Gentiles. The word sat strangely in her mind. Despite all the books she had read under Mr. House, she had never come across that word. Both Joshua and Daniel called her that because she didn't share their faith, much like how the Legion had called her a profligate—an insult for those outside Caesar's rule." She had barely ever initiated anything aggressive and yet legionaries always called her that. Is gentile a bad word to call people? Why do they call me that then? She thought.

Her gaze drifted to Joshua, watching as he snapped and crushed herbs he had gathered earlier near the camp. As she studied him, her mind wandered. She had never gotten the impression that the word itself had a negative meaning, probably due to how they said it.

The curiosity overflowed, driving her to walk closer to where he stood. "Does 'gentile' actually have a similar meaning to profligate?" She could see the corner of his eyes wrinkle a little.

Adding the herbs to the bubbling cave fungus stew, he replied, "Of course not. It's just a way to call everybody who doesn't share our faith. Outsiders, to put it simply." He handed her a bowl and a spoon. "Profligate, on the other hand, means to denigrate." Holding a ladle, he stirred the pot gently as the stew simmered.

"But you and Daniel keep saying that to me when you guys aren't happy."

"Yes." He answered shortly, guilt in his tone. "We tend to do that. I'm not proud of it. But the word itself doesn't have a bad meaning."

She hummed while ladling out the stew for herself and sat back. As she brought the spoon closer to her, she crinkled her nose, groaning like a child who refused to eat their vegetables—only quietly. The stew still smelled earthy despite the herbs, and she wished she could add some liquor and salt to help rid of the smell. Radiation exposure, however, had left her restless, the nausea and body aches keeping sleep at bay. She gripped the side of the bowl tighter, determined to fight the feeling of repulsion and heat.

The bandaged man in front of her, who didn't need to join her eating this stew, began pouring some onto his own bowl. He, too, hesitated before lifting the bowl to his face, adding another pinch of fresh herbs. Putting his bowl down, he opened his bag and took out a small pot—salt—and sprinkled it. She smiled. She would have normally complained, demanding her fair share. But watching him willingly stomach the stew—despite his clear distaste—made her heart stutter, the smell momentarily forgotten.

A picture formed in her mind—taking turns to cook over a crackling fire, sharing meals, and talking late into the night as they camped along the road. And when the time to rest came, he would take her hand, praying for her, before they snuggled to each other until sleep took over them. Would his faith even allow a relationship with a gentile? The thought struck her suddenly.

That reminded her of the earlier, unasked questions about the word. "But..." She blew on a spoonful of stew. "Using 'gentile' to call someone outside the tribe, and 'profligate' for Legion... Did you come up with that?" His eyes turned to the dancing fire. "You know, if I got an NCR dollar for each time I get called a profligate around Nelson, or the Cottonwood Cove, I'd own a ranch." Putting the entire spoon in her mouth, she winced at the taste.

"Yes I did." He carefully opened the bandage around his lips and sipped the stew he had just cooked. "Caesar wanted to have a term to call people not in the Legion. I suggested some words but he settled on that." His eyes drifted to the side as he was slowly biting the cave fungus. "At some point, I never said 'gentile' any more."

Silence stretched between them. She hadn't noticed she'd stopped eating until she caught herself staring—his lips, thin and set, moving slowly as he chewed. The firelight flickered over them, casting shifting shadows across his face. When he swung his eyes back to hers, she quickly looked down to stir.

"I dislike that word now." His voice confident but gentle. "Although..." The sudden playfulness in his tone brought her eyes back on him. "I wouldn't mind seeing you make a fortune out of being called a profligate. I'd want to see your ranch." She noticed his eyes relaxed; she even saw a bit of twinkle."You can call it Profligately Rich Farm." He stretched out his arm in a sweeping motion.

She laughed at his suggestion. But after seeing how gentle his eyes looked on her, how different they looked compared to when he had begun to lose himself in his war efforts, she raised her bowl much closer to her face to cover it from any visible signs of blushing.

"Right, you should finish your food," He suggested once more. Holding her breath, she nodded and forced herself to eat.

Howls of wind in the distance muffled the sound of the river currents. The crackles of fire, along with sipping or munching noises filled the air. Being filled to the brim, she stood up, walked a little closer to the edge of the rock that bordered the welcome booth, and took in the view.

Stars glimmered, some more brightly than the others. The top part of the canyon seemed to make a ragged line that divided the earth and sky. She wondered how nature had shaped these canyons, thinking of asking Mr. House when she returned. When a peculiar shape of rock formation caught her eye, she roughly measured the length from top to bottom. Three miles? Nah, more than three. Even if she survived a fall from up there, she would die from injuries. The man sitting near her, however, had come out relatively intact albeit badly burned.

"May I ask about your past again?" She broke the silence and he hummed in response. "At the time before Legion, did you somehow predict you'd become Caesar's powerful right-hand man? The legendary legate?"

He chuckled as he placed his bowl beside him. "I believe I've only got that label after being wrapped in bandages and have become a topic of idle chatter in saloons."

"Come on, you're legendary because you're impossible to kill." She held up four fingers, ticking them off one by one. "Not NCR Rangers. Not 1st Recon sharpshooters. Not Hanlon. Not even Caesar himself." Her fingers curled into a fist. "Face it, you're immortal. That and also some other barbaric things—" she cleared her throat. "Your, um, assertiveness I often heard."

The long pause that came after wasn't unpleasant. By this time she understood his preference to take his time when answering questions or telling stories that would bring up his history as Caesar's second in command. He never hesitated to make himself an example but she sensed that recounting his past never got easy.

"I don't believe I did," he said after drawing out a breath. "Edward, Bill, and I were just a group of young men with a goal to learn new tribal language, teach the tribals our language, and help them." He loosely pointed toward himself. "I had another intention. As a New Canaanite, I wanted to do my missionary work meanwhile."

"Edward and Bill?"

"Edward Sallow and Bill Calhoun. Bill was a good man. Edward was the one who got us into trouble down the road." She nodded and thought Caesar's real name was far from impressive. In her spare time with Arcade, they tried to guess his actual name, and both frequently came up with sophisticated-sounding names: Baldwin, Archibald, Baldur or Baldorus, to name a few. Feeling comfortable enough to sit, she walked where he sat and joined him.

"The three of us thought we could hike into the Grand Canyon and talk to Blackfoots." She shook her head inquisitively. When Joshua noticed this, he flipped his wrist as he went on. "A tribe not unlike the Dead Horses or the Sorrows. They were friendly enough at first, but eventually..." he trailed off, rubbing his point finger against his thumb and shifted a little. "I've thought back to that day so many times. I must have mistranslated."

He slid his hand on the back of his shoulder, rubbing it as if reliving the bad treatment he had received. The pain Joshua felt now must have paled in comparison with whatever abuse he had gotten with Blackfoots, but she couldn't help but frown, her eyes stayed on the spot he had rubbed. "What did they do to you?"

Returning his gaze to her, he moved his hand away, seeming to be aware of what he had done unconsciously. "...Something happened." He rested his hand on his knee, taking a deep breath. Her stomach dropped. Did they torture him so much that he doesn't wanna talk about it?

"In short, Blackfoots held us hostage and we found a way out by offering them something they couldn't afford to lose. Victory against seven other tribes."

She turned her whole body to him. Feeling a rush of chilling wind on her back, she shivered, folding her legs towards her chest and clutched them.

"Edward needed me to translate, and then... like I told you, everything became training, punishing, terrorizing," he paused to take a deep breath. "A series of small mistakes before a great fall and darkness, which I had stayed in for years. Until Hoover Dam came about."

"Hanlon and Jed told me about how Caesar treated you," she scooted to where he sat. "I'm sorry." Her hand touched the back of his shoulder and rubbed her thumb. "You don't have to go on."

"You met Hanlon?"

"I did. Quite a story, actually." She smiled and giddily rocked herself. "An NCR sergeant at Camp Forlorn Hope noticed something odd in the intel reports and told me to check out Camp Golf, where Hanlon serves now. Apparently, he had been falsifying field reports. Well has been, actually."

The bandage around his brows raised at the change of word. "Has been?"

She grinned, her shoulders bobbed as she giggled, remembering her involvement with Hanlon and Cass. She recalled how her caravan heiress friend had asked The Misfits for ideas, bribing them with games involving alcohol, and their ending up wasted and naked on the floor—even Mags and O'Hanrahan.

"Well, he told me, since the first war with the Legion—with you—it's been getting worse for NCR." She ran her hand across her head as she tried to rephrase what Hanlon had told her. "If they won the second war and claimed Hoover Dam but the current management and situation didn't change, NCR—the rangers especially, just wouldn't survive in the future."

The bridge of his nose furrowed. He looked like he didn't believe her—maybe due to their differing experience with NCR before he had come back to New Canaan. "He thinks so?"

"Yeah. So that's why he's manipulated intelligence reports with a hope that NCR would decide to abandon the frontier." She shrugged. "And I agreed with his plan."

"And... you helped him sabotaging NCR's war effort?"

"I only let him go on." She scoffed at his conclusion and gave her palm. "Before you judge me further, let me tell you the reports he made." She crossed her leg and leaned in. "First, he reported about Station Delta being attacked by super mutant legionaries."

He smiled and hummed in amusement. "Super mutant legionaries?"

"Super mutant legionaries," she reiterated. "Hanlon also reported about a fight that broke in Station Foxtrot against The Great Khans riding on..." She paused and leaned. "Guess what he came up with."

"Brahmins? Bighorners?"

"No."

"...Ghouls?"

"Nope." She leaned even closer, planting a palm on the ground for anchor. "Deathclaws." A wheeze escaped his lips as soon as she finished speaking. "Picture that on your mind, The Great Khans on deathclaws."

The way he cackled sent warmth through the cold night. Maybe the absurdity had caught him off guard, just as it had her. Her breath quickened and a wide grin never left her face, knowing how he can laugh at the Ranger chief's current antiques without any contempt. "Can you imagine a man like that doing such a thing?" she asked, to which he shook his head in response, still recovering from laughter. "My friends gave him some ideas to make the stories more believable, but that's that."

Steadying his breath, he wiped both eyes with a finger. "So you didn't just let him go on."

"Hey, I didn't give him any ideas!" She objected, crossing her arms and pouted playfully.

When the laughter calmed, she collected their bowls and placed them into the empty pot. Setting them aside, she gathered dry leaves and branches nearby and tossed them into the fire. On the corner of her eye, she saw him open his satchel to get Scripture. Are you kidding me?

A wave of ideas came to her mind, thinking of ways to get him off the book. "You know," she quickly spoke as she poked the ember with a stick. "Hearing Hanlon's stories make me realize that I disagree with NCR's ways either. Much less than Legion's of course."

"Oh?" The bandaged man lifted his eyes from the book, resting it on his leg. "But out of those two, you'd still incline towards the NCR?"

"Uh..." she paused, cursing at herself for bringing this up of all the other things she could've talked about, wondering if she should tell him about Mr. House. She sneaked a glance at him, discovering his persistent gaze, waiting for an answer.

"Please keep this just between us," she spoke in hushed voice. Seeing him sit straight in anticipation, she went on, "I'm... actually working for Mr. House to make Mojave under his authority."

She saw him blink, his brows furrowed and he finally closed the Scripture "Mr. House is your solution?" he asked. She looked at her feet and nodded. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Why not?" she asked, without any intention to challenge him.

"From what I've learned since Hoover Dam, he handled the Mojave tribes in a fashion not entirely dissimilar from Caesar."

"I beg to differ." She leaned back against a small rock which supported her lower back. "He didn't raid or pillage the three families to join him—he got everything he wanted by providing mutual benefits. And he rebuilt those tribes. The three families can do everything they want as long as they don't break the few rules he's set." Scratching her scalp, she took a breath. "We both know what happens to new tribes under Caesar."

He looked away, perhaps he thought how her words made sense. "But I heard your employer's bleeding everyone dry, especially NCR personnel and citizens." His hand curled as he massaged each knuckle with his thumb. "And he expects NCR to protect his city while he bleeds them dry? It's not Caesar's way, but it's a slow, painful death all the same."

Swinging a stick idly, she took a moment to think before asking him a question."Would that happen if NCR didn't insist on annexing New Vegas?" Joshua returned his gaze on her. "NCR's too focused on spreading its territory but they don't see what actually happens. If there's a slow, painful death, the top brass has brought it upon themselves. Besides..." On the ground with the stick, she began drawing the platinum chip which Mr. House had entrusted her with. "Everybody can develop a gambling addiction, or any other kind of addiction." With her chip done, an idea entered her mind, gasping at her own surprise because she had never thought of that before. "If you'd like, I can ask Mr. House to let Followers of the Apocalypse open a ward for gamblers. May not be a successful attempt, but I can always try again."

"He doesn't mind them?" His posture perked up slightly.

"Not at all. He's got almost no interest in them and lets them be. In fact, one of them wanted me to bug his mainframe, and I did—out of curiosity." She paused, taken back to how thrilling it felt—Victor out of sight as she had crawled to the terminal, attempting to poke fun at her new boss. She had wetted her lips from side to side with her tongue in anticipation, heart racing when she had pressed the final key to send the bug.

"Did you succeed?"

Her eyes fluttered when his question snapped her back to the present. "Um, no, it was unsuccessful. When I came clean, he was dismissive about it because he said his technology was more advanced and he forgave me." She shrugged. "He teaches me a lot of things and he listens to me, even if sometimes the result wasn't exactly to his liking."

There was only an empty hum from him, probably still not convinced. She understood. He had his own image and perception of her boss, and he wasn't the most flexible man. But she believed in her centuries-old bossman, and whatever he said or was going to say about him would never change her mind. Maybe we're both inflexible. But this wasn't an argument—she wanted to keep talking.

"It's not that I dislike NCR, you know. Mr. House and I don't want to get rid of 'em. It's just that I happen to agree with his ways and I've become some kind of his second in command."

The conversation lulled. He stared at the weakening fire before adding a few dried leaves. His hand stretched out to her, borrowing her stick. "Hasn't it occurred to you that you're currently living in my past experience?"

"What do you mean?"

"I trusted Edward that way, and he did me. We both taught each other many things, and he listened to me the way Mr. House listens to you. There were arguments and conflicts, but in the end we worked together. For decades." He looked at her. "And look where I am now."

She hugged her legs and rested her chin on her knees. "I see where you're coming from. But we're not trying to ravage tribes or citizens. And if I fail, he won't try to kill me or have a personal mission to make my life miserable," she said flatly. A fact she didn't hesitate to say. "Benny betrayed him big time—I'm talking about overthrowing here, and Mr. House only wanted me to get what was his, in ways that were completely up to me." She turned her head to him. "Not specifically burn and throw Benny down the Grand Canyon."

When he averted his gaze to the bandages that wrapped around his hand, she closed her mouth and clenched her jaw. Her brief disregard of his pain and experience just to state a fact had shamed her. She threw her shoulders back, hand on her nape. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. I was just trying to give you an example."

A gust of wind sent spoons clattering onto the ground, the fire flickering out. Alix sighed, flicking her lighter to revive the flames. Joshua rose without a word, gathering the scattered spoons.

"What is he like?" He asked when he sat back down. I sometimes wonder how he looks like, being a human from the old world. Is he a ghoul without rasps in his voice?"

She flashes a bashful smile."This is gonna sound funny to you, but I actually don't know either." He raised his brows and stared, making her cast her gaze down. "I've been... talking to a giant interface the whole time, or a securitron if he takes over one."

"And you're his second in command?"

"I knew you'd find it hard to believe." She rustled her hair in slight frustration. "Maybe if the situation here's done, I can take you to Lucky 38 and see him—the interface of him. Or you know, meet Hanlon. I think you both would get along, after setting the differences aside."

He hummed and leaned on his side. "Do you see Hanlon often?"

"From time to time. I look for him every time I want to know insider stories about NCR. Gives me a lot of insights."

He nodded. "I don't think our situation here's resolvable within a short time, unfortunately," he said, his tender eyes on her. "But I like the idea of travelling with you. And meet the people in your life."

She beamed, her cheeks flushed but she hoped the fire would cover it. She, too, loved the idea of their travelling together. But when the time came, could he really let go of his family? Would he be willing to go back to Mojave and helping her assist Mr. House?

"Having a cup of warm tea with Hanlon doesn't sound so bad either. If he doesn't attack me on sight, that is."

She planted her palms on her knees, not liking the idea of their fighting together. "I'll make sure he doesn't. I...I think he'll listen to me."

Doubt plagued her, and his mirthless smile showed his awareness. She might have helped him, but Hanlon wasn't Mr. House. The Ranger chief might laugh off the idea of them sharing stories together and give her a chance to walk out before he readied himself to shoot them both. On the other hand, she held on to the hope that the mischievous chief was magnanimous enough to set the past aside and welcome him as a new friend. Each time he spoke about Joshua, she sensed a hint of admiration from him—the way he chuckled at the Malpais Legate's victorious feats and fondness in his voice knowing how the legate had stood up straight and strong when his men had tried to kill him.

"I think I understand why Hanlon has good things to say about you still, other than 'the menacing toughest son of a gun.'"

He quietly laughed at Hanlon's comment. "How so?"

"Well, you're very capable. Then and now. Which is more impressive when we talk about now because you have to deal with pain every single second, every single day."

"You think too highly of me." He shook his head. "Sometimes I let my emotions drive me."

"Yeah, you can be that. Hanlon also told me you're not a brilliant strategist. Sorry. But I can't blame you, really. Ignoring pain is already a heck of a work, and you still need to do and think about other things."

"Well, you're very kind."

She rocked herself backward and forward, comforting herself from the effect of what she wanted to say. "But really, you have something about you that hook people in. I was... You... had that effect on me." She cast her gaze on his eyes—no longer pure sky blue. The yellow embers reflected on them tugging back and forth. "And your eyes are the cherry on the cake. They're so blue. Either I—uhm—somebody, feels like they can bask in them or be sunk down into an unforgiving billows of the sea."

"Unforgiving billows of the sea? Hm."

His eyes crinkled in amusement. Oh, God, I actually said that. Heat rushed to her face as she buried it in her arms, cursing herself for reading too many of Mr. House's romance novels.

"Sorry, don't know what's gotten into me. Probably too much cave fungus."

"Don't apologize. I find your honesty delightful," he said as she heard him rise, walk, and sit beside her. "Can't say I regret getting away from the camps for a while, although I ended up cooking." A chuckle tickled her throat at his playful complaint. "I needed that. Thank you."

His fingers ran softly through her hair. Her eye glanced sideways, peeking. Her racing heart made her clutch herself tighter.

"'The merciful man doeth good to his own soul: but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh.' Lately I've forgotten to be kind to my own soul, but you're bringing me back."

"I'm... just glad I could help."

"This has been a good evening. And since you find my eyes captivating, I believe it's going to be one of the greatest in a while."

"Ugh please stop. Let's forget about all that, it's embarrassing me now," she said almost inaudibly.

She felt his hand brush her upper arm and jerked to look. He slid his hand downwards, taking her hand in his. He held her gaze.

Her heart pounded. "What?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

His blackened, coarse hand enveloped hers—cold, damp with sweat. "Thank you. For asking me to spend the evening with you."

She wanted to freeze this moment in time. His touch and the sight of his hand enveloping hers sent a flush of warmth and happiness. A hair-rising-looking man in front of her who had lost control and showed brutishness now at his gentlest. Who knew what would happen when his 'fallen moments' came back? Would it come back when he learned the truth?

Swallowing, she remembered about the truth. One she had kept buried. Knowing how he had softened this moment, she thought that perhaps this was a good time to reveal it.

"Joshua, I have to tell you something. I..."

Her following words scorched her throat, stopping her from saying them completely. The moment was too fortuitous to be ruined by her secret. She had never felt this close to him before. It was already a win for her to get him alone, eating, not thinking about training the tribesmen, not serious nor intense, not chewing her out. And she had found him holding her hand with his gentle eyes on hers—gentleness she hadn't had seen for weeks.

"I um..."

I let the man who formed White Legs live should be easy to say. But they kept getting caught in her throat. Cursing, she berated herself for not having the guts to do it. It's just one sentence!

"You...?" Joshua's voice cut in half. "You have something to tell me but you seem to be somewhere else," he teased.

She dropped her gaze, chuckling under her breath—at her own cowardice. "I..." She settled on another truth—one easier to admit, yet just as deeply buried. "I like being alone with you, and I like who you are. You're... someone special to me."

Although they were no more than one feet apart, with how he was holding her hand, she couldn't figure out if he reciprocated her feelings. Follows-Chalk would never let her hear the end of this. If he saw them now, he'd tease her relentlessly. But she never was entirely sure of his feelings. He might see her just as a young person in need of guidance and mentorship due to circumstances. He might even see her as a daughter figure, knowing his estimated age. She wasn't brave enough to look him back in the eye.

He got up on his knees and stroked her hand. "I'm glad." He softly kissed her palm. "I feel the same."

She held her breath. As her cheeks burned, she burst into whisper, "Really?"

"Can't you tell from my eyes?"

Frowning, she didn't understand what he meant. But when he pulled her closer, she took a careful look: enlarged pupils crowding out his irises. She inhaled sharply. How come I've never noticed? In relaxed situations, whenever they found themselves alone, darkness nearly overtook the shade of blue; now more than ever.

"Since I can't always see yours, I was always worrying about not being subtle." He chuckled.

"I-I'd never realized until now." Her face lit up.

"Didn't you say my eyes are so blue?"

"Well... My mind was always thinking of something else."

He clasped her other hand on his. "Alix." The name sounded sweet in her ears. "Whenever you're away, I've found myself looking for you. Lately I wasn't happy when I couldn't see you, especially when you kept your distance away from me. At first I thought it was impatience, but it wasn't." He smiled, shaking his head. "No, I think it's been longer than that. I... get apprehensive every time you journeyed alone, that's when I realize I have someone I deeply care about that I can't afford to lose."

A contented sigh left her lips. "Joshua, y-you—I-uh." She took a breath to form a proper sentence, but she was cut short by the sudden warmth around her. His arms pulled her head onto his shoulder, she was sure he could feel her thundering heart now. She melted into his embrace, savoring the smell of his gauze. His breath stirred her hair, his heartbeat drumming against her ear.

"Um... What are we gonna do next? About us? Are we..."

He released her, kissing her hand once more before rising. "We should head back. It's getting late." He helped her stand up and in turn asked her to help him pack up.

"But—" She stopped when he rubbed her cheek.

"Listen, I don't have the answer now, but we'll talk about this some other time. I promise you."

She looked down and nodded in sweet surrender. His answer didn't satisfy her—but for now, the warmth bubbling delight in her chest were enough.