Vincent set the contract on the console. A single mechanical hand emerged from an inconspicuous compartment. They were simple clamps not much larger than his own hands and equipped with fine motor skills as clear by how fluidly it moved. A textured finger easily turned one page then another. Mr. House's portrait remained still on the screen, yet somehow, also reading the print on the pages. Plenty of cameras lined his monitor. Vincent knew the one fixed on him centered on the bottom panel of the main screen. Others were likely hidden around the assortment of monitors and consoles. Sometimes Vincent wondered if there were cameras in his own suite—while House had a penchant for needing control over specifics, Vincent didn't think he was that nosey—he had them everywhere on the strip. House admitted in passing once that his contracts with the casinos prevented him from peeking inside; securitrons or surveillance. Maybe he offered the two the same decency.
"You've improvised."
"Yes." Nervous hands grasped each other as Vincent awaited a berating lecture. "I didn't think your proposed agreement would fully convince them to come to our aid, let alone refrain from using future territory around Nellis as target practice. I felt a little give was needed for the take."
The mechanical claw retracted into its hidden compartment. Anxious tingling started in his fingertips, then traveled up his arms and down his legs for another round. He hadn't seen House angry. Yet. The man was abnormally stoic. Perhaps that came with living longer than any person should. "Well done," he finally spoke. "You've exceeded my expectations. I was certain you'd favor a diplomatic route, but I was not convinced whether you'd take initiative to evaluate my standards and see them unfit."
A sigh of relief subsided his anxiety. House was testing him. He knew the old shut-in would, eventually. Vincent was merely someone he stumbled upon. Sheer luck brought them together, but House had no reason to completely trust the boy's capabilities, let alone if Vincent's ideals would align with his own, seeing as his last agent didn't fit. It wouldn't be the last time. Lawrence's warning hadn't left him and just being in the mysterious being's presence, it nagged him more than ever. House described himself as an autocrat. A benevolent dictator with lofty goals to propel humanity into the future, but everything has a price.
What would be Vincent's? Lately, he felt the tension in his shoulders. The restless tossing and turning at night. He sighed. Head hung back, pressed to the wall of the elevator. Vision blackened as he stared into the dome light set in a gold diamond. It would be one of those days.
"What's on your mind?" Fizzy pink bubbled inside the bottle. Sweet strawberry, according to the label, but he'd never even had a regular strawberry, whatever they were. Lawrence leaned on the back of the chair. Vincent remained unphased. He stared out the window since he returned from the penthouse, not even informing the ranger of what he and House talked about for the last hour like he usually did, even if just to make conversation.
Vincent shrugged. "Just thinking about things."
"Surprised you can," Lawrence chuckled. "Figured you'd be worse off than me after last night." A weak laugh returned to the man. "Eve and Jackie like you—Eve thinks you're adorable."
"Adorable." A suspicious brow angled as Vincent eyed the man hovering over him.
"I have more to say about you." Lawrence's voice rumbled in Vincent's ear. The apex of his nose brushed the boy's neck, then soft lips planted their kisses. Newly trimmed pricks on Lawrence's chin tickled his neck and finally drew out a better, fuller grin on the young man.
"I'm just a little tired lately," Vincent admitted.
"Well, with how much we've been all over the fuckin' place." Lawrence rolled his eyes with a sigh. He still felt those long walks about the wasteland, from Nellis to the mountains that housed Vault 22, and beyond. "Whatever House has next on his agenda, I hope it's closer to home—Wait a minute." Lips curled to a smile. Lawrence snatched the bottle off the desk and made the corner his own seat. "You have money now." Vincent glanced up to Lawrence as he twisted the cap off with ease. "We don't have to walk much."
"What are you talking about?"
"You've seen those bikes the NCR use when scoutin' right? And a few here and there on the strip?"
"Yeah… What about them?"
"Let's get one."
Around the corner and a block from the strip proper, stood a Ferris wheel. Spindles gleamed during the day then burst in brilliant colors at night. A tall, fantastic thing lying dormant and lonely without anyone to sit in its boxes. From the penthouse, Vincent caught a better glimpse of the ancient machine. Despite the mechanical oddity, it wasn't the true attraction. People went to gawk at it, wondering what it was and what it did if anything, but most were there for the expansive once-was-a-golf-course. Hills jumped and valleys dipped the endless course, traversed by zipping golf carts and slender bikes. Another thrill-seeking attraction for any with the caps.
Below that giant wheel, small shops and recent additions gated the premises. Most vacant except for the one that claimed the torn-up field. Engines growled, roaring as loud as they willed before a hoard of riders zoomed out onto the field. Inside, a pristine showroom floor held the beauties they created. All different shapes and sizes and colors. Each with their own flagrant personality. Fresh, tart smell of deep treaded tires stung the nose and stuck to the back of his throat. Vincent took to the one in the center of them all. Elegantly curved body reclined into two seats. Black leather to match the glistening black paint—It was hard to go wrong with black.
"That one's modeled after the old-world bodies," a man announced. Long, golden blonde hair hung free and loose across bare shoulders. Seldom any tanned skin left untattooed on his canvas. Deep set blue eyes gawked at them but settled on Lawrence. "One of my favorites too."
"I like it!"
Growing up he'd think twice, thrice, then a couple more times before spending the meager caps he scraped together as an allowance from his mother or off the bar-room floor. As a courier, he still had that frugality tightly wound into him. It wasn't the best pay, but it was still something. Except now, he found himself hoarding the tins full of caps Victor gave to him on behalf of Mr. House every so often. Despite the obtuse amount of wealth locked in a safe by his desk, he still found it hard to part with even the smallest amounts. Vincent didn't really know why it bothered him so much. He wasn't starving anymore. He had a place to sleep and with amenities he'd only ever dreamed of or read about in old-world books. Lawrence usually coaxed something out of him for fun things here and there and lately, well, maybe he wasn't as much of a miser as he thought he'd been.
Seats rumbled beneath him. Engine growled, spitting out black puffs and spats. Tread tore up dirt as they flew across the field. Gripping Lawrence for dear life, swaying side to side with him in tight turns. slapping against helmets and bodies. Both bounced up, then down on the hills. His stomach floated on the descent. The ranger's giddy laugh barely louder than the wind and suddenly, it wasn't so bad.
"I take it you've ridden these before?"
"Oh, yeah." Lawrence grinned, yanking off the helmet as he moved off the bike. "Border patrol, recon here and there, but this baby… Oh, she's perfect."
"What about those other things?" Vincent asked. Accomplished fists planted on his hips as he stared at the new beauty. "Y'know the bigger, trailer-looking things we saw at McCarran?"
Lawrence opened the box mounted behind the seat and pulled out the boot. "Those work. Sometimes," he noted. Lawrence paused at the back, unlocking the box mounted above the rear wheel. "They use a different fuel, also expensive. Hard to get kind of fuel. They're typically used for transporting people and supplies from back home." The owner called it a boot, but Lawrence called it security. It was an odd-shaped thing, bright yellow and hard to miss. It went through the spokes of the wheels, either front or back, didn't matter cause the bike wouldn't go anywhere once it was on. "So, what did you have planned here?"
"Getting some basic supplies and maybe asking a few questions," Vincent shrugged, staring on at the fort. Strong adobe bricks washed to a sandy color under the sun stood stalwart through the centuries upon its bed of dusty red gravel. Everyone called it the Old Mormon Fort and maybe once upon a time it truly was a fortress, but now its army was that of the benevolent Followers of the Apocalypse. Whatever militant mission the place used to have turned into one of care and healing. Gates remained opened, creaking upon elderly hinges with the lightest touch. Tents spanned the inside perimeter as people rushed back and forth, in and out of tents and dodging the locals. "I'll take care of it."
"Alright," Lawrence nodded, donning the sunglasses despite standing in the shade. "I'll just stand here and look pretty."
Guard postings observed the gates behind a wall of sandbags, cooperating with those eyes peering down from the height of watchtowers. He followed his memory to the right tent. The same old man in a dingy, once white coat manned the table. A new assistant bustled back and forth between filing cabinets, crates, and boxes to fetch supplies. Vincent counted his caps, then slid them across the table, before stuffing the basics into his satchel. "Do you know who runs the operation here?"
The old man adjusted his glasses as he looked up from the inventory board. "That'd be Julie."
"Don't suppose I could talk to her about something?"
"She is rather busy…" He looked back to his board and scribbled off another line. "She's usually around here, observing or helping—"
"I can show you to her," the cheery assistant squeaked in unison with a closing filing cabinet. Shy glances swung between Vincent and the old man. "If you don't mind, Mr. Williams."
"Well…" His hoarse voice begged to be watered. Mr. Williams adjusted slippery glasses again before they fell completely off his nose. "I suppose it's not too busy right now."
She smiled, then looked to Vincent. Young, slender and about his height. Lacking the armband baring their symbol, she wasn't one of the Followers, but by the lilt of her voice told she was a local. "I saw her just over here a minute ago," she waved Vincent along. They crossed the red sanded threshold, deftly navigating the chaotic paths of patients and doctors, before stopping at a tent
"I seen 'em!" A frantic voice called. An old man with more wrinkles and crevices than the mountains that made the valley. Darkened and worn by years laboring under the sun, his skin was as leathery as brahmin hide. "Little people! Bright lights and then she was gone!"
"Mr. Rush, it's alright now," a soothing voice calmed quelled the flustered man. Both the girl and Vincent peered inside at the commotion. Tent flaps flung open. The gurney pushed out, two of the Followers' people close behind. "Acute radiation exposure," she declared once her patient wheeled out of ear-shot. "He's also has burns on his forearms and mild dehydration. Start him on fluids first."
The second doctor nodded and rushed out of the tent after the delirious old man. "My poor Mittsy!" He cried. "She's got two horns on one side. Some patches of fur, too."
"Dr. Farkas!" The girl shouted, just as who he presumed was Julie emerged from the tent.
"Oh?" As calm as her voice, perhaps no older than thirty. Soft featured, except for the spiky mohawk of brunette hair. "What can I help you with?"
The junior assistant flashed Vincent a smile, then zoomed off back to her duties. "Uh…" Vincent spun around, gathering himself together along with all those concerns he quietly rehearsed on the ride over. Soft eyes set on him, a warm umber that glimmered gold in the sun. "Hello," he raised a hand. "I'm Vincent. Maybe we can help each other?"
Her faint smile never tired. Friendly waves checked in with her colleagues as they passed. The fort's activity never ceased at any hour. She led him around the tents as she explained their predicament. "We moved into the fort first, but demand has forced us to expand. This has become our intake area and where we determine who needs more intense care and who doesn't—It's not easy." Canvas tents fluttered with commotion. Doctors and nurses wandered from tarp to tarp, supplies cradled in arms. Desperate faces stared as he passed. Locals, travelers, wanderers, and refugees from the east alike, all in need of help. The tour brought them outside the fort's walls. From the porch of a defunct museum, Lawrence held a cigarette between lips and watched the two approached. "We want to renovate this building for more intensive care." Inside, shattered glass littered a dusty floor. Torn rugs strewn about along with the place's curious after countless ransacks. "It has the infrastructure; lighting, power, water, gas, but—"
An exhausting list in her drew a heavy sigh looking over the scene. Workers' supplies littered the main reception. Tools waited to continue their work. Dim lanterns hung from poles as they gently swayed with every step on creaking floorboards.
"Not enough money to go around?"
"I have to make the choice of what gets funded and how much." Julie crossed her arms as she examined the floor. Head flung back to the ceiling. Light fixtures too far up and out or reach remained untouched. "I have to put our patients first, of course, but they also need better care than we currently offer."
Between the museum and fort, a parking lot requisitioned for another medical center. Beneath a dusty canopy of solar arrays, she led him through the aisles of various color-coded canvas tents. Vincent stole occasional glances inside. Two beds fit per tent.
"This is our intensive care area. The overhead—" She pointed along the rows of metal covers set up in even intervals over the rows of white lines. "They were already equipped with solar panels when we arrived, but only 17 of 40 panels are currently operational."
"Any repairable?" Vincent asked, adjusting the strap of his satchel. They returned where they started the tour of the premise. The curved asphalt parking rounded to a small open field. Once a small park, neatly pruned and maintained, now was just another overgrown and untamed patch of land.
"Yes, however…" Pausing, Julie turned to Vincent. Shoulders rose to a shrug as hands splayed out to her side. "I wouldn't know where to start. We have nothing and no one to fix them. I can't even find parts and the only place that might have what we need is under tight lock and key, courtesy of the NCR's army."
"I might know someone or a few people who could fix them."
"If you can find something for us, I would greatly appreciate that help." Her expression smoothed and brows furrowed, replacing worried wrinkles with surprised ones. "The more we can get a solid footing here in Freeside, the more we can help people."
"I understand there seems to be tension between the locals and NCR. Does that contribute much?"
"Freeside is already overpopulated to begin with and now locals feel they have to compete with the NCR."
They continued their tour, circling back to the fort's center. "Do you think anything could quell that?"
"That's a huge problem to tackle. It's a socioeconomic, humanitarian, and resource crisis."
"I'm sure it's something you've at least thought of how to fix?" She led him to a tent towards the back of the fort. An office, from the setup of it. Two desks pushed next to each other while crates and makeshift cabinets lined canvas walls.
"I have ideas, but also a hierarchy of priorities." Lips thinned as a grim expression tightened her face. Another heavy sigh forced out by the weight of reality as she crossed arms and leaned on the edge of her desk. "There are no easy answers, but there must be something."
"I understand," Vincent assured her. "In my own experience, it's been best to start small." Julie looked up to him from dusty shoes as he pulled up his satchel on the desk and searched for the tin. Somewhat hesitant to let go of it after dropping nearly twice as much for a shiny bike, but it was supposed to make traveling easier—One of many excuses he used to convince himself. Then he thought back to the previous night he spent with Lawrence, Jackie, and Eve taste-testing several of the strip's casinos. Learning how to gamble and even finding a favorite game at the tables. He probably could easily have lost as many caps as he held playing blackjack, yet…
There was more. In the suite. In his satchel. In the casino vaults waiting to be paid out to Mr. Houses and then down to Vincent. Always more as long as he made himself useful to House. However, it wasn't just the wealth and what it could buy, rather what it could do. Something he'd promised himself numerous nights as he revisited all those times when he was young and knew a fist-full of caps could change his life.
"This contains five thousand caps—A small investment." She raised hands. Hesitant to accept it and mouth agape, she only stared at the boy as if it wasn't real. "I'm interested in helping and stabilizing Freeside so I want to see what you can do. Put it towards fixing up the museum into a clinic while I get the solar panels fixed."
"I cannot express my gratitude enough!"
"I just ask you also do something for me." He set the tin in her hands and continued. "I have a problem and…"
Confident eyes wavered. It was always a challenge, always a new way of wording himself. At least in the reclusive tent with no other ears listening, he found some articulate part hidden away in him. She had a gentle way of listening, one that didn't judge and made it all the more easy to talk about something too close to his core. Few were like that, Lawrence the only other person who came to mind who made it so easy. She agreed without hesitation after he concluded his plight and without pensive questions she didn't need to know the answer to. If anyone could figure him out, it had to be a doctor he assumed.
Vincent joined Lawrence on the steps. Arms crossed as he leaned on the pole between them. Lawrence studied the perplexed look on the boy's face. One he knew foreshadowed something important on Vincent's mind, but he wouldn't speak until he was ready, so don't even bother trying to pry it out of him. "Don't suppose you're hungry?"
Vincent nodded, scanning the noon streets of Freeside. "I could eat."
Despite living on the strip, he hadn't explored it to its fullest. Numerous casinos, hotels, and the likes littered the sprawl of the those few blocks wardened behind tall gates. Hidden among the glow, however, the vacant, decrepit, and crumbling buildings awaiting purpose outnumbered those lively ones. The strip claimed the most luxurious, ground-breaking, and exciting entertainment in all the world, but beyond the lush green grass, intervals of palm trees, the overflowing fountains of clean water, and vibrant flowers blanketing tree roots, he never would have guessed what was out there. An insulting contrast, like spitting directly in one's eye, the strip jutted among a sea of ruin. Blatant poverty. The kind he was brought up in. The kind of suffering that wasn't due to any true scarcity, just the manufactured sort that spurned frustration into anguish as a hungry stomach growled. The only obstacle between feeding that stomach and the food in the shops was a few caps.
Vapor fluttered along with the gentle breeze. A cooling spray of pure waters. An opulent and expansive display of a canyon oasis sat between the café balcony and the bustling street with no shortage of tourists. A mesmerized gaze followed the spurts. Up and down with every playful jump of the surface.
Lawrence whistled, eying the long list of cocktails and wondering how many he could tolerate. "Drinks for days…"
"I was surprised this morning when I spoke to House," Vincent started. "He actually commended me for how we handled the Boomers."
One brow arched as when Lawrence peered over the menu. "That's good, though. I was kind of surprised too, but not because I didn't believe in you." He set the menu aside and took Vincent's hands instead. "NCR's diplomats never made it that far." A warm smile crossed his face. Usually dark and tired eyes lightened to let those deep blues sparkle by the vibrant noon ambiance.
"What if I wanted to do something more ambitious?"
"Like what?"
"Well, the lady I was talking to at the Followers' place is their head of operations and from her little tour, I found out some interesting things." Vincent leaned forward, lips curling to mirror Lawrence's smile. Auburn waves shimmered its full bronze spectrum as a soothing breeze fluttered through the balcony. "The Followers rely on donations and goodwill and as you so perfectly put it earlier: I'm rich now so I can do something."
Lawrence nodded. "Alright, I can approve wantin' to help, but did you have something particular in mind?"
"I already gave her a donation to fund the renovations of the building next to them into a clinic as a kind of trial, while I got someone who can fix their solar panels."
Brows furrowed with a concerned tilt in his voice, "And who might that be?"
"Loyal works on the panels at Nellis, so does Jack, the younger guy shadowing him among others."
"Well, if they agree." Lawrence paused. Eyes lowered to the boy's hands. Softer, well-meaning, not as vascular and worked as his own had become over the years. But that softness no longer fooled the ranger. He second guessed the young man the moment he met him, but at every step of the way Lawrence's doubt turned to surprise. "It's a good idea. Let's head to Nellis after lunch."
—
"Didn't think in my wildest dreams I'd see her in my lifetime." Pearl's somber voice kept confined to just herself in the expansive hangar. Beneath heavy wrinkles, she stared in awe at the mechanical beast. Already they dissected the bomber. Tarps covered the cement foundation and upon them, the innards of the sunken plane that stood nose to nose with the frame of another B-29. "We'd assumed we could be self-sufficient here and for a time we were." Pearl turned to Vincent next to her. "I feared the lack of food and dwindling water would drive us out of yet another home eventually."
"I hope I've made a difference for your people."
"It's been exciting for my youngers to have strangers about on the base," she added. "I know they've been talking up a storm with you and your friend."
"Yes," Vincent chuckled. "I think one has taken a liking to Lawrence."
She drew a long sigh, staring proudly on the planes as if they were some treasure every prospector in the wasteland sought out. "Some have been wondering what it means for us now, but I think it's a sign to be a part of the world now."
"It's always good to start small," Vincent suggested. Work resumed on the planes. Echoes bounced about the vaulted roof of the hangar. Welding lights flashed stark shadows across the doors. "I have a suggestion," Vincent noted. Pearl's smile returned along with the twinkle in aged eyes. "If you wouldn't mind lending one of Loyal's people to repair some solar panels, it would be greatly appreciated and of course returned in kind."
Lips pursed as she hummed. Eyes scanned the crowd of familiar faces. "I have someone in mind who's been itching to leave."
Lawrence shifted on his boots as arms crossed. Eyes squinted under black lenses as he looked out on the jagged horizon beyond the gates of Nellis. "I'd rather have you there."
"It'll be fine," Vincent assured with a smile. "Just going to look at them, see what needs to be fixed, then you guys come back here." Lawrence grumbled but he'd relent eventually. "Oh!" Vincent stepped back once he caught sight of it. Gold scales shined. The scorpion scurried across the asphalt for them. Two large pincers snapped as its tail-stinger arched.
"Persistent little guy…" Lawrence followed the boy's eyes to the encroaching scorpion. He'd seen it earlier scurrying after them across the tarmac after they left the hangars and following them around its claim. The most aggravated of the Boomers apparantly. "He's kinda big too." Brows narrowed. Eyes set on the bug as he aimed. One boot kicked up a flurry of dust and gravel as the ranger punted the scorpion across the road's shoulder. A zap surged. All attention loooked to the fence. Sparks frenzied across the chain-link fence. Raquel's conversation paused. Then she set her sights on Lawrence. "Fence works!" He shouted, giving her a thumbs up only to be met with an eyeroll.
"I should talk to Pearl some more anyway." Vincent stated, closing the distance between him and the ranger in a hug.
He grabbed Vincent's arms before the boy could pull away. "Oh, no. No. No." Lawrence shook his head as soon as he saw the familiar face. A short little thing wrapped up in a modified vault-jumpsuit a little too big for her frail frame. Big brown eyes stared at him as if he were the moon and stars while tawny hair tied up into a higher than usual ponytail.
"I'm ready!" An exasperated voice called. She huffed with every step as a heavy backpack bounced on shoulders much too small to carry such a load.
Susan…
"You'll be fine," Vincent encouraged, but the ranger hung his head and sighed. "Back in no time!"
At least he was right about that. Faster means of traveling other than walking a snail's pace would bring the both of them back home before dark. But the downside was Susan… She was odd company, without a doubt. A little too eager to hop on the bike with him. Uncomfortably tight arms wrapped around his abdomen. Hands took advantage of every little bump and jolt to accidentally feel his chest or cling to him like he was her savior. Lawrence noted to wear his body armor on the return trip. Even with some barrier between her and prodding hands, the fifteen-minute ride was too long.
Once in Freeside, her bug-eyed-browns stared at every passerby as she hugged her backpack. "You'll protect me from any savages right?" She beamed up to him, head tilted against his arm while eyes batted for his attention.
"Yeah, sure," he sighed. "Just don't go picking any fights." Feet started towards their destination, but a dead-weight slowed him. Grumble bellowed as he was reminded of the literal and metaphorical burden hanging on his arm.
"What is this place?"
"Come on," he huffed and dragged the young girl along. Underneath the metal canopy, he found more pleasant company tending to her patients. "Julie?"
"Yes?" She glanced up from her work; gauze wrapped around a scraped arm. One of several in a row of three little boys, each bore a face that told of a lecture received before he arrived.
"We're here to take a gander at those solar panels."
She cut the last strand and patted it down. "Now, be careful next time, boys." Julie ordered as she stood up. The scrappy trio jumped up from the parking block seat and bolted back out into the concrete jungle. "I'm so glad you agreed to help us." A friendly smile to match her voice met the two of them. Even Susan loosened her grip on the man at the amicable sight. "The solar panels are on top of these overhangs. What can I do to help you get started?"
"I need a ladder," Susan muttered with pursed lips as she stared up at the canopies. "Unless…" She looked at Lawrence. Eyes twinkled between batting lashes. "You could ho—"
"No."
To Lawrence's relief, once Susan was working on something she was quiet and completely immersed in whatever she was doing. He distanced himself from the commotion of the tent, somewhere in the shade where he wouldn't bother anyone. The Mormon Fort had become another bustling center in Freeside—The other being its own little strip under the colorful array of lights. Except this one had a different air of desperation about it. All day, non-stop people rushed in and out for the littlest and most mundane things. The worst offenders were the obvious junkies in need of a fix, but not the kind that would actually help. Various members of the Kings' gang showed up, either bloodied and beaten or dragging along whoever pissed them off. They were a peculiar lot. All dressed the same, talked the same, had the same hairstyle—All in the manor of the man who was only known as The King. Lawrence only ever watched them from afar as their loathing for the NCR was obvious between the glares and remarks they'd hurl at any passing by. They weren't the blatant dangerous sorts that lurked around the corners or squatted in the southwestern ruins, but they didn't avoid a scuffle either. At least on the Followers' ground there was a truce with any contenders.
By late afternoon, Susan came down one last time. Smudge of dirt across a cheek and glistening under sweaty, sticky skin. The young lady, visibly exhausted, shambled over to Lawrence in Julie's company.
Julie stretched a hand to the ranger, "I don't believe I got your name earlier."
"Oh," he stood up then shook the doctor's hand. "Lawrence."
"Thank you, again," she nodded, setting her other hand on Lawrence's, as if for extra assurance of sincerity. "Susan told me the panels are salvageable and can be up and working—"
"Well sort of," she interjected. "We use a different model at Nellis. Better and more efficient in my opinion. These ones are small too, little, baby solar panels—"
"Susan."
"I already have an idea, a good one too!" She looked to Lawrence. "Once we get back to Nellis I'll tell Loyal what we need, but maybe you and I can stay?" She trotted to the man's side and wound her arms around his. "Watch the sunset?" She cooed as head tilted against him. More batting eyelashes. He didn't know what was worse; the way she could talk for miles about nothing or her comical attempts to woo him.
"Sunset ain't for another two hours!"
–
Lips pursed as he looked over the plans. Aside from the radio and Lawrence's huffs, it was another quiet evening. He evaluated the list of parts for requisition, but Susan's inspection told them all they needed to know. Acquiring those things was a whole new problem to tackle. The solar panels present at Nellis were a different type than those installed at the Mormon Fort and even then, there were only so many parts to go around. Obviously, Loyal wasn't willing to just give them away, Vincent expected that much—Another of Lawrence's huffs followed a dramatic toss in the bed. So far, he stripped down to an undershirt and boxers. Then he'd roll on his stomach, tugging off that shirt, eying Vincent to see if he was paying attention. If he wasn't, then the ranger huffed again—Louder, garnering a humored glance from the boy. Vincent wondered if he'd ditch the underwear too, eventually. A quick toss landed the shirt on the back of Vincent's chair. Lawrence mumbled complaints about not receiving enough attention followed. His usual tactics, but they always worked.
"What?" Vincent chuckled, turning from his desk to Lawrence. Eyes met the man's bare back, but he was never disappointed with any angle of the ranger.
"Nothing…"
"You're sulky."
"I don't sulk." He laid on his back at the sound of Vincent's voice nearing closer. Smile turned to a smirk as he welcomed the boy into his arms. "I always get what I want."
"Cocky too."
Warm breath breathed down his neck and he nestled closer against the man. Lips barely brushed his skin. "Wanna find out how cocky I am?" Goosebumps crawling across his skin whenever he did that. Somewhere in between a whisper and a growl when he could feel the vibrations of Lawrence's voice in him.
"I wanted to ask you something…"
He paused his kisses on the boy's neck. "What's that?"
Vincent lay on his back, hands clasped and rested on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling A heavy sigh flared nostrils. "Something's been bothering me and maybe it's in my head…"
Lawrence leaned on his elbow while a freed hand set atop Vincent's. Soft strokes of his thumb trailed over the topography of his knuckles. "Do you truly see me as a man?"
Head cocked as if the words were foreign to him. Brows drew together with a slight lean towards Vincent. "Of course, I do." His hand departed Vincent's knuckles to comb through the boy's hair. "Have I done something to make you feel otherwise?"
"No, you haven't." Vincent returned the long stare to the ceiling. Gold bars reached across the width of the room, intersecting to make complex diamonds within each other. Much the same he did with himself. "I guess." He paused, shoulders hung, paused along with his words. Like molasses in his mouth, it was always difficult to talk about. A garbled mess in his head that didn't sound any better once he spoke. And to top it off, said in a voice much too high to convince anybody. "I feel weird. About being intimate."
"Ok," he nodded. "That's a start. Is it something I'm doing?"
"No, that's the problem; it's me."
Brows furrowed as he repeated, "You?"
Vincent sighed again. "Well I don't have, y'know, the right stuff. Except I enjoy what we do."
"Ah…" Lawrence's eyes lowered to find his words. He thought often about what Vincent had told him, everything that boy felt and why, and how to ease that. Those words struck him. Some shocked him. Things he never thought about, but only because he didn't experience what Vincent did. He couldn't begin to fathom that, but no matter how many times he told the boy he liked him as is, he knew the only person who could convince Vincent of that would be Vincent. "There isn't one thing about you I'd change."
"What if I do change?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, when I was talking to Julie I asked if she could fix me," he explained. "She agreed to look into some treatments and maybe they'd help."
"Help? Fix? What is it you think is broken with you, Vince?"
Another sigh. He didn't know where to begin with that question. "We talked about it for a while and…" Vincent turned on his side to face the ranger. "She had an idea and wanted to get in contact with a doctor at their headquarters who is more knowledgeable about things."
"Alright," Lawrence nodded, the slow nod that told Vincent the gears were still turning in his head. "I'm curious what this is supposed to be, but don't change yourself because you think you have to. I've been down that road."
"What if it can make me a real man?"
"If this is something you really want to do," Lawrence curled his fingers between Vincent's. "I want to help you get the—"
Incessant beeping chimed. Vincent looked to the terminal to Lawrence's dismay. Before a sour look could darken the ranger's face, Vincent sat up and pulled the man to him. Lips sealed, but one kiss always led to another, then another. "Let's continue this when I get back. The kisses I mean." Lawrence smiled. Eyes flickered over the boy, that mind behind them already conjuring up something.
It was odd for House to call on him at such hours. Usually, he'd wait until a decent hour in the morning for whatever task or questions or directives he issued. Once Vincent started down the stairs, Mr. House wasted no time.
"There have been some developments." Vincent halted before the screens as he had done so many times before. He'd scold himself anytime he found he may have been getting used to it; the money, the luxury, Mr. House… The moment comfort crept in was the moment people got sloppy. Like Benny did. He'd already been in one grave, he didn't need to be in another. "Are you familiar with the Omertas and their den of vice?"
"Somewhat…" Vincent crossed his arms and shifted weight on one foot. He heard of them—seen them. Their castle was the Gomorrah. Sleazy, skeevy, and dirty in the right or wrong kind of way depending who you asked.
"The Omertas are unnervingly quiet lately—including my informant among them."
"Not just content with living in paradise?"
"While I never anticipated complete loyalty from them—A reliably underhanded employee is just as much a constant as one that is honest—their cooperative silence lately is concerning."
"And I'm going to find out if they're up to something more distasteful than usual?"
"Exactly, but that is only one issue. Our other problem is to resolve these unpredicted blackouts in Freeside." Head tilted as he studied the intimidating profile. The blackouts were odd. Here and there, never lasting too long to be a true nuisance. Not as if there wasn't enough power to go around, in fact much of Freeside beyond the casinos, hotels, and a few odd places weren't even equipped to use the available electricity—much of that had been salvaged and stripped away long before life moved back into the bones of the city. "I believe the issue may be found among the power relay stations in the mountains to the East; those stations are crucial to sending power produced by the dam to the entire Las Vegas area."
"Is the strip in danger of losing power soon?"
"Not soon, but if left untreated, infections spread—This one possibly intersecting with future endeavors."
"I'll check it out—"
"Do not do so lightly," house warned. An unusual tone captured the boy's attention. "I have reasons to believe the Brotherhood of Steel may be responsible."
"The Brotherhood of Steel?"
"Are you familiar with them? Terrorist organization with quais-religious ideals that compel them to hoard pre-war technology? Weapons specifically."
Vincent shrugged, "I read about them in the papers, but can't say I know much."
"Familiarize yourself with them; your ranger companion should know more—He has had first hand experience."
"You know—How would you know that?" Arms unfolded as a baffled expression crossed his face.
"Did you think I would not investigate a stranger staying under my roof? I accessed the NCR's records on him; congruent with what you have described in your reports and despite his service to the New California Republic, I believe he can prove valuable—the only reason I have allowed him to stay."
"Uh." Vincent hummed while a vacant mind drew blanks. Stomach twisted at those words. "I suppose…"
"Nonetheless, I urge extreme caution if we are indeed dealing with the Brotherhood of Steel."
Vincent turned away from the screens for the stairs, but his own legs betrayed him. Staring, at the marbled tiles, each had their own unique pattern, something special about the way the black swirled about in pearly clouds. Like the history of a certain ranger. He looked over his shoulder and back to the primary screen that held House's timeless visage. House had everything the NCR and rangers' knew about the man. Was it curiosity or something darker that whispered in his ear to find out more? He had no reason to not trust Lawrence. The man had done so much for him, bordering on treason depending on how vindictive the republic's judges would be.
"Is there something you need?"
"Uh…" Vincent quickly shook his head and rid himself of any ill ideas. "No, I think I just answered my own question. I'll come see you when I deal with the Omertas or the power stations—Whichever comes first."
–
Cattle stench lingered in the air, much like whiskey on the breath of a regular Freeside alcoholic. The Crimson Caravan Company set up their headquarters near Freeside in a heavily armed and guarded facility. A long, tall fence of sun-washed wood lined the perimeter while inside a few shacks housed passing traders and the permanent employees. Opposite to that was where they corralled their beasts of burden; brahim and mules, some patchy-skin horses he thought only existed in old-world picture books. Separate from them was the trading cattle and other animals. Domesticated geckos ran about their enclosure in chaotic trails that intersected haphazardly and sometimes led them to knock heads with each other. They'd pause, sway a bit before gathering their bearings and continue on with their endless journey.
"They're kind of cute," Vincent chirped. One stopped before him, a gray-blue colored one with big red eyes and jaws agape to reveal a pink mouth dotted with little yellowing teeth.
"I heard some of them wild ones…" Lawrence leaned to him. One boot raised to sit on a horizontal beam while arms rested crossed on the top beam, then he said so matter of factly, "Can spit fire."
Vincent scoffed. "Doubt it. More of those 'skinwalker' stories of yours, like vault 99."
Lawrence shrugged, lips pursed indifferently, "Don't believe me fine, but I'd keep clear of the ones with gold scales." Vincent scanned the enclosure for supposed gold-colored geckos, but found none among a scattering sea of blues, grays, and mottled black and green.
"Why do you think they're so big?" Vincent shrugged. "I've only seen little ones back home." Lawrence stroked his beard as a brow arch. An interested hum articulated his thoughts.
"Mr. Garrett?"
They both spun around. Approaching, an out-of-place, older woman he'd expect to find on the strip and not outer Freeside. Dressed sharply in a sleek black blazer and creased slacks to match, the heels brought her up a few more inches than natural while the morning sun highlighted gray hair to a sun-bleached blonde at the right angle. "I'm Alice McLafferty." She extended a hand and shook with the ranger. "I understand you two are here on behalf of the Boomers?"
"Yes," Vincent nodded. "I believe you met one of them yesterday? George?"
"I did," she looked at the boy. Wrinkles creased her cheeks with a formal smile she practiced well. "It was an interesting experience and one I believe will benefit both of us. He gave me a basic outline of what they'd like from us."
"And I have a complete contract if those dividends suit you." Vincent produced a thin stack from where he kept it safe under his arm, just three papers outlining the deal he wrote. With some help from Mr. House, of course. The old man was pleasantly surprised. Intrigued even that the boy had taken initiative to begin such business ventures; he even told of some of his own pre-war exploits, which were rather difficult to stay awake to, all while an unusual hint of glee accompanied House's synthetic voice.
She took the papers. Keen gander scanned the neat typesetting she rather read over sloppy handwriting of some wasteland-yokel. White brow piqued over scrutinous brown eyes. "I noticed they are explicit that no other traders are allowed to solicit them…"
"Yes," Vincent nodded. "The Boomers value their solitude, as well as keeping unwanted prospectors out of their territory, which is reasonable."
"Hm." Alice hummed, a distasteful hum like the one the brothel madame had before denying, refusing, and sometimes berating the unfortunate soul in her path. "Yet that means a good majority of my traders aren't allowed to sell to them beyond whoever supplies them."
"I'm sure you're familiar with the Boomers' isolationist nature. They're testing the waters of this world they haven't participated in economically. They're opening up, and we'll need patience otherwise they'll be overwhelmed and closed off to future opportunities entirely," Vincent explained. A unique confidence and choice of words sounded more like House than Vincent. "While much of the supplies they need are basics, also note the rarer, expensive things on their request."
Eyes returned to the pages. She turned to the last page; a long grocery list of everything they sought. Her gaze strolled down the words he wanted her to linger on, pausing midway to glance back at Vincent then returned to the list. The boy hid his eagerness behind a polite business façade. Something he modeled after House's portrait. "Very well," she nodded as her pleasant smile returned. "Shall we discuss payment in my office? Just brewed a fresh pot of coffee."
Lawrence's ears perked up to that word. "Now I'm interested."
–
The cacophony of hammers warded away any wandering junkies or hangovers looking for a fix. Workers rushed in and out, like ants trailing back to their colony with a fat harvest. Except this harvest was one of much needed building supplies. Julie paused between her own trail from the walls of the fort to the parking lot tents to observe the progress, probably just as eager to have good news as Vincent was. Above the parking lot, his own endeavor was underway. This time Jack accompanied Susan for the repairs of a few solar panels. After settling a deal with the Crimson Caravan a new wave of confidence washed over the boy. Vincent figured the deal only made him look better to the Boomers. He put forth the initial caps, without an invisible force holding back a frugal hand this time, and the Crimson Caravan was to send a hefty supply pack of a predetermined list to the gates of Nellis. No further than that. Any unwelcome traders or individuals would sour the deal. After the contract expired in a year, it would be up to the Boomers to decide if they wanted to renew. Plenty of time to determine if they wanted to immerse themselves in a savage's world.
"Everything has been going to plan," Julie praised as she joined the two men observing the work. "Would you like a tour inside? I can show you what we've done so far and have planned next."
"Maybe in a day or two?" Vincent suggested. "Lawrence and I have a few things to take care of."
"Absolutely, anytime—Oh! Before I forget I wanted to talk to you, about what we spoke of…" She glanced at Lawrence then back to Vincent. The ranger noticed her pause then turned his attention to the boy.
"It's alright, I told him," Vincent confessed.
"I think we should talk in private…"
"Go on," Lawrence patted the boy's shoulder. "I'll be here." In their absence, Lawrence took the only shade that remained in the noon sun. Despite the chaotic nature of the more intensive care side of the Followers' compound, it was a needed respite from the sun. Sweat dampened his hair, turning ends into little spiked spouts like channels for sweat to drip down and gather with a budding pool of soaked clothes. No breeze today, well not until they hopped on the bike. He pulled off the sunglasses and wiped stinging eyes. Once back on, he jumped at the sight. Permanently sun-reddened face and neck. A heavy, flat brow-ridge overlooked sharp hazel eyes he knew too well. "Clint?"
"Who else?" Wide grin and outstretched hands eased the man's frown.
"What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
"I ain't gettin' into trouble," Lawrence waved off any predicted accusation.
"Yeah, doubt that," Clint scoffed. Weathered, thick hands set on his hips. Even in the heat, he'd still wear full armor and duster. "I needed to talk to you, preferably here, right now."
At that tone, anticipation tickled the ranger. Following the road around the parking lot, leading to the overgrowth of the once-was-a-park and, in the privacy and shade of a tree, they stopped.
"What did we need to talk about?"
"I've heard you been doing everything but being on vacation!" Clint brought his hands together in a loud clap. "I got a whisper trail tellin' me you're the one that liberated Nelson, been inside the Lucky 38, skulking around Nellis with them Boomers, and even a bit of bounty huntin'?" Eyes squinted as they set on Lawrence from their peripherals. A proud smiled beamed.
Lawrence chuckled, "I'm not the relaxing type."
Clint shook his head, his grin remained. "You're always up to something, but I ain't here to scold you." Fine lines deepened since last he saw his commanding officer. Clint's grin faded. "Something odd is going on. I had a hard time finding you, until I happened to bump into Mordecai at Golf. Just wanted to know what was going on with my people." Brows furrowed as Lawrence looked to Clint. While the man had a face set in stone, Lawrence knew when he was angry. But disturbed was a whole look for him. "It all started when I received a request from General Hammond to utilize my favorite trouble-maker for some intel ops." Hands rubbed together before he clasped them behind his back. A few new knicks and scrapes decorated leathery forearms alongside old scars beneath the dark hair. "As generous as I am, and—well, let's be frank, I can't say no—I agreed. Then I requested to be kept in the loop, but that's where my investigation ends and your explanation begins."
"Mordecai didn't tell you anything?"
"That boy don't know anything. They're just using him to get to you."
"It's an informal intelligence operation, nothing's on the books," he explained. Shoulders deflated. He didn't want to do this again. Every time he visited it, the subject only struck him with guilt but for which side of the problem he didn't know. Maybe it was both. "I know someone close to House and intel wants what I know."
Hooded eyes flashed to him. "What do you have on House?"
Lawrence shrugged, "Nothing more than what they already know. I've never spoken to him directly, I'm already on thin ice just being there."
"House and NCR ain't the only player aiming to win the game." Clint's stare left Lawrence to instead observe the quiet scene around them. Tall grass swayed gently as some hint of wind finally roused. "I've been getting some odd observations from out of one of the casinos, but I don't think that's it either." Voice trailed off as lips thinned. He looked back to the younger ranger. "Any structure of command among the rangers seems to be disappearing overnight. Not that we need it, but it ain't coming from among us."
"What?"
"Word on the grapevine is congress back home can shake things up if they want," Clint informed. Back straightened as hand's fidgeted behind his back. "And I wouldn't be surprised if someone in the army side has been whisperin' in their little ears. We don't need structure unlike them greenie-boys, but it's worried some of us out here."
"What does the chief say about this?"
"He's confident in our abilities," Clint confirmed. "As he should be, but when I saw him, even he looked a little irked about the whole thing."
"Shit."
"All before the biggest showdown since 2077…"
Insect noise hushed them. Both minds wandered to contemplate what it meant. The rangers operated in tandem with the army, as their own branch. Not under it. They had their own operations, skills, specialties, but the rangers were a small organization compared to a formal military. True, they didn't have an absolute and expansive structure like the army. There were commanding officers, senior rangers like Clint who trained new rangers, led squads while they worked in the field, and generally were just looked up to for their experience. More in-line with the commanding officers were the rangers' own intel people at Camp Golf who monitored the radios and NCR's intelligence reports along with requests for joint operations. Not at any point in history, not even when they were formally included into the NCR's military, nor in the present did he ever hear the army or even congress butting into the ranger's internal affairs. It felt more like a slight than anything.
"I've still been looking into your enemy alpha." Clint broke the silence with the heaviest of blows. Attention peaked. Mouth dried. Palms turned cold despite the heat. Heart quickened in anticipation while every possible outcome of that confrontation replayed in his head. "Supposedly one of our boys spotted him among the hideouts down South, near Helios—Now, don't go gettin' into trouble alright? 'Cause you didn't hear it from me." Clint ordered, extending an open palm to Lawrence. They shook as they always did when departing. The man had a grip that defied age and remained true and strong like his skills, but when Lawrence expected him to let go, he didn't. "Be careful who you trust, Lawrence. Even in the NCR."
Those words stayed with him. Echoed, really. Clint wasn't the cryptic type. He had always been straight and blunt to the point of skirting manners. Whatever was happening in the chain of command in the army or elsewhere seeped into the rangers as well. He had no doubts of his peers' abilities to persevere. It was just in their nature. Not everyone survived the basic training of the army, but only a minority surpassed that to complete the training that made a ranger.
Between glances to the boy and the shrinking gambling floor beneath them, Vincent was unusually solemn. Tucked away into the glass corner, arms crossed and head low. Sunglasses still hid his eyes while they stared to the floor. Once the doors opened, he zipped out and to their suite. Lawrence followed, giving the boy the benefit of the doubt. He just wanted to get back to whatever plans he was drawing up for Freeside. Back to the new corkboard had appeared on the wall next to his desk recently and all the notes adorning it; details of places, important people, and businesses he thought may be crucial to uplifting the area; input from both of them on the matter. Lawrence followed barely a minute behind the boy, yet once he stepped foot through the door, Vincent was nowhere to be found.
"Vincent!" Lawrence ventured out the kitchen and called for him again. He examined the open layout. Not on the bed, the sofa, not the desk, and not the living room on the opposite side of the balcony he often frequented just for the view out the window. Yet, the bathroom door was closed. A gentle knock then he called again. "Vincent?"
"What?" A congested voice retorted back.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"I ain't buying it," Lawrence declared with a stern shake of his head. He leaned on the wall, held up by one hand while the other hung on his hip. "So, come out and get lunch."
"I'm fine."
"If you think I won't break this door down, then you're gonna have another thing to be upset about." The door flung open. The drag swiped his hair as a scowl pricklier than any cactus glared back at Lawrence. Tight brows drawn over his eyes. Puffy and red. Glassy, watery, and fighting back tears. That boy had no idea the power they wielded. "Talk to me," he pleaded. Vincent's scowl faltered at such a gentle tone. A hand rose to hide incoming tears. "Something happen out there?"
Not hurt or shaken. Just angry. Such a drastic change after returning to their room threw Lawrence off guard. Vincent wasn't the type to conjure up things to be sad about on a whim. Something had to have set him off, but his pride would keep him from speaking up.
He shook his head as a weak no barely escaped his throat. Lawrence took the boy's hands and coaxed him out of the bathroom. He led him up the stairs to the balcony then to the kitchen. Cornbread dotted with bits of jalapeño and generous amounts of brahim cheese lay sliced on a plate in the center of the table. A favorite Lawrence introduced him to in one those restaurants hidden among towering casinos. Vincent waited patiently at the table, holding back the bomb about to explode inside. Lawrence set a soda bottle, already opened and bubbling in front of the boy, then one on his side of the table as he finally took a seat.
He reached to Vincent's hand resting so listlessly on glossy wood. "What's on your mind?"
"Julie." Was all he managed to choke out. The boy's stoic face cracked as he squeezed the man's hand. "She didn't have anything for me." His vacant hand covered the shame in his eyes as his face twisted to match the storm inside. "She said her colleague had nothing that could help me."
"For what?" Lawrence leaned closer. Tilted eyes observed him, desperate to know why they cried. "What you told me about last night?"
"Yes." He rubbed away the tears. Irritated red took place of teary streams. Brows tightened over blood-shot eyes and the sadness was replaced by anger again. "I want help! I want to fix me! And now that's out—"
"There ain't nothing broken about you, Vincent!" Lawrence urged him. Another squeeze of the hand, this time from Lawrence, but Vincent disagreed.
"I can't take being this way!" He yanked his hand back and jumped up from his chair. Back turned to the man, Vincent only shook his head. "I'm small. I'm weak. I'm not a man!" His shouts broke his voice as his throat seized. Grating not just only his ears, but the one who could only listen as well—Another thing he loathed about himself. He spun around to face Lawrence. Urgent hands slapping Vincent's chest. "I want to fix me!"
"Vincent, nobody is born a man!" He shouted back because if he didn't then it just wouldn't reach the boy. "You gotta become that!" But it worked. Vincent crossed his arms. Timid and sore eyes refrained from looking at Lawrence. "I used to be a scrawny fuck. Hell, you'd lose me if I turned sideways. Only if the breeze didn't pick me up and blow me away first." Vincent shook his head again. His face hidden beneath both hands refused to believe the man. Anxious feet shifted their weight back and forth. The only thing to keep him from getting too overwhelmed by the dark clouds always hanging over him. "It took me years to get where I am!" Now he had angered Lawrence. It always happened whenever he tried to explain himself. No matter how sympathetic anyone seemed.
"I won't get to change!"
Lawrence reached to him. A hand grabbed the boy's wrist only to pull away the hands that hid his face. "What makes you so certain?"
"That chance was blown when—I just never got it. Not like you." He bit back the words in his mouth. Still they kept on running in his head. He couldn't say it aloud. If he did, then maybe they'd remake reality for the worse. Cement his existence in a body and form he didn't want and wasn't supposed to have. All those feelings. The anxiety, the hopelessness, the dread. It'd already come back. No reason pretending it wouldn't if he so much as thought about it. And now he felt worse than before. Each time he got one little victory, something came by and managed to snatch away the joy he had.
"Your chance ain't blown," Lawrence shook his head. "You're only twenty-one, Vince."
"I want to be a real man, like you," he reached to the ranger. Open palms lay flat and beckoning. As if Lawrence could ever give him that. As if there'd be something that could ever give him that. He pulled Vincent to him. An embrace seldom fixed much, but at least the both of them would feel a little better after. As for the ranger, there was little he couldn't do, but now he may have just added to that list.
"What did Julie say exactly?"
Hands pressed Lawrence's back as Vincent whispered those words he always feared were true. "What if I am crazy?" Glassy blue eyes flooded again, remembering what he had been told long ago. He knew it from the passing looks around town when he told everyone his name was now Vincent. Friends, people he had known as long as he could remember. Even his mother. Word got around faster than the dust in that little valley. Overnight, he managed to garner sneers and hushed whispers. In less than a month, he lost his best friend. The only person who didn't seem to care was the alcoholic scrap-yard owner. Johannessy wasn't alone in being the town pariah anymore. He seemed to like Vincent before and after it all. The man had been the closest thing he'd ever get to a father and probably the only reason he'd ever return to that place.
"You're not crazy," Lawrence declared before the boy even finished his words. "I understand where you're coming from." He pleaded as he stroked the boy's hair. "I wanted to grow up quick. I wanted to be a man when I was a hell of a lot younger than you are now."
"You got to, though," Vincent whispered. He buried his face in Lawrence's neck. Arms adjusted from a limp hold around broad shoulders.
Lawrence rested his chin on Vincent's head. Fluff of hair defied the weight and instead curled about his beard. "You wanna know what made me get here?" A congested snivel was all Vincent's response. "I was fueled by anger. Hate. Hurt." Lawrence shook his head. Slowly, as if he didn't believe his own words. Words he never thought he'd ever admit aloud ever again. "My father had a bad habit of beatin' the shit out of me and my mom." Turmoil paused at those words. A hand unwound from the grip of the other and made its way to Lawrence's chest. "I couldn't stand up to him. I was weak, I was small." A hint of shame watered his eyes as he looked up at the memory. Brows narrowed and nostrils flared. That voice Vincent only ever knew as being confident and strong wavered to something brittle he expected to hear from his own throat. "I kept that to myself for years. I told myself I'd always return when I was older. When I was bigger, stronger, better." He hung his head. "Told myself I'd kill him, well, on my worst days at least."
Vincent leaned back. Soft palms warmed Lawrence's face, bringin the man's eyes back to his own. "I'm sorry."
"It's in the past." Lawrence shook his head as old wounds hid behind a faint smile. "I can't make things happen for you, that's on you, but don't get stuck thinking there's only one way to be a man."
Vincent pressed palms to his eyes before he took a seat and set aside dramatics. "Julie said a friend of hers back home worked with children with odd problems, maybe something like me. Specialized in developmental disorders or something, but it doesn't matter. She never heard of anything like me."
"And that's it?"
Vincent shrugged, "She said she would inquire with other doctors, colleagues…"
"So that ain't it," Lawrence confirmed as he leaned on the table. Arms folded over his chest that often sparked envy in his younger lover. "That ain't the end of the story," he whispered with a disagreeing but gentle shake of his head.
"I guess."
"No, that's a fact for now." He brushed through the boy's hair and guided his gaze up to the man's compassionate expression. An expression Lawrence only hoped told the boy he wouldn't have to suffer alone. He stood up for another hug, longer than the last until the sorrow dissipated for the moment.
"I don't mean to be dramatic," Vincent's muffled voice was nearly lost in Lawrence's shirt.
"You ain't dramatic; quit it," Lawrence hushed him. "Now, I don't know about you but I am dying for some cornbread." Vincent chuckled, smile finally broke through the surface. Both men returned to their seats under better circumstances. "You also mentioned House wanted us to go check something out?"
"Two things, yes," Vincent reached for a thick slice. Crispy, cheese topped the crust of the half-loaf watered his mouth, but he continued outlining House's instructions before taking a big bite. "First, he thinks the Omertas are up to something. Too quiet."
"Too quiet?" He repeated through a full mouth.
"He had a contact among their people who suddenly clammed up so we should check her out first, then something about power relay stations acting up."
Lawrence hummed. "Well, got to get some supplies before we head out of the city. Figured I'd go after this if you don't mind putting things together?"
While that much was true—and he knew Vincent would agree to stay in rather than join him—his true route would bring back to the Mormon Fort. He searched for the doctor without success until questioning one of the roaming coats wandering the compound. Nestled away in her office, the good-mannered and kind-natured woman sat at a desk among a hoard of files and papers and thick books. "Oh hello, Lawrence," she smiled as he let himself in.
"Hi," Lawrence announed, promptly finding himself a makeshift seat on an almost empty corner of her desk. "I came to talk to you about Vincent."
"Alright," she nodded and slowly set down her paperwork. Hesitancy marked her soft voice. "I can only divulge so much—"
"He's told me you're helping him. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," he clarified, baring open palms. "I'm just concerned about him and want to help him with…" Eyes glanced away to a sandy, dirt floor. He searched for something better than how the boy described it himself. Better than "fix". It sounded like an insult to himself whenever Vincent said those words. Sometimes Lawrence found himself wanting to throttle the poor boy while he proclaimed otherwise. Shoulders hung in a shrug and his gaze returned to the attentive doctor. "With whatever it is he wants that will… Whatever will make him how he's supposed to be."
She leaned back in her chair. "I told him this morning…" A foreign, solemn expression took over her face. She adjusted the grayed lab-coat as one knee came over the other under her desk. "Unfortunately, one of my associates wouldn't know how to help, despite consulting her literature and previous cases, but I have others I am in contact with."
"Ok, good," Lawrence nodded. "I mean, what can be done for him?"
"I honestly don't know," she confessed. Brows knitted together worriedly as if the notion pained her as well. "I want to help Vincent. He's been so generous, and I can see it hurts him. It's the least I can do and I haven't given up. I don't know how much he's shared with you—"
"We're intimate together. I doubt there's nothing about his body he's told you I haven't already seen."
"He wants to be biologically male." She shook her head, "There's only so much medicine can heal; physically and psychologically. While I have read of such conditions in pre-war textbooks, I'm ashamed to say I haven't encountered any clinically."
"I might have," Lawrence said. "There's gotta be somethin' that can help Vincent." Hands thrust to some invisible cure just out of sight. It frustrated him, probably not as much as Vincent. Frustrating nonetheless he couldn't help someone so dear to him. "What is it that makes me so different from you? Him? Other people?"
"Oh, well…" Brows rose over widened eyes. Mulling over decades of work and education, a dainty hand propped her chin in its palm. "Chromosomes, genes, hormones all play into the phenotypes we attribute to sex and gender. Quite a bit is set in stone—" Inspired eyes beamed up to Lawrence. "Not all of it is, though." He leaned towards her, eagerly awaiting more. "While no doctor can change his sex, his phenotype can change or at least be altered. I know of a doctor that studies the human endocrine system and its physical effects."
"There's a lot of big words in there, but if it's something that can help Vincent, I would greatly appreciate you lookin' into it for him."
"You, sir!" She jumped forward. A newfound excitement pulled a wide smile across her cheeks. "Gave me a great idea! I'll get in contact with Dr. Engel for Vincent."
If you ever go to the Mormon Fort in Vegas, there is a rescued sulcata tortoise who lives on the grounds by the garden. Her name is Helen Shelly and she is perfect.