A light touch parsed Vincent's hair, putting all the strands back into place he organized so carefully in the morning. He glanced at Lawrence, "Sorry, I'm just thinking about things."

"Surprised you can think over the noise," Lawrence chuckled. He looked over his shoulder again. Just another busy restaurant on the strip. The day crowd flocked to all the cafes—an excuse to be close to the slots and tables like an appetizer for whatever they planned for the night, but also to escape the midday sun. Even in the fall, the burning eye in the sky was relentless at its height. Freeside wasn't any different during this time of day, but there was no pretending all those filling the tables weren't there to drink as heavy as they did at night. No, the people in Freeside didn't put up airs and pleasant façades like the Strip—they were as rough on the inside as they were outside.

"I've been thinking more about what to do in Freeside," Vincent explained. "Between the NCR, the Kings, and locals—it's a lot."

"You're right," Lawrence leaned on the chair's arm, wooden frame creaking under his weight. "That is a lot for one person to tackle."

"I don't know where to begin—" Vincent sighed and waved the topic away. "We can deal with that later, what do you think that summons thing is about?"

"Don't know for certain, probably more questions about Helios One—y'know, when Jackie gave me the paper, even she thought it was a little odd they wanted me to go to Camp Golf instead of just meeting at the embassy."

Vincent hummed. "Who do you have to meet?"

"Some M.P. investigator big-shot—"

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" An ambitious baritone pulled them to the suave cattle-baron man. He clutched a wide brimmed and white suede hat to his chest, revealing a head of thinning and wispy grey hair. Pinched and twiddled, the two ends of his walrus mustache curled in a tight loop. Sun-bleached suit reflected the clear day's light, beaming back just as brilliant as the man's charm. The business-type no doubt just as his letter clearly showed, but the flamboyant dress and rosy cheeked smile really sold him as a salesman type. Sparkling hazel eyes—surely from the glint of caps he saw in his future—set on Vincent. He reached across the table, thick and sausage-fingered hands that never saw a day of hard work opened for a sturdy handshake—just as tight as the boy imagined. "I'm Clyde and I am just elated to finally meet you! Once I heard what you done for the Followers I decided you were clearly a man of business acumen."

"It takes one to know one."

"Absolutely!"

"Join us," Vincent gestured to the seat across from him.

"Why thank you," Clyde chimed. The chair creaked under the portly man. He shifted, finding a more comfortable position before continuing, "I do hope you read my letter to the fullest."

"I did and I even thought of a suggestion for you," Vincent said, mirroring the man's enthusiasm. "Instead of complicated, expensive machines, or even mules and pack brahmin like you propose, how about a bicycle?"

"A bicycle?"

"Like those old-world ones. Propelled by the rider. It would be faster, you don't have to worry about complicated and delicate machinery repairs or upkeep for livestock."

"Well, you just done outdid me," Clyde enthused, fanning himself with his hat while a toothy smile widened. "I knew there was something special about you—ain't nobody get into the Lucky 38 without being something!"

In Yucca Valley there was little entertainment if you weren't an adult man or didn't like to drink. Farming, trading, surviving. That was all anyone did out in the middle of nowhere. Books and old holotapes that survived were rare and unless they were already in that little town, then fat chance of finding one on a traveling trader. However, nothing really lived up to peeping through the cracks of the door when Madame E was criticizing an unruly patron or making a shrewd deal all the while feigning disinterest in whatever the salesman was pushing. No one in that town was more respected than the Madame, but only until a few years did Vincent learn it wasn't because she wielded her words like a revolver.

"Now, you want to expand outside the Strip eventually, right?"

"You are right, sir," Clyde agreed.

"That kind of expansion needs infrastructure the Strip doesn't have—smooth roads, security, reliability. What are your plans there?"

"Way, I see it, we only need to use the main street running through the Strip and Freeside—less holes to patch n' smooth. As for security, I was hoping your robot friends might be helpful. If that's not the case however, I already have my own muscle itchin' to flex."

Reasonable and doable, at least, but the real matter was gauging how far ahead Clyde thought out his business. Ideas and flattery by themselves can only get one so far. Vincent stole a glance at Lawrence next to him. The poor ranger's eyes glassed over about an hour into the meeting as he sipped away into the third concoction he ordered. "Do you have any current investors?"

"Aside from myself, none yet. I actually chose to reach out to you first, young man."

"I see, and being such a great idea you have here—" Vincent reached under seat, plucking his satchel out from underneath and plopped it in his lap. "I don't doubt you'd find more interested parties to assist." Vincent produced a black binder—something House surely wouldn't have noticed had gone missing from his library. "After thinking over your proposal, I put together some drafts—" Wide eyed, the ranger stared at the thick stack of papers bound inside the aged plastic. Once he glanced over to that binder, any disinterest eroded away. However, that was not replaced by interest in what Vincent had put together, rather how much he had put together. "Blue-prints for my bicycle suggestion just to look over if you decide to go that route," Vincent described the first few pages he took out as he handed them to Clyde. "Those will include estimated cost to build a prototype."

Lawrence glanced up to the businessman, equally surprised but lacking the newfound fear of how long he may have to sit at the table that Lawrence had. Instead, hands fumbled as they searched for the pair of reading glasses stowed in his suit. "I see, I see!" He scanned the pages, muttering to himself between nods.

"These are just some things I put together of my own curiosity; cost, logistics, and potential problems if you decide to use animals." Another clip of paper passed the table and the ranger's unblinking stare widened once more. "Oh, and the next one—this is for engines, machinery, et cetera."

"Well, you young man have done your research!" Clyde applauded by the tone of his voice rather than hands full of paper.

"I like to be prepared," Vincent nodded, stifling a prideful smile. "If you can show me a draft of your prototype and business model by the end of the month, I'm more than happy to negotiate monetary numbers and investment in this operation."

Bushy white brows rose, creasing a red forehead. His husky chuckle joined in with that gleam of caps in his eyes. "Yessir!" Clyde thrust a hand across the table. "I won't disappoint."

Vincent shook the man's hand, reminding himself to be firm in his grip and steady about it too. Clyde stood up, pushing back the chair as he donned his hat. "I best be gettin' on my boys in the warehouse. I'll send you the memo when I'm ready!" White teeth beamed back at Vincent much the same Clyde's suit did. Far too pristine, manicured—this was a man who didn't have to survive. There wasn't one scratch, scar, nor mustache hair out of place on the cattle baron. These kinds of men never lived below his means, but that wasn't always an advantage out here. The cap-baron immersed into the thick afternoon crowds. White suit and hat eventually disappeared behind two bodyguards lingering at the cafe doors.

"Wh-what's with that look?"

Lawrence turned to the young man, wood creaked under his arm as he leaned to Vincent. "You been talkin' to House too much lately." Vincent chuckled, pushing back on the ranger's shoulder. A little bit of him took it as a compliment. While he wasn't blind to House's influence, Vincent hoped it was the better parts that was what rubbed off on him after the meetings, debriefings, and even the conversation House sometimes engaged in. "What if this guy doesn't keep up his end of the bargain once you give him the caps?"

"I've already thought about that," Vincent informed. "To summarize, I'd steal his idea for myself and seize anything he has in that warehouse he mentioned."

Lawrence whistled. "Ice cold."

"Think that's too bad?"

"Well…" The rangers voice trailed away with a shrug. "Considerin' the things I seen happen out here, that's more a tickle fight than punishment..."

"I don't want to become like Caesar; ruthless, cruel, goals-justify-means-type of person. I also don't want to be useless like most politicians back home, but you have to draw the line somewhere."

"What about House?" Lawrence pulled back. He turned in his seat, stretching an arm over the back of Vincent's chair. "He ain't got the best track record either."

"I've been thinking about that since the moment I met him. I don't agree with everything he's done—pushing the people who used to live here out so he can set-up his 'paradise' or that authoritarian and paranoid side of him that comes out every so often…" Vincent sighed. He shook his head as arms folded on the table. His blurred reflection stared back at him from the wet ring left behind by a tequila sunrise. A vague face he'd only known was his own from how harsh it judged himself. "House isn't the only answer, just the best one for now…"

Lawrence cocked his head. His stare settled on Vincent, gauging and evaluating the young man's expression as he hesitated. "What if House wasn't in the picture either? Let's say you can take him out of the game and do things your own way, would you?"

It hadn't crossed his mind, but it was still a valid point. Surely House planned for everything—nothing much else to do for two-hundred something years holed up in an empty castle… But there was one thing Vincent and not even Mr. House could deny, even if he'd never admit it. The fact that he got lucky. Had Benny been more careful, more smart, more thorough, Vincent never would have survived. None of the old man's plans would have ever seen fruition. Instead, that slimy and pompous fool would have gotten control of the securitron army stowed under Fortification Hill—granted he got past the Legion soldiers much the same way Vincent and Lawrence snuck up on the Boomers. And then what? What would Benny have done? Just take over the strip? Run it into the ground? Not even his own good-squad at the Tops had a nice thing to say about the man after being informed of his death. Did he even think that far?

"No, I could ever do that. I don't think I'd want to." Vincent shook his head. "There's too many variables and things to consider. House has control on the strip for a reason. But I'm also not gonna be quiet when he inevitably has some atrocious idea—I told him I would hold him accountable."

The ranger's stoic facade cracked. A little smile tugged the corner of his lips. Wrinkles creased around his eyes while juvenile glee brightened his voice. "You told that to House?"

"He explicitly stated he had no interest in being an abusive dictator controlling every aspect of people's lives, to not be the likes of Caesar and I expect him to hold up that end of the bargain or I don't do mine—" Vincent paused. Drawn brows relaxed as the realization dawned on him like the light of a new day. "He needs me."

"Don't go getting an inflated ego, Vince," Lawrence warned. He set a hand on Vincent's, giving a squeeze as if to assure his warning was in good-faith. "That's what gets people hurt in these predicaments."

"No, I need a level head," Vincent agreed. "But think about it; I'm not Benny's level of ambitious nor stupid—or well I'm not trying to be. House wouldn't have gotten anywhere without me, maybe not even be alive if Benny had done whatever it is he was planning, but there's things I also won't stand for. No money, or fancy suite, or whatever is worth betraying yourself."

Stifled chuckles pulled the hint of smirk to a full smile. Charming and soft eyes approved of the boy's answer. An answer he wished he found in himself before it was too late and done far too many things he wished he hadn't. Caught up in the moment. Torn between duty and ethics. "Lawrence," Vincent looked up to him. Pleading eyes beckoned for the man's full attention while his urgent tone pulled Lawrence from his admiring daze. "I wouldn't ask you to betray yourself either. I know being here with me, helping me further mine and House's goals is conflicting with the republic's and everything you worked for as a ranger… I guess what I want to say is, in no uncertain terms could I ever fault you for wanting to fight for the dam, even if it's against me."

Vincent hated watching the ranger's softer looks disappear. At times he held back words he knew he ought to say and stowed them for later. Yet, these he knew were important. Things that needed to be said in the moment or never at all. Deep, vivacious, no matter how much he scowled, just being in the ranger's company Vincent learned Lawrence couldn't hide what he really felt behind impassioned eyes. Lawrence looked to the floor. Beneath Vincent where he felt he'd belonged. Drawn by the weight of yet another difficult decision he'd have to make. He squeezed the boy's hand.

"I…" Words choked in his throat. Voice refused to come while some hidden aspect of him defied orders to say what was on his mind. Subconscious fear turned into comprehensible words. Thoughts and ideas. But all could be distilled into fear. Fear of losing what he'd accomplished for himself. Fear of betraying his allies, rangers, Clint, betraying Marcus's memory… Yet he feared losing the young man at his side too. The lone beacon in the darkness he waded through for too long and didn't want to return to—did Vincent think the same of him?

"I'm not pressuring you for an answer right now," Vincent shook his head. Warm palm conformed to the ranger's cheeks. Caressing the recent five-o'clock shadow that always rolled in a few hours too early. Stubble pressed back against Vincent's thumb. Each little prick like a reminder of every little thing he loved about the ranger who plucked him the talons of a deathclaw.

"Where to even start?" Julie muttered. She paced the length of the office-tent, hands on her hips and head cocked up to the patches dotting the fabric ceiling. "Well…" She paused, a flick of her wrist held out an open palm, empty and awaiting the solution she considered. "Much of the problems here in Freeside can be resolved if there were more supplies and resources to go around, but that's easier said than done."

Vincent groaned and crossed his arms. He sunk further down the faux-leather chair, "That's an understatement."

"I have a friend in the NCRA running a relief program for citizens here and it does help them, but it's only for NCR citizens. If there was something similar for the locals…" Another ponderous shrug restarted her paces around the tent.

"Who's your friend?" Lawrence inquired as he emerged from his tactical position in the corner.

"Major Kieran. Maybe she could give you better ideas than I can—I mean I can tell you how bad things are, why the locals and NCR immigrants are at each other's throats, what the followers are doing to help, but that doesn't do much for what you're trying to do."

"It does," Vincent announced. "I can at least get an idea of what I'm dealing with. The solutions are obvious, it's the logistics of it that's difficult."

"I can say one thing with certainty, Vincent." Julie stopped next to the young man and leaned on the cluttered desk. Too many papers, old-world books that had seen better days, an afternoon cup of coffee. A tangled, cluttered mess just like Freeside… "I support your goal and want to help in any way I can. Just asking about it is more than anyone else has done so far."

"Lawrence," Vincent turned to his companion. "I'm going to be hanging around Freeside, just talking with some of the doctors here and the King, so why don't you go take care of whatever the summons is and we'll meet back home?"

"Don't go gettin' into trouble," Lawrence winked. They met in the middle for a departing hug, like a soothing oasis in the desert, then it was back to business.

Engine grumbles quelled as he coasted down the slope. Rolling hills of withered grass swayed behind him. Sparkles danced across Lake Las Vegas like a dancer's sequin dress. Familiar faces nodded. Others smiled as he passed, exchanging quick pleasantries. Coming to Camp Golf always felt a little like coming home. Not the home he grew up in, but rather a place where one could gather among friends and allies. Where you could find good stories in good company and completely forget about the war for a while in the mess hall.

Standing in the main hall, Mordecai waited. Impatient and pacing in front of the annoyed receptionist's desk as he glanced at the clock. Relief softened Mordecai's pout as the crack of day through the doors drew him to Lawrence. The two met at the eastern staircase. Shoulder to shoulder they ascended the ancient wood planks once again. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, just requested to come and answer some questions."

"You too?"

Lawrence paused before the hallway. "What do you mean 'you too'?"

"I was just grilled for a fucking hour about some nonsense," Mordecai grumbled.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, but the guy wanted to know a lot about you." He glanced over his shoulder. Complaints paused as he glared to the man in question. He stood at the end of the hallway in prim, neat fatigues, over-shined boots that'd never seen the uneven terrain of a battlefield, beige beret, and posture far too rigid to be comfortable in his rank. A final exchange of nods agreed to an unspoken warning, then Mordecai retreated down the stairs.

"Major Parsons."

They shook hands over the table. One of many rooms around the old-world-resort-turned-base, identical to each, nondescript and easily lost in. Perfect for interrogation apparently.

"Lawrence."

"You always go by your first name?" Parsons asked as he thumbed through the contents of a manila envelope. "It's a little unprofessional."

Lawrence huffed as if it were a joke. He claimed his seat with a casual slouch, a mild dare for the rigid MP. "I don't care to stand on formality—leave that to the people who aren't busy in the field."

Parsons hummed. "I'm here to ask you some questions."

"I gathered that much. Shoot."

A distasteful expression thinned the Major's lips and evidently his patience as well. He placed a photograph on the table. A Polaroid, old, but still colored and coherent. Then another. Then a third, the subject of which he knew quite intimately. "Do you know these rangers?"

"Yes." Lawrence pointed to the third image. "Just him."

"Only him?" Indifferent tone barely disguised Parsons' disbelief.

"Just him."

"Who is he?"

"Marcus Cervantes. Deceased."

"Marcus?" Thins brows furrowed with an unusual emphasis in Parson's tone. "File says Marcos."

Lawrence squinted at the Major. Marcus. Only Lawrence got to call him that. A silly gaff of when they first met—a pang struck his heart. "You can call him Marcos."

"How did you know him?"

Obvious information, something easily obtained from either of the rangers' files or just talking to the CO they had in common. "We were on numerous assignments together through our deployments. We worked well with each other and eventually agreed to team up."

"Your record shows you two have were quite prolific together. Sniper team, stealth, he's even been undercover…" Parsons glanced to the file he kept a tight hold on. Suspicious eyes shot back to Lawrence. Hollow, vacant. He'd seen eyes like those a few times and they never followed anything good. "You know what happened to him?"

"K.I.A. Legion. About four years ago."

"What about the other rangers?"

"Never met them."

Parsons hummed. "This individual—" He turned to his file and pulled out another photo. Then another, and another, laying them out one by one. Images of him and Vincent around the city. The ranger's squint turned to a scowl. He leaned back in the chair. Unyielding glare remained on Parsons—his own little hint he didn't like the present company as well. "Who's she?"

"He is Vincent."

Another hum grated his ears and curled his lip. Being stuck in a cramped room with some army bureaucrat would annoy anyone, but that obnoxious hum… That just made his skin crawl. "Why are you with him so much?"

"We're close friends."

Parsons cocked his head. Lawrence rolled his eyes as the Major looked into his file. "You look more close than just friends." More photographs. A kiss here and there at the slots. An arm around Vincent playing at the blackjack tables. Holding hands as they walked the strip, Freeside—oblivious.

"The hell is this about? Why you have pictures of us?"

Parsons set his files aside. Instinct urged Lawrence to grab the stack and slap the Major with it in anticipation of yet another hum. "This is a matter of security for the New California Republic. Vincent is a threat to our efforts here."

The ranger laughed. "Give me a break." He crossed his arms as a leg swayed underneath the table. "Or give me a good reason why."

"Well let's see, I have numerous reports of you two going in and out of the Lucky 38 and, forgive me if I'm wrong, but that's where Mr. House lives right? You are aware of Mr. House yes?"

"I don't know anything about House that the NCR doesn't. Never met him. Never talked to him. Never will."

"So let me guess." Parsons leaned on the table. Hands steepled together as stares fought for dominance. "You don't know what Vincent's relationship to Mr. House is either?"

"Vincent's a contractor for the guy, what else could he be?"

"We'll all these reports—" Hands parted and fingers curled around his words. Cocky. Arrogant. Typical army bureaucracy. Nobody that'd ever be in his position let alone have the courage to step up and take it. "—make me curious about why you're really associating with him." He reached to his stack. Pinching a portion underneath and pulling it out like splaying dirty laundry across the table. "You have a bad habit of disobeying orders, ranger. So, I don't really believe you." He picked out one, flipping the first two pages automatically before rattling off Lawrence's offense. "Let's see, you killed targets you were not cleared to do so at Rosario—"

"They were legion combatants openly firing on my unit and civilians."

Parsons looked back to the catalogue then picked out one deliberately. "Yet in Laughlin, you flat out refused to kill anyone in your zone—"

Lawrence waved the younger man's words aside. "They were terrified civilians disguised as Legion troops! That was an obvious trap set up from faulty intel any other ranger there will tell you the—"

"It cost us our hold on Laughlin!" The major lunged forward, letting the report fall into the mess with an accusatory plop. "Now it's Legion territory. Oh! And you're supposed to be on leave after Dr. McCulloch's psych evaluation, yet you're still trotting around the Mojave like you have orders." Parsons spread through the papers. "Boulder City—no one ordered you to go there. Nelson—no one ordered you to go there. Nellis—no one ordered you to go there." Glances pieced together words, names of places and people. A vague mash of nearly half his career under bright lights to be dissected and evaluated with a suspicious eye. "Helios One. Need I say more?" He paused his frantic search and straightened his back. Composure reinstated its command as Parsons brought his hands together again. "But you just keep showing up, with Vincent—" Index and middle fingers pinched again. Lawrence's glare twitched, interrupting an eyeroll before it slipped. As if the hum wasn't enough, this man loved his passive-aggressive finger-quotes too. "And then some interesting things happen…" Parsons sighed and leaned back. The ranger's vicious glare followed. A quick glance back verified the man wore a smile. Faint and mocking. "What was your business with the Boomers? Why did you negotiate to let those Khans leave when they were ordered to be executed?"

"There was two of them and twenty—"

"Why were you at Nelson?

"Legion dug in. I was—"

"Why does private Morris claim you assaulted him at Helios One and why are you accusing him of being a Legion spy? Are you—"

Voices clashed together. A terrible cacophony clamored in the room. Bouncing between corners, rushing to and fro to strike a hit. Hidden in the discord, the door swung open.

"I am not working for House!"

Boots thudded across the floor. Shadows cast across their eyes, halting the fiery debate to address a new audience. "You are on my turf, kid." Gravelly and scorching, Lawrence never found Clint's warning howls so pleasant. "I don't appreciate my rangers being interrogated without my permission or my presence."

Shock flashed across his face. Major Parsons jumped up. "I am conducting an important investigation—"

Like standing with a brahim-bull in a pen, the Major stood nose to nose with Clint. "Who ordered you to come here?"

"That's classified."

"Who ordered you to question him?" Clint raised his voice—that man never needed to raise his voice.

Yet Parsons stood strong. A mild tremor in his lip nearly stuttered him. Shoulders remained broad. His back straightened. But that look of fear was not hidden so easily. Floors creaked. Parsons glanced over Clint's shoulders. Two rangers followed behind the CO. "That is classi—"

"You can shove that classified nonsense up your ass. Produce some identification and documentation or get out."

"I did upon—"

"We got an intruder, boys," Clint declared. The two strangers aimed their revolvers. Lawrence jumped out of his chair. Chilling dread extinguished any agitation Parsons ignited in him.

Parsons slowly inched away, glancing between Clint and the rangers behind him. "Who are you?"

"New California Republic Ranger CO, Clint Austin Decker, Cazador company." Parsons flinched at the announcement. "Now, I know that's a mouthful so I'll write it down for you since you got your hands busy jerking off whoever sent you here." Clint gave the gesture and his rangers lowered their arms. "I'll give you some advice too, since you army folk are a little soft in the head." A smile stretched his face. A slight tilt of his head added to the insult. He traced Parsons's step backs. "You don't piss off the guys backing up your whole operation." Parsons raised his hands as he slipped around Clint. "Go ahead and see that our guest finds his way out."

Lawrence pulled back his chair. Slowly he descended. Unsure if his legs really were trembling a bit or it was the adrenaline of a shouting match wearing off. "Clint." Clint closed the door to the room, then turned back to Lawrence. "What's going on?"

Slow and deliberate steps brought him back to the table. He stole Parsons's seat and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he met Lawrence's pensive stare. "There isn't one war happening here in the Mojave. There's another and it started back home. I don't know who, I don't know why—I and a lot of other rangers know something bad is happening."

"Does this have to do with why you wanted me to go to Helios One?"

"Yes," Clint nodded, a grim hint in his tone. He pulled a neglected ashtray between them. "I don't like keeping the truth from my men and I'll be honest, I'm suspicious of Vincent, but I got no reason to mistrust you." Lawrence inched closer to the table, setting his elbows on the table, showing empty hands just Clint as if laying down each other's cards to see. "The NCR is being eaten from the inside out. Rangers used to be something better, greater. Our founders fought tooth and nail against tyranny, slavery, the unjust wasteland, and now we're being betrayed by the people we protect."

Lawrence reached into his duster, pulling a half-empty pack of cigarettes. The crutch. Something to lean on when things got too heavy and up until now, he had forgotten about that pack squished against his armor. "Lawrence, I need to know you know that too." He lent one to Clint, then lit it before his own. A deep inhale, then stifled choke. Did they always taste that bad? "I need to know you will be there at Hoover Dam ready to defy whatever asinine orders Oliver is gonna give. If we don't, the rangers and everything we stand for is going to die with us."

When he first arrived in the Boneyard, the grey cloud hanging over the city stood out, but not that much compared to the hordes. Humans, ghouls, even a few super mutants he didn't look at too long. People flocked to the NCR to escape the dangers of the frontier, radiation tainted land, vast swaths of nothingness to the West… Buildings upon buildings congested the skyline, rushing him with a sense of dread as he imagined the glittering towers falling down. If you couldn't snag a room in one of those death-trap towers, nor had the wealth to keep up an actual home in the old suburbs, there were plenty of alleys, eroded beach fronts, and the hillsides falling into the ocean to stake your claim on for a time. New Vegas wasn't different—outside the strip that is. In Freeside, people scrambled for measly scraps, fought over crumbling refuges and cardboard shelters. Plenty of empty buildings for squatters to get a start, yet much of Vegas's old city limits was wild frontier littered with the dangerous types. Hell, any bathroom beyond the Strip barely had running water, but beggars can't be choosers.

Just another way to survive. Not one he'd condone, however. Politicians, congressmen, the senate. All the way from the top to the bottom had proven themselves useless in the New California Republic; the last bastion of freedom and democracy, supposedly. So willing and happy to expand and impose its ideals on others—were they really so different from Caesar at the heart of it? Letting their own people suffer if it means claiming another inch of territory for its own sake. Even if the NCR managed to hold the dam against Caesar or House, it wouldn't last. The Legion though… The scary reality was the fact that they could. While the bar of expectations wasn't high for Vincent, it was still a hurdle to cross.

"You can't deny it's a problem," Vincent declared.

"I am not denying the conflict in Freeside. I have no intention of assisting a potential threat. The Kings will, without a doubt, protest my annexation of Freeside into the municipality of the strip."

Vincent paused, noting the blatant tension in his expression. He took in a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. Calm and collected became his mantra whenever he ascended the tower—a professional demeanor House responded best to. With every little chat here and there, even the debriefings, Vincent knew the enigmatic man better than anyone else in his kingdom. As little as that was. When he presented the improvised proposal for the Boomer's alliance, Vincent spotted a hint of narcissism in that synthetic voice. Hidden under a thick veneer of dust and nostalgia, a sense of surprise and satisfaction in his protégé. The old man was easily lured into a conversation when it aligned with his goals or ambitions simply because Mr. House responded better when he felt he was looking into a mirror.

"I think you're looking at this from one point of view," Vincent suggested. "You're not using them to their full potential." Silence as he stared at the monitor. Quiet could be intimidating when faced with the big man. He didn't have the advantage of staring at House face-to-face, seeing his tells and reading through his facade to navigate negotiation, but to win the pot, you didn't need to read the other players as clearly as you'd a book—you just needed to have a better poker face.

"Go on."

"Think of them as a bridge," he suggested, letting a budding smile through just enough to cloud his own bluff. "The locals in Freeside will never know the strip and all its luxury and this breeds disdain for anyone who does. But, they do respect and look up to the Kings for what they've done to keep Freeside mostly safe. Trampling over them will cause outrage. Using them to bridge the obvious divide between Freeside and the strip can ease tensions and open doors for further opportunities once we expand in Freeside."

A synthetic hum buzzed over the speakers. "A plausible outcome if you succeed. However, if the Kings prove troublesome, I will not hesitate to remove that threat—Or should I say, you should not hesitate to remove that threat?" A warning with his approval hidden inside. A little reminder as well: Nobody was better than Mr. House, but sometimes they came just shy of it.

One the elevator ride down, he finally exhaled. Lightened even, by the prospect that outside the doors of the Lucky 38, sat a handsome ranger waiting for him. He squinted under the afternoon glare. Each window on the dominating towers of the Strip, a beacon daring to outshine Helios One on the desert stage. An intermittent battle until night descended the land, extinguishing those fires for the better, more colorful ones to take over. Despite that, Vincent focused his full attention to the man on the steps, leaning against rails as he fumbled with the same string, pocket-knife, and bottle cap he'd shove into his pocket the moment he spotted Vincent coming.

"What's going on? How'd things go at Camp Golf?"

"Hah!" Lawrence bellowed. A wide and prideful grin crossed his face as he held up his accomplishment. He pulled up Vincent's arm by his wrist. Then tied a loose knot with the cord. "I made this for you." He adjusted the makeshift bracelet, turning it so the cap faced up. The most pristine one he could find in the odd collection that occupied the ashtray on Vincent's desk. Red crinkled edge smoothed and folded backwards, revealing a silver underbelly marked by a bright, blue star.

"Oh!" Vincent flung arms around Lawrence, hugging tightly as a muffled, but enthusiastic, thank you was lost in the folds and buttons of the man's shirt. "I love it," Vincent chirped as he peered up at Lawrence. He unwound his arms from the ranger's neck. Palms glided across the folded collar, praising upward until they melded to the angle of a stubbled jaw. Glaring windows dispersed their lights as a heavenly aura around him. Stray hair glimmered at their ends, transitioning from deep black to neon white tips. Yet nothing could break Vincent's adoring gaze from Lawrence's. Glowing water. Deep, pristine, and clear. Had anyone told Vincent merely a year ago, he'd meet a man who would love so warmly and unconditionally as Lawrence, he would have sooner felt insulted. Mocked, ridiculed more than hopeful—even if it was himself who said so.

"Let's take the rest of the day off instead of runnin' around. What do you say?" Lawrence asked. "Gonna be dark soon in three hours or so… And I'm exhausted."

"Ah, exhausted from what exactly?"

A sly smile tugged Lawrence's lips. "I've been busy being handsome, looking good, y'know." He rolled his head over to the other shoulder with a sigh. "It's not easy being me."

"Alright, you convinced me."

If you held your breath and closed your eyes, the whole world slipped away. Nothing reached the height of the tower. Not the bustle on the strip. Not the tension at the dam. No ruckus from Freeside and definitely not the smell. Instead, it was just another man's heart. Content to beat to the swing of a tune on the radio. Chest vibrated as he hummed along, mimicking a sweet crooner singing of love under a blue moon.

"Slower is better."

"And not just because you aren't bumping my shoes," Lawrence chuckled. He squeezed the boy's hand and led him around the vacant floor. Spinning against the flow of the empty cocktail lounge. The brass band came to a close as their steps slowed. "I'd dance with you even as the world burned down around me."

He led Vincent back to the table. A few glasses collected at the edge; novice cocktails that'd never make it as big in the city as those two had. "Nothing could be better."

The warm and familiar embrace that began the night, was how it ended as well. Several hours later and in the comfort of a suite high above the rest of the city. However, in the early hours when the drunks passed out, the gambling halls were empty, and the showgirls wiped the day off their faces, one man was still awake. High up in a white-walled tower, writing, declaring, and pouring a part of himself no one had seen in years into a letter that ended with goodbye.