A noon gust brushed his face, drying sweat before it finished its endless trails down his nose and temples and too many other places he wished weren't so damp. He closed his eyes, taking in a chill against his drenched back. The breeze, a gentle gust of encouragement to continue on. The only break in a constant inferno for a few precious seconds. The second reprieve graced his fingers in slick dew, beading down the curves of a mental canister. His other hand sore, pulsating with every labored beat of his heart. Gripped the haft of a shovel, not by will anymore rather stiff joints. Calluses atop of calluses on reddened palms.
If he was this beat, Vincent had to have it worse. Yet the boy kept going. Exhausted muscles twitched in his arms. White-knuckled fingers stuck around the wood handle. He huffed with every thrust. Grunting with every heave and toss of a meager pile. If it weren't for the few volunteers Gina requisitioned and a couple of Mr. Handys, the two would have given up long ago. Lawrence reached to the boy, halting Vincent's first thrust into the next unsuspecting cactus.
"Take a breather."
Vincent hesitated. If he stopped now, he might not get back up again. Shoulders deflated with a final huff as he let the shovel fall. Aching hands still felt the damn thing in them, resounding like echoes in a cave. Strained arms lost any form, feeling more like his mother's nopal noodles than anything that had dug up seven ditches. Under the shade of a wide-brimmed hat, he still squinted. There was no solace from the sun in these hours. Even when one looked away from the sky, the ground was ready to take over the glaring assault.
Cool gel on Vincent's skin jolted him. A thick slather quelled hot flesh, tender to the touch—He already reconciled with himself the inevitable burn.
"We're both gonna be redder than a brahmin's ass after this," Lawrence grumbled as he tended his own exposure.
Scraping soles announced her before she spoke. "We're thinking about calling it quits for the day." Once tanned shoulders now glistened a faint red. Hands listlessly set on the upper half of the flight suit tied around her waist. Weary head hung low, her face shaded by the weave of her hat and still not enough. "Just want to rest up a bit before heading back," Gina added, yanking off her gloves—the only part of her that hadn't tanned or burned.
Lawrence nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."
"Need water?" She pulled one of several bottles stuffed in pockets of her suit.
"Thanks," Vincent sighed in relief and took the olive branch. So far, the gardener had been the most amicable of the Boomers. Few spoke to the two outsiders, but it was better than the initial reception.
"I was thinking," she started, picking up the shovel for a crutch to lean on. A teasing breeze rustled her curls. "Savages ain't interested in helping us, so I guess you two aren't savages." She looked to both of them, perhaps still debating her statement, but her attention lingered on Vincent. One boot raised to the spade dug it further in the dirt. "Still, can't help but wonder why you want to help."
Vincent wiped away the sweat lingering on a brow. "Pearl didn't tell you?" Gina remained quiet. Wrinkles wrapped around her green squint. "Well, to prevent more chaos, to put it simply."
"I know y'all keep track of what's goin' on out here," Lawrence added. Gina glanced away, thin-lipped as she shifted soles. "The Legion, the NCR..."
"Can't say I like either, but I've heard nasty things about the Legion."
"If the Legion takes the dam, then more problems come for everyone, even Nellis. What they want, they take by force."
An affirming hum marked Gina's nod. "I know the elders been worked up about it. They don't want us to worry about their issues though."
"I offered Pearl an alliance," Vincent clarified. "To preserve and protect Nellis. All it requires is a little assurance we're on the same side."
"If the Legion don't get the dam, who will?"
"Not the NCR either," Vincent shook his head. "It belongs to New Vegas. To this region and everyone who lives here, including the Boomers."
"I trust my elders' judgements…" She shrugged, letting out an uncertain sigh. "Some people been wondering if—"
"Gina!"
She spun around. Hands waved wildly in the distance. Her helpers gathered around the loaded trailer. Finally hunkered down for the walk back. Ropes coiled around mechanical steeds. Tightened and out of reach of their fiery propellant. It must have been a sight to see traveling down the road. Metal beaming like a beacon. Filled to the brim with neatly packed cacti, aloe, agave, and even one pinion sapling. Logistics of the hair-brained plan was calculated by the gardener herself. The plants would do fine for a bit unearthed, but as soon as they got to the base, they'd be replanted right away by the better part of Gina's gardeners waiting on the delivery.
"Think this will be enough to get Pearl on our side?"
Vincent shrugged, "She was interested last we spoke and enthusiastic about my farming ideas."
"Seems like only Gina and Pearl have spoken to us."
"They're independent people," Vincent said, looking ahead to the caravan treading black water. Gina's team guarded the trailer, fronted by the three Mr. Handys and expertly tied knots. "They follow their leaders though," he added. "I think Gina is one of them—maybe a kind of de facto leader."
"I'm surprised House would want so much effort put into the Boomers instead of seizing the base with his metal fan club."
"I don't think Mr. House is evil," Vincent pondered. "Definitely not the compassionate sort. Calculating, detached…"
Lawrence hummed. "Better than whatever the Legion wants to do—or, I hope so."
Vincent looked at Lawrence. Sweat glistened on his forehead. The tips of his hair soaked to shiny little spikes. But to know what the man was really thinking, he needed only to look in Lawrence's eyes. Far more expressive than the man must have liked. However, beneath those dark lenses and drawn brows, Vincent saw nothing. "What do you make of all this? I know it can't be easy."
"Can't say anything worthwhile ever is," Lawrence pointed out. The ruins of the suburbs took over the horizon. Remaining street signs hadn't lost their purpose among the maze and time-stripped facades. "I'm still…" Lawrence sighed, clenching his jaw as if biting back his real words. "Conflicted."
"That's a reasonable position to have," Vincent assured him.
"Sometimes the right thing isn't playing by the books or following orders," the ranger said. Something about his tone, those words by themselves. Spoken from experience. A terrible familiarity recalling one too many regrets pulling at him like fresh stitches. Silence grew during that walk. Wedging between them, a splinter in overworked hands.
Around the base, they'd seen plenty of each other, yet that's where interactions ended. A quick exchange of eager hellos or a quick kiss and hug when they crossed paths, then back to work. Far too much to do with hours turning to days. Planning with Gina for the farm, salvaging the dead solar panels and fetching what parts they had on base for repairs. Dealing with the ant problem in the munition storage—explosive ants had been a first for the both of them—the vault exploration, and now digging up whole plants for the crop-field. The more the silence grew, so did Lawrence's exhaustive list to sort out his own predicament. At least the work kept his mind occupied.
Distracted hands paused far too often. Did Marcus ever trouble him like this? Vincent's motivations weren't cloudy, a tangled mess like the parts and wires he sifted through. The boy was honest, sometimes too honest. Persuaded by money? No, that didn't seem to align with his character. No hints at a thirst for power. Hell, he'd often have to steer Vincent back into the right subject he veered off track to blurt out some grand idea for Freeside or the strip or everything else. He wasn't one to look for a fight either; he knew he'd lose, anyway. Lawrence hated having to ponder such a topic, yet it wasn't only Vincent he needed sort out.
The New California Republic was on his mind as well. The organization he devoted his life to. Suddenly, a thick fog rolled into the Mojave. Nothing like he'd ever imagined would. Second guessing the very thing he devoted himself to. Did the republic believe in it as well? Or was it all a front? The same suit of Caesar's Legion, only a different color. Some time ago, he thought those protesting in the streets, the soldiers, rangers complaining about the war, the draft, the management of the whole charade, well, they were cowards. Immoral. Unpatriotic. Except, those sentiments began making sense as the years went on. The republic was in over its head. He knew that much.
House's plan wasn't ideal, from what he gathered, but it would do something. If it worked. The mysterious ruler of New Vegas wasn't omnipotent. Everything could fall apart. But what separated Mr. House from the NCR or the Legion was a solid plan, stability, and longevity. The serious, dedicated types that came along once in a generation. One that didn't give up, clearly since House laid out an entire scheme to take the region since the first go at it didn't turn out so great. Despite whatever justification Lawrence conjured up, it would still destroy everything he accomplished as a ranger.
—
In the hangars, one would find a common space. A shaded respite, cluttered from salvaged old homes beyond the base. Tables and chairs clung to one corner. Designated a cafeteria by the sign overhead. A congregation of sofas on the other side, populated by a few readers and others playing card games or enjoying lively discussions. But it was the other half of the hanger that drew the two outsiders' attention.
Held up by its landing gear, the plane had seen better days. Three gracefully twisted blades tipped its nose. Two long wings stretched from its sides. Rust crept out from seams and rivets while absent panels revealed inner workings in a mangled mess behind steely ribs. The tall ladder set to its body led up to the roof. Defiant little Boomers gathered overhead. Peeking out, curious laughs and eyes following the two strangers to an isolated table
The ranger let out a groan as he sprawled. Legs splayed out while arms folded behind his head and gaze settled on the boy across from him. Dials turned and buttons clicked as studious eyes fixed on the screen. A faint glow outlined the crook of his nose. Another dial turned and a quick flicker highlighted all the wonderful blues in his eyes. Teal waters like an oasis found on the last legs trekking through an endless desert. Clear and pristine teal, sparkling under a beating sun, rivaling the vivacity of a clear sky. He loved when those eyes caught his. A calm and serene picture he hadn't seen as much as he'd like lately.
Vincent smiled at the ranger. "Something on your mind?"
Little did the boy know just how much was on his mind. A sixteen-ton brahmin felt accurate. He made things difficult. Just his mere presence alone. As comforting as the boy could be, Vincent was a giant thorn in the man's side he both wanted around and needed to ignore. Not any fault of his own. No, it was all Lawrence's doing. He only promised to take Vincent to Primm. How did it go this far?
He shook his head, rattling weary eyes awake. "Sort of." He sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. "I wanted to ask you a few things—"
"Hey!" A voice interrupted. The one Boomer Lawrence didn't want to deal with. Raquel, master-at-arms of not only the base's security personnel but nasty looks, too. "I gathered those supplies we needed for the fence." Not one for greetings, rather she liked to get straight to the point. The bobbing leg also a hint for Lawrence to hurry-up. Her choleric expression hadn't even faded since they first met, and he often wondered if she just looked like that. "You did say you'd help." Arms crossed. Eyes set on Lawrence as if they were her sidearm.
"Yeah…" Lawrence sighed with an equally lethargic nod.
"Oh, repairing the fence?"
"And electrifying it," she added. "That'll keep savages out."
Lawrence stifled his groan as he stood up. He did promise to help, but he didn't expect her to actually find the supplies they'd need, let alone all of it. He told himself he wouldn't help the Nellis Nutjobs—He'd help Vincent. Yet, here he was.
As if Vault 22 or digging up plants in the middle of a desert wasn't enough, now he was self-tasked to arm a fence with enough volts to scramble a deathclaw's brain. When Vincent asked him about Nellis, he was suspicious, but when he said House wanted to ally with them, all the life drained out of him. He saw no way out of that, well not an option he wanted to take. There was a reason the NCR hadn't claimed it for themselves, so there was no way he could sit back and let Vincent rough it alone. He didn't want to. When they met with Pearl, well he knew it would be tedious, but not this tedious. Since returning to the base, any time with Vincent slipped away. Yet, amidst the annoyance was a damning confirmation. One he never wanted to get tangled up in again. Grumbling and cursing, as if he could hide his thoughts from himself. A strange emotion, fear and elation entwined together. Soft, warm, and comforting. Exciting like the night shared with the young man.
"Shit!" He hissed, pricking himself again on exposed wires. Pliers wrapped the excess of thin metal around its partnering wire. Little red pricks dotted his fingers. Small hurts he had gotten used to by now, whether it had been for Vincent or Marcus. He knew the boy had grown on him. It became too much to ignore.
"Lookin' good," Raquel gave an approving nod. She followed him down the fence with the spool of wire. "The fence, I mean. You look like hell."
"Thanks," Lawrence muttered, flashing a toothy frown. At the last twist he came to his feet.
"Alright," she sighed, as if she were the one doing all the work. Hands planted on her hips as she looked on proudly to the fence. "You do the honors."
"Hah," Lawrence scoffed. "You rather I get fried in case the wires are shoddy." She glared at him, remaining quiet. Further proof he was right. He opened the box. Several switches faced him. One for turning the fencing on and off, one to adjust the voltage, and the other, well it was better not to touch what you didn't know.
Raquel glanced at him then to the box. A perplexed expression twisted her scowl. "It's on? How do we know it'll work?
He chuckled, "Go touch it."
"Ugh," she groaned. "Whatever. I'm tired and it's almost dark. Let's call it a day."
"Sounds good to me."
He could have brushed it off, could've left that boy to his own devices after saving him from a deathclaw. Yet, he had this charm about him. The way he smiled, laughed. His stubborn nature and refusal to give in despite everything thrown at him. That night in Primm, he figured going to Novac didn't seem that far. He would have parted ways there in Boulder City, but that bull-headed, incisive nature hidden in him debuted. Not only there as they argued about logistics in a standoff, but again when they stopped in Freeside. Vincent had something more than boyish charm. Not as coy or naive as he led people to believe. Another chance to part ways slipped through his fingers, rather he let it. He pretended it was all part of his non-existent plan anyway. He could try to ignore the second time someone grew on him. But it was outside of Nelson when he looked up to Vincent. Wearing the same helpless and frightened face Vincent gave him on the side of a road after staring down death wrapped in a scaly hide, he knew it was too late. Washing away the events of the day, holding someone important close, feeling content and wanted.
Yet he bit his tongue.
He told himself some time ago, no one else could live up to Marcus. Still he didn't want to let Vincent go. Guilt and loneliness in a standoff once again, both following closer than his own shadow.
Lawrence turned away from the thoughts growing like weeds in the faults of his mind. He sighed, slapping down the notebook on his stomach. The springy old bed on a creaky frame wasn't that comfortable anyway. Any sleep that dragged him to the tent disappeared somewhere on the way. He glanced at Vincent's spot. Loathsomely empty. Lawrence reached for the bag stowed under his cot. A quick unzip and he retrieved a full pack of cigarettes along with the lighter. A long inhale calmed his nerves and hands. He returned pencil to paper and continued the sketch. Grey scale, not ideal to capture the depths he wanted to put on the paper, but it had been more of a conduit for his thoughts than anything. As difficult as it was to concentrate, at least he had made it to the final touches.
Light steps drew his eyes to the tent flaps. Vincent stepped in, promptly pausing when he found Lawrence still awake. "Hi."
Lawrence returned a smile to the boy. "Hi."
A tank a couple sizes too big hung loosely on a lithe frame while a towel draped his neck. A strategic placement rather than convenient one. Damp hair vied to retake its wavy shapes as Vincent rustled locks with the corner of the towel. "Finally time to rest," he chimed. "For good!"
Lawrence took one last draw from the cigarette before he snuffed it against the metal pole holding up the canvas tent. He watched the boy's nightly routine. Hanging the damp towel, searching for a fresh sleeping shirt—He was particular about what shirts he wore to sleep. Something big, not too big and preferably not too thick, either. Vincent turned his back to the man as he pulled off the tank, only to be quickly replaced by the sleeping shirt. One of those brief hints of trust that sent pangs of guilt hidden among the butterflies.
"Come here," Lawrence beckoned. Vincent turned to the ranger, a smile still on those lips Lawrence rather have pressed to his own. "Made something."
Vincent sat on the bed with him as Lawrence passed the book. Vincent paused. A light touch felt the dusty graphite, careful not to smear the portrait. "This is me," Vincent muttered, glancing to the ranger then back to the lifelike image on the page.
"Felt like trying something," Lawrence shrugged. "So I drew you from memory."
The boy's smile widened. "Think you can make me look more like a man? Like I'm supposed to be." He passed the notebook back to the ranger. "I just wonder what that would be like."
Lawrence stared at him. Clearly, he meant no disrespect to Lawrence's skill, but it still left him with an odd feeling. There wasn't one thing he felt Vincent lacked. Not one bit of him Lawrence would criticize or compare to any other man. Eyes fell back to the paper, and he spotted what was missing. Lawrence hummed. A brow arched as he tilted his head and muttered, "More masculine?" One fluid swipe with the pencil completed his work. Before Vincent stood up to resume his business, Lawrence turned the notebook around.
Brows furrowed when he looked at the unchanged picture. Just his name in a familiar and eloquent script. So foreign compared to the blocky letters the man typically wrote.
"It is in my artistic opinion," he started. A playful, but matter-of-fact tone colored his normally dour voice as hands steepled together. "No alterations or revisions were needed." Vincent shook his head, but couldn't shake his smile. Lawrence closed and set the notebook aside. "Now, come here," he extended open arms to the boy. Promptly, Vincent nestled himself against the man. He planted a kiss on the boy's head once finally settled and content. "I've been thinking about that break."
"Me too."
"I almost forgot! We were invited to a little get together. Us and two of my closest friends, practically family."
"Oh? When and where?"
"She said this Thursday at the Millennium," Lawrence said. "It's opening night for some play. Jackie and Eve like those sorts of things, but I'd like you to meet them."
"Like family?"
"Yes and—" Lawrence's smile faded. Oh, no… Had he really failed to mention it? He told stories of the two and especially Eve when they were younger, but… "Also on paper… Evie and I are legally married, but—"
Vincent withdrew from the ranger's embrace. He whipped around. Hands and feet firmly planted on the blanket as he took to a pouncing crouch. Like the scar that split a brow, lightning flashed in those eyes. "What?"
"I'm married with her, not to her." He clenched his jaw. It was an honest mistake, but he knew how it looked. "It's just on paper, for benefits—Evie and Jackie have been together for seven almost eight years now and as handsome and captivating as I am, I don't think I'll persuade them to change sides. Evie and I got married after…" A heavy sigh drew his brows together. Shoulders shifted nervously as he searched for his words. "After a lot of bad shit happened with our families."
Vincent's scowl loosened. "I'm listening…"
Lips thinned as his gaze lowered away from Vincent's. He never could look anyone in the eye recalling those days he wished he could leave behind him. No, he'd rather nuke those memories instead. Enough firepower to make the Great War look like an alley scuffle. Anything to get rid of how horrible it still tore him up. "We've known each other since we were kids. Evie lost her family when we were about nineteen. I was already enlisted by then to get away from my own problems at home. We agreed to get married to support each other," Lawrence explained through slow and deliberate words. "She has nothing and no one, just me, and later, Jackie. You've probably heard the policies; the NCR wants their citizens married and making future soldiers and they reward you for that. We weren't into the 'future soldiers' part, though…"
"Oh," Vincent hummed. He nodded, relaxing, then set a hand on Lawrence's knee. "Sorry, I—"
"No," Lawrence shook his head. "I'd be upset too. I should've mentioned it sooner, even if Evie and I aren't like that."
"She's an important part of your life," Vincent pondered. "I'd like to meet her." Lawrence finally looked up to him, met with a sweet smile as warm as the lantern light drew out his own.
—
Feet squared as he raised open hands. Raquel mirrored him down to the ranger's face. Both discarded their armor down to the lighter clothes underneath. Jeers and taunts circled them. Raquel's command. Interested spectators.
Lawrence advanced, testing her reflexes. Good. As expected from someone in her position. Again, but this time, he undermined her defensive posture. Now, might and size weren't the only way to win, but it did give him an advantage. If he wanted to upstage someone, he'd make a jab at their basic instincts in a fight. Get their heart rate higher. Get the adrenaline pumping. Distract them and they'll slip up. However, this wasn't the place or time. Their dance kept him close. Invading her personal space, enough to overpower her sight and her footing.
"I'm not delicate."
She smirked, "Neither am I."
"Then bring me down."
She advanced him. Lawrence raised an arm, deflecting an amateurish strike. She circled around, lunging in the opening moment as he turned to her. She swept his leg before he landed sturdy footing. A hard thud met the mat. Loud groan knocked the wind out of him.
Turning on his side and catching his breath, Lawrence croaked, "About time."
She grinned basking in her audience's cheers and claps. A better look than her scowl. She reached out to Lawrence and brought him back to his feet. He stretched, strutting off the sparing square as Raquel already boomed her orders and guidance before eager kids and recruits set food on the mat. Another thing she implored him to do, to put it kindly. She had a way of getting under people's skin. Whether it was on purpose was debatable, but either way, she goaded him into sparing, and only after a quick and haughty exchange between the two, did he realize he fell right into her trap.
"When you going to show me how to do that?" Vincent inquired as Lawrence took a seat next to him.
A cheeky grin crossed the ranger's face as he leaned toward the boy, "I will, but we'd do it the right way. Naked." Vincent scoffed. The only thing he could do to quell the bubbling desire spurred by that image in his mind. Lawrence's grin widened with a chuckle. The grin of a man all too proud of himself.
"Hello."
Lawrence's hand paused before it met Vincent's knee. Both looked up to the girl. Eager grin, hands clasped behind her back as she leaned towards them. Long brown hair tied by a lazy ponytail rested on her shoulder. Probably not much older than Vincent, but a few inches taller. She smiled a crooked and toothy grin. "I enjoyed your demonstration."
The ranger nodded. "Thanks."
"I'm Susan," she thrust a hand to Lawrence. "Would you show me some pointers?"
"Uh…" Lawrence raised a hesitant hand for a delicate shake. "Alright."
"Don't be too lenient on him, Susan," an aged voice encouraged. Hands clung together behind a slight hunch. Motherly smile deepened her wrinkles. Those smiles seldom left Pearl's face, leaving behind a topography telling of life well lived.
"Oh, mother Pearl!" Susan chirped as she spun around. "How are you?"
"I'm well, child," Pearl assured. "I came to fetch you." She looked to Vincent, raising sparse white brows and setting a hand on his shoulder.
"Oh?" He promptly stood up. "What did you need?"
"Come with me."
Susan plopped down in the vacant seat next to Lawrence. "I've always been curious about savages and their ways." A mousy face stared back at him. Mouth much too big for her head. Eyes too wide, gawking at him. Absorbing him. She inched closer. "You should tell me all about you."
"I'm gonna get back in the ring," Lawrence muttered, leaning away from the girl.
Susan jumped up with him. "I'll be your sparring partner!"
He stepped on the mat, desperately searching for Raquel as some means to escape. For once the woman wasn't breathing down his neck. Instead, she stood with Pearl and Vincent chatting. Lawrence groaned. Then out the corner of his eye, the tawny crown of Susan's head butted in his vision. She took an awkward form and raised clenched fists. "Ok—" He sighed and turned to her. Small, thin. The runt of the Boomer litter from the looks of it. The last person who should get into any kind of fight. "First, that's an awful stance."
—
He pulled another bin and glanced at the list. From his time as a courier, not only did he learn the fastest and safest routes to travel, but also the names of little odds and ends people sent all over. The Boomers had too many of them. Parts and pieces of planes and all their fine inner workings, along with guns and miscellaneous machinery, filled rows upon rows of shelves and little plastic bins with their own unique labels. He pulled the last tube of bin #35. Another thing struck off his list. Long and rubbery, it bounced around like a snake when he dropped it on the table. Loyal, one of the Boomers' elders—crotchety, blunt, and older than dirt—He inspected every part the boy brought him, scrutinized under folds upon folds of wrinkled eyes. Only a disorganized pile occupied the table. Once Vincent relayed the great news to the man, he got to work with his understudy and Vincent along with them.
"Oh, what are we doing in the workshop?" A shrill voice echoed through the hangar. Vincent twisted around, meeting the storm waltzing in. Behind him, the source of the ranger's scowl. "I like the common hangar more. Doesn't echo."
"So do I."
"Once I was in here looking for a light bulb—" Lawrence paused once he spotted the makeshift lounge set up in a corner looking over the whole hangar. Without hesitation, he crashed on the sofa. "—because the schoolhouse light went out—" She joined him on the couch and continued. "—I couldn't find anything!" Searching for Vincent, a plea scrunched the man's face, begging for help once he found the boy. Susan leaned to him and whispered, "I don't think the organization is the best in here."
Vincent departed the table. Loyal and his understudy wouldn't notice if he slipped away anyhow. Too lost in putting the thing together and mumbling amongst themselves for the next part or tool needed.
"See, now I have a system for everything—"
"Hi." Lawrence whipped his head up at the familiar voice. Weariness washed away by a smile as he laid eyes on the boy. "What's going on?"
"We were discussing ideal systems of organization," Susan informed.
"Riveting." Vincent returned his attention to the ranger. "I got news though."
Lawrence stretched arms over the sofa, head hung over the edge as another sigh deflated him. "Please tell me it involves leaving the base." Next to him, the mesmerized girl fixated on the ranger's neck. Gaze followed the curves of his throat as the knot bobbed up and down with every word.
"It does," Vincent confirmed. Susan inched closer to him, setting off the ranger's alarms once again. Eyes narrowed on her. Arms retracted back to him and constrained between his legs. "We're going to Lake Mead."
"I don't even care why, just tell me when."
Vincent shrugged, looking back at the worktable. Backs turned to their guest and hunched over a mess of odds and ends. "Probably not for another day. Loyal and Jack over there are putting together a few things we might need."
Lawrence's brow arched as he took a gander. "And what is it we need?"
"It'll let someone breathe underwater for a short time," Vincent explained.
Susan gasped. Mouth agape as the two looked at her. "Are you going to get the Lady in the water?"
"Uh, yes. Pearl asked us to."
Pressing a hand to face, Lawrence tugged on tired eyes, the only way to keep them from calling it quits on their own. "Do I even want to know?"
He had encountered many curiosities. It was one of those things that came with all the traveling across untamed wilderness. Possible skinwalkers in Baja, or the lights out in the desert a little further North of New Vegas, or even the strange people that lived in the city's sewer system, oh, and the never-forgettable killer moss-men of Vault 22—Little surprised him anymore. He never looked for weird things or trouble, at least until he met Vincent.
"So…" Lawrence muttered. "A plane?"
They stared at the sparkling lake. Gentle currents lapped against what remained of the docks. Water rotted wood poked through the surface between loose planks leading to the depths. Somewhere in there, at the bottom of the lakebed, lay a B-29 bomber. And they would bring it to the surface. Vincent resumed fiddling with the breathing mask; tubes connected a repurposed gas mask muzzle to two small canisters. "Apparently, it's been some kind of…" He shrugged, "Hope or purpose to them to get a plane working and flyable."
"Oh, and the one that's been marinating in a lake for the last two centuries is gonna do that?"
Vincent looked up at the ranger. Surely a scowl was hidden under those dark lenses. Arms crossed against his chest highlighted the musculature of the ranger's forearms. Contours he couldn't wait to feel again in the privacy of their suite in the Lucky 38. "In exchange for their more agreeable side, seems like a steal."
"You know what?" Lawrence cocked his head. Lips thinned with a quick lick as he shifted on his feet. "It'll keep 'em occupied long enough and away from the artillery." Holsters slipped off with ease before getting to the belt. Vincent paused, peculiar glean watching the ranger continue unbuttoning the shirt.
"Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing?"
"I'm gonna go down there. I got the training and know-how," he declared. "I take it they know where it's at down there?"
Vincent looked at the mask and tubes, "Well, yes." He knelt for his satchel and set the contraption aside to search for the map Loyal gave him. A worn out thing, drawn one too many times over, complete with notes scattered here and there. Taken from something bigger, if the uneven and frayed ends were any sign, but the map itself was of the lake. Topographical outlines and tiny numbers in between gave some idea of what it looked like beneath the surface. "Should be… Over there."
Lawrence followed his finger. Brow arched in unison with a weary sigh. "Over there?" He reached for the sparkling water, hand flat as a reserved wave gestured to the entire lake. "Where all the water is?"
The map crinkled and a cacophony of crumpled paper quieted the boy's huff. Hands plopped against his legs. "Lawrence." He rolled his head on shoulder to set a glare on the man. "We're here to figure out where it is first."
"Alright," he nodded, tossing his pants aside. "You gonna owe me though."
"Owe you?" Vincent chuckled.
Lastly with socks stuffed in his boots and casually stripped, a firm hand landed on the boy's butt. "We'll work out the details later." Lawrence smirked. A cocky wink followed, riling up the young man who couldn't resist such tactics.
Lawrence adjusted the strap of the mask and fastened the belts. One last check confirmed the air canisters in place and ready. When Vincent told him about the plane, he wasn't thrilled. When Vincent told him about Loyal's plan, he was certain it wouldn't work. However, if he got the thing to the surface, then it would be the entourage of Mr. Handys problem.
Pearl assured the boy she would honor the agreement and that was all that mattered at this point. He didn't think the Boomers would be amicable to any sort of truce or alliance with NCR, especially not with past transgressions that left the base with a stifled water supply. Truthfully, everything Vincent had done to help them was more than the NCR would have put effort into. At least it would be a truce by proxy—House wanted to secure the Boomers arsenal only so it couldn't be used against him, but he also wanted and needed to keep the NCR close. A bare foot tested the water. Lukewarm, tolerable. In the next few months it'd be frigid. Lawrence took one last deep breath before he flung himself into the lake.
Vincent glanced at his pip-boy. Only a few minutes had passed since Lawrence ventured out onto the surface. He submerged and surfaced again here and there. Each time a little further out from shore. Vincent could only watch, antsy to know the plan worked. He'd rather it all be done in one day and get back on the way home. He looked at the mess Lawrence left behind. Clothes tossed in a haphazard pile on the dock. Never did he think boredom would lead him to chores. He gathered them, folding each piece and set them aside where water wouldn't find them.
Then to the gun holsters. A heavy twin set. One side held a standard issue 9mm while the other was a sequoia. The rest of the ranger's arsenal was stowed away on the base. He recalled when he asked the man about the sequoia. One of his long list of questions he'd interrogated the ranger with while on the walk to Novac. Lawrence said it was given to rangers who served for twenty-years. A six-shooter, heavy, and packed a bang strong enough to break a wrist should you handle it wrong—Or that's what Vincent assumed would happen if he handled it. Brushing fingers over the gold filigree depressions chilled light pads. Delicate lines sprawled gentle whirls across the cylinder and barrel. One side bore the reason a ranger would be given such a magnificent revolver: "For Honorable Service" and on the other side perhaps the motivation: "Against All Tyrants". Did Lawrence believe that?
Perhaps that's what bothered the man lately. He didn't want to further a tyrant's agenda, whether it was Mr. House, the New California Republic's questionable interests, or Caesar's Legion. But he figured the sentiment focused more on Mr. House. Vincent could see why, but he didn't think the recluse was anything like Caesar. The ranger had gone through so much trouble for Vincent. Playing two fields. One for the NCR and the other with Vincent.
Vincent sighed. How much trouble was he getting Lawrence into? The dark cherry wood grip knotted and swirled as he turned the revolver slow and carefully. A bear stood tall and proud next to a star. Polished to perfection, the gold symbol of the Republic caught a brilliant glint. Brilliant like what the NCR hoped its future would be, but Vincent never felt the same. Then another glare flared on the butt of the revolver. Gold filigree in emboldened, strong letters spelled the same name drawn over Lawrence's ribs; Marcus.
The flurry of water startled him. Every step flung waves on the dock as the drenched man lumbered over. Heavy trail of puddles followed his steps. Lawrence ripped off the breathing mask. Taking a deep breath of fresh air and shaking water from his hair. "I think I saw it, but…" He swiped back dripping locks. "It's dark, murky, and cold down there."
"Oh," Vincent's shoulders slumped.
"However," he continued, panting between words. "We just need some diving equipment; light, maybe a suit, and something better than this," he suggested, holding up the breathing mask.
"Think that's something they'd have on base?"
Lawrence shrugged, "I doubt it." He sighed and turned back towards the lake. Eyes squinted. Gentle waves lifted and lowered minuscule stars dancing on the surface. "Camp Golf might. Veteran recon teams use equipment like that to patrol underwater on the border."
"Great idea," Vincent chimed. "Want to head over after you dried up?"
"Don't remember if I packed a towel…"
"Good thing I checked," Vincent smiled, pulling a folded towel out along with the detonator.
Lawrence turned back to the boy as he swung the towel around his shoulders. He glanced to the gun in his palms. "Wanna shoot it?"
"The sequoia? Oh, I was just looking at it," Vincent explained. "Never seen one up close…"
"It was the only thing I got of him."
Vincent looked to Lawrence. He draped the towel over his shoulders and began a shimmy to scrape off the soaked underwear clinging to him better than his own skin. "Of Marcus?"
"It was supposed to be shipped back to his family with the rest of his belongings," he added, letting the soaked lump fall on the dock with a distasteful plop. "Seeing as we were just friends. I got nothing. Not even the little things I gave him."
"That's awful," Vincent mumbled. He stole occasional glances at the ranger, more of admiration since the curiosity had been satisfied. So foreign to him that one could be so comfortable in their own skin to waltz about naked—sex was a whole other complicated mess, but Lawrence eased that. Perhaps one day he'd be there. Maybe when he felt more like a man rather than a boy. "How'd you get his sequoia?" A smirk crossed the man's face as eyes flickered up to the boy. "Ah." Vincent chuckled. "I think I know…"
"Why don't we head back to Vegas tonight?" Lawrence suggested as he retrieved the pair of dry underwear. "We'll go to Camp Golf tomorrow. That plane ain't going anywhere in the meantime."
"I suppose we can."
"It's Thursday, and we got a play and two hot dates."
The plane could wait. He was right about that. Loyal or Pearl expected it the same day and, well, they deserved a break. Work was non-stop. Seldom a breather to be had unless it was those precious moments before bed, but that had been Vincent's choice. Once set out on a task, whether it was a delivery or an ill-conceived plan to raise a water-logged plane from the depths of Lake Mead, he wanted it done. Albeit, the ranger was rather convincing and not a face so easily ignored.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. New Vegas here—can you feel luck in the air tonight?" Vincent glanced at the radio as the rich voice of a faceless host took over. Smokey and strong. No wonder about every radio in the city tuned to him. "Interesting developments on the outskirts of the North Vegas and Nellis area have some residents concerned—" He thumbed through the magazine. One of Lawrence's. Devoted to out-doorsy stuff the boy had no inclination for beyond reading. A little worn and frayed on the edges. Publication date spanning back two centuries. "According to some farmers, peculiar holes dotting the landscape may be traced back to recent cattle abductions."
Lawrence switched off the radio. "Ready?"
"Yes!"