doing research on…" Eyes wandered up as a butter knife swirled about over his plate. Lawrence settled for a shrug and a weary sigh, "Plants or whatever. It could be something, if you want to put the effort in. Which I don't recommend."
"Don't think we should?"
"I'm hesitant about helping those whackos already, but I'm more interested in not puttin' our lives in danger for them."
"I understand that." Vincent sat up, squirming in his seat as a smile peeked through. "But—" Oh no. Lawrence knew that tone all too well. That was the pretty please voice. The one he couldn't resist. "We may also be helping the republic if we find something useful."
"Yeah," Lawrence groaned, feet aching already.
–
On the outskirts of North Vegas and deep in the Gass Peaks, was Vault 22. Vaults scattered the wasteland along with their legends. Supposedly, some people still lived in them. Either squatters or descendants of the people lucky enough to escape the great war. Preserved deep underground, along with whatever remained inside, supposedly built to last. Those types of places attracted scavengers, wanderers, the usual vagrants. Except, from what he had seen, most of those vaults were dangerous. Death trap was an understatement.
It was either the vault itself which easily fell into disrepair without inhabitants or the people who fell into disrepair. Each one he ventured in, lay vacant for some time. Echoes of the past lingered. Sometimes the reactors still worked, and a good portion of the subterranean mausoleum retained power. Elevators may function. Old equipment, the doors, that sort of thing. Or maybe they didn't. Even worse if they broke down right when you needed them most. In those, you had a better chance of piecing together what spooked off the owners.
Other tales he took with a grain of salt. Those stories were told by old men who hung out in bars all day bragging about their latest pickings in distant ruins and junkyards. Old men who, in truth, probably only left their barstool to take a piss. He recalled one to Vincent in an effort to persuade him from taking on the endeavor. A story one of those bar rats he made friends with as a young man told the ranger. A real wanderer, a professional vagabond, as he called himself. He explored vaults without trepidation and had nothing good to say about them, even if they held wealth for those brave enough to enter. One tale chilled Lawrence to the bones.
Vault 99.
He claimed it was up in the San Bernardino range and could be found if you followed the right hiking trail. The number "99" would be carved on the backside of the signs to show the way. One day it got to Lawrence. Still in ranger training and a little too cocky from that for his own good. Another day running up and down the old roads. A pleasant view of the Boneyard sprawl below, and the resilient forest that kept on coming back no matter how many times it burned down. The troop stopped for a quick break on one of numerous vistas. This one also being a trailhead, he couldn't help but notice the sign. He didn't catch the name of the trail. Purposefully scratched away, but on the backside of the sign he saw those numbers. It sent a chill through him. Even through an August sweat soaking his clothes. Maybe he was just another drunk, a good storyteller. Or maybe he was right and people ought to stay away from the vaults.
The two stopped. An oasis spilled out on the desert like vibrant paint on a dull canvas. Grass sprung up in arid soil. Colorful flowers broke up the green monotony. Saplings fluttered in a breeze while one large tree hunched over the scene and rustled its leaves as if to warn them—but the signs were already enough for him. Scattered around the garden, nothing new since scavengers often put out warning signs for their stakes. Albeit the ones exclaiming the plants kill were a new threat. Lost beneath the lush flora, only seen should the light hit it just right, the entrance. Faded yellow numbers chipped off to reveal tarnished steel of a one-ton, six-feet thick, and seven-feet tall vault door.
"Only by the vault…" Vincent mumbled as he turned about in a slow circle to survey the land. A normal scene you'd find anywhere in the Mojave. Rich reds and browns. Dusty soil extraordinarily little life grew from, save for the cacti and Joshua trees. He returned to the vault door again. Green. Green grass and brush against that wind-sanded mountain. Something that shouldn't exist. "It's green…"
"Huh," Lawrence huffed, not particularly impressed or fazed by the signs, but the peculiar growth was a little suspect. "Having second thoughts?"
Vincent scoffed. "Sounds more like you are."
Lawrence rolled his eyes, then tugged the boy along by a new Kevlar vest. A new, sturdy, tactical vest that would do its job much better than the last ratty thing Vincent had. The boy already took a liking to it. Especially all the pockets. "Get movin'."
The door stood ajar. Enough the both could squeeze through, but only one at a time. Draped in ivy and fuzzy moss, Lawrence peered in, gun first with a light in his other hand. Moist, cool, chilling both sweat dampened men. Earthy must permeated the air. Wet soil after heavy rains. Except only the metal floors were beneath their feet. Light flickered overhead. Ripped from their ceiling port. Exposed wires sparked then diffused to the floor before igniting anything. Dead silence. No noise, save for their careful steps across metal grates.
Vincent hummed, careful to keep his voice to a whisper. "What exactly were we supposed to find here?"
Lawrence paused at a hall entrance. He raised his pistol again as he pressed up against the wall for a look down the corridor. Then he did the same in the opposite direction. Shoulders relaxed and he let out the breath he held. "Director suggested looking for a central database."
"Lawrence." The ranger joined Vincent at the wall. The glow of a powered terminal highlighted what was left behind. Finger scattered the dust as Vincent tapped the keys. A control console for the door. A satchel of supplies, an empty tin bowl, and spoon sat atop the terminal. Nestled behind a toppled desk and the wall, he spotted the sleeping bag. "Someone's been here."
"Probably still here too," Lawrence warned. The assistant doctor's words returned to him. She followed him after he left the office and after what she told him, her apprehension and secrecy made sense. He had no issue walking into danger, but it was basic courtesy to let one know if those sent before had a habit of not returning. The director happily looked him in the eye as if the ranger was a godsend merc who would solve all his problems. No mention of the numerous private contractors he sent to the vault previously. However, the assistant implored him urgently to either think twice or look for who was sent before him. "Strange types come in and out of abandoned vaults," Lawrence said. "Vagrants, prospectors, neither of which I want to deal with." He waved the boy to come to him. Pointing at map on the wall. Mounted and framed behind cracked glass. Colored lines and squares illustrated the entire layout of the vault. Each floor had its own map and frame, labeled clearly and accordingly to his relief. "Let's check out this one," Lawrence suggested as he tapped one map.
Floor 13: Server Room.
Grime coated signs in the halls. Their words nearly lost beneath dirt and decay. Dim, yellow and cracked plastic frames hovered above the two doors. An intermittent flicker teased them as they approached. Shadows jumped to and from out of his peripherals. Lawrence had an annoying habit of putting himself ahead of Vincent, but it was times like these he didn't mind. The ranger pressed the darkened down arrow. Click echoed. Gears turned behind walls. Groans and grinding hefted a burden up the shaft before giving out under the pressure. The grating came first, like a string quartet from hell. Clawing on the wall. Steel cords snapped, whipping the closed doors. A distant, thundering crash dissolved to a rustle by the time it reached the two at the top.
"Maybe…" Lawrence muttered as he stepped back into Vincent. "Stairs?"
"I saw a stairwell at the other end of the hall."
An orange glow illuminated the first few steps. A deep abyss lapped against the fourth step. Faint hum scratched his ears. Just quiet enough to make you doubt if it was truly there. Soon, the ranger's heavy boots replaced that hum. Loud thuds, no matter how carefully he planned his next move. A toll of a bell the further they descended into the vault. Warnings bounced about the walls before it honed in and struck the boy in his heart. He was so adamant about investigating the vault and they were already here. He couldn't waver in front of the ranger. Especially not to himself. He had been through much worse. Surely, some decrepit vault wouldn't be his undoing.
For the long walk, sweat, dirt, and dust clung to him. The overbearing sun's heat drained him, but now a chill rustled him. Another flight of stairs and another looming yellow number passed. He shivered. Cold, no longer chilly, but bone-chilling cold. Trembling, barely catching the fog of his breath. Air thinned, stinging the back of his throat. Lawrence's pace slowed. They came to one of many doors in the stairwell that led out the stairwell. The faint light above glowed blue instead of the rich orange the rest of the doors had.
"Five," Lawrence sighed, turning the corner for another dark trek into the abyss. A drip joined the hum. The light of his pip-boy followed streaks down the walls. Water streamed in thin coats along the gray. In the cracks, swarthy green tendrils curled out for the water. "They're everywhere," Lawrence whispered. "I noticed it starting on the third floor."
"The stuff growing out the wall?"
"Yes," he muttered, continuing on. Some vines bloomed with vibrant flowers. Emerging everywhere, the vents, the floors, the light installations. "Shit."
"What?"
Lawrence shone his flashlight on the scene. Caved in. Chunks of concrete littered the stairs to the sixth floor's door. Rebar poked out, tangled in wires and broken pipes. Loose soil spilled from the wall. Vegetation took over the island. Ferns and bushes. Vines and weeds sprawled out over the floor. Greedy limbs sought more surface to steal away from a dying vault. "Let's see if there's another way," he backtracked to the ascending stairs. The light swung. Creeping shadows caught the boy's eyes. He paused and turned his own light on the patch of overgrowth.
"Lawrence!"
Two bursts overtook the darkness for a fraction of a second. Gunfire deafened ears. Lawrence rushed back to Vincent; the boy had lowered his gun in place of wide eyes. "What?" He stared at the dark blot on the floor. The ranger turned his light on the thing. Squeaks took over the quiet as he slid back.
Like moss in the shape of a man. Sprawled out. Mist emanated off viridian skin. Joints cracked when he came to a squat. Lawrence plucked a free stick of rebar from the pile and investigated the creature. Soft like grass but textured like mold. He lifted the hand. Limp and heavy. Hung over the rusted piping. Complete with five fingers. Long vines ended in stringy green hair. Sopping wet. An imprint of a hand remained on dust-laden concrete steps. With a disagreeable shake of his head, he mumbled obscenities. Lawrence let the hand fall back into its puddle with a distasteful flop, then plunged the rebar into the creature's head.
"What the hell is that?"
"More things to keep an eye for," Lawrence warned. A gentle push on Vincent's shoulder guided him back up the stairs.
The fifth floor was labeled pest control. Not as derelict as the rest of the vault they'd seen, but the change of scenery wasn't to be celebrated. Leaks dribbled down the walls. Foliage grew uncontrolled, bursting through wall sockets, floor panels, and lighting fixtures. Eye's glued to the floor, studying each lumpy mound of dirt or brush. The hum of lights had yet to cease. In fact, Vincent was sure it got louder. Flickering yellows lined the long hallway. Right of the hall stood floor to ceiling windows peering into a violet room. A small greenhouse. An enclosure of more plants in its center surrounded by lab equipment. Ancient tech strewn about. Gutted and salvaged by any who dare venture so far into the vault, but now he wondered if any had made it out.
Lawrence paused in his steps. Staring through the glass, he pulled back the hammer of his pistol. Since encountering the bizarre creature in the stairwell, the ranger donned his helmet. Red eyepieces returned the eerie glare of violet and orange. "We got more."
The two pressed against the wall as they approached the doorway. Doors to which had been ripped out of their tracts. Lawrence crouched at his preferred vantage point looking to the whole room, while Vincent waited as back-up across from him. Lawrence raised two fingers and Vincent nodded. The blast jolted any fatigue that lingered in him. Lawrence stood up. Creeping inside, he followed the infrared light to the green house.
Heaps of dirt shifted. An arm stretched out first beneath the fern bed. Halted in place. Arms stiff as he waited. Its head emerged, slow as if roused from a deep slumber, sprinkled by dirt and mud. He searched for a face but nothing seemed to exist under the mossy coating. Fire sputtered out, sending the creature back to its bed.
Quiet returned to the room, save for the hushed beeps and whirrs of old computers. Vincent lingered at those machines. Lukewarm spots. Respite from the shivers twitching his limbs. Nothing of value remained on the consoles. Damp papers. Equipment rusted by the fog. He turned to Lawrence. Standing still, head slowly turning, red lenses scanned the room. He backed out of the greenhouse arch. Broken glass crunched under boots. Pistol raised, aiming to the other half of the laboratory. An unassuming door in the corner. Something Vincent would sooner think a janitor's closet than a threat by the way the man pressed towards it. Tired arms and eyes readied as he followed after Lawrence. The ranger raised a single finger then pointed to the door's control panel. Still lit by faint orange and set in a rusted box. Vincent's hand hovered over the door panel. Vincent looked for the ranger's affirming nod. Vacant beneath those lenses. Stance shifted. Grip stretched around his pistol then relaxed. A deep breath relaxed the nerves then he nodded.
A draft rushed out. Shoes scraped concrete floors. Vincent jumped to the ranger's side. Both peered in the dark. In those moments, he wondered how he'd fare without Lawrence. Surely in another grave and not coming out anytime soon.
"Woah, woah!" Her voice barreled out of the room. Dark, raspy, a feminine ring to it. "I'm on your side!"
"Identify yourself," Lawrence ordered.
Light steps closed in. "Keely. I was hired by the OSI."
He lowered the pistol. Shoulders relaxed and Vincent thought he almost heard a sigh under that helmet. "Right." When she emerged, the boy jolted at the sight. At least she didn't notice. Too occupied with keeping her attention set on the ranger. "Whatsername mentioned you."
"Dr. Williams?" She reached for the switch panel and the doors shut behind her. No wonder her voice was like that. A ghoul. Blotches of red splattered what once may have been dark skin. Creeping veins beneath reminded him of the roads in his maps. Purple webs, crisscrossing haphazardly. Blood-shot eyes surrounded cloudy irises. Then they shot to him. "She's a dear, but I'm surprised a ranger was sent for me."
"We weren't specifically sent for you," he clarified.
"Figures." Keely scoffed. "Almost thought that pompous ass had a change of heart. Don't suppose he mentioned how many he sent before me? Before you?"
"No, the director didn't," Lawrence admitted. "Might give him a throttle when we make it out of here."
She laughed, baring what remained of her teeth. "Let me have a few, too."
"Um," Vincent glanced at the ranger then to Keely for his chance to speak. "Don't suppose you got to the vault's database by any chance?"
"Take it you haven't gotten that far?" Keely crossed her arms as she looked at the boy. A stark contrast compared to the ranger he traveled with; Vincent knew those glances all too well by now.
"The stairwell is caved in at the sixth floor," Lawrence informed.
"I'm going to cut to the chase and tell you now." The rasp of her voice took a dour turn as she looked at Lawrence. "This place needs to be destroyed."
"Does it have to do with those weeds from Hell?" He asked, jerking a thumb to the greenhouse behind him.
"Yep." She nodded. "I'll tell you all about it and show you if you don't believe me. Let's just get to the second floor. It's safe there."
By the light of a lantern and its dim warmth, did they finally rest. Exhaustion seized him the moment he lay on his sleeping bag. Dormant aches surfaced. Every muscle in his feet and legs cried out. From the looks of it, he fared better than the ranger next to him. At least here they needn't worry about the dangers of the vault staved off by the darkness. The second level was devoted to oxygen recycling. According to Keely, it was also the one place that didn't harbor the previous inhabitants' experiments. While live flora sprawled about in an overgrown garden, no lurking moss-men waited to emerge from their earthy beds. UV lights casted a strange color on the room. The only safe spot from their eerie hue, the corner Keely fortified for herself.
"I was gathering gas to pump to the rest of the vault from here," she explained, pointing to the many vents lining the upper walls of the chamber. Tall, sour lavender walls, and slit-eyed grates peered down at them. "From there, I was going to rig an explosive on the last floor. That should do the trick, really."
"Isn't some of the research here salvageable?" Vincent inquired as he searched his bag. Thirst and hunger finally caught up to him.
Keely sighed, "Yes, but no." She took another drink of water. The plastic bottle cracked as it emptied. "From what I gathered, one of the projects here attempted to create hardier, easily grown crops." Clouded eyes spared no emotion by the gleam of the lantern. "Too much of the data is corrupted. Maybe the right algorithm and computing power could unscramble it."
"Figures," Lawrence muttered, resting an arm over his forehead. Vincent inched his sleeping bag closer to him, longing for the comfort of the Lucky 38. A soothing shower and the warmth of the ranger next to him. Last night had been so wonderful. Just thinking about it sent a rush of butterflies through him. Such intimacy, closeness, good feelings towards another person. About another man… That was all just a myth to him. Not something Vincent would ever have. No, instead he had resigned himself to solitude. Then the ranger stumbled upon him.
"You alright?" His touch brought Vincent back into the moment. He shook away his stare with a nod, palm lowered to grasp Lawrence's hand. "I agree we should destroy the vault."
"We can't let those things get out there." Keely reclined against the wall as she placed a pillow behind her. "What's got you so interested in the research? You aren't with the OSI are you?"
"No. Just interested in solving a food problem."
"So were the scientists here," she noted. "They created those things by accident. They propagate from spores; easily infect dead bodies but get enough in you and the spores will do their job just fine."
Vincent sighed. He'd have to make do with subpar reasons to convince the Boomers he was on their side. If they didn't agree to the terms, many of which he nearly had to beg House to include in his treaty. Well, then Mr. House would rather a variable be removed entirely than risk them becoming a threat. To be responsible for annihilating an entire group of people was something Vincent refused to do. It was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Not a scenario he'd even think of on his own. But to refuse… Then he'd lose everything he'd gain thus far. He'd have no future. No present. Nothing, again. Although vague as to how Vincent should carry on his mission, Mr. House did emphasize a diplomatic route. Ruminating kept him awake all night. The shy buzz of fluorescents his only company. The occasional rustle of leaves left him anticipating an unwanted visitor.
He looked over Lawrence's shoulder. Keely had fallen asleep first. She tossed and turned at intermittent aches in her back, but now she faced the wall. His gaze fell upon the ranger. Fast asleep, noted by the lack of a tense brows. Vincent sat up. Slow and deliberately, he made his way to another room. The one Keely mentioned she used to control the air pumps to flush gas deeper into the vault. A terminal connected to the vault's network. She even showed Vincent the corrupted data. He acted interested enough. Asked the right question about the things the previous inhabitants studied, and the ghoul couldn't resist revealing her more knowledgeable side. Staring at the screen, the glow couldn't wipe away the boy's exhaustion. He pulled a plug from his pip-boy and inserted it into a port. A few keys gave the machine its command and just with that, the data began copying to his device. Maybe Keely couldn't make sense of it, but he could do the one thing she couldn't.
Try.
When he woke, it was almost noon. How any ever managed to keep a proper schedule in a vault eluded him. Maybe it didn't matter when you never saw the sun, but he missed it. The wide, open sky and fresh air. Aside from the musty, dank, and earthy smell of the vault, the recycled air just felt all wrong. Keely and Lawrence were already awake and peering down magnifying glasses at a mangled box of wires. The bomb. Set to be planted on the lower floors to safely detonate the vault while they were safe on the first floor. Everything would be destroyed. The server room and all the data stored, but more importantly the lurking creatures below. Within an hour, Keely declared the bomb ready and Lawrence carried it to the depths.
When he returned, Lawrence declared, "It's set and ready to blow."
"Alright…" Keely whispered as she reached for the radio. She turned the dials until the frequency scanner lay on the right number. Vincent held his breath. Thin, scaly fingers remained on the knob along with all eyes in the room.
"Where's the boom?" Lawrence asked, disappointment obvious in his tone as eyes narrowed on the ghoul.
She grumbled as shoulders slumped. "I don't know. I've made them plenty of times be—" She paused, snapping to Lawrence. "Unless the room was equipped to keep out foreign signals. Protect the database."
"It needs to be manually detonated?"
She turned to the boy across from her. Underneath the light, shadows took form on her face. Cloudy eyes peered out from sunken sockets. Sullen cheeks concave to the form of the muscles that lay under a web of thin skin. A nose that had long since withered away flatted to two slits separated by exposed cartilage. Splotchy red patches mixed like watercolor while purple veins crawled across her forehead and the sparse hair of her scalp. "Yes," Death whispered.
"How am I 'spose to do that and survive?"
"There's rooms down there to hid in, they don't have vents so it should be safe from—"
"He'd cook alive in there!" Vincent exclaimed. "You should do it. You wanted to destroy the vault."
"And for good reason!" She snapped back. "If any of those spores make it—"
"Stop!" The ranger's voice resounded, overpowering and silencing the two. Keely and Vincent looked at him. "I will detonate it. I have an idea."
"What?" Vincent shook his head. His face twisted, but he couldn't settle for either anger or fear. "Lawrence you could die!"
"I have an idea," he repeated. "I'll be fine." He pressed the receiver hidden under his coat. Radio feedback screeched before he suddenly silenced it. The ranger added it on to the boy's tactical vest to communicate while out in danger such as this. "Promise."
He watched the ranger leave once more. Helmet under his arm. No hint of doubt with a tight hug. The doors closed on Lawrence, flashing a smile to the young man as if he was merely going downstairs to fetch some decadent treat at one of the casinos. Limbs jittery, tingling with fright and anticipation. Fear and resentment. Eyes flickered between the radio and Keely. Time bore its weight upon his shoulders. Heavy and thick like the grave he almost died in. Water choked his lungs, burning as it rushed through his nostrils and down an unwilling throat. Eyes dried while he counted down the minutes on his pip-boy. Jaw clenched, biting away those thoughts.
"He's a ranger. He's been in worse, I'm sure."
Uneven pupils narrowed on her. Harsh fluorescent cast shadows on her face. A skullish façade wrapped in tight, flaking skin. She leaned back with a sigh. Silence resumed. The stale air agitated him. Should anything happen to the ranger, he wouldn't hesitate. Nor regret pulling a trigger. Lights flickered overhead. Some shut off entirely while others returned to normal. Pipes rattled in the walls. Screeches and groans clawed against ventilation grates. Had it stopped the same minute it began, he may have mistaken it for the air regulators.
Vincent grabbed the receiver. "Lawrence?" Even the ghoul had a look of urgency on a decayed face. Radio static. He stared at the clock. The last trip took a total of twelve minutes, but if that was the explosion… It was three minutes too soon. The walls rumbled, not the same as the quake. Vents rattled. Every vent was closed before the crucial descent, yet gray smoke streamed from any crack or slit. Gaze snapped back to the elevator. Gray misted out from the shaft. He stood up, sending the chair scraping across the floor. Heart raced in his chest as he froze at the sight. He glared at the ghoul before his words came. Impulses rushed him. An impulse for revenge he was all too familiar with. If Lawrence died…
Clicks echoed up the shaft. He held his breath. Stared at the doors. A ding pulled them open. Lawrence sighed. He leaned against the door frame and shook his head. "Got a little toasty in there." Just the same as when he left. Steaming tendrils licked around his form. Not a burn, bruise, or even singed end of his duster or tarnish to his helmet.
Daylight stung when he stepped outside. One pupil refused to cooperate as usual, leaving the work to the other to slave under a late noon sun. Fresh air. Desert air just as he liked. Warmth of the sun rained down and washed away the vault's chill. The ranger extended an arm around the boy's shoulder. A smile met him beneath the sunglasses as arms returned to their favorite position; wrapped around Lawrence's waist. "I'd offer to walk with you back to McCarran, but I don't doubt you can handle yourself out here."
"I appreciate the offer," Keely nodded. "I'm planning to stay a little longer here. Just to make sure I didn't miss anything. But thank you. For your help."
He returned the nod and the ghoul retreated back into her vault. Vincent looked up to Lawrence, "Why did I let you convince me to come here?"
"Excuse me?" Lawrence cocked his head. A grin tugged his lips. "Boy, you're cruisin' for a bruisin'." Lawrence shook his head as stealthy fingers pinched Vincent's side.
Yelping and jumping away, he chided Lawrence. "Always leading us into blatant danger…" In the light of the day, the boy's glow returned. Shimmering hair in need of a cut rustled with a warm breeze. A playful smile crinkled his eyes, rivaling the wide-open Nevada skies. Looking in them brought Lawrence back to the first time he made it to the Mojave. Too many years ago, but he hadn't wanted to leave it since. Now there was another reason to stay. He reached for Vincent, bringing him back to his side. "I suppose it's that curiosity you mentioned?"
Lawrence chuckled, "I 'spose."
"Too bad it was a dead end."
"Nah," he shook his head. "Wouldn't have found Keely back there. Wouldn't have torched those weeds. Sometimes you don't accomplish the mission at hand, but somethin' else along the way."
Vincent gawked at the ranger. Crow's feet exaggerated beyond the edges of his sunglasses. "Is that what happened?" He asked, as hands locked together. "You never went on that exploring you were out here to do."
He smiled. A subtle nod agreed with Vincent's observation. The boy wasn't wrong, but it was also easy to get side-tracked when aimlessly wandering. Things kept getting more interesting, yet that wasn't what brought him here. Or kept him with Vincent. He didn't really know how it happened. It just did. The same way things just happened with Marcus. Those were the people he cherished the most. And now, he added another person to that short list. Yet, he couldn't ignore that nagging dilemma. A shameful dilemma that made him question his loyalty.
A/N: So this isn't the full version of this chapter. Perhaps you may noticed a distinct lack of smut where there should be some? Hmm? Horny much? I'm hesitant to post any even if I've written it for the story. Not for any reason of modesty—I am *far* from modest—rather sex is often a complicated thing for transgender people (like it isn't even if you're cis lol) dysphoria aside, there's way too much policing and assumption of what any individual transgender person should do with their body.
Not everyone has the same preferences or does the same stuff in bed, so for the sake of not making people uncomfortable or re-enforcing ideas of what should or should not be done, I'd rather leave it out my published version—that's a hint to use your imagination, you thirsty pervert ;)