Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anodyne

Adjective
1. relieving or lessening pain; soothing
2. lacking zest, vigor, etc.; bland; insipid

This is Mister New Vegas, fanning the flames of your passion. If you like news, then you're gonna love our next segment.

Whether or not anyone else wanted to hear it, the dial on the barely functional radio was cranked up by the ghoul and gun-for-hire Beatrix. The higher volume made the radio rattle a little when the announcer spoke but this was all part of the ghoul woman’s ploy.

A package courier found shot in the head near Goodsprings has reportedly regained consciousness, and has made a full recovery. Now that is a delivery service you can count on.

“Shit, you hear that, Arcade?”

“Yes, Miss Russell, I’m sure everyone in Freeside heard it at that volume.” he sneered.

Arcade had fallen for her game again, and the ghoul cackled. She was determined to keep herself entertained at her post in the Old Mormon Fort. A little exasperation was leagues more interesting than staring at the wooden gates for hours on end. She had made a regular target of the Follower researcher, much to his dismay, because it wasn’t like she wasn’t interrupting anything ‘important’, like one of the ‘actual’ doctors. Arcade didn’t bother arguing with her about the importance of his work - he’d have to believe in what he was doing first.

You know I think all news, whether it's good or bad, brings us closer together. Don't you?

The ghoul then turned the radio down again, so the music was barely audible to anyone else but her. Still, just the idea that someone could survive and recover from being shot in the head was something interesting to think about. It was something to muse and mull over while writing up lacklustre experiment results. The package courier in the headline sounded more mutant than human, Gannon had seen plenty of others succumb to far milder injuries all the time, even recently as earlier in the week.

He pondered about the omitted details, like the gun and bullet type, the distance fired and where the bullet landed. How was the wound treated, and what did the brain look like? Human brains were complex and delicate things, even someone without his access to Pre-War medical journals and books could figure that out.

Eventually Arcade would run out of possibilities to think about, just as Beatrix would find another way to entertain herself. Strange things happened in the Mojave all the time, and the loud headline was filed away as a memory for everyone in the Fort.

* * * * * *

But as the Goodsprings patient was dug up from a shallow grave, the memory would not stay buried for long either. The package courier would arrive at the Old Mormon Fort around a week later.

Arcade had met, or at least had seen, a fair share of caravaneers and mercenaries, The Followers of the Apocalypse often hired outside services, including package delivery. He hadn’t overheard any packages heading out of the fort in some time... Supplies had been low and sending out dwindling supplies could mean a lot of preventable deaths. All walks of life, from washed up tourists to regular locals would utilise the services of the Followers.

So when Arcade saw what looked like a veteran ranger - an elite soldier absorbed into the NCR’s army, toting a large rifle, he kept to himself at the back of the encampment. A high profile soldier like that could only mean trouble, or at the very least extortion of what little supplies the Followers had left. However when the ‘ranger’ moved around the fort talking to patients as well, his interest was piqued. On closer inspection the armour only had a passing resemblance to the ‘black armour’ the veterans wore. There was no bearish regalia to be seen, and a stencilled ‘06’ on the chestplate’s gorget. Almost like a bootleg version of the real thing. They also sported a Pip-Boy 3000, a model shipped to most of the Mojave area vaults.

Then he noticed the Eyebot trailing behind them. Suddenly keeping to himself wasn’t enough - he really needed to hide. But he couldn’t look like he was trying to hide, because that would be even more suspicious. If it was an actual ranger with a Duraframe bot, maybe it had data that could link to him and the others… He tucked himself in the corner of the research tent he was in, busy ‘reading’ a book he could hide behind and peek out from.

When the ranger was within eavesdropping distance, he introduced himself as ‘Courier Six’ to one of the other Followers. The Courier asked lots of questions (and listened to lots of answers), all information, even the mundane seemed to carry the same amount of importance. The delivery boy sounded young, but not adolescent young. He seemed eager to offer help any way he could, but that didn’t soothe Arcade’s pressing concerns about the Enclave robot hanging behind him like a bad smell.

A quick glance couldn’t discern any real physical features though, besides height - everything else was hidden under the mask and duster. He could be a freshly turned glowing one under all that gear. It was mildly entertaining, although a little sad, to watch him dart around the camp, talking to anyone who would respond. Though as Arcade continued to eavesdrop, it became evident that this courier was the one who got shot in the head. Twice, apparently, by a man named Benny. Probably the same man running The Tops Casino. Maybe the mask was to hide the injury’s aftermath.

Gannon hoped the delivery boy would be tired out from chewing everyone's ears off before reaching the back tents. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone, lest not some brain damaged package courier and his pet Eyebot. Thorough in talking to everyone, and despite Arcade’s invisible protests behind his book, the nosy Courier made his way over.

“Oh, you're that courier, aren't you? The one who got mixed up with Benny over at the Tops. Sounds like messy business.”

The Courier reached at his forehead with one of his hands, fingers placed near the edge of his gas mask, almost as if instinctively sheltering the wound.

“News travels fast.” he said.

“If you're looking for medical help, try the other doctors.” Arcade rubbed at his own forehead, as if gesturing at the injury that the other man had. “I'm just a researcher. Not even a particularly good one.”

“What kind of research?” he sounded audibly interested, and his head tilted like a confused puppy.

“Oh, you know. Finding alternative treatments for common illnesses and injuries. Stimpaks out of barrel cacti and other fantastic improbabilities. As far as fruitless wastes of time go, it's quite noble in its aims.”

"Well what are you trying to achieve with your research?" The Courier asked, more or less sounding genuine in his interest.

"For the past hundred years or so, the Followers have managed to get by using salvaged medical supplies from the Old World. But the side effect of medical success is that more people live longer." Arcade explained. "Funny how that works. Eventually, we'll run out of hospitals to loot. We need new ways to produce those supplies. Or maybe old ways, if this research goes anywhere."

So far it had been a complete waste of time, with page after page of reports only confirming it.

“I could help if you wanted. I could collect some plant samples for you, or maybe I could help you in some other way?”

"Me, specifically? No. I'm sure Julie Farkas could use the help, though. Lab coat, pointy hair. Answers to the name 'Julie Farkas' - strangely enough." Arcade brushed off the offer for help, instead directing him back to his manager for something to do.

There was no shortage of nearby cactus for him to sample. He didn't need someone else doing it for him. It was the only time he really went anywhere else.

"I'm sure she can find something for you to do." he continued, and the Courier idly twiddled his thumbs, almost as if he had become apprehensive. "It might be kind of... depressing and terrible, though. Caveat Samaritanus."

Samaritan, beware. If he was as helpful as he said he would be, plenty of dangers awaited him. The Courier visibly twitched when he spoke Latin - maybe he had already had a run in with the Legion’s forces. With that getup, they probably took a few shots at him already.

Between Legion spies, the NCR only caring about its own, and the other daily horrors of the Wasteland flowing in, Freeside had more than its fair share of problems. Tensions had only escalated in recent months too. It was a complicated series of external and internal problems with no simple direct solution for any of them.

But Arcade didn't have the means to tackle any of those issues directly, anyway. The best he could do was trying to make new medical resources. Julie could send the delivery boy to try and patch up some of the problems that more directly affected the Followers.

"You don't sound… all too enthusiastic about your research though."

As they continued to talk the Courier seemed increasingly nervous, a palpable contrast compared to how he spoke with the others, or even to the beginning of their conversation. But with his expressionless mask, the Follower had no discernible idea why.

"I'm enthusiastic about helping people, but nihil novi sub sole." Arcade said.

The Courier noticeably tensed again, like the Follower had zapped him with a jolt of static electricity.

"That's Latin… right? The language the Legion speaks sometimes?"

Arcade sighed. At the mailman knew what the language was called.

"Caesar can cite Cato to suit his purpose. Many people have spoken Latin. Some of them were quite pleasant." He explained, fondly remembering the books and movies he studied relating to the dead language - and the very dead actors and authors who would know the language far better than he ever would. "It's unfortunate that the language is now associated with the gentlemen across the river."

They pronounced it strangely too. The bulk of the Legion didn't care for semantics.

"Like… for the names of animals and plants… sometimes…" The Courier mumbled quietly, as if he was speaking to himself. He rubbed and twisted his fingers together, practically spelling out his anxiety. What was he so afraid of?

Before Arcade could agree with the softly spoken addition, he asked another question.

"What does it mean? The latin phrase you said."

"Oh. Sorry." The Follower supposed his present company couldn't translate. "'There is nothing new under the sun'. If agave and mesquite were that miraculous, the locals would have figured it out a few thousand years ago."

His visitor nodded in agreement.

They spoke for a time about where Arcade learnt Latin, and while the doctor was curious about where the delivery boy had read or heard the language outside the Legion's use of it, he didn't want his guest to stick around for too long. There was a dull report to finish writing up. They also talked about his research some more, and general medical affairs of the Wasteland, and the other man seemed to steel himself a bit, or at least relax a bit.

“Why don’t you come with me?” The Courier asked abruptly.

Arcade blinked. Did this complete stranger just ask him to travel together? Was he born yesterday, or on another planet? Had the bullet scrambled his common sense? All he knew about the Courier was that he was shot by a high profile member of the Strip (which was both a high liability and highly suspicious). He could be a rampaging murderer who ate his victims, or worse, in cohorts with the Legion.

The Eyebot certainly made things worse for the Courier’s suggestion.

“No offence intended, but why should I go anywhere with you?”

“It beats sitting around here all day, doesn't it?” The Courier half flailed, half gestured his arms in some sort of flustered shrug. This did not strengthen his offer. At all.

“Uh, probably not. Until things settle down around here, alleviating my boredom isn't a good motive to leave. Sorry.”

“Right. Sorry." he pointed the fort's gates with his thumbs. "I’ll get going then.”

The way the Courier made a beeline for the exit made him expect to not ever see the Mojave Express worker again. That suited Arcade just fine, but it would eventually become the first expectation of many to be broken by the other man.

Chapter Text

I, with none beside,
save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,
still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun

Virgil, Eclogues 2 (translation by J. B. Greenough)

Like he had said to the inquisitive package courier days ago, if barrel cacti had the ability to become the active ingredient for a new stimpak, its pharmaceutical benefits would have been discovered thousands of years ago. So far the only fruit of his research (beside himself and the ones off the cacti) was that it could be selectively bred to taste better or to hold more nutrients. Any decent farmer would know the same without his equipment. The next thing to do would be to test the viability of the fruit fluid to improve stimpak absorption, but that was a whole experiment in itself. He would need test specimens, and eventually trials on willing human subjects - which was far more hands-on than anything he was doing beforehand.

Before he could draft up another experiment and hypothesis he needed to refill his canteen. A hydrated brain was the best first step, he decided. That’s when he saw the delivery boy again, still distinctively anonymous in his not-quite ranger gear. The Courier gave a friendly wave when he noticed Arcade staring at him. Arcade figured that ignoring him would only encourage him to pester him, so he waved a participatory wave back and meandered to the water faucet. The Courier had human company this time.

It was hard to ignore the scribe who was excitedly conversing alongside the Courier. She was wearing a partial set of Brotherhood power armour and holding an open crate of chems, Med-X and RadAway from a quick glance. The Courier then presented the crate to Julie, who graciously accepted their donation. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying from the distance he was at, but the extra supply boost was a welcome relief. Both the Courier and the Brotherhood scribe made their exit afterwards, but not before the Courier waved goodbye at him specifically.

The water overfilled his canteen and lapped at his hand.

Did the Eyebot belong to the scribe then? The Brotherhood snatched up tech like that all the time, even that model wasn’t technically Pre-War. It seemed to be following the delivery boy specifically though, like a loyal dog at heel. He tried to logically tie the three together somehow, but nothing made sense even when accounting for the unknowns. The Brotherhood was notoriously shy in these parts, the Eyebot had a Illinois number plate welded onto it and the Courier donated supplies worth hundreds of caps just because he said he would.

If any of them were after him in particular, they would have hunted him or the others down by now, right? Why did he feel like he had a laser sight pointed on him? Why had the Courier paid attention to him, of all the people here?

* * * * * *

Back at his desk, Arcade took a sip of his canteen, starting a fresh page in his notebook. Julie, trying her best not to interrupt him, wordlessly set down a lunchbox with a handwritten note labelled ‘for the lovely blond doctor doing research’. Not her handwriting. She already knew better.

“Did someone make me lunch?” he asked.

“It was in the supplies the Courier dropped off for us. I told them the ‘lovely blond doctor’ had a name too.” she wiggled her fingers in parenthesis.

She unlatched the container for him, as if to reassure him it was not filled to the brim with explosives. Or lunch. He kind of hoped it was a nice packed lunch, even this early in the day. Maybe with little cut up sandwiches…

Inside the lunchbox were dozens of small vials, each vial was numbered and housed a different plant sample. Some vials had become opaque with condensation on the inside. A larger note indexed where each plant was collected, marked on a map that looked traced off a Pip-Boy.

The botanical samples weren’t limited to cacti either, larger samples had multiple vials for roots, leaves, flowers and seeds. Others included notes had the names of the plants too, with crossed out question marks amended by another set of handwriting. Some of the samples had a rough sketch of what the main plant looked like too. It was all meticulously and well thought of - even if he had brushed off the Courier’s help before.

“Ah, I can’t eat this.” Arcade joked, holding up one of the vials. “...I didn’t ask him to do this, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Just make sure to thank him next time he comes by." Julie chided. "He said he would drop some more supplies off for us.”

Arcade looked through the other bits of paper, which mostly were notes about the samples, but tucked at the bottom was a letter scrawled on what looked like a page fallen out of a duodecimo book. It had the same writing as the other notes.

I’m sorry for making a bad first impression. And I know you told me you didn’t need these, but I’m still hoping they help. Veronica (she’s a Brotherhood scribe so she has access to a lot of books and research I could only dream of) helped me with some of it. I do a lot of travelling so if you ever want more samples - or need the services of a friendly courier just let me know.

Signed, Courier Six. There was a little smiley face drawn next to his name. It seemed too extravagant for an advertising ploy. He flipped the page over, which was the title page of a book ‘Eclogues - complete works with translations’. Virgil. That surely had to be a weird coincidence. The edge of the paper didn’t have any tears, so it had probably fallen out of its original book, not been torn from.

* * * * * *

Arcade had mostly kept to himself since his transfer to his current post at the Old Mormon Fort a while back. The locals recognised him as the quiet science type not to adventure out much from his station in the couple of years he had been there. It wasn't much of a reputation, but it meant less attention. Regulars had long since given up asking him any questions not pertaining to his research.

He hadn't been in the Vegas area when the organisation had first set up in the fort before that, not long after the dust had settled in 2274. The Followers of the Apocalypse still had official NCR backing at that point, and could afford to spread into where the Republic had extended its Mojave campaign. It was like Vegas had been given a deadly renovation just in time for the army to show up.

Naturally, he wondered if any of his colleagues had met that odd package delivery worker prior to his first visit a few days ago. Supplies still had to come in somehow, even if it was never enough to cover what they needed. Couriers had a reputation for not staying in places for too long, but if he was from or frequented the area, surely someone would know or recognise him.

Emily Ortal, another Follower had come to visit Farkas a few hours after the Courier had left. Julie was the regional administrator, and plenty of their colleagues came to see her in person from time to time for whatever reason. Ortal and Gannon's roles in the organisation aligned as medical researchers, but didn't overlap all that much as Emily had been assigned electronic applications in their shared field.

"Ever dealt with any couriers, Emily?" he asked.

"Sure." she admitted. "They're the most reliable way to get critical hardware components from place to place."

"Ever met one that called himself 'Courier Six'?"

"Can't say I have. I think would remember one with a name like that. Why do you ask?"

Researcher to researcher, Arcade described the odd delivery boy who had graced the adobe walls of the regional hub. He omitted the details about the aforementioned Courier taking an interest in him, like the lunchbox and asking to travel with him. Her facial expression completely changed when Benny was mentioned to have tried to kill said Courier. She looked both guilty and exacerbated.

"You got to be at least a little strange to be a courier, I reckon. It's dangerous work." Emily acknowledged, hiding behind her reasoning.

"Don't go bad-mouthing the guy, you two. He seems like a real sweetheart." Farkas interrupted.

Julie did have the reputation of seeing the best in everyone, even oddities in the delivery service.

"I'm not trying to. He just seemed a little bizzare." Arcade retorted.

The Wasteland was full of oddities though, too many he knew the specific origins of, but there was something unusual about the even-numbered courier in particular.

Chapter Text

'When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."'

Fred Rogers

It had been another mostly uneventful day. He had watched idly as people came in for treatment or a check up with one of the doctors. No one had gotten particularly aggressive after a bad drug trip and no one had tried to hustle or scam anything for once. Arcade had finished his list of experiment write ups for the day, and packed up his work in time to watch the gloam. He stood in the courtyard, sipping at a cellar-cooled Nuka-Cola while he stared at the ground. He leaned up against the fort's walls, old even by Pre-War standards, warmed by sunshine. Watching the unmoving dirt, he mulled over the day's work, and thought about what he needed to do tomorrow.

Keeping a low profile was so damn boring. More boring than he had been told to be. Anything that could actually help the people of the Vegas region was out of his reach. It was too risky for him, and the others, for him to do something bolder or more hands on. He didn't have the access or the charm to actually do anything around here. It was like bandaging the same unhealing wound. Maybe he would have been better off staying in the NCR, with the resources the Followers had there instead of moving out here with his Remnant family. At least it would feel like he was helping somebody.

But they were all he had left. The only people who would ever really know him properly, proverbial warts and all.

The toe caps of boots entered his vision, disturbing the still sand he had been staring at between sips. Peering up he saw the Courier, still in the same getup. He had his head facing down to look at the patch of dirt Arcade had been zoning out in. It was just him this time, no Eyebot or Brotherhood scribe to be seen.

“Hello, again. Still in one piece, I see.” Arcade took a sip of his cola as the helmet visor faced him head on. “Thanks for the plant samples too. They ought to keep me busy for a while.”

“I suppose you'd be too busy to reconsider my offer to travel with me?” his voice cracked a little, as if he was nervous to ask again. “I think we could really make a difference out there. Together.”

“The last time you asked, you didn't exactly wow me with your pitch. What have you got for me this time?”

More curiosity than necessity, The Courier had already proved himself a friend of the Followers and Arcade had heard good things about him ‘along the grapevine’. He just felt like toying with him a little bit while he was on his lonesome. Maybe Beatrix's antics were rubbing off on him.

The Courier smacked his palm above Arcade’s right shoulder. A bit startled, he thought the Courier might be trying to intimidate him. Which didn’t fit his altruistic streak and he wasn't as tall as him. Then, he sunk in close, placing his other hand on the left hand side so his wrist grazed at his neck. In better light he might have been able to see the glint of the Courier’s eyes under the red tinted visor.

He would later wish he had.

“I need a good-looking doctor to help take care of me in the big, bad wasteland.” The Courier’s voice was low and sultry.

Not an intimidation tactic, clearly. Arcade could feel heat flush to his face. It had been a while since he had been flirted with, especially like that.

“Overt flirtation will get you everywhere, you know.” he felt the corners of his mouth form a smile. “On a slightly more serious note, if you're helping out with the troubles plaguing Freeside, I can come with you.”

The Courier nodded, slowly backing off. Arcade supposed it would be too much to ask to have him stay like that a bit longer, or to have him hold his chin up close. Maybe pay him another compliment or two. It didn’t even bother him that he had no idea what he looked like if he talked like that.

“Just don't do anything obnoxious, like trying to help Caesar's Legion, and we should be fine. Understood?” Arcade added.

“Considering how much I’ve already pissed them off, I doubt they’d even let me close enough to even try.”

That definitely piqued Arcade’s interest, sensing the undertones of a boast. He took one last sip at his drink, placing the empty bottle in a pyramid he had slowly been building over the last few weeks against the wall. One for each day he had his afternoon refreshment.

“I’ve got a few odd jobs to do before it gets too late.” The Courier spun toward the entrance gate, a noticeable new confidence in his posture. “Should we head out?”

“Lead the way.”

* * * * * *

“So. Arcade. Tell me about yourself.”

The two men walked parallel to one another outside the gates to the Old Mormon Fort. The Courier had tucked his hands into the pockets of his duster, trying to appear more casual or aloof as they both meandered along Freeside’s streets. Which seemed counterproductive considering how well armed he looked. Everyone who had lived in or known about the NCR knew about the rangers.

Arcade didn't make a habit of going outside the confines of the fort without company, especially after dark. Soon enough the street lights would flicker on to replace the last embers of sunlight. Then he would appreciate the company of a well armed escort.

“I'm really very boring. You'd get better stories out of a Freeside junkie.”

“Who told you that?” The Courier's tone seemed defensive, like he had gotten offended on Arcade's behalf.

But there had been plenty of people who had said he was boring or very boring over the years. Colleagues, ex-boyfriends and ex-lovers, people he had considered a friend. If he took the time to really reflect on it, the line between whether he actually thought himself as boring, or it being something he just accepted as fact blurred a long time ago.

“About the junkies? We get a lot of them coming through for medical help. Sometimes just giving them a safe place and clean equipment is enough to save a life.”

Deflection was second-nature for the doctor, and what he did, and who he was, did seem ineffectual and dull compared to the struggles and hardships of the locals. Even the Courier's story of survival seemed like an epic tale compared to the drug fuelled hallucinations he had the misfortune of being told about. He knew that what was ‘interesting’ or ‘boring’ was highly subjective and personal. But it was a lot safer to be ‘boring’. There wasn't an expectation to live up to, and it made him less likely to stand out.

For whatever reason, he stood out to the odd package delivery boy.

“That's not what-” The Courier started, visibly and audibly tensing up. “I'm asking you because I'm interested. Don't put yourself down.”

“Oh, all right. I'm thirty-ish.” he paused, remembering his recent thirty-fifth birthday, putting him in the wrong side of his thirties. “Well, late thirties. I was born... west of here. I was an only child and spent most of my time with my mother.”

The Courier seemed to be paying attention. As much as one could behind that amount of gear. He gave a light nod when Arcade looked back at him.

“My father died when I was young and I never got over it. Oh... and I like medicine and reading books about failed Pre-War socioeconomic policies.” Arcade counted off the things he was mentioning about himself on one of his hands. “Right now, I'm sure you're asking yourself, ‘Why hasn't some lucky man scooped this bachelor off his feet?’ Like I said, I'm boring.”

“Well, I guess I'll have to work on that last bit.” The Courier interjected.

“You can't really fix ‘boring’.” Arcade objected.

“I don't think you're boring. I like medicine and reading too.”

“Well, what about you?” Arcade, quickly trying to steer the conversation to be not about him. “Care to give a little run down? Aside from what I already know.”

“Ah, are you wondering if it's appropriate to call me a delivery boy?”

“I mean, that would be a start.”

“Well according to my papers I'm thirty-one. It says I'm from the NCR but I don't know where. It could also be complete bullshit I put on the Mojave Express forms.” He started laughing nervously. “I really don't know. But I kinda like being called a delivery boy.”

“Wait a second, you don't remember any of those things, not even if you lied?” Arcade stopped.

“I don't even remember my own name! Courier Six is just what I have on the paperwork.”

The Courier also stopped, and rummaged through his inner coat pockets. He dug out the paperwork in question, handing it over to Arcade. Identification papers - mostly used for entering NCR towns and confirming correct delivery.

Sure enough, it just listed him as ‘Courier Six’. It wasn't like he was in any position to comment on an unusual name. Information about his height and sex seemed correct, and there were fingerprint recordings that would have been easy enough to corroborate. Fingerprints had mostly replaced photo identification due to how expensive film was to find and process in most parts. Most film production had been restricted to, or taken directly from vaults and surviving places in smaller towns. It would have been nice to see what he vaguely looked like from a photo ID though.

He handed back the paperwork. The Courier seemed to take his breakdown of personal identity with stride, though Arcade doubted that would last.

“Head trauma like yours can cause amnesia sometimes.”

“My new memories seem fine though. I'm not an expert but I believe it's 'retrograde amnesia'.” The Courier tucked the paperwork back into the inside coat pocket.

Not an expert, but certainly more familiar with medicine than most. Unless it was a diagnosis given to him by the Goodsprings doctor. It seemed his episodic memory was shattered but not his semantic memory. Although time would only tell how accurate that assessment was. Arcade could count the number of amnesia cases he read about that was strictly one type or another on one hand, and they were all recorded over two-hundred years ago. The non-physical trauma of being shot like that had to be playing an effect. He wondered if his coup lesion was still bruised.

“That’s good, about you retaining your new memories. What about things that you do know about yourself?”

“Hmm.” The Courier started walking again, and Arcade followed at heel. “I like the natural sciences, but I also like computers and robots. I like exploring and helping people.”

“That tracks.”

“Yeah. It's annoying being able to remember the name of a type of plant over your own though.”

“Doesn't stop you from choosing a name you like later on though."

“Y'know, that's pretty upbeat. Thanks Arcade.” Arcade smiled. The Courier lifted up his Pip-Boy and started to slow down his gait. “Our first job is around here.”

* * * * * *

Farkas had asked the Courier to help out some folks with addiction problems. Gannon suspected it was part of why he was asked to tag along, having a doctor around made sense for such a task. He was also curious to see how the Courier operated up close. Seeing how people interacted with others’ addiction was usually a good tell of a person's character. If he ended up being a sociopath, it was a short brisk run back to the fort.

Arcade knew of the two men she had asked to help out. He hadn't interacted with them much personally, and they hadn't been formally inducted as Followers. But like the Followers of the Apocalypse, the two were both former NCR and had been trying to help the people of Freeside. They seemed the admirable sort.

“Do you think these two might have been targeted on purpose?” The Courier asked, looking around. “Lot of hostility in Freeside at the moment.”

He wondered how he measured that amount of hostility. The delivery boy searched for signs of either man, and kept checking the coordinates entered into his Pip-Boy. He climbed up the remains of old stairs on the side of a hollowed out building. His companion tailed him.

“It's possible." Arcade replied. "Ruining someone through addiction certainly would have more of a lasting impact than just killing them. Sadly there's plenty of people who could have a motive like that.”

The Courier hummed in agreement. Death was cheap. He then slid down a pile of heaped and destroyed concrete, piled up against the other side of the remaining walls. At the bottom the shape of another man hunched over himself, and Arcade was waved over.

Arcade stood by as the Courier crouched down beside the other man, who acknowledged he was Jacob Hoff. A chemist, as if to add insult to irony. He had asked the Courier to give him some chems, which after the amount he had donated, Arcade seriously doubted he had any left to give.

“I want to help you get well, Jacob.”

Like some addicts, Jacob had denied he even had a problem. The chems made him feel good - but the symptoms he was showing weren't indicative of the usual go-to drugs of the area. He tried to think of what concoction could cause his side effects. It couldn't be just coincidence or a dodgy batch.

It made sense, although unfortunately, that people would try and escape the dismal world by any means necessary. It was why The Strip was so popular too, in its own way. But Hoff seemed at least receptive to the Courier's offer of help. There was a gentleness and sincerity to how he spoke, Arcade found.

But the Courier didn't have any Fixer, especially not in the amount he said he needed. Hoff also didn't have any of the chems he was taking left, which Arcade suspected had been asked about to try and discern what the hell he was taking. The delivery boy then asked who his supplier was. Dealer by the name of Dixon.

The Courier placed his hands into both the man's shoulders, as if to try and steady the chemist himself.

“Jacob. Be strong. You've got a bunch of people, your friends, the Followers, who all wanna see you get better. Their support will get you through this.”

The Courier’s tone was soothing and uplifting, and Arcade watched a spark in the other man’s eyes light up.

“I think you're right." said Jacob. "I've been through worse. I'll go to the fort and see if the Followers can watch over me while I recover.”

“They'll be happy to help you, Jacob.” Arcade added.

“Good luck, Jacob. Not that I think you'll need it.”

The Courier stayed crouched as Jacob made his way off to the Old Mormon Fort. He got his Pip-Boy out again, dialling through the map on its screen. Once Jacob was out of sight and out of earshot, Arcade gave a little tap on the mailman’s shoulder.

“I have to ask, did you mean all that… what you said?” Arcade asked.

“Yeah. I did.” The Courier looked up at his companion, then paused for a bit, in a moment of self-reflection. “Would be a contradiction if I didn't. I owe my own life to strangers wanting to help me.”

He bounced back up, dusting the concrete residue off his legs.

“Let’s go find our engineer then.” The Courier said.

* * * * * *

“Having Bill back to maintain the water pump will be a huge boon for Freeside." Arcade said, closely following behind his new companion. "A lot of what we end up treating at the fort is just people getting sick from dirty water.”

“How much you wanna bet that this Dixon guy is involved with him too.”

“That’s a pretty easy wager, but there’s enough gambling around here.”

“Ah, meant it more as a figure of speech, but you’re right.”

Arcade and the Courier were stopped by three men, mean looking sorts, two sporting baseball bats, one with a knife. Their intentions were not to welcome the Courier to town.

“What a shame.” Arcade pulled out his plasma defender, his fingers trigger disciplined.

He abhorred unnecessary violence, but had been wondering how the delivery boy handled himself in combat, especially in self-defence. He had overheard plenty of rumours about the Courier at the fort, and plenty more about the desert rangers. Some of the rumours sounded completely outlandish, so it would be fascinating to see if any of them were correct. The thug with the knife lunged at the Courier, but he ended up using the man’s weight against him, tripping him over flat on his back. He kicked the knife away.

Was he trying to just disarm them?

Spinning a pistol into his hand, the Courier shot at the other thug’s hand, one shot hitting the bat and the other hitting the man’s fingers. He dropped the baseball bat and went to swing a punch with his non-bloodied hand. His punch landed hard in the Courier’s abdomen, but probably did more damage to the hand as bare skin made contact with his armour's cuirass.

Arcade tried the Courier’s little disarming trick on the other thug, but the high temperature plasma just boiled away the bandit’s bare skin. His victim let out a bloodcurdling scream, falling to his knees as the melted skin burnt the wood. It would have been kinder to just put him down quickly.

“I will kill you three if you don’t stop. Now is your chance to-”

Baseball bat in bloodied hand, the blunt object whacked into the side of the Courier, pushing him back. None of them were taking his option of surrender, clearly. They probably figured the mailman had a lot of valuables on him, and killing him would give them some sort of credibility over other petty criminals. Arcade, a little rusty and momentarily forgetting what plasma rounds did to human flesh, fired another round to put him out of his misery.

The Courier pulled out a sawed-off shotgun, tucked around his hip and fired at the closest thug. Nearly at point blank range, the gauge pellets absolutely mutilating what was a human head. Bits of his brains, hair and teeth exploding outward in a macabre splat. He reloaded another gauge into the shotgun and fired at the last remaining adversary, who had retrieved his knife for a round two. Less bloody, but still decimating a few discernible features as he fell dead to the ground.

Their adversaries dead, the delivery boy stood there for a bit, silently watching the blood ooze out from the headless corpse and soak into the cracked asphalt. Arcade had no idea what he was feeling or thinking of. Sighing, he holstered his shotgun, turning to his companion face on.

“Sorry you had to see all that.” The Courier apologised.

He then crouched down and checked the men’s pockets for anything of use. They had nothing except for their weapons and the clothes on their backs. He closed the eyes on the two bodies that still had their eyes intact.

“Guess you can understand why I stay inside the fort.” Arcade joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can take you back there if you want.”

Back to being the dull and sheltered researcher.

“Do you want me to go back?” Arcade asked, unsure if it was because he melted someone’s fingers off. It would be understandable if that was off-putting.

“No. But it’s always an option. If it ever gets too much, you just let me know, 'kay?”

Arcade liked to think he had enough of a backbone to be able to stand up for himself, to say if enough was enough, but it was touching to hear. The rare, compassionate sort. He had only had a sliver of a taste of actually getting out and helping people. He wasn’t so sheltered as to not know, that the world, the Mojave, was a dangerous place. And he had seen far worse than three dead thugs bleeding out on a street.

“Alright. Thanks, delivery boy.”

“Anytime, good-looking doctor.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to wake up Bill. It’s getting pretty late.”

Though, that bloodcurdling scream probably woke everyone in a mile radius up anyway.

“I do some of my best work at night.” The Courier boasted, hands on his hips. Arcade ignored the potential euphemism.

* * * * * *

Following his Pip-Boy map, The Courier and his new companion found Bill Ronte quickly. The engineer reeked and his surroundings permeated with built up human filth and empty bottles. Arcade begun to envy the delivery boy's gas mask, trying his best not to visibly gag from the biohazardous assault on his nose.

"You seen Dixon around? He said he'd be back today." Ronte asked the Courier. He sounded intoxicated. "Oh, hey Arcade. Friend of yours?"

"Something like that." Arcaded commented, still trying to fight feeling sick. He would have to desensitise his olfactories again to the Wasteland's smells again, after being cooped back at the back of the fort for so long.

The Courier's wager was right on the money: another one of Dixon's victims. He asked about the liquor the dealer sold him. Dirt cheap and with a taste like paint thinner. The engineer had also been drinking for a month straight, saying that stopping felt like dying, but continuing also felt like death. If Arcade had to guess, he was a maybe a week or two off from one of his organs failing on him. He would have already done significant damage to his kidneys and liver.

"I swear that guy is trying to kill me, but what can I do? Drinking other booze doesn't cure the sickness like his." Ronte had approached his own condition much like an engineer would, trying a host of potential solutions. But his condition was well past being something he could manage on his own, he needed help.

"Julie Farkas sent me to help you sober up." The Courier said plain and direct.

"Julie? Ah, I love Julie." Bill sighed contently. "She's such a nice lady. One time, I was working on the water pump and she came over, put her hand on my shoulder, and told me I was doing a great job. Great job she says! I just choked up and didn't say nothing. Compliments are so rare these days."

"Well, it sounds like you do some important work here in Freeside, who wouldn't praise that? Arcade said your work with the water pump really helps people here." The Courier mentioned.

"It's true. I'm sure Julie would be happy to see you sober up and recover too." Arcade added.

"Bill, it sounds like Julie and the rest of your friends miss you. They need your help, and they can help you through this too."

Arcade nodded in agreement. The Followers could only help those who would accept their help, after all. Bill seemed convinced, acknowledging he had screwed up, and headed in the direction the fort much like Jacob did. Within the relative safety of the walls, Arcade hoped both men would recover quickly. In time some of the damage to his organs might be undone.

"Hmm. Sounds like we have a scumbag to pay a visit to." The Courier turned to Gannon.

The doctor speculated about why he felt certain affinity with his new package courier companion. Wasteland doctors and couriers both ended up doing all sorts of jobs - and fixing problems in spades, he thought. They had that in common. Before the War and secluded in organisations like the Brotherhood and the Enclave, doctors could be highly specialised, with defined roles with their own fields of study. The old postal service had couriers just deliver packages and mail. They wouldn't have worked so closely together in those circumstances.

* * * * * *

"Looking for a fix, man? I got what you need."

Dixon was a slimy looking fellow, more so than usual dealers Arcade had seen operating in Freeside. The doctor knew well that chems weren't inherently 'good' or 'bad' - stimulants like amphetamines and depressants like alcohol had their practical uses. It was frustrating seeing them sold off as one-way tickets to substance abuse, often mixed with other crap that often did more damage than the drug would.

He left the talking to the Courier, but he was tempted to chew out the thug himself. Men like Dixon represented worst of society, knowingly destroying lives for a quick cap.

"What I need is information about Bill and Jacob." The Courier declared. "Know anything about them?"

"Yeah, man. Those cats are out of their domes addicted to my shit. They can't get enough. Pretty hilarious to watch."

What an asshole, thought Arcade. He wondered if there was any ounce of empathy in the dealer's body. His companion reacted more viscerally, hands tightly balled into fists, tensing up like his hackles were raised.

"I need you to stop supplying those two." the inflection in the Courier's voice barely holding back his anger.

"Really? Aw, you're such a saint." Dixon taunted, sauntering close to the delivery boy. "You know what? I might be willing to stop if there is something in it for me."

The Courier kneed the drug dealer in the groin, swiftly dealing the something into the other man's body. He fell to the ground like a sack of bricks. Barely a dent compared to the pain his product had caused.

"So some asshole from, say, the NCR, can keep giving you shit to peddle off cheap and keep Freeside down?' The Courier pressed his boot into the other man's arm as he tried to get back up. "I don't think so." He growled.

"Wait, man! You can't go around saying shit like that!" Dixon yelped. The Courier put his other foot down on Dixon's fingers, which crunched under his heel. "Okay, I get your point! You won't have to worry about me supplying those two any more."

"Good." The Courier stepped back, and started to stroll away without another word.

Arcade scurried after his companion, noticing his own heart racing. He was surprised the Courier didn't just pull out his shotgun and shoot the dealer in the face. While his methods were still a touch violent for his tastes, he managed to solve the problem without any more death.

"I'm glad you didn't just shoot him." Arcade asserted.

"Were you… expecting me to?" The Courier asked, sounding somewhat hurt.

The Follower had been, to a certain extent. He barely knew the Courier, and this was the first time he had been witness to how he operated. He had heard rumours about package couriers 'going postal', but it wasn't like he was the only one around. There were at least five others, he joked to himself.

"Most people just settle things with cowboy diplomacy. Though you could have resolved it without hurting him… even if he deserved it."

"Don't worry, I didn't break anything." The Courier assured the doctor. "Just get real angry at people like that, getting off on ruining other people's lives." he sighed. "I promise I only use violence as a last resort."

Arcade liked the sound of that. He had a good feeling this was the start of something worthwhile. The Courier was his first-class ticket to getting out and really helping the people of the Mojave.

* * * * * *

Arcade followed the Courier as he made some actual deliveries, mostly letters addressed with names and general locations. He explained the Mojave Express didn't usually manage little things like letters, but he always passed them along if people asked him. He wandered around a lot already, so it felt more efficient. It also seemed very sweet, passing along messages for people who couldn't make the journey.

"Don't usually charge for letters, but they're only delivered if I'm in area they're addressed to." he flicked a folded piece of paper under a doorway. "I've gotten a lot of love letters recently. Mostly soldiers missing their sweethearts. Sometimes they're secret admirers."

"How can you tell they're love letters?" Arcade asked.

"Lots of love hearts drawn on 'em." The Courier pulled out another letter with scribbled hearts around the addressed name and location as an example. "Plus most folks don't use envelopes."

"Wouldn't people get upset you're reading their letters?"

"Nah. If they can't read I read it out for them sometimes. If they can't write or their handwriting is shit I write it for them." he assured. "It's not like I'm delivering official NCR documents."

"Your gear does make you look like one of their veteran rangers… though I haven't seen any of them for a few years." Arcade spelled out, in case it wasn't already obvious to him. If the news headlines were correct, they were all deployed off elsewhere. “Were you part of the Desert Rangers before they joined the NCR?”

It was about a decade ago that the Deserts Rangers were incorporated into the New California Republic. Arcade remembered seeing the giant unification statue on his way into the Mojave. The Courier peered down at his outfit, trying to remember where he got it. There were noticeable differences, but at distance they would look virtually the same.

He answered before Arcade remembered his very distinct lack of memories. The doctor wondered if any of them would ever come back. He would just have to do his best to help that recovery process.

“Wearing this… feels familiar to me… but that's all I can really tell. I dunno, sorry. If I'm the same age as my papers I woulda' been quite young before the unification.” Young but not outside the realm of possibility. He turned back to his companion. “Maybe I just found a set of old riot gear a while back. I'm sorry I don't know more.”

“It's okay, you can't help it.” Arcade replied, feeling guilty about asking. “But if you end up recovering any of your memories, you can always talk to me about them. It must be lonely not remembering or knowing anyone.”

He wasn't sure why he so freely offered that. A sense of kinship, perhaps? Gannon knew what it was like to be lonely, to be completely uprooted. But he still had his memories, both good and bad. The Courier had nothing else but a contract to fulfil. Maybe pity is why he offered.

“Sure is lonely. But I don't want to burden you with my… ramblings.” The Courier spun his hands around shyly.

Should he have mentioned he was interested in seeing and aiding his recovery? He had already mentioned he liked helping people. Brain injuries were all too common, but the delivery boy was articulated enough to properly explain how he was feeling. Arcade could even write a paper on him.

“A burden shared is a burden halved. A joy shared is a joy doubled.” Arcade declared.

"What's that from? Sounds like something someone would say in a holo-tape movie."

"It's something my mother used to say sometimes. A proverb that probably pre-dates Hollywood."

"Well, I hope I can share more joys then. World could use more of it."

Arcade smiled. The Courier seemed an optimistic and upbeat man, especially considering his circumstances. He had already witnessed the Courier ask question after question, not just to himself but others, but now he was the one with a myriad of questions he wanted to ask. 'Do you like holo-tape movies? Do you watch them on your Pip-Boy? Do you have a place to stay? What do you look like under that helmet and mask? Are we going to help more people together?'

Before he could muster up the courage or coherency to ask any of them, the Courier spoke.

"It's pretty late. I should get you back to the old fort. I'm done with my deliveries. Thanks for tagging along with me…" he paused. "I like talking to you."

Would it be off-putting if the doctor shared the same sentiment? He had forgotten how late it was. Arcade hadn't been this stimulated for a long time. The Courier appeared to be a people person, a charismatic vector Arcade could help people through.

"Do you need a place to sleep? I'm sure I could arrange something even this late."

"No, I've got a room at the Atomic Wrangler. Hopefully all the…noises… have died down by now." The Courier shuddered. "Not proud of what I did to get that room, but at least I don't have to pay a nightly rate. I do 'preciate the offer though."

Arcade immediately had more things he wanted to ask - but the bed at even that sort of establishment had to be bigger and more private than anything the Followers could provide. He bottled his questions, remaining quiet on their way back to the fort's gates. He didn't want to smother his new companion with boring and probing questions.

"This is my stop. If you need me again, just swing by. I'll let Julie know how we went tonight."

"I'll probably be back tomorrow… if that's okay?"

He wasn't sure if he meant tomorrow as in sometime after waking up, or tomorrow as in the next calendar day. Time had crept into the early ante meridiem hours already, and he didn't know if the mailman was the literal sort.

"I look forward to it" Arcade said, meaning every word.

Chapter Text

“I want to talk about everything with at least one person as I talk about things with myself.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

The delivery boy returned to the Old Mormon Fort about thirty hours later, visiting during the morning. Technically tomorrow, as he said he would. Arcade had spotted the Eyebot hovering around just outside the gates as the Courier entered. He entered the fort alone, and made a direct path to him, sitting in a chair beside his desk. Arcade had just gotten out his work for the day, mostly more paperwork and some experiment outlines. He had been hoping the Courier would drop by again in the evening for a nice change of pace from mediocrity, but hadn’t expected him back so soon, or so early in the day.

“Hey. Whatcha up to?” The Courier asked.

“Oh, just going through some paperwork. Here, you can take a look if you want.”

Arcade passed the bundles of documents toward the Courier, who flicked through with ambiguous interest. The experiment outline was testing the uptake viability of different plant fluids, including using some of the samples from the lunchbox lot. He gave back the papers, neatly stacked in the same order he received them.

“Your handwriting is better than I would have thought.”

“Hah! That’s an ancient stereotype. People have to read what I’ve written, and I don’t always have access to a typewriter.”

“It looks good. I’m glad you’re getting some use out of the samples I brought you.” he squirmed a little, before reaching into his pack to retrieve a book. “I actually have something else for you.”

He pulled out a hardcover book, the dust cover barely held together with tape. On the front it had a stylised illustration of a Protectron and the title ‘The Worker’s Revolts of 2070’s’ and subtitle ‘Finding balance in an automated world’. It was a book Arcade remembered reading back at the Boneyard university, though it had been nearly a decade since he had last read it.

It was a thorough, although centrist, look at both benefits and drawbacks of having an automated workforce, and an outline of some of the worker protests that turned deadly that decade. It relied on the reader to come up with their own conclusion rather than trying to support one side or the other. He doubted anything that outright supported the workers' fight would have ever been published then.

“Ah this is a good one.” he gave it a look over, checking what edition it was and flicking through to see if there were any missing pages. “Have you read it too?”

The Courier nodded.

“What did you think of it?” Arcade asked.

“Oh. Um. I thought it was… an interesting read, especially considering the context we live in. Whole lot of the robots that took all those people’s jobs then are still around today, whereas I doubt any of the people that lived during that time are still around.” He paused. “Unless they’re ghouls… or super mutants, I guess.”

“There’s a really great follow up to this book, well more so a follow up to these Pre-War riots, written in the early 2120’s.” Arcade found himself getting excited to talk about it. “They had a copy at the Boneyard university where I studied.”

Arcade had no idea if he was overwhelming the poor mailman, no expression to be read on his static mask. He had leant in a little closer, though. His arms crossed over the corner of the table, facing him head on.

“Sorry, you probably had better things to do than listen to me gawk about this, huh.”

“Well, I brought you the book. If it’s something you’ve already read, I’d like to hear you talk about it.” he said, matter-of-factly.

Point taken. Arcade floundered internally, thinking that must have sounded really dismissive from his end. He just wasn’t used to anyone, let alone some drifter, coming to him and wanting to talk about things that happened over a century ago. Even at the university, most of his peers didn’t make a habit of talking about the nitty gritty Arcade took interest in. Most of the medical students from his tuition were mostly focused on being able to tend to injuries and preventing illness rather than anything superfluous.

The gift wasn’t a ‘I found this and it looks like something you might like’ - it was something with thought behind it. He hadn’t given the Courier much to work with in terms of personal information either. It was touching.

“Sorry. I’d like to borrow and read this again, if you’d let me.”

“It’s a gift, Arcade. You can keep it if you want to.” he teased. “Though if you ever get your hands on that follow up book, I’d like to borrow that and read it.”

“Deal.” Arcade stashed the book in his own personal pack. “You didn’t come to visit me just to drop off this, did you?”

“If you were busy, yes.” The Courier shimmied in closer, hand at the side of his gas-mask. “I’ll let you in on a shocking little secret. It’s kinda my job to drop off stuff to people. I just happened to be the sender this time.”

Arcade chuckled, embarrassed but mostly amused. He swore that he saw the vague outline of a wink behind the red visor lens.

“I would sure enjoy your company again today. ED-E is good company but he’s not much of a talker. Real shame, would love to hear what he thought of the book.”

“Eddie? Who is Eddie?” Arcade asked.

“ED-E. Ee-dee-dash-ee. He’s my little robot friend. You seemed kinda wary of him so I left him outside.”

“There's something about that robot that doesn't seem... All right to me. I'm not saying we shouldn't take it with us.”

The Courier sat up, tilting his head. He was trying to be diplomatic about the situation. But Eyebots were all designed with specific functions in mind, and it didn’t look like a run of the mill broadcast model. It looked like an experimental combat prototype with a laser welded to the front. Maybe the Courier was living out some childhood dream like ‘RALPHIE the Robot’, but he didn’t want some contraption with facial and auditory recognition potentially selling him out.

“I'm just saying that if it were to ‘fall’ into Lake Mead and be irreparably damaged... and if you threw an EMP grenade in after it… Well, there are worse things happening in the world, right?”

"What's your problem with ED-E?" he sounded upset.

"It just seems a little twitchy. Some of these robots, you look at them the wrong way, don't screw in a vacuum tube right..." Arcade explained, making a twisting motion with his hands. "The next thing you know you're a pile of ash on the floor and someone's stepping out of a Vertibird to sweep your remains into a Nuka-Cola bottle."

"A Vertibird? Like one of those Pre-War planes? Why would they bother doing that?"

Arcade had to remind himself that the Courier was not an ordinary denizen of the Wasteland and had uncanny knowledge of technology. His personal experiences were virtually gone but not the information he had learnt about. Like a files on a terminal, the details corrupted and written in gibberish, but still open-able by software programs.

All the more reason to be wary about talking about himself or his past around him.

"It's supposed to sound ridiculous… like keeping that robot around…" Arcade floundered, struggling to divert the delivery boy's attention away from his slip of the tongue.

"That sounds kinda paranoid, Arcade." The Courier laughed.

"Does it?" he paused, quietly repeating it to himself. "Does it?"

It was impossible to tell if the Courier was convinced.

“So. Is that a yes on travelling together today?” The Courier asked.

“Right. Yes. I’ll just pack up my things and we can head out.”

* * * * * *

When Arcade announced he was ready to go out, the Courier handed him another gift, a hat and a bottle of sunscreen, with a high sun protection factor number. It was pretty obvious Arcade looked like he burnt easily, being the complexion of brahmin milk curdling in the sun.

“I’ve already put sunscreen on, but thank you.” he put the sunscreen bottle into his coat pocket and the hat over his head.

Arcade didn't make a habit of wearing hats, thinking he looked a bit silly wearing them. He put it on mostly for the Courier's sake, but the sun's glare made him thankful he had brought it along. Arcade followed the delivery boy around Freeside, and the Eyebot followed them both at a distance.

“Where are we off to today?” Arcade asked the Courier.

“Going to The King. Rotface told me he's the man to go to about Freeside's problems. I've been helping him out.”

The Courier waved to a ghoul man lounging outside Mick and Ralph's. The ghoul was wearing a stylish hat, and waved back.

“Did you give him a hat too?” the doctor asked.

“No idea where he got that hat. He didn't have it last time I talked to him.”

Arcade and his new companion made their way to the King's School of Impersonation. The Courier's body language changed ostensively when they entered, like the first time they met, right before he asked Arcade to join him on his travels. It couldn't be the air-conditioning.

"Man, I'm hungry." one of the gang members lamented. "I'd give anything for a Fancy Lad."

The Courier leant against the counter across from him flirtatiously. His eyebrows were probably waggling under his mask. Arcade rolled his eyes. Neither of them had a chance in hell with any of the Kings, between the delivery boy looking like a bootleg NCR ranger and most of the members being painfully heterosexual. Or completely out of his league.

"Y'know, I clean up pretty well." The Courier alluded, though Arcade had no idea if he was being truthful or not.

"Wait, I mean- you know what I mean!" he backed off. "Personal space meaning anything to you, guy?"

"Oop. Sorry." and like a light switch, all the suaveness left his companion's body and an awkward mess emerged. He scuttled toward the back room, where The King awaited him. Arcade followed, avoiding eye contact with the group hanging out in the lobby. Before he could enter, the Courier was stopped by Pacer, the King's right hand man, who pulled him aside.

"Hey there, I heard that NCR soldier lady told you some wild story about them sending a messenger to us to work out some deal." The Kings second-in-command told the delivery boy, making himself a physical barrier between him and the inner door. "That's bullshit, and it's nothing to bother the King with. More like they sent someone to spy on us and he wasn't tough enough to last in Freeside. So do everyone a favor and keep your mouth shut about it, okay?"

He shot a glare toward Arcade, as if to tell him wordlessly not to get involved. The Follower wouldn't need to. Pacer's threatening aura and message had no effect on the Courier. He slipped under the weak barrier of an arm against the wall.

"I still think he should know about it." he shrugged, not caring about what Pacer said in the slightest.

"That's a shame. Well, do what you want. Just don't expect it to matter." the man in the jailbird outfit trudged out with a few other members in tow.

"What exactly did you get up to yesterday?" Arcade whispered to the Courier.

"Well in the early hours of morning I hung out with this Follower doctor, blond hair, glasses. Nice fellow. You're a dead ringer for him too, actually."

"Ha. Ha."

"After that… Hmm… I slept most of the day. Had some noodles when I woke up. Spent the evening brokering peace between the locals and the NCR."

"Just another day for you?"

"I've had worse. I actually swung by the fort for a bit, but you had fallen asleep at your desk."

"Oh… oops." Arcade rubbed at his neck, embarrassed. After their debut caper, he had found it hard to fall asleep on his return. Hopefully the Courier was the only one who saw him zonked out. It might have explained why his glasses were safely folded on his desk and not embedded into the side of his face or on the ground.

"You interested in what I get up to, Arcade?" The Courier asked, discernibly pleased with the fact.

"And if I was?"

"I'll tell you what. Let's make a deal. I'll tell you everything I've been up to, and you can do the same for me."

That was not a fair deal for the Courier, but Arcade's curiosity would be sated.

"Quid pro quo. Alright. But you'd be getting a whole lot of 'today I looked at plant cells under a microscope' and 'the ghoul guard pranked me again'."

The delivery boy chuckled.

"Deal. I'll catch you up once we've finished today's job." he opened the door to the back room, not letting himself get distracted by another conversation.

Right after opening the back door, his companion spun around and snatched back the hat he had lent to him.

"Can we use our words next time?" The Follower hissed under his breath, startled.

"Sorry. Rex doesn't like hats." he pointed to the canine in question, sitting nearby the King. "The dog over there." said hat was shoved into his bag.

Arcade recognised the cyberdog from when the King had brought him to the Followers for medical attention a few months ago.

People often brought in their pets to the Followers for check ups time to time. Happy dogs, their tails wagging and their ears perked especially would improve the overall morale at the fort. However, Rex had to be restrained the last time he was brought in. He had bit one of his colleagues and was almost shot at the guards. His master had gotten so upset at the news of his deteriorating condition, that he ended up throwing tables and chairs before being escorted off the premises. He hadn't seen either cyberdog or him since. Gannon had thought of The King as mostly a level-headed sort, but supposed everyone had their tipping point.

"I sure appreciate you coming back." The King said to the Courier, sitting at a table in front of a stage. "You find out somethin' about them soldier boys yet?"

"Just that they're distributing supplies in a building down by the old train station." The Courier crouched down and gave Rex a few scratches. Arcade was no veterinarian or animal behaviourist, but even in pain the cyberdog made the effort to wiggle his tail in the mailman's company, resting his chin on his lap. Canine and Courier looked to be fast friends.

"Handing out supplies? Like food and stuff?" The King asked, confused by the tepid news relayed to him. "That ain't nothing to get ruffled over. You find anything else?"

"Well.. only handing out supplies to NCR citizens. Not to any locals." The Courier added.

"Ah, that would explain the goons. They're here to keep people like my friends away from the food. That ain't something I support. No sir."

"They mentioned someone was sent to discuss the issue with you."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. They said what?"

That only confirmed it had something to do with Pacer, thought Arcade, if he was so keen to keep the Courier from talking. It was some comfort that there were still decent people doing what they could in the NCR's forces, despite being bound by endless red tape and washed down by diluted personnel.

"Apparently their messenger was severely beaten and barely survived."

"Huh, that would explain why they're all riled at us. Seems like we have a big misunderst-" the two men were interrupted by an out of breath subordinate. "What the hell?"

"King, we've got problems!"

"Lay it on me. What's going on?"

"There's a shootout going down near the train station. It's Pacer and some strangers. Might be NCR."

"What is that fool doing?" The King spat. He turned his attention back the Courier, who had found one of the cyberdog's itchy spots, one of Rex's mechanical back legs waggling in the air. "I need you to head out there and try to defuse the situation. Tell them I'm willing to cooperate."

"Yessir!" The Courier gave the hound a goodbye pat and raced out the door again. "Let's go, Arcade!"

One of the cuffs of his coat sleeves was grabbed by his companion, and Gannon was tugged along, thrown outside again.

"I'll go straight to the Major, can you attend to any wounded?"

"Got it."

His cuff was let go.

The delivery boy sprinted off toward the train station, and only the Eyebot managed to keep up with him. It was like he was flying, the way he sped off into the distance, coat tails trailing behind him. Arcade only managed to keep him a number of paces ahead. He could hear gunfire in the direction of their destination.

* * * * * *

The Follower crouched down near a wounded King, taking cover in an old bus stop shelter. His injuries were survivable, unlike the already dead or dying few nearby. A stimpak was injected into his side, and the doctor pulled out a bundle of bandages to bind the gunshot wounds until they could be picked clean properly.

"This is all your friend's fault. We don't want those NCR here." Pacer heckled, also taking cover in same place. He had notably fewer injuries than those under his command.

"I don't recall him starting a fight with a bunch of soldiers." Arcade sneered.

His patient avoided his superior's gaze. The sound of bullets firing suddenly halted. Now was his chance to do what he could for the others.

Some of the men had already passed when he reached their bodies, still warmed by their now stagnant blood. Arcade closed each of their eyes before hopping to the next body. One of the Kings, who looked to be in his late teens, spluttered and hung onto life despite his body being a quilt of bullet holes. The bullets had shattered most of his vital organs, so even if Arcade administered a stimpak it would only delay the inevitable. He prepared a Med-X syringe to lessen his pain.

It was the only thing he could do for the poor kid.

"Did you see him?" the boy wheezed.

"See who?" Arcade asked, trying not to get emotional about his dying patient. He never was any good at playing the battlefield medic.

"That ranger looking fellow. He swooped right in, taking a bullet for one of us. I shot at him. Can you- Can you tell him I'm real sorry."

"I'll tell him..." Arcade said. He held the Med-X ready in his hand. "This injection will make you feel better."

"Thanks Doc." the boy whispered as the needle and its contents entered his broken body. "The way he moved. Like he was dancin'… wish I could dance like that…"

It didn't take long for the painkillers to do their work, and his doomed patient softly sighed one last breath. At least he wasn't in pain anymore, Arcade reminded himself. Another young life snuffed out before his eyes.

"Wish I got here sooner." The Courier murmured, standing nearby. Arcade hadn't noticed his approach. The doctor craned his neck up at him.

"You're hurt!" Arcade exclaimed, jumping back up. Two bullet holes, gifted from each side, one in his shoulder and the other in his upper leg. The two different sized wounds bled crimson red. He could at least help this patient of his.

"I'm alright..." the delivery boy cast his gaze down at the newly dead, and Arcade hoped he wasn't blaming himself for their deaths. "Nothing a talented doctor can't fix. I've got some good news at least."

"What's your good news?" Arcade asked, tweezers picking out bits of lead.

"I think I just got the NCR and the Kings to work together on a relief effort. Now everyone in Freeside will have food and water when they need it."

"That is good news." The Follower smiled, happy to be a footnote in the whole operation. "Now hold still a second."

A stimpak and a few bandages later, Arcade looked upon his handiwork.

"Thank you, Arcade."

So polite and sincere. Maybe now his heart could stop racing.

* * * * * *

"Y'know it's kinda a shame the The Kings are all gents." his companion stated as they meandered down Freeside's streets, on route back to give the King news.

They had been walking in relative silence, a wordless contemplation for the dead. But death would always hang rancid nearby on their travels, there would only be so much either of them could do to prevent it. So the Courier cut through the tension with a knife.

"Why do you say that?" Arcade asked. It wasn't like the delivery boy was gender ineligible for membership, if that's what he wanted.

"They're all pretty decent looking." The Courier mused, but Arcade reckoned a stylish outfit and hairdo did most of the work, some more than others. "…and I reckon a gal or a neuter pal could pull that look off pretty well."

"I think maybe you're just being an unabashed bisexual." Gannon teased.

"Correct." he threw a pair of finger guns toward the doctor. It would have been awkward if he guessed incorrectly.

Arcade chuckled. If only he could share a bit of that shamelessness with him like a blood transfusion. He hadn't as much confidence in his own sexuality.

"They would have to change their name though." he debated.

"Not necessarily." The Courier debated back. "If the girls are doing drag, they'd be kings regardless. Drag kings."

"Who knows, maybe if you build enough of a rapport you might be able to suggest it to him."

"Maybe!"

The Courier entered the building again, this time with just the Eyebot in tow. Arcade still felt sick to his stomach and couldn't bear to see the rest of them, like pieces of a matched set. Usually a few of the Kings loitered in front of the 'school', wafting cigarette smoke everywhere, but they were absent. No wonder Julie had put him on research, a life slipped through his fingers and he was a wreck. He slumped against the wall, and stared at the ground.

"You don't look so good." The Courier had returned, quicker than he thought. Just how long had he been moping around for? "You okay?"

"Not really."

The Courier slid down the wall next to him.

"Want me to take you back to the fort? I don't think I can pick you up and carry you but-"

"Oh I'm not- You don't need to- I don't want to go back just yet… It's just been a while since someone died in my care. Contra vim mortis non crescit herba in hortis."

"No herb in the garden… for curing death, right?" Arcade looked at him blankly, surprised. "I've… made a copy of a holotape from my friend, Veronica, about Latin phrases."

He reached over his arm with the Pip-Boy, pulling up his notes.

"Now you don't have to translate for me. Plus I can throw back some insults to the Legion."

"I wouldn't have minded translating…" Arcade pouted.

"Well. You can still do that if you wanna." The Courier playfully 'punched' the side of Arcade's arm. "Do you wanna come along while I make a spot of deliveries? Or should I leave you here?"

"More love letters?"

"Always." he held a bunch of heart filled papers up. "There's a couple here I need to read out."

"You know, I think I need to witness that."

* * * * * *

"I thought you were going to read out some bodily crass, not recite a poem to someone's elderly grandmother."

"Disappointed, Gannon? I've got some crass to deliver elsewhere, should I read that out for you instead?"

"Nooooo thank you!" he chuckled, swatting the Courier's hand before he dragged out some poorly written letter from some horndog to another.

“Hey. Arcade. Do you always deflect personal questions?” the delivery boy asked coyly.

"Only to obfuscate my past association with a fascist paramilitary organisation." Arcade said. Did that count as another blurt? It was like he couldn't help himself around his newfound companion. "I'm joking, of course. I will deflect personal questions at any opportunity."

"I was just wonderin' about your name, that's all." The Courier kicked out his legs, feigning innocence.

Arcade sighed.

“I’m not named after the place with games.” he paused. “I hope.”

"Well it's just your name kinda looks like another word." The Follower would have to add etymology to the list of the delivery boy's talents. And poem reciting.

The Courier procured a small guidebook from his inner coat pocket. ‘Animals of the American West’- a well worn little book, lovingly mended time and time again. He flicked to a page with illustrations of non-mutated bears, knowing exactly what page it was. One of his hands pointed to the brown bear, which had the binomial name ‘Ursus arctos’ and the other held the book pointing at the reference list. The list described the meaning of both parts of the species’ name. Both ‘Ursus’ and ‘Arctos’ meant ‘bear’, in Latin and Greek, respectively. Bear bear. It also mentioned that ‘Arcadia’, as in the former Californian city, was named after the same Greek root word.

“I don’t think my parents called me after a bear. Pretty ironic if they did.” he scoffed.

“What about in Eclogues? Arcadia. It’s a place in Greece.”

He pronounced 'Eclogues' as it looked phonetically, as one might when they've only read a word but not heard it spoken aloud. It sounded close enough that Arcade knew what he was talking about.

“Eclogues." he corrected. "Or whatever is left of it- Wait. You’ve read Eclogues?”

The Courier nodded, closing his guide book and returning it to his coat pocket.

“Well, most of it." he admitted. "The book I had was really falling apart. There were a bunch of pages missin'. I told you I like reading.”

Arcade didn’t have the heart to tell the Courier that ancient poetry and wildlife guide books weren’t considered casual reading.

“I think you’re spot on with the Arcadia thing. Daisy might know.”

“Who’s Daisy?” he asked.

Again! He scolded himself in thought. Was it because he was enjoying the package courier's company? He was never this loose-lipped around his colleagues. He was starting to worry a bunch of them would want to steal the Courier's time away from him. What he lacked in memories he made up for in knowledge.

A courier would be on their lonesome for long periods of time, perhaps he spent a lot of time reading, maybe listening to old educational holotapes.

“Did I say that? I meant easily." Arcade fumbled, folding his arms nervously. "Whoopsie. How easily… would I know… what my dead parents named me after. I can’t exactly ask them now! Ha. Ha.”

The Courier tilted his head. Arcade had noticed the delivery boy supplemented his lack of facial expressions with other body language. He was getting better at picking up the more subtle ones, but tilting his head seemed to be his go-to for expressing any sort of confusion - or interest.

"I'm sorry 'bout your folks. That can't of been easy."

Arcade pursed his lips. He didn't mean to dredge all that up.

“But I bet you can’t easily guess what my name means.” The Courier gave him a little jab with his elbow, using humour to change the flow of conversation. Arcade greatly appreciated it.

“Hmm. Courier Six." Arcade hummed. "I suppose the first bit comes from ‘curritor’, which is Latin for 'runner'. Six comes from ‘sex’-”

“Most people come from sex, Arcade.” he joked.

“You sure? I thought you emerged out of the ground.”

The Courier let out a hearty laugh, and Arcade remembered how wonderful it was to make someone laugh with his personal style of humour.

* * * * * *

As they made their way back to the fort, Arcade trailed behind the Courier. He had gotten a little quiet in the last few minutes, frequently checking his Pip-Boy. The Follower noticed his movements started to get a little jerky, almost as if he was suddenly intoxicated or weighed down by something. He seemed to be aware of it happening, cursing under his breath, and struggling to lower himself down. Arcade rushed to his side, scooping up the Courier as his legs gave away, slowly lowering him to the ground.

“Courier?”

He was unresponsive, but breathing. Arcade knelt down, shifting him onto his side with his head cradled in his lap. The Courier hadn’t mentioned that he suffered from seizures, but it didn’t surprise Arcade too much considering his brain trauma. Gannon was thankful it happened in a relatively quieter part of Freeside.

But it wouldn’t look too out of place for a Follower doctor to be providing first aid to someone in the middle of the road.

He came to quickly, around a minute or so after. He craned his head to look up at Arcade.

“Oh, aren't you a lovely bit of cheese. Where am I?” The Courier asked.

Gannon's lips pursed together. Cheese? It wasn't the first time he'd witnessed someone disorientated after a seizure, though it was the first time someone called him that. Was it because of his hair colour? The Courier looked around, his head pivoting with a noticeable sway to it.

“We're in Freeside. Have you had seizures before?”

The Courier looked at him blankly, somehow even more so than before behind the same mask.

"Seizure. Seizzzzzze. Carpe Diem. Seize the day." he started muttering.

"More Latin?" quizzed Arcade.

"Not from the Legion." the delivery boy waggled his finger at Arcade, though his movements were still sluggish. He had already seen the notes on his Pip-Boy. "Holotape of Latin phrases. I already knew some words from… animal… and… um… plant names."

Despite not quite having full motor control back, he leaned in to Arcade.

"I wanna impress a cute doctor with it."

Arcade's brow lifted. So much for using the holotape to fling blasphemy back at the Legion. He started wriggling again, and Gannon went to turn him on his side again in case it was another seizure, however the Courier pointed up excitedly.

"It's you!"

Arcade exhaled loudly.

"…I collapsed again, didn't I?" The Courier sighed too, flopping his arms at his sides, better re-orientated with reality again.

"Don't worry, I didn't let you fall." The Follower assured him.

"Aw shucks. But I bet loads of guys fall for a dreamboat like you though. Thank you."

The doctor snickered. The Courier's wager would be a losing one though. Out on the frontier of the NCR campaign and with the Legion across the Colorado, his dating prospects were already very limited. Stung too often to date one of his colleagues again, wise enough to not go for one of the Republic's soldiers, too wary of potential Legion spies. Very few other men ever showed that sort of interest, especially out here. The Courier's flirting seemed directionless and playful, and nothing to take seriously.

"I don't think that phrase is supposed to be literal. Have you had many seizures before?" he asked again, now the other man had some grasp on reality.

“Yeah, not sure how many... I've got some meds for it but I've had to ration them for when I've been by myself. I didn't think I'd have another one so soon.”

The Courier searched his coat, pulling out a cartridge of anticonvulsant pills. He handed it up to Arcade. Avian medication. For 'large poultry' and most 'falconer species', measured by weight. No one could choose to be picky when it came to scavenging medical supplies, it just needed to work. He rolled himself up and back onto his feet.

It gave some sense to why the Courier had his helmet and mask on all the time. If he fell while having a seizure, his head would be protected from another injury. Arcade looked over the barely legible ingredient list whilst he got up, handing the cartridge back afterwards.

“I'll try to get you a steady supply so you don't need to ration them out. I might have to pull a few strings for that though.”

“You'd do that for me?” he sounded touched.

“Of course. That's what the Followers do. Now, do you have anything else to medically disclose? Any other medication you take?”

The Courier tensed up for a moment, holding his hands up around his chest plate. Awkwardly tapping his index fingers together.

“Nope!”

He didn't look or sound very convincing, least not to Arcade, who recognised himself as not much of a people person. Hopefully he wasn't trying to hide another potentially life threatening condition or an unhealthy chem habit. Traumatic brain injuries could cause all sorts of problems aside from just seizures, and chems could exacerbate any problems.

“Anyway! I should probably get you back to the Followers. I feel real tired all of the sudden.” The Courier added.

Seizures had a way of sapping out energy.

“I know I mentioned wanting to help Freeside, but we can go other places too - I'm sure lots of people could use our help out there.”

“You'd be comfortable travelling with me that far? …Over multiple days? What about the Followers?”

“Sure. They can handle themselves fine without me. Plus I can bring some of my work on the road with me if I need to.”

“I'd like that.” The Courier's tone was hopeful and cheerful.

Chapter Text

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

Arcade found himself looking forward to his outings with the Courier, and he would catch himself sometimes peeking at the gates when they opened. They had gone on a number of trips out since the Courier had his streetside seizure. Since then he had made sure to stay close to Freeside while waiting around for the fort's next shipment coming in, which would include his anticonvulsants. He only had the one fit since, and was usually only ailed by a bad headache or migraine now and then. The latter was remedied with a stash of ibuprofen Gannon already had.

Getting out and helping the local people was rewarding, but Arcade also enjoyed the evenings accompanying the Courier for quiet mundane tasks like delivering letters or stocking up supplies. They would talk about the things they had been up to, and he always seemed to make regular time for the Follower even in the busy life he led, even when they weren't doing jobs together. It had been a long time since he had someone to talk to that wasn't a fellow Follower of the Apocalypse.

The delivery boy listened to Arcade's frustrations that he couldn't share with his colleagues, and was a good mind to bounce off ideas and problems he had with his research. The Courier prided himself on fixing people's problems, even the ones that Arcade had with his 'scientific endeavours'. He often found an out-of-the box solution to even the most complicated problems. In return Arcade listened to the Courier's scraps of memories that returned now and then, and the symptoms of his brain injury.

His recovery was progressing smoothly.

He was witty and funny too, even if he was a bit of a enigma. Gannon still had no idea what he even looked like, and he would sometimes get lost in Freeside's streets or momentarily forget what he was doing. Their journeys, even the ones that ventured out of Freeside, were always less than a few hours walk back to the Old Mormon Fort. Arcade wasn't sure if he was being polite or paranoid, especially when he had already offered to travelling further out and for longer periods of time.

His companion seemed receptive to the idea, but one he hadn't acted on yet. Perhaps he was just waiting for his medication to arrive first. But he still had enough of his existing medication to last a couple of weeks.

Arcade felt a smile sneak onto his face as saw the Courier approach his tent again. Just as he was thinking about him, he appeared.

"Back in your good graces again? I knew you'd see the light."

“As if you had ever left them." The Courier cooed. "I'm going to be heading down the 95 again, would you like to come with me? It'll be a few days worth of travelling, but I'd like to have you along.”

“Thought you'd never ask. Lead the way.”

Arcade pondered what oddities or stories the Courier would share on their latest journey. Their last, he showed off an old silver dollar fragment he had found, decades older than the adobe fort Arcade worked in. On earlier journeys he had shown off all manner of curios, bits of shed skin off reptiles, pretty rocks, and old parts of machinery. Each time he would ask if Arcade knew anything about the object he presented, and he would try and explain it to the best of his ability. There were only so many surviving books that he had read.

Gannon was beginning to suspect that the Courier knew more about the things he showed than he was letting on, for some of the objects, at least. For what end, he couldn't figure out.

Just outside the gates, the Courier explained their loose itinerary, tracing his finger along the map on the Pip-Boy's screen. Pip-Boys generally had old map overlays, recorded from satellite imagery available before the War. Locations, mostly noticeable landmarks or settlements were annotated and entered manually, the Courier explained. Arcade was impressed with his record keeping, and depth of knowledge of the area for an amnesiac.

South along the 95, to Novac and then back up again. The Courier tapped at a few places they would be able to sleep or take shelter in along the way. Arcade wondered if he would get the chance to see Daisy in Novac. He knew the Courier would be more than happy to let him visit her, but letting him know that connection was too risky.

"There's a few places along the way I'd like to check out, but we can go to those on the return trip back." The Courier mentioned.

"Sounds good!" Arcade said, excited about his first real venture out in the Mojave. "Your medication should have arrived by the time we get back."

* * * * * *

Arcade struggled to remember the last time he had ventured so far out. His last proper trip outside (other than some day trips with the Courier) had been with Anderson to Westside months ago, which was over a few days, and weeks before he had met the Courier. Maybe anything further out had been to visit one of his Remnant family members. It had been so long…

The last four years of the Legion occupying the outer fringes of the region meant it was difficult for the Followers to operate without outside help in the Mojave, and they were already spread thin in Nevada. Vegas and its surrounds were also the outer fringes of their organisation too. Many of their members were former vault dwellers or their descendants with little combat training or experience, so putting them in active combat areas wouldn't fly. Hired guns and guards cost money, and good help didn't come by cheap.

With the exception of one Courier Six, of course.

While it was often dismissed as rumour by others, and as an outright lie by the Legion, the knowledge that the dictator across the Colorado River was a former member hadn't helped their cause in the past.

The Courier, unbound by the city's walls traversed with long and swift strides, which Arcade might have struggled to keep up with shorter legs. The doctor was enamoured with the sights, both the best and worst the Wasteland had to offer. A beautiful sunset streaked colour across the sky and the horizon, sedating even the most dilapidated structures. Some of the buildings in the outer city limits were in decent condition, having being spared direct bomb hits but very few had gotten any amount of upkeep. Most had been plundered for their bricks and other building materials.

"Mind if I put my radio on?" The Courier asked Arcade.

"Go ahead." Arcade replied. It was nice to be asked, he thought, thinking about the misuse of the communal radio in the fort.

With a fine tuned dial on the frequency, the Pip-Boy' speakers started playing the local radio station.

Yippie yay! There'll be no weddin' bells for today…

"Oh, I love this song!" the delivery boy exclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly.

'Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle…

Jingle, jangle!

The Courier started singing along, prancing about in loose dance movements as they traversed. There was nothing trained or particularly rhythmic about his dancing. Just spins and jumps for the simple joy of movement, sometimes loosely timed to the music.

Though I may have done some foolin'… This is why I never fell!

"Aren't you worried you're drawing attention to yourself?" Arcade asked.

"Have you ever shot at a dancing target?" The Courier did a shuffle beside him.

"Can't say I have. But it doesn't really answer my question."

"No, not really. Who's going to see me, a caravan? Some people heading up to Vegas?" Or his immediate travelling companion? "But don't you like dancing? Or singing along to a tune sometimes?"

"I don't exactly have many opportunities to." Deflection, again.

"Well, I know you won't tell me your favourite song if I ask, but you should know I won't judge if you want to hum or kick out your boots from time to time."

Arcade knew he was guarded, but every time he let personal information slip, it could just become one more thing that could be used against him. Or the others. It was harder to be humiliated or made fun of when someone didn't have any ammunition to use. And the Courier already knew a lot more about him than most would ever would.

"You're not trying to make me feel bad about not answering personal questions, are you?"

The Courier stopped dead in his tracks.

"No… I was just having a bit of fun. I do like this song, honest." he stood there for a moment, head hanging down. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you. Please don't hate me."

In the fragmented pieces of recovered memories the Courier had talked about, he seemed to avoid talking about any conversations that those memories held. He was beginning to suspect that the reason was connected to how the Courier went from silly and goofy to a mess, as quick as a synapse fired off, the moment he was rejected in some way. His colleague, Dr. Usanagi would likely know. Maybe it was past time to ask for her help with his new friend.

"What? I don't hate you. It takes a lot for me to hate someone... And it would take a lot more than dancing along to the radio to embarrass someone like me." Arcade explained. "Besides - A joy shared is a joy doubled. I like this song too."

Dare he say it, he might even like the Courier too if he was starting to call him his new-found friend in the confines of his own mind.

"Well, now I like it even better knowing you like it too."

"You really are quite strange, you know." Arcade smiled.

"What's the saying? Takes one to know one?" he spun around again, in tune to another song that started to play.

* * * * * *

He didn't seem to have an orderly way of going about the outskirts either, getting distracted by anything that looked remotely interesting. Sometimes he would point out a little plant poking through building rubble, giving it a drop or two of water from his Vault 13 canteen. Arcade sincerely hoped he knew nothing about that particular Vault, or what happened to any of its former residents, for his own selfish reasons.

Arcade spent the first evening following the Courier into establishments like the Gun Runners and then the Crimson Caravan Company, looking for more work and stocking up on supplies. He would chat up anyone he was buying from, to mixed success. Shamelessness could earn a discount here and there - and why pay in caps when one could pay in compliments?

The delivery boy unloaded a whole armoury of weapons on one of the vacant benches inside the compound. It was fascinating to watch him pull out weaponry from his every seam. Some of his guns had seen much better days, tired and worn like the peeling paint on the walls.

"It's gonna take forever to get to the Strip at this point." The Courier groaned. "Can't do the work without my equipment, gotta spend my earnings on repairs. Can't even fix it as much as it needs."

"Reminds me of the 'Boots Theory'. It's expensive to be impoverished."

"Sure as shit is. My boots are in good nick, thankfully." he kicked out his boots, which looked well looked after. "Though I'd love to have a proper pair of ol' cowboy boots. Hard to find anything decent that'll fit me."

"Ah, it's not exclusively about boots. It's a socioeconomic theory that the poor stay poor because they have keep buying replacements for the same sub-standard wares. Boots are just an example."

The Courier hummed, and tapped away at something on the bench.

"The idea is that if you buy a pair of cheap crappy boots because you can't afford an expensive decent pair, you usually end up spending more over time replacing them." Arcade explained further. "You're not replacing cheap boots, but if you can't afford the proper repair job or maybe the best ammunition so you end up spending more on smaller repairs."

"Makes sense." he heard a metallic 'thunk'.

"Sorry, I'm just rambling. I'll let you get back to your repair-work."

"Ramble away, dear doctor. Tell me how that theory has changed since the bombs. You're actually helping me focus on this."

The Follower heard another inorganic noise from the bench.

"Well anything that would have been made Pre-War that was shoddy probably hasn't survived this long. But people can still make new things too, but it's usually much harder, so it's more likely to have effort behind it." Arcade put his chin in his hand in thought. It didn't stop people from making sub-par goods. "I guess it wouldn't be as applicable now because people usually scavenge a lot of stuff from the dead."

"Death would just be another cost though, right?" The Courier interjected. Arcade had meant the Great War's death toll. "If you kill a man for his boots, he's the one paying with everything."

"Yeah, I suppose so. It's a depressing way to look at it."

He also supposed the Courier was intimately familiar with being killed for a object, almost paying with everything. A loud clicking sound rang out.

"All done. Did you need anything repaired? I'm pretty good with my hands." he started to put all his gear back in their holsters and packs. The other man's coat seemed to have endless pockets and there was a holster on every surface that could hold one.

"No, all good here. Let's head out. I'd hate to keep someone awake here with my impromptu lectures."

"Hah! You should hear me talk about great-horned owls sometime."

"You know, I would like to hear about that, Courier."

"Call me Six! Unless you want me calling you Dr. Gannon." Dr. Gannon sounded too much like someone referring to his mother, Arcade thought. Six waggled his finger. "And don't say I didn't warn you."

Six had a lot to talk about great-horned owls, evidently. Pretty birds, from an enthusiastic point at a photo and illustration in his guidebook, though he mentioned that they actually were bigger than the measurements given in his book. For Arcade, it was refreshing to see someone so excited about something that had nothing to do with financial incentive or bodily destruction.

But he should have expected a conversation like that with someone like Six.

* * * * * *

Wandering around like a darning needle and thread, they hadn't made much distance out from of the city limits. Arcade was up much later than he normally would be, not yet adapted to the Courier's nocturnal travelling habits. He rubbed at the undersides of his eyes, pushing up his glasses.

"You look tired, did you want to stop and rest? I can keep watch while you get some shut-eye."

His companion fished out a sleeping roll and a rolled up pillow from his pack. It looked cleaner and softer than any of bunk beds at the old fort.

"Is that okay? Aren't you tired too?"

The Courier shook his head. Maybe he shared a few similarities to the owl he had gushed about.

"We're exposed out here so it wouldn't be safe to sleep at the same time, anyway." Six noted.

"And you'll wake me up if there's any trouble?"

He nodded.

The sleeping roll was set up near an overpass pillar, which had long since disconnected from terra firma like a huge concrete umbrella. It was unlikely it would start raining any time soon, but the pillar would shelter both wind and any weapon fire.

It was difficult to fall asleep, even with his eyes staying shut and the fatigue he felt. It was one thing to fall asleep with strangers nearby in the confines of the fort. The walls of his tent and then the walls of the encampment itself were much more enclosing than under a crumbled highway. The Courier was still a relative stranger in his life too, and it was solely his presence that he was relying upon for his safety. He had both his colleagues and a rotating guard of hired guns back at the fort. But his was a more aware presence, like someone being in the same room, or sitting on the same bench.

He peeked one of his eyes open, watching him poke at a small campfire that heated a small Dutch oven. The smells, mostly meaty, with burning wood, and then freshly peeled vegetables were distracting at first. Then they became comforting, washing away the terrible smells of the Wasteland. Like he was asleep in the living room of a familiar house while someone who cared about him made a meal for him to wake up to.

Sleep finally found him, even with the distant gun shots and the Courier's shuffling and tinkering.

* * * * * *

It must have been a few hours rest when he woke again. The sun hadn't risen yet, but he could tell it was approaching the horizon by the extra light about. He was expecting Six to wake him after a designated time instead of naturally sleeping.

"Mornin'!" The Courier greeted him, bowl in hand serving up whatever had been cooked in the hours prior, kept warm by flickering coals.

He had barely gotten his glasses back on when the bowl was handed to him, with a big spoon. It smelt delicious.

"It's not quite a soup and it's not quite a stew. I call it a 'stoup'." Six chuckled.

What defined a soup and a stew was might have existed and mattered to the homemakers of America before the world ended. But to Arcade, still drowsy and feeling an immediate pang of hunger, it couldn't matter less.

It was a hearty meal, chunks of meat and mostly root vegetables slow cooked in Brahmin cream. The seasoned meat tasted like Bighorner, tough cheap cuts made tender over time.

"You let me sleep longer than I thought." Arcade stated.

"It's been real quiet. I got caught up on my reading."

"What were you reading?" Arcade asked between spoonfuls.

"100 years of the European Commonwealth 1952-2052." Six answered, holding up a tatty textbook. "Really dry reading, but it means I've been paying attention to our surrounds."

Arcade noticed the corpse of a mutated rat several yards away that had not been there before. He had been paying attention, and clearly not enough trouble to wake someone up over. A small hunting rifle with a scope and silencer was still at the Courier's feet.

"Mind if I borrow it after you're finished?" Arcade inquired. "Also your 'stoup' is very nice."

"Thanks. I don't always get the chance to make something nice. Feels good sharing it too." he rubbed at the back of his neck bashfully. "I just happened to have some fresh ingredients for a change. And you're welcome to the book as well."

Sadly for the both of them, only two servings fit into the small cookware.

They swapped places and Six set an alarm on his Pip-boy. Arcade watched as the Eyebot twirled down from atop the highway pass and to Six's side. He hadn't realised it had been following them the whole time. The delivery boy wrapped his arms around the robot in a cuddle. He still was wearing his full getup, helmet and all.

That couldn't be comfortable, thought Arcade.

* * * * * *

The second night their lodgings weren’t so exposed. It was barely more than a shed, with their sleeping packs laid on top of a double mattress tucked behind a counter and squeezed into the corner. The Courier had ED-E patrol outside, saving Arcade from hearing its drone while he slept. Six had quickly adapted to adhere more closely to Arcade's sleep schedule, without asking, or being asked to.

“Did you want me to take the first watch?” Arcade asked.

“Don’t need to, it’s safe enough here for both of us to sleep.”

A patrolling Eyebot with a frontal laser would wake them up should trouble come knocking, he supposed. There were four walls and a ceiling too.

“Right, and you’re okay with me. Just. Sleeping next to you. In the same bed?”

“I promise I don’t kick. Haven’t you ever shared a bed before?”

He had, but for completely different reasons. Growing up he was taught that sharing a bed was something that spouses and lovers did. He had no intention of taking the delivery boy as either of those. He had been discouraged as a little boy not to climb into his parents bed, even when he mourned his father. He didn't have siblings or other kids around his age growing up to have sleepovers with.

When he thought about it, he never had to share a bed out of necessity.

The Old Mormon Fort had shared beds, but they were all single mattresses and they weren’t shared at the same time. His university’s lodgings were much the same, as were his other assignments with the Followers.

Wanderers and travellers didn’t have the luxury of always having their own beds. The old world’s notions of intimacy and closeness would have been done away for survival. He didn’t know what sort of upbringing the Courier had, and nor could he enlighten him of the details.

Arcade was sort of envious of it, in a way, to view laying down with another person platonic, just something people did with the company they shared. No expectation of physical intimacy or having one's sexuality challenged or questioned.

“It's been a while.”

Not a complete lie, but not as honest as he could be. It reminded him of how he felt at first being watched over while he slept. The constant awareness that someone was physically there. The Courier didn't press him with further questions, instead focusing on settling in for the rest of the night. He kept his gear on, again.

The temperatures had dropped and a cold wind rattled the walls of their accommodation. The cold sand floor had soaked away any residual heat. Arcade shivered and balled himself up, not realising the Courier was awake. He should have guessed, knowing Six's nocturnal habits.

“Are you cold?” his voice whispered, he was laying down facing away from him, but turned over to see his predicament.

“A little.”

The Courier shimmied himself close to his companion, dragging over his personal blanket to cover the both of them. He positioned himself behind Arcade, loosely and almost spooning him, his arms against his back and their legs close but not touching. Arcade froze.

“What. What are you doing?” Gannon stammered.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was helping. I wasn't going to try anything funny, honest.” Six sat up, putting some distance between them. “I should have asked first.”

Arcade turned over, facing him.

“You should have, but… you're used to sharing warmth like that, aren't you? It's a familial thing?”

“Maybe.” he sounded unsure. The scraps of memories he had shared in the past didn't give any clues either.

“You don't remember the how or why of it?”

The Courier shook his head.

“I feel safe with you." Six admitted. "I know that's a dangerous mindset to have about someone you've known only a short time.”

Safe was definitely a compliment that carried more weight in the post-apocalyptic hellscape they lived in. Arcade felt weirdly flattered. No wonder he danced and sang songs around him the moment they left relative civilisation.

“Look, I'm just a little old fashioned when it comes to sharing a bed." Arcade explained. "I'm also not really a touchy feely person.”

“I guess I'm more scrambled than I thought." Six sighed, bunching himself up. "I just wanna be close to people, especially the people I’ve started to care about. It feels like I've been on my own for a long time.”

Arcade couldn't help but see the irony in that, a man fully geared up, no visible skin or face wanting to be close to his companions, to people in general. Maybe the bullets he was shot with muddled up his frontal cortex.

“ED-E lets me cuddle him.” he added.

“It's a robot. People aren't programmed like that.”

Six made a sad little noise, not unlike a sad beep the Eyebot could make.

People were programmed like that, though. Humans were social creatures, and their evolutionary predecessors evolved as social units. Community was the reason humanity was so successful as a species. And the degradation of said community was one of the reasons why humanity's nuclear fall from grace was so devastating to their planet. Humans were hard wired to want love, and that included wanting to be touched and cuddled by other humans, even by other animals. Or in the Courier's case, a hovering robot with wiry spikes.

It was not a profound realisation about society he wanted to have shivering in some derelict shack.

“Look. I don't want to discourage you from being open with your affections. Just be careful that someone doesn't take advantage of you.”

Arcade patted under the blankets, trying to encourage the Courier to lay back down. Neither of them were getting any sleep talking about it.

“You can always just ask whoever you're travelling with.” he added.

“Okay.” Six slipped back under the layered blankets, still a little close, but nevertheless respecting his established boundaries. “Do you wanna cuddle?”

“No.” Arcade turned back over.

Chapter Text

I was hanging upside-down from the overpass
Waiting to discover something about the world
I couldn't get with the program
And I couldn't listen to them
It was like trying to think in reverse

Something For Kate, Monsters

The way that the Courier's upper half of his body disappeared, the doctor had thought he had fallen off the edge of the overpass. He had instead hung himself upside down from his waist, his coat draping alongside him. An exposed steel rod, which once would have reinforced concrete now supported the Courier's weight like a wasteland trapeze artist.

"Hey, kid!" Six called out below. Several merchants and travellers watched his antics from a distance, muttering and giving him the side eye.

A small, unfamiliar voice answered him, and the delivery boy swung the rest of his body down in a fluid motion. Arcade, his feet firmly on the stable part of the overpass peered over the railing to see the Courier roll an impressive landing. He had witnessed other feats of his agility, but this was clearly a stage act.

Show off.

He supposed he had to find his own way down. Six bowed in front of his audience, a small child in a tattered scout uniform and a metal head brace. In the Wasteland, it was hard enough to guess adult ages by appearances, near impossible for anyone still growing. The lack of nutrition and sleep many children grew up with meant this kid could of been a well fed seven-year old or a malnourished twelve-year old.

Then there was genetic factors to account for…

It took longer than Arcade would have liked to make his way down. Courier and child seemed to recognise one another, but didn't interact like family members would. Six, standing by waiting for his companion to catch up, was regularly unorthodox, so Gannon reserved judgement if the young boy was his relation or not. Many children orphaned in the Mojave had been snatched up by the Legion.

"This is The Forecaster." Six introduced the ankle biter like a fighter in a ring. His introduction didn't make him sound like a relative at all, just a young friend of the delivery boy. "This kid can see the future."

This kid had scammed the Courier in the recent past, Arcade decided. He raised a sceptical brow.

Six crouched and presented the Forecaster with a gift, a piccolo trumpet. He had an impressive collection of stuff for a child living under an overpass. An old American flag, rows of boxes of Sugar Bombs, intact toys, and objects he wouldn't expect someone his age to be interested in. The Forecaster held the instrument up to the light.

"Oh this is a special one, mister Courier. I can feel it. Would you trade a thought for it? I would like it for my collection."

"Was hoping you'd offer one. Could you do your thinking for my friend here?" he gestured to Arcade.

The Forecaster fully unbuckled the metal apparatus around his head. A cheerful smile crept across his face as he glanced at Six, exchanged with his trademark head tilt. Then the little boy locked eyes with Arcade.

"You know what, that's okay. This kid doesn't need our help, so let's continue on our merry way." Arcade stammered, unnerved by the child's ten-mile stare.

"I'm not the one you should be afraid of, Arcade."

Arcade's brow furrowed. The Courier must have told the young boy his name already, because he hadn't been properly introduced. The child keep his unblinking gaze on him, but his eyes seemed to peer further beyond him, almost glazed over. The Forecaster's eyes started to water as they squinted.

"The barren soil you've accepted will grow nothing yields a beautiful garden. The bear wants to prune it, and hooves threaten to trample it. You hesitate to eat the fruit it grows; sour grapes, sour grapes, but the over-ripe fruit is different, more delicious than anything you dreamt." It's more like a song or poem than the 'readings' he's seen people do with cards. He's not being told some one size fits most about his future or what his lucky numbers are. "Forecast: The chariots of the old world will weather the storm with you, but only you will hear the thunder."

He wasn't sure all that was worth trading a musical instrument for, which might have sold for a decent sum of caps to the right buyer. There were plenty of people trading nearby. If the little boy was older he might of made a suitable apprentice for Ezekiel, Arcade's anthropologist colleague with the Followers, who would appreciate the prose he spouted much better.

The Forecaster winced in pain as he donned the metal headpiece again, pivoting to face the Courier.

"He's like you, Six. So much thinking. Though I sorta knew that from the moment you asked me to think about him." the boy hung his face in one of his hands. "Not loud like your shouting though. More like a bittersweet song. Hurts more than I thought it would, and it's like you blew in with it." He regarded the trumpet again. "Like musicians beginning to harmonise."

Six scooted over closer to his small friend. He handed him a row of ibuprofen tablets, snapped off a larger sheet. Likely from the box Arcade had given for Six's headaches. He must have been taking them frequently, judging from the number of popped seals and empty rows.

"Sorry it ended up hurting again. Arcade is a doctor and he gave me these for my own headaches, you can have a couple if you need 'em." Six offered.

Arcade approached, with the unspoken intent of offering to give the boy a quick examination or a share of their food supplies. He crouched down nearby.

"Thank you, mister. I don't know if they'll work but I'll give it a try." he sheepishly accepted the tablets, which had helped take the edge off Six's migraines. "You can tell your friend I'm all stocked up for everything else though. He won't find anything wrong with me."

The doctor blinked and raised himself up again. This whole interaction with the Courier's young friend was strange enough that he didn't feel the need to refute that. Six pounced up and toward his companion's side.

"Let's keep going. His headache will go away quicker without us here." Six said.

Arcade had no rebuttal, and didn't want to hang around the strange pint-sized grifter any longer.

* * * * * *

Back on top of the overpass, Arcade matched his companion's pace, walking at the Courier's right hand side. Six turned his Pip-Boy radio back on, and it played Dion's 'The Wanderer' while he hummed and half-sung along.

"By the way… Are you related to that kid in anyway?"

Arcade kept asking the Courier personal questions almost as much as he avoided answering any.

"I don't… think so? Shit, Arcade. Wait. Do you think I'm sowing wild oats out here?" The Courier guffawed, dialling down the volume. "What kind of person do you think I am? I'm not the person in this song!"

"I mean, you're an amnesiac, it's possible you… forgot." Arcade stammered, struggling to justify what he asked. The red perspex of the Courier's helmet glared up at him, and Arcade could see the faint outline of his narrowed eyes in the light. "Plus I have no idea what you look like, so it's not like there's a refutable difference in appearances..."

"Good thing he remembers his own dead parents! I'm not either one of them!" Arcade thought he phrased that last part little strangely. The Courier threw up his arms in frustration. "There's probably loads of orphans out here by themselves… Besides, I wouldn't leave a family member alone like that if I knew."

"I wouldn't want to be left alone like that." he added, turning away and shrinking into himself.

"Do you... remember any of your family?" Gannon asked, feeling the weight of how the conversation turned. The song on the radio ended, and the quiet murmuring of the announcer filled the silence between them.

"I remember… faces… from some of my childhood memories." The Courier's head craned up to look off into the distance. "Dunno if they're family. Dunno if they're alive. When I recall them my brain sorta goes 'you should feel something' but then I don't feel a thing. So I feel angry. Then I feel sad… Then I get a headache."

"You know, after my mother died I thought memories were a poor substitute for the real thing." Arcade began.

"They are." Six interjected.

"Well, yeah. Not the point I'm trying to get to here. Anyway." he silently dropped the rest of his story, deciding it was too much personal information. He had been blurting far too much around Six. "The blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. You can make your own family like you can make new memories."

The Courier faced him again.

"Please just don't knock up some random woman like the 'Wanderer' would." Arcade continued. "Happens enough at all the Follower clinics I've been at."

"Damn, Arcade. What the hell happens at these places after dark?"

"They're already pregnant when they come to us, you know that, right? It's important to me that you know that."

Six busted his gut, his laughter infectious.

"I can safely say I won't be making a mama out of anyone. Besides, I'd never hear the end of it from you if that happened."

"You're right. Please don't embarrass me like that."

Another voice, feminine sounding, one that sounded vaguely familiar to Arcade, entered their conversation.

"Who are we embarrassing?" she asked.

* * * * * *

"This is Veronica. She's the Brotherhood Scribe I mentioned in my letter." Six introduced the hooded woman with the power fist. Arcade recognised her as the same Scribe that visited the Old Mormon Fort a few weeks back.

"Hey, c'mon Six, you can't just tell everyone I'm from the Brotherhood. Not a lot of folks like us." Veronica chided. She was right, and Arcade didn't care for the zealots in their bunkers.

The Courier was blissfully unaware that Arcade had prior encounters with the Brotherhood, although not the Mojave chapter. The Follower didn't actively hate the Brotherhood, because harbouring hatred didn't achieve anything for him. He didn't want to end up like Moreno, still bitter and paranoid about everything that happened out of Navarro in his old age.

But witnessing a Brotherhood paladin shooting down one of his father's colleagues as a child, his feelings about them were sour at best. Even if that particular colleague happened to be at the helm of some of the worst the Enclave did, no-one deserved paying the ultimate price. Especially not for refusing to disclose where the others, which included civilians, hid nearby. Whoever they were, they deserved to be a better memory than another life being snuffed out, another body limply hitting the ground in the depths of Arcade's mind.

"I don't! Arcade isn't NCR, and I trust him." Six retorted.

It was, strangely enough, a mutual feeling of trust, although he hadn't thought too much on the why yet. It wasn't like he was ever going to share the memory he had just recalled with him, or anything remotely connected to the Enclave.

"So is it that you trust the Followers of the Apocalypse, or would you trust any pretty face in a lab coat?" Veronica snickered, giving him friendly punch with her bare hand.

"Well, I trust you, and you're not wearing a lab coat." Six argued back.

"So just a pretty face. Gotcha."

The Courier chuckled and Veronica grinned. The two seemed to have an established rapport.

"Have you been taking good care of my stray, doc?" she asked Arcade.

"Your stray? He's former Brotherhood?" Arcade broke his relative silence by answering with another question. The Brotherhood angle would explain the Courier's education and knowledge, but felt like a small betrayal.

"Nope! Well. Not that I know of… but he's kinda like a stray cat, don't you think?"

The Courier meowed loudly.

He understood the analogy perfectly, even without the feline impression. It was like the Courier, their shared stray, had made it his mission to befriend the person least likely to want his attention at the Followers' Mojave base- just like a cat would with the same crowd of people. Like a stray, he visited on a whim too. Probably covered in scar tissue as well. If Arcade got a proper look under his visor he might be able to discern what type of stray. He was betting on battered up.

"I'm just glad the others didn't try to collar the poor guy in the bunker."

"Would they do that?!" The Courier asked naively, shocked.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't let them do that to you." she reassured. "If anyone did, they'd have to take it up with the supervisor."

The Scribe held up her Pneumonic Gauntlet proudly. Six clapped excitedly.

"Oh hey. Where's ED-E? I hope you didn't leave him behind some place." The Scribe asked.

The Courier pointed behind them, the hovering robot patrolling back a certain distance. Arcade had forgotten, again, the damn thing was still tailing them at a distance. Six had ordered the robot to keep its distance after Arcade expressed his concerns, citing that if it did 'suddenly explode' it would be far enough away to not kill them. He was less worried about any potential explosion than the information that thing carried.

"Arcade doesn't like ED-E." Six complained.

"Well that's a point lost in his favour. ED-E is adorable."

It only confirmed some of his suspicions, thought Arcade, that only a brain damaged package courier and a Brotherhood Scribe could find that metallic gnat 'cute'.

"I'm just… concerned… about how stable that thing is. That's all."

"You scared of a little Eyebot, doctor?" The Scribe heckled.

"It's not little at all!" exclaimed Arcade.

"Yeah blondie is scared of ED-E alright, Six."

The Courier nodded in agreement.

"Where you guys headed?" Veronica asked.

"Got a delivery to make in Novac. Do you want to come with us?" replied Six.

The Follower wasn't up to letting the Scribe joining their escapade, but was unsure Six would understand his discomfort. He would, and justifiably, have to explain why, raising too much suspicion. Veronica sounded level-headed enough, especially as far as Brotherhood members were concerned, but caution was the best line of defence he had. Sometimes it was the only defence he had.

"I can tag along for a bit, but I gotta make a delivery of my own." she opened a bag stashed on her person, full of various sized metallic odds and ends. "Got lug nuts. Precious lug nuts… Besides I wouldn't wanna be a third wheel."

She craned her head back toward the Eyebot. "…Fourth wheel?"

Chapter Text

Are these the citizens of the new estate
To which the continental selves aspire;
Or the powerful get of a dying age, corrupt
And passion-smeared, with fluid on their lips,
As if a soul had been given to petroleum?

Stanley Kunitz, Reflection by a Mailbox

The Brotherhood Scribe had not long made her exit, heading West. She and the Courier sung songs played on the Pip-Boy's radio and danced around each other like a pair of gadflies to everyone else passing by them. Arcade was envious of their apparent free-spirited friendship, unbound by the social trappings that he had to adhere to stay safe. It wasn't like she could have known the Courier for much longer than he had. She wasn't at all what he would have expected of a member of the Brotherhood.

Six poked around the old Posideon Energy refuelling station. Something about the place unnerved Arcade, like every other set of the company's cut and paste stations. Once it would have provided gasoline, petroleum, diesel and convenience items to its customers. Now it was hollow as the empty bottles that littered its floors. He had read a lot about gas stations being robbed at gun point during the Resource Wars, right up until the bombs dropped. They would have been soon picked dry by survivors, but they didn't record keep as extensively.

There would definitely be records about those chaotic emerging years in the Brotherhood's records. If only he could poke around in their libraries for a bit. He tried picking his own brain about how many vehicles or machines he had actually seen running on the finite resources. The NCR had its envoy of supply trucks and rigs, he supposed. His train of thought was interrupted by the Courier.

“Hey, Arcade, you know how I said the Legion really doesn’t like me.”

“Has that… changed?” he asked, suddenly concerned, his attention shifting. He scooted next to his ever vigilant companion.

“Oh no, they still hate my guts. Here.”

The Courier passed him a pair of binoculars, and pushed the lenses in the direction of four men in a single file row, all dressed in the Legion’s tell-tale garb. The old service station was too close to Vegas and there were too few of them for it to be a forward front of their army. Too many and too obviously dressed to be a scouting party. If he was better acquainted with the power structure of the Legion, he would have seen a Centurion, a Decanus, a Legionary and a Vexillarius.

He almost wished the Scribe had stuck around a little longer. Seeing her punch the lights out of the Legion would have been entertaining to watch.

“Have they come after you like this before?” Arcade handed back the binoculars.

“Yeah. Shame I can't be pursued by someone level-headed for once. I like a strapping lad as much as I like my other flavours of folks. But four of them, and so poorly dressed? I have standards.” He swapped out his binoculars for his sniper rifle as Arcade stifled a snicker. “I don't have enough .308s to take them all out from here but…”

Six loaded up what little ammunition he had and crouched down, using the boarded up building as cover. It was engrossing to watch a sniper work up close, despite its lethality. The long range rifle hadn't been taken out before during their previous travels, too dangerous to use in densely populated areas. Had his targets been anyone else, Gannon might have taken issue with it. The doctor watched closely how the Courier held the rifle to account for recoil, the coordinated sway for a moving target. Arcade readied his own gun, poised to lay down cover fire.

If he had to guess, the men after the Courier didn't have his exact location, rather the knowledge he was in the area. That would also mean ordinary looking people, incognito sources, were tipping off the delivery boy's location at any given time. There were enough people at the trading post that any one could have been a spy.

They didn't have much of a vantage point above the Courier's would be assassins, so any shot, long range or not, would likely give away their position.

*Click* The silencer on the rifle muffled most of the noise, but the shot still pushed back the Courier visibly. It was hard to tell if he was actually strong enough to handle the weapon properly, but he was a good shot. In the distance, the Legionary, third in the charge dropped down, blood spraying from his neck. The others around him scattered in different directions. The rifle creaked and rattled as the next bullet loaded in. No wonder the Courier hadn’t gotten onto the Strip yet, he always had his guns to service.

Arcade aimed to lay down cover fire, but his gun was tipped back by one of the Courier's hands.

“Not yet. They don’t quite know where we are.” he whispered, readying another shot.

His second shot wasn't as deadly as the first, having to account for more erratic movements. The bullet hit another of the men in his shoulder, near the clavicle. They started to converge in on their general direction. Six moved his aim down. A third shot landed on another assassin's upper leg. Hopefully it was enough to slow them down.

“Now!”

ED-E, buzzing some distance away, swooped in at their flank, blasting the RALPHIE jingle at top volume. Despite its laser pummelling, the remaining assassins seemed hellbent on going after just the Courier. Arcade returned fire with his plasma defender.

Swapping the emptied rifle for a pistol, the Courier was caught crouched down. Arcade had jumped back to give the Courier some room to fire. A swing of a thermic lance cut across his shins, heat burning at both armour and flesh. Crying out, the Courier unloaded the pistol’s magazine at his attacker, cutting at the Centurion’s ankles with a hidden knife in his boot. He slammed him to the side, against the wall of the building, giving Gannon a clear shot without accidentally firing at his companion.

Filled with laser and plasma charges and two different kinds of bullets, the second of the four assassins went limp. The third assassin, the Vexillarius, lunged for the Courier, who was still unable to get his footing, slashing wildly with a machete. He slammed his foot down on delivery boy's arm, preventing him reloading his pistol.

“Don't you ever give up?” the assassin barked, trying to lodge the machete into the Courier's chest.

“Not while there are still spines unshattered.” Six growled.

The expression on the lower half of the man’s face, even at the angle Arcade was at, was telling. Even he felt a chill hearing Six say it. The doctor brandished his melee weapon of choice, too close to prevent friendly fire. The Courier, seeing Gannon come to his aid, grabbed at the Vexillarius’s arm with his free hand to hold their adversary steady. Arcade plunged his ripper into his neck, blood and viscera splattering onto both his face and raining down on the Courier. He pushed aside the man, who fell choking and drowning in his own blood.

He had to imagine the rest of the Courier’s reaction, gleaming his wide eyes behind translucent red perspex. Arcade put himself between his crippled companion and the last of the assassins, trying to give him a moment to reload or ready another weapon. His ripper blade at the ready, whirling and pointed outwards, spitting out blood.

The last of the assassins, the Decanus, had been relentlessly chased by ED-E. He tried to shake the Eyebot by going the other way around the building to try and get to the Courier. With a spear stuck out of the Duraframe’s chassis, it herded the man in front of Gannon and the delivery boy.

He exploded into a pile of ashes in front of them.

“Nice work, ED-E!” The Courier called out happily to his hovering pet.

The bot chirped an affirmative beep, taking its place at the Courier’s side.

“Nice work, Arcade. Great job.” Arcade muttered, crouching down to his companion’s level, readying his medical supplies.

“Thank you, Arcade. Those guys would have probably killed me if you weren’t here with me.”

He sounded so appreciative and genuine that Arcade had to fight back a smile threatening to form on his face. His patient stuck out his wounded legs so they could be more easily treated. A stimpak was injected above his knee, and the doctor dabbed some antiseptic cream on the cuts as they started to close. Two clean bandages were wrapped firmly around where each of the lacerations had been.

The Courier tested out his legs with a quick shuffle. He reached into his coat pockets and pulled out a handkerchief, a pretty square of fabric that had started to go threadbare on the edges. It would have once been a souvenir gift, now it was wiping off the still-warm giblets and blood splattered on its recipient’s face. Arcade didn’t need the Courier to wipe off the blood off his face, but he had to admit it was nice being the one coddled over for a change.

“I’ve got a cloth for your glasses too. Don’t wanna scuff those.”

He picked out another fabric square, smaller and made of suede. Very considerate for eye-wear that was multiple times their combined ages over. The lens and frame already had a million tiny scratches already. Arcade cleaned his glasses while Six dotted the last bits of blood off.

The Courier, wrung out the cloth, and a few drops of blood dripped down into the dirt. He then wiped off the blood on his armour, haphazardly and rushed compared to the meticulous work he did for his companion.

He clambered up and started going through the personal effects of his would-be killers, picking out ammo and supplies like water and food. ED-E followed him close at his heel. He collected up the coins too, currency that was mostly useless this side of the Colorado river, except when melted down for components. Bits of leathers and fabric, useful scraps, were cut off using the same machete that was used against him.

He hurried back to Arcade, who was still sitting down, taking a moment to himself after his first intense fight. He held the lens cloth in his hands, running his thumb over the grain of fabric. The Courier told him to keep it when he tried to pass it back to him. It made him wonder if Six had found it and kept it with him in mind.

“We shouldn’t stick around here too much longer, just in case there’s more of them.” The Courier reached down his hand to Arcade. “I promise we can take a rest somewhere a little nicer.”

“Alright. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight of mangled corpses, even the Legion’s” Arcade took his hand, pulling himself up.

* * * * * *

The two continued south on the 95, putting distance between them and the old service station.

“I’ve heard a rumour the Legion usually leaves couriers alone, you must have really pissed them off.” Arcade asked, taking his place at the Courier’s side.

“Care to hear the story, then?” he regaled.

“I think I’ve earned it.”

Six chuckled, stretching out his arms upward.

“It’s kinda embarrassing, but alright.”

The Courier explained it wasn’t long after he woke up in Goodsprings and he was keen to recover the package stolen from him. He had seen fires coming from Nipton and went to investigate, and the smell of death was unbearable even with his gas mask. When describing the carnage he got a little quiet and bereft, glossing over the details to avoid talking and thinking about it for too long. Slowly dying people crucified on metal crosses, a pile of corpses charred from being burned. The usual atrocities the Legion committed against civilians and soldiers alike. Arcade was already acquainted.

“I was kinda in shock and I still didn't know much about the Legion then." clarified Six. "Just things I heard since I woke up. So I go up to this man in one of those coyote hats and ask what happened.”

The man in the coyote hat introduces himself as Vulpes Inculta and boasts that he's purged the entire town as a 'lesson'. Then the Courier asks him what the Legion is, who Caesar is, and why they slaughtered an entire town.

“Honestly my blood was boiling, but knowledge is power and I didn't have a lot of either at that point. He asks me to take witness and to tell everyone what I saw there. Then I uh…”

“What, what did you do?” Arcade asked, enthralled by the sudden cliffhanger.

“I told him his crimes were unforgivable, and that I was going to, uhm, wear his head like he wore that dog's.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Of course I wouldn't! Anyway I punched him and I'm pretty sure I broke his nose. They started shooting at me, and I managed to kill some of his lackeys before hightailing it back to Primm. I don't think I've ever run so fast in my life.”

“Did they chase you for long?”

“I didn't look back. I was in pretty bad shape when I got back to Primm.”

ED-E interrupted with a cheerful sounding whirr of beeps.

“That's right ED-E, that's where I met you!” The Courier gave a gentle tap on its front panel. “I ended up fixing him that night. Figured that I'd need all the help I could get out there.”

“Did they send assassins after that?”

“Nah, the first lot of those came a few days after I shot some legionaries - they tried to kill a merchant caravan along the 95.”

“Suppose it was inevitable that you’d end up pissing them off.”

The Courier nodded, taking a moment to pull out the spear still embedded in the Eyebot. While the Legion didn't follow them down the highway, dark clouds had started to, gathering in number.

Chapter Text

The perfect halo
Of gold hair and lightning
Sets you off against
The planet's last dance

Snow Patrol, The Lightning Strike

Despite living in the area for a number of years, Arcade still hadn’t gotten used to the ill defined ‘seasons’ of the region. As it crept into the last few days of November, the weather had gotten milder, much to his relief. His current expedition with the Courier had him ventured out much further out than they had before into the Mojave.

While it was still late autumn, the calendar month would soon tick over and winter would arrive. Winters in the Mojave were different than the ones back in Navarro and the Californian coast. Back to his birthplace, the north-west coastal area of the NCR had cooler temperate winters. Near the coast plenty of storms came and went regardless of the season. Winters in Mojave were just mild, a short reprieve from the heat during the rest of the year. Still oppressively dry, but winter would see the most rainfall.

Storms this far in-land, especially around the higher elevation of the New Vegas area were not like the storms back home. On the surface they looked and even sounded similar, the same dark clouds and echoing rumbles blanketing the landscape. The energy was completely different, like the land itself was reacting to the presence of the storm. As if the parched earth was pleading to the skies to stay, to come down to the ground. Arcade couldn't quite articulate how the storms felt more ‘alive’, somehow.

It's almost spiritual, Six had said. It sounded eccentric, but that was before experiencing a storm while out in the open. The difference between on the highway and not in the confines of the Old Mormon Fort. He almost believed it. In the last few hours of daylight, they had stopped in the middle of the highway, with the dinosaur thermometer visible on the horizon. Arcade watched as the Courier stood fixated on the skies above, as if he was waiting around for it to rain down.

“I think I remember someone telling me that you either die or thirst or drown in the Mojave.”

“If it's the latter, we better find shelter from the rain. Novac isn’t too far away now. I can see the dinosaur from here.” Arcade commented.

“Dinky.” The Courier corrected.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the dinosaur’s name. Dinky.”

He hadn’t moved, his head still craned upwards.

“It would be hard to drown up here. Plus I know how to swim.” he paused. “At least I think so.”

At any rate they wouldn’t need to test Schrodinger's ability to swim. The Courier then lowered his head down, and Arcade watched as he unbuckled his helmet and mask. He hadn't ever seen him take off the faux ranger gear before, he had even worn it to sleep the night prior. The doctor had assumed he was covering up a botched injury (like the one to his face), or was self conscious of his perceived appearance.

Despite the world going to shit, people still held bias towards appearances. While ghouls and super mutants copped the worst of it, anyone with a disfigurement or an ugly mug still had to deal with societal scorn. Two centuries hadn’t cured humanity’s preference for a pretty face and Arcade wasn’t exactly immune either. There were also plenty of advantages that came with anonymity too. The Courier could transform into an entirely new person with a different set of clothes, so long as no one recognised his voice or the Pip-Boy on his wrist.

So as Six slipped off the headgear into his hands, Arcade expected one of his suspicions to be confirmed.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. He was damn good looking. Arcade could almost feel his pupils dilating like the eye stalks of a Mister Handy robot. Sweat had slicked down the hair around Six's face, and the delivery boy tussled it free. When the Courier looked back as his companion, Arcade was frozen in place with an intent burning gaze. Six smiled, looking at him softly as the storm and the dying sunlight framed him like a piece of art.

Had he looked at him like that before? Hidden underneath that mask of his?

The Courier looked back to the sky, taking off one of his leather gloves. He held his now exposed hand up at the clouds. As Arcade studied his companion’s features and committed them to his memory, gentle but large drops of rain fell above them. It was like the Courier was welcoming down the water with a wave of his hand. Droplets coalesced down his palm and ran down his forearm.

“I guess I don’t remember the specifics but… I’ve always loved the rain.”

He twisted his hand to change the direction of the droplets.

A look of realisation stopped the Courier, who looked back at Arcade again. He must have been able to feel his companion’s intense stare, or at least see it in the corners of his vision.

“Right, you haven't seen me take this off before, huh.” referring to the helmet and mask held in the bend of his elbow. “Ta-da!”

The Courier gestured at his face reveal with a silly jazz hand wiggle. As if Arcade seeing what he actually looked like was some novelty, and not being able to finally put a face to a person. A person he had known for weeks now.

A loud crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, right above the two of them broke their eye contact. The rain steadily increased its intensity.

Not waiting around for the lightning to strike him, the Courier slipped back on his helmet, mask and gloves while starting a moderate jog toward Novac. As he passed where Arcade was still standing, not done burning what he saw into memory, Six grabbed his hand and started running.

“This is a great way to get us both struck by lightning.” Arcade protested.

"A burden shared is a burden halved!" he laughed, teasing his companion.

"I don't think natural forces play by that rule!"

Dragged by his hand, Arcade discovered the true extent of how unfit he was compared to the Courier. Gannon was no slouch, and a great deal healthier than most people his age, but it was like being swept up by said force of nature. Curritor, runner, the Courier bounded down the highway, taking on the brunt of the rain pouring against the grain of their direction. All the while he cackled like some maniac, and Arcade heaved his lungs just to keep up behind him. He could try to shake and slip his hand free, but there was something exhilarating about it, like finally fulfilling a buried childhood desire a few decades late. Taken along for a ride, but being driven by someone who wanted him to come along.

Without lungs, the Eyebot whizzed by the both of them with ease, as if playing a game programmed into its operating system. The mechanical gnat would be more conductive than the two of them, even hand in hand. Should anyone or anything get electrocuted, he thought, between gasps and heart thundering, at least it would be that thing.

* * * * * *

They ran all the way to Novac, turning an hour's walk into a fraction of the time. The town's residents peeked out their boarded windows at the unusual trio arriving in the evening. Thankfully Six had stopped giggling like a little boy and had slowed down, as if heeding old world traffic signs to reduce noise and speed in residential areas. Arcade was led up to the Dino-Dee-Lite Motel, and the Courier went to jump up on the stairwell leading to the second floor.

After racing down the 95 like a hurricane, the delivery boy's gracefulness suddenly burnt out as the he made contact on the first step of the stairs up. Falling backward onto his out of breath companion, who had to wrench his hand free to catch him properly. The doctor barely managed to not fall flat on his back, which would have been both muddy and painful for both of them. He had the Courier scooped up with his legs splayed out.

"Oops. Sorry. One day I'll catch you when you fall." promised Six, arching his head back at his companion.

"Please. Be careful." Gannon wheezed, pushing the Courier back onto his own feet. He could berate his antics later.

The Courier spun a key ring on his finger, spinning a single key and a miniature plastic dinosaur. Dinky. A miniature Dinky.

"We're just up the stairs." he pointed to one of the rooms near the top of the stairs, thankfully holding the handrail firm in his other hand.

Chapter Text

To feel anything deranges you.
To be seen feeling anything strips you naked.
In the grip of it pleasure or pain doesn't matter.
You think what will they do, what new power will they acquire if they see me naked like this?
If they see you feeling. You have no idea what. It's not about them.
To be seen is the penalty.

Anne Carson, Red Doc

Unlocking and opening the door, the Courier entered with the hovering robot pushed against his back. He introduced the space to Arcade, who hung his damp lab coat at a coat-rack by the entrance. His coat and his head had weathered most of the downpour that reached him, and his blond hair ended up slicked down and messy. He wiped away the large droplets on his glasses, watching a blurry Courier dig into one of the chest of drawers nearby in his peripheral vision.

His lungs still rasped as he breathed in.

Having visited a family friend in the past in a similar room, Arcade was already familiar with the room's layout. He had been hoping he would have his own bed this time, but alas this room also had the one standard, albeit large, bed. He did have the option to sleep on the couch adjacent to it, though he'd have to sleep curled up onto himself. It seemed like a waste to forgo the most comfortable lodgings on their trip.

Scattered around the room were dozens of the dinosaur mascot toy, so no one would forget what little town they were staying in. Accompanying the mascots were a handful of boxes and containers filled with various supplies, mostly bottles and cans. A lot of junk, but useful junk, and organised at a glance.

"Do you need some dry clothes? I've got some spare clothes here that'll fit you." Six offered, a set of clothing already on hand.

"I've got my spares in my bag. They should be dry. But thank you."

Arcade started to unbutton his shirt, which would dry faster not stuck to his body. Only the front exposed part had gotten particularly wet.

"I-I'm going to get a warm bath going." The Courier stammered, suddenly sounding frantic.

It probably wasn't a good idea to have a bath during a thunderstorm. But Novac did have large surrounding metal structures, namely former power lines and a water tower that were far more likely to get struck by lightning. Six turned on an industrial sized soup kettle and slipped into the bathroom, all the while avoiding facing toward his companion. After the pipes creaked, a loud and sudden burst of water could be heard from the neighbouring room.

"Shit!" Six exclaimed, startled by the state of the plumbing. "We're in a desert, how the fuck is the water still so cold?" There was an audible pause then he started muttering to himself. "It's thermodynamics. I know it's thermodynamics…"

The electric kettle clicked, its soup of hot bath water ready.

"Where do you keep your towels?" Arcade asked across the room, his hair dripping.

A hand, without its usual glove, burst from the bathroom door, towel in hand. He wiggled it around to signal to come and get it.

"Did you want me to pass you the kettle?" the doctor asked while retrieving the towel.

The exposed hand made grabby motions. He could still see Six's sleeves, so Arcade wasn't sure why he was so intent on keeping the door as closed as possible. The kettle was grabbed, and he caught sight at the mysterious Courier's face again. His eyes looked up at him, wide and almost scared looking, then his gaze wandered down.

The door was quickly shut again. Judging by sound alone, the kettle was emptied into the bath and then filled up again.

"Could you please put this back on to boil?" The Courier poked out again, avoiding eye contact. "It'll take another to warm up the bath enough."

Even if the motel still had a working water heater, it would be shared across all its current residents. He doubted anything installed would have worked all that well two-hundred years or so ago, let alone now.

"You know, your injuries have healed up nicely. The gunshot wound, that is." Arcade spoke to the door, drying his hair and upper body with the towel. "Doc Mitchell did some nice stitch-work. I can probably remove the sutures after your bath."

The kettle clicked again. He doubted it was actually reaching proper boiling point, judging by quickly it finished, but it just needed to warm the bathwater.

"Good. They're getting real itchy…" the kettle was passed to Six again. "Did you want a bath too? I can leave the water in."

"What's the water radiation here like?"

"Not zero, but I've added the contents of a Rad-X tablet to water to nullify it." Six said, giving back the kettle. "Don't worry about putting that back on until your turn. If you need it. Thanks."

* * * * * *

Arcade waited by opening up the latest book the Courier had loaned him, the tatty textbook about the then-recently dissolved European Commonwealth. Its cover had been reinforced with the remains of another book, like a organ transplant- with cardstock not sinews. The amount of mould damage suggested it came from a place much less dry than the Mojave, but the pages had been carefully dried out and cleaned. He was curious where it came it from, before Six inevitably bought it from a merchant caravan. Its contents were overtly academic and kept referring to other sources that were probably long lost to time, the elements, or most likely gamma radiation.

The Courier emerged some time later, looking like a regular person wearing a fresh shirt and slacks. After travelling with him on the regular over a couple of months it was strange to see him so dressed down. His laundry piled over his arm and a towel draped over his head, obscuring his face. He clicked on the large kettle again.

"All yours." he still avoided direct eye contact. "I've got some uh… laundry detergent to wash our stuff afterwards too."

Six was in for a big shock on The Strip if he reacted the same to a shirtless man (with a towel over his shoulders) like he did with anyone showing skin. Surely he had seen much less modesty while staying at the Atomic Wrangler. Or just travelling around the city limits of Vegas.

Arcade lugged the soup kettle in with him on his free hand, his clean clothes on his other arm. The bathroom smelt like bubblegum, synthetic and fruity; and the bath was almost filled to the rim with soapy suds. The actual water line was further down, still warm, but Arcade poured in the kettle anyway. Refilled bottles by the basin were marked with 'shampoo' and 'conditioner'. Not the sort of bath he thought he'd be having in a place like Novac.

The Followers had limited laundry facilities and 'dry' chemical baths to clean up their workers from time to time, but water was a precious resource and heavily regulated. A water recycler at the clinic, which was about an hour's walk away, meant that anyone a part of the Followers could at least shower every couple of days or as required. Clean bodies were healthier bodies, after all, and leaving bodily fluids on clothes would only make new diseases to contend with. Many of the founding and current members were also former Vault dwellers not willing to let good hygiene go.

Judging the timing from the flashes of lightning and the following thunder cracks, the storm was a fair distance away.

Undressing and dipping himself in, a soothing heat surrounded him and his aching joints. He had forgotten how nice it was to have a warm bath, and not a strictly timed shower. The water washed away the patina of the last few days of travelling.

He could do with a different scent than whatever stash of mixture that Six had found scavenging. The shampoo and conditioner smelt woody in comparison. Although anything was an improvement over 'Drenched Wasteland Doctor'.

Arcade had been tempted to bring the textbook in with him to read, instead he let the day's events diffuse into him like the water pruned his skin. He had been wrong about the Courier's appearance, maybe he had been wrong about other things about him too. He needed to know, wanted to know more about him.

Then he could better help him, after all.

* * * * * *

Six still had the towel draped over his head when Arcade exited out the bathroom, fresh as sickly sweet bubblegum flowers. The other man was poking at his Pip-boy, clicking through screens Arcade couldn't discern even with his glasses back on.

"I can cut your sutures now if you'd like."

The delivery boy looked up with a small smile, slipping the towel into his lap. He handed him a pair of small sharp looking scissors in the shape of a crane. Or was it a stork? Embroidery scissors.

"Oh my mother used to have a pair of scissors like these." Arcade said, taking a closer look at the details. "Just the thing for cutting thread."

"I remember buying them with my first pay." said Six, deeply focused on recalling the memory. "It was one of the first nice memories that came back. No clue where or when I bought them. I disinfected them with some alcohol."

Arcade wondered what the 'not-nice' memories were like. He had avoided talking about them. He would usually only talk about the mundane, like remembering what a place looked like, or what certain things smelled or tasted like.

"Alright, hold still for me."

He steadied his hand placing the other further across his forehead. Six's face was notably warm, likely from his own bath and being a human towel-rack. He peered up at Arcade as he worked. Each stitch, small and neat, was cut and pulled out efficiently.

"We sometimes find dissoluble sutures in our hospital salvages." Arcade explained while snipping another stitch. "They only get used rarely, because we can't really make more of them."

"Hopefully there will be a way to make all that stuff again."

"I hope so too. It would be ideal to stop taking a chance on centuries old supplies."

Six hummed in agreement, keeping his eyes focused on the doctor's hands.

"Last one." a snip and a swipe and the scar was free of its sutures. "There. Gives a certain rugged look, I would say. I've seen some awful scars."

"You think so?" Six reached up to feel it smoothed over. "What's the worst scar you've seen?"

"Seen? Hmm. Probably this fellow who claimed a Deathclaw gave it to him. Jagged thing that went down the length of his back." he drew an imaginary line down his body to demonstrate how long it was. "It got infected and he came to the Followers at one of our bases back in California. Most people don't survive Deathclaw attacks so he might have been lying."

"Then there's the scars that disfigure people's bodies, people lose things like their ears, their fingers. Other extremities." Arcade added. "People lose the use of limbs. Wait... This isn't probably what you want to hear after all this."

He handed back the scissors.

"You don't have to apologise for talking what I asked you about." Six explained. "Plus I've got enough of a spine to tell you to shut it if I wanted to."

Arcade was so used to others telling him to stop blabbering on about things. As a child, as a student, and as a doctor. But Six seemed to enjoy pestering him about various topics. He had avoided, for the most part, more personal questions, but Gannon kept volunteering that information. And now, he could finally the see the face that asked those questions, looking intent and interested in what he had to say.

Did he always wear that face when they conversed?

"You're staring at me." Six looked confused. "Is something wrong?"

He blinked rapidly, realising that he hadn't responded to Six at all. Instead had been staring at the delivery boy blankly, wrapped loosely in his thoughts.

"I'm just not used to being able to see your face." admitted Arcade.

Six immediately searched for his headgear. The doctor had struggled with facial expressions as a child, and studied them closely to make sure he could tell how people around him were feeling. The mask felt like a handicap.

"It's not a bad thing!" Arcade remarked, and the Courier stopped his search. "Your gear obviously keeps you safe, and you feel safe enough here to take it off. The helmet and mask, that is."

And his armour, and his thick leather coat, and gloves, among everything else. He was quite literally the most vulnerable Arcade had ever seen him.

"It is kinda nice to see what you actually look like, y'know, without the lens tint." Six mentioned.

"Is it that much different?" he asked.

"Suppose it's no different than seeing me here in this room than I was outside in the rain." Six said, looking off into the distance of peeled wallpaper. "But there's something real beautiful about how light can change something. I wanna see all sorts of things in different kinds of light."

Maybe that was how he coped so well with his memory loss, thought Arcade, with a strong desire to make all sorts of new memories. Each 'new' thing studied intimately, with varied visuals so it had a stronger connection.

"I'd like to document it somehow, but I don't have a camera..." Six continued, shooting a glance over to one of the boxes of junk. "Well, don't have a working camera, but I store it all here. And up here."

He pointed to the left-hand side of his chest and the non-scarred side of his forehead.

Chapter Text

I do not want revenge, I do not want expiation,
I only want to ask someone
how I was lost,
how I was lost.

Margaret Atwood, Owl Song

After the rain had eased, the Eyebot had been let outside again, at ease with patrolling the space below their accommodations. In the relative safety that the room provided, Six fell asleep quickly, although it was a lot easier to tell he was actually asleep without his usual attire. There was something serene about his companion slept, the gentle rising and falling of his ribs, and his hands curled up around his face.

Gannon, as much as he idealist he was, had not survived into his thirties with blind optimism. He needed to believe, to confirm, that the Courier who he said he was. How he appeared asleep wasn't sufficent evidence to his pressing question. It was safe enough for the both of them to be asleep at the same time while at the Novac motel, so he used this time to go through his companion’s possessions.

It felt all kinds of wrong, insidious, but it would prove illuminating.

The Courier's pack was well stocked with supplies; with bottles of clean water, plus both fresh and preserved rations. Ammunition for was neatly labelled and boxed, and his weapons had already been taken out and cleaned on the nearby desk. Another section of the bag had a bunch of papers, separated by folders. The first, his letters to deliver. Another of the folders he trawled through had recipes, non-addressed writing clearly intended for other people, and notes like terminal passwords - all mostly non-incriminating toward the Courier. In the last folder, Six’s paperwork, delivery orders from the Mojave Express and some basic identification, all information he already knew about or had seen before.

Next he checked the books, which mostly consisted of some magazines and some hardcovers. One of the books was a medical journal about head trauma which he definitely wanted to have a read from. A smaller book was a science-fiction anthology of stories with a kitschy souvenir bookmark from the Grand Canyon. He tucked the bookmark back into place and looked over the last of the books the delivery boy kept on his person. The last book was a Vault-tec issued journal, branded with the company logo with the word ‘journal’ printed in gold on the front, with a small clasp that kept it closed. Was Six from a vault? That would explain his education - but he had mentioned that the doctor in Goodsprings had given him the Pip-Boy he wore.

October 19th, 2281

Today I woke up in Doc Mitchell’s clinic in Goodsprings. He said I’ve been unconscious for several days after he pulled bullet shrapnel out of my head, around my left supraorbital foramen. There’s a few stitches in my eyebrow too. I remember being shot in the face, by a man in a checked suit but when I try to remember much else before that I can’t. I can’t even remember my real name. When I mentioned my lack of memories to Doc Mitchell it was likely amnesia caused by the injuries. I said I was scared about losing any new memories so he gave me a journal to record each day in.

So the journal had been Doc Mitchell’s too, like the Pip-Boy. The delivery boy could have still been a vault dweller, there were plenty of vaults on this side of the continent, but it would be difficult to confirm that without his memories.

I don't have a lot else to go on. I don't remember my own name. My work papers say Courier Six. It feels familiar enough to use as a name, at least. Like someone has called me that before. The man who shot me stole the package I was meant to deliver, a Platinum Chip. Something tells me that the Platinum Chip wasn't the only thing stolen from me. My remaining belongings are considerably damaged as well, and the ammunition for my remaining rifles is gone. I had a few things stashed away but…

The entry also was accurate to what he had talked about in their earlier travels and the paperwork he had just looked through.

Each day’s entry was thoroughly documented, even including mundane things like how many birds he saw or what each gecko he had to shoot looked like. Most of the journal entries had accompanying illustrations and hand drawn maps, which were basic but conveyed their subject effectively. The people he met had a list of notable features - what they looked and sounded like and where he met them. The Courier’s pen work had a distinct wobbliness to it which slowly improved with each subsequent entry.

From what he had read so far, the Courier had travelled south along the I-15, looping past Nipton (or whatever was left of it) and headed north again when he reached the 95. He was often sidetracked by helping people, sometimes to his detriment by people taking advantage of his kindness. Arcade’s intention was just to skim to make sure the Courier wasn’t some sort of sociopath or spy, but he found himself enjoying reading about the day to day of his life. He admired the strange man’s curiosity and altruism. Collaborated with his own personal experience with the man, it only confirmed what he already knew, that the Courier was a decent human being. Unconventional, but decent.

He really didn’t need to read any more.

Against his better judgement, and with a quick glance to make sure the Courier was still asleep, he kept reading. He was curious about what had been written about him.

Today I finally arrived at New Vegas, but I wasn’t able to get onto the Strip. I didn’t have enough caps after spending it on equipment repairs and ammunition. I’ll have to take up some more work before I’m able to get in. I asked around Freeside about Benny and getting some work, with mixed results. I met some nice folks called the Followers of the Apocalypse (when I heard the name it sounded familiar, but it also feels like a misnomer or the name of some weird cult). I’m a stranger to these people, and one they can’t put a face to. I keep forgetting I’m wearing the helmet and mask. It still doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel safe to take it off in front of people. I don’t want them to find out.

Find out what, exactly? About his head injury? He had not shied away from telling people that Benny had shot him in the face. This was the first time any of the entries mentioned a reason why the Courier kept the head gear on virtually all the time, even when he slept the nights prior. It hadn’t really bothered Arcade too much, beyond not being able to accurately tell where Six was looking or if he was showing any facial expression.

He had been curious, of course, of what he actually looked like, prior to his stormy introduction. But the Courier was a weirdo, and weirdos had idiosyncrasies like that. Six also supplemented his lack of facial expressions with more overt body language and gestures - a head tilt here, a loud sigh there, et cetera.

This was an entry for the day he first met the Courier, so he skimmed over the bits where he met with other people in Freeside and went to the profiles of the people he met at the Old Mormon Fort. He was already pushing his luck reading this far into the journal. He would just read about what was written about him and then put away the book.

And, at last, his entry at the end. He must have written about each person in order of when he met them.

Last but not least, I met a doctor a researcher working on making new medical supplies using local flora. He kept looking at ED-E worryingly. Maybe he’s scared of robots?

The Courier wrote in depth about what they had talked about, adding his own musings about Arcade’s research. Between the sample collection he would then drop off and when they talked shop on the road, he definitely had a higher education than one would expect of a package courier. Arcade hadn’t really been able to have such in-depth conversations like the ones they had since his days at Boneyard and the university there.

I didn’t catch the blond man’s name. I’m going to see if I can get some plant samples anyway, at least as an apology for making a complete fool of myself in front of him. I know I already promised a lot to these people but they’re doing some good work out here. I want to help him them.

Wiser in hindsight, he felt a little bad about not introducing himself to the Courier, and brushing him off so easily. He skipped to the next date that the Courier had visited the fort.

Veronica had wanted to come along to the Fort the next time I went so I made sure to bring her along. She had provided some of the chems that I promised to drop off. I’ve also put together all the plant samples I’ve collected into a lunchbox I’ve found, and Veronica even helped me identify a couple of specimens I had forgotten the names of. She thought it was funny that I didn’t even know the name of the person I was giving it to. She also said it was ‘cute’ that I was doing so much to impress someone I barely knew, but I said I would have done the same for her if she asked. I was a little embarrassed when she reminded me that he hadn’t asked.

Julie Farkas was happy we brought the supplies I had promised. Veronica asked her a few questions about the Followers, then asked about the man I had prepared the samples for. Julie was quick to mention that she was ‘wasn’t his type’ but that was okay but he wasn’t her type either - she was asking on my behalf. I now know the man’s name is Arcade Gannon, and I hope he likes finds the samples I prepared useful. I hope I can talk to him again. I've been thinking a lot about-

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Six asked.

Arcade shrieked and threw the journal up in surprise. Surely he would have heard the Courier wake up, let alone slide behind him like that. Six caught the book before it fell to the ground again, and threw it back onto his satchel.

“I’m sorry, I just, I just needed to know more about who I was travelling with.” Arcade stammered nervously, still startled by the other man's sudden presence.

He looked behind to see the Courier tucked into a loose ball near the edge of the bed, hands holding his knees under his chin. He had often wished he could see what his reactions were behind the mask before. Now he wished he didn't. Six looked so downtrodden and sad, and it was all his fault.

The Courier sighed.

“I can understand that. I know I’m asking a lot, asking you to travel with me. Might have done the same thing in your situation. But I don’t know a whole lot about you either, y'know?”

“It still wasn’t right of me to invade your privacy like that.” Arcade admitted, a ball of guilt swelled in his throat.

“And I’m upset, but…I forgive you.” The Courier uncurled himself and leant over the bed to where Arcade had propped himself against the side of the mattress. “Can you promise me something, for the next time you want to know something about me?”

A hopeful spark returned to Six's face.

“And what would that be?”

“Promise that you’ll just ask me. And I promise to answer any of your questions.” The Courier held out his pinkie in front of him.

Arcade wondered how well an amnesiac could hold that promise, but he still intertwined his pinkie with the Courier’s. A small smile appeared on Six's face. The doctor could already think of dozens of questions he wanted to ask him. His companion rolled back onto his side of the bed, trying to capture the last hour or two of sleep before they were due to head out again.

“I need to clear my head… I’m going to get some fresh air. Don’t worry, I won’t stray too far.”

Not moving from his curled up position facing the other wall, the Courier gave a thumbs up in acknowledgement.

* * * * * *

The sun was peeking behind the horizon, lighting the skies up in brilliant shades of pink and orange. The air still carried the night’s chill, though it wouldn’t stay like that for long. Spare key in hand he leant against the railing of the second floor, taking a deep breath. Down on the ground he saw ED-E patrol the courtyard between the motel and the nearby houses. He wondered if the Courier would accept and forgive him so easily if he knew that he and the Eyebot were more connected than he knew.

“It’s nice to see you, Arcade.”

He knew that voice well. Daisy Whitman. He turned and smiled, happy to see the older woman who was such an integral part of his life. She waved from the other side of the second floor. Looking back at his own accommodation’s door, he walked over and gave her a hug, like a child embracing a parent.

“Hi Daisy. Out to watch the sunrise too?”

“It’s the scenic way to start the day.”

Arcade recognised the far away look in her eyes. The second floor of a motel was hardly close to the height she would have rather watched it at.

“You look troubled, dear.” she raised her arms up high, reaching to pinch at Arcade’s cheeks. “Come on inside for a cup of coffee.”

He sheepishly took one last look across the walkway, as if the Courier was going to appear behind him again. It had been a while since he had a decent talk with Daisy, she would come visit him in Freeside on occasion. But Arcade hadn’t had a reason to come south to Novac for a long time - until he came along with the Courier.

Daisy’s room smelt of freshly brewed coffee, masking some of the engine oil smell from the smaller parts she would take apart inside. There was a body of a motorcycle tucked into one corner, a far cry from a Vertibird engine. Arcade took a seat at the table, which had some tools and manuals stacked on top of it. She quickly collected them up whilst apologising for the mess, temporarily relocating them to the end of the bed.

“It’s nice to see you’ve made a friend, Arcade.” she poured his cup, then her own.

He nodded. Though he wasn’t sure if he could call the Courier his friend still, after going through his belongings like that. A stimulant like coffee probably wasn’t the best idea after what had just happened, but it was hard to say no to Daisy. He didn’t want to worry her anymore than he had over the years.

“He seems like a nice young man.” she sipped her coffee while Arcade waited for his own to cool.

Knowing Six, he would have probably met Daisy in some capacity, likely sometime before he arrived in New Vegas.

“He is. I’ve tagged along for a number of odd jobs of his. We’ve helped a lot of people.” Arcade confirmed proudly.

“I bet he’s handsome under that mask of his.”

“Daisy-” he hid his face under his hands, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s not like that… but you’re right, he is.”

A knowing, smug smile crept onto her face, she was only teasing him, but Arcade didn’t keep any secrets from her. She had stopped asking Arcade a few years ago to bring a ‘nice young man home' for her to meet, mostly at his request. He had been lonely, sure, but with everything happening in the last few years, dating hadn’t even been on his radar. He didn’t need to be burnt again when everything else hung in the balance.

Arcade admitted all to Daisy. She listened, like she always did for him, and interjected and asked questions when she needed to. He talked about what he was doing at the Old Mormon Fort, when he met the Courier and their subsequent travels together. He also confessed to his ‘crime’ committed just a few hours prior.

He expected her to scold him like a child for going through his friend’s private thoughts.

“Oh sweetie. You’ve already apologised and he’s said he’s forgiven you. Just make sure you don’t break a pinkie swear.” she held up one of her pinkies, as if to remind him.

It couldn't be that simple though, right? It wouldn't be the first time Daisy bent or omitted the truth to protect his feelings.

“I better head back, Daisy. It's been good to chat with you.”

“I'm always here if you need me, sweetie.”

Arcade smiled, giving his coffee a participatory gulp before departing.

Outside on the balcony passage, the Courier waited against the balcony, once again in his regular gear, facing the sunrise. The colours had mostly dissipated into their standard blue, save for the pale yellow that bordered the east. Remembering what the Courier had said yesterday, he began wondering what changed about everything in this new light. Did he also change in the morning light?

Noticing Arcade's approach, he gave a curt wave.

“Making a house call?” The Courier asked, sounding curious not accusatory.

“Just a check up. Nothing serious. Just needed a second opinion.” Arcade replied, not mentioning who was the one getting the second opinion."

“I've made some breakfast for us.” Six offered. "I've also dropped off my delivery, so we'll be ready to go back up the 95 whenever you're ready. It's looking like a mild ol' day today, good for walking."

Chapter Text

What kind of animal constantly moves?
The point of migration is the return.
We're nomads without the base knowledge
of where to find water. These moves are
like arranged marriages; economics now,
love later.

Lynn Pedersen. How to Move Away

"Do you think you'll stay in the Mojave if the dam gets secured?" Six asked, spinning to walk backwards in front of his companion.

After a hearty breakfast, the two men had started their return trip back to New Vegas, due north. With his Pip-Boy speakers playing the local radio station, the Pre-War industrial wonder had been mentioned on the news program.

"By who? The NCR?" asked Arcade.

"I mean, I'd already figured neither of us would wanna stick around if the Legion took it."

"That's true." Arcade replied. "Hmm…"

He gave it a think over. He had moved out to be closer to his mother and the rest of the Remnants, the latter had always lived out on the fringes of the aforementioned fledgling nation. Back then he had his mother's deteriorating health to anchor him down. She was gone now, and the others would not live forever either. He had always told himself he was helping them out, and also the fluctuating social conditions of the region.

But he had more career options, more stable and rewarding ones, back in the Republic. Regardless if he was with the Followers or if he operated independently. There would always be a demand for his skills and knowledge.

"Probably not." Gannon decided, sighing. "I can't imagine there would be anything worth staying for in the long term."

"Huh. Fair enough." Six's acceptance carried dejection with it.

"What about you?" Arcade asked Six.

"Honestly… I don't even know if I'll stick around after I get the Chip back."

Arcade felt his heart sink. Their recent travels together, and Six's regular company was about the only good thing that had happened to him in recent years. Their work together was fulfilling and exciting- he didn't want that to stop. It was childish to want him to stay indefinitely, and the doctor knew he should have seen it coming. Couriers were not the kind of people to stay in one place for too long.

"Where would you go?" Arcade said, steadying his voice.

"Apparently ED-E was supposed to go someplace. I guess I should go drop him off, as much as I'd like to keep him. After that? Well, I was hoping the journey to wherever the hell Navarro is might give me some answers."

Six slowed to a stop, and the two collided with one another as Gannon kept walking. The delivery boy caught the doctor in his arms, looping him up as two dancers might sloppily start a tango.

"Ah. What did I say yesterday? Caught ya."

"You just… stopped suddenly!" Arcade huffed. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"Something's bothering you, dear doctor. I thought you'd be glad for me to get rid of ED-E."

Six leaned in close, and Arcade could see the frightened face he wore reflected back the lenses of the Courier's mask. He really was terrible at lying, and he hadn't blurted out a single thing.

"It's just that… I've uh. Heard things… about Navarro." Arcade blabbered nervously as he was carefully propped back into his feet. "Apparently the NCR destroyed the outpost. That place. A while back. I would hate for you to go all that way and just. Find nothing… I really doubt anything good came out of there anyway."

"Well, alright. Were you just worried about me?" The Courier held his head to one side.

Arcade wondered if it was Six's trust in him, or his amnesiac naivety, that believed that so easily.

"Is it bad that I would miss your illustrious company too?" Arcade admitted.

"It's not like I wouldn't come and visit you!" Six insisted, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Wherever that may end up being."

The doctor couldn't help but smile curtly. Compared to their current arrangements, it was a poor substitute, but it was a substitute nonetheless. Flattering too, if the Courier was going out of his way to visit.

It would have to be enough.

* * * * * *

Walking side by side along the old highway, Six pointed out a large building in the distance. The old solar power plant, HELIOS One, was one of the places the Courier wanted to look into on their return journey, hearing about its predicament in a news segment of Radio New Vegas sometime before they had departed. The doctor doubted either of them would be allowed in, but he didn't want to curb his enthusiasm.

"Wanna take a look?" Six asked his companion.

"Oh. Uh. Sure." Arcade idly agreed, still distracted and preoccupied by the mention of his birthplace. If he was lucky it wouldn't be brought up again.

A small contingent of Republic soldiers, led by a decorated commander, guarded the front entrance, the Courier looked unfazed as they pointed their guns toward him.

"This is a restricted area. State your business." the commander barked.

The lieutenant clearly had a keen eye and extensive military training to not immediately assume that Six's getup meant that he was part of the rangers. An embroided patch on her uniform read 'Haggerty".

"I'd like to go into the power plant." The Courier stated plainly.

"Why would I want to let you do that?" she sneered.

"I noticed your solar tower isn't collecting much sunlight." Six pointed toward the back of the facility. "I can help."

"No need. We already have an expert hard at work on it." Haggerty signalled to her forces at ease. One of the soldiers that had his sand guard down looked confused as to why they were pointing at him in the first place.

"Then again... our expert is an idiot." She admitted, sighing. "Hell, he might as well be a saboteur. I guess you couldn't do any worse. Have him fill you in on the details. He's in the back of the building. You'll know him when you see him. Keeps his sunglasses on all the time, even when he's sleeping. Idiot."

"Shouldn't there be more people than this defending a power plant?" Six asked, looking around.

"There should." Haggerty acknowledged, nodding at one of the few soldiers under her. "But we're not getting much power out of it, so none of our enemies have a big interest in it either. Not like Hoover Dam, anyway."

"We had a real fighting force here just long enough to take it from the Brotherhood of Steel. Then they got sent east to the dam like everybody else." she continued. "Caesar's Legion sends skirmishers every so often. Prodding for weaknesses, mostly. The reality is, if they really wanted it, we'd all be dead."

"Why was the Brotherhood of Steel here?" asked the Courier, his interested piqued.

Figures they would keep him in the dark as much as they could, thought Arcade. Especially if he was one friend away from being collared.

"Damned if I know. Put up a hell of a fight, though. We had them outnumbered, I don't know, twenty to one, maybe." she replied. "They held out as long as they could. Lost most of their force before they retreated. Gave us a little parting gift, too. They had some of the plant running, but they shut it all down. Enabled an old security system, too, to keep us away from the controls. Jerkoffs."

"I better get to it then." Six announced, strolling past.

"Dismissed."

* * * * * *

"Have you repaired something like a solar tower before?" Arcade asked when they entered the building, bewildered by what the Courier could possibly be planning.

After Six had brought up Navarro, Arcade found himself increasingly paranoid. HELIOS One had a Pre-War super weapon, something that the Enclave had kept tabs on, according the records he had seen. Six had proven to be obliging and kind, but he was unpredictable. Perhaps a solar-powered doomsday laser was temptation enough, like a shiny treasure to a magpie. They side-stepped rubble and broken building fixtures, residual evidence that the NCR and the Brotherhood fought tooth and nail over the place until recently.

"No, but I've found most Pre-War tech tends to share very similar components. They all have fairly standardised parts." Six replied. "It's kinda like how most animals have the same sets of organs. Well animals with vertebrae, at least."

He was right - virtually all the tech the United States used before Armageddon had been made by the same monopoly mega-corporation for decades: RobCo. Everything, whether it be personal, medical or military machinery, it all used the same if not similar components his companion mentioned. Compared to other business practices prior to the Energy Wars, Arcade thought it was unusual RobCo focused on durable and modular products. Most businesses prior to the war made more money with more consumerist practices.

But it was telling what survived after all this time.

"Most transplants have to be treated with medication, and it's not like you could put say, a dog's stomach into a brahmin, for example." Arcade debated, though he understood what the delivery boy was trying to convey.

Some two-hundred years ago, the medical industry could grow new organs in laboratories without the need for immunosupressives, much like new replacements could be manufactured for machines. Their descendants had scraps.

"Circuit boards and modules are much less varied." Six explained. "As far as rejecting the transplant, that's where the software comes into it. The programming tells the machine, actually, that is the right piece of hardware its looking for. Even if it's a piece you've pulled out of something else."

"So it's like an organ transplant, with rejection being programmed out?"

"Yep! See, this is one of the reasons why I like talking to you. You get my analogies. This will be a piece of cake."

That idiom felt very archaic in the Wasteland.

Six booted up the terminal at what would have been the building's reception desk. Gannon watched the screen over his shoulder. There were a few surviving entries on the system's server, and the Courier clicked and browsed through each one.

"Some project called ARCHIMEDES. Dangerous test conditions." Six muttered, skimming through each of the entries. "Visit from the army. Workplace propaganda dribble. Did they really make their employees read this crap? Anyway."

A nearby soldier on guard and the Courier exchanged blank glances. Six spun around, and tugged at Arcade's sleeve, leading him toward the back hallways. He closed the door behind them.

"The Brotherhood wouldn't have fought so hard to keep this place if there wasn't something dangerous here." he whispered, his breath heavy with suspicion. "It's not like they don't know how to make electricity."

"Has your Scribe friend mentioned anything about this place?" Arcade whispered back.

"No… Well not directly, at least." Six tapped a contemplative finger against the front of his mask. "Let's talk with that idiot the L.T. mentioned first."

Not the most reassuring thing to say out loud, but there didn't appear to be any personnel in the bowels of the building. Six continued toward another door at the back. Arcade had heard that the Followers had posted one of their own here, but he hadn't quite believed it. If it was true, it only further demonstrated how desperate the NCR was in trying to get the place operational.

"You know, you sound as if though you wouldn't trust the NCR with something dangerous." Arcade mentioned, now they had relative privacy.

"I wouldn't trust the Brotherhood with it either, if I'm being honest. Let alone anyone else."

"Then why are you helping them get the plant online?" he asked.

The Courier stopped in front of the next door.

"I like that you keep me honest, Arcade." Six professed. "And I'll be honest in saying I'm not doing this for them. There's a lot of communities that could use the power. And if we can shut down some dangerous Pre-War nightmare-thingy, that's just a bonus."

Arcade smiled, comforted by his words. Hopefully his actions would follow suit.

* * * * * *

Idiot was an understatement. Complete and utter buffoon didn't quite cover it either. The idiot wouldn't be able to comprehend any synonyms he picked anyway. Arcade could see Six's second-hand embarrassment throughout his whole body as they conversed. It was taking all his energy not to groan and bury his face in his hands too.

"What exactly do you do?" The Courier was struggling extract anything useful from the man in sunglasses.

"Fuck, man. Everything. I push buttons. I turn dials. I read numbers. Sometimes I make up little stories in my head about what the numbers mean. Like one time I imagined they were a code to get into a vault full of naked women. Man, how cool would that be?"

"Why… Why would they be naked if they're in a vault?" Six sounded puzzled.

"Don't answer that." Arcade interjected sternly. For someone who was both a terrible flirt and intellectual, Six was alarmingly dense sometimes.

"So you have no idea what you're doing." Six stated.

"No, man. I know exactly what I'm doing. I just don't know what effect it's going to have." 'Fantastic', as he called himself, showed them around the room. "Over there controls power in this building. That station has readouts on the computer network. That big knob there makes a crazy noise. Sparks come out of that slot if you put stuff in it. And I'm learning more every day."

"The NCR education system at its finest." Arcade muttered under his breath. Six barely kept a snort of laughter under wraps.

"Soooo… What are you trying to accomplish then?" Six asked, his patience running thin.

Arcade was beginning to think it would be easier to somehow scoop out Fantastic's brain, like a gross dollop of smooth pinkish ice-cream. Put it in a Robo-Brain. Then ask the Robo-Brain the simple questions Six was asking than asking him directly.

But the on-board software would likely struggle to parse anything and short circuit.

'Fantastic' more or less confirmed that the tower outside housed most of the controls, and it was swarmed by Pre-War security. Arcade imagined a host of military standard robots, turret systems, and whatever else the Brotherhood could do to booby-trap it. More than enough to dissuade the NCR from going near it, but not his intrepid friend. The idiot also told that sending the power to the Strip and McCarran was 'the right choice', as in, the one he got paid most for.

Six was handed a terminal password, torn from a notepad that had phallic doodles etched in the blank spaces. It was legible, at least. For one of the two outside terminals. The idiot went off to do what he did best, try and look as busy as possible without actually doing anything.

"In case it's not obvious, I think you should redirect the power to Freeside and outer Vegas." Arcade told the Courier, now that the other man was out of earshot. Or at least not paying any attention to either of them.

"Of course. I trust your judgement a lot more than The Fantastic Volume Adjuster over there."

The NCR's resident theoretical expert in expertise was wildly adjusting a numbered dial, singing aloud his own praises loudly and making his own sound effects.

"Great. Glad we're on the same page. I mean, I didn't expect that you'd want to... activate the super weapon or anything. Heh."

"Although, if you cover the whole area equally..." Six voiced his thoughts out loud, thankfully disinterested in the weapon Arcade had just let slip.

"NCR troops control Hoover Dam." asserted Arcade. "Why do they need more power?"

"Redundancy." his friend explained. "If Caesar takes the dam and cuts off power, it will be chaos all over New Vegas."

"Hmm. That's a valid point. I'm not really behind the NCR in all of this, but the last thing I want is panic in the streets."

Now all they needed was the second password for the other terminal outside. If Six was as good as he said he was with computers, he could probably hack it, but that would take out valuable time from their day getting shot at by the homicidal robots that awaited for them in the tower.

Arcade followed the delivery boy as he looked around the control room. Tucked away in a side room, he recognised his colleague, Ignacio Rivas, out of the corner of his eye. He had been transferred from the Old Mormon Fort months ago, likely coinciding with just after NCR had gained control of the facility. He was the one person that Beatrix, the ghoul hired gun, actually got along with, and she had been playing torment ever since he left.

"It's unusual to see a new face here. Well... someone new." Rivas greeted the Courier. "Are you a soldier, or a scientist?"

"My interest in this place is scientific." boasted Six, armed to the teeth and looking like a veteran ranger a few rounds deep in a game of telephone.

"Then we have that in common. Whom do you typically work with?"

"It'll be more fun if we keep it a mystery." Six leaned against the door frame, his arm up around his head. "Besides, I'm more interested in you."

"You're right. I'm sorry. That imbecile in the next room has me on edge. I used to be more fun."

Arcade rolled his eyes, and pushed past the delivery boy.

"Ignore him, Ignacio. We're here to fix the power plant."

"Oh, hey, Arcade. I wouldn't have expected to see you here. Did the Followers send you two to help?"

"No. The Courier here is a regular neighbourly handyman. Can't leave anything lying around broken."

"That's fortunate, for the need for power is great everywhere. Should you get the reflectors operational again, distributing the power evenly is the most rational and humane choice." Ignacio told the Courier.

"It's true. I got my start by fixing the Prospector Saloon's radio and then- What's a Follower doing here?" Six asked, interrupting himself.

"I was sent here when we saw that the NCR had taken it." said Ignacio.

The other Follower explained that his mission was to determine the threat level and prevent any dangerous Pre-War technology from being revived. The NCR let him stay, in their desperation for answers, but he hadn't given them much to work with. Follower records suggested that Poseidon, its parent company, dealt in weapons and not just energy. Gannon knew for certain that they did.

"A code word comes up repeatedly in the papers I've looked through here." Rivas continued. "ARCHIMEDES."

Arcade found himself getting tense again. He really did blurt to Six he knew there was super weapon here already, and now his colleague was telling him that the Followers didn't even know that for certain. But Six had already figured out that possibility, right?

"You think ARCHIMEDES is a weapon they built here?" Six asked Rivas.

"Yes. And the technology they have in this facility is like nothing I've seen. Some of it reminds me of Enclave equipment, but more advanced."

An unsettling bead of sweat ran down Gannon's spine. What the hell did Ignacio know about Enclave equipment?

It wasn't like he could just ask him.

"A weapon based upon it would be catastrophic, no matter who claimed it. It's no wonder the Brotherhood wouldn't give it up." Ignacio warned.

What he said only aligned with what Six had already discerned about the place. It would be just as catastrophic if he had to explain himself to Six too.

"And the NCR has no idea that there might be a weapon here?"

"Not yet. By some miracle they've hired an imbecile to try and decipher the systems here. He's spent months working at one console trying to get the solar reflectors to track the sun. What he doesn't know is that the only thing the console controls is the plant's intercom system. I tried to tell him, but he insisted that the largest console had to be the most important. Still, it's only a matter of time…"

Part of Ignacio's assignment was babysitting a man-child, and suddenly Beatrix's antics became benign in comparison. Gannon did not envy his position in the slightest. Not everyone's company could be as enriching as the Courier's.

"If you're still planning to go and repair this facility, then take my advice. This installation carries with it dangers that no one here has realised." Rivas warned Six. "Take care what you do here, and who you listen to. Some things are best left buried with the old world."

As if just to spite both Arcade and what his colleague had just said, the Eyebot started playing back audio buried in its system. It hovered between them and the back exit door.

"Download Complete. Begin Recording. Navarro outpost scientists, I am glad that ED-E has reached you. You will find several data banks of information on this machine."

A console command lit up on Six's Pip-Boy, and he hit continue playback.

"Please handle this information with the utmost care as it represents the sum total of the results of my research on the Duraframe Eyebots. There are also several data banks with information on my research into Poseidon Energy and some projects they were working on in the Mojave area."

Arcade was glad Ignacio and Six had their attention turned to the bot, so neither of them saw all the colour drain from his face. He tried to hide his horror behind what he thought would look like a contemplative expression.

"Huh. ED-E hasn't done that in a bit. We're not in Navarro, bud." The Courier told his metallic minion, then sounded the old outpost's name out slowly, phonetically. Like twisting the knife in Arcade's anxiety further. "Nah-Var-Row. Where even is that place? Was…that place?"

"You're right in saying 'was'. The NCR destroyed Navarro years ago." Ignacio answered. "Apparently it was an Enclave base along the coast. It was some ways south of Arroyo, and west from New Reno, if you know where those municipalities are. When we were still incorporated into the NCR, The Followers of the Apocalypse were tasked with deciphering any surviving records. Sadly, most of those records were corrupted by a computer virus some time after."

Arcade tapped Six on his shoulder, damp with perturbation.

"Even if that thing has information on this place. I doubt it'll help us disable the security system and fix the reflectors for us. Let's keep going, Six." Arcade stressed.

Dodging automated turrets and Mister Gutsy robots was quickly becoming appealing.

"Alrighty. See you on the other side then, Iggy." Six gave a loose salute with two fingers.

"Please don't call me that, Courier."

* * * * * *

The two terminals controlling the mirrors were fixed with a few keystrokes. One of them was heavily guarded with dogs, but they seemed more interested in getting pets from the Courier than keeping him away from anything. Arcade was glad his companion's attention was divided between his new fluffy friends.

"Fantastic... More like Fantastic Waste of Resources, immarite?" Six joked, in an attempt to try to rouse his companion from his agitated silence.

Arcade snorted, laughing. Six really did know when to administer some humour, but he was more in tune with his companion's state of mind than the doctor would have liked.

"Oh. I've got another one." Arcade joined in, playing along. There was no sense in fighting it. "The NCR's latest psychological weapon. It's Fantastic."

Six cackled, and one of the patrolling personnel awkwardly looked the other way.

"You really gotta hand to it Ignacio, huh. For just dealing with that fellow." The Courier commended.

"Making the world a better place is rarely glamorous. Hopefully fixing this place means he can get assigned another post."

"I dunno. I kinda bring a glamorous angle to the work we do." Six struck a pose.

Arcade playfully gave Six a jab with his hand, prodding him in the space just below his ribs.

His friend started laughing again. It must have been his adolescence since he had last done something like that.

* * * * * *

It started raining again when the two of the entered the Solar Collection Tower. Bullets showered down after leaving the apparent safety of the entryway. Before the targeting system got a lock, Six pushed himself and Arcade against the wall, in the turret's blind spot. The Courier had him pinned, shielding his vitals.

"If the Brotherhood activated the security system as they left, I bet the turret controls are nearby." Six thought aloud.

Arcade was about to clear his throat, to remind the Courier that the turret fire couldn't reach them in their current position. He didn't need to hold Arcade in place.

Though he was practically getting embraced by his companion when Arcade peered down at their shared situation.

"Stay here." Six said in a low and reassuring voice, gently pushing himself away.

Arcade nodded vigorously, and any of the blood that had left his face before had made its return tenfold.

Six scampered across the hallway, and a hail of bullets followed him. He kicked away mines, their charges exploding in transit. The turrets' spray threatened him at the locked door, and the doctor could hear him curse out as he tried finessing it open. When it finally unlocked, Six fell into the other room, and Gannon lost sight of the delivery boy as the door was slammed behind him.

Bullets kept firing at the metal door, the flak ricocheting off. After a minute or so the system grinded to a halt, their servos swivelled and started firing elsewhere. He could hear laser fire being fired back from where the Courier left him, firm and safe against the wall. It sounded like it was being fired from further below in the building, though he didn't dare try to confirm it. After a couple of explosions, the building returned to its relative silence, the ambient hum of electricity from internal wires.

"Cah-ching! Got it!" Six announced excitedly, bursting out from the control room, though his volume was tempered. He skipped back to his companions in-waiting. "Hopefully that put a dent in the crowd waiting for us."

"Crowd?" Arcade asked, already concerned. Just how many robots waited for them down there?

Six sidled up close to him again, pressing up against him again, showing the sensor display on his Pip-Boy. Multiple markers flagged red, like the doctor's face, organised by relative compass direction.

"Red means they're determined to be a high threat level, according to the on-board computer system. Also ED-E's sensors."

Arcade scowled.

"Hey, chin up! We can handle a few robots! I stocked up in Novac!"

"Can't you just throw a couple of pulse grenades down there and let that sort them out?"

"No can do. Don't want to damage any other systems accidentally, including ED-E's." Six told him. "I uh… also don't have any on me."

"Damn." Arcade said flatly, glancing over at the Eyebot.

The Courier crouched down without warning, his head far too close to Arcade's belt. He dug through his pack for his arsenal, and Arcade slowly slid down the wall, gingerly shifting the delivery boy away from being so close. Too close. They would need to have a little talk about personal space and boundaries again. Six, unfazed by being scooted away, offered up some energy cells to him.

"Follow my lead." said Six.

* * * * * *

The room started to spin, his vision smeared and cloudy like bacterial growth in petri dishes.

A loud ringing persisted in his ears.

When his vision steadied, he saw the vague form of the Courier peer over him.

He couldn't remember the cultivar he looked like in the moment.

His head throbbed. Where was he, again?

"Arcade?" Six's voice seemed so far away, even though he was right in front of him. He didn't want his friend to be far away.

Couldn't he come close again? Permeate and grow on him like mould in agar?

His whole body ached. The pain must have come from somewhere.

Why was he thinking about growth mediums?

"Arcade. I'm so sorry." Six's voice started to cut through the static ringing. He sounded so sad and worried. He wanted Six to be happy. "The blast from the sentry bot sent knocked you against the wall."

Arcade could feel himself being cradled. Normally, he wouldn't let himself be touched and grabbed. It was okay if Six did it. If Six ever meant to hurt him on purpose, he had ample opportunities before.

It hurt less, somehow.

One of Six's hands searched the back of his head for any blood. There wasn't any. Then the hands held him still, his nose resting against the cape of Six's duster. Instinctively Arcade held him back, his hands trembling.

The sentry bot. That's right. They had opened the next set of doors but the robot was waiting right near the entryway. The delivery boy had found some pulse grenades and mines in another side room. It was a difficult fight, but he hadn't drawn any fire until the explosion. Six was good at protecting him.

"You're not bleeding so that's good. Maybe a concussion. Bump on the head." Six held him close, sounding worried.

Arcade could feel his back being rubbed, soothed. A concussion still warranted attention, and he wouldn't be able to do much on their journey back.

"You're going to be fine." Six murmured.

No. It wasn't fine. He didn't want Six to think he was taking advantage of the situation. And he wasn't going to be of any use to him for a while. The doctor recoiled his hands, rubbing his face. Would he even want his company if he had nothing to offer him?

He felt a standard issue needle prick against his arm, tunnelling a neat hole through his clothing. A stimpak.

"Ah. That helps." Arcade sighed contently, the ringing faded. His vision gradually returned. "It is my medical opinion that that could have gone better."

He sat himself up, removing himself from his companion like dissembling scaffolding. The wall he had collided with now supported his lower back.

"You're allowed to get upset or angry, y'know." Six insisted, his hands pawing at his own lap. "You got real hurt on my account."

"You made a bad call. It happens."

The Courier flicked this nose.

"Hey! What was that for?!" Arcade instinctively shielded his face.

"Hmm. Better. Try again."

"Alright." he rolled back his shoulders and straightened out his back against the wall. He could try throwing out heated banter. "That was a bad call. Uh. Screw you."

"Maybe later." Six replied smugly. "Did that make you feel any better?"

"No? No. I really wasn't that angry or upset by it." Just embarrassed. He could feel heat around his neck and face.

"Huh. It just feels like sometimes you're holding back for my sake. It's no good repressing emotions."

"And if I said something I would regret?"

"I'd forgive you."

Lit up like eyes with tapetum lucidum, the Courier's light adaptive visor stared at him. Hardly a forgiving looking face, but now he could imagine the actual face beneath it.

"Are there any more robots to deal with?" Arcade asked, changing subject. Lest he thought about what Six's face might have looked like in the moment for long. "I doubt I'll be much help if I do have a concussion."

"Not according to my sensors." Six grabbed at Arcade's hands, and the doctor looked perplexed by the gesture until he pulled them both back up. "You just take it easy, if we run into more trouble I'll protect you."

"Right. Of course. Thank you." Arcade fixed his glasses.

ED-E, who had been positioned up in the rafters, puttered down. It must have evaded the Courier's sensors when counting robots left to deal with.

* * * * * *

The Brotherhood had clearly left in a hurry, the rooms filled with unfinished refurbishments and heaped piles of debris. Alongside the now deactivated security, tampered systems and components laid strewn about. Anything they could afford to replace and not take with them had been damaged or broken purposely.

Six wandered about the room, contemplative and analytical too. Arcade noticed a slight bounce in his step, inquisitive about the space.

"Looks like the Brotherhood cut this power conduit in the generator. Or something chewed it." said Six. "I can repair it, but I'd rather not risk electrocuting myself. I'll see if I can get the Mister Handy to repair it."

Gannon paced around the inactive robot, motionless in its charging station.

"I thought you might say something about me activating this fellow." Six told Arcade, his helmet facing the automaton's back panels, interfacing with his Pip-Boy. "You don't seem to like robots much."

"I'd rather you didn't cook your internal organs with high voltage. A discharge might kill you." He responded, uneasy about his friend's line of thinking. Robots had caused enough of their problems today. "Besides. I'm indifferent about robots. Unless they're shooting at us, obviously. I'm only concerned for your well-being with that following you around."

He gestured at ED-E with his hand. It was keeping its distance.

"If you say so." Six sounded unconvinced, pulling out the connection cord and closing the back panel. "This fellow is called 'PYTHON'. Do you think it's an acronym?"

"Probably." Gannon rubbed at his head.

An affirmative beep signalled the station to release its struts, and the Mister Handy's propulsion fired up. It hovered out and down the stairs, making its way down to the tampered wiring. The Courier and his companions watched PYTHON repair the generator, welding sparks flying from one of its appendages.

It didn't have a voice modulator, either by virtue of not having one installed, or it being broken, so when it finished its work, it didn't jovially announce it had done so. It silently floated back to its charging station and deactivated itself. Arcade was relieved it didn't talk, because the delivery boy would always have questions to ask. Even if it was just what PYTHON stood for.

Normally he savoured his friend's curiosity, but this place had revealed too many secrets already.

Six jogged down to the now powered mainframe, booting up its in-built terminal. Gannon worryingly monitored the screen. If the Courier was going make use of the orbital laser, it would be now. It was hard to keep up with his inputs.

"Fremont. That's the old name for Freeside, isn't it?" asked Six.

The grid configuration software had 'Fremont and Westside' selected.

"Yes. Fremont Street is the road passing through Freeside." Arcade confirmed. "But I thought you had decided on the redundancy option."

"If the worst comes to pass, I'll come back here and change it." The Courier promised. But in Arcade's mind, if it was truly the worst coming to pass, he would not be around. "Maybe I can reformat the software to hide some of the options. Or at least add another level of credentials."

Like he had done with PYTHON, he plugged in his Pip-Boy. Centuries without security updates, every loop hole and vulnerability had already been discovered, but only someone matching Six's technological skill could undo what he was doing. He dug into his pack and pulled out a blank slip of paper and a pen. He furiously scribbled onto it, leaning against the top of the terminal.

"Here." the paper was passed to Arcade. "If you or the Followers ever need to reconfigure it."

It read: Antigone canadensis.

He had made the password one of his guidebook animals, giving the paper the same anonymity his attire gave him. Without context, it was just some binomial name.

"Sandhill crane. Have you ever seen one?" Six asked.

"No, I haven't."

"Shame. They're pretty birds."

"I thought they were extinct. At least in this corner of the continent."

Six shrugged. Any of his remaining memories of the birds would be decades old.

He resumed typing at the keyboard, confirming his selection of Fremont and Westside, and denied arming ARCHIMEDES.

"Nicely done." Arcade felt some of the compounding stress leave his body. "I'm sure people will appreciate the power. I hate to have to rely on it, but out here... it makes a big difference."

"Not done yet. Gotta go outside to send through these changes."

* * * * * *

"Wow! What a view!" Six tested the catwalk surrounding the tower with a stamp of his foot, gripping the railing tight.

The desert did look a lot more agreeable from a distance, and some landmarks Arcade recognised definitely were a lot uglier up close. Looking out, he could see yuccas, the odd pinyon pine and plenty of cacti dot the landscape. Carved rock formations, stained red with rust bordered the back of the power plant. Looking up to the sky, he saw a large bird soaring a mile or so away.

"What bird is that, Six?" Arcade asked, putting the delivery boy's knowledge to the test.

"Hmm. Judging from the wing shape and how big it is… Golden Eagle. Could be a Turkey Vulture though. Let me grab my binoculars."

The Courier hooked himself onto Arcade's looped arm to steady himself as he dug through his pack.

"Yep. Golden eagle." Six confirmed through his binoculars. "Nice catch, blondie."

He passed over the binoculars. Hopefully the Scribe's nickname that Six just borrowed wouldn't stick.

Arcade had to steady himself against the metal rail to properly look at the bird. It was less gold more brown than its name would have suggested, though the mottling on its neck and down its body was sort of golden, he supposed. Old world biologists had an odd way of naming things.

"Aquila chrysaetos." The Courier announced, returning his binoculars to his pack.

"Aquila means 'eagle' in Latin… But you probably already knew that." noted Arcade.

As they made their way down the ramp, his companion kept testing the metal grating underneath them.

"I did, but you're always welcome to translate." Six happily reminded him.

He stopped in front of the reflector control panel.

"Alright, here goes!" The Courier announced, giving the panel a look over. "Hopefully nothing explodes."

And nothing would, at least not with the capacity ARCHIMEDES had, knowing the power wasn't directed toward the orbital laser. It was one less Pre-War super weapon to contend with.

Six threw a thumbs up when he cranked down the lever. The solar panels, waking up from an extended torpor with grinding joints, began their search for the sun again. At first the shifting panels glistened and glittered as their cells found the light again, a pretty spectacle several storeys above the ground. Soon the light the panels reflected back became more intense, and Six dropped to the ground wailing and screaming, trying to hide himself from the blinding light. Concerned he might topple from the catwalk and fall to his death, Arcade quickly whipped off his coat and covered what he could make out of his companion's hunched over body.

He draped himself over his head too, trying to form a physical barrier against the sensory assault, keeping Six within arm's reach in case he stumbled. The light returned to normal quickly, but the Courier did not. His mask dropped off, and Arcade quickly snatched it up before it spun off the sides. It would survive the drop better than its wearer would, but Six had spent enough money on repairs and replacements already. He heard the tell tale noises of retching, and the Courier's breakfast was spilled out hot onto Gannon's shoes, dripping down through the metal grating.

"Shit. Sorry. I'm so sorry." Six wailed, still shaking, clutching at his companion's knees. "I had no idea you were that close to me."

"It's okay." Arcade hushed, and patted Six's back. "I've been in Freeside long enough to know what it's like to have vomit on your shoes. Your breakfast is a lot easier to clean off than 'Wasteland Drug Cocktail'."

A small chuckle and a deep exhale steadied the Courier. Arcade handed back his mask, the tinted lens would help steel himself against daylight again. His lab coat was pushed back.

"There…there was a drinking fountain on the observation deck." said Six.

* * * * * *

"Is bright light one of the reasons you wear the mask all the time?" Arcade asked, being tossed a wet rag.

"One of them. Bright lights are kinda disorientating." Six replied, splashing water onto his face and washing his mouth out. "Great trait to have while wandering a desert, huh?"

The novelty of seeing his face hadn't worn off yet, and Gannon caught himself observing how the water soaked and dripped off the extremities of his features. There really was something beautiful about how the low light refracted in the droplets. But someone like Six would be easy to look at in any light, he concluded.

"Must make your whole 'looking at things in different light' difficult too."

Vomit, on the other hand, still looked just as gross as he remembered it.

"Difficult, but no less worth the effort." Six's gaze found Arcade's, and the delivery boy smiled.

Green eyes darted away, resuming course on clean up duty. He heard the sound of containers being filled, and a glance saw the Vault 13 canteen was included. The water here was radiation free, at least according to the Pip-Boy. The fountain still chilled its water as well.

"Where did you get that? That canteen?" Arcade asked, the last of the vomit wiped off his boots.

The Courier held up the canteen, and for only the second time Arcade could see his face try and recall a memory, his brows furrowed together and his eyes squinted.

"I don't remember, sorry. I've had it for a long time though, if that helps." he gave the container a shake. "Trusty old thing. I wonder where Vault 13 even is."

"I'm sure you're not the first person to ask that." Vault locations were valuable to all sorts - raiders, scavengers, scientists and vagrants. While he personally didn't know where 13 was, he knew about its fate. It had happened before he was born, but he still thought about the people taken from that vault.

An unhealthy dose of generational guilt for their kidnapping and experimentation.

"Did you... want one for yourself? If I ever find another like it, you can have it."

"No need. Just curious about it."

The delivery boy dried his hands and went over where he had set down his gear.

"Hey, Six?" Arcade called out, wanting to see one more of Six's facial expressions to what he was about to say.

"Mmm?" Six paused, wriggling the fit of his gloves as he looked over.

"Good work today. You should be proud."

That soft, dopey smile appeared on his face again. Self-conscious but veracious. He really was completely transparent without his mask.

"You've probably got a concussion and I threw up on you." Six pointed out.

"There's always room for improvement." Arcade grinned.

"I'd say. But you make it sound like I deserve all the credit." with his gear held in his hands, he meandered closer to Arcade. "I think we make a good team. Minus some… mishaps."

Six kept smiling at him, studying Arcade's face in the low light. Committing another visual entry to his memory, perhaps looking for visual symptoms to confirm a concussion.

The delivery boy slipped on his helmet and mask again, fastening buckles and seals.

"Now. Let's try and get you back to Freeside right away. There's enough head trauma between us already."

There was no disputing that.

Chapter Text

Why does tragedy exist?
Because you are full of rage.
Why are you full of rage?
Because you are full of grief.

Renato Rosaldo, Grief and Headhunter's Rage

At least a week's rest. Doctor's orders. As prescribed by one of his colleagues.

True to his word, the Courier had gotten Gannon back to the Old Mormon Fort without delay, not even allowing himself sleep. No sidestepping, no distractions, and thankfully no assassins.

It had been a couple of days since then. Arcade assumed he wouldn't hear from Six until after the initial week had passed. The Courier didn't have any other reason to stop by. Not while his tag along physician couldn't join him on any of his travels. The caravan shipment with his medication had also been delayed, caught up by 'freak weather' according to the radio transmission that was sent.

Other than a dull headache and increased sensitivity to light, Arcade hadn't had much in the way of other concussion symptoms. He knew better to stay put, and not aggravate his injury, but he was re-acquainted with why patients didn't. Sitting around and doing nothing, trying to sleep when already rested. It was enough to drive anyone mad. A dull recovery for a dull man.

Arcade had never had problems with 'cabin fever' within the confines of the old fort before. Severe boredom from time to time, but never the restlessness he had been experiencing in the last few days. He concluded that it was because he had been given a taste of the alternative. It was hard to crave something not experienced before.

No reason to stop by, but it didn't stop the doctor from looking up to see who had come through the gates each and every time.

The habit had already come to bite him. A man who looked like his last ex-boyfriend entered the compound during the morning. A second look, properly looking through his glasses, confirmed only a passing resemblance, but it was enough to dredge up memories.

Surely he had something better to think about, anything else to think about. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about his last failed relationship. It had ended long enough ago that Arcade didn't want to remind himself how much time had passed since then. It was a short term bout that survived longer than it should have done: physicality fed its intravenous drip and loneliness was a powerful aphrodisiac. Convenience was a bed he had made before.

He had once thought of the man as kind and decent, but he ended up being a selfish lover. Arcade's feelings and well-being were never a priority to him. Boring, he had called the doctor, but he wasn't the first entanglement to call Gannon that.

Everyone had their contradictions.

The Courier contradicted reason to visit.

The delivery boy entered the fort later in the day, holding a potted plant in his hands. It was good to see him, even if was a premature visit. He headed toward Arcade's tent.

"You're a few days early, I'm afraid. I won't be able to join you on your travels til I get the all clear."

"I know. I came to visit. I brought you some flowers."

Six held up the plant. It was housed in a small terracotta pot, masterfully repaired with glue at some point. Its faint glue residue and hairline cracks only visible when light hit at a precise angle. It was a small shrub with washed out green foliage, not unlike the colour of Arcade's shirt. On a central stem, several bright orange flowers with yellow stamen, and some unopened buds.

"I didn't realise I was dying." Arcade joked.

It was carefully set down on his desk.

"…Please don't joke about stuff like that." Six slumped onto the spare chair.

"Sorry. I'm only used to seeing flowers being brought in for really sick people. You know, like for people with extended hospital stays in our NCR city clinics."

They were usually cut flowers too, mostly flora sturdy enough to survive in the wastes. Arcade used to bring his mother flowers when he could, especially in the months before her passing. Having his friend bring him something like that was bound to start some unfounded rumours.

"In one of my holo-tape serials, some flowers get brought to someone in hospital. I thought it was a nice gesture, especially considering I'm the reason you got hurt."

"It is very sweet, and these flowers are beautiful, but it's just a mild concussion." Arcade chuckled. "If it is even that. You don't need to get me flowers."

"I wanted to. It's called an Apricot Mallow." explained Six, idly touching the leaves of his gift. "Apparently its a medicinal plant. I thought it might be useful for your research too."

Of course it was more meaningful than just aesthetics and nice gestures. Six's gifts always were.

"Keeping me busy?" smiled Arcade.

"I got you stuck here. I'd feel bad if you're bored shitless."

On the contrary, thought Arcade. The Courier was the reason why he even regularly left the old fort's confines. His staying here was just a precaution, and one he could afford to take.

"You're very thoughtful, Six." He shifted the gift for it to have a proper home on his desk. "But it's honestly just nice to have some company. What have you been up to?"

"Nothing fun, I'm afraid. Is it okay if I stay a while? I could use someone to talk to."

"Of course."

The last few days had been busy for the Courier. He had followed up on a rumour about the NCR offering a big reward for bounty hunting work, in caps. Not their usual paper money, and not the work Six usually picked up, he stressed. But the full bounty was enough caps to finally get onto the Strip, with a nice safety net for repairs.

Six pulled three folded up wanted posters from his inner coat pockets. Each poster had an illustration of what the target looked like, and a list of their crimes. All officially sanctioned by the New Californian Republic. Payment on delivery of their head, and an extra bonus for all three. A bit more macabre than the NCR usually touted, especially on official documents. But it paled compared to their targets' deeds.

But Arcade had seen victims of the Fiends patched up in the fort before. Those lucky enough to survive. It wasn't surprising that they were giving the NCR trouble too.

The Courier had already dealt with one of the bounties, one severed head already delivered to Camp McCarran. A difficult opponent as told from Six's colourful story.

"Wait. Were you out there alone?"

"I had ED-E and a stealth-boy. I thought it would be easier to be covert. Quick. Painless." A mercy considering some of the targets' crimes. He prodded at one of the wanted posters, labelled 'Driver Nephi'. "I had taken out his posse with my rifle without being seen, but I shot him right between the eyes and he just ran at me."

Did the Mojave just pop out freaks of nature resistant to bullets to the head?

"You survived two shots to the head." Arcade blurted.

"I barely survived two 9mm. This was a .308. In his skull! I-I had to shoot his legs off with my shotgun. I burnt through a whole lot of stimpaks." The delivery boy's agitation caught a few glances from around the encampment. "And he dented ED-E!"

"Six. These people have given sniper squads trouble. You could have gotten seriously hurt!" Arcade lowered his voice. "…I don't like seeing you hurt."

"If anyone else got mixed up with these monsters… I wouldn't be able to forgive myself." Six shook his head, his visor facing the ground. "'Specially if it was someone I cared about."

"…Then how do you think we'd feel, knowing if you got hurt when we could have helped you?" said the doctor, his hands curling up on his slacks, gripping at his own knees. He was lumping the Courier's Scribe friend in with his statement, but she seemed to care for their mutual friend too.

The Courier's head snapped up.

"We? …You care about me too?"

"Of course I do." Arcade admitted, a little too loudly and insistent in hindsight. "We're friends, aren't we? It certainly feels like I've known you longer than a few months. I'm not exactly a mercenary, but taking out scumbags of this magnitude wouldn't cause me to lose any sleep. Let me help you."

If he heard about a certain mailman meeting his demise at the hands of those scumbags, he would certainly be losing a lot of sleep.

"I couldn't possibly ask you to do something like that."

"Then let me volunteer. I'd hate to lose the first friend I've made in a long time." he sighed, looking up at Six intensely. "If I needed your help with something dangerous, you'd help me, right?"

Six nodded.

"Give me a couple of days, and we can go about making the Mojave a safer place. We make a good team, remember?"

The Courier lifted his hands up and around the edges of his mask. With a bit of fiddling he unclipped the visor and mouthpiece away from the rest of his headgear, showing his face. It was a display of trust, and a way of showing Arcade his earnest expression.

"We do, don't we?" smiled Six, that same soft smile he had worn before. "… and I'd hate to disappoint you."

And just as soon as it had been taken off, it was clipped back into place.

It wasn't meant for anyone else to see.

* * * * * *

Keeping to his word again, Six brought Arcade with him on his subsequent hunts.

Most active at dawn and dusk, the Courier reminded Arcade of a crepuscular predator. The red perspex visor evoked the eyes of a bird of prey in the low light. With his coat tails like an owl's wings he swooped down and caught his prey swiftly and silently. Not with talons but a sniper rifle that he caught his quarry: the raiders with the ram skulls fell quickly and painlessly. It was more than they deserved.

Any of them that didn't fall on the first shot were quickly cleaned up by Arcade's plasma defender and ED-E's lasers.

A hunter, not a killer, Six would sometimes remind himself out loud as blood soaked the dirt. Taking these people out was a last resort, but the Courier didn't need to justify his actions to Gannon. The Fiends had done truly heinous damage to the people of Mojave. The systems to facilitate any kind of rehabilitation for them just didn't exist, not in the NCR and barely in the former government they tried to emulate.

It had gotten dark before they came anywhere near their two main targets. With his adaptive visor, Six had no problems seeing in the low-light, but his enemies would.

"Wish I had my anti-materiel rifle with me." said Six as he reloaded the gun's ammunition stock.

"You have one of those?!" Arcade stammered.

"It's very broken. Probably why Benny's hired help didn't bother taking it. It'll be a while before I have enough caps to repair it. Damn shame though. It would have no trouble picking off the ones with helmets. It's kinda loud, even with a suppressor on it."

"I imagine the ammo is expensive too."

"Sure is. Heavy too."

Another voice cried out, and Six yanked Arcade behind some rubble with him. He held his index finger up to the front of his mask, then gestured to cover his ears. His companion nodded.

The Courier pulled out the sawed-off shotgun holstered around his hip, carefully placing it flush against the rubble cover. It was hard to hear the approaching footsteps over the pounding in his ribs, but Gannon also had his fingers plugged in his ears.

The shotgun was pulled back down.

"Just a Nightstalker."

"Shoot it then!" Arcade hissed, shuffling to hide behind his companion.

"It's not gonna hurt us. It's only a baby. Probably one of the Fiends was tryin' keep it as a pet."

Six rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a pouch, rustling out several strips of dried gecko meat into his hands. The Nightstalker pup poked its head around the rubble, its tongue flicking to taste the aroma. While it wasn't fully grown, the genetic chimera of coyote and rattlesnake wasn't a baby.

"Pssp pssp. C'mere." The delivery boy offered the creature a piece of the meat with a out-stretched hand. It cautiously approached, its reptilian tail between its legs.

"Don't invite it closer! Have you ever been bitten by one of those things?"

"It can't help being what it is. I reckon I'd be scared if I got kidnapped and taken far away from home."

Arcade wasn't sure why Six was showing mercy and kindness to a beast that would kill and devour him given the opportunity. Especially some lost lab created monstrosity. He held onto a vial of antivenom from his lab coat just in case.

It gently picked up and ate each of the pieces in the Courier's palm, and its tail began to wag, but not rattle, around the hocks of its back legs. The rest of its lower back started to wiggle too, lifting its head up to flick its tongue up around Six's face mask. Much like a dog would give kisses.

"I think she likes me." Six reached out to rub its cheeks, where the fur and scales started and ended.

"She?" questioned Arcade.

"You can sometimes tell the sex of a snake by its tail. Just a guess though, I've been wrong about stuff like that before..."

"Either way, she only likes you because you fed her."

"Food is the first love we receive." said Six fondly, petting the creature's tawny fur. The Nightstalker stuck her snout into the opened and emptied pouch. "Sorry, girl. That's all I've got."

Gannon expected the creature to lose interest immediately after that, but she laid herself down and rested her snakelike chin onto Six's lap.

"You're very cute, but I've got some important work to do tonight. Taking out bad guys." Six told the Nightstalker, as if she was a human child that understood every word he said. "Stay here and wait til you hear the gunfire stop. Then you can go find your family again."

Unblinking snake eyes stared up to unblinking red lenses. If there was an understanding, Arcade couldn't see it.

* * * * * *

As they crept closer to their first mark, Six took up position atop a nearby building. The delivery boy could scuttle up the side of a building, but Arcade couldn't, so he had to be pulled up. A difficult manoeuvre to perform while trying to remain silent. The skirting around the top wasn't tall enough to sit behind to hide, so the doctor found himself laying down flat, facing the sky.

It would have been nice if they came up here to look at the stars instead of taking out dangerous criminals, thought Arcade. The glittering night skies were so clear here, he could see most of the smudge of the Milky Way despite the light pollution from Vegas. He arched his neck to watch his companion set up his rifle on support struts. Six threw him a thumbs up when he noticed Arcade watching him.

The Follower counted each shot, suppressed in noise as a tiny clicks. In the distance, shouting and hollering, but no return fire. Quick. Painless. Six exhaled as he reloaded the stock.

Without moving away from his rifle, Six pulled out a stealth-boy with his left hand, and he slid it toward Arcade.

"Mooks are taken care of." he whispered. "If Cook-Cook reaches here with his flamethrower. I want you to use this and make a run for it."

"I'm not abandoning you." Arcade whispered to Six, pushing back the device.

"Get ready to lay down some cover fire then."

Arcade spun around to crouch beside him.

"This is for Betsy, you sick fuck." Six spat as he pulled down the trigger, with venom to rival a swarm of Cazadores.

Cook-Cook took a few more hits than most, even with plasma and laser covering fire. There was usually a tremble when Six first aimed his rifle, something Arcade only picked up by studying his companion’s body language in their journeys together. When he aimed with the scope there was usually the briefest of hesitation, even with non-humans, but he didn't see it at all with his latest target. The man fell before he got close enough to ignite his flamethrower, and his corpse collapsed on top of the weapon.

“Good riddance.” scorned Six, lowering Arcade then himself down the side of the building.

Standing around the corpse, Arcade offered his Ripper for his companion to use. There was usually a sort of lingering remorse when the Courier approached the lives he had to take, but it was notably absent here. The bounty wasn't personal, it was financial, but he could tell he empathised with the Fiends' victims, namely whoever Betsy was. Cutting his head off seemed cathartic and judicial to the Courier.

It was hard to watch.

“Don't know about you, but I'll sleep better knowing this fucker can't hurt anyone anymore.” Six muttered.

“Sadly doesn't undo the damage he's already done.”

“I know.” he answered sadly, putting the disembodied head into a waxed bag. “One down, one to go.”

* * * * * *

The second target, Violet had warnings all over her wanted poster about her pack of dogs. 'Dangerous animals that feed on human flesh!' - as if the Wasteland wasn't already full of creatures that did that. Six wasn't downwind, so the dogs must have been uninterested in his presence. Arcade struggled to see how many of them were even there, in the darkness, aside from a few dog-like shadows.

With a muffled click of Six's rifle, Violet fell to ground limply, walking around one moment and dead the next. Her sudden movement caught the attention some of her dogs, scattering to see why their master was suddenly on the floor. She keeled over and died faster than Arcade had anticipated. It was almost anti-climatic.

When Six approached the body, borrowed Ripper in hand, the dogs started yipping and yowling. Gannon had heard about the phenomenon from stories about hunting dogs and wolves. The scent of blood awakening something primeval, a chorus to be sung in anticipation of the first bite. They grew louder and came closer as the Courier drove the serrated spinning blade into their dead master's neck. Six must have been aware of the behaviour, especially with his zoological expertise, and it must have been why he looked so nervous.

And there was every chance that the canines still had illicit substances coursing through their bodies. Their indifference to the Courier could be temporary.

As the blade whirled and spat out blood, the dogs all descended onto the corpse, each grabbing and biting a piece of flesh. Growling and snapping fangs at one another. A particularly bold dog tried to grab and bite the head that the Courier had just prised off, and he had to kick the animal away with his boot.

"Arcade, quick. The bag." called out Six.

The doctor had been distracted by the morbid scene playing out, but he rushed to help Six out before another dog tried their luck again. Arcade had trained on cadavers at university, and performed both biopsies and autopsies before, but none of that could have prepared him for the sight in front of him. He couldn't tear his eyes away, despite how much it disturbed him.

"Let's get out of here. They'll come after me next." warned the Courier.

The headhunter was drenched in his enemy's blood.

* * * * * *

First HELIOS One, now McCarran, Arcade felt like he was being taken into one NCR stronghold after the other. Much like the solar energy plant, McCarran was another place Arcade would have liked have witnessed in its former glory. Hulking aircraft carrying the masses great distances to and from foreign countries. Tens of thousands of feet in the sky, above all the weather and birds, just like how Daisy described her long flights in Vertibirds.

In front of the main terminal, the NCR army had set up at least a dozen tents and a handful of sandbagged guard posts. When they entered, he could immediately feel eyes watching them, the blood soaked faux ranger, his tag along physician and the hovering rust-bucket. The sun peeking over the horizon behind them.

Being so deep in one of their military strongholds was daunting, especially with the Eyebot floating in their wake. No one here, not even Six, had the knowledge to implicate Arcade with the floating robot full of Enclave research. But it wouldn't take much to set off the series of events that would lead to his arrest: if a bunch of trigger happy soldiers would take him alive.

Would Six still vouch for him if that happened? Try to protect him like he had done before?

"You have to hand it to the NCR." Arcade leaned over to Six. "Get enough hands working together and they can make or break just about anything."

Six chuckled.

"There's still some decent people here though." Six pointed out. "And for better or worse they're keeping the Legion at bay."

Some decent people, maybe, but certainly not the Office of Science and Industry branch and its regional head, Hildern. He had given Farkas trouble for years, and currently Arcade was far too close to their offices for his own liking. But Six hadn't mentioned going into the main terminal building, just the outside area.

"I need to drop off the heads to the Major to collect the bounty. Then we can leave."

"Maybe ask if they can give you a quick hose down."

Six craned his head down to look at himself, the blood starting to congeal and dry on his duster. It would be dangerous to walk around smelling like spoiling meat.

"Good idea."

Arcade followed close behind Six around the base like an inverted shadow. A few of the soldiers recognised the delivery boy, greeting him in a variety of different ways. Recon snipers, judging from their red slouch caps. They all swarmed over after the Courier lifted up the bloodied bag of heads. Arcade took a few steps back.

Six opened up the bag, and they all looked inside.

"T-The m-mailman delivers."

"You really came through for us. I have to admit... I wasn't sure you'd make it. "

"You killed him? Well, shit. Here I'd dreamed up this whole elaborate revenge fantasy."

Too macho and militaristic to shake his hand, they all emptied their canteens of water onto him, dousing most of the blood off his duster and armour. At least he was a lot cleaner.

"Where's the Major?" asked Six.

"He's over that way." one of the snipers pointed him out.

"W-we're getting redeployed to C-Camp Forlorn Hope with him, will you come visit us s-sometime?" another asked.

"Forlorn Hope? Shit, couldn't you call it something nicer?" laughed the Courier.

It was strangely nostalgic, standing off to one side awkwardly while his only friend was busy shooting the breeze with strangers, thought Arcade. He would probably be accused of stealing medical supplies if he wandered off on his own.

* * * * * *

"Those soldiers seem to like you." pointed out Arcade, once Six had turned in his bounties for a large sack of caps, and the two of them were relatively alone. "Maybe you could ask if you could use their mono-rail into the Strip."

"I've already asked. Apparently bounty hunting work doesn't grant access to that sorta thing."

"What about fixing that solar plant?"

"They…uh… don't know I did that." Six admitted. Hopefully Rivas didn't let the idiot take credit for that. "But I've got enough caps for the main entrance now. And it's real nice seeing these people get closure. Betsy, for example, she's been seeing Dr. Usanagi at the clinic."

"Usanagi is a excellent doctor. Your friend is in capable hands."

"Friend? Don't let her hear you say that." laughed Six nervously. "Besides, I'd set a new record for quickest court-martial if these guys tried to conscript me. They're okay in small doses."

Arcade could think of a dozen or so unconventional ways Six could get kicked out of the army if they tried to tie him down.

"Certainly would make being friends with your Scribe friend hard if they tried to put you in a uniform."

"I hadn't even thought of that… Are you sure you don't want any of the caps?” Six asked. “You did help me with these bounties.”

“It's fine. I barely did any of the work. You need those caps to get onto the Strip, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you still planning to confront Benny?” Arcade asked.

“I’m still under contract to deliver that Chip he stole. I want it back.”

There was a sudden change to a menacing inflection in his voice. As if he alluded to wanting back more than just the package that was stolen. He couldn't really blame him, the ordeal had robbed Six of his memories and gave him a host of medical problems he would likely have for the rest of his life. Arcade could tell he downplayed and hid a lot of his symptoms, but any good physician could see it leak through in other ways.

Ultimately it wasn't any of Arcade's business how Six would deal with Benny. But as his friend he wanted to steer him away from anything that would put him in the ground permanently. He had gotten quite fond of the strange man and the work they did together. Some vengeance quest against the head of one of the New Vegas 'families' was extremely dangerous, and much more complicated than taking out some drugged up psychos.

Chapter Text

“Because I got my thoughts, I remember!” cried Lespere, far away, indignant, holding his memories to his chest with both hands.

And he was right. With a feeling of cold water rusting through his head and body, Hollis knew he was right. There were differences between memories and dreams. He had only dreams of things he had wanted to do, while Lespere had memories of things done and accomplished. And this knowledge began to pull Hollis apart, with a slow, quivering precision.

Ray Bradbury, Kaleidoscope

"Submit to a credit check or present your passport before proceeding to the gate. Trespassers will be shot."

He kept his distance as the Courier was screened by one of the PDQ-88b Securitrons outside the guarded Strip gates. Six held up his passport, which allowed entry for the both of them, and listed ED-E and Rex as his 'pets'. The Eyebot in question hovered above the delivery boy's shoulder. Arcade hadn't bothered to ask where his companion had gotten the paperwork from, but he had enough for the credit check in case the papers didn't suffice. The Follower didn't have any desire to visit the neon money sink, but when Six asked for his company to go to the Tops, he felt like he would regret not going. Someone had to keep him out of trouble.

"Thank you, sir. You may proceed."

Six jolted back when he almost stepped on a day-old corpse, once someone desperate enough to try and bypass the system. The automaton guards had left the body there as a deterrent, dragged away to be disposed of when rigor mortis took full effect or conveniently in time for a known big spender. Arcade had seen it before, heard of it before. All in the name of 'safety' for its milked patrons.

A first set of gates, chain-link and barb wire wheeled outward. Then roller security doors, framed by inviting pretty lights glistening in the night, opened up for the living.

* * * * * *

The Courier remained deathly quiet as they entered the Strip, starkly contrasting the intoxicated babble of bustling crowds and loud music blasting. Soldiers, NCR citizens and other out of town tourists all mingled with those 'lucky' enough to live and work in the city centre.

"The Strip's not a bad place if you love terrible things and people." Arcade mused, trying to get a peep out of his normally talkative friend. "I'll never understand the allure of giving away your money to the rich."

What he did understand was the allure of wanting to escape it all. Every need and want catered for, but only so long as the caps kept up. Promises of winning big, wealth and decadence simply not seen or known anywhere else in the world as they knew it. Comforts of the Old World and then some, all on display. But the fantasy was the product being sold, and once someone had been wrung dry, they couldn't stay. Arcade didn't understand why more people didn't see through the facade.

The Courier hummed in agreement, but didn't say much else, keeping his head up to scan the area. He was likely occupied with his thoughts, mostly on how to get the Tops Casino. Confronting the man who killed him. When he started walking again, Arcade followed, doing his best to avoid bumping into drunks and persistent casino workers trying to lure either of them into whatever establishment they worked for.

Another Securitron rolled down the empty stairs of the Lucky 38, toward Six, scattering away anyone else close by. Instead of a cartoon policeman face its screen flickered over to a cartoon cowboy graphic. It spoke in a jovial but stereotypical accent. Six seemed to recognise the robot's voice, turning to face him when it called out to him.

"Howdy, pardner! You've come a far piece, haven't you? Welcome to New Vegas!"

Six let out a short chuckle.

"You pop up everywhere, don't you, Victor?"

Victor. He remembered reading about that name in Six's wobbly but improving handwriting. The robot that dug him out of his shallow grave, and kept checking in on him along the journey here. The Courier had written about Victor warmly, at least from the entries that he had read through. It embodied Six's rescue from the Goodsprings Cemetery, but it wouldn't have saved him out the kindness of its programming or goodness in its circuitry. Everything about Victor, from its cheerful personality matrix to 'looking out' for Six, was because he was the courier that carried something valuable for the Vegas tycoon.

"Aw shucks, pardner. I s'pose it can't hurt to let you in on my little secret! Ol' Victor wouldn't be much use stuck inside just one Securitron! No, I can move from one to another with the snap of a finger!"

He didn't want to point that out to Six, at least not yet. Six would brush it off as Arcade 'being paranoid about robots again'. The Courier didn't seem to have many close friends (Gannon knew from his own personal experience), and his psyche didn't need another harsh blow to it.

"I'm heading to the Tops." The Courier told Victor, and pointed at the sign in the near distance.

"Sorry, rambler. I know you're fixing to serve up some vengeance, but I'm gonna have to point you to the Lucky 38 first." Victor said to Six. "Mr. House, the head honcho of New Vegas, is itching to make your acquaintance. He'll help you serve that cold dish of yours extra-chilly."

No one saw Mr. House.

With how chatty the Courier was, he had surely been told by others that. The Followers had apparently tried to contact House when they first arrived in the area. He only spoke through his Securitrons, and barely acknowledged the organisation's existence. Arcade didn't need to see the Strip with his own two eyes to know about the Lucky 38 either, the place was locked down tighter than some of the Enclave bases his family had once talked about.

"Any reason why you're passing on his invitation, Victor?" asked the Courier, justifiably sceptical at his sudden and unusual invitation.

The other couriers hired by Mr. House wouldn't have needed to enter the Strip. They would have all passed on their deliveries to the guards barring the gates. As per contract.

"Well now, it was Mr. House who made Securitrons like me. Seems the least I could do is pass on his message. Don't dawdle. He'll be waiting."

Victor's screen flickered again, the police graphic returning to view. The body rolled off without another word, possessed by a different personality and purpose.

Arcade was suddenly jerked aside, pulled away from asphalt where cars would have once driven down. He didn't need to see Six's face to know he was bewildered by the interaction, he was too.

"This is getting weird, Arcade." Six said under his breath, leaning toward his companion. Painfully obvious if Arcade's weirdo friend was the one spelling it out. "I wasn't even supposed to drop it off the package at his front door. Just the checkpoint outside. What if he's gonna kill me for losing it?"

'It' being the Platinum Chip. Talking about it openly wasn't much of an option here, with so many eyes and ears about. Six's contract did stipulate if he lost the package he could be hunted down and killed by reclamation teams. His agitation, and his eagerness to recover the stolen package was rational as per contractual terms.

"Well. Let's see. If he wanted to kill you, he sure had plenty of easier and more discrete opportunities." Arcade reasoned. He could have just let Victor leave him dead in the dirt too. "I've heard not even the Three Families get to go inside the Lucky 38. I think he does actually want to talk to you."

The exact details of which, he could only guess. The Chip and Benny had to come into the equation, but it couldn't that simple if he was luring Six in for a private conversation.

Some of the tenseness left the Courier's body, but not all of it. He turned to the stairs leading up to the skyscraper. The building truly was a relic of its time, and it was different being directly underneath it, and not seeing it glow from a distance. Six stood there a while, head up at the sky and the spire that pierced it.

"Alright. Come with me. Maybe we can make sense of this together."

He doubted the invitation extended to him or to Six's pet Eyebot, but he trailed behind him all the same. Six could always talk with him afterwards. Arcade had plenty of grievances with Mr. House, but he was curious to what was inside the old building, and if House were man or machine.

Victor came onto screen again, this time on the guard before the front doors. It greeted Six as cheerfully as it had done just a moment ago.

"I see you brought some friends!" Victor gestured a metallic claw behind Six. "Sorry, pardner, but they're gonna have to stay outside."

His doubts were confirmed. Arcade looked around for a place to sit down.

"Why can't they come with me?" Six asked.

"The Boss is pretty clear on this. I can't let you in unless you're by your lonesome."

Six sighed, craning back toward Arcade.

"Sorry. Can you wait for me out here? And if I don't come back out again…"

There would be nothing Arcade could feasibly do. He'd probably be filled with bullets if he got too close to the front door. All he could do is wait.

So he waited.

* * * * * *

Arcade found himself staring at ED-E, his brows furrowed. He unfortunately couldn't shoo it away. It hummed and hovered, endlessly patient for its master to return from within the strange building. He did wonder what things it had seen, had heard, beyond the information initially uploaded to it. Were the stickers and vanity plate adhered to its chassis genuine souvenirs? Had other people cared for the bot like Six had? Were its souvenirs gifts? Or were they just local plasters on a battered body?

He didn't want to stare at it, but it beat people watching across the boulevard. Soldiers vomiting and patrons being pulled out for playing in the fountain. Even the adult playground had rules and restrictions that defined what its guests and its employees could and could not do. But those rules were financially motivated through and through.

A scantly dressed woman, obviously one of the dancers from the 'establishment', Gomorrah, across the road came and sat down next to Arcade. They would trained to spot and seek out lone people, especially men like himself, usually easy targets for business. Pretty little thing, like a leather clad doll. But he would never be interested in anything she was selling.

"On your lonesome, handsome?" she cooed.

He didn't really count ED-E as present company either.

"Just waiting for a friend." ignoring her wouldn't do any good when he still wore the Followers uniform. He had their reputation to uphold. "He's gone into the Lucky 38."

"Oh that's a new one!" she laughed. "I think your friend isn't comin', sweetie."

"No. I saw him walk inside." he reasoned. The shutters that were over the doors were still open.

"Uh huh." she sounded condescending, not believing a word the doctor said. "How about you and me spend some quality time together instead? Forget about your friend for a while."

Even if he wanted to forget him, Arcade doubted he could with someone like Six, even in the short time they knew each other. His face, framed by storm clouds and the setting sun was burnt into his memory.

She sat down next to him, resting her arm over his shoulder. He seized up.

"No thanks! I'm being honest! You're wasting your time on me, ma'am."

"Oh, he's that kind of friend." she sighed, quickly removing her arm, much to his relief. "Can I stay here a bit anyway? It's hell to walk in these heels… and I don't get paid unless I'm trying to get clients."

Not that kind of friend, but he didn't bother arguing that with the stranger next to him, so long as she understood. She looked tired under a full face of makeup. Jittery, also, like she had some chems still leftover in her system.

"Sure. If it'll help. I couldn't ever do what you do." he admitted. If he could help someone while Six was away, it felt less like waiting around for him.

"You're pretty enough if you really wanted to." That was almost a compliment. Her tone suggested she had her own hang ups about the job she had. It wouldn't surprise him. "The work wouldn't be so bad if we could just choose our clients."

It was frustrating to know, that in the building that Six entered, housed the person capable of enacting just a few small changes that would make so many lives easier, like the one sitting next to him, with minimal effort from his part. Just a few regulations to make the people working the Strip a bit safer and more independent from their places of work.

But that wasn't profitable. Desperate people made ideal workers, and even better customers.

"You a doctor? One of them Followers?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Real sweet what you lot do. Saved some of the girls I know."

Arcade hadn't done much hands-on work for a considerable amount of time, aside from patching the Courier up, so he knew he wasn't truly responsible for their lives being saved. But it was assuring to know that their efforts were appreciated and mattered, like a small ripple on water.

The Lucky 38's doors opened again, and the Courier strolled out.

"Shit, you weren't kidding." she said, glancing toward the entrance, sowing the first few seeds of rumour and gossip.

"I'm a bad liar." Arcade admitted, returning the wave Six gave him.

"Made a new friend, Arcade?" asked Six, crouching down beside. He reached out to shake the girl's hand. She shook it, although she looked confused at the gesture.

Arcade chuckled. He was surprised Six didn't try chatting the poor girl up.

"I'm just killing time." she smiled. "You two have fun on your date."

"Date?" Six asked as she departed, puzzled. Arcade shrugged at him. It wasn't his fault she got the wrong idea.

The pretense Six carried in his body collapsed as he sat down. He didn't seem to notice the small crowd of onlookers who had seen him just leave the building.

"What happened in there?" asked Arcade.

His friend folded up on himself. He held his hands together, wrapping one set of fingers around the other's pinky finger.

"A lot. But I think it'll make a whole lot more sense after we pay Benny a visit." he stood up and offered down his hand to Arcade. "But I'd like to confide in you about it."

Arcade smiled, taking his hand.

* * * * * *

During their travels, the way that the Courier traversed was something Arcade ended up paying attention to. How he carried himself was a good tell about how he was feeling underneath the expressionless exterior he always wore. Even when they trudged through dangerous places, a curiosity in his steps persisted, a kind of bounce. Now his steps seemed wooden and tense. Like he was dragging his own corpse fresh from the grave.

A note, cigarette butts and a lighter was exchanged for a room key. Arcade couldn't hear their conversation at the lobby counter over the loud music and patrons, but the Courier took off his helmet and mask to point at the scar on his brow. The entry-point for two 9mm bullets. The doctor recognised the other man as Swank, Benny's right hand man.

His plasma defender was returned to him, and he followed the Courier into the elevators. As the doors closed, Gannon turned to face his companion.

"Are you going to kill him?" Arcade asked plainly.

His expression soured, and he put back on his headgear.

"I don't want to. I don't ever wanna kill anybody. I just want the Chip back. I just want to be done with my contract."

Arcade felt like he knew him well enough now to know he wanted more than that. He wanted his fractured and stolen memories back. He wanted his health back, for him to take back headaches and nightmares away. Not even the most hypothetical and advanced Auto-Doc could undo that damage.

The two exited onto the 13th floor. The view from the hallway window, while not as spectacular as it would be from atop the Lucky 38, overlooked much of the Strip and beyond.

When asked how he was feeling, Six remained quiet for a while and simply replied with 'nauseous'.

He stood back and let Six search the room. Benny probably kept the Chip on his person for this very reason, but it wasn't Arcade's place to suggest that. Maybe he was looking for something else too. The delivery boy opened every drawer, tray, box. Any container that was big enough for a poker chip was rifled through. As he made his way to the back of the room he stopped dead in his tracks, frozen in place.

"What the fuck?" he screeched.

Arcade jogged to his side, hearing his genuine distress. Seeing the opening in the wall and the Securitron inside it, he had much the same reaction.

"Hey! Hi there, good to meet you! What can I do for you today?"

He stepped between Six and the overly cheerful sounding robot, aiming his plasma defender at its front screen. Instead of the cartoon police face most of the Securitrons had or the cowboy graphic 'Victor' had, it had a zoomed in perpetual grin. The room it occupied looked to be a lab of some kind, with several online terminals and shelves of tools.

"If you need to shoot me, I won't complain!" The Securitron chimed, apparently happy to be in Arcade's iron sights.

"What. What are you-?" Six asked, pushing out from behind Arcade. He lowered his gun.

"Allow me to introduce myself! I'm a PDQ-88b Securitron, but you can call me Yes Man!"

"'Yes-Man'?" The Courier spoke slowly, as if saying the name out loud helped him understand it. "What kinda name is that?"

"It's what Benny always called me. Probably because I'm programmed to be so helpful!"

This Securitron personality made Victor seem tolerable and fun to be around in comparison.

"Benny reprogrammed a Securitron?" Six sounded incredulous. Benny didn't give off the type to be into robotics, by all accounts of the rumours he had heard. "All by himself?"

"Oh, he had some help - a lady friend of his! She said something about living in a fort over in Freeside... but that's all I remember!"

Arcade sighed. Great, just great, he thought. Now the Followers were directly involved, partially responsible, in whatever this mess was. Had it been Ortal? She did have the strangest reaction to hearing about Six being shot by the Chairman a while back. She would also have the know-how to reprogram a robot. Her programming skills needed refining if this was her handiwork, although working to Benny's specifications couldn't have been easy.

"What is this place?" Six stepped further into the hollowed out room.

"This is Benny's workshop. When the Tops got renovated, he had this half of the floor blocked off for his own use. I guess you could say it's my entire world! I don't think I've ever left this room! But that's okay - I'm not complaining!"

Its programming probably didn't allow for that. But if the room existed when the renovations were being done, some seven years ago, this plan of Benny's might have been in action well before the NCR had arrived in the region.

Six then asked Yes-Man about the Chip, and what Benny was planning to do with it. The machine answered all his questions thoroughly and gleefully, all the while aware Benny wouldn't approve. The Chip was a data storage device, proprietary format that could upgrade House's Securitron force. Benny was planning to kill Mr. House and take over New Vegas himself, by copying Yes-Man's neuro-computational matrix onto the Lucky 38's mainframe.

With the robot force upgraded, whoever was in charge would be unstoppable. For the people of New Vegas, life was already hard, but it sounded like it was steering toward much worse. That was also without the threat the Legion posed.

"You're very... forthcoming with that information." Six stammered.

"I was programmed to be helpful and answer any questions I was asked. I guess nobody bothered to restrict who I answer questions for. That was probably pretty dumb, huh?"

"What if, what if I did it?" Six started to ask.

"Six." Arcade tugged at the Courier's sleeve, troubled by what he was hearing. The delivery boy twisted back to look at his companion. "Please tell me you're not thinking of taking over New Vegas… are you?"

"No." Six assured him. "But this could be our ticket to make sure no one does."

He still had no idea what Six and Mr. House even talked about, but it had to be about the upgrade potential of the Chip. He let go of the sleeve, hoping to trust his friend's judgement.

"What if I went to Lucky 38 and installed you there?" Six asked Yes-Man. "I'm already allowed in there. What would happen then?"

"Then I'd have to help you! I mean, it seems pretty obvious Benny wouldn't want me to, but hey, not my fault I can't say no!" Yes-Man answered, perpetually accommodating. "Benny was always scheming about how he was going to get into the Lucky 38, but you already took care of that. Wow!"

"You're going to need is the Platinum Chip though." the rogue Securitron added. "You know, the one Benny killed a courier for, over near Goodsprings?"

Arcade noticed his friend twitch.

"What do you know about the courier Benny shot?" asked Six.

"I knew he was carrying the Platinum Chip! And I knew right where Benny should wait for him!" the automaton admitted. "That's why Benny put me here! To monitor Mr. House's data transmissions. They're all encrypted, of course - but I'm quite a decrypter!"

So long as Six carried the Chip, he was going to end up on the other end of Benny's gun.

"Did you know that Mr. House spent 812,545 caps hiring salvage teams to find the Platinum Chip- just in the last year alone? Of course you didn't!" What an obscene amount of money and resources. He could only dream what the Followers could do with that sort of money. The amount of people they could help. "Or that there were seven couriers, but six of them were carrying junk? How about their exact routes, and the mercenary teams that screened them?"

"I knew all that. Pretty smart, huh?"

"I'm the courier Benny shot." Six said, but any rage in him seemed stilled.

The machine was only doing as it was told, as it was programmed.

"Hahaha! I know that's not true, because you still have a head!"

Six took off his helmet and mask again, pointing at the scar above and over his brow.

"I'm serious."

"Hahaha! …That's not funny, you getting shot in the head. I really shouldn't have taken so much pride in how I set that up, huh? I feel really bad right now."

"Can you tell me where the Chip is now?" Six asked.

"Benny carries it with him at all times. I think he's paranoid that someone might want to take it from him. The Platinum Chip is the key to overriding and exploiting Mr. House's defenses!"

"Whoever would want to take it back from him, I wonder?" Arcade snarked.

"Did I just say "exploiting?" That's not a very nice word!" Yes-Man chimed.

* * * * * *

Six went into the hallway, asking the Chairman goons patrolling the halls to send for Benny. He turned up the radio in the room to cover up ED-E's troublesome droning, and they hid in the bathroom behind a closed door.

"On my signal. Cover the door."

Arcade nodded, keeping silent. There really was nothing more menacing than a doctor guarding the entry. His knees ached as they crouched waiting for Six's target to return, but Gannon was more worried about the pain the delivery boy was in. And the pain he would inflict.

He didn't strike immediately, waiting for the grandiose doors to click shut and for Benny to pour himself a drink. Then, like a thunderclap, he burst through the door.

"What in the goddamn?"

"Special Delivery!" The Courier threw off his helmet and mask again, almost hitting Arcade as he scuttled to stand in front of the entrance. Did he put it back on just to make that reveal?

"You? How could you be...?" Benny asked in disbelief. "Oh Swank, you finky bastard…"

Six pulled out the big iron on his hip, pointing his sawed-off shotgun at point blank range around the Chairman's forehead.

"You got a crazy drop on me, baby, but you don't want to kill me. We should be working together."

"Hand it over. The Chip."

"Can't do that, baby. The Chip, it's… special. But savour this, baby…" Benny looked up at the firearm aimed at his head. "I can comp you the Presidential - best suite in the house. After what you been through, you deserve a taste of the VIP lifestyle. Give me a moment or two to catch my breath and knock back a few cocktails, and I'll swing by for a meet and greet."

"No. You're gonna talk right here, right now. You're in no position to negotiate." Six pushed the tip of the gun's barrel so it pressed against his adversary's skin.

"Fine. I'll clue you in, every question answered. This can be the start of a beautiful friendship."

The Courier lowered his gun, though still held around his hip, pointing at the man in the checked suit. Benny reached to sip the rest of his cocktail, but Six swung the shotgun like a baseball bat, smashing the drink against the wall.

"Start talking." Six growled, prodding the barrel at Benny's neck.

There was something truly terrible, off-putting, about the man who shot the Courier, beyond the knowledge he was the man who tried to kill his friend. Arcade wasn't sure what set him off exactly, maybe it was his abuse of power, or how nothing he said sounded truthful or sincere.

* * * * * *

The Courier was thorough in his questions, squeezing as much information off the Tops head as he could. A lot of it mirrored what the Securitron had said already. Arcade could tell Six was near his boiling point, small tells in his inflection and his body gave him away. Benny, however, he could barely read in comparison, but all prior information suggested he was not going to let the Courier walk away.

Six didn't want to, judging by the rage barely hidden under the rug of conversation.

“Now. You're going to hand over the Chip.” Six reiterated.

Benny refused, again, but the delivery boy was done playing games. He grabbed the other man by the throat, slamming him down against the floor. Six kicked away Benny's gun when the Chairman tried to reach for it. It fired off a bullet as it spun across the room, making Arcade jump in place.

“What makes you think I'd ever work with a grifter like you?!" Six snapped.

"You're refusing the opportunity of a lifetime, punk! You've gone and thrown everything away. Do me a favour and stay dead this time."

As Benny tried to scramble up, Six pinned him down on the floor. All the points of contact pressed him painfully down, dislocating some of his joints.

"You took everything from me! You could have just taken the Chip without trying to take my life!"

"Bullshit. Like I could have you on my tail. You think House, the NCR or Caesar won't kill to put Vegas in their pocket, then I really did blow out your brains!"

The Chairman started screaming in pain as Six's palm pushed into his nose, blood streaming down as it snapped cartilage. Arcade watched on in horror. He didn't know whether to step in to stop him. Six clearly needed the closure, but torturing the other man wouldn't fix anything in the long term.

"I'm. In. Constant. Pain." Six slammed his murderer's head against the floor repeatedly, annouciating each word for each impact. "You ever have a migraine so bad your nose bleeds? How about a seizure?"

"It wasn't enough to steal the Chip, my shit, my life, those bullets stole my fucking memories too." The Courier hissed, dealing swift punishment to any part of Benny that dared moved. "I don't even remember my own name! Anyone I cared about, anyone who ever cared about me: bang bang! All gone!"

“Shit, what I wouldn't do to forget you and all this? You did all them a favour!” Benny spat.

The Courier cried out and punched the Chairman in the face with a wound up hook. One of his teeth came flying out.

“You think fucking some Follower doctor and having a robot buddy help you take over this city will change anything?"

"Don't knock it til you try it, baby." Benny gagged on his own blood, barely conscious. "The Chip belongs in the hands of someone… who can use it. As in me… not you..."

Furious hits between ragged screaming and sobbing, Arcade knew if he didn't step in now Six would end up killing the Chairman. His life wasn't particularly worth saving, but it went against his personal ethos to let him die when he could prevent it. None of this was self defence.

"Six! Stop! You're going to kill him." Arcade grabbed at the Courier's shoulders. Six's head swivelled back, and wild eyes met his."Killing him won't fix anything."

He let go of the bloodied man beneath him, bruised and bleeding past the point of recognition.

"I have nothing left…" Six sobbed, all the fight left in him disappeared as he was peeled off by his arm. "There's nothing left for me in this world… I'm just some pawn in someone else's game! I have no one. Nothing!"

"That's not true. You've got me." Arcade assured him, and the Courier grabbed and clutched onto him in a hug. "You've got that Scribe friend of yours. …That twitchy eye-bot. I'm sure you've made other friends too."

His bloodied hands streaked red down where they held onto Arcade's coat.

"There's Raul." Six sniffled. "And Boone. And Miss Cassidy. Rex."

"See? That's not no-one. We all care about you." he gently rubbed at Six's back. "Let's give Benny here a stimpak injection. He'll still have a nasty concussion and a lot to reflect on. What do you say?"

"Okay..." Six nodded into Arcade's chest. "Did… did you want to meet my other friends too?"

"Of course." Arcade reached over and stabbed a stimpak into Benny's side. One day they might both appreciate his intervention. "I'd like that. Let's get you cleaned up and we can get out of here."

Six nodded again, detaching himself from his companion. He reached down and grabbed the Chip from the front pocket of Benny's jacket, heavily stained with the Chairman's own blood. The rest would drain down the bathroom sink.

Chapter Text

I am so tired of waiting,
Aren't you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?

Let us take a knife
And cut the world in two--
And see what worms are eating
At the rind.

Langston Hughes, Tired

Like how his blood washed down the pipes, Benny also had drained into the bowels of the casino. Six stared at the carpet where red splatters formed a vague outline where he had beaten down the Chairman.

"Are you going to go after him?" asked Arcade, sheepishly.

"No." Six sniffled, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. "I got what I needed."

At least as per the terms of his contract, he did.

"You still there, Yes-Man?" called out the delivery boy.

"I sure am!"

The Courier strode into the cut away lab again, and began more closely examining the odd Securitron. Perpetually willing to please, it paid no mind to him lifting up its arms and poking at its panels.

"How would you like to see the outside world, Yes Man?"

"What I want is irrelevant! I'll go wherever you tell me to!"

Six exhaled sharply, pursing his lips together. The robot's cheer about its lack of autonomy was grating.

"I know we can't leave it here, but where are we going to hide that thing?" mused Arcade.

"His name is Yes Man." corrected the Courier. "And we don't need to hide him. He can probably jump to another body like Victor does. We just need to make sure he doesn't talk to anyone else."

"Mister Courier Six is right! I have that ability too! Sure is nifty and useful to have!" said Yes Man sunnily. "And why would I wanna talk to anyone else when I've got you to talk to?"

"Can you show me which terminal that nice lady plugged you into?" Six asked politely.

Yes Man agreed happily, and rolled over to one of the terminals, pointing at the machine with one clawed hand. Being showed exactly where the Securitron access panel was, Six pulled a cord out not unlike the one concealed in his Pip-Boy. Both the robot and the personal wrist computer were plugged into the terminal. Flooding the screen with code, the complex programming was sifted through by the Courier, his tongue poking out. Arcade recognised some of the syntax, but as an onlooker he had no idea what needed to be searched for.

"It'll take me days to make sense of everything here." Six admitted, and he turned to Yes Man. "The best I can do is hotfix in some restrictions on who you'll talk to. I guess if I use my Pip-Boy's serial number it'll limit it to just me."

"Wow, you're so very smart, Mister Courier Six! I'm sure you will never lose your trusty Pip-Boy!"

"Don't worry. I wouldn't trust just anyone with it." assured the Courier, pulling out the cords. "Let's get the hell out of here."

* * * * * *

Arcade held the Platinum Chip up to the setting sun, its metallic sheen glittering in the evening light. A whole lot of fuss over one poker chip, and the man who carried it. What the Chip carried opened up new possibilities the Follower wouldn't have dreamed of, let alone have a front row seat to. Alongside the kooky Securitron program, whose physical body had to be left behind the near the Tops. There was no way they could have smuggled one of those robots out without someone, anyone, noticing, let alone how difficult it would be to get his body back onto the Strip.

Removed enough from the chaos that had unfolded, Arcade and Six watched the lights of the city wake up from a comfortable distance. An old Pinyon pine sheltered and hid away the two men well, its branches hanging relatively low the ground.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” The Courier took off his head gear, slumping up against the tree's trunk. He looked understandably conflicted, burdened by whatever happened in the Lucky 38 and everything that followed afterwards.

Arcade passed Six back the Chip as he sat down beside him. He stared down at it, his brows knitted together. So much power all on one little gadget.

"Do you… still want to confide in me about what happened?" asked Arcade, recalling what Six had said after exiting the Lucky 38. "I'll be able to help you better."

He nodded, unclasping his Pip-Boy and putting it into the Eyebot's storage compartment. ED-E was directed to patrol a distance away, thus removing anything that could listen in on their conversation. His caution was well justified, seeing as the Pip-Boy and the original sets of Eyebots were both RobCo products, and if anyone had the capacity to tap into them, it was the founder of their parent company.

The Courier explained what had happened when he entered Lucky 38. His descriptions of the casino and the conversations he had were very thorough, just in case the smallest detail held some significance. It reminded Arcade of how Six went about his journal entries. The idea that House, a man born over two-hundred and sixty years ago was still alive in some capacity beyond a dip in FEV, or somehow purposely turned into a ghoul, astounded both of them.

"Is it bad I just wanna give House the Chip, get the hell outta the Mojave, and just be done with this mess?" Six asked, spinning the chip between his fingers.

"I'd say it's a normal reaction to have, but you can't give in to that fear." Arcade didn't want his friend to up and leave either. "We could really change New Vegas for the better, just by not letting someone else take control, like you said."

"We?" The Courier raised his brow, the scar tissue pinching.

"Yeah. I know I'm just along for the ride, but I want to help you."

Six smiled earnestly, stowing the Chip into his inner coat pockets.

"I'm not going to do anything til I sleep on it. But House is gonna find out eventually that I have the Chip again… If I don't hand it over he'll kill me. I don't have the means to 'take him out' and install Yes-Man for our own ends. Not yet." Six waggled his fingers in parenthesis. If he didn't know already, House would probably know the moment the Courier got close enough to a Securitron guard or the Lucky 38. He had been searching for the damn thing since the apocalypse. "First, I'm gonna find out what he's up to."

"House really wasn't kidding what he said about high stakes." Arcade sighed, echoing the words that were spoken to the Courier. It really wasn't about him helping Outer Vegas and delivering letters with his friend anymore. "I think it's a mistake to let him upgrade his robot army, but I trust your judgement."

"Well, he was gonna anyway, if my delivery went to plan. This time I can work towards something good. Better."

"True. Just don't let him convince you otherwise. He'll do everything to keep you on his side, but at the end of the day he just wants to have no one telling him what to do."

"I know. I know. But I've got you to keep me honest, right?"

"I'll do my best."

Six reached for Arcade's plasma defender, holstered at his hip. Placed it in the doctor's dominant hand, he wrapped Gannon's fingers around the grip. Arcade watched on in interest, unsure what the Courier was demonstrating - the trigger was still on safety lock. He cupped his hands around Arcade's, lifting the gun to his currently exposed face.

"And if I'm too far gone. I want you to take me out." Six's stare bore down, completely serious about his proposal.

"I-I can't promise something like that." Arcade looked mortified, pulling away his gun so it pointed no where near any part of his friend's body.

His heart started racing. Why would he even ask him of that?

"I understand. But right now, I don't feel like I know myself. It's the only insurance I can offer right now."

Six didn't need to offer insurance. Arcade didn't need him to sign some contract. He had come to trust Six in the few months they had known each other. They had spent a lot of that time in one another's company. The Courier balled himself up, hiding his face between hunched up knees and crossed arms.

"…Would it make you feel better if I told you what I know about you?"

His friend tilted up his head, ever curious, to face him.

"Tell me."

"You're my friend. And you choose to be a good person." Arcade smiled, letting himself be vulnerable, just this once, in the relative safety of Six's company and the boughs of a single-leaf pine. "You're compassionate and we've done a great deal of good already. You also love animals, and they seem to love you back. Wickedly smart too, and always surprising me... mostly in the best ways."

"I could say a lot of those things about you too." Six interjected, a big grin on his face.

Maybe, thought Arcade, this why Six was so free with his compliments. It was simplistic, but it made him happy seeing Six happy. A joy shared and doubled. If the Courier only got a fraction of the feeling every time with strangers, it would be still addictive.

"I really doubt I could make friends with a Nightstalker like you have." Arcade laughed. "But if anyone can pull this whole thing off, it's someone like you. And for what it's worth, I've got your back."

"Guess you don't have much choice either."

But for Arcade, it would be an easy choice to make. He'd pick someone like the Courier over the likes of the other vying powers every time. And it was his choice to make to accompany him. As it was his choice to be his ally, his confidant and his friend.

"I've never been one to gamble. But I'll put my bets on you."

"Then I'll just have to fix the odds." A familiar spark returned to Six's eyes. "Thank you, Arcade."

Six let out sharp loud whistle, like calling over a dog, signalling back the Eyebot.

* * * * * *

Six accompanied Arcade back to the fort in Freeside. They had made conversation about Nightstalkers instead of mulling over what they had already talked about.

The spliced together critters were not in any of the Courier's guidebooks, and as far as Arcade knew they weren't an Enclave project, like Deathclaws had been. At least according to Dr. Henry. The neuroscientist had called the beasts 'someone's insane creation', serving no logical purpose other than to displace other wildlife. The Remnants had encountered the creatures before they had arrived in the New Vegas region. The creatures would have had to come from somewhere relatively close by, a few hundred miles or so.

"Some Vault probably made them." Arcade theorised. "Most of those bunkers were actually unethical science projects. So much for the preservation of life, huh?"

"Those places really creep me out." Six shuddered. "Do you think Deathclaws came from the same place too? They're not in my guidebooks either."

"Probably not." Arcade had started to really despise only telling Six half-truths to save his own skin. "I've heard stories from travellers that Deathclaws can be found all the way to the other side of the continent. Nightstalkers aren't so widespread. …Though it's not like I have personal experience to back it up."

At the fort's gates, Six tugged at Arcade's coat.

"Can I stay here with you?" he paused, looking around to see if anyone was in earshot. "I'm kinda scared."

Arcade was scared for him. He had put on a brave face before he had put back on the helmet, but there was no telling how stable he really was. Six needed time to grieve the person he might have been, instead he was saddled with unimaginable new responsibilities. The Follower regional office wouldn't stand up to a Securitron invasion, even in their non-upgraded specifications, but he doubted that was House's play in getting the Chip back. He seemed almost as interested in using Six for his own ends too, a young protege prime for moulding.

"You'll have to sleep on the floor of my tent if you want to do that."

It wasn't exactly accommodating, especially compared to Six's other recent offers of places to stay.

"That's fine. I just don't wanna be alone right now..." he trailed off.

His choice of words unusually excluded ED-E, but Arcade understood that as a 'I need the company of someone who can't be hacked or taken out with a electromagnetic pulse'. The Eyebot had taken position atop one of the fort's wall pillars, floating ominously above everyone. Too bad one of the armed guards couldn't just take it out with a warning shot, it was too sturdy and too familiar to any of them for that to work.

In Arcade's tent, he reached up and unlatched the door flap. It persisted in staying curled up, unfurling slowly as gravity pulled it down. With some 'encouragement' it draped down again, leaving both doctor and courier in the dark.

"I probably should have put on my lamp first." Arcade said, turning to Six behind him, eerily lit by the dim Pip-Boy screen and the evening light peeking through the tent's seams. "These door flaps usually stay up all the time. They're kind of a nuisance to put back up. I thought you'd appreciate some privacy, in case you wanted to take your headgear off to sleep better."

Six tapped on the Pip-Boy's torch function, bathing the insides with bright light. Arcade thanked him, turning on the lamp at his desk. A neat little package, the Courier's medication for his seizures was placed on the desk, with a note reading 'For Arcade's boyfriend'. Gannon quickly crumpled the presumptuous paper into his pocket while Six was distracted with setting up his bedroll. It took long enough to get here.

The bedroll was laid out beside the broken bunk, and Six sat cross-legged on top of it. It really did look much more comfortable than the crusty single mattress on a broken bunk, even on the dirt floor.

"Thanks for that." he unbuckled his armaments and wriggled off his duster. "But I guess you know why I keep it on all the time."

Six must have been vaguely referring to Arcade reading his journal. It must have been written about in one of the entries he had skipped over.

"I don't, actually." admitted Arcade. "I mean… other than what you've already told me. But it's obviously important to you, so I'm just accommodating as best I can."

"That's very sweet of you." said Six, organising his gear into a neat pile. "Honestly, most of the reason is that I'm terrified of someone from my previous life recognising me."

"I'm sure you can deal with a few old adversaries."

"No, not adversaries." Six shook his head. "Family. Friends. If I had either of 'em. I've imagined what it would be like to see someone you care about. Call 'em by a name they don't recognise. Then they look at you like a stranger. Would break my heart."

"It's probably not much comfort, but I'm sure you had friends at least... I think you're a very memorable person."

Arcade still wasn't used to seeing his soft little smile whenever he reacted positively to something. Or seeing his bright eyes looking back at him instead of red perspex. He was adorable.

"Your anticonvulsants finally arrived, by the way." he mentioned, interrupting his train of thought, and sitting himself down in front of his friend.

He placed down two boxes, one much larger than the other.

"This one is your daily dose medication." Arcade held up the larger pill box. "It's virtually the same stuff you were taking before, but it's measured out for human dosages. No more guessing how much you need."

Six reached out and grabbed the box off him, taking a thorough look at it.

"Aw. I kinda miss the birds on the sticker though."

"You can refill the cartridge you already have with it if you're that partial to it." laughed Arcade. "I wouldn't recommend carrying around the full dosage."

Just in case a pair of deft hands tried to take it. Considering the Courier had to be captured and shot for a poker chip to be taken off him, Arcade doubted he would fall prey to a pickpocket.

"… And these are to be administered on the onset of a seizure to stop it. Or at least reduce the time it affects you." Arcade held up the smaller box, which contained a small cartridge of tablets. "I'll need to show your other travelling companions how to do that, considering you won't be able to do it yourself in the moment."

"You still wanna meet them?" Six stashed the boxes into his pack.

"Just so long as they're not robots. I think we've dealt enough with those recently."

"Hmm, none of 'em are robots. At least as far as I'm aware of." Six laughed. "Just ED-E. But you've already met him."

"Definitely not a robot that can administer medication for you. Wrong type of Eyebot... Robot." he caught himself, noticing the Courier's inquisitive stare. "It's… uh.. it's not like it has arms."

The doctor laughed nervously, forcing a smile. His friend saw through him immediately, the endearing expression he wore faded away. A furrowed brow and a pout lip replaced it, and he grabbed his pack of things.

"Let's watch a holo-tape movie." he chirped excitedly, leaning forward closer to Arcade. The Courier's face close enough that Gannon went cross eyed looking at the collarette and freckle details in his irises. Somehow his companion had caught just the right angle and measure of light for his eyes to look particularly luminous.

"Oh. Sure. I suppose we can watch something."

Six pushed up several tapes between them, each with different cover artworks. A couple looked to be Vault-Tec standard issue entertainment tapes, judging from the decal stickers, others had more dubious origins. Six nudged them closer, and Arcade scooped them up and looked at them closer at his eager request.

"Pick one!" Six grinned.

Some visual entertainment might do Six some good, thought Arcade. A dose of fantasy to soothe the events of the day that they just had. He looked over each cover, skim reading through their blurbs. For only a small collection of films it encompassed a wide variety of genres.

"What about this one?" Arcade passed the pile back, pointing to the movie he left on top. It looked to be an old western, complete with a stereotypical looking cowboy hunk on the front. A little eye-candy never hurt anybody.

"Good choice, this one is a lotta fun!" Six beamed, opening up the case and slotting the tape into his Pip-Boy. "The screen is kinda small and the speakers aren't the best-"

"It's fine, really. It's quite a novelty watching something here of all places." interjected Arcade.

Unlatched from his wrist, he propped the portable computer up against the floor, using some of his gear as an impromptu stand.

* * * * * *

It wasn't until the movie's end credits that Arcade noticed the Courier had fallen asleep curled up next to him. He had laid down a while ago, but he had been inputting commentary and answering Arcade's questions about the movie. Arcade thought Six's silence during the last part was just him paying extra attention to the film's climax. It was an entertaining watch, just as Six had suggested.

Even night owls like Six couldn't battle fatigue forever. Maybe the company of a friend and the movie's soundtrack lulled him to sleep quicker. People slept more easily when they felt safe. He looked surprisingly peaceful for a man who often woke up multiple times during the night due to nightmares.

Arcade, quiet as he could manage, leaned over and picked up the Pip-Boy and the auto-ejected tape from its slot. The tape went back into its case, seemingly the loudest thing in the world when Gannon was the one opening and closing it. Lifting up Six's left arm gently, the Pip-Boy was gingerly fitted back in its usual spot.

However, the Courier wasn't in a deep sleep, and his raised hand grabbed at the potential adversary touching his arm. Arcade flinched, but pulling himself away suddenly would only wake up his companion. Though his eyes were still shut, Six was frowning. His hand gripped sluggishly, lacking the refinement that came with conscious motor skills. It made its way down the doctor's arm, and its vice loosened as recognition appeared on his face. It was a familiar arm. Familiar fabric. A sleeve tugged at before. The hand slipped down to Arcade's own hand, the tips of his fingers dragging lightly, almost tenderly, across exposed skin. After his arm flopped back down, Six sighed contently.

Good thing the Pip-Boy didn't whack him on its journey home to the floor.

"Dulcis somnia mi amice." whispered Arcade.

Chapter Text

I have wanted all the world, its beauties
and its injuries; some days,
I think that is punishment enough.

Maya C. Popa, Dear Life

It took a few days for the Courier to make arrangements for everyone to meet up. He had relayed his plans via a brief visit to the fort. A date, a time, and the assurance Arcade could just walk through the Strip front gates and into the Lucky 38 by himself if he needed to.

"I can come by and pick you up if you'd like." Six had offered.

Gannon had declined, but didn't admit it was because of the note left with the Courier's medication. It was one thing to have him come by and ask for his help with something dangerous. A doctor was a smart choice to take out into the Mojave. It was another to gleefully arrive and ask if he's ready to have lunch together. Arcade didn't want to tread the fine line of avoiding adding fuel to his colleagues' rumours and trying not to discourage Six from visiting. But he didn't want to embarrass Six like that.

Six deserved better.

So Arcade ventured to the Strip on his own. His hands rested in his pockets, and he tried to make himself look smaller to avoid attention. The Securitron guards indifferently told him to move along through the gate. The graphic on their screens had changed, reflecting the changes that the Chip had given them. Arcade was waiting and was fully prepared for that decision to eventually bite his friend in the ass. But the Courier thwarted plenty of his expectations before.

Up the stairs and into the Lucky 38, Gannon tried to remember what he knew about the place. He had seen a scattered few photographs of the interior in its prime, and heard enough rumours to start several conspiracy theories. Entering the building was unsurprising. It looked like any place would if it were sealed up shut for centuries. Dead. Mummified. Much like a faint echo of a song he didn't like listening to. Somehow more unnerving than the Securitrons recognising him and letting him in.

The Securitron that had invited the Courier into the building in the first place, Victor, guided Arcade into the casino floor restaurant. Not the first to arrive, evidenced by two others sitting in one of the dining booths. He recognised one of them. She was one of Six's friends that he met on their journey down to Novac. Veronica, a Brotherhood Scribe. Next to her was another woman, with coppery tied up hair and a cowgirl getup. She was well into a bottle of expensive looking whiskey.

Veronica cheerfully waved him over.

"Hey! It's Arcade, right?"

"Yes. Veronica? We met at that trading post?" he hovered around the table.

He was beginning to think that waiting outside for Six was a better plan, but it was too late to back out now.

"That's right. Full marks to you, doc. Even if we weren't formally introduced, I reckon I'd recognise you. Six talks about you a bunch." she gave the seat a pat, inviting him to sit down properly. "… and this is Cass."

The red headed woman gave a half-formed wave from the hand holding the bottle. She was sitting at the edge of the booth, taking up the space of two people with her knees spread apart.

Hopefully Six wasn't relaying anything humiliating about him to his other friends.

"How do you know the Courier?" Arcade asked Cass, taking a seat across the table.

"He's uh… My boyfriend. Yeah. Let's go with that." she replied unconvincingly.

"What?" said Arcade flatly, dumbfounded by her statement.

The Scribe swooped in before Gannon could acknowledge his reaction of a stomach churn and increased heart rate. She was clearly lying. And why would he even care?

"Arcade isn't going to hit on you, Cass. We're not his type." Veronica assured her seated neighbour.

"Oh thank fuck. Those soldiers outside were a real hassle. I'm not nearly drunk enough to want anyone's attention." she took a swig of her drink.

Judging by the redness in her face, she already had alcohol in her system before starting the bottle in front of her. It didn't look like a sunburn.

"You can understand my hesitation, right, doc? I figured Six's friends to be like him. Y'know. Spineless flirts." Cass continued. "But I guess you're both just weirdos like he is."

Her immediate impression wasn't very flattering.

"Spineless?" asked Arcade.

"Yeah. Spineless. I've never seen him follow through on anyone. It's like he likes buttering people up. All bark and no bite." Cass explained, agitated. "Real suck up. Ugh. Have regrets like the rest of us."

"You make it sound like you don't like him very much." Veronica added.

Everyone here had to be invited. They had to come on their own terms. It didn't make much sense in her coming here if she hated the mailman.

"Don't get me wrong, he's a sweet kid. Brutally honest sometimes. Hell of a shot too. Just wish he would fucking stop messing around with people like that…" she took a long look at the bottom of her bottle. "But he always comes around on what's really important. And I guess he's not actually breaking anyone's hearts."

It sounded like she was chastising a younger relative more than being jealous of his antics. Arcade had heard that kind of banter before between the Remnants. Concerned familial complaints about one another. Although whether or not Cass considered herself to be like a big sister to their mutual friend was anyone's guess. It didn't seem like an appropriate question to ask someone a few minutes deep into knowing them.

"And what about you?" Cass asked Arcade. "How do you know Six?"

"I'm his doctor. I guess." he shrugged.

"You… guess?" she scowled.

"You didn't exactly say how you knew him either."

"Huh. Guess not. Fair enough. This is a little get together for all of his little travelling buddies." Cass snided. "I'm sure it'll be a real fucking circus. Just don't give me any of that 'limit your alcohol intake' crap and we'll get along just fine."

"Good thing I'm not your doctor then."

Another friend of the Courier's entered, ushered in by the cowboy Securitron. His slouch hat and heavily tinted sunglasses were like the other NCR snipers Six knew wore, but he didn't remember seeing this particular person in that crowd.

"Yo Vic. You weren't meant to let in any of the soldiers outside." Veronica piped up.

"Six invited me." said the sniper, blankly.

He took a seat next to Cass. She awkwardly bunched herself up to take up the space of one person between him and the Scribe.

The table remained silent, everyone waiting on the newcomer to introduce himself. He sat there, staring at the restaurant menu with his sunglasses still on.

"Who're you?" remarked Cass.

"Boone."

"And how do you know Six?" Veronica asked.

"He helped me with a problem."

Six was pretty good at fixing those, Arcade supposed. The doctor idly tapped the laminate of the table.

"You're… a sniper?" asked Arcade, hoping to find an answer rather than more questions.

"Yeah." answered Boone.

That counted. Right? A confirmation of what he already assumed?

Arcade exchanged a glance with Veronica, the only other person he had at least met before. She shrugged her shoulders at him lightly.

Cass started to down the last bit of her bottle.

Maybe Six was less a ringmaster to a circus, and more like the glue or stitching that held them all together. He couldn't see any other reason why the people sitting at the table would interact with one another so closely otherwise.

"Sorry we're late!" Six burst in, covered in soot and smelling like explosives. At his heel, a ghoul man and The King's cyberdog, Rex. "Everyone. This is Raul. Raul. This is everyone."

"I always knew you could make human friends too, boss." said Raul. If his appearance wasn't a giveaway, his gravelly voice gave him away as a ghoul.

The Courier gave Raul a hearty chuckle as he started to wriggle off his filthy armaments. He wore that same soft, dopey smile under his helmet. It was slipped off and placed with his other discarded things on another table. The whole restaurant was always completely booked out for him, after all.

"What the fuck." Cass pointed at the Courier. "You're actually decent looking?"

Six started laughing again. A real joyful laugh that crinkled his nose and showed off the top row of his teeth. Apparently his appearance wasn't a common sight amongst his other friends either.

"Didn't I already say that Raul was one handsome ghoul?" he joked.

The Courier wriggled into the booth next to Arcade, beaming a warm smile at him as he settled in.

"What are we all having? I'm starving!" Six rubbed his hands together before he picked up a menu.

"Worked up an appetite dodging all those howitzers this morning, hey boss?" asked Raul, closing off the Courier's exit from the booth.

Arcade narrowed his eyes at his risk taking idiot friend and booth neighbour. The delivery boy tried to hide from his doctor's gaze and sudden ire by covering his face with the menu he held. He slowly slipped down the booth seat, nervously looking away and biting down on his bottom lip.

Rex stalled his escape attempt by poking his head into his lap part way down his descent. His tail whacked the underside of the table happily.

"I uh... Went to Nellis today." he finally admitted, laughing nervously and making eye contact with the bottom of the menu. "No one got blown up. Or nearly blown up. Certainly no one was screaming the entire time."

"It was pretty hilarious to watch from a safe distance, boss." Raul commented.

Six groaned as he dropped the menu and buried himself into the cyberdog's face, cradling the dog into his arms.

"_{I'll let you have a brahmin steak if you let me slip out, Rex.}" he whispered.

Rex thumped his tail against the table loudly. Idle conversation started up again, mostly Veronica asking Raul some questions that Arcade wasn't paying attention to. The doctor rested his head on the edge of the table as he watched his neighbour writhe and fail to bribe a dog.

"_{Alright. Ten steaks. And one full minute of scratches behind the ear. Do we have a deal?}"

"_{Wasn't this lunch your idea?}" Arcade leaned over and whispered to his hunched over companion.

"_{Rex! I always knew you could talk, but I didn't know you had such a lovely familiar voice...}"

Gannon bumped his elbow gently into the Courier's ribs.

"You told me no more robots." Arcade jested.

It was enough to get him to poke his head up from behind the table.

"I don't know her, I swear!" joked Six.

"Chef Protectron ready to serve. Primary Objective: taking your order."

* * * * * *

Arcade watched his hands slowly drip dry in the bathroom basin. The ground floor bathrooms were obviously built for bustling casino crowds and not one overwhelmed Follower. Pretty and recently cleaned, it wasn't enough to hide it was another room inside a tomb.

He couldn't quite remember the last time he had sat down at a full table like that. It must have been decades ago, but the company then expected him to be quiet, and not to be an active participant. To be seen and not heard. Six knew he didn't like talking about himself, that he didn't like personal questions, but he had to relay all that information again to the others. The whole floor was probably littered with surveillance systems too, all discreetly hidden away in the rafters somewhere. Then there was the literal Brotherhood Scribe and NCR soldier at the table.

To say he was on high alert was an understatement, but feeling nervous had helped him stay quiet. Not the usual blabbering and blurting he did in just Six's company. He was still somehow not the quietest person at the table, having that position being taken by the soldier. But the food was pleasant, and it was mostly Six and his more talkative friends regaling stories. Being part the audience was easy enough for someone like the Courier, even if some of the stunts he was pulling were dangerous. Gannon could play concerned physician and worried friend when they were alone.

"You okay, Arcade?" asked Six.

Alone another time.

The doctor didn't hear him approach, but saw the shimmer of his reflection on the wall to wall mirror in his peripheral vision. He was always so baffled how a fully grown man could walk into a room so quietly.

"Hmm? Yes." Arcade looked at his friend's reflection and then to his face as he shook his hands dry. "Just taking a moment. It's a little eerie in here though."

"You don't have to stay for my sake. It's a bit rowdy in there." The delivery boy shimmied himself to sit on the counter top space between sinks.

"But then I'd miss out on dessert." he smiled.

"I can always save you a slice. If I wasn't being such a gracious host I'd go up to my room and just-" Six keeled over for dramatic effect and closed his eyes.

Arcade chuckled.

"I promise next time we have lunch it can just be us." Six snapped back up, leaning over. "…and maybe Rex."

Arcade hadn't thought of the possibility of it being a reoccurring event. It would be difficult coordinating as many people as he did on such a regular basis. Having lunch with just Six was appealing, and an unusual chance to spend time with him without the risk of being shot at or being talked about behind their backs. The Lucky 38 did have the advantage of being away prying eyes of literally everyone else. Privacy and safety were usually exclusive to one another, especially out in the Mojave.

They wouldn't be able to talk candidly about their plans to liberate New Vegas, but the two of them always had plenty to talk about before that possibility was even presented. Perhaps with time Arcade would even get used to the place. Or at least tolerate it, like he did with the Eyebot.

"You haven't shown me the suite you've been given." mentioned Arcade.

"Would you like a tour?"

"Only if our gracious host has time to indulge me, of course."

"I've always got time for you, dear doctor."

* * * * * *

Rex decided on being chaperone to Six after he announced he was giving a quick tour to the others. Thankfully the elevators were spacious, being crammed into a smaller metal box with the cowboy Securitron, a cyberdog and Six didn't sound appealing. He watched the current floor display speed through floors.

"High roller suite!" Victor announced on arrival.

"Ta-da!" Six spun into the suite.

It looked expensive, even by Pre-War standards. A fully furnished apartment, bigger than most houses that people lived in. The sort of thing plenty of people would kill scores for. Gaudy red wallpaper and fully carpeted. Adorned with plenty of casino paraphernalia. Deathly quiet aside from the electronic hum of a few terminals and the air conditioning.

"Kitchen and dining room!" introduced the Courier to the first room.

"Why didn't you have lunch in here?" he asked.

"Good question! The kitchen downstairs is better equipped. Can you imagine the Protectron chef in here the whole time too?"

Six started meandering around near the stove tops mimicking the robot chef, holding his arms and feet apart. His impression was spot on, right down to his own sound effects as he jostled some crockery around.

"Point taken." snickered Arcade.

Guest bedroom. Multiple bathrooms. Entertainment room with a full billiard table. Even his vague memories of the high ranking quarters at Navarro were nothing close to being as lavish. Mr. House was sure spoiling his new pet courier.

"You can come and stay here anytime, by the way." Six mentioned. "You're cleared to enter the main floor and this suite."

It would be hard for him to fall asleep in such a haunted place, even with fresh bed linen and plush mattresses. Environmental controls. It all seemed so wasteful and selfish to using.

"And last but not least, the master bedroom!"

"I see you've already started decorating the place." Arcade picked up one of the plastic toy dinosaurs that he first saw littered in the Novac motel room.

"...I don't want to admit how many of those I have."

It had to be a whole lot, judging from an open crate filled with more Dinky the T-Rex.

Six had started to fill out his bookcases too.

"You're welcome to borrow any of those too!" Six grinned.

"We should probably head back." said Arcade, before he got too distracted with reading all the titles on the book spines. "Dessert."

"Dessert! What did you order, again?" asked the delivery boy.

"A slice of black forest cake."

"Yum! Do you know why it's called that? The name reminds me of burnt trees, and that doesn't sound tasty at all."

"I don't know, sorry. I guess it's just one of those things lost to time."

Not everything could be as perfectly preserved like the Lucky 38.

Chapter Text

You represent something to me. So rare. It is too dumb or trite or feminine to say I love your soul?... I am just beginning to learn to love it all...

Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters

ONE of the first things Arcade was taught growing up in Navarro was to not to associate with anyone in the Brotherhood of Steel. It was one of the few things he still held onto, after all this time. And for the decade or so he had been part of the Followers of the Apocalypse, the notion had served him just fine. The Brotherhood were indifferent to the Followers for the most part, and their interests rarely overlapped enough to cause any friction. A lot of locals believed that the NCR had taken the Mojave Chapter out completely, but he knew otherwise.

He didn't have any reason to interact with them, and every reason to avoid them as much as possible.

But that had changed when Six brought Veronica, his friend and a Scribe in the Brotherhood, to the old fort. She was often accompanying him. Arcade couldn't ignore her like he could if she had stumbled into the encampment on her own volition. Much like their mutual friend, she had been volunteering her time and skills to help out his colleagues, and in turn, the people of New Vegas. It wasn't professional or courteous to try and avoid her. She had genuinely been a valuable asset, and had helped so many just by coming every now and then.

Gannon wanted so badly to have a reason, other than the fact she was in the Brotherhood, to dislike her. Something to point out to Six so he'd stop bringing her along. Anything, so he wouldn't have to deal with the risk she posed. She didn't seem to have any ulterior motives, and she wasn't doing the work to impress the Courier. They seemed close friends already. Her wanting to help people was genuine, and she was very capable of doing so with her training.

Worst of all, Arcade knew they had a lot in common.

The Scribe had been coming by more often now with Six's new accommodations at the Lucky 38. Veronica seemed to like the tomb, but he supposed it would be far less dreary than a locked down subterranean bunker. Her company meant the Courier wasn't being left alone all the way up above the Strip. She was another set of eyes to keep an eye out for Six, which eased some of the worries Arcade had about the delivery boy.

One day she came into the encampment by herself. No Courier. No Eyebot or Cyberdog. The Follower tried to look busy by writing down some notes.

"Hey Arcade. What's up?"

The chair Six normally sat at was gestured to.

"What can I do for you, Miss Santangelo?"

"Y'know. I get the feeling you don't like me all that much."

"Did you come and see me just to tell me that? I'm flattered." he replied drily.

"Yeah, I'm really here to pick a bone with my friend's other friend. C'mon blondie, what's your problem? I'm not gonna take your plasma defender off you."

Arcade brushed his hand across where it sat holstered on his hip. She hadn't mentioned the firearm before, but he had seen her eye it off in the past. It was an unusual thing for a wasteland doctor to have.

"Look. I don't have a problem with you personally. You and Six have been really helpful these last few months." admitted Arcade.

"Let me guess. You've had a run in with the Brotherhood before?"

"Something like that." he purposely remained vague.

Veronica sighed.

"We're not all energy weapon confiscators and hoarders, I promise."

The Brotherhood's tactics of taking away dangerous energy weapons and technology might have worked in the first few decades after the war. It was why the Enclave didn't snuff them out completely in the early years. There was also the plan of possible reintegration. After all, they were both the bastard children of the same former government.

"Six has mentioned your grievances with your family before."

"He talks about you fondly, y'know. I'd like us to be friends too."

The last thing the Courier needed was childish in-fighting between his friends. So he would accept the olive branch she held out to him. Even if it went against everything he was taught by his own family.

He could still remember the propaganda: both the juvenile insults and paranoid exaggerations. No doubt that Veronica had heard every single one of them. She didn't seem like the stereotypical zealot, just a kooky young woman who loved her family, despite their shortcomings. He could relate to that, even if he couldn't ever reveal it.

"Alright, Veronica. Show me something I wouldn't know about this thing then."

He passed over his plasma defender to her.

"I will need it back, though." he added.

"Oh can you imagine if I took it? I'd never hear the end of it from Six!"

TWO days after its audio outburst at HELIOS One, the Courier was contacted through the Eyebot about using the data on its logs. Six replayed the transmissions to Arcade. Both the Brotherhood of Steel and the Followers of the Apocalypse requested its data logs in return for potential upgrades to the unit itself.

"I don't know if you care about my opinion, but I'd prefer that you turn ED-E over to the Followers. Surprised, right?"

"Of course I care about your opinion!"

His sudden outburst startled Arcade a touch.

"Have I done somethin' that… I dunno… Makes you think I wouldn't care?" asked the delivery boy shyly, clutching at his own coat.

"No… No. Of course not… I'm just not used too many people caring about what I think."

"Well, I'm only one person but I give a shit about what you have to say." Six berated, prodding a glove covered finger into Gannon's chest. "You're my friend and your insight is both interesting and helpful."

Bashfully, he could imagine himself actually being those things when he was with the Courier.

"Then all is right in the world." he smiled.

"Do you know this April Martimer by any chance?" asked Six.

"I've met her a few times, but she's usually posted at one of our outposts back west. She seems nice. Why do you ask?"

"I guess I'm a little worried about him being opened up and all. I'm quite attached to the little fella."

"I've… noticed." mentioned Arcade flatly. "If you're that worried I'll keep an eye out for you. I'm sure she'll want to talk to you about her plans anyway."

He also needed to keep an eye out for any data on ED-E that could link him and the others to the Enclave. It was unlikely that the logs contained anything incriminating him personally, but there might be something connecting the others. It wouldn't take much to set off the dominoes of him being implicated. Working under the guise of helping out his colleague by request simplified matters.

* * * * * *

ED-E laid dormant, on its side, with cables running from exposed panels into to a terminal. He was so used to its constant drone and hovering that it almost looked like a patient under anaesthesia. A file directory on-screen displayed a multitude of folders, including a notably bloated audio recording folder. Was the robot really recording everything it picked up on its sensors since it was re-activated?

"Mind if I take a look?" Gannon asked Martimer.

"Of course. The Courier asked that you be able to have a look through. I'm glad the on-board operating system automatically transcribes any audio it collects, because I doubt anyone wants to volunteer to spend days scrubbing through recordings of it traversing the environment."

"I'm guessing a lot of those recordings made recently have Six talking to it like a person."

"Actually he requested that anything recorded after its re-activation be left alone. I was assured there wasn't anything noteworthy recorded since."

If the Eyebot was recording anything its sensors picked up, there was surely scores of material that could be used to extort the Courier, from the embarrassing to the incriminating. Maybe he wanted the recordings as a secondary journal, another fail-safe, in case his memories perished again. Though Arcade doubted Six could survive any more brain trauma without it severely disabling him.

"He's right, of course." lied Gannon, for his companion's sake. "There's nothing in there that would be worth going through… unless you got a kick from a fully grown man babying a machine."

He pushed down the temptation to go through those files himself. Six trusted him, and he wasn't going to blunder that with another invasion of his privacy. The Enclave files were open season though.

"There's something sweet about that though, I think. He must really care about this robot. It's a great deal more than folks normally do."

"I suppose…" he conceded.

"Do you think you could keep an eyes on the download while I get lunch? I can grab you something on the way back."

"No need. I got made lunch today."

Arcade opened up another old metal lunchbox that Six had found and cleaned out, this time filled with cute little cut-up sandwiches. Courtesy of the Lucky 38 diner, but packed and delivered by a certain Courier friend of his.

You couldn't scrub files clean of incriminating evidence on an empty stomach.

* * * * * *

The next morning, Gannon wandered over to the tent where April had been working on ED-E. She was cleaning off the table she had been working on, and the terminal was boxed away for transport. Six's metallic gnat was no where to be seen.

"Where's the robot gone?"

"Oh. I sent it home. I finished repairing the outer chassis this morning. I've downloaded all the files off it already. Now the real work begins." she tapped the top of the terminal.

That wouldn't do. Six probably liked the quirks and oddities grafted onto the Eyebot's battered body. Arcade looked over at the scrap bin near her work desk. The bumper sticker was tatters and only recognisable by its colour. However, the vanity plate was still intact. He dragged it out, dusting it off.

Martimer looked on with confusion.

"My friend is pretty attached to that thing. The robot." he explained. "He'll want this."

"Alright. You owe me a piece of scrap metal then."

"I'm sure I can manage."

* * * * * *

Six entered the fort with a brisk and excitable pace. He had been coming by regularly to have lunch with Arcade at the Lucky 38. Sometimes it was just the two of them, but sometimes Veronica or even Raul tagged along. He was shadowed by Rex this time, the old cyberdog trotting contently behind him. The Courier looked to be carrying an old camera.

"Arcade! Look at what I've got!"

"A camera? Don't you have dozens of those?"

"This one works! There's a fellow on the Strip who gave it to me in exchange for gettin' me to take photographs of interesting places. He's supplyin' me with film rolls and has a darkroom to develop any photos I take."

"That's great, Six. Weren't you wanting something like that?" acknowledged Arcade with a smile on his face. His excitement was contagious.

"Yeah! It's a Codac R9000. Twenty-four shots per roll. I haven't looked at the manual yet. I kinda ran here cus' I was so excited. You wanna have a look at it over lunch?"

"Sure. Let me grab my things."

* * * * * *

In the diner booth surrounded by emptied plates, the Courier eagerly showed and went over the specifications of his new camera and the favour he agreed to in exchange for it. Their conversation was probably being monitored by Mr. House, but Arcade doubted the old mogul got anything from Six's bright eyed enthusiasm like the doctor did.

"How's ED-E going?" asked the Courier.

The delivery boy hadn't stopped smiling from the moment he took his headgear off, and Gannon was so invested he hadn't realised he was mirroring the same expression.

"It's not back at the Lucky 38?"

He almost expected it to be hovering around the restaurant.

"No? Should he be?"

"April sent it home. I just assumed it would end up here."

"He might have gone back to Primm. That's where I first activated him."

"Guess we've got another journey on our hands." he beamed, volunteering for another adventure with his friend.

It worked out well that one of Six's photography assignments was in the little town too.

"Should we head off this evening?"

"Wait. You should know that ED-E might look a bit different. Not drastically. April cleaned off its chassis. She had to remove one of the stickers to access one of the panels but I didn't realise she was going to take off everything that was attached."

"Aww. I liked his little accessories." pouted Six.

Arcade passed him the old vanity plate. His face immediately lit up again, and he held it to close to his chest.

"Just so you know, I care about what your opinion on things. I thought you might want this back."

"You're brilliant, Arcade. Have I ever told you that?"

"It's nice to know if my medical profession doesn't work out that I have a strong future in scrap collection."

Six started laughing.

"You're kinda silly too."

"Brilliant but silly?"

"No. Brilliant and silly. Two of my favourite things. Thank you for this."

THREE hundred and fifty years ago, give or take a year or two, construction would have started on the Hoover Dam. Arcade wondered what the people working on the dam, from its engineers to the workers that perished during before its completion, would think of the people trying to fight over it in the present day. They would be certainly shocked to see how the world ended up a few centuries later, if anything.

Arcade had been brought along by Six to the industrial marvel to test out his new camera. He wouldn't be the first tourist to visit and take lots of pictures, but he was definitely the first actual tourist in a long time. Apparently the Courier hadn't seen it up close before, and Gannon had avoided going there alone.

"Well, I'll be. Hoover Dam. One of the last remaining functioning wonders of the Pre-War world." announced Arcade as they meandered down the main road that led up and over the dam. "I'm amazed it's still running at all. Too bad everyone's killing each other over it."

It was crawling with soldiers and other personnel. The Follower supposed he might have come to visit if it wasn't. But if it wasn't NCR, it might be the Brotherhood or the Legion holding it.

"Do you know of any others? Functioning wonders?" Six asked.

"Hmm. Only rumours. Oh! I've seen the Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco. I wouldn't call it functioning though." he gestured with his hands how the bridge looked as he remembered it. "Unless they've patched the massive gap in the middle since I've been."

"When didya visit?"

"I studied there for a bit as part of my post-graduate degree. The Followers have a campus there." Arcade told Six. "The city has really come around in the last few decades. It goes to show how people can achieve great progress and restoration when we work together."

"Suppose I'll have to visit sometime then." said the Courier happily. "I'd like to see the ocean too."

"It's not as glamorous as New Vegas, but it's certainly got a lot going for it."

After taking a few 'happy snaps', Arcade caught Six taking a candid photo of him overlooking the dam. Then another of him looking annoyed about it.

"You're wasting your film."

"Let's take one together then."

To his surprise, the delivery boy slipped off his mask and helmet. He passed the camera to the doctor as he fixed his hair and rubbed at his eyes.

"Ugh. Bright. Gimme a sec."

"I'm surprised you feel safe enough to take that off."

"I've spotted at least three posted snipers since we got here. If they wanted me dead I would be already."

Gannon slowly spun on the spot, trying to confirm that with his own eyes. He spotted only one sniper, obviously perched up atop one of the generator turrets.

He offered back the camera to Six.

"Can you take it? You're taller than me."

"Okay. But you'll be mid-blink in this shot."

* * * * * *

Six insisted he try and find a souvenir during their dam visit, and that there might be one in the Visitor Centre. It didn't seem in the Republic's interests to be running a gift store at one of their most valuable strategic centres, but funding for the Mojave campaign had to come from somewhere.

But the lack of kitschy goods inside the building didn't stop the intrepid delivery boy, who sauntered over to the reception desk where a young woman sat staring at a terminal. If there was a souvenir of the industrial wonder to be found, whether it be a key-chain or a bobble-head, he would get his hands on it. Even if it meant chatting up the receptionist.

Overcome with secondhand embarrassment, Arcade wandered around the lobby while guards eyed off his every move. He didn't want to listen to his friend talk sweetly to someone else. Though, judging by the amount of giggling and hair twirling, it was working on her. She handed him a snow-globe.

Mission successful. Could they leave now?

She looked surprised when he immediately took off to show Arcade his new prize.

"Ta-da!" he gave it a shake.

"Well done."

Six waved the receptionist goodbye. She seemed sad to see to the mysterious masked ranger go so soon.

* * * * * *

Outside the visitor centre, the Courier compared the snow-globe dam to the real thing and watched the 'snow' fall inside the half-sphere up against the sunlight.

"I'd like to see snow. Real snow." he quietly muttered to himself as he stashed the snow-globe in his pack.

"Have you been tested for STDs, Six?" asked Arcade.

The delivery boy stopped in his tracks, visibly confused.

"I don't remember what that acronym stands for. Why do I get the feelin' it's bad?"

"Sexually Transmitted Disease. Our labs are all a few days west of here, but we can send a sample off to be tested."

The closest labs were probably back somewhere in Boneyard, depending on the travelling conditions. Keeping samples as intact as possible was a challenge but small collections were manageable with a competent caravan team. The results could be relayed quickly and reliably back via radio transmission.

"Hold on. Wait. Do you think I'm-" Six's posture wobbled around, and he nervously tucked himself into a set of crossed arms.

"It's a confidential test, I'm making the suggestion as your doctor."

"Arcade. I don't. I haven't." he started floundering.

"Taking a sample hurts no more than injecting a stimpak if that's what you're worried about."

"Arcade. I've got no game, really."

"What?"

"I-I haven't been with anyone." admitted Six, his helmet craned down at the ground. "At least not since I woke up in Goodsprings. Before that? Who fucking knows. Since then? I haven't taken anyone on a date. I haven't even as much as kissed anyone."

"Then why all the flirting?"

"It's like you said. Overt flirtation will get you anywhere." he held out the snow-globe and shook it.

It was was hard to deny its effectiveness. The Courier had bypassed security protocols, and scored heavy discounts or even freebies, like his new souvenir, all with just what people wanted to hear.

"Do you even find the people you flirt with attractive?"

He wasn't asking about himself. Some insight was important.

"I mean. Some of 'em. The girl at reception was cute. It's sorta nice makin' people happy too. I do think you're a good looking doctor of that's what you're worried about."

The doctor wasn't worried, but a sense of relief found him regardless.

"So you've never taken the opportunity to take it further, have you?"

"No. It's not like I haven't been… tempted…to…" Six swung on his heels.

"You know. If you think it's appearances holding you back, I can safely say that you're pretty handsome. I'm sure others would agree with me."

"Is that… your medical opinion?" The Courier asked, audibly confused.

Arcade shrugged casually.

"You should be fine with making sure you wear protection and watching out for any common symptoms. I can give you one of the Followers' informational pamphlets if you'd like." offered the doctor to his companion. "The NCR government still prints them off."

"Er… thanks, Arcade. But I already know I'd disappoint anyone who actually takes me… I mean, my flirtin'… seriously." lamented Six. "I can still send off a sample if you think it's worthwhile though."

Couriers weren't known for staying or sticking around. Six had wanderlust typical of his efficient colleagues.

"I mean, the lab can pick up other sorts of diseases you might be carrying. It's not just for STDs. And if you do decide to be intimate with someone I can source you some protection. It's a little hard to come by around here."

The delivery boy buried his head into his hands, letting out a drawn out embarrassed groan.

"Thank you? I-I think I might throw myself off the side of the Dam now."

Arcade quickly grabbed Six's shoulders, holding him in place.

"I was kiddin'!"

FOUR hay bales were loaded into a borrowed wheel barrow.

"Should I add hay to your dietary requirements?" asked Arcade.

"No!" laughed Six. "These aren't for me. We're making a delivery to some friends of my mine. Is it okay if you carry one? I doubt they'll all stay the moment I hit a bump."

Looking out on Highway 95's patchy asphalt, it wouldn't take long to test that theory. They had travelled along New Vegas's roads a few times together now, like blood cells circulating around the body and back to the heart. He grabbed one of the bales by its string and hoisted it over his shoulder like a itchy rucksack.

"Will I like these friends of yours?" Arcade asked Six.

"I think so. I might get upset if you don't."

The Courier's friends ended up being a paddock of abandoned brahmin and bighorners. The nearby farmstead was burnt out, which looked to have happened recently, and there were no humanoid signs of life. Suddenly the cart of hay made complete sense. Their ribs hung close to their skin, and their bodies hollowed out, but Six claimed they looked a whole lot worse before he had started feeding them. Offloading the bales and snapping the cords off with a knife, the animals eagerly tucked into their meal, which according to the delivery boy would last them at about a week.

"I keep telling caravaneers and ranchers that they can come pick them up, but I guess they're still too weak to make the journey anywhere nearby."

"They might also think it's a trap. 'Here. Free livestock for you to take.' …seems awfully suspicious."

Six sighed.

"I guess I'll have to herd them off somewhere myself then. If you want something done…"

The two-headed cattle and oversized goats would probably follow Six anywhere he led them, if their affection toward him was any tell. One of the brahmin started to lick Six with one of her tongues while the other head chewed the cud. The Courier erupted into a fit of giggles as another brahmin joined in on slobbering his upper body.

"Ladies, ladies, please! You're gonna get cow spit in my gas mask!" he playfully told his four legged friends, dodging their damp onslaught by giving them vigorous scratches around all of their faces.

Even with the mountain of new responsibilities that Six had been burdened with, he still went out of his way to help others, humanoid or not. It was a pleasant change to see him enjoying himself and joyful to hear him laugh so earnestly. Dulce et utile.

"You're smilin'!" pointed out Six, hopping the fence to escape and rejoin his companion. "I take it you like these friends of mine?"

"It's pretty funny watching you get slobbered."

"You're always welcome to join in, y'know." Six made wet sounding kissing noises under his mask, and leaned over on one foot.

Arcade playfully pushed his hand against the front of Six's headgear. A vain attempt to hide his reddened face. He turned himself to face the road north, and away from his cohort.

"…I take it we're finished with this delivery?"

"Yeah, but there's something else I wanna show you that's nearby! C'mon!" Six excitedly tugged at the doctor's lab coat.

He was led a fair distance away, through shallow hills of creosote bushes. The wreckage of a vertibird appeared wedged in between two slopes. It had been there some time, judging by the level of displaced dirt that filled around its body. They stopped to observe from a safe distance.

"A vertibird. Interesting. It's been a long time since I've seen one of these." he mentioned off-handily.

"When did you see one? This is the first one I've seen up close." asked Six.

Gannon couldn't just keep his damn mouth shut around the Courier. He racked his brain for a plausible answer. The NCR had a few operational vertibirds, didn't they? But the government wouldn't have let the Followers near any of them even when they were incorporated officially. They weren't flown very often either. It would only elicit more questions from his inquisitive companion.

It had to be a boring answer.

"Huh. Good question. Must have been in a book."

"You wouldn't happen to have that book still?"

"No. I don't, sorry."

While it wasn't a book, he was reminded of a story some of the Remnants used to tell about vertibird plans being stolen from right under the Enclave's noses. Apparently the Brotherhood got their hands on it, but the thief didn't sound like someone from one of the California chapters. The plans got passed around to the Shi and eventually the NCR, like the world's slowest pathogen.

"What do you know about 'em?"

"Uh, what does anyone know about them." Arcade staggered around his own words. "Big... flying machines, right? Crazy helicopters. So weird."

"Guess it wasn't a very informative book then."

"I guess not…"

Six ventured closer, and Arcade cautiously followed behind him. He could make out the bulky silhouette of a few sentry bots. They weren't active, but it wouldn't take much for something to switch them back on.

"These sentry bots were taken out recently." said Arcade, examining one of the pilfered shells. Its arm fell off as the doctor touched it. "Whatever took them out might be still around, so be careful. I wouldn't want to fight anyone with that kind of firepower."

"I wouldn't wanna fight me either!" bragged his companion.

He should have known. How else would the Courier know about the wreckage? It wasn't like him to drag them into danger knowingly.

Six approached the downed craft with interest, stepping over bare skeletons. Either their clothing had been taken, or it had decomposed with the rest of the body, indicating the plane had crashed long enough ago for the passengers to be picked clean. The delivery boy seemed to be looking for something, and disappeared into the hollow of the fuselage.

VEM-105 2193. The serial number suggested it was made alongside the one Daisy flew, if he remembered the numbers correctly. Whitman had explained to him how the serial numbers worked at one point. The skeletons must have belonged to his parents' former colleagues. He always knew that the others, people he knew only by association or by personnel logs, had long gone their own separate ways.

But he had always hoped that they all managed to get out okay.

He took a closer look at one of the skeletons. It was pure coincidence, but it was splayed out just like his father had looked in the autopsy report. He felt his fingers go numb. It was so long ago he saw those pictures, surely he must have been misremembering. Arcade tried to focus on the noises that his companion was making from inside the wreckage, but all he could hear was his heart racing and his shallow breaths.

"Six?" called out Arcade, his voice anguished.

"Yeah?" Six popped his head out from the crashed vehicle. He was holding a large Tesla Cannon prototype to his chest.

"Get out of that thing." he snapped.

"Gimme a sec." The Courier vaulted onto the top of the old plane, sliding down to the ground.

"Is this the part where I sweep up your remains into a Nuka Cola bottle?" he teased, 'aiming' his new-found treasure at the doctor.

"Not funny." Gannon snipped. "Now, would you mind pointing that somewhere else? Thanks."

"Sorry. I-I thought you might like stuff like this." Six stammered. "Y'know, Pre-War stuff. You seem to know an awful lot about it."

The Follower cast his eyes away, looking troubled.

"I thought there might be somethin' worth salvaging here considerin' I found this thing last time." The Courier gestured up the cannon. "I stashed it inside one of the cases inside the plane. Too heavy and bulky to carry at the time."

"It will fit in the wheelbarrow, at least." he sneered.

FIVE o'clock felt like a dead hour. There was still enough sunlight to justify working on something, but not enough time to either start or finish something. Still too early for dinner.

It was always hard to go back to dull experiment outlines and spreadsheets after travelling with the Courier. Though his body appreciated the rest that came with his research work, it still bored him out of his mind. Some aspects of it became more tolerable though, knowing he could talk to Six or their mutual friend, Veronica. He never thought he would make a friend in the Brotherhood, but it wasn't like she knew about his familial history.

There was also the achievements he could take pride in, like Freeside having a steady supply of power and far less injuries coming in with the Fiends scattered. The clinic relied less on back-up generators for surgeries, cutting their costs significantly. They could also run air-conditioning and fans at their locations too. Before too long they would need it. Less injuries meant supplies didn't need to be replenished as often, and more Followers could do more with their time.

It meant Farkas was busier, and Followers scattered at different positions nearby visited the fort more regularly. To his surprise, his colleagues came over and made conversation with him, just to chat. They often asked about Six, which made sense, the delivery boy had been making waves, and Arcade was often an accomplice to his exploits. Some of his colleagues had started calling Six 'the wife', which annoyed Gannon to no end.

Six thankfully seemed oblivious to the title.

Ignacio Rivas, a face he hadn't seen since HELIOS One, had made a visit to the fort. Arcade hoped whoever was relieving his role was prepared for babysitting the chem fuelled idiot still wrecking havoc there. 'Fantasmo' or whatever his name was, had taken credit for their work, saying that they only 'took care of some little robots' for him.

Rivas stopped by Arcade's tent.

"Greetings, Arcade!" he waved, less sullen after not being tormented on a daily basis.

"Hello, Ignacio." Arcade didn't move from writing notes at his desk.

"I know a bunch of people keep calling that Courier friend of yours 'your wife' but you're not actually dating him, right?"

Arcade sighed, pinching at his nose underneath the bridge of his glasses.

"Where is this going, Ignacio?" he grumbled.

"Well, I was planning on asking him out before my next assignment. He seemed interested in me when he visited, and if he's single…"

A buried and twisted part of him burst out and wanted to outright lie to his colleague, to say that Six was off limits. He quickly brushed it off as being protective of his friend, but the sinking feeling persisted in staying.

The Courier was his own person and could make his own decisions.

"Next assignment? You're not at HELIOS One any more?"

"No. The NCR promoted the imbecile. They sent him off to Hoover Dam."

At least there was a whole army, engineers and mechanics to baby-sit said imbecile. If they were smart they'd throw him off the sides of the dam.

"Bureaucracy at its finest." Arcade sneered.

"About your friend…"

"Yeah. Okay. Just a warning though, Six flirts with everyone." Well, not literally everyone, but it sure felt like it. "He never means anything by it though. Good luck. Be direct."

"Alright, thanks."

"By the way, Ignacio?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you dare hurt him."

* * * * * *

When Ignacio returned to the Old Mormon Fort in the evening, he didn't bother Arcade again. Gannon listened in on his conversation, curious to hear if his colleague went ahead with his plan.

"Have a good day, Rivas?" one of their mutual co-workers asked.

It sounded like Ortal, though there was no visual confirmation from where he was.

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Ignacio replied. "I finally mustered the courage to ask a fellow on a date, but he didn't know it was a date."

"Oh? What happened?"

Rivas painted a picture of his 'date' with the Courier, articulately spoken and proper. At first he asks if they could grab some dinner, to which Six tries to give the other Follower some of his rations. Then Ignacio heeds Arcade's advice, and explains, no, he wanted to have dinner with him. Six hasn't had dinner yet, incidentally, and the two of them go to the private restaurant at the Lucky 38. The one run by robotic staff, in the building no-one goes into.

It's one of the few places Six feels safe enough to take of his head gear, but his colleagues don't know that.

"Wait, you asked out Arcade's friend? What's he like?"

"He's really quite sweet, although a bit odd. He remembered meeting me at my station and asked about any updates on the matter. But he seemed more interested in talking about the Followers, and what we do, than talking about himself or getting to know me personally."

Because the Courier didn't know it was a date, Arcade acknowledged to himself. He could only imagine the blubbering hot mess Six would be on an actual date, if his reactions to his flirts being rejected or reciprocated beyond his intention were any indicators.

His other colleague mostly agreed to his unspoken commentary, that the conversation he was having was normal for someone not on a date.

"I suppose. I was warned to be direct with him." Rivas dropped his volume, but Gannon could still hear his hushed voice. "He wouldn't stop talking about Arcade either."

"Did you at least clear it up that you wanted to go on a date?"

"Yes. I asked him if was interested in going on a date with me after he finished his lunch. At this point he starts acting nervous and starts apologising. He turns me down, but none of his excuses really addressed why he didn't want to."

"It's hard putting yourself out there." she sighed.

SIX giggled giddily as the doctor called him his 'little buttercup'. If Arcade could roll his eyes any harder they'd detach from their extraocular muscles and the optic nerve and drop out of his skull. Despite his coquetting, Dr. Richards was the well meaning sort, unprepared of the harsh reality of being a battlefield medic when he signed up. Too far away from home and unable to stomach the guilt of leaving: he was making the most of a terrible situation.

And Six's intentions of visiting the NCR outpost were well meaning too. Beyond simply paying a visit to his sniper acquaintances, that is. These people were at the front line of keeping the Legion at bay, despite the faults of their nation. It wasn't like Arcade couldn't see the bigger picture.

But he didn't like being accused of taking medical supplies.

The delivery boy came to his defence, of course, but he ended up feeling like an unwanted visitor. He knew his presence was merely tolerated. Most of the patients he ended up treating at least thanked him for his help.

Between the three of them they could deal with the flood of injured. Some of them wouldn't be able to return to battle, but would they would survive. Six also made an excellent medical assistant to both doctors when he wasn't being sweet talked to. Arcade had always found the delivery boy's flirtatious antics annoying, but knowing he didn't really mean most of it made it easier to ignore.

But he felt very uncomfortable when someone flirted with Six. Especially when he so casually removed his mask and helmet when asked. It took him weeks to finally see his friend's face. Richards saw what he looked like just by asking.

But he then realised he never just asked the Courier if he could see what he looked like under his gas mask.

Was it really just a matter of politely asking? Maybe he needed to take his own advice about being direct.

* * * * * *

After treating a plethora of patients and splattered with blood, Arcade looked forward to a bath. It was no Lucky 38 bathroom, but the Novac motel room tub would scrub them both clean. Hopefully the nausea that Gannon felt would wash away too. Between the horrific injuries and his own petty jealously he dealt with during the day, he had plenty to feel sick about.

"Y'know. 'Buttercup' suits you more than it does me." said Six matter-of-factly on their return journey. "They're apparently cute yellow flowers."

"Please don't call me that..." Arcade insisted through clenched teeth.

The Courier hadn't made the connection to the other 'buttercup': the Pre-War children's toy horse. The nickname was barely disguised euphemism.

"You don't like flowers?"

"I like flowers. I don't like the idea of you reusing that nickname."

Speaking of flowers, the Apricot Mallow that Six had gifted him needed to be re-potted. It had grown so much in such a short period of time-

"I've always wanted a garden with lots of flowers… I guess I haven't stayed in the same place long enough..." Six voiced his own flowery tangent of thoughts aloud. "Wait a second. Hold on. Were you bein' jealous that I was bein' flirted with today?"

"It's a change of pace from you doing it all the time." snipped Gannon.

"People like bein' complimented."

"They don't like being lead on."

"I'm not tryin' to lead people on!"

"They don't know that!" argued Arcade. "Why bother with it? What's the point?"

The Courier stopped. He hung his head down, his visor facing the ground in silence.

"I want… people to like me..." he quietly admitted.

"It's not worth it if you're going to get hurt. All it takes is one person misinterpreting your intentions… and…. I don't want you being taken advantage of." Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can be really naive sometimes."

"Do you really think that?"

"You've lost most of your memories. It's not… it's not your fault." Arcade assured Six. "I'm trying to keep you safe. That's all."

It was hard not being protective of the first friend he had made in years.

"Tell me somethin'. Does it bother you?"

"Sometimes." divulged Arcade. He wasn't going admit he didn't mind it when it was being directed at him. "But I know you don't mean anything by it."

"Right. 'Course not."

Chapter Text

I unearth myself each time
I kneel into a dream where I
am good & loved. I am
good. I am loved. My hands have made
some good mistakes. They can always
make better ones.

Natalie Wee, Least of All

Six didn't often take Rex, The King's cyberdog, out much in his current condition. He didn't want to exacerbate the dog's already worsening condition. When they did travel, courier and canine seemed to enjoy each other's company. Six spoiled the dog rotten with treats, cuddles and scratches in all the right places. Rex in turn was very protective of the Courier, often to point of testing the poor delivery boy's speed in chasing him down after he spotted a rat.

After The King had lost his marbles at the fort a few months ago over Rex's diagnosis, Arcade had let Farkas know that he knew of someone who could treat the cyberdog. Dr. Henry was a friend of his father's, and one of his specialities was canine neuroscience. He had left the Enclave years before the other Remnants did, and he was partially responsible for the others being to integrate better into the Republic.

Gannon passed on that information as if he heard about his skills through word of mouth.

He would have liked to tell the Courier directly, but it was too risky. Six played too nice with both the NCR and the Brotherhood to let a connection like that slip. The amnesiac mailman was astute and would catch onto something like that, even if Arcade trusted him completely otherwise.

Telling him could only let him down, especially if he had heard anything about the Enclave's crimes.

When the Courier entered into the Followers encampment again, Arcade was surprised to see Rex at his heel instead of his Eyebot. More to his surprise, his friend didn't directly approach his tent, instead he went to talk to Farkas first. After securing a supply deal with the Garrets, the Followers relied less on donations, so it wasn't like he had been asked to drop off more supplies. He peeked out from his desk to see what he was up to. Six asked Julie about the cyberdog's condition, and to Gannon's relief, he heard her relay the information about Henry without mentioning him.

The delivery boy made his way over to Arcade afterwards, and the doctor had to quell his delight. After they exchanged good mornings, his friend settled into the chair he normally sat at.

"I'm headed to a place called Jacobstown. Would you like to come with me?" he asked.

Arcade hesitated a moment, trying to discern the risk of meeting his family friend alongside the Courier. Henry wasn't the sort to be overtly affectionate with Arcade, unlike Daisy, or Judah (in his own way). He had lived more his life outside the Enclave than within it, so he had more experience hiding it. It was also plausible enough that Arcade would know of him through the Followers and not some other prior connection.

A proper winter on the mountain sounded nice too, compared to the mild and odd shower down in the valley. Plus he'd be with the Courier but not his annoying robot. It was a win-win situation, really.

"A courier, doctor, and a cybernetic dog." Arcade replied. "After we deal with the whole 'imminent conquest of New Vegas' problem, we should open an act at the Tops."

Six made a drawn-out high pitched squeak, which caught the cyberdog's attention with a head tilt. Only after he erupted into laughter that Arcade realised Six was trying to stifle his reaction. There was something very authentic and dear about his amusement that made the Follower smile.

"Gosh, you're really funny, Arcade!" Six said, resting his chin on his hands. "I gotta tell Ronnie that one."

"It'll be cold up in the mountains. Are you all packed for it?" asked Arcade.

"I think… so? I've never seen snow up close! I'm real excited about that! Do you think we'll see it snowing too?"

"Maybe! You should bring your new camera with you just in case it does."

"Already ahead of you!" he unbuckled one of his holsters, which housed the device.

* * * * * *

The future Tops act made their way along the northern part of the 95. During the relative warmth of the afternnon, they rested at the Followers safehouse, its custodian notably absent, before setting off along the old Nevada 157. The milder winter days of late January meant the sun set earlier, and it made Arcade think about the stories he read about the far north and the never rising winter sun.

New Vegas was already quite elevated, some two-thousand or so feet above sea level, so the temperature drop up the 157 was quickly noticeable the further up the mountain they got. If his books were still accurate, Mount Charleston was just shy of twelve-thousand feet above sea level at its peak. Jacobstown was a former ski resort, so there would likely be plenty of snow already on the ground. Arcade hadn't seen it close up before either, just as distant white smudges atop unreachable mountains.

The Courier, usually completely covered up, likely didn't feel the chill like Arcade was. Despite warning Six about the cold, and wearing an extra layer, it wasn't quite enough when the sun had started to leave beyond the horizon.

But like how he had attuned himself to Six's mannerisms and tells, Six had done the same to him.

"I have a poncho you can wear if you're feeling cold. I usually use it as a pillow."

Sure enough, the pillow unfurled into a long woollen poncho. It reminded him of the silly cowboy film they had watched on his Pip-boy. It was a lot lighter than it looked, floating over his shoulders and sides like a cloud.

"Thank you. You know, with a proper cowboy hat I'd fit right in with some of your odd holo-tapes."

Rex barked at him, affirming his hatred of hats.

"'Cowboy Meowsketeer's Adventures in Space' is a bonafide classic, just so you know." said Six matter-of-factually. "…and there's no hats here, Rexie. Don'tchu worry."

"You're wearing a helmet." pointed out Arcade.

"SHHH! Don't tell him that!" Six hushed his companion by putting his index finger over the doctor's mouth.

A boyish impulse popped into Gannon's head. Something about travelling with the Courier brought out his more playful self, which was otherwise under lock and key.

He poked his tongue out, wetly touching the exposed skin that peeked out of finger-less gloves.

"Hey! Gross!" Six firmly wiped his hand onto Arcade's face, pushing him away. "You don't know where it's been!"

"I'm sure I can guess a few places." he teased.

"Yeah? Guess this!" Six lightly smacked both of his hands onto the sides of Arcade's head, sandwiching his face. "Gotcha."

"Oh no." Arcade responded as drawn out and sarcastically as possible. "You got me. What ever will I do?"

"Surrender now, or face my wrath!"

"Do your worst…"

His face was squished together, and the delivery boy blew a raspberry.

* * * * * *

Although they had slept during the afternoon, Arcade could still feel the nag of fatigue around his usual bedtime. As they trudged up further the mountain, not quite at the snow line yet, the doctor felt himself slow down. Six must have noticed, and insisted that they stop and get some rest.

The Courier set down his sleeping roll for his companion, and left Rex to accompany him.

"Where are you off to?"

"I'm gonna get a fire going. Can't have you gettin' sick."

He bounced off into the thicket, returning with a variety of different sizes of sticks and branches. Dried pine needles were stuffed into his front pockets. It was fascinating to watch him assemble the campfire.

"Do you remember who taught you to make a campfire?" asked Arcade, with the cyberdog curled up on his lap.

"It's not just somethin' people know how to do?" Six sounded puzzled, using Benny's old lighter to set the tinder aflame.

"Trust me. It isn't."

Some of the worst attempts at campfires he'd seen were made by the Remnants back when they were transient. There were a lot more of them back then, with numbers reminiscent of nomadic tribals. Only the officers with survival training were any good at it, but most were extremely out of practice and wasteful with resources. They had never needed to worry about something as frivolous as making a good campfire or rationing easily accessible resources. It would probably start a wildfire. Apparently Pre-War California dealt with a lot of those, before it experienced nuclear fire along with the rest of the world.

"You don't strike me as the camping type." Six said to Arcade.

"In more ways than one." he joked.

The Courier put his head to the side.

"Uh. Nevermind."

"Get some sleep, doc. I'll keep a watch on you two."

With the blanket over him and the cyberdog, Arcade jokingly lambasted Rex for always being the little spoon. Six snickered at the doctor's faux protests. He hid a smile into fur, keeping his nose warm in the organic part of the mostly metallic canine.

Rex could do with a bath though.

* * * * * *

It was still dark when Arcade awoke.

Near the pale embers, Six looked like one of his horror movie holo-tape covers. His visor reminiscent of two big red eyes against the dimly lit silhouette of his slumped over form. But Arcade had come to associate companion's menacing appearance as comforting. If he caught a glimpse without his glasses or from the corner of his eye, he knew immediately it was his dear friend watching over him.

Rex had parked himself between the fire and the Courier. His ears were being rubbed by the delivery boy.

"Good mornin', Arcade!" Six sang, like a radio commercial jingle.

The mailman bounded over, holding out one of the branches he had collected up. On the bark's surface was a pale green foliose lichen. A pretty specimen.

"I've taken a lichen to you." said Six cheerfully.

Arcade snorted and burst into laughter. It was such lame wordplay, truly groan worthy, but the Courier really could deliver anything. The doctor was completely blindsided by it. He was so earnest and charming with the joke, like he had been waiting for Arcade to wake up to say it.

Six started laughing along with him.

"Gosh, Arcade. I didn't know you were such a fungi." he added, enunciating the last word.

"Six! You goofball!" Arcade snickered. "How long have were you waiting around for that one?"

"Much longer than I'd like to admit…but considerin' your reaction it was well worth holding onto."

The Courier pulled out a small knife and a glass vial from his coat pockets, carefully cutting away the lichen and the bark substrate it was attached to. It was poked it into the vial, topped with a cork stopper.

He passed it to Arcade.

"If you've accidentally discovered a medical breakthrough, I'm never going to hear the end of those jokes, am I?"

"You're goin' to hear 'em even if it's not. Did you wanna go back to sleep, or shall we continue on?"

"What about you? Can I recommend a quick nap?"

"I fully intend to pass out someplace after we've met with this cyberdog doctor."

After busting his gut, Arcade knew he was fully awake.

"Lead the way. Just don't expect me to fend off super mutants while you're asleep."

Gross looking water was poured onto the campfire, extinguishing the remaining coals. Steam wafted up and caught in the doctor's glasses.

It wasn't long until Six finally spotted some snow along the old road. They had just stopped before patches lined the asphalt. It was barely even recognisable as snow, stuck in a spot that wasn't cold enough consistently to keep its shape. But the Courier's excitement over the mostly melted chunks of white was palpable. He held it in his hands like he had found gold.

"Let's keep going." Arcade leaned over to touch his shoulder. "If it's anything like the photos I've seen, it gets much better further up. Save your energy for that."

"Y'know, it's the strangest thing." Six watched the graupel melt on his fingertips. "It feels familiar to me somehow. But also brand new."

"Perhaps you've travelled to cold places before?" suggested the Follower. "It wouldn't surprise me."

But how Six saw the beauty in the mundane, like half melted snow on the roadside always did surprise him. His joy and excitement over such things continued to be refreshing, especially considering how easy it was to be cynical and disinterested in the world they lived in.

"Maybe." he wiped his hands dry against his jeans.

* * * * * *

Hazy clouds crowned the mountain, and soon the first candelas of morning light peeked through the thick tree line. The angle of the sunrise's light turned the snow almost pink where it poked through pine needles. Courier and canine had started to chase one another through the banks of snow. Arcade was a little envious of how much energy they both had. Six hadn't slept for more than fourteen, maybe fifteen hours, and Rex was a centuries old cyborg with a deteriorating brain.

The Courier held his camera at the ready, taking snapshots of Rex as he raced through the snow. The cold must have been familiar to the cyberdog as well, perhaps awakening an old memory of decades gone by. Despite being quite nimble, the delivery boy struggled to keep up with his four-legged in the new terrain. He kept falling into powdery patches, much to the doctor's amusement.

Arcade trailed some distance behind them, keeping to the patchy exposed parts of the road.

A tiny white fleck floated down onto the lenses of his glasses. He went cross-eyed as he watched it land, and for a brief moment he saw the snowflake's crystalline structure before it melted into water again.

The another landed on the tip of his nose. Another on his out-reached hand.

"Six!" he called out excitedly as he rushed after his companion. It wasn't often that he noticed something before the Courier did, and he wanted to be the one to point it out to him.

Not paying attention to the density of the snow under his steps, Arcade fell into a light snow bank that reached his knees, and tripped face first into the snow. Not a hard fall, but it was particularly cold.

He heard the camera shutter click, and the mechanical slide of the film being wound.

Once he surfaced, Six was waiting by his side, with his hand reaching out to help him back up.

"Did you just… take a photo of me like that?" he groaned.

"Maybe…"

"You better not show anyone else that." Arcade brushed the snow off his borrowed poncho and his slacks.

"I mean, the fellow who develops the film will probably see it but…"

Remembering why he even raced off in the first place, the doctor leaned over and tapped his finger on one of the perspex lenses of the Courier's mask, then pointed up. Six craned his head upwards.

"It's snowing, just so you know." chided the Follower. "I ran to tell you that… and you took a compromising photo of me…"

His companion didn't respond to his complaint, instead he was completely transfixed at the sky and the soft flakes that started to float down. Proper snowfall. A dusting of white soon collected onto the front of his mask.

Partially blinded by the thing he stared at, Six whisked his head forward to fling off the build up. He put his hands outward, letting the snow land on his palms.

"I gotta see this with my own eyes…" he whispered to himself, shimmying off his helmet and mask.

The sunlight, reaching up further into the sky lit up the falling snowflakes and the irises of the Courier's now visible eyes. Arcade was mesmerised by the sight.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Six exhaled, surrounded by flurries.

His companion was inclined to agree with him.

"Well… one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen." he corrected himself, shooting a glance at the doctor.

Real smooth. It was almost a shame he didn't really mean it.

"You're going to break someone's heart one day if you keep that up."

"They'd have to take me seriously first." Six smiled sadly. "Besides… how'd you know I wasn't talkin' about dear ol' Rex?"

Rex had taken relative shelter underneath one of the pine trees' lower branches. He seemed tuckered out from his bout of playful leaps and bounds.

"It really is quite a sight though." said Arcade as he took a moment to really take in the sight all around them, slowly turning on the spot. One might even forget the rest of the world was a nuclear ravaged landscape, at least for a little while. "I haven't seen snow up close before either."

Arcade heard the telltale noises of the camera taking another snapshot.

"Give me that!" he frustratingly grabbed at the camera, but Six didn't put up any resistance in keeping hold of it.

The doctor intended just to confiscate it for a while: to stop ending up the subject of random candid shots. He didn't understand why his friend was so insistent on taking so many photos with him in the picture.

But then he realised he could give the delivery boy a taste of his own medicine.

The Courier had already gone back to being fixated on the snow around him. It was hard not to be drawn into the magic of it all. Aimed through the viewfinder, Arcade snapped his revenge. It was hardly an embarrassing picture of him, Six was always easy on the eyes, and he was surrounded by a beautiful winterscape.

Six looked over at Arcade and smiled. One part smug and two parts softly sweet. So much for revenge. Dare he think that he had planned for that all along.

He could have just asked.

Gannon clicked the shutter down again and the film was reeled to its next shot along the negatives. Captured for a lifetime by memory and by silver halide.

* * * * * *

After braving a few cold-hardy Cazadores, the two men and one borrowed dog arrived at the old ski resort turned super mutant settlement. Covered in bug guts and an icing of snow, Arcade looked forward to drying off and warming up inside. One of the super mutants, wearing what looked like an old radio tower headset, and a pair of goggles, walked up to them.

"Welcome to Jacobstown, humans." greeted the mutant. He had a deep and rather silky voice, and not at all what the doctor was expecting. "You're free to walk around, just don't stare at the Nightkin. They don't like people looking at them…and if you're NCR, keep it to yourself. They're not popular around here."

Six introduced himself. The super mutant's name was Marcus, and he had named the town after an old, long dead friend of his. While his story was intriguing, Arcade had resorted to hiding himself as much as he could in the poncho, like a sad looking toadstool. It was freezing just standing around, especially when the veneer of sweat and gunk had started to evaporate.

His predicament was soon noticed by the Courier.

"We're here to see a 'Doctor Henry', do you know where he is?" asked Six, moving along the conversation.

"Doc's inside the lodge." answered Marcus, pointing to the large building behind him.

"I know it's a lot to ask a stranger, but do you think we could have a room to stay in? I'm happy to trade some supplies for board."

"That would be appreciated. I'll ask around to see if there's anything pressing any of us need." Marcus signalled to another mutant, who trundled over. "Head on inside. Someone will show you your room shortly."

The Courier thanked the town custodian, promising to come back later to continue their conversation, and the trio headed into the old lodge.

It would have been a grand establishment back before the War, and most importantly it was warmer than outside. A large central fireplace burned brightly, and the two of them took a seat on a large and apparently very sturdy mutant-tested ottoman nearby. Rex opted to curl himself up right up against the hearth, much to the interest of a curious wandering Nightkin.

"Head voices speak of doggy with squishy brain." they muttered to themselves, reaching out a hand to let Rex sniff it.

Seemingly content with the interaction, the blueish mutant walked away again.

Six wriggled off his helmet and mask. The toll of journeying up a mountain in one night was clear on his face now.

"I guess I better take this off. These Nightkin won't know where I'm looking otherwise."

"That's very thoughtful of you. " commended Arcade. "…but will you be alright with it off?"

The adaptive tint of the visor helped Six regulate his photo-sensitivity, after all.

"Yeah. I'll be fine. I'm sure I look like every other ugly human to 'em."

Before Gannon could insist that Six was in fact, quite the opposite of ugly, the other mutant Marcus had called over to him approached.

"Show you around. Humans follow." they directed.

* * * * * *

"Marcus say you stay in here. Guest bedroom." a large hand ushered Arcade and Six into their lodgings.

Their speech was limited, but their other comprehension skills were sound. Much friendlier than some of the mutants the both of them had encountered, happily answering Six's many questions.

"Thank you for showing us around. Have we been introduced?" Six said to the hulking green fellow.

"Human want to know name?" the mutant asked the Courier.

"Only if you'd like to tell me."

"Marcus right. You different. Called Twenty. Radio once ask for Twenty."

"My name is Six." he reached out his hand, offering it to the mutant to shake. "We both have numbers as names. Ain't that a fun thing to have in common?"

The mutant looked down at Six's outreached hand, offering up a handshake. They seemed stumped by the gesture, not sure how to react. Any vigorous handshake from a mutant to a human could dislocate any of the joints all the way up the arm. Instead, the mutant lightly tapped their hand against his, in a high-low-five, accommodating for the height difference.

"Ohoho, I like you!" Six laughed, pleased with his newfound friend's version of a handshake.

Twenty grinned, showing off an inhumanly amount of teeth, and started laughing too, a loud floorboard vibrating chuckle. They whacked Six against the back, completely winding the delivery boy. It was made without malice, but greeting a human with super mutant camaraderie didn't go so well on the receiving end.

"Oops! Sorry, Six. Twenty gentle next time."

Six managed to throw back a thumbs up.

Their lodgings would have been an expensive stay in the resort, judging from the size of the room, and the massive windows. Anything of value would have been looted centuries ago, but the Jacobstown residents had made it their own with some sparse decorations. Two double sized beds, the minimum size to accommodate most super mutants, flanked each side of the entry door. Each bed had its own bighorner pelt at its feet, and a stack of blankets and pillows. Marcus must have understood human fragility well, or had taken a liking to the polite delivery boy.

"Oh good. We get our own bed this time." pointed out Arcade, peeling off the borrowed poncho. He wiped off bug innards with a rag.

Six pouted, letting out a disappointing sound. He was already setting up one of the beds.

"Not that I mind having to share with you!" Arcade quickly changed tune. "I'd much rather you in my bed than anyone else."

The delivery boy raised an eyebrow, bewildered by what his friend just said.

"That. That came out wrong."

Brewing in his own embarrassment, Arcade hadn't noticed that the Courier had already crawled into his new bed. He had spread out across the mattress, oddly reminiscent of a crime scene line drawing.

"Aren't we going to see Henry first? You know. The reason why we came here?"

Rex had also climbed into the bed with Six, nestled between the space between his legs.

Neither looked in a rush to go anywhere.

"Sleep first. Doctor later." his companion sleepily requested.

"Oookay. I'm going to have a look around then."

* * * * * *

Arcade meandered the old ski lodge halls, heeding Marcus's warning about not staring at any of the Nightkin. They stared back plenty though, and the Follower felt their glares as he searched around. Knowing Henry, he would be holed up in a lab somewhere, he just needed to find it. He had only visited him the once since he moved out here, and back then he was still settling in. Gannon had wandered to one side of the building, only to be directed back to the opposite end by Twenty.

"Head voices say silver chair flies east." chattered another Nightkin as he passed back.

The lab was on the other side of the wing, in one of the larger rooms, possibly once a communal lounge or dining area, It had been fully kitted out with salvaged tech and medical apparatuses. The door was open ajar, but Arcade knocked regardless.

"Oh, Mark. Good to see you." greeted Henry as he ventured into the lab.

"It's Arcade, actually." he said sheepishly.

It had happened to him before, being mistaken for his father. Between the remaining Remnants now in their twilight years, and nearing the age his father died, it would likely keep happening too.

The elderly scientist cursed at himself under his breath. Something about seeings ghosts and wishing he could update his glasses prescription.

"What brings you here, Arcade?" asked Henry, occupied with tissue samples. "It's been a while. You're not one to visit on a whim."

"I'm here with a friend, actually."

"Daisy get you to drag her up here, did she? I didn't think she liked the cold that much."

It was true that Daisy hated the cold. She would never have agreed to come up this time of the year, nor would it have been easy to get her up the mountain.

"I've got other friends, and they're around my age!" protested Arcade, bothered by the old man's assumption. Although, it wasn't something he really could have said a year ago. "My friend… he's got a sick cyberdog. I think the bio med gel has gone bad."

"And where are they? This boyfriend of yours and his dog?"

"Six is my friend." Gannon stressed. "… and it's not really his dog either. Long story. They're both asleep right now."

"Asleep? It's nearly noon. I can't help you unless you bring them in."

"Are you sure you didn't want any help with… whatever it is you're working on?"

Something to do with the Nightkin's poor mental health, if the stacks of related books were any indication. The number of stolen Enclave books from Navarro was concerning too, especially considering some were blatantly labelled with their insignias. He spotted autopsy reports, FEV research logs and a large number of medical handbooks. It was a good thing he was protected by so many mutants.

Henry had always been so paranoid about being found out in the past. Apparently he had been at one stage by 'some crazy woman with a Pip-Boy 2000 who wanted his cyberdog'. Arcade was particularly surprised he had kept so much, and managed to keep it all this time. Most of the Remnants had stressed about leaving behind anything that might incriminate them. A lot of them got arrested by NCR in the early days.

But they only met up with Henry later on in their exile.

"I've got an assistant already. Calamity. She's out on a supply run." explained Henry, not even looking up at his visitor. "You're a smart boy, I'm sure you can find something to do around here."

Arcade saw himself out. Henry was never one for chatting anyway.

* * * * * *

His companions were deeply asleep when he returned. The cyberdog was cuddled up in the Courier's arms, all four legs flopped in different directions. With his eyes twitching rapidly, Six had a smile on his face, partially obscured in his canine little spoon. It was a welcome change of pace from his usual thrashing nightmares he often had. Arcade had never dared complained about occasionally being whacked in his sleep by it. He only wished the delivery boy would open up about what he dreamt about.

Hopefully, this dream was a happy one.

Arcade hovered around the room. He supposed he could catch up on his reading, but even that felt like a waste of his time. Usually he'd be sleeping at the same time as his friend, or keeping watch. Or he'd be back at the old fort. Henry's parting words echoed in his mind, which was otherwise pulling up blanks, and Gannon groaned. Even after all this time, he was still being treated like a little boy.

Or worse, being mistaken for a father he didn't know.

Perhaps taking a midday nap was just the something he needed to do. But it felt strange not to be in the same bed as Six.

Lonely, even.

So he stretched out onto the mattress as much as possible.

* * * * * *

Sometime in the mid-afternoon, the Courier's Pip-Boy alarm sounded. Rex slipped out from underneath the covers, and since the cyberdog was a weight bearing load, Six flopped onto his side and rolled onto the floor. If the beeping wasn't enough to wake everyone up, the loud thud was. Thankfully he had landed onto the bighorner pelt, partially wrapped in his blankets, and not directly onto the hardwood floors.

"Ow."

"You okay?" called Arcade from the safety of his blanket burrito.

"Yeah. Just need a moment…" he hauled himself up. "Shall we go see this Dr. Henry then? Have you met him before?"

"I went to see him while you were asleep." Arcade acknowledged. "He knows you and Rex are coming."

He hadn't lied, but it sure felt like it. The knot of guilt tied into his throat all the same. What would his friend's reaction actually be like, if he actually told him? And to really tell him everything; from the Enclave's crimes against the world, to the fact his only real friends before he came along were war criminals. That his parents were too. And if Navarro wasn't discovered, he would likely have become the very thing he despised.

Would he relate somehow? Six had his own hang ups with a Pre-War power. Playing along to Mr. House's whims seemed like a necessary evil. It was a necessary ruse to keep until he could install the rogue Securitron.

Would he forgive him? Six was the forgiving type. But his family too?

Would he still offer him snacks from his coat pockets? Excitedly show him every relevant page of his animal guidebook?

Would he still smile at his acts of service? Thank him every time for his help patching him up?

Would he still laugh at his silly jokes?

"You still wanna tag along?" Six asked Arcade, the latter looked preoccupied in his thoughts. "You can stay here if you want."

"I want to come along." insisted the Follower, coming back to reality from beneath the sea of situational. He unravelled himself from his blankets. "I can show you where we need to go. It's a big place…"

"Did you… get lost while I was asleep?"

"I found my way back to you, didn't I?" Arcade grinned.

His mind found his way back to thinking about telling him. That he knew Henry from way back. That they were both products of the same vying power. A tiny inner voice, drowned in self-doubt and smothered by social conduct cried out.

It begged: Please don't leave me behind.

It pleaded: Please take me with you.

And it wailed: Please forgive me.

Please.

Forgive me. Forgive me.

* * * * * *

"I assume this is about something important? You're interrupting my research." the senior man snipped as the trio entered the lab. "Oh. It's you. I guess I was told to expect you."

"I've cleared one of the tables for him." said a ghoul woman in a lab coat. She must have been the assistant Henry spoke of, Calamity.

Henry looked over the cyberdog on an examination table. Rex looked self-conscious, the whites of his eyes visible as he looked back to Six for assurance. He couldn't speak, of course, but he would have asked why this strange man was prodding and poking him. Not to say he wasn't well behaved in the Courier's presence. The dog stayed still for his scans and tests.

Arcade thought it a little excessive, especially when the problem was clear.

"It's neural degradation." said Henry, only confirming what Arcade already had guessed. "Bio med gel can only preserve a living brain for so long, so you'll need to find a replacement."

"A replacement brain… wouldn't removing his brain just kill him?" asked Six.

"I personally designed a system to allow for this sort of thing. It's not too different from how the cyberdog brains are augmented in the first place."

"You can trick the body with programmed signals." Calamity added, with an exuberant inflection to her voice. "The heart keeps pumping, and the lungs keep taking in air."

"It's not designed for extended periods of time." Henry explained. "The brain handles a lot more than just basic motor functions, but it's enough for the procedure. It's a little more complicated than just 'swapping out' the brain and gel, and with any surgery there's risks, but he'll die within a few months, maybe a year, without it."

"I suggest we go ahead as soon as possible." insisted Calamity as she petted Rex, stroking the cyberdog's silky ears. "Even if he's got that much time left, it's better we do it now rather than later. Less complications, and he's more likely to retain his original memories and behaviours."

Six looked drenched with concern. The thought of Rex losing his memories would have struck close to home for the amnesiac postman. Arcade wished he could reassure him somehow, like with a hug or a gentle squeeze of the hand. He was never good at initiating affection toward any of his friends, even with Daisy. Besides, Henry had already mistakenly assumed Six was his boyfriend, he didn't want to sow the seeds of incorrect speculation.

"I haven't left Jacobstown in years, but there was one woman in Novac... Gibson? I remember her living with a pack of hounds." the neuroscientist suggested to the Courier. "Aside from her, I know that the Fiends and Caesar's Legion fight alongside dogs. There could be viable specimens among them, if you can get to them."

There was no way they were paying a visit to the Legion. Nor to the pack of dogs that violently ate their former master. Gibson's dogs seemed like a friendly lot. Six always made a point to visit them when they went past the scrapyard. He knew all their names too, although Arcade struggled to tell most of them apart.

* * * * * *

Six's plan was ambitious, and Arcade had his doubts it would even work. He was going to go the Gibson Scrapyard, alone, obtain a dog's brain and haul it back to Jacobstown. In less than forty-eight hours. The plan involved him packing as light as possible whilst carrying a bag of bio med gel to put the transplant in. A pile of his 'non essentials' quickly grew in their room, but it looked more like a supply locker had been dumped onto the floor. 'Essentials' included his sniper rifle, a hunting revolver, two days worth of food and water, his journal, and for some reason, his camera.

"It's not too late to do this our usual way. Are you sure you don't want me along?" implored Arcade, already fretful about his friend. "I'm sure we can leave Rex here if you're worried about him."

"This is part of my job." the Courier stated proudly. "Getting stuff to places as quickly as possible is lucrative work. I've done this before. Urgent delivery."

"Do you even remember those deliveries?"

"Sure don't." replied the delivery boy, strangely confident in his answer. "What's the saying? It'll be like riding a bicycle?"

"…and have you ever ridden a bicycle?"

"I can't say I have. But I'm bi. I know about a whole lot of cycles. Same thing, right?"

Arcade looked absolutely exasperated. It was no time for him to be joking around. His solo journey would cut directly through some of the most dangerous places this side of New Vegas. It wasn't like there was an actual time limit on how quickly he needed to get the brain tissue. It would fare okay in the bio-med gel bag for weeks, let alone two days.

"Aw. Don't give me that look." Six pinched his friend's cheek playfully. "I'll be back before you know it."

The doctor's eyes cast down, and with it, the emotional veil he had been hiding behind.

"I worry about you." he professed.

For someone so intellectual, the Courier did some really stupid things. Stupid, dangerous things. He had shown time and time again he was capable of these stunts, but knowing he was out there alone doing them stressed Arcade out. At least if he was with him, or someone else was, or even something like the Eyebot, he could at least get help. The doctor couldn't patch him up remotely.

Six stalled in front of his headgear, ready for him on his bed. He turned, visibly shaken up by Arcade's admission. He hesitated a moment, biting down on his lip before donning his mask.

Did he always look like that? When someone worried about him? Under that mask of his?

"Arcade…" he exhaled, and walked right up to him. He cupped the dear doctor's face in his gloved hands. "Wait for me, 'kay?"

Red perspex stared into mossy green eyes. Gannon slowly nodded.

"I can do anythin' when I know someone is waitin' for me. I'll be okay…" Six declared, his fingers lightly brushing against Arcade's cheek when they were drawn back.

For once, Arcade believed completely in the silly thing he had just said. If anyone could pull it off, it was his intrepid friend.

"I'll be here. Waiting for you to get back." he replied, long after Six had waved 'see you soon' and made his exit out the building.

* * * * * *

He should have been used to waiting around for Six. It's what the days they didn't travel together often felt like. At the Old Mormon Fort he at least had his work with the Followers, as mind-numbing as it got sometimes. Recently he had been getting along better with his colleagues too. It had moved on from 'friendly small talk' to 'personalised small talk'. A relatively significant achievement for the fellow known for staying cooped up indoors.

There was also the blissful ignorance to whatever antics he got up to in the Mojave without him. Then the assurance everything ended up okay when he stopped by and caught him up on his adventures.

Arcade couldn't make small talk in the unfamiliar room filled with the Courier's familiar things though. He couldn't pretend to talk with Rex like Six often did. If he did start talking to the cyberdog he'd feel just as kooky as the Nightkin wandering the halls.

With Henry refusing his help, it really did feel like all he could do was wait around for his friend to get back. There was no way in hell he would have been able to keep up with him going all out. Probably only ED-E would have been able to keep pace.

He wasn't being useful to anyone stuck here.

Stuck alone with his own thoughts. It was about this time of year, wasn't it? When it happened?

Arcade needed to distract himself. Six had left plenty of his books, and he had already offered them to be read. He looked over the titles and covers. Another fiction anthology. The history of the Hoover Dam, already well out of date when the bombs dropped. An tatty instruction manual for cyberdogs, printed specifically for Denver police stations. He really needed to ask how he sourced books like these.

One book stood out to him in particular. 'The Modern Neurological - The Latest in Treating Brain Trauma'. 2076 edition. It was no wonder Six said it was to be borrowed only, the book was worth more than its own weight in gold. It had its own separate bag. Even spread on the floor, most of the items had value to the Courier, and he had been trusted to make sure they were here when he got back.

Arcade made sure the room was locked.

He settled into bed early to do some reading by the bedside lamp. Rex curled up on the end of the bed, like a dog-shaped ball.

The book was examined closely. The inside of the covers was inked with Vault-Tec requisition stamp. For use in Vault 21's medical bay only. It must have been sealed inside until recently, considering how intact and well preserved the book appeared to be. Doc Mitchell must have taken it with him when the Vault was closed up. A book of its calibre would have been instrumental in saving Six's life, if a quick skim and look through the diagrams were any indication. There were bits of torn paper bookmarking sections.

There were plenty of hours of reading in the textbook. Perhaps he could better help Six with its knowledge.

It soon got cold in the room after the natural light disappeared. The central fireplace wouldn't have been strong enough to reach their lodgings. With the mutants so indifferent to temperature, it would have only been lit and stoked for Henry and Calamity's sake.

Rex had moved next to the doctor, to request permission to be tucked under the blankets. Arcade obliged, but the blankets weren't warm enough for him.

The Follower looked over to Six's vacant bed. The delivery boy wouldn't be needing any of his blankets tonight.

Gannon borrowed one initially.

Then another as the night grew colder.

He ended moving the entire lot of blankets over to his bed. Truly he really was a Californian boy through and through. No cold resistance what so ever. Though the novelty of being cold was something. He hadn't decided if he liked it or not.

Rex whined, with only his nose poking out from the blanket mound.

"I miss Six too, Rex." he stroked the dog's snout. "But he'll be back soon enough with your transplant."

His tail could barely wag under the duvet hoard. Arcade wondered if the cyberdog had any idea what lengths the Courier was currently going through just to improve his quality of life. Dogs, especially cyberdogs, often had a greater understanding of what was going on than people thought. Rex could probably smell Arcade missing Six's company, his pent up frustration at being treated like a child by Henry and his persisting worry.

Gannon read til his eyes struggled to stay on the page.

With the light extinguished, Arcade placed the book and his glasses at the bedside, nestling himself deep into the pile of blankets. The cyberdog invited himself to be little spoon again, and the doctor welcomed the uncomfortable but warm lump into his arms. He had gotten used to sleeping in unfamiliar places in Six's company, usually finding sleep quickly knowing his friend was right there beside him. Either watching over him or asleep next to him.

Here, in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by familiar things, Six's absence felt loud. Deafening. At the Follower's encampment he had experience falling asleep to the sounds of Freeside. And the knowledge that his colleagues were awake and nearby. The snow muffled so much sound, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards as a mutant patrolled the hallway.

Somewhere outside, he heard the hooting of an owl. Six would have known exactly what owl it was just by its call. He would be so excited that an owl lived in Jacobstown too.

* * * * * *

"Looking for something to do, Follower Doctor?" asked Marcus.

Arcade wandered the area in front of the lodge, prescribing himself some much needed movement and gentle winter sun. He had slept in, piled between the combination of both beds' blankets and pillows, and had spent most of the morning catching up on his reading. The doctor wouldn't run out of anything to talk about with Six anytime soon, finally caught up with their impromptu book club list. He thought maybe he could find a souvenir for his friend by the time he got back. Six often brought oddities to share when he visited Freeside.

His friend was burning the candle at both ends for an animal that didn't even belong to him. He deserved something nice.

"You know the Followers?" Arcade said to the super mutant.

"I've been around a long time, doc." Marcus chuckled. "Some of their first members travelled with me and Jacob back in the day. Good people."

"Wow. You must have some incredible stories."

With how articulate and cognisant Marcus was, it was easy to forget how old he would be.

He reintroduced himself to Gannon, citing that he liked to get to know all the town's residents, temporary or not. Something the super mutant did back when he was sheriff of a place called 'Broken Hills'. Arcade had heard of a place called that. According to the mutant, it was hard to be fair and just to strangers. He also seemed interested in what the Followers had been up to, and Arcade found himself filling in about a century's worth of details in condensed conversation.

The Follower found the super mutant easy to talk to, especially because he didn't press personal questions. A few centuries of experience of talking to people would have helped, and it was definitely something Arcade was envious about.

The experience. Not the whole outliving everyone side effect.

"I'm actually looking for something for my friend." he finally admitted.

"Did he lose something? We can help you find it before he gets back."

"I don't think he's lost anything… uh… but he likes collecting things."

Arcade had to explain to Marcus that Six wasn't the kind of human who collected trophies. Nor did he need any more resources with the stockpile he had left heaped in their room. His friend collected oddities. Mementos. Weird little things that normally wouldn't be of much value to most.

Marcus searched himself, pulling out a ring of keycards. They looked like the keys that the Navarro base had, same colours too. His mother once had a set. She had told him that he used to try and put them in his mouth, but he was far too young to remember that himself.

"What about these?" suggested the mutant, offering the stack in his hand. "My tribal friend told me to hold onto them one time and never asked for them back. I hope she didn't need them. I couldn't bring myself to throw them away for some reason."

He must have been holding onto them for decades. If they happened to be from Navarro, which Arcade doubted, whatever they opened would have long since been destroyed. The doctor cautiously picked them up, as if the coloured pieces of plastic and magnetic tape were able to open him up too. He rubbed his thumb over the rounded edges.

"Y'know, your friend came and talked with me for a while before he left again. He reminds me of the person I used to travel with."

"How so?" asked Arcade, his interest piqued. People like the Courier were few and far between.

"Kooky. Pip-Boy on the wrist. Always asking questions. So driven to help others."

"Yeah. That's Six, alright." he smiled.

"He hasn't nuked any oil rigs, has he?" Marcus laughed.

Oil rigs? Wait. He couldn't possibly be talking about the Enclave base that was blown up shortly before he was born, thought Arcade. Though it was a rag-tag group led by a Pip-Boy wearing tribal that had been responsible. It was only rumours and second-hand accounts he had heard of. Marcus was certainly old enough, and near enough at the time to be partially responsible. He had just given him a set of keycards that looked like Enclave tech.

He suddenly had so many questions.

It was imperative that he remained nonchalant though. If anyone could draw a link between him and the Navarro outpost, it was a super mutant who may or may not have been part of the events that chained to its destruction.

"Not that I know of… " Arcade finally replied, stewed in thought. "Six doesn't seem to like explosives much."

But how would he even begin to ask questions about the catalyst that changed the course of his life forever? Should he be thanking the mutant for sparing him a life of being indoctrinated by the Enclave? On the other hand, those events directly led up to the death of his father, and many of his family's friends. He didn't know how to feel about that information, especially when Marcus suggested that Six and the tribal responsible were similar. Arcade had been thinking about finally opening up about that with the Courier too.

It felt like he was trying to find clarity and meaning in muddy fetid water.

But that was just like his experiences with Six, wasn't it? Not so much murky or muddy but undefined. Nebulous. Challenging what he thought were clearly defined parameters.

"Ah not like this tribal then. She was always blowing stuff up. Hell of a lot less polite than your friend too." recalled Marcus, a fond look in his eyes. "I guess what I'm saying is I've met a lot of humans, and there's something about him that stands out. You must too, in your own quiet way. You'd both make excellent mutants."

Arcade narrowed his eyes. He didn't want either Six or himself to become mutants. His companion had already suffered enough memory loss.

Marcus laughed.

"Haha! I know that look. Jacob looked the same way when I told him that too. When he was alive, I thought it would be wrong turning him into fellow mutie. Now I wish he had been."

Arcade couldn't imagine the century plus of grief Marcus was still carrying with him, far longer than a set of chunky plastic cards. The bargaining he talked about was a stage of grief he was intimately familiar with though.

"Sounds like you miss him a lot." said Arcade.

"I do." he sighed. "I had no idea I would outlive him then. It was always a possibility. I don't remember how old I was when I became a mutant. Doesn't matter."

"Wouldn't Jacob have lost his human memories too? If he got dipped in FEV?"

"Some of us retain our old memories better than others. Heck, Lily over there won't stop talking about her grandkids. I would have preferred him without his memories than to live so many years without him."

Super mutants were completely sterile, so every mutant would have been human at one stage. Lily's grandkids were probably long gone if they weren't also dipped or ghoulified. He wondered if she had any how many great-something-grandkids still kicking out in the wasteland.

"Six is an amnesiac too. Traumatic brain injury… not FEV, obviously."

"Must be why the other mutants seem to like him. He has a base understanding of some of what we go through."

Arcade hadn't thought about it like that. He did seem at ease around the town's residents. It helped they weren't trying to shoot at him, or threatening to eat him.

Marcus regaled more of his time spent with the town's namesake, and Arcade intently listened. They had tried to kill one another at first. Apparently it wasn't too long after the Master and Unity were taken out, which was practically folklore nowadays. Jacob was a Brotherhood knight hellbent on taking out any remaining 'muties' and they fought over several days before realising there wasn't any point. The two of them became fast friends, travelling together and picking up strays. People felt safe with a 'mutie' and 'tin-can' protecting them. Broken Hills came by later on, a safe haven for mutant, ghoul or human.

"I remember one night, he said he loved me. I told him that FEV emasculates us mutants. He told me he didn't care about that. He just wanted to be with me. Always."

"Why… why are you telling me all this?" Arcade asked Marcus, trying not to become visibly upset.

"Because I see the way he looks at you. Talks about you. Your friend, that is. It's been a long time since I've lived among humans, but I like to think I'm still a good tell. He had the same look in his eye Jacob did."

Six's eyes lit up anytime someone he cared about entered the room. They lit up talking about the critters in his guidebook. His excitement and devotion weren't exclusive to him only. He didn't want them to be, either. The Courier deserved to be surrounded by love and friends that had his back.

Knowing that didn't do anything to budge the sinking, heavy feeling from his throat to his stomach.

"Six is like that with all his friends. You should have seen his expression when he saw his pet Eyebot again." he smirked.

"If you say so. You know him better than I do. Just old mutie intuition, I guess." Marcus sighed. "Just don't make the same mistake I did with Jacob."

"What mistake was that?"

"Outliving him."

Chapter Text

I've heard the phenomenon is called 'skin starvation'
and it's the reason why infants are laid naked
on their mother's breast the moment after birth.
Because touch is how we greet one
another in almost every language and say: 'you are here
and I am with you and we are not alone'.

Joy Sullivan, State of Emergency (From Instructions For Travelling West)

Six arrived with the transplant hours before he was due back. He summarised his journey. First, he had 'skied' down the mountain til he ran out of snow. Hitched a ride on one of the trains that ferried limestone from Sloan to Boulder City, and then back again. Got a lift from an army truck delivering supplies to a nearby ranger station half way up the mountain. Ran the distances in between.

"I managed to get some sleep on the train." Six mentioned, finally catching his breath. The filters in his gas mask rattled with each heave his lungs drew.

He was remarkably tight lipped about how he got the brain though. Maybe it was for the best.

It was good that the Courier had arrived when he did, because a group of heavily armed mercenaries had arrived not long before him. They had fired warning shots into the lodge's windows, including the room they were staying in. Arcade had come outside to see what the commotion was all about, not expecting to see his companion so soon.

The mercenaries loitered around the main road, their leader waltzed on the asphalt while his entourage flanked him on either side. They didn't seem to care about Six suddenly emerging of the southern part of the forest.

Marcus pulled the Courier aside.

"Got a problem, could use your help. Been having trouble with NCR mercs harassing the town, and they just showed up again."

"Harassin' the town how?" asked Six.

"Killing our Bighorners, shooting at the lodge, that sort of thing. It's getting hard to keep people from retaliating."

"I'll see what I can do. I still owe board, after all."

The old sheriff thanked the Courier.

With a quick hand flick he signalled Arcade over. He unpacked the dog brain, suspended in a bag of bio-med gel. His instructions were clear cut. Stand back and make sure the bag didn't get a puncture, but to stay nearby just in case a fight broke out.

Six strode over to the mercs confidently. Outnumbered five to one, the Courier had handled bigger groups before. Arcade watched from behind the wooden barrier.

"Our business is with the muties, not you." snapped the leader.

He was clad in combat armour and toting an assault carbine. Serious equipment for mercenaries. They wouldn't have come cheap to whoever hired them.

"It became my business when you shot at the place I'm stayin' at. What do you want with Jacobstown?"

"Just doing what I'm paid to do, harass the muties until they leave or attack us. If they leave, we let 'em go. If they attack, we wipe 'em out." he got right up into the Courier's face. "Either way, the job's not done until they've cleared out of the town."

"Who's your employer then?" asked Six, unfazed at the merc trying to size him up.

Arcade would never openly admit it, but it was a real treat watching the Courier stand his ground against the scum of the wasteland. It was like watching a showdown in one of Six's Western holotapes, although the stakes were much higher and much more personal. The Follower had his plasma defender at the ready.

"Won't name names, but some important folks in the NCR are sick of muties attacking their Brahmin herds." There had been a lone Nightkin attacking brahmin in Novac, according to Six, but that seemed like an isolated incident. Novac wasn't part of the Republic, and nor was Jacobstown. "They want them gone from NCR territory. Maybe this group had something to do with attacking Brahmin, maybe not. Doesn't matter. We're getting paid to make them go away."

Gannon hadn't seen when the Courier had whipped out his revolver, but it was a stupid mistake to get so close and personal to someone as dangerous as someone like Six. He inched out more from cover. Six's gun was pressed against where the hyoid bone would be. The other mercenaries aimed their weapons at the mailman, but they were completely at his mercy so long as they had a shred of loyalty to their leader.

"This ain't NCR territory. Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna fuck off and leave this town alone. Otherwise you'll have to deal with me." Six leaned in, visor bearing down onto frightened eyes. "…and you'll wish you were fighting Super Mutants instead."

If he been a touch more juvenile, and great deal less gripped with stress, Arcade might have hooted and hollered in support of his friend. Of course, he didn't want to draw the mercs' fire. Plus it felt like his heart would shoot out from his throat if he opened his mouth.

"I've always known when to fight and when to back down, and it seems to me I oughta back down this time." the merc leader admitted. "My men and I are leaving. You won't see us around here again."

The revolver was gradually lowered down. True to their word, they left without any more bullets being fired. Gannon was too far away to hear their muttering complaints.

"Glad you didn't kill them." Marcus said to Six when he returned. "Letting them walk away proves we're not bloodthirsty mutants. If NCR or anybody else is looking for an excuse to attack Jacobstown, they're not going to get it from us."

"You let me know if you have trouble again." Six offered to Marcus, unbuckling his headgear now that he was back among Nightkin.

He looked absolutely exhausted. The Courier may have packed light for his stint across to Novac, but he carried heavy bags under his eyes. He rubbed at his nose and brow.

"C'mon. I got a special patient waitin' for me inside." he smiled at Arcade.

* * * * * *

Pressed up against the bag like a face against glass, Henry looked over the donor brain. It was much more vibrant and alive looking than the one currently in Rex's cranial dome. Arcade had only seen other brains faded and dull, either as preserved wet specimens or during an autopsy. Dog brains were a lot flatter and more angular than a human's, but he could still identify most of the same parts.

"This brain is from Rey, one of Old Lady Gibson's dogs." Six said to Henry.

The bag was placed onto one of the lab's medical scanners.

"All right, let's see here..." the former Enclave scientist peered into a viewfinder. "Neural pathways look good... definitely a breed of guard dog. Should provide the necessary tissue to reverse Rex's current degradation."

"We've also got some recommendations to service and repair his cybernetic components too." Calamity passed Six a clipboard with a print-out. "Here's a run-through of what the surgery entails. He'll need a day's rest before he's ready to make the journey home on foot."

Arcade looked at the operation details over the Courier's shoulder. It would be a lot easier to work on his cybernetic components while the cranial doom was detached. Re-soldering wires, some replacement parts, clean up and tune up. More than enough to keep him going for another two centuries if he was lucky.

"What's this going to cost me? Do you need me to source any of these parts?" queried Six.

Henry glanced at Arcade.

"You've already brought me everything I need for the surgery. Besides. I haven't worked on any cyberdogs for a long time. I am glad I got to help one more."

"You were a veterinarian?" Six enquired.

"Scientist." Henry corrected. "Specialising in both human and canine neuroscience. Of course, this lab is nothing compared to what I had when I was with the Enclave."

Shit.

A dissonant chord rang down Arcade's nervous system, saturated in cortisol. What the hell was Henry thinking? Did he already think Six knew? Did he think that the NCR wouldn't come and arrest him if he was surrounded by super mutants? That the Brotherhood couldn't covertly take him into custody? He might have just put the entire town in danger by letting that slip, for harbouring a 'dangerous fugitive'. Gannon wanted nothing more than to grab and shake the answers out of the old idiot.

No. He couldn't show a reaction to that information being revealed. Arcade was thankful that he had been standing behind the Courier. Six would have noticed his fear dilated pupils and the lacquer of sweat threatening to drown him.

Calamity, however, did notice. She turned her gaze away when their eyes met, terrified-doctor to ghoul-assistant. He buried his hands, clenched fists in the nest of his pocket.

"That's where ED-E is from." Six whispered to himself.

It wasn't his friend's fault, Arcade thought.

He didn't know he was making the situation worse.

Six couldn't know. It would only make him complicit in the eyes of the Republic. The Mojave needed him more than Arcade wanted him as a confidant.

"Huh? What about eddy currents?" mumbled Henry, not hearing what the Courier said exactly.

"Oh, nothing! Just thinkin' aloud. Busy last few days, y'know?" Six faked a smile.

"Evidently. Calamity and I can begin on Rex's procedure after we finish up on some other work. You can leave him here with us."

"Oooh! What are you working on?" asked Six excitedly, his hand smacked away from touching a dead Nightstalker specimen by Calamity.

Henry explained his ongoing project: coming up with a cure for the Nightkin. Not to 'cure' them of being Nightkin, but the damage that their addiction to Stealth Boys had caused. To alleviate and correct their mental instabilities. The local Nightstalker population was being investigated due to their ability to project a stealth field much like an active Stealth Boy. There was also the riskier prototype he had gotten his hands on. Arcade wondered if that was also a leftover Enclave souvenir.

The Follower wasn't sure why he so readily gave that information to Six and not him. He was more than capable of helping out while he was in town.

Gannon seethed silently.

His friend had some more questions about his research and the Stealth Boy prototype. It had more negative effects on mutants used it, but it made it easier to record and analyse that data.

"I could look for the source of the Nightstalker mutation for you. I'm real good with animals."

That he was. No doubt any Nightstalkers would leave the delivery boy alone if he ventured into wherever they had holed up. The neuroscientist agreed to his help, and thanked Six, mentioning that he suspected the mutation was artificially induced.

Rex was left behind to have some preliminary tests run on him and to be prepped for surgery later in the afternoon.

"You okay, Arcade?" checked Six, on route to stop by their room and collect his light adaptive mask. There weren't any Nightkin to be concerned about while they poked around the surrounding forest.

He really did wear his heart on his sleeve around his friend. Of course Six would pick up on him silently steaming that Henry trusted a complete stranger over him. It at the very least obscured the other truth bomb Henry had dropped.

"Just a little frustrated. I offered help to Dr. Henry before you left and he brushed me off."

"Oh... I wouldn't take it personally." assured the Courier, blissfully unaware of context. "Nightstalkers can be pretty dangerous, especially if they're turning nearly invisible. I do look better equipped to deal with that sort of thing. No offence, really."

"None taken."

None from the delivery boy, anyway. Arcade was exceedingly frustrated he couldn't be completely honest with what was wrong. It was personal. He was taking it personally. He had known Henry for virtually all his life, and the old scientist was treating him like a little boy still. Gannon supposed his reaction was childish and simple, but after all these years, surely at least someone as knowledgeable as Henry would recognise he was capable in his own right. Although, he wasn't smart enough to not disclose he was with the Enclave.

But telling Six was off the table, even if it twisted him up inside.

What good was a one-way confidant?

* * * * * *

The Courier immediately noticed the changes in the room. It would take a particularly unperceptive person or a very inebriated version of his friend not to.

"Cold at night?" he asked, dragging his fingers along the bed piled up with blankets.

"The night-time temperatures are very cold up here." justified the Follower, albeit embarrassed. "I'm not used to it, either."

"Those holes in the windows wouldn't have helped. Damn mercs."

Those were a recent addition from a few hours ago, but Gannon was okay for letting that take the fall as to why he had bundled up his bed so much.

"How much sleep have you gotten in the last forty-eight hours?" pried Arcade as Six reorganised his on-hand equipment.

As much as he tried to hide his lack of energy, obvious tells in anything that demanded fine motor control gave him away. Ammunition rounds slipped through his fingers. He grabbed at things with miscalculated force. Another reason it was a good thing that he didn't have to fight those mercenaries. If they had known how tired he was they might have tried their luck. They might have won.

The Courier started to count the amount of sleep he had using his fingers. He swayed in place, humming as he decided whether or not to count another finger on the one hand.

"You need some sleep." Arcade insisted, his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Sleep deprivation can trigger a seizure."

"Even on my meds?"

"Even on your meds."

Six sighed loudly, and started to shed off his outer layers, not waiting for Arcade to take back his hands. His companion usually showed a reluctance and often hid himself away when he dressed down, which only further evidenced that he was sleep deprived. Still, the doctor looked away as the gear dropped onto the floor with the rest of his things.

Melodramatically, the Courier flopped on the blanketed bed, spinning himself into a cocoon using the top few layers. He rolled to one side.

"I was going to return your blankets." said Arcade, who took it upon himself to hang up the duster from off the floor.

"Too late. You're stuck with me." the overgrown pupa declared.

Arcade didn't have any problem with that.

The doctor touched the partially read book on the occupied bed's nightstand. Social etiquette he had been taught dictated he if was going to stay in the room and read, that he should set himself up on the spare bed. His bedside manner suggested that he could keep a closer eye on his friend right beside him. He could still have a seizure in his sleep.

One arm burst from the textile chrysalis, inviting Gannon over with firm pats on the bed.

"Tell me what you've been up to…" requested Six sleepily, eyes shut.

"Nothing compared to what you've been doing." he climbed onto the unoccupied side of the bed.

"Still important to me… tell me everything…"

Arcade wished he could.

"I uh… caught up on some reading. Talked with some of the residents. Helped Twenty run the canteen."

"Super mutants must eat a lot… huh."

"Not as much I thought! They have very efficient metabolisms. FEV changes a lot more than I previously knew. For example, I knew super mutants were sterile, but I didn't know they lose both primary and secondary sex characteristics." he explained, motioning with his hands. "That must be quite a shock, suddenly not having those anymore. On top of all the other changes."

"Haha… yeah. That would be… shocking…" Six nestled deeper into the cocoon, until the only thing poking out was from his nose up.

"I've also got something for you." Arcade dug into his coat, and passed over the key cards that Marcus had gifted for him.

Both of Six's eyes peeked open, one after the other, and his hands emerged over the edge of the blanket roll.

"Key cards. Pretty colours. D'you know what they open?" asked Six, his eyes crossed as he twirled them close to his face.

Gannon shrugged. He couldn't exactly share any of the ideas about what they might have once opened. It was hard to know if his gift was liked by Six or not. Fatigue had a way of muddying expression and the only the top half of his face was visible.

The Courier wriggled closer, an arm stretched up to tap his companion's nose with the yellow key card.

"Bloop. Access granted." Six then held the cards close to his chest. Or where his chest would be under the layers of bed linen.

"That's not how that works." Arcade snickered.

"Hmm. We'll see…" said the delivery boy as he dozed off.

The doctor had gotten through about a chapter and a half when Six started to convulse. He had just returned to the paragraph he was on after being distracted by Rex's loud barking. His initial thought was that the dog being restrained, but it might have been his reaction to his on-loan master.

Six's tongue had flopped outside his mouth and pools of saliva drained from the corners of his lips. Arcade quickly unravelled the blanket cocoon that constricted him, fighting back the urge to try and hold him still. The Courier made a horrible guttural groan as his limbs thrashed about. He was gently turned to his side, his head supported by a pillow.

The ring of plastic rectangles dropped out of Six's twitching hand as his fit continued. From the across the hallway of the lodge, one of the mutants yelled at the cyberdog to stop making so much noise.

Arcade laid down beside his friend, stricken with worry, but ready to make sure he didn't fall. He felt a touch responsible for it happening, as if bringing it to attention had caused it to happen.

Rex's barking ceased, although surgical anaesthesia might have been the cause.

"Firmum alas, mi noctua. You don't need to push yourself so much." Arcade said to Six as his seizure began to subside. "What if this happened while you were out there, alone?"

Still unconscious, all he got as a response was a odd not-quite a hum and not-quite a growl. The tips of Six's fingers wiggled and the back of his hand swooped across the duvet. Gannon placed the key cards back into his palm, and the hand closed up.

Arcade stared at his friend and patient.

He reached out his hand, trembling as it hovered above Six's head a moment, hesitant.

His companion had always been so open with his affection. The Courier would greet all his friends with a hug if they let him. He mourned little dead animals such as cactus wrens and bade them farewell when no else did. He greeted sunlight and moonlight like they were his oldest friends.

No, Arcade didn't want to outlive all that. He didn't want him to be like Jacob was to Marcus, missed for the rest of his life. They were both human. Both doomed to die, but it was very human to choose to live out their lives in spite of biological limits and a harsh world. Gannon was already condemned to outlive the the rest of his family because of his age. Six was younger than him, at least according to his paperwork, but his health problems would be lifelong. That was before the risks he took in the work he did, and anything the wasteland wouldn't hesitate to throw at him.

His hand glided over the top of Six's head of hair, not quite caressing it. They had known each other only for half a year. It felt longer than that. Not long enough too. Was it possible to miss someone before even meeting them?

"As your doctor I recommend that you be more gentle with yourself. As your friend I insist it." he whispered, letting himself stroke at his hair again.

He had forgotten to tell him about the owl he heard outside their window.

There was still plenty of time to tell him about that.

* * * * * *

Trudging through a damp cave, almost blind aside from the torch function of the Courier's Pip-Boy and bio-luminescent mushrooms, was not Arcade had in mind when he had thought about a winter getaway on Mount Charleston. He held onto the yoke of Six's duster with one hand, afraid he was going to bump into one of the Nightstalkers by accident.

Maybe he should have asked to stay behind inside the lodge. He wasn't much help loosely attached to his friend's back like an empty railcar.

But the primeval fear of being preyed upon easily replaced the social fear of being found out. Henry being so blasé about his connection to the Enclave still occupied his thoughts, though it wasn't the only thing on his mind.

"Oop. Sorry, sweetheart." Six apologised to a Nightstalker when he walked into one. "You think you could show me what's making you turn invisible?"

The Nightstalker shimmered into more perceivable view. It looked at him blankly, content to receive a little chin scratch from the weird man who was wandering around their home.

"Six…" Arcade tugged at his coat.

"It was worth a shot." the delivery boy insisted.

The smell got worse as they ventured further down. A mix of wet dog, rotting meat and stagnant water only got stronger deeper in the cavern bowels. He could hear the hissing and rattling of Nightstalkers too, though he had no idea where any of the creatures were. It took a lot of effort not to just bury his head into his companion's back to save himself from the sights and smells.

Instead he looked as a secondary set of eyes while the Pip-Boy light scanned the area. A decomposing partially-eaten Bighorner was particularly pungent and hideous looking. His grip tightened as he jumped at the sight of a Nightkin corpse when the light hovered over it.

"I heard an owl!" Arcade blurted.

"An owl? …in this cave?" questioned the Courier, confused. He arched his head back at his companion.

"No. The other night. I-I forgot to tell you before."

"Oh! That makes a lot more sense… So what did it sound like?" he asked excitedly.

"I'm not making hooting sounds in a cave full of nearly invisible Nightstalkers."

"That's a great horned owl then! Barn owls kinda scream. Not the right terrain up here for burrowing owls."

Six picked over the cadaver, cautiously examining anything of interest. Whoever the Nightkin was, they were covered in bite marks, and nibbled away at softer parts of skin. Clearly there were enough Nightstalkers nearby to overwhelm a mutant armed with a sledgehammer, but they paid the Courier no mind.

"I hope you get to see it. That owl I heard."

"Me too!" Six chirped happily. "Y'know. I do a pretty good burrowing owl call."

"Let's hear it when we're safely outside..."

His companion pulled up a thoroughly chewed up Stealth Boy, doused in drool and dripping its leaked contents. Marcus had forbidden use of the devices in Jacobstown, so the Nightkin might have hidden away in the cave to get their fix covertly. It didn't work out well for them.

The red light atop the device still flickered. True testament to the durability of RobCo products, Gannon supposed.

"I reckon this might be the cause." said Six, holding it well away from his body.

* * * * * *

One Nightstalker chewtoy was delivered to Henry, who looked over it with interest. The codger could have thanked them for bringing it to them, Arcade thought to himself.

"Hmmm... there's still power, but the casing is cracked. I'm astonished that exposure to the stealth radiation could induce mutations so rapidly." he rotated it in his hands. "More importantly, this explains why my research into this group of Nightstalkers hasn't come up with a cure for the Nightkin. There's only one avenue left for me - I need to run the Mark II test on Lily. It's the only way."

Marcus had mentioned a Nightkin with that name. The questions that Six asked him about her aligned with what the old sheriff had mentioned, that Lily was eccentric, but she had offered her help. More importantly, insisted upon helping despite knowing the risks.

"I'll go talk with Lily, then." said the Courier.

He lingered in the lab for a while longer, occupied with Rex's current state.

The cyberdog's cranial dome had been detached and several cords and wires were hooked up onto the skull plate. His limbs and parts of his chassis had been disassembled and laid out piece by piece, ready for individual examination. Cardiac telemetry steadily beeped in the background. A steady but shallow rise and fall of his ribs was regulated by a machine. He looked more like a giant power supply unit from a supercomputer than a dog with all the cables splayed out from different sections of his body.

Calamity approached the distracted postman before Arcade could jump through the self-imposed hoops of deciding what was appropriate in order to comfort him. Her hand, not his, gently touched his shoulder.

"It's confronting, isn't it?" Calamity said to Six. "But he's in good hands. Henry's told me all about the work he used to do with cyberdogs."

Of course he had. He was telling everyone what he used to do at this point, mulled Arcade.

Six nodded, and Gannon followed him out into the yard.

* * * * * *

Lily was tending to some tame Bighorners in the paddock outside the front of the lodge. They must have passed by her more than twice already. Snow had been raked away from the inside of the enclosure, exposing the ground beneath. A stack of fresh leafy branches, obviously collected from below the snow line had been spread out flush against the fence. She was hand feeding one of the large goats when the Courier approached her with a courteous tap on her arm.

"Jimmy? Little Jimmy - my, how you're grown up. So good of you to come visit your grandma!" said the Nightkin, wrapping Six up into an unintentional bear hug, and very easily lifting him up off a few inches off the ground.

"Jimmy? Who's… Jimmy?" asked Six, wheezing out each word.

"Oh, Jimmy, don't you go being silly now! Come over here and give your grandma some sugar!" Lily kissed the delivery boy familially and loudly on each cheek.

Lily held the Courier at arm's length out like someone would for a child. He dangled above the ground, hoisted and held in place by two large hands. When he looked over at Arcade, Six looked very lost and flustered.

"I'm not Jimmy. My name is Six." he clarified, and Lily lowered him back to the ground.

"I... Oh, of course, sweetie. How silly of me. I didn't take my medicine yet today. How can I help you?"

"Did you still want to help Doctor Henry run his experiment?" Six asked Lily.

"Of course, dearie. I know it's dangerous, but it'll all turn out for the best, you'll see." Lily assured the Courier, in a voice as sweet as her vocal chords allowed. "I'll go to him now, it would be rude to keep him waiting!"

While Lily was noticeably smaller than most of the other Jacobstown residents, neither doctor nor courier was prepared for how quickly she moved. She raced past them and nearly bowled over another mutant along the way. Six's jaw dropped, and one hand pointed in disbelief.

* * * * * *

Lily's entrance had caught the attention of a number of other residents, mostly other Nightkin. They gathered around the lab's doorway, taking turns to lean in and look at what was going on inside. Calamity was directed to tell them to stand back and not interfere.

"Please stand back, I don't want any erroneous readings." Henry insisted as he prepared the prototype. "You're welcome to stay and observe if you want, though."

"Be careful if you see Keene. He's got a mean temper." Calamity warned Six as she passed by.

The Courier's gaze darted toward the entryway, making sure not to meet any of the Nightkin in the eye. He replied to her warning with a quick nod, and she stood in front one of the monitoring machines currently not assigned to Rex.

Henry removed Lily's straw hat, attaching electroencephalography electrodes onto her scalp. If she had any hair follicles, Arcade couldn't see them from the distance he was at.

"Alright, power on the Stealth Boy, Lily." Henry handed her the prototype. She held it gently in her gardening gloves.

In an instant of a button click, she disappeared into a reflective haze, much like how water distorted the surface it inhabited. If he really focused, he could just make out where she was standing from where the distortion ended along the electrode leads.

"Turning it on. Urgh… feels strange. Strange but good." Lily narrated to Henry, drawing out the 'oo' sounds as she spoke.

"Interesting." he wrote down something onto the clipboard in his hand. "Try thinking aggressive thoughts now. Think about smashing a Radscorpion."

"Grrr! Lily smash! Yeah-ha!" the visible ends of the EEG leads swayed around as she clapped her hands together.

"How are those readings looking, Calamity?"

"Stealth field is stable, and the readings are clean. Gamma wave activity is... zero?" she sounded puzzled, sifting through the ribbon of data spat out from the thermal printer. "Odd, but everything looks right."

"All right, we're done here. Go ahead and power the Stealth Boy down, Lily."

"Aww… I liked having it on." lamented Lily, handing back the device to the scientist.

The electrode pads on her head were tugged off and her straw hat was donned again. She didn't bother staying around, as if the device had muddled her perception and thought process.

One of the Nightkin around the door left hurried off somewhere. Their loud stomping foot steps carried through the floorboards.

They returned whispering in the ear of another of their brethren. The newcomer carried himself with a great deal more confidence than his ilk. By the way that Six and Calamity appeared to recognise him, Arcade assumed him to be Keene.

"Well, well. Congratulations on getting the Mark II prototype functional, doctor." Keene sneered at Henry. "Now just hand it over and we'll be on our way."

The Courier stood between Keene and the neuroscientist. The mutant both towered over him in height and sheer mass. Keene could probably incapacitate the delivery boy with one swift blow if it landed.

"Keene has never liked me." Henry told Six, his voice barely hushed. "If anyone can talk him into backing down, it'll have to be you."

Six was breaking the golden rule - he was staring right up at Keene. He looked determined and stalwart, unmoving as the Nightkin was joined by two others.

"My request is perfectly reasonable." Keene said, glaring down at the delivery boy that dared get in his way. "Give us the Stealth Boy specs and there will be no need for us to splatter the room with your insides."

Like raising two wings, the Courier lifted his arms outward. He wasn't going anywhere. His insides would be the first to be splattered. Arcade placed his hand over his plasma defender.

"What you do in the wasteland affects all the mutants here, but you didn't think about that, did you?" Six scowled.

Keene was silenced, his eyes darting away. Arcade had to steel his nerves to not raise his gun and draw the mutants attention to him instead. The harm even a few Nightkin could do after 'upgrading' existing Stealth Boy units would be insurmountable. Not only the collateral destruction, but the exacerbation of damage already inflicted upon their brains. Their psychotic breaks would be extremely intense long before it would eventually kill them.

"No, I didn't, not until now anyway." admitted Keene, in a moment of reflection. "Very well, human. You've made your point, and I withdraw my... request."

His 'request', at its core, was made with his people in mind, but it would not benefit his fellow mutants living up in the mountain. Like with whoever was attacking brahmin, Jacobstown would be blamed for it instead. Six did not move his arms nor his frown until Keene and his entourage left the lab.

"Nice work with the Nightkin." exhaled Henry. "I've never seen anyone able to talk their kind out of anything once they had their mind set to it."

"Sometimes people need to be reminded of what really matters." said Six.

The neuroscientist, with the danger now passed, went back to his work. There was still data to analyse and cyberdogs to tune up.

"I got a lot of useful data from the experiment and am a lot closer to a cure than before." Henry said to the Courier. "It's occurred to me that this brief test might not yield a cure any time soon. However, if Lily were to continue to wear the prototype..."

Six's brows knitted together. He bit down on the end of his thumbnail, deep in thought.

"Why don't you use neuro-peptide stimulators on a Nightstalker brain." he suggested. "Results should be similar to a live brain."

"That's... brilliant. Simple, yet elegant." the neuroscientist stood agog. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."

* * * * * *

Arcade hurried to join back with his friend, who had left quietly when the two doctors went over the results. He had wanted to ask Henry for his help creating a program for Six's Pip-Boy that could help monitor his seizures. An early warning system that could give him just enough time to get someplace safe and wait it out. But between Rex's surgery and setting up additional Stealth Boy tests, Arcade decided it was better to come back later.

The Courier had slumped against the wall outside the lab, balled up and buried between his knees. Gannon sat beside him, giving him a sideways nudge into his shoulder.

"You okay?" asked Arcade.

Six groaned loudly.

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

His reaction made his companion snort laughter, and the delivery boy turned his cheek to face him.

"Talkin' down mercs and mutants wasn't my idea when I invited you up here. I'm sorry."

"Not sure why you're apologising. It's not like anyone has died."

Six looked away guiltily.

"No one here has died." Arcade corrected. "What did you have in mind, anyway?"

"Just get away from it all for a few days. Focus on what matters to me, not what matters to Mister House." he sighed, wistful. "Playin' the role of sycophant is tiring."

"I can only imagine."

Arcade nudged into his friend again.

"Why don't we do something fun while we wait for Rex to recover?" suggested the doctor.

"You know how to be fun?" teased Six, grinning.

"I can be fun! You don't think I can be fun?" Arcade retorted.

"You're plenty fun, dear doctor." the Courier nudged him back. "I like the sound of that."

* * * * * *

Time had eroded away most of the weatherproofing and insulation that ski lodge would have once had. The room, like the rest of the mountain, only got colder at night. Chill entered through the cracks between the wall panels and funnelled through the fresh bullet holes in the window. After an impromptu holo-tape double feature, the blanket situation had been corrected, and now Arcade was down to half what he had the previous night. He had managed okay until the wind had started to pick up.

Six had crawled up the walls like a bug and taped over each and every bullet hole with a slap of duct tape. Now the wind was threatening to undo his work by opening the wounds up again. As the tape failed, the warmth bled outside quickly.

Wrapped up in all his clothes and the poncho still lent to him, Arcade shivered and his teeth chattered. His thoughts wandered someplace colder than the room's freezing temperature, unable to sleep.

His predicament was not unnoticed. Six had woken up and fixed the holes again with a few extra bandages of tape. Then he loomed over his companion's bed, blankets bundled in his arms. He poured the them over him, layering him up.

"Any reason you're giving me your blankets?" asked Arcade.

There was no way he was going to let Six freeze.

"I'm sure Marcus wouldn't mind another set of eyes on night patrol. You stay here and sleep."

"Wait." Arcade grabbed at the Courier's hand, which adjusted the edge of the blankets he added. "We can just share. We usually do."

"You were so excited getting your own bed for once though. I don't wanna ruin that."

"You're not ruining anything. Come in."

It was easy to make the exception for Six. They would be both warmer in the same bundled up bed.

"Okay. If you insist." he smiled.

Six took off his leather coat, draping it across the bottom of the bed. He climbed in and curled up on one side opposite Arcade. He looked over at his companion.

"You okay? You look kinda sad."

"Hmm? Sorry. I can turn over."

"Arcade…" Six scolded. "Y'know I won't pressure you into tellin', but I'm here…"

"Well I did invite you in." he grinned, borrowing a bit of his bedfellows' humour. "If I told you, could you promise not to tell anyone else?"

"Of course."

"My mother. She… died around this time of year. I guess I'm just thinking about her."

"Can I ask how long ago?"

"It's been two years now. I'm going to be the same age this year as she was when she gave birth to me. It's so strange to think about…"

At her age, not quite thirty-seven, she was in her own words, 'running out of chances to have a baby'. She had other options then, courtesy of all the best the Enclave could provide, but her field of work meant she was very aware of the dangers carrying later in life. Between that and a string of numerous miscarriages taking a toll of her body, Arcade would never have siblings. He always figured it was one of the reasons why the Remnants were so protective of him. That and his father dying so young.

When he had come out to her, as a boy of ten or eleven she had told him 'After all I did to meet you, what kind of mother would I be if I rejected you now?'. She was always so supportive of him, sometimes embarrassingly so.

And he missed her so much.

Tears started to well in his eyes. Six reached over and wiped at them with his thumb. He then silently offered a hug, lifting his arms up and out.

Arcade accepted, to both their collective surprise. The Courier wrapped his companion into his arms whilst he buried himself into his chest. For a while the blond man stayed and sobbed there, but the longer he remained in the embrace, the less the tears fell. Six was so warm, and even though he smelt like a odd mix of gunpowder, sweat, and whatever concoction of mismatched products he last bathed with, it was familiar. Safe. Arcade felt his hair being stroked.

He wasn't used to this sort of intimacy. Its gentleness and assurance. He didn't confide and seek comfort like this from his lovers, let alone any of his friends or family. What was the closest thing he had experienced like this? He supposed he had been held after intercourse. There was when he was consoled after his mother's death. But those were both poor comparisons. It was a completely different feeling.

It was… better. More genuine, somehow.

More tears welled in his eyes, but they were tears mourning the past denial of the feeling he was having. Warm. Safe. Held for no reason other than he needed to be. Was this what Six was offering every time?

"This… isn't awkward for you, is it?" Arcade asked Six, deeply embedded into his side.

"No. But if it's supposed to be, it shouldn't. Folks should be comforted when they're sad." Six replied. "Do you feel any better?"

Arcade nodded. He was asking the man with barely five months of discernible memories for his opinion on how the world operated. The same man that sobbed and wailed into him on the thirteenth floor of the Tops. This was all par for the course.

"I tried giving Boone a hug when I found about his wife- that's not my story to tell… but I wish he would have let me." Six continued, squeezing Arcade close. "I reckon he needs it."

Gannon had no idea the sniper was even married. Or had been, by the sound of it.

"Your heartrate is pretty high, are you okay?" The doctor was pressed close to his ribcage, ear near his heart. Even at its speed, it was relaxing to listen to.

"Well now that you mention it… I got my attractive friend snuggled up against me. Might be why." Six chuckled. "Don't you worry about me."

Arcade's smile was well concealed, folded into Six's shirt. For once, he wouldn't worry.

"What was she like? I mean. You don't have to tell me but… I'd like to know."

He didn't need to see his face to know he was being authentic. He could hear it in the inflection of his voice, and feel it in the vibrations between his ribs.

"I think she would have liked you." Arcade admitted, fondly remembering her. "If anything she would be happy that I made a friend like you."

"She was a scientist." A geneticist, he omitted. Six would catch onto how rare that was. "When I was younger she used to do lectures at the Boneyard University. Sometimes she was invited out with the Followers when they made expeditions out to tribal settlements. I used to tag along on the shorter visits."

"She wasn't a Follower herself?"

"Not in any official capacity. She did encourage me to join when I expressed interest."

Back then, the Followers were still incorporated with the NCR, receiving their funding and resources. She had been too worried that someone higher up might connect the dots on her education. Once she had to claim she was formerly from the Brotherhood, and didn't want to be tied down by another organisation again.

"I'm sorry I didn't meet her in time." said Six.

"We can still go visit her grave. It's been too long since I last visited."

"You'd want me along for somethin' like that?"

"You know what. I would."

* * * * * *

When Arcade awoke, the Courier was no where to be found in their room. He had reached out to try and grab at his warmth again. Clutch at the solace his presence gave. Sleepiness betrayed his sensibilities and conduct, especially sleeping beside Six.

Six's gear, namely his coat, gloves and boots were missing too. He must have gone outside, thought Arcade, putting on his own boots and slipping on extra layers. Six often had trouble staying asleep throughout the night.

He wandered down the hallway, keeping his eyes cast downward as to avoid making eye contact with any Nightkin. A few trudged around, muttering to themselves.

"Head voices say smart man also metal man. Don't like metal men!"

"Smart metal man. Smells like dog doctor. Lonely without his friend."

Arcade checked the outside windows that looked out into the yard. It was snowing quite heavily, like a soft fluffy downpour. He couldn't see the Courier, so he wandered to the next set of windows that looked outside. They faced the main entryway, trailing into the vegetable gardens and paddocks. There he finally spotted Six, out in the cold, spinning around in the snowfall.

He wore what looked like a crochet scarf of scrap fabrics, obviously made for one of the super mutants. But the mutants didn't feel the cold or the heat like their former frameworks did, so they must have given it to him instead. It was much too long for his body, wrapped around his shoulders and neck multiple times. He was sheltering himself with a large umbrella.

"Can't sleep either, Arcade?"

He recognised Henry's voice, while his eyes still adjusted. The older man joined him looking out into the yard and the delivery boy who spun around in it.

"Where did you find him?" he asked.

"Sir?"

"Your friend. That kid talked down a warlord mutant several times his size. Then he comes up with a solution of running tests using Nightstalker brains all to save one person."

It always amazed him what lengths Six would do to save someone, or just one more person. Arcade would have more readily accepted that Lily was a necessary sacrifice to save the rest. He would have accepted that Keene needed to be taken out. The needs of the many over the few. No matter how unpleasant it was.

But the Courier didn't compromise easily, often at great personal cost to himself.

"He just showed up one day." he admitted.

Six had spotted the two doctors in the loft window, waving up to them happily. He pointed off into the distance and signalled for Arcade to come down and join him.

"Duty calls."

"Don't freeze out there, the both of you." chided Henry.

Down the stairs and out the front set of doors, Arcade trudged through fresh banks of snow to join up with his companion, who had his finger raised to his mouth to be quiet as he approached. Gannon did his best to.

"Look!" Six whispered and pointed, struggling to contain his excitement under a certain amount of decibels, and without any sudden movements.

A great horned owl, maybe the very same he heard the other night. It had a fresh kill, a juvenile Molerat, beneath its talons, with a halo of blood splattered across the snow in front. The owl was massive, dwarfing the crows and ravens that Arcade had seen hanging around Freeside. It plucked and tucked into the Molerat's flesh, wary of its onlookers but in no rush to abandon its feast.

Arcade crouched down beside Six to better watch the animal with him. He was passed the umbrella to hold between the two of them.

"My camera." Six said to himself. He reached for the device holstered at his side.

He held the camera in both hands, trembling.

"Dammit." the Courier cursed his grip, peering through the viewfinder at his shot.

Gannon held the the umbrella in his elbow, slipping his hands under Six's to steady him.

A short sharp inhale, unsuspecting of touch, made the owl whip its head toward them. A few delirious clicks of the shutter button and winding the film followed.

"T-Thank you, Arcade." Six murmured, lowering the camera so it hung around his neck on its strap.

"Aren't you freezing out here?" whispered Arcade to Six.

He unravelled part of the unusual scarf to wrap around his companion, stringing the two of them together. He shimmied close to his companion, looping their arms together.

"Nope!" he beamed.

Out of view, another owl called out. Such a distinctive noise, a hoot-hooting that sounded like a greeting. Hello? Hello. Hello. It was like they were calling out to one another the way the other bird in front of them responded.

Soundlessly, the other owl joined the first. Arcade thought they might start fighting, as animals often did with food. It was hard out in the world for all living things. But the other owl, slightly larger still, hopped over close and the two started to touch beaks. Tapping then swapping sides like kisses for each cheek. Puffing up their feathers.

Six audibly gasped again, but the owls didn't seem to pay him any mind.

"It's a pair! Arcade, aren't they so sweet with one another?"

Gannon hummed in agreement, being shaken by the arm.

The rest of the film was unloaded on the two birds.

* * * * * *

In the late morning, Arcade spotted Six talking with Lily near the Bighorner paddocks. He found himself lingering around the lodge's verandah, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

"So what do you do in Jacobstown?" asked the Courier, passing a fresh branch to one of the goats.

"I watch over the Bighorners. They're sweet, gentle creatures, but sometimes they get ornery. Just like my grandkids!" she ruffled the hair atop of Six's head affectionately, as if she was referring to him too.

Arcade struggled to remember if he ever met any of his grandparents. Out in the wasteland, having both sets of parents alive as an adult was an feat in itself. Grandparents were rare, and great-grandparents even rarer still. People simply didn't live long enough to become them. In the Enclave, there was access to cutting edge medicine, but he couldn't ever recall seeing anyone particularly elderly during his childhood. Knowing the perversions against nature and humanity the organisation conducted, it wouldn't surprise him if people were culled when they reached a certain level of inability.

It had started to feel like he was spying on him, but the doctor had made no effort to conceal himself while he waited. As he watched, the more it came apparent that Lily had adopted the polite delivery boy, affectionately calling him 'pumpkin' and 'munchkin'. Six looked like he was enjoying the familial attention. Sometimes a family was a schizophrenic mutant and her adopted human grandson. She happily answered all his questions.

He started to think about if her blood relatives were still around again. Or if any of Six's were. Apparently the Enclave had genealogy records dating back hundreds of years, according to his mother, but she seemed reluctant to talk about either her parents or his father's set. He had accepted it as just another thing they didn't talk about. There were a lot of those. Would Six even want to know something like that when he carved out a family of his own as odd as he was?

"What kind of medicine are you takin'?" Six questioned.

"Doctor Henry calls them 'anti-psychotics'." she answered. "I don't know what they're supposed to do, they just make my memory fuzzy."

"I have memory problems too." he admitted to her. "I don't remember a whole lot. Sometimes I'll forget where I am. I take medicine that helps me too."

He showed the vial of anticonvulsants he kept on his person, giving it a little shake.

"Oh, pumpkin! Grandma forgot you had those! You make sure you don't miss a dose like I do." she waggled her finger at him.

"I haven't missed a single dose since I got them." he assured the Nightkin with a smile, but it assured Gannon too.

Six leaned back and snuck in a wave at Arcade. He must have been waiting for a chance to do that.

"Is that your friend, sweetheart? Why don't you introduce us?"

"Of course." he leaned forward on the wooden fence, waving again. "Come say hi, Arcade!"

He felt his face redden, though he was unsure why exactly. It did feel like when he was called over as a child from where he sat quietly on the sidelines, seen but not heard. But Six didn't embarrass him like his extended family did. His company was an active choice. It was just unfortunate his new grandparent didn't remember him from yesterday.

"Aww, aren't you just precious? Come here little darling, let grandma pinch your cheek!"

"That's okay, I really don't-"

Arcade put up with the large woman's fingers grabbing at his face for his friend's sake. It was just like Henry had said about Nightkin. Once they had their mind set on something. Thankfully it didn't hurt, but it wasn't comfortable. He could hear Six's snickering somewhere close by.

"You boys go off and play! Grandma is all done here."

"Okay, Lily. I'll be back to visit soon!" Six waved goodbye.

"Be good little children now." she called out as they left. "Don't be too rough with one another!"

* * * * * *

Six handed Arcade a pair of warm looking gloves.

"What are these for?"

"It's cold out. Try 'em on."

There was no arguing with that, and it meant he didn't have to warm his hands in his front pockets. They fitted remarkably well. His companion then rolled off his duster, holding it out for him.

"Put this on too."

"What… what is happening right now?" asked Gannon, visibly confused.

He pushed the coat onto him.

"Alright, alright… I'll put it on."

Other than being a little bit short in the sleeves, it fit him too. It looked fairly baggy on the Courier's frame, but having clothing fit perfectly was down to chance or having the resources for a tailor. He gave a little spin.

"Nice and warm?" Six asked, a smile plastered on his face.

The Courier's coat held onto its owner's residual warmth, reminding Arcade of the feeling of being snuggled close to him.

"Yes. Very cosy. But aren't you cold without it?"

"Don't you worry about me..." he had crouched down, fiddling with something out of sight.

Arcade peered over his shoulder, curious at what on Earth he was up to.

One cold mound of snow was smacked into his face, some of it getting stuck behind his glasses. From what he could still see, the Courier had taken off running further into the forest, cackling like a maniac.

It took a moment to process what had just happened. He had been played again.

"Okay! I see how it is!" he dumped the snow out of his glasses. There was no point bothering to dry them.

He could have just asked for a snowball fight. But it was just like Six to make something more elaborate than it needed to be.

The delivery boy had not gone far, barely hiding behind a nearby tree.

"You're going to regret giving me your coat!" Arcade called out, scooping up some ammunition.

Six squealed when he was pursued after, but Gannon knew he wasn't going all out. There wasn't any keeping up with him otherwise. He dodged the doctor's first throw, but the second hit him square on his backside.

"Gotcha!"

Another snowball hit Arcade's face. Of course his sniper rifle toting opponent had excellent aim, but the ammo he used was always soft and fluffy. He raced on ahead, but he never ran out of the Follower's line of sight.

Their game continued past the outskirts of Jacobstown, which caught the attention of some of the residents. One of the mutants, wanting to join in, threw a snowball much too big toward them.

Six tackled Arcade into the snow, so the mutant projectile didn't bowl him over like a stray ten-pin.

"Hey! Be gentle with Six and friend." A familiar voice called out. It was Twenty, smacking their mutant brethren on the back of the head. "You want to play? Use human sizes!"

He hoped they didn't mean human height.

"You okay, Arcade?" asked the Courier, lifting himself up. He could hear Twenty berate another mutant for throwing too hard on their shot.

Yes, they were allowed to throw snowballs at the puny humans, but they were not allowed to throw over a certain size, or with enough force to topple them. Anyone who broke that rule would be swiftly disqualified and removed from the play.

The doctor looked at the collapsed mound that was thrown his way. Then he looked up at his friend with wide green eyes. He was straddling him in the snow. Arcade struggled to form words, babbling nonsense sounds.

A more human appropriate sized ball whizzed past, almost hitting them. The Courier scooped him up close, holding his head into his shoulder and neck. He spun them both into a tumble down an immediate slope. Flurries of moderated throws followed close behind.

"Truce?" offered Six, now below him.

"I-I like being on the same team as you." managed Arcade, barely coherent.

"Me too! C'mon!" he grabbed at his hands, leading him further out of view of the town.

They took shelter against a ledge made by snow banking on top of an exposed tree root. In the distance; all out combat, mutants pelting one another with snow and crying out. They hadn't bothered to form teams from the sound of it.

"Gimme your lab coat." Six dug into his own coat's inner pockets, still worn by Arcade, pulling out a pair of red tinted goggles. He kept his voice hushed.

"Wouldn't you prefer your own coat back?" he whispered back.

"Your coat will help me blend in the snow better."

Gannon peeled off the duster then his lab coat, putting the former back on.

"Wait… are you using me as bait?" he asked as he adjusted the collar.

"Not at all, dear doctor." assured the Courier as he refitted his Pip-Boy over the lab coat. "I'll be drawing their attention. You lay down cover fire. We make our ways up to high ground."

"It sort of suits you." Arcade blurted to Six. "The lab coat. I mean… The goggles make you look like that villain in that movie we watched. I'm surprised Julie hasn't offered you your own Followers lab coat."

"She has. I keep it around as a spare in case you ever need it."

"That's very considerate of-"

A warning shot landed just past them.

"Here we go!" announced the delivery boy, a snowball in each hand.

The combination of Six's size relative to the mutants and the lab coat breaking up his silhouette against the snow proved to be a huge advantage. Their adversaries in their impromptu game were much bulkier and easier to hit. Arcade enjoyed watching his friend in his element. A plume of breath visible in the cold air every time he exhaled.

"Keep up the cover fire, Arcade. C'mon." he laughed, grabbing his hand and leading them both further up the side of the hill.

It was hard to tell when the snowball fight was officially over. Some mutants had given up on catching the two slippery tag-team humans. Others surrendered more formally. Most had duties in town to attend to, not like the Courier and his friend with their free time waiting around.

There came a time while staying put wasn't yielding any results. The snowball fight had a dubious start and an equally undefined ending. At the end of it, they had built a fairly impressive snow fort carved out the side of the hill, and a surplus stack of snowballs. That was a sign of victory, wasn't it? No one else had contested for at least half an hour.

Six sat down next to Arcade, nudging into his side.

"You don't have any food left in your coat I'm afraid." said Gannon, hearing his friend's stomach grumble.

* * * * * *

After a late lunch and drying off, Arcade went to check on Rex's progress on Six's behalf. His companion had fallen asleep curled up on the seats surrounding the central fireplace. He would have been nice if they had swapped back coats before he went and did that.

The cyberdog looked more like himself today, though he was still incomplete. His limbs had been mostly reattached, aside from the digits of each mechanical legs' toes. The cranial dome was turned upside down, a brain submerged in par filled bio med gel. Interfacing leads were dipped and attached onto the organ and its surrounding fluid.

Arcade noticed Rex's eyes twitching rapidly, and the paw of his biological leg gripped in place.

"He's dreaming." said Calamity. "We're just in the process of slowly re-integrating the brain back. Right now he's having his organic nerves reconnected. He should be ready to properly wake up early tomorrow morning, but he won't feel like going anywhere."

"Do you think Six could visit him then?" he asked.

"Why are you wearing his coat?" Henry questioned, an eyebrow raised.

"We were out in the snow. I was cold." he protested.

"Uh-huh. Yes. Please bring in your friend for when we wake Rex up. A familiar smell and presence will help him recover better."

"Arcade?" called out Henry as he went to leave.

"Yes, sir?"

"Give back his coat before that. Don't go confusing the poor dog."

Calamity erupted with laughter.

* * * * * *

Arcade insisted on sleeping in his own bed that night, in his own clothes.

He woke up before the Courier's alarm went off, cold. Six still wished him good morning in a happy sing-song tune.

It was barely light outside when they returned to the lab. Rex was wrapped in several layers of towels and blankets to keep him warm in his induced sleep. His brain had a new healthy glow, and the gel that housed it was crystal clear. A few faint lines, mostly hidden in the folds of the brain was the only indication that donor tissue had been grafted.

"You have an interesting name. I like it." Six said to Henry's assistant, who was also waiting on the old scientist to join them.

"Thank you. I change names and jobs every decade or so, just to keep things interesting. I picked 'Calamity' this time because it sounded nice." she replied with a smile. "I've never really done much science stuff until now. I'm pretty good at it, or so Doctor Henry tells me."

"I think you're good at it too. I've been trying to come up with a new name for myself. 'Six' is just my designation."

"Names are designations. I like the name 'Six'. It's got a good sound."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. It's versatile. Rhymes with a lot. If you don't like it, change it. If you do, you don't have to change it. There's no time limit with something like that."

"Thanks, Calamity. I bet you've had some great names and careers over your life."

"Kid, I've had both crappy jobs and crappy names. Sometimes at the same time-"

"Alright, let's get started shall we?" Henry interrupted, a hot mug of coffee in his hand.

Six was instructed to remove the cyberdog's wrappings and to hold him as he woke up. Calamity removed the tubes into his nostrils and mouth, letting his head lay limp in the Courier's arms.

Arcade was handed a syringe. He recognised the label as a type of stimulant typically used for patients with cybernetics.

"Care to do the honours, Dr. Gannon? I know dogs aren't your usual patients."

He flicked the glass and squirted out any air bubbles.

"Entire dose administered into…. common interosseous artery of his organic leg?" Arcade pointed at an already shaved part along Rex's one non-mechanical limb.

Henry nodded.

Rex came to slowly. First his tongue flicked back into his mouth and his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Six cuddled the cyberdog's head and neck, stroking his ears and humming a familiar song into his fur. As the stimulant was picked up by his blood stream, he jolted awake, turning onto his haunches. His eyes popped open, fixed on his on-loan master.

"Hey Rexie." cooed the delivery boy sweetly. "You remember me, don'tchu?"

Six was thoroughly sniffed and snuffled by Rex's wet nose. His tail started to thump against the examination table. He heaved his head up to cover the delivery boy in doggy kisses.

"Good mornin' to you too, boy." Six laughed as his whole face was slobbered, and the tears of relief that threatened to prick his eyes were licked away.

Rex whined and yelped loudly, overwhelmed, but overjoyed to see his postman. He struggled to move, his body couldn't quite keep up with his demands just yet.

"He still needs plenty of rest." Henry had gotten Six's attention, but the cyberdog was still intent on smothering him with licks. "You might need to carry him part of the way if you still plan to return to Vegas tomorrow. A couple of days and he'll be ready to take on the world."

"Rex is in good hands, Doctor." Arcade added. "I just wish he'd give himself the same level of care he extends to others."

"How about you and me have a day in bed then?" Six suggested to Rex as he scooped the canine up into his arms. "We can watch Laddie Come Home on my Pip-Boy. That'll keep both our doctors happy."

I confess I've not yet learned how to translate
the gorgeous shock of seeing you. Even from 6 feet,
I wonder if you can feel the electricity of my skin,
pining in its sweat song, so helpless and hungry:
hello hello hello

Joy Sullivan, State of Emergency (From Instructions For Travelling West) [cont.]

Chapter Text

The pigs are the snootiest, the owls are the hootiest
The plants the fruitiest, the stars the shootiest
The grins the funniest, the smiles the sunniest
Way back home

Don't know why I left the homestead
I really must confess
I'm a weary exile
Singing my song of loneliness

Bob Crosby (& The Bob Cats), Way Back Home

It was no secret that Arcade didn't like The Strip. It was only on his friend's behest he even visited the damn place. The excess; in both masses of people and their debauchery, was uncomfortable to deal with. However, so long as Yes Man was parked outside The Tops, Six would need to make his way there every time they needed to speak.

And Arcade had been asked to keep him honest, and that was just what he was doing. That, and being another set of eyes to look out for the Courier. Not everyone was fooled by the faux ranger getup, not even under the veil of darkness.

Lily Bowen, a Nightkin sized distraction had also been invited along. The Courier had explicitly asked for her help, although Arcade was unsure how aware she was of the situation. She had made the journey back to New Vegas with them, carrying Rex down the mountain and back to Freeside.

Rex had been left with The King, whom was overjoyed at the cyberdog's new leash on life. Flopped by his master's side at the King's School of Impersonation, the most difficult tasks ahead for the pooch (at least for the next few weeks) was shadowing his owner up and down the stairs.

"I am so happy to see you!" chimed Yes Man on the Courier's approach.

Six apologised for not checking in for a while, the rogue Securitron predictably brushed it off as necessary and tactical move on the Courier's part.

Arcade sat next to Lily on a street facing bench nearby, scanning the crowds for any suspicious onlookers. Anyone who was paying attention to Six and not his new adoptive grandmother. She was just minding her own business, aloof in her own world as passersby gawked at her.

"My, aren't all these lights fancy?" Lily cooed, her head craned upwards.

They were, but the doctor had his attention divided between listening in and watching out.

"Let's talk about our potential allies in this mess." Six said to Yes Man.

The mess being the all too inevitable second battle for Hoover Dam. Eventually the Legion would amass their forces from the east and try and take the Industrial Age Wonder. The Courier had been gathering allies and securing key locations to prevent Caesar from succeeding. It was slow progress, but Six was just one man, and he had already done more than one would expect from any one person, let alone a package courier.

Yes Man was delighted to point out a full upgraded Securitron army was more than enough to drive out the NCR and the Legion, but politics never played concisely. Future stability depended on more than that, and his friend knew that too. But he would need to garner the support of key players who could help directly. The Three Families - The Chairman, The Omertas, and The White Glove Society. The heavy artillery isolationists at Nellis. The Great Khans. The Brotherhood of Steel. Mr. House, or 'H-bomb' as Six aptly called him, had asked him to garner support in a similar fashion apparently.

Arcade thought about asking the Remnants for help on Six's behalf. They had some advanced power armour suits and high powered weapons stashed away somewhere. But that would mean exposing that connection to him. If the Courier was using the NCR's forces to turn the tide and minimise damage by the Legion, he couldn't be incriminated by something like that.

He could ask the Followers for medical help when the time came, but Six was more likely to get their support than he was.

"I've made good inroads with the Boomers." he told Yes Man. "They're slow to trust but they seem quite fond of me."

"And who wouldn't be fond of someone like you? Not just anyone can dodge howitzers!"

Six started laughing awkwardly. Arcade noticed a pasty man in a brown suit that kept looking over at his friend and the odd robot, not at the Nightkin. Whoever he was, he was too far away for earshot, but there could be bugs listening in. Gannon lowered his arm over the bench and flicked his fingers together. A signal they had decided that meant someone might be watching.

"The Great Khans have made some new friends. I'll work on that some more. Raul and I have already paid 'em a visit."

"Great to hear! What other progress have you made?"

"Well… the Brotherhood of Steel seems to like me. I think I might be able to get their help too."

Yes Man struggled, in every sense of the word, to parse that keeping the Brotherhood around was not a good idea, whilst being perpetually positive and not being able to disagree. He wove in projections about them becoming New Vegas's biggest enemy in the future. Insisted they would want to blow him up, and the rest of the Securitrons too, all the while not actually dissuading or saying anything negative. That robot could even give the most spineless NCR politicians a run for their money.

"They're Ronnie's family. We can sort something out when the time comes." insisted the delivery boy.

Arcade hoped that decision wouldn't come back to haunt them. As much as he enjoyed Veronica's company, she was a black sheep of her family.

"Here. I'm sendin' you all the recordings I've made with my talks with H-bomb. We've been playin' chess on a regular basis."

"Wow! I'd love to play table top games with you too, Mister Courier."

"That'll have to wait, I'm sorry. But once you're inside-"

Another Securitron rolled by.

"Be advised, visitors will be held responsible for the behaviour of any non-human sapients accompanying them."

It kept rolling down the asphalt.

"When you're installed, we can play whatever board game you want. How does that sound?"

"Wow! You really mean it?"

Six nodded.

"Listen, I promised these two ice cream, but let's talk again soon, okay?"

"Don't stay away too long!"

Veronica paid Arcade another visit. She often did when she made the journey home from staying at the Lucky 38 to wherever her family was literally holed up. The Scribe asked about Jacobstown, and Gannon gave as much detail as he was comfortable with. It was not any more than what she already knew from catching up with their mutual friend.

"I'm a little worried about Six."

That got his attention. He looked up from his notepad.

"If he's had another seizure, there's some tablets in the front pockets of his coat you can give him. Otherwise just lie him on his side and make sure he doesn't choke on his own saliva."

"I already know that. I'm worried he's avoiding me."

"Have you said anything that might of prompted that?"

"No! But he hasn't talked to me since he had a chat with Mr. House. Do you think maybe something House said got him all spooked?"

"Maybe. You should ask him."

Veronica craned her head around when she saw Arcade waving at someone. Six waved back, rushing over to the tent,and greeted them both with a hearty hello. He carried a thick unmarked envelope in one hand.

"I got my photos back! You two wanna see?" he asked, picking over the wad of developed photographs inside.

"Actually, Six. I need to ask you something. What happened when you last went to see Mr. House?"

The change in the Courier's body language was immediate and noticeable.

He turned and ran toward the front gate.

"Six! SIX!" Veronica shrieked, chasing after him.

There was no outrunning the Courier, but the Scribe had managed to grab one of his coattails, pulling him down to the ground. The envelope in his clutches scattered its contents across the dirt. He hurriedly grabbed at each of them as the wind threatened to pick and carry them up first. A few scattered Followers rushed in to help.

Veronica snapped up a portion.

"You're not getting these back til you talk to me, dammit." she stomped back to Arcade and slammed them onto his desk.

One of the photos she collected up was of him in the snow. He gingerly reached for it.

"Nope!" she smacked his hand away.

Six approached them again, looking sorry for himself.

The envelope was quickly swapped for Arcade's notepad and pen, and he furiously scribbled something onto a fresh page.

Flipping the page over, it read: 'House asked me to blow up your family's bunker.' After suspicious figures had tailed them through the Strip, Six was on high alert to anyone who might be listening in. He couldn't run away from this confrontation, and it wasn't his favourite ice cream flavour a spy could learn of.

Veronica's expression grew dark, like she was one word away from reducing the mailman to a finely punched pulp. Her hands were already balled up into fists.

"You know I wouldn't do that!" he swore, aloud, facing the Scribe head on. He tore out and ripped up the page he wrote on into tiny pieces.

She made a couple of hand gestures in response.

Gannon had read something about what she was doing. Some of the signals resembled what he had once seen the Remnants do right after fleeing Navarro. The field soldiers used it to communicate with one another when they needed to remain silent. Other motions resembled some diagrams in a few scattered books he had once read about people who could not speak or could not hear. A language that people could talk in without sounds - ASL. American Sign Language.

The Brotherhood must have had their own version, mixed in with the militaristic signals. Their origins as former United States military was a well known secret, especially to the Enclave. Arcade didn't know exactly what she was conveying, but the motions resembled plucking, something walking or crawling, and finally a squashing fist.

"You do that." the Courier replied quietly, signing something else in response.

"Hey, Arcade. Would you like to come to my birthday party?"

The doctor looked completely dumbfounded at the sudden change in tune. That couldn't have been just about a birthday. Surely she was giving their mutual friend a fistful instead of an earful.

"Where are you hosting this party?" Arcade asked Veronica.

"At the ol' family bunker."

"No. Absolutely not." Arcade replied.

"Aww… c'mon blondie…" she shook his shoulders gently but annoyingly. "Six will be going too, if that helps. He's bringing the cake."

"Deliveries. It's what I do." Six pointed to himself proudly with his thumb.

"I'll… think about it."

Arcade waited outside the doors of the tomb, leaning against the gaudy cladding that framed the front doors. Six had mentioned he wanted to pick up a few things for their visit, but he wasn't sure why he hadn't grabbed them beforehand. They would just need to go past Freeside again anyhow. A mild spring day was just about their last chance to visit her without it being unbearably hot and unpleasant. Soon it would be Arcade adapting the Courier's nocturnal schedule.

His friend bounded out the doors of the Lucky 38 with a brilliant bouquet of flowers and a cooler box in hand. He had saved the doctor a series of awkward conversations in regards to who the flowers were for at the Old Mormon Fort, but not with the crowd on the Strip. Six was still technically honouring the promise to keep it all a secret, but any time he went in or out of the building he attracted attention and a few gawking bystanders.

"This is a little much, isn't it?" chided Arcade after the audience down the stairs lost interest.

Gannon cautiously touched the flowers. They were not made of silk or plastic. Each one was real. All flowers of the season, pretty spring blooms collected up in waxed paper. Though some of the varieties wouldn't have normally grown anywhere nearby. The White Glove Society did have a team of Old World luxury professionals. A team of florists and a hydroponics nursery was not out of the question.

It was just like Six to make such a grand gesture, though it wasn't like him to buy something so expensive.

"I thought you were meant to bring flowers to a grave."

"These are real flowers. How much did these cost you?" Arcade fretted.

"I grew these myself… So… nothing?" he idly tapped the front of his mask in thought. "I guess some of the seeds were kinda expensive but I'll end up with more seeds than I started with…"

"Oh. Huh." Gannon's head tilted in surprise. "I'm glad you didn't spend money on something like that. I'd much rather you spend your money on your equipment."

He'd feel so guilty otherwise. His companion needed every edge for their plan, for the future of a Independant New Vegas.

But where on earth did he grow such plants?

They idled in front of the casino. Gannon was mesmerised by the hypothetical garden in the bouquet.

Six reached out and lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

"You're leading the way, dear doctor. I don't know where we're going."

"Right. Follow me."

* * * * * *

The two of them journeyed north, into the old Las Vegas mountain range massif, although not trekking high up its slope like they did for Jacobstown. A few stacked stones, identifiable by no one else but those present at the funeral marked the location. Mark graves only invited themselves to be robbed. The stones sat at the base of a pinyon pine, nestled in a sheltered ditched.

Trees of any kind were sparse in the Mojave, or any kind of desert. It was only able to grow where it was by collecting the water run off from the mountains, and being sheltered from harsh weather and scorching sun. As a mature tree, it peaked out from its ditch, spreading its shelter outwards.

"We're here." Arcade announced. "She's buried underneath this tree."

Two years had covered any signs that a six foot deep hole was dug into its roots, but the view over the old Clark County valley was still as he remembered it.

"It's beautiful. A lovely place to rest." said Six. "I sure would'a preferred to be buried here than the ol' Goodsprings graveyard."

Arcade looked over at his friend bereft.

"Sorry… Sorry. Just like me to make a first impression awkward as heck."

His awkward but beloved friend knelt down and began arranging the flowers around the trunk of the tree, sticking stems into spots that would take being decorated. Smaller daisies were stuck into the stone marker.

She would have liked that, he thought.

"She didn't want to buried in a town cemetery." he told Six, trying to keep himself composed. "Just an unmarked grave where she could return the nutrients in her body to ground. We ended up burying my father's ashes along with her."

His father was carried across California and for decades as a few pounds of carbon dust and trace mineral dirt. He took up valuable carrying weight, but for everything else they had to leave behind, it was one thing she would not let go of. Sometimes she would leave a pinch of him in some of the places she ended up travelling to, but the makeshift urn he occupied until her burial still weighed heavily.

"I suppose I should introduce myself." Six removed his mask and helmet. "But I'm not really sure what to say…"

Gannon invited his friend to sit down in the shade with him.

"You don't have to say anything. I didn't think I'd ever bring anyone else up here."

The face that Six looked over at him was brimming with questions, all suppressed and silenced for his sake. Who were the other people he alluded to? Why wouldn't he bring anyone else up here? But Arcade had said he didn't like talking about himself, and this was just about as personal as it got. Six respected his boundaries, actually listened to him.

What a strange and wonderful anomaly that called him friend.

Arcade retrieved a portable vanity tin from his shirt's breast pocket. Once his mother's, it contained a small toiletries set in one compartment and a set of photographs in a secret flap underneath it. He caught his own reflection in the inside mirror, and Six peering over his shoulder. It was his most incriminating evidence, held in the space over his heart.

He carefully lifted out one of face down photographs, handing it to Six. It was a family portrait, taken a few months after his birth. His father and mother loving holding him close to their faces. No Enclave uniforms. Just two parents who loved their little baby boy.

The photograph was held up to Arcade in comparison.

"You look just like them…" his friend said fondly.

"That's usually how genetics works." he snorted. "I'm surprised you didn't say I look like a copy of my dad."

"But you're not. He's got different eye colour to you for starters. Plus you got these from your mother." Six insisted, leaning in to poke along his face. "And these. Maybe those. Not to mention all the other things you can't see in a photograph."

Arcade snickered as his inherited maternal features were prodded.

"Thank you." the Courier handed back his treasure. "For showing me all this."

Tears pricked the corners of Six's eyes, and despite visible protest, they welled up and poured down his face. Between the both of them, Arcade swore he'd be the one crying in a place like this.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" sobbed Six, hiding himself behind balled up hands. "I-I don't know how to- I don't know what to say here… I don't remember… I don't remember any of my family. I don't know how to comfort you…"

"That's not why I brought you here." he reached over and pried the hands away from his companion's face. "Can I introduce you?"

Six nodded.

"Hi, mom. I want you to meet my friend…"

Veronica wanted a dress. Elegant and stylish, classy. A whole lot of adjectives that Six relayed. And he had gotten her a dress, just like she wanted, but the problem was it didn't really fit properly. That needed to be remedied. The White Glove Society had tailors, and their best was a ghoul woman who ran her business in a building not far from the casino. Ghouls weren't a common sight on the Strip, but there were very few people with as many years as experience as a Pre-War ghoul. The Ultra-Luxe demanded the best, after all.

Arcade didn't want to go back to the Strip, especially so soon after his last visit. But it was so hard to say no to Six, especially seeing him so excited about a grand day out with his two friends. The Courier assured that they were all getting something, and he was getting something fancy as well. But Gannon wasn't looking forward to being measured and prodded by a stranger. It was all for the birthday party he hadn't even agreed to attend.

The tailor wore sleek white gloves and one of the Society's masks over her face as she welcomed them into her shop. She took the mask off once the trio was inside her studio, the door locked behind them.

"You don't look like tighty whities, so I'm taking this damn thing off." she announced, alluding to her usual uptight clientele.

She turned to Six, who was even more covered up than she ever was.

"Didn't your squad leader ever teach you some manners, ranger? Hats off inside."

"Oh. I'm not a ranger. At least I don't think so-" he meekly replied.

"What kind of answer is that? Whatever. Just take that shit off. Call me old fashioned but it's just good manners. You can't be any uglier than I am."

Begrudgingly, the Courier peeled away his outer layers of armour.

"Shit. You're that cute smoothskin from the other day." she pinched Six's cheek. "I might have stayed a sniper if I knew they were hiding pretty boys under those helmets. Your getup is ready to go… It's somewhere..." she waved her hand loosely toward the dozens of garments hung up on clothes lines.

The delivery boy retreated into his coat like a desert tortoise. Usually he'd be aflutter with probing questions after an admission like that. A couple of compliments had short circuited him.

Veronica was first up. Her dress was pinned around the bodice and the skirt hitched up to redo the hem. Every time the tailor stepped away, she started spinning or swishing in place, letting the fabric fly around her. Gannon didn't understand the appeal, but their mutual friend was smiling in his duster shell.

"It even has pockets!" she gleefully showed off, sticking her mitts inside while she swooshed about on the spot.

"Alright. Stop moving so much." the tailor held her steady, pinching together the last few adjustments. "You can show your boyfriend… errr... boyfriends… when I'm finished with it."

"Friends." Veronica corrected. "They're not my speed."

"Gotcha." she winked. "Guess I'm just used to couples coming in getting their best for weddings and all that crap… Y'know I had a few girlfriends back in the day, before everything went to shit. Lot less people these days. Plus I got a whole less skin. Slim pickings even if you're not picky."

"Ohh, I wanna hear about that!" pestered the Brotherhood Scribe, suddenly in the presence of a kindred spirit.

"Ghoulification ain't fun, kid."

"Not that. Tell me about your old girlfriends."

"They've been dead for centuries, but alright..."

While their mutual friend was being enamoured by long lost loves and lives, Arcade leaned over to Six.

"This seems expensive."

"I guess I won't be repairing my anti-materiel rifle anytime soon, but I wanted to treat my friends to something nice. If you don't want anything you don't have to… but I've put a deposit down for three." Six stuck his head out from his duster, bashful. "You two in particular have been so kind and patient with me…"

"I guess if we're working to secure alliances with the Three Families, I'll need to wear something nicer than a lab coat."

Arcade tried his best to ignore the wide grin plastered on his friend's face.

He was soon herded into the change room. It was a lifetime ago he had anything he could consider dressing up with. There wasn't anything that required that from him. He hadn't come to New Vegas to attend soirées and parties. Better clothes just attracted worse attention, and he was fine flying under the radar with his Followers issued attire. It was safe. Boring.

Measuring tape was strung around him, and recorded on a slip of paper. The tailor barked a sequence of numbers, which Six responded with by passing her a set of button up shirts. He was told to pick a colour. Chalk marked the garment and he was directed back to change into regular clothes. Done. Efficient and mostly painless.

Six did not get swaddled with measuring tape, instead he and the tailor searched for where his already ready outfit was placed in the forest of garments. It was only a small shopfront, and the racks flanked every wall inside. Some hangers ready for pick up, others ready for adjustment.

Doctor nor Scribe saw what sort of colourful outfit was loaded onto the Courier until he burst out from the changing room. It was not the fancy that either of them expected.

"Ta-da!" Six excitedly announced, his arms spread out.

"You leading a marching band, Six?" Veronica chuckled.

"What's a marching band?" he looked down at his outfit.

He was wearing a very well fitted, medium blue decorated jacket with silver piping and buttons. All that was missing was the feather plumed hat. It must have been an university issue, because the colours didn't match any military palettes.

"It's like the name implies. People got dressed up and used to perform music in time to their march." the Scribe stood up and demonstrated in place.

"Oh. That's why you asked if I played an instrument…" Six looked over at the tailor.

She was chuckling to herself. Odd outfits that people scavenged must have been brought to her time and time again. Although it couldn't have been the most embarrassing thing one of her customers had brought in.

Arcade thought their friend looked dapper. He looked at home in it before anyone said anything about it.

"So… this isn't what I should be wearing to a party?"

"You look cute, Sixer. Wear whatever you want. No one else will be making an effort." Santangelo nudged Gannon. "He looks cute, right, blondie?"

"Huh? Yes? Yes. Very cute." he threw a thumbs up.

Six beamed.

* * * * * *

The three of them loitered in front of the shop as the Courier tried to fold and bag the outfit that was unexpected as he was. He was told to come pick up the other two garments in a day or two.

"Hey. Y'know you've never mentioned it… when's your birthday, Sixer?" Veronica asked him.

"It's not on any of my paperwork so I dunno, sorry." grunted the delivery boy as he finally pushed the garment into a canvas bag.

A lot of answers Six had about himself were 'I dont know' and 'I don't remember'. It was frustrating, but it must have been so much worse for him. He would want to know a lot of that information, whether he divulged to either of them or not.

"When did you get shot? In the head?" she asked.

"I don't think that's an anniversary any of us should celebrate." Arcade interjected.

"It was in October…" recalled Six.

"Why don't you use the date you woke up after that as a birthday. It's sorta like one. New life and all."

That was a good suggestion on her part. If only he could of thought of that.

"I guess I properly woke up around the nineteenth." Six tapped idly at the nose of his gas mask. "October 19th. Yeah. I could do that."

"Then it's official. Me and Arcade will have to throw you a birthday party then."

"I'm really not qualified for something like that…" he sighed.

He had never planned a birthday before, and he had barely celebrated any of his own.

Veronica and her two outsider friends stood out like three thumbs on a mutated hand. Everyone else in the bunker was wearing standard issue uniforms.

He could only imagine the chewing out if any of the Remnants knew he willingly entered and lingered inside a Brotherhood of Steel bunker. Not to mention befriending one of their 'procurement specialists'. There was only one other situation Arcade could imagine himself in one of their strongholds, and that was being captured as an Enclave traitor. The Courier hadn't brought him to the bunker before, but maybe he already knew Gannon didn't want to be anywhere near this place.

But here he was, sitting at a sparsely decorated and dimly lit table, surrounded those who would not hesitate to take him out if they knew otherwise. It was a rotating gallery of faces he didn't recognise, wishing the Scribe a happy birthday for an allotted time. Barely anyone actually sat down and ate the cake that Six brought. It was more like a calendar day chore than an adult birthday party.

Not that Arcade had been invited to one before.

Six looked detached too, sitting at the doctor's neighbouring seat. He remarked that he didn't like being underground, and his reception by the other members of the bunker was mixed. Some of the Scribes, in their maroon robes greeted Six by name. Told him it was good to see him again. Exchanged small talk. Asked why he was wearing a marching band uniform. An older man in blue robes came by briefly, the Elder of the outpost, seemed to welcome the Courier warmly.

Others ignored his presence and Arcade's entirely, like two well dressed ghosts. No one noticed them both taking an extra slice of cake for themselves.

Then there were those who heckled Veronica too. She seemed the most aware of how awful this party ended up being. Arcade wasn't the only one being treated like a child by his odd energy weapon toting family, but he didn't like how many of them blamed Six for Veronica's 'problems'.

"I already know the other guy is a mailman, but what do you do?" asked one of the younger initiates, eyeing off the cake.

"I'm a doctor."

"Really? Do you prescribe bloodletting and leeches?"

That joke was already old centuries ago.

Six tapped his foot into Arcade's leg under the table. Don't take the bait.

"Leave my friends alone, Watkins. Take your piece of cake and go."

"I'll probably make me sick, seeing as your courier friend brought it. It's probably full of rads and mutant animal parts."

She took a piece regardless.

"Just get out of here, you two." Veronica sighed, letting her head rest on folded arms. "I don't know what I was expecting. I should have known my family wouldn't be able to host a normal birthday party."

"Why don't we have a movie marathon and loads of room service for your birthday instead." suggested Six.

"I'd like that."

Six apparently knew a shortcut back to Vegas through a winding narrow canyon near the bunker. Dried up exoskeletons of large scorpions littered the gullies, crunching beneath their heels. He was sure they'd get jumped by something in the dark, especially still dressed in their nicer clothes. His companion didn't have his visor, but he seemed to navigate well without it, leading them out near the 95 again.

"It's not that late. Can I show you somethin' on our way back?" asked Six, checking his Pip-Boy.

"Sure. Lead the way."

Arcade was so used to following Six around in his duster and helmet. Even with his trusty rifle slung across his back he looked like a different person in his decorated jacket. The fabric almost glowed in waxing moonlight, while his duster helped him blend into the landscape.

"Hey. What's your opinion on the current situation?" Six asked him.

It was an unremarkable walk back toward Freeside, which was good. No critters or raiders had bothered them, despite sticking out more than they usually did. Arcade could get lost in details without repercussion.

"I hope Veronica is okay. That was pretty bleak back there."

"I'll make it up to her… I actually meant the whole independence thing. I know I've been distracted by less important things."

He wasn't responsible for their mutual friend's family. Nor were the other things he was doing 'less important'. At least Gannon didn't think so.

"I think you're on the right track." Arcade replied. "The only way to ensure relative safety and independence for the people of New Vegas is to prevent others from taking control of the region. That means no NCR, no Mr. House, and no Legion."

"You let me know if there's anything else I could be doin'."

* * * * * *

Six lead him to toward large three-storey building where several Mister Handy bots meandered outside. Under a transmission tower, partially aglow was a sign that read 'REPCONN'. Rocket Engineering and Production Company of Nevada. The way the robots reacted to the Courier and his confidence entering the building suggested he had been here before.

"I've read about REPCONN." Arcade said to Six once inside. "I think they did some work with the..." he caught himself before blurting anything, feigning clearing his throat. "…the government before the war. Rockets and some energy weapon prototypes, I think."

"What kind of prototypes?" Six asked him, listening intently.

"Plasma rifles. They were intended to replace the P94 plasma caster. There was some corporate espionage going on between Poseidon Energy's Project SEMELE and whatever was going on here."

Stealing specifications from rival companies was common place in the mid to late twenty-first century. The economy both locally and internationally had been unstable for decades, and getting the edge over another business was considered survival.

"…and what was Project SEMELE?"

"Another one of Poseidon Energy's many secret weapons projects. Before the Great War. It didn't go anywhere. That's how REPCONN got their shot. So to speak."

Someone at REPCONN solved the flaws of the weapon before Poseidon Energy could.

"Hmm. Odd combination, don't you think?"

"REPCONN went through some rough times. When their rocket business was shaky, Mr. House purchased the company. It didn't take long for him to repurpose their plasma technology for a government weapon contract."

"So… how do you know so much about this, again?" grinned Six.

"Stop thinking so much. Thanks." Arcade grumbled.

Gannon's hand was tugged by his friend's silver gauntlet glove, leading him past an idle Mister Handy. The ground floor held some sort of corporate museum, as many company headquarters did to bring in school groups for tax breaks. They did not stop for the rockets or the robotics on display, which would have normally attracted Six's attention. He was led into a dark, unlit room, where his companion let go of his hand and scrounged around the inside wall for a set of switches.

A scale planetarium, with the sun and its orbiting planets flickering on filled an entire room. The walls lit up like a field of stars. Even if it was a centuries old tax subsidiary for a weapons manufacturer, it had a certain charm. Much like the delivery boy in marching band attire guiding himself along the hand-railing and around the boardwalk. Mechanical servos groaned back to life as the plastic and hollow planets started orbiting their central star on metal wiring.

"I've been here before." Six admitted, leaning against the hand-rails. "Hell. It must have been only a short time after I met you. The Brotherhood asked me to recover holo-tapes off lost patrols. I must have spent about an hour in this room, just watchin' this move around on a set timer."

Arcade looked over the informational plaque, describing avaricious goals for the company to mine out other planets for their resources 'needed back home'. As many rockets as stars in the night sky, a 'promise' to mankind. As if destroying one planet, their home planet, wasn't enough to sate humanity.

"He still wants to go to space... Mr. House. That is."

"Of course he does." scorned Arcade.

"At first I thought it was kinda magical, travellin' the stars and findin' other habitable planets. Like some of my holo-tape serials." Six's eyes followed the scale model Earth as it rotated around the room. "But it's just runnin' away from the problem. And the technical logistics are terrifying."

"You're right. Plus we're already on a perfectly habitable planet." he caught his companion's gaze as the model earth passed by him. "There may be a whole load of gamma radiation and some bad people, sure, but nothing that can't be fixed."

"Tell me if I'm crazy, but some of the ideas House had ain't so bad. He wants Vegas to be the remedy to humanity's past mistakes. I don't believe in his methods… nor do I wanna abandon the Earth, but I do believe the city can be a hub of progress. A beacon of what the world could be."

"I don't think that's crazy at all. What were some of his ideas that you did like?"

"A museum. Like this one, only bigger. Without the corporate bullshit." said Six. "But just as mesmerisin'."

If once extinct cranes could fly in Californian skies again, he was sure something as simple as a museum for the masses could exist again too.

Chapter Text

Pylades: I’ll take care of you.
Orestes: It’s rotten work.
Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.

Anne Carson, Euripides

Day in and day out, the doctors at the Old Mormon Fort dealt with plenty of sick people. The Followers of the Apocalypse had face masks and gloves for their infectious patients. Gannon, tucked away at the back with his research didn't have to deal with any patients aside from his stray package Courier, who virtually always had a gas mask on. So normally he wouldn't catch whatever bug was plaguing Freeside at any given time, but on occasion something particularly infectious swept through harshly and indiscriminately. The only infectious thing Arcade wanted to be around was Six's humour.

He hated being sick, but he couldn't think of anyone who enjoyed it. His lungs felt heavy, his skin itchy under his clothes. His temperature teetered into fever, but he felt cold even in the sun's warmth.

Being sick was such a waste of time.

Arcade had been given a face mask and told to wait out the infectious period quarantined someplace. Farkas had tried to give him an allowance to rent a room to do so too. He had turned down the caps, which would be much better spent on supplies. He already had decided to ask Six to borrow his room at the Atomic Wrangler. His companion hadn't used it since being gifted the Lucky 38's Presidental Suite. It wasn't ideal lodgings, but he could board himself up in the room and rest out the illness without infecting anyone else. If for whatever reason he couldn't get the room lent to him, he had other options a few hours walk away.

The Courier had given his friends a radio frequency to contact him should they ever need his help. Arcade hadn't ever needed to use it before, because he came to visit regularly. Slumped outside the fort's gates, he turned the dials of his ham radio and Six appeared before he could hold down the transmitter.

"Hey, Arcade!" the delivery boy chirped, almost sounding surprised to see him outside his usual haunt.

"You weren't kidding about coming right away if I radioed that frequency." Arcade wheezed.

Six shimmied close and peered at the ham radio, checking the dialled channel.

"Don't get too close to me, I'm sick!"

"I'm wearing a gas mask, Arcade. I keep the filters fresh too."

"Right. Do you think I could use your room at the Atomic Wrangler for a few days?" Arcade coughed, sinuses clogged with phelgem. "I don't want to spread it more than it already."

"Why don't you rest at the '38?" Six suggested.

"Well the others use your suite, I couldn't impose that."

The Courier shook his head. "Not the Pres' Suite. I got another room you could use. I've been meaning to show it to you, actually. Plus you can get room service! Robots can't catch whatever you've got."

Being attended to by Six and a robotic workforce did sound leagues better than holing up in the Atomic Wrangler with a week or two's worth of rations trying to drown out the neighbour's antics. It felt too decadent and downright hedonistic, even if would speed up his recovery. But it was hard not to get invested in the excited inflection of Six's voice. He wondered what odd but delightful thing his friend had been up to in this new room of his.

"Alright. Show me this other room then."

* * * * * *

With the Courier's getup and his strong forward pace, crowds on the Strip seemed to part for him. Arcade followed close behind him, glad that others gave them a wide berth, although for all the wrong reasons. People still gawked and stared as they both entered the Lucky 38 so freely. Six greeted the cowboy Securitron happily, who escorted the two men up to the button labelled 'Observation Deck'.

Arcade didn't care much for Victor, but he reminded himself that the Securitron did dig the Courier out of his shallow grave. He could appreciate that much. It felt longer than the actual almost seven months since that happened. Was it seven months? His thoughts were like wading through fog.

Six spun out the elevator, his hands reaching out to gesture at his handiwork. Tada! He had started to transform the cocktail lounge into an indoor garden. The room was mild and humid, unusually comfortable to compared to the landscape just a few inches of glass outside. If his congested airways hadn't been already short of breath, the view might have taken his breath away. Below them, the whole of Vegas and beyond could be seen.

"Officially speaking, this is a garden for Mr. House's space faring program. Plants to grow on space ships and space stations and whole other worlds. My idea. He liked it." Six concealed a snicker when Arcade rolled his eyes. "Unofficially it's my test garden. I'm growing all sorts of plants that wouldn't normally grow in the Mojave. Some of them seem familiar to me."

Despite struggling to keep his eyes open, Gannon noticed some of the plants that Six had picked flowers from. He really did grow the bouquet himself.

The Courier stepped down a radial flight of stairs. The room still had echoes of the old lounge, which Arcade had only seen in photographs, such as retaining the circular bar and its verandah. RobCo's CEO was pulling no stops to win his would be protège's favour, and Six had the charm to convince him to deliver. All the carpet had been ripped up, and most of the old furniture piled at one side of the elevators to be eventually stored elsewhere. The surfaces had been set up to prevent moisture from leaking onto other floors. If House had plans to prevent the cold vacuum of space from leaking into rocket-ships, controlling moisture in one room would surely be child's play in comparison. Not all the raised garden beds had plants growing in them yet. He could only imagine how lush and green it would all look after a few months, and then in a few years.

His companion excitedly ran up to a miniature tree in a wide shallow pot. The tree was covered in a flurry of new growth.

"This is one of my treasures." he gently touched one of the tree's outgrowing branches, shaped and coiled with copper wire. "Apparently it's called a 'bonsai'! It was nearly dead when I bought it off a caravan just after I got onto the Strip. I programmed one of the Mister Handy's to help look after it too."

Six froze in place.

"Sorry! You're not here to listen to me gush about plants. I'll get your bed ready."

Arcade went and examined the tiny tree as the Courier and Victor shuffled furniture. Two lounge chairs were moved down into a relatively empty spot away from any of the reticulation. He hadn't read much about bonsai, he only knew it as a loan word term that came up on occasion in books about gardening. But if he assumed the species correctly, there was every possibility that the Courier's treasure could be centuries old. The pot that housed it certainly looked more sophisticated than what a wasteland kiln would normally fire.

The Courier and his robotic team worked quickly. The lounges were snapped together, forming a large cot. The aforementioned Mister Handy bot floated in with bed linen and pillows in its claws. Another Securitron rolled in with a stack of screen dividers. It all felt like far too much effort for one person, but wagered the hassle would feel worth it if he got to listen to Six talk about his garden more.

Arcade's botanical knowledge was more in-depth than the average Mojave resident, but that wasn't a hard feat to accomplish. He wondered what his botanist colleagues in the Followers would think of the high-rise conservatory, even in its relative infancy.

The way that Six got excited about different faculties of science was like an antidote to the cynicism of the world. They couldn't talk freely against House in the Lucky 38, but that thankfully didn't censor too many of their conversations. Gannon wanted to hear more about the tiny tree and all the other specimens planted here.

The two lounges that made up his bed were made up by Six scrambling with the pillows and sheets. The Mister Handy bot passed him a box of tissues, which he tucked into the corner of the arm rest turned bed head.

"C'mon Arcade. Into bed with you."

Now the patient, he dressed down and crawled into the lounge-cot and the Courier tucked him into the sheets. The Mister Handy took his coat and shoes to be hung up near the elevator doors.

"You really don't need to tuck me in. I'm sick, not a child." he protested, flustered at Six's apparent bedside manner.

"I know that. It's just nice to be able to look after you, y'know."

Arcade's face reddened, though he incorrectly guessed that his fever was the cause.

"You're always looking after me out there." Six continued. "So let me look after you in here."

"I'm a doctor. It's my job. I don't want you getting sick too."

He could secretly enjoy being fussed over.

"Guess I won't be kissing you anytime soon then." Six hovered above his head, flushed like a beetroot. "Wow, you're really burning up. I'll get you a cold pack."

He scurried off again. Meanwhile, the bundle of screen dividers were set up to block some of the natural light that poured in from outside. The robotic workforce rolled away once the screens were in place, leaving Arcade alone to peer across the room.

Its ceiling decor seemed mostly intact, and he could hear the howl of wind buffet the windows. The glass had scratched and dulled at the lack of upkeep since the war. The views were still awe-inspiring despite that and his gunky vision. It must have been like a static version of what Daisy used to see up from the Vertibirds she once flew.

Six returned with the cold pack, and swapped out his glasses for it. They were folded and placed on the arm rest behind him.

"Alright, I've scheduled dinner and regular check-ins from Archibald- that's the Mister Handy bot." he pulled out a bottle. "And I've got some fresh water too. Gotta stay hydrated."

The bottle was pressed into the opposite corner to the tissue box.

"Anything else I can do for you?" Six asked. "I'm afraid I can't pull off the nurse look though."

Gannon managed a laugh.

"Can you keep talking about the plants here?" Arcade croaked, nestling himself in the pile of pillows.

"Oh. Sure. I can do that." his friend sounded taken aback, surprised.

The Courier perched himself up on a nearby seat that remained bolted against the windows.

Six talked at length about the plants he had in the conservatory - some grown by seed, other's transplanted into other specimens' established root stocks. They were pointed and gestured at, but Arcade kept his focus on their gardener instead. He had gotten a lot of the plants by chance purchase from long distance caravans, some from the leftover Vault 21 stores, inedible seeds that wouldn't grow in the desert. All the different types of food crops and edible plants. There were ornamental plants too, with beautiful leaves and blooms… Trees with different qualities of wood…

Images of all the flora took root in Arcade's mind's eye, growing and blossoming into his dreams.

* * * * * *

The doctor hadn't intended to fall asleep while listening to the Courier talk about his conservatory, but he woke to see his friend perched in the same spot, looking out at the world below. The last few rays of sunshine simmering off in the distant horizon. It was a solid amount of sleep, much deeper and restful than he would have gotten elsewhere. His body still ached and his sinuses still were clogged, but the pain seemed more manageable now.

"You're still here." Arcade sat himself up in his makeshift bed.

"I haven't been here the whole time, I'm afraid. I come up here to watch the sunset sometimes." Six was unmoving, and continued to look outside. "…It's nice to share it with someone."

"I'm sorry I fell asleep while you were talking before. I was interested, honest, just-"

"Tired? I understand. You're not well." Six interjected.

"Yeah. That's true." he blew his nose with a tissue, still feeling guilty about it.

"I'm actually kinda… flattered you fell asleep so easily while I talked." he turned to face Arcade, who looked confused by the admission. "People don't fall asleep like that unless they feel safe."

The doctor-now-patient took a swig of the water from the canteen from his bedside. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't feel safe at all. Sleeping in such an exposed place, tens of storeys high above everyone else. In a creepy building controlled by some Pre-War capitalist dictator. But he did feel safe, so long as the Courier and his beautiful garden was around.

"Or if they're sick."

"Maybe. But if you thought I might have been here the whole time, you must have slept soundly." Six turned to face the last few embers of sunlight again. "Don't mind me. Just thinkin' too much again." his words echoed Arcade's own from the REPCONN headquarters.

"As long as you're not giving yourself a migraine, I say you should think all the time. You've got a lot of good ideas."

"You know I'm glad I've got my mask on because I have the dopiest smile on my face right now." his companion admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. "But ideas are cheap. The work behind them is what really matters."

Arcade hummed in agreement and thought he would have liked to have seen said dopey smile, but not at the risk of infection. He was glad their work together had brought some of those good ideas out of conception. But there was still so much to do, and he wasn't helping Six achieve any of it while sick. And he wasn't around to make sure his friend wasn't stretching himself too thin.

"I've brought back some decongestants and anti-inflammatories." Six wandered over and pulled out some medicine cartridges. Handwritten labels and dosages onto each type. "Dinner should be brought in soon."

His appetite was non-existent but knew he needed to make the effort to eat.

"Thanks, Six. You really don't have to do all this for me."

"But I want to… A burden shared is a burden halved."

Arcade looked up at his companion, curious at what his facial expression looked like in that moment. He could see his own face reflected in the red perspex, a shimmer of tired eyes and runny nose. Gannon didn't see a person worth fussing over, and Six was a busy man. He did the bulk of his work at these crepuscular times.

"Can I stay for dinner? I won't be able eat with you, but I'd like to accompany you a bit longer."

So polite. Such gentleness packaged in a rugged exterior. Surely the intrepid Courier had much more important and productive things he could be doing. But Arcade didn't have the heart to reject him, to tell him to leave and do something better with his time. A selfish part of him wanted him to stay indefinitely.

"Not sure why you'd want to waste your time like that, but it would be pretty rude of me to say no."

"Time spent with friends is never wasted, dear doctor." he insisted.

* * * * * *

Arcade downed his medicine and dinner much the same way, not with gusto but with duty. His dinner was a chicken soup, probably at Six's behest, though his senses were too dull to recognise if it was canned or fresh.

Six talked about his plans for the evening, another set of jobs Arcade would be absent for. The Follower didn't expect or want to have the Courier drag him along on everything he did. Some of the places Six ended up sometimes actively worried him. They had always operated like that - but it felt like a denial when he couldn't be picked.

"Sounds like you have a busy evening ahead of you."

"Mhm. I promise we'll go someplace nice together when you've recovered." Six offered, taking away his patient's dinner tray. "Wouldn't want you feeling like you're missing out."

Why did that almost sound like a date? It must have been the medication finally kicking in. He was already feeling lightheaded. Soon he would be out like a light for a good ten to twelve hours if he was lucky.

"Knowing some of the places you end up, I'm sure I can manage." Arcade sniffed, rubbing his nose.

"I'll come check on you tomorrow. Goodnight, Arcade."

"Goodnight, Six. Stay safe out there."

That oxymoron felt like it was inviting trouble. He watched his companion depart from the confines of his pillow.

* * * * * *

Arcade awoke to the soundtrack of Six harmonising with the Mister Handy.

"I know for certain… The one I love…I'm through with flirtin', it's you that I'm thinkin' of…"

With one eye peeked open, he watched the Courier and Archibald tending to the garden by hand and claw. His friend was holding a novelty watering can in the shape of a crane or stork, bobbling along to the music. Water came out the 'beak' of the bird shaped apparatus. Without his glasses he couldn't quite make out the details. His vision was even worse while sick.

"Ain't misbehavin'… savin' my love for you…"

The delivery boy bounded over to his robotic assistant, holding out his emptied watering can. Instead of a combustion nozzle, water sprayed out of one of Archibald's arms. He thanked the bot's service quietly between lyrics.

"Like Jack Horner in the corner. Don't go nowhere. What do I care?"

Another eye peeked open. He wouldn't have gotten this quality entertainment at the Atomic Wrangler.

"Your kisses are worth waitin' for! B-bub-b-believe me!" his head shook around.

"I don't stay out late. No place to go." Six continued, spinning around the garden beds. "I'm home about eight… Just me and my radio…Ain't misbehavin'…Savin' my love for you!"

"Good heavens sir, it really is just about eight. Shall I wake the patient up for his breakfast?" Archibald said to Six.

"Oh! I want to do that." Six replied quietly, hitting eject on the instrumental holotape. "Could you please fetch his breakfast?"

"Certainly!"

The already awake patient quickly closed his eyes shut again, trying not to react to barely audible taps of footsteps approaching him. He felt a set of fingers ever so lightly push stray hair away from his clammy face. Calloused finger tips felt his temperature around his forehead. Still too warm, his friend muttered to himself.

Gannon felt his shoulder being prodded. Like a knock on the door, a shave and a haircut, two bits.

"Gooooood mornin', Arcade!" sung Six, as if he were a radio star announcing the start of a show.

Today's programming? Breakfast with a high chance of coughing, sneezing and sweating. Another round of medication and plenty of rest. The Follower's mouth cracked into a smile before he could manage to open his eyes again.

"Good morning to you too, Six." he laughed, though as soon as he heard his own voice he knew he was barrelling toward to the worst projected stages of his illness.

He tried to recall what known infections his symptoms lined up with, but his head felt like mush.

"Gosh, you don't sound too good." his companion commented, only confirming what he heard.

Arcade sat himself up, wobblier than a newborn Bighorner calf. He knew his symptoms would get worse before they would get better. The loss of mobility made him glad he had already retreated someplace safe. When he looked up at his caretaker, he knew he wouldn't see the face of his dear friend. He looked different though - he had taken his helmet off.

"New look?" Arcade asked, touching strands of hair that poked over the top edge of Six's mask.

"It's pretty humid in here. Gotta keep the mask on so I don't catch whatever you've got."

"You've still got your duster on though." Gannon did notice he wasn't wearing his name tag chest-plate.

"Where else would I house my essentials?"

Six dug into said essentials, procuring a rock that fit into his palm neatly. Arcade reached for his glasses.

"It's a fossil. A tri-lo-bite." the delivery boy handed it over.

"Collecting museum specimens already?"

"I suppose so. Did you know you can check if somethin' is a fossil by licking it. Your tongue sorta sticks to it."

"Let me guess. You licked this?" he said, passing it back.

"Yes. It's a fossil alright. A very gross tasting fossil."

Archibald announced their return with breakfast. They hovered down the stairs, a dainty platter balanced on one metallic appendage. One meal: a bowl of warm oatmeal and orange juice was placed in Arcade's lap.

"Your breakfast, Dr. Gannon."

"Thank you."

The Mister Handy floated back up the stairs, continuing its programmed routine of tending to the plants that needed hand watering.

Arcade asked his companion if he planned to stay for breakfast too. It took a moment to realise he was being talked to. The Courier had been scrolling through lines of text on his Pip-Boy, which looked to be a list of some kind. It didn't read like a page of contents or a glossary. It almost looked like a set list.

"Is that a song list? Should I expect a daily performance during my stay?"

"Pssh, no!" he scoffed. "This is my to- do list."

Six leaned over and put his left arm and the Pip-Boy screen in front of his friend. He dialled through some of the items on the lists.

"I use songs and movies to keep a track of things people have asked me." he pointed to one of the greyed out lines. "Got hired to kill a bunch of ants recently. Put it on my list as 'Ant Misbehavin'. Like the song. Fun way to remember stuff."

He recoiled his arm back, as to not obstruct Arcade from his breakfast. A spoon dipped into the oatmeal.

"What sort of play on words do you have listed for checking in on me?" Arcade asked, dancing the spoon around the edge of the bowl.

"No list entry. I'd hardly forget somethin' like that…"

Arcade wondered what he might have inputted as the entry name if he did.

* * * * * *

The Courier returned each day, sometimes in the morning and sometimes in the evening. His visits were never more than thirty-six hours away. On quieter days with work closer to The Strip, he would come at both times: before and after he slept during the heat of the day.

Arcade always looked forward to his company, even though he wasn't much for conversation in the thick of it. When the Courier wasn't around, Archibald was pleasant enough to converse with when he found himself awake and audible. Mister Handy robots had decades of programming revision before nuclear annihilation to be the perfect robotic butler, after all. Six had at some point allowed Arcade access to the robot's garden logs, which allowed him to ask about any the specimens in the conservatory in great detail. Pleasant enough, again, but he'd rather Six talk about them in person instead. Archibald had their three arms full with tending to him.

When he lost his voice, Six had brought in a notepad for him to correspond with. The Courier had tried to show him how to sign a few words that Veronica had taught, but he didn't really retain anything useful. It was easier to write down a phrase or to point and croak something. It was no effort at all to nod yes or to shake no to questions.

The delivery boy kept him fully up to date with everything that had been happening when he visited. He had played matchmaker for one of the Boomer isolationists. Helped Cass start to investigate some suspicious caravan deaths. Patrolled along the main veins into Vegas with ED-E. Checked to see how Rex was doing. Arcade knew the Courier was putting off more important jobs, ones that required more of his time, for his sake. But it meant his friend wasn't overworking himself for once.

Although Six did often fall asleep after some breakfast visits, especially if he put on a holo-tape for them to both watch. Safe enough to do so. Tired enough to nap on the backrests and armrests of Arcade's couch-bed like sleeping atop a tree's branches.

About a week later, Arcade regained his voice, but his nose dripped worse than a leaky tap. A couple more days and he wouldn't need to impose on his friend any longer. His recovery was slow but steady, but much kinder than it would have been at the Wrangler. Nicer company too.

"You'd do the same if I was sick." Six insisted.

He was right, but The Follower couldn't exactly offer a stay in a high-rise garden.

"We're equals, dear doctor, and you're important to me. I want you to get better 'cause you're my friend, not 'cause you can help me with what needs to be done."

* * * * * *

The first thing that came to mind as he stepped outside the Lucky 38 doors was that surely it wasn't this hot out already. It had been just shy of two weeks cooped up in bed. The seasonal change couldn't be this drastic. Or maybe he had gotten too used to the static ambient temperature of the conservatory-ward.

He sure hadn't missed the faint smell of piss and vomit that New Vegas always had. No amount of cleaning could ever get rid of it.

It was so bright too.

Caught up in the sensory assault, Arcade searched around to where Six had wandered off to. He hadn't strayed far. One of his colleagues, Emily Ortal had called him over just down the stairs. Surely Julie had been informed of his recovery at some point, Six spoke of helping out at the old fort with Veronica a few nights ago. It wasn't like Farkas to send another researcher to check in, especially with The Strip credit check.

Nope. Ortal was asking the Courier to bug the Lucky 38 on the behalf of the Followers.

The organisation he was part of. Fellow researcher and all. Within speaking distance.

Right in front of her.

"Alrighty, I can do that." Six said to Emily.

"Really? Oh, I wasn't expecting you to agree so easily. That's great! Here, take this packet sniffer. It will allow us to intercept data on Mr. House's network." Emily handed Six a device. "You might have to manually remove the encryption from his data network, but hopefully you won't have too much trouble. Good luck!"

"Oh, hello Emily. Yes, it is I, Arcade Gannon, fellow member of the Followers of the Apocalypse. Would I like to help infiltrate the Lucky 38? I'm so glad you asked... "

He heard Six stifle laughter between looking for a pocket to stash the device in.

"Hey Arcade, how was your time off?" she turned to him, finally acknowledging his presence.

"I've been sick, Emily."

"Right. I'll catch you both around sometime… Let me know how it all goes…" she awkwardly marched off, although Arcade thought she would run if it was socially acceptable.

With his Pip-Boy out, Gannon watched the Courier type in 'The Moon Comes Over the Tower', and a little note with 'Bug an access point to the Lucky 38's data network for the Followers of the Apocalypse'. Arcade asked about the title, unsure what the moon had to do with bugging the casino.

"It'll be a full moon in a few days. Y'know the song 'When the Moon Comes over the Mountain'?"

He was familiar enough. It was a song that played in one of the holo-tapes he had put on some days ago.

"What's that got to do with intercepting data?"

Six shrugged.

"I guess I just have the song on my mind."

Chapter Text

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Edward Lear, The Owl and the Pussycat

Midnight was when the casinos were at their busiest, and the warmer weather meant crowds were more active during balmy nights. Soon enough, a trickle, then a stream of people with largely alcohol related problems would seek medical help from the Followers at the Old Mormon Fort. Arcade's tent luckily enough had the bed with the broken top bunk and was quiet enough at the back. His goal was to get as much sleep as possible before he was inevitably woken up by some vagrant. If he was desperate he could sleep at the tomb; the Lucky 38, but he found the place eerily quiet. A quietness that would persist through the radio being on and the Eyebot haunting its hallway.

Arcade barely had his eyes shut when he heard a ‘psst’ noise, followed by a gentle nudge of his shoulder. He opened one eye to see whoever had drunkenly wandered this far back in the fort.

But his unexpected visitor looked like the Courier, albeit blurry.

His hands reached and put on his glasses, and sure enough, it was his dear friend. The doctor didn’t even hear him enter. He wouldn't need to repeat the 'just a researcher' spiel.

Six seemed the type considerate enough not to wake him in the middle of the night unless it was important.

“I wanna show you something!" he said enthusiastically.

Evidently not.

“Can this wait until morning?”

“Nope, ‘cus it's a full moon tonight.”

Gannon sighed. He rolled out of the bed and stretched.

“Alright, lead the way. You better not have discovered werewolves are actually real. Mojave has enough problems as it is.”

The Courier grabbed at his hand, very literally leading the way. He managed to bounce and run around whilst somehow barely making a noise. If he wasn't so sleepy he might have protested against being lugged around. They ran out the fort, past the Freeside gates and out into the desert. The other Followers were well used to the delivery boy whisking him away to parts unknown on the regular, but he predicted this midnight escapade would get him an earful.

Despite all the wasteland horrors that made the Mojave their home, the desert looked beautiful at night. Especially in the light of a full moon, and the arms of the Milky Way that refused to be outshone by Vegas or the Earth's natural satellite. The albedo of the sand made the landscape bright, and it didn't take much for his eyes to adjust to the dark away from the neon lights. It had almost a metallic sheen, like the glitter of a precious metal. Six hadn’t taken him out this far just to see light radiation at play. He’d been strangely silent, dead set on taking Arcade to wherever or whatever it was he wanted him to look at.

Just as he thought about asking where the hell he was being taken to, Six skidded to a stop, almost tripping his friend in tow over with inertia. They had been not-quite running about twenty minutes or so away from New Vegas, and Arcade hadn't any clues to what or where he was trying to get to.

“Close your eyes.” requested Six.

“Why?”

“It’s part of the surprise! Or do you hunch over and let me cover them with my hands?”

Arcade closed his eyes tight, not keen on an awkward tango of Six reaching up and being his blindfold while he hobbled blindly forward. He felt his hand tugged again, and he was led up a slope. They stopped, and he could hear the click and light thud of something dropping to the ground. It was only with his eyes shut and paying attention to the soundscape that he noticed a distant machine hum. It sounded awfully like an Eyebot hovering over. Likely ED-E followed behind them at a distance.

Gannon was then led down the slope, gripping his heels into the gravel and sand. He was stopped shortly after.

“Okay, open!”

He blinked his eyes open. While his vision had already adjusted for the low-light, his eyes needed to refocus through his lenses. In front of him, Six had taken off his headgear, his arms took flight up and out, presenting the thing he absolutely had to show him in the middle of the night.

What he showed off didn’t disappoint - below them an impact crater filled to the brim with wildflowers. Different species, mostly white and yellow flowers, all still open under the luminous moon. In the centre, what looked to be a rounded Mesosiderite, an extremely rare stony-iron meteorite. It had probably fallen recently, within the last couple of years, too heavy for prospectors to pick up and salvage. The space rock was a few feet wide, tall and deep, if he had to guess. It had an unusually smooth surface.

“Ta-da!”

“This is beautiful, Six. I can see why you were so eager to show me.”

He took a moment to take in the sight, like finally exhaling after the realisation he’d been holding his breath. Arcade mirrored Six’s soft, dopey smile and watched his friend's coat collar and hair sway with the flowers in the breeze. Like another facet of the same jewel, he was reminded of when he first saw the Courier without his helmet during a thunderstorm. A force of nature packaged into a man, and the Follower was lucky enough just to be swept along with him.

“I’ve been waiting for the flowers to bloom for a while now, and they look so pretty under the moonlight. It’s warm and bright enough that they've stayed open.” he spun around on the spot, facing toward the bloom.

“…This place reminds me of you, actually.” Six added sheepishly, avoiding his companion's direct eye contact.

Before Arcade could muster some terrible comeback to the Courier’s charming but misguided compliment, ED-E flew up to Six, sounding off a jingle much like a ‘ta-da’ as well.

“I have another thing to show you, actually. I brought you out here kinda selfishly.” he pulled out his camera from ED-E’s storage tray, the same one given to him by the sign artist on The Strip. "I've been experimenting with gadgets for my camera.”

“I’ve made..” Six grunted as he tried to pull out another contraption from the Eyebot’s storage.

Arcade stepped forward and grabbed the camera off him so he could tug with both hands. An odd assortment of welded together wires, old circuit boards and other boxy components on a sloped metal frame popped out. He immediately put it onto ED-E like a strange hat, clipping it onto his antennae and around his forward speaker.

“You’ve made a hat for your murder bot. I will admit you’ve chosen a lovely site for our grave… and a unique gravestone too.”

Six snickered, taking back the camera and unscrewing the flash bulb, which he placed back into ED-E’s storage. He placed the camera atop the frame, twisting it onto a tripod bolt to secure it in place. Then he attached one of the cables into the flash head and clicked the film tray into one of the compartments. An extra roll was loaded into the aforementioned slot.

“Self reloading film camera.” he started pointing toward different features of his contraption excitedly. “Uses ED-E’s sensor system and hoverin' body to take steady photos even in low light. Potentially.”

“Potentially?”

“I've tested it indoors but that's a different kinda low-light.” the Courier spun back to face his companion. “I was kinda hopin' you'd take some photos with me here?”

“Haven't you taken enough pictures of me already?" Arcade complained, although he didn't say it with any malice. Six's hobby was harmless, and he didn't want to dissuade him from practising it. "I can't say I'm much of a model. I’m sure one of the casino dancers would let you drag them out here and pose provocatively for you for enough caps.”

“I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, Arcade. Sheesh.” Six then leant over, hand on his chin impudently. “But if you’re volunteering…”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Arcade laughed.

Gannon had complicated feelings about photographs, or at least ones that he was in. Family photo albums, haunted then by just his father, were damning evidence of his family once being part of the Enclave. Most of the pictures were abandoned or destroyed when they fled. The rot of the shadow government tainted the most domestic of photographs. It couldn't just be cut out. His mother had kept a small collection somehow. He didn't even know where she kept them until she gave them to him before her death.

“It's a shame you didn't bring Rex out with us. We could have gotten some artsy advertisement material for our Tops act.” Arcade added.

Six grinned and doubled his companion’s laughter, framed by Arcade’s hands making his own view finder. Positively adorable. It was almost a shame he hid under that helmet of his - but it did make moments like this all the more special. Their humour harmonised with one another well, and Arcade relished the downtime they spent together. This was no exception. He'd already forgotten he'd been woken up for it.

“These are for myself though… and for you if you want 'em. They could come out like shit for all I know.”

Six started to climb down into the crater, jumping onto the meteorite as if it was his stage. He bowed, reaching out his arm and hand toward Arcade.

“I'd really like lots of photographs of me and all my friends. You're first on my list alphabetically.”

“First name basis, huh?” he shuffled down the side of the crater, avoiding stepping on the plants.

“I don't… I don't know if Cass has a last name? Does Rex? Anyway, come dance with me?”

“Alright but you'd better not use these as blackmail.” he reached out and grabbed the outreached hand, letting the Courier pull him up onto the rocky stage. “I'm not much of a dancer. Nemo enim fere saltat sobrius.”

Nobody dances sober.

“Nisi forte insanit. Not much of this, not much of that. Did you decide that or did someone tell you that?”

Unless he happens to be insane. Which the Courier just happened to be, but in the best kind of way. Insanity and genius were two sides of the same coin.

Six pressed the radio button on his Pip-Boy, broadcasting the local station on a quiet but danceable level. He joined their hands, taking Arcade into a slow spin.

BZZT-again, Mr. New Vegas, reminding you that you're nobody 'til somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you. Gonna play a song for you right now, and it's about that special someone you find only once in a Blue Moon.

Their dance started out awkward, mistiming the song’s introductory beats and stepping on each other’s shoes. As they continued, Gannon relaxed, letting his friend lead the dance. A strange but improvised swing. Six used the meteorite’s surface to his advantage, changing the difference in their heights to compliment his improvised moves. Arcade was enjoying himself, but the nagging awareness they were in the middle of nowhere dancing crept up on him.

“Aren't you worried we're drawing attention to ourselves here?” he asked.

“I'm keeping an eye on it.” Six gestured to his helmet stacked on the rim of the crater, facing outward.

So that’s where he put it. That did explain the noise from before…

As the song finished, Gannon stole the lead of their dance, spinning Six into a dip. The Courier looked up at him with wide, fervid eyes. The edges of his hair and face were illuminated in silvery moonlight, eclipsed by the doctor's overhanging shadow. To Arcade's surprise, Six leaned forward and gave him a chaste peck on the lips.

And like any normal man would do after being kissed by their attractive friend, he dropped his dance partner. He did not fall far, landing softly in the brambles of several flowering plants.

“Alright! Alright! No kisses!” Six laughed.

“I didn't mean to drop you! You just took me by surprise, that's all.” Arcade fumbled, scurrying down to the Courier's side.

Adorned by wildflowers and bathed in the full moon's light, Six looked almost ethereal. Arcade still didn't understand why this place reminded his companion of him. If anything it served as a visual metaphor for the Courier; tough and rare as a space rock with joy and life growing outwards in his presence.

“…Why does this place remind you of me?” he asked.

Six picked and held up one of the flowers, a Californian Poppy, a pale yellow variety. The flowers would have descended from part of someone’s garden, hosting colours seen only in horticultural cultivars. Their seeds carried east and sown by the wind. He spun it in front of Arcade’s face. Then he sat up and tucked it in between his ear and the arm of his glasses.

The Follower had once read that the flowers were apparently used by indigenous peoples as a mild calming agent and for minor pain relief. He wasn't sure how true that was. It didn't seem to be repeated in other books.

“These flowers would have been dormant here until it rained heavily enough to reach them. Maybe they were buried under too much soil for that to ever happen.” he explained, as he lightly swept his hand across the different flowers - mostly clusters of the poppies. “But instead this meteor brought them closer to the surface, so that they could bloom with just a little bit of rain.”

Californian poppies, like their name suggested, were more common west of the Mojave, but even travellers from further east into the continent were familiar with their blooms. They’d still persist in the more ravaged parts of the west coast, including where Arcade was from.

“Plus, they're tall, pretty bit of yellow at the top. Stems and leaves green like your eyes." Six met his eyes. "Beautiful in the moonlight.”

Arcade grabbed at the Courier's armour, pulling his friend closer to his face. He was used to Six’s prolific compliments - he dished them out to him and anyone who’d accept it before. But this felt different, actually romantic, but still dancing within his companion’s personal brand of affection he showered his friends in.

“You kissed me." Arcade stated.

“I did. Then you dropped me." he acknowledged.

“An accident. You sweet talk all the time but that's the first time I've seen you follow through on anything.”

Six looked away ashamed.

“I know I sweet talk a lot…” he then shifted his gaze down, peering at Arcade's hand still on his armour. He gingerly touched the tips of their fingers together. “But with you, I feel like you wouldn't hurt me if we just fooled around. I got carried away. I'm sorry.”

There he went again, smudging the print out ink of the clearly defined boundaries of interpersonal relationships. Splitting the black back into cyan, yellow and magenta and then letting the pigment bleed across the page into a beautiful mess. The strangest thing was that Arcade understood him perfectly. All this didn’t feel like a drastic change in their relationship at all. It felt like treating oneself to dessert.

“It wasn't why I brought you out here. Promise." Six expressed. "I did want to show you this place, and take photos with you. So I'll always have somethin', my own version of evidence, that, even for a little while, I was happy and had friends.”

“Alright. More kisses.” Arcade declared.

The Courier made a curious little noise in astonishment. The way he looked, it was as if all the stars of the Milky Way had poured into his eyes. He'd always considered Six to be good looking, but here he was transcendent. Beautiful. Arcade pulled gorget of his chest plate closer, delivering Six a proper kiss. In turn, Six gathered his arms up and around Arcade’s shoulders, trying to be as close as possible.

Like their dance, they blundered some of the first few kisses but quickly got better each time. The delivery boy didn't kiss like someone who hadn't before, but he approached each time as if he were unqualified. He had called it fooling around - but it felt foolish not to.

Arcade had to come back up for air after a particularly long and deep kiss. He cupped his hands around Six's face, taking him in the same way that his lungs needed oxygen. The dilated eyes that stared back understood him, truly saw him. When was the last time someone ever looked at him like that? None of his past lovers had ever quite had. When his mother and the Remnants looked at him all they saw was his father's little boy. His colleagues would only see what value he could bring to the cause. He didn't really have other friends, any meaningful connections outside those circles until recently. Not until Six.

He had incorrectly assumed Six thought of him only as valuable as what he could offer. There was meaning in being able to help someone. But Six cared about his thoughts, his feelings, his opinion on things. He looked after him and others often at great personal cost. His friend thought he was funny, interesting. Arcade had started to believe he could be when they were together.

But Arcade also saw Six too. What he saw reflected back some, like peering into water. The Courier was a lonely person too. Perhaps even lonelier than Gannon had ever been.

It should have hurt to see the same vulnerability mirrored back, but it was soothing. He stroked his fingers along the edge of his companion's cheek.

The world they lived usually punished shows of vulnerability. It was risky to take a chance on someone, on something new. To tell and show someone you care about them, to go dancing out in the middle of the desert. Such connections could easily exploited, for the sake of survival or just personal gain. Arcade realised he had avoided being emotionally hurt, but he hadn't been seen. He didn't let himself be vulnerable, but he was never comforted in turn. Not until Six.

Arcade started to understand why Six got 'carried away', allowing himself the same thing.

He dove the both of them into the bed of flowers, and Six blossomed into giggles and a wide grin. A joy shared that budded and multiplied.

Arcade touched and kissed his companion's exposed skin as if he could reach down and become all the wonderful things his friend said he was. And like the flowers they played in, Six's hands reached up and embraced him back. His neck was covered in kisses, like sunlight on chloroplasts, energising and so alive. Gannon hadn't minded the Courier's chest armour, until he had climbed onto him. It was a touch uncomfortable, and he desired to feel more of the warmth and glow of his skin.

Arcade yearned to kiss every inch of his body.

He had to be closer.

They coiled together tighter, and he felt the delivery boy nibble along his neck. Arcade entangled their legs together.

Six suddenly and abruptly seized up. Arcade wasn't sure if it was the certain pelvic firmness he pressed into the his thigh, or if it were his hands unbuckling his belt.

"This isn't right... I-I shouldn't be doing this." Six sounded panicked, but very gently pushed Arcade off, sitting himself back up.

He looked frightened too. Like he had realised something absolutely terrible as he fixed his buckle. Was he self conscious about what he had below the belt? The size of his package didn't bother Arcade.

It must have been something he did, thought Arcade.

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry." he whined.

Gannon scolded himself. He had moved too fast. He hadn't asked if Six was okay to move from playful experimental kissing to something else. It just had been so long since he had opened up to anyone like that. Let alone held so tenderly.

"No. No, it's not you." Six assured, insistent. "Nothin' wrong with you."

His companion's words sounded truthful, but he didn't reveal the underlining cause. Did Six really believe that he had something wrong with him? Was it performance anxiety? Some sort of past injury? The Follower didn't understand, but he wanted to.

"Can we please talk about this? I want to understand what's wrong." Arcade pleaded. "I wasn't trying to pressure you into something you didn't want to do."

Six stood up, holding ashamed curled up hands at his face. "I know. This is all my fault."

"I-I don't understand."

"No. You don't."

"Will you tell me then?" Arcade held out his pinky finger toward him. He had never needed to evoke that promise before. "I want to understand. You mean so much to me. You can tell me anything, you know that, right? …Please."

Six smiled sadly. He could see a glint of tears streak down his friend's face. The Courier reached out and delicately grabbed onto his pinky, and lifted the digit up his face to kiss it.

"I promise I'll tell you. I-I just need some time." he cusp his hands around Arcade's and pulled him up.

"Okay. Time. I can give you that. I'm sure whatever it is, it won't make me think less of you."

The Courier's eyebrows furrowed, and he bit down onto his lower lip.

"Maybe it's best we forget all this."

Arcade couldn't bear to, and he knew how precious any of Six's memories were to him. He wanted to reach out and hold him, tell him that whatever it was that spooked him they could work through together. They dealt with far more sinister things on the regular.

But with time came space. Gannon could only stand by and wait.

"I'll take you back to Freeside…" the Courier went to retrieve his gear.

The walk back was silent, aside from the Eyebot's droning and what he thought was a sniffle from underneath his companion's helmet.

Space. Time. Only a matter of it. So why did he feel a million light years away from Six just trudging along behind him?

In a few hours, the crater of flowers would bounce back up from being tumbled around in. They would reach for the sun as if nothing had ever happened. All the them aside from the one flower that had been picked halfway up its stem.

Arcade carefully pocketed the poppy Six had given him, his own version of evidence for just a little while, he was happy. It could wait until the next set of rain to bloom again. He would greet it as joyously as the Courier had the downpour in the thunderstorm all those weeks ago.

Chapter Text

I ██ ████ran█
█ ██████ ████ █████ █████ away
████ ███████ ████ ██ can██ ████ you
██ ████ ██forgive█
██████ ██████ me?

███████ ███

Arcade kept looking at the front gates, which remained painfully still, wondering when his delivery boy would come by and take him on another adventure. He had secretly pressed the flower Six tucked behind his ear a few nights ago between the pages of the latest book he'd been given. It was something his mother used to do, preserving flowers beyond the constraints of their season or locality. He had wrapped it in gauze, so as not to stain the book's pages or glue the pages together.

Six would tell him, explain himself, when he was ready to. But it had been days without so much as a quick visit. Arcade was starting to get worried. It wasn't like his companion to leave for days on end without saying something first.

When he heard the gates open again, he looked up again to see a familiar face. Then another. Not the one he was looking out for, but still welcome company. Veronica and Raul made their way over to Arcade's tent.

“Hey ‘Cade. We’re running some errands for the boss. Wanna tag along?” Raul asked.

“Sixer asked me to see if the photos he took to Michael Angelo’s have been developed. I'm really excited to see how the set we took together.

“When did he ask you to do that?” Arcade enquired, trying to establish a timeline of the Courier's movements since their midnight out.

“A few days ago. Haven't seen him since. ED-E isn't at the Lucky 38 either.” she replied.

“Probably out someplace. Boss doesn't know how to stay in one place for long.”

Arcade agreed, both to Raul's accurate statement and to accompanying them. He could use a change of scenery, but more so a distraction.

Just outside the Followers base of operations, Veronica pulled out a folded piece of paper out from her hood. It was an extensive list, some of the items already crossed out. Different colours of pen ink and pencil and the edges of the folds had started to wear thin.

“Quite the shopping list, mi amiga.” Raul peered over at the list.

“Just some things to look out for.” she said. "I don't need to get everything right away."

A lot of the list was mostly mechanical components and some tools. The expected things the bunker would eventually need to replace after decades of careful repairs. Or losing them in the field.

“Mick and Ralph's is probably the best first place to look.” Arcade suggested to her. "There's also a pawn shop in Westside."

"Hey, thanks blondie. I wanna see those photos first though."

Depending on when ED-E's contraption ran out of film, Arcade wasn't sure if he would be sharing the set he starred in.

A ghoul, a Brotherhood Scribe, and a doctor visiting The Strip. There was another joke he could make out of that, one that he'd hear the delightful roar of laughter of his missing friend again.

* * * * * *

Six loved his Codac R9000, and he had excitedly talked about the man who gifted it to him in the past. Michael Angelo ran a neon light workshop alongside some other artists, and developed the film from Six's camera in a dark room. The Courier had described Michael as a sensitive soul, and their apparent friendship revolved around the artist experiencing the world through film and its photographer's stories. Gannon hadn't personally visited, but he had heard about the place long before Six was ever given his camera. Michael probably recognised him from all the snaps that had taken of him. Six stressed it was important he take plenty of photographs, just in case his memory was wiped again. But memories didn't store like computer files, and bullets didn't work like the delete key on a terminal keyboard.

Angelo mentioned that he hadn't seen the delivery boy since he dropped off the film to be developed. He took a glance at the entourage sent in his stead and handed out marked envelopes to the faces he recognised.

"I really enjoyed this set, I'm so glad to see there's still folks out there who appreciate art." he commented on the wad he handed over to Veronica. She bounced on the spot in anticipation.

"Could you ask Six to bring his dog in next time he comes to drop off more film? I'd like to see a cyberdog up close…" he passed another to Raul.

"Might take some convincing for him to do that." Raul drily joked.

As the other two set off again, Arcade was tugged back and covertly given another envelope with developed pictures. His hand was smacked as he tried to peer into the folder.

“Your friend asked me to keep these separate, private. Considering you're also in them I figure it's okay you get the folder. Six has been good to me so I want to respect his wishes.”

He tucked the package into his inner coat pockets. Hopefully his two companions wouldn't notice the sudden weight gain.

They were waiting for him just outside the shop.

“So what did you do for your photos?” Raul asked Veronica.

“Get this. Six and I recreated a bunch of classical art from an old book." she opened an old looking hardcover book. "We even managed to convince some of the bunker to pose with us.”

Sure enough, she could line up the photographs with the artwork they recreated. Arcade figured Six had lent their mutual friend the book, which looked to be an exhibition companion book. Each recreated painting had the whole Brotherhood spectrum: Initiates, Scribes and Paladins alike posing for the camera. That must have been when Six tested the indoor lighting, thought Arcade. Thinking about being inside that bunker again that made his neck hairs stand on end.

It was definitely the Courier's silver tongue that pulled off such a feat with coordinating everyone in the outpost like that. Although, if they had all been cooped down there for as long as he had been told about, even the most staunch Paladin was probably willing to play along with Six's game.

Arcade didn't want to admit that silver tongue of his had been in his mouth. All the while accidentally recreating their own version of a 'Klimt' in that set of photos. He checked that the folder still there in his pockets, under the guise of adjusting his coat.

He didn't want to embarrass Six. Especially not in front of his friends.

"Do you think any of those old paintings still exist?" Arcade asked, trying to draw attention away from how nauseous he was feeling.

"Maybe some of them. I should ask if H-bomb has any tucked away." Veronica mused, flicking through the old book, and its echoes of an age long past.

"You don't look so good, 'Cade." Raul pointed out. "You okay?"

"I-uh, didn't sleep well last night."

Not a lie, he reminded himself. The change in season and weather always shook up his sleep schedule.

"You look like crap, blondie. Why don't you take our photos and Sixer's book back to the 38?" Santangelo collected up her and Tejada's bundles, passing them over to him. "Drink some water, maybe lay down? We can catch up later."

Gannon reluctantly agreed. He was going to suggest to his cohorts they should check by the tomb on their way out of the Strip. To see if Six had come back. Or check to see if there was any signs he had made a return at some stage in the last few days. He'd like to deliver the photos in person.

"Remember! Hydrate or die straight!" Veronica called out as they went their separate ways.

* * * * * *

Arcade often saw ED-E on the other side of the elevator doors when they opened onto the Presidental Suite. It made sense most of the time that Six's odd pet would be at his residence, but Veronica had mentioned she hadn't seen the metallic gnat last time she visited. It may have recently come back to the casino with its owner.

He called out Six's name into vacant rooms. No response. If his friend had been here recently, he hadn't left any other trace other than the droning Eyebot. Usually his coat and armour would be hanging up, and his armaments out on one of the tables cleaned and serviced. Two envelopes of photographs were left on his bedside table. The other set, he decided, needed to be delivered in person.

The Follower wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a chilled bottle of water out of the fridge.

It followed him into the room. For something that didn't have a set of eyes, he sure felt stared at while he drank.

"Do you know where Six is?" Arcade asked ED-E, not expecting any response.

The Eyebot started playing back audio. He could feel his heart pound in his chest - the last time it 'spoke' it replayed Enclave research logs. Garbled static at first, some sort of interference muffled what sounded like singing. It became clearer when the microphone came closer to its source. It was the Courier singing along to a song on the radio, like he often did.

Arcade enjoyed Six's singing. It was untrained and didn't always hit the right notes, but there was something comforting about it. It reminded him of the feeling of arriving home after a long day. It had been a long time since he had any physical place that felt like that though.

"Maybe, you'll sit and sigh… wishing that I were near."

He could hear ED-E's hovering drone and light footsteps against what sounded like metal. Wherever Six was at the time of recording, he wasn't trying to sneak around.

"Then, maybe you'll ask me to come back again…"

A quick interlude grunt. Something sounded like a hatch door spinning open, like the ones in the Hidden Valley bunker.

"And maybe! I'll say, 'maybe'…"

The door closed must have between him and ED-E. A loud slam popped the microphone and muffled the Pip-Boy's playback.

"Shit." Six in the recording said, like the recording had turned down the volume on him. "Door locked behind me, sorry, buddy. I'll see if I can loop back around."

Was that hissing? The recording had picked up more sources of audio, but they all had similar muted volumes. It was like a hazy cloud of different sounds, layered on top of one another. It was hard to discern one from the other. He could hear at least two simultaneous broadcasts, although one was a feminine voice he didn't recognise.

A thud? More static? He'd need a terminal with audio software to try and figure out what was going on. The only place he knew that had such a thing was back in San Francisco.

Wait. Was ED-E recording everything when he was with the Courier? Creepy.

"You got separated?" asked Arcade, trying not to grimace thinking about what sorts of audio ED-E had picked up on its travels. It followed Six when he went to the toilet. Gross.

The Eyebot had no other response for him. It must have come back here when its waiting protocol timed out. That wasn't a good sign.

Maybe it was trying to tell him to use the radio frequency that Six gave him and the others. Being worried about his absence didn't really qualify as an emergency, but the Courier would forgive that. Arcade dug out the HAM radio. It was still dialled to the correct call-sign.

"Six?" he held down the transmitter, trying to recall the communication codes that had been drilled into him as child. "Arcade for Six. What's your status? Over."

No response either. If his companion had got into a spot of trouble, the radio frequency worked both ways. He could transmit a call for help it would have come through the speaker already.

He could be out of range…

Arcade thought about going to the Followers radio tower to broadcast a repeating message for Six. If he hadn't turned up in the next few days, of course. However, it would repeat for everyone who was tuned in to that same frequency. It would eliminate its original purpose and drive Six's other friends up the walls. Anyone scrubbing through signals could pick it up to, and immediately know that Six was missing too.

ED-E didn't follow him into the elevator back down.

"Casino floor, Victor."

The Securitron tapped its clawed limb against the set of buttons that Arcade could very easily could have pressed for himself. He had no desire to explore the rest of the tomb on his own. But if Six had come back with ED-E, he could have gone to a floor Gannon didn't have access to.

"Have you seen the Courier recently?" he asked Victor, who had not peeped so much as a jovial greeting to him as it would do for Six.

"No. You go and lose one of yer patients, doc? I thought you were suppose'ta be lookin' after him."

Victor's screen flickered as it turned its body to face him. The doctor gulped, and kept his eyes fixed on the light changing floor numbers instead. The ride up felt much quicker…

* * * * * *

Rose of Sharon Cassidy, another one of Six's friends, although one he didn't see very often, was sitting in the lobby with a collection of expensive looking liquor bottles. One was already in her hand, open, when Arcade made his way back down onto the casino floor. It had been a few days since his last visit, and he come again to check again if Six had returned. Another search of the Presidential Suite yielded no results.

"I wasn't here." she leaned over and covered her stash with her upper body.

"Oookay. Any chance you've seen Six?"

"Nope." she took a swig from her opened drink, content that 'doctor limit your alcohol intake' wasn't here to stop her or take her liquor. "Haven't seen him since last Whiskey Wednesday."

"Dare I ask?"

"The robots restock the good liquor here every other Wednesday." she explained. "I fuckin' hate this place but I make the effort for this liquid gold. It's Wednesday, so here I am."

"It's not Wednesday. It's Friday." pointed out Arcade.

"Whatever. I got my fill. Should be enough for the way back to the border outpost."

He eyed over the mass of bottles. That was a two day trip, maybe three if someone was taking it slow. He didn't want to know how many bottles that was per day, per hour, even if was as easy as counting how many she had. Sounded too much like an odd maths textbook problem.

"I miss Six…" lamented Arcade, mostly to himself.

Everyone who might have known where the Courier had ended up was a dead end. Six's friends, his acquaintances, anyone who knew who he was - all had no idea. Arcade had talked to more people than he had done for years in his search. Not even travellers coming into the old adobe fort had seen anyone matching his description. It was like he had vanished into the ether.

"Yeah, yeah, I miss getting dicked down too."

Gannon shot a bewildered glare at Cass.

"I said Six." he reiterated. "As in S-I-X, not S-E-X!"

"I heard you right the first time, y'know. Don't book me in for a hearing test just yet, doc."

"What does missing my - our friend have to do with…" he felt embarrassed to repeat it out loud, but he forced it through nevertheless. "…'getting dicked down'…"

It wasn't helping that he probably would have jumped Six's bones in in the desert if their encounter had escalated to that point. It was just such a vulgar way of saying it. Especially to say so casually to a mutual acquaintance.

"Huh. Just figured 'cause you're both soft. He was always in such a rush to get back to you while you were staying here."

"I was sick!"

He didn't know that titbit of information though. At least their conversation hadn't ended up as complete waste of both of their time.

"Wouldn't have stopped me." she raised a sceptical brow, downing a large gulp. "You're getting real worked up about this. Sure you two aren't going to town on each other?"

"No!"

"Here. This will make you feel better then. Sorry to hear he's not into you. Plenty of fish in the Mead. Or however that saying goes."

She offered out one of the small bottles, a single serve shot normally mixed in another drink to fortify it.

He declined.

Cass shrugged and returned the bottle to her stash.

"You're really bad at comforting people, you know?" Arcade pointed out.

"Never was my speciality. I'm not glued to Six like you are. Sometimes it's weeks between when I see him. Far as I'm concerned he hasn't been gone for that long."

He could understand why she wasn't concerned. She and Six had a completely different dynamic than Arcade had with their mutual friend.

"Will you keep a look out at least? Tell him to come check in if you see him?"

"He's a tough son of a bitch. I'm sure he's just dying to come home and pick flowers with you… or whatever it is you do together… got no clue now honestly." she shrugged, and the stashed photographs in Arcade's pocket felt like they had turned to lead. "But if I see him, I'll tell him his doctor wants to schedule a check up."

* * * * * *

The apricot mallow was root-bound, poking one of its tap roots through an exit of its own making. It had lift up and out one of the smaller pieces of terracotta that had been glued to make its container whole. When he watered it the excess dribbled out that way instead of the usual drainage point.

Arcade had been meaning to ask Six if he had another bigger pot that could re-home the growing plant for a while now. It had grown so much since he was gifted it, even more so during his sick leave. However the doctor hadn't seen his friend nearly two weeks now. It wasn't a matter of walking across to the Lucky 38 and paying his high rise neighbour a visit. No one else had heard anything from him since.

Truth be told, he had a lot more important, more pressing things he wanted to ask Six than a replacement pot. Their midnight soirée was never far from the surface of his thoughts. Arcade had told himself that Six would explain himself in time, but the more time that passed the more complicated it became in his head. Each day just was making it more awkward to bring it up again.

His imagination was getting the better of him too, replaying moments from his memories but rewriting them more intimately. As if they'd had kissed after a concerned embrace in the hallways of an old power plant. As if the Courier had warmed his lips in the falling snow atop Mount Charleston. As if they danced around one another like the scale model planets around their sun in the REPCONN planetarium.

As if he ever had a chance with him beyond fooling around.

Gannon groaned and buried himself in his hands, unable to divert his attention his elsewhere but unable to do anything about it. What were they? But Six wasn't anywhere to be found to ask that question.

Wherever he was, Arcade hoped his friend was safe. Alive, at the very least. He didn't want to think of the very possible alternative. Gannon refused to believe things would end like that. It hurt to imagine what kind of life he'd end up having if Six left it permanently. Going back to the quiet researcher full time was a death in itself. He reminded himself that the Courier was a 'tough son of a bitch', like Cass had said.

Six would come back. Although he believed himself less each time he assured it.

Not so long ago, the doctor had such a defined criteria of what social relationships were supposed to be, nice and orderly like taxonomic ranks. Work colleagues fit into their own taxon, as did friends, family, and when he had them: boyfriends. Or so he had thought, but he couldn't define the Courier. All he knew for certain was that Six meant a great deal to him. Arcade didn't dare to undo any of the changes that his friend had resequenced.

Sphaeralcea ambigua was the name of the plant that sat just as boxed in as its owner. Apricot mallow. Desert globemallow. It literally translated to sphere mallow ambiguous.

His head rolled into the blank page of his open notepad.

If he could just talk to Six! Ask his friend what he actually wanted from him as a person. Was it just fooling around? Someone as competent as the Courier could find more interesting passions even with the risk it posed him. If the delivery boy couldn't talk his way out of something, he had the combative prowess to escape someone even ass-naked. Surely he could do better than some boring wasteland doctor. Someone prettier. More interesting. Maybe closer in age. Someone who could give Six biological children, if that was something he wanted. Arcade hadn't even considered them being anything more than-

No. More wasn't the right word here. It wasn't more than. It was change. No more or less important than their friendship. Just a different way of lighting up the same space he occupied.

He just hadn't entertained the possibility of that sort of relationship with Six before.

Being gay meant he had long accepted most men he found attractive weren't on offer. Accepting that romance and or sexual encounters would be rarely be reciprocated came with the territory. There was no getting burnt by snuffing out any sparks before they became flames. But none of his former boyfriends and lovers had ever meant so much to him as Six did. He'd never take a boyfriend to his mother's grave. He'd never willingly show a prospective partner all the vulnerabilities he had done with Six.

Arcade reached for the stack of photographs in his inner coat pockets, protected under the Ripper he always kept on his person. He hadn't had given himself a chance to properly look at them. It was just him at the back of the old fort, and the seat for Six was empty. But he still checked to see if anyone might be watching.

The photographs animated their dance, tumble, and kisses in frames set to per however many minutes. Between his fingertips he was holding the precious evidence that Six was happy. Seeing his smile again guided out the same expression on Arcade's face.

He looked just as joyful in the photos too, together in his company.

It didn't have to be a fluke.

Chapter Text

PYLADES : Hold on, hold on, I have to protest.
Do you think I would choose to live without you?

Anne Carson, Euripides

It had been nearly three and a half weeks since Arcade had last seen Six, easily overtaking the longest time they had been apart. Not that he needed to pay attention to frivolous details like that, but even the eclectic company the other man kept was beginning to wonder if he had perished out in the desert. If the Courier had succumbed to some wasteland horror, there would be evidence of that somewhere. Veronica had recruited Six's more combative friends to comb the Mojave for traces of him. Arcade had been asking every caravan and prospector that had come through the Followers' encampment if they had seen him too.

Nothing. Even the tiniest shred of possibility was followed up on. Still nothing.

People went missing all the time, he was reminded again and again by people who had nothing useful to contribute in his search.

Not being able to save everyone was a lesson Arcade had learnt long before he had been inducted as one of the Followers, and long before he decided he wanted to study medicine and help people. Arcade wasn't as hands on as the other doctors at the Old Mormon Fort, sure, but they all knew that there was only so much that anyone could do to help someone. There were limits that both surviving medical knowledge and the human body had. They could not save everyone, but they had to at least try. He had made peace with that knowledge, that fact of life, before he had even met Six.

Arcade did not, however, make peace with the guilt that haunted him every time he thought about the Courier. It didn't take much for his mind to start pondering the possibilities. He had seen so many ways that people could die. All it would take was hearing a song jingle Six liked to sing along to on the radio to start thinking about him again. It didn't help that there was no shortage of folks in Freeside continuing to spread rumours of the delivery boy's exploits too. His hope that Six was alive hadn't perished yet. His friend was sturdier and luckier than most people - he had survived being shot in the face for crying out loud.

There was also the possibility he just up and left the region entirely. He had once said he had been tempted to. But if Six had run away, someone would have seen someone like him, he was well known by a lot of caravan teams. Surely he would have said goodbye. Right?

If he was dead, his body could be found and recovered, then Arcade could start the grieving process properly. It would hurt for far longer than they had known each other, but Gannon had survived soul shattering grief before. He could do it again, but he remembered that he had the opportunity to say goodbye to his mother. That same closure he would not get for Six.

Arcade took out his frustration with a strum of a pen tapping against a clipboard. He hadn't gotten any work done thinking about his wayward companion.

A part of his heart kept hoping that everything would turn out okay.

That Six would be back before he knew it.

“Hey, Arcade!”

He looked up from his unbaked notes to see his colleague, Emily Ortal. He hadn't seen her since speaking with her in front of the Lucky 38.

That felt longer than how many weeks ago it was.

“Finally asking me if I can bug the Lucky 38 for you?”

“Nope, that ended up a wash. Your friend tried it a couple of hours ago. Nothing useful I'm afraid. I heard you've been looking for him so I dropped by to tell you.”

His pen slipped out of his hands and spun around the blank page.

“He's alive then. Good! That's good.” he tried to downplay his reaction, but he was rattling more than a pack of Nightstalkers. Emily was perplexed by his reaction.

A wash of relief came over Arcade, equal parts elation and anguish. He really wasn't sure how to feel. Whether or not he should be laughing or crying.

Why hadn't Six come by to say anything?

Didn't he know how much his friends were missing him? How worried they all were?

“Did something happen between you two?" Emily asked, revealing she wasn't aware of the ongoing situation. "He seemed a bit quiet, mostly apologising for taking so long. I'm just glad he remembered to do it, honestly. I've got a copy of the data for you.”

She placed the bundle of documents on his desk. In that moment Arcade couldn't care less about the data they had collected.

Six was alive and at the Lucky 38.

He had to go see him, ask him why he went AWOL for so long.

He stood up suddenly, and the table jittered beneath him.

“Just haven't seen him for a bit, that's all." he told her, struggling to contain the bundle of nerves he had become by the news. "Might go and… uh… check up on him.”

Arcade scurried out of the adobe fort, and once he was out of sight of the wooden walls, started jogging toward The Strip's front gate. If he broke into a sprint he would be probably be mowed down by the excess of Securitron guards outside.

* * * * * *

He hadn't felt this much anticipation climbing the low and lit up stairs of the Lucky 38 casino since the first time he entered the building. The robotic guard let Arcade pass silently, and he knew they merely tolerated his presence and not welcomed it. It was still just as uneasy being inside the tomb as it was all the other times. Being escorted up to the Presidential Suite by Victor was more strained than usual though: it had tried to blame Six's disappearance onto him recently. Not the usual welcoming chimes it sang to the Courier.

When he reached the suite, it looked just as empty as it had done when he checked last. Not even the Eyebot was hovering the hallway, but Arcade noticed that the master bedroom, Six's bedroom, had its door closed. He peeked his head into the other rooms first, just in case there was any signs of life there, mechanical or otherwise. The closed door might be locked.

“Hello, ‘anyone home?” Arcade knocked, but the tap of his knuckles ended up opening it instead. He flicked on the light switch.

In the low lumens of the incandescent lights, dear friend sat slumped, with Rex draped on him like a security blanket. Six was propped up against the edge of the room’s office desk. He was fully dressed in his signature bootleg ranger gear, including his mask and helmet, but Arcade didn't see any movement. Maybe the only thing keeping him upright was the rigid body armour he wore…

Arcade rushed to his side, equipping himself with his best bedside (or should he say deskside?) manner. Rex let out a low growl as Gannon reached out his hand to touch him.

"It's okay Rex, I would never hurt Six." he affirmed to the cyberdog.

It was enough to convince Rex to slide off his lap. The cyborg dog perched himself nearby, eyes intently staring down Arcade. It wasn't the first time that Rex had gotten protective over Six, but Arcade had never had heard a growl directed at him. Just what had happened to the usually spry and energetic delivery boy?

He picked up one of Six's limp arms. Still warm. Thank goodness. His pulse was a little weak but steady. Arcade sighed, some calm to his own thundering heart rate. Within the normal range of someone asleep. He must have passed out here sometime after Ortal had talked with him.

Arcade wriggled closer and gathered Six toward him, bringing him close. Gannon buried his face into the high collar of his duster. Tears of relief dampened the coat's leather. Now the nightmares of cradling his cold dead body could finally stop. No more last kisses goodbye. Six was here and he was alive. His mask clicked with each breath he took.

What a wonderful little noise.

"Is that you, Arcade?" one of Six's hands grazed along Arcade's sleeve. He sounded awful, like a broken holo-tape recording. "…Are you really here?"

"Mhm. I'm here." he nodded into his shoulder, and ran his hands up and down Six's arms.

"Am I dead? I don't know where I am." Six's head was nested against his companion's upper body.

Arcade lifted him out, so he could see something other than an uniform shirt up close.

"No, no, you're very much alive! We're in your room at the Lucky 38. I've been so worried about you." Gannon peered into the red perspex of his mask. His head hadn’t moved, but maybe his eyes had darted up under the mask.

"You're crying…" whimpered Six, and he slowly lifted the hand that was on Arcade's sleeve up to his face. "Are you okay?"

It was just like the Courier, being more concerned about his friend than his own well-being. Trembling fingers touched one of the droplets on Arcade's face.

"I'm just fine." assured Arcade. "Can you move?"

“I think so… Yeah. Just gimme a sec. Lemme take this heavy shit off.”

Six sat himself up as much as he could, legs still splayed on the floor as he rolled off his jacket and chest armour plate. When he finally managed to take off his helmet and mask, Arcade’s face immediately soured. He looked terrible too, his hair and skin caked in sweat and grime, and deep bags under his eyes. There was extensive bruising across the now-visible parts of flesh, with particularly dark blotches around his neck. Most of the bruises looked like they had started to heal, but the ones around his neck looked fresh, with what looked like self-inflicted claw marks around the entire neck circumference.

He was also notably dirtier than the gear he was wearing.

Arcade sheepishly went to tilt the Courier’s neck up to take a better look, but he visibly winced as the doctor’s fingertips made contact. Gannon retracted his hand, hurt by the sudden rejection. Six was surely used to his doctor fussing over him by now.

“What happened?” asked Arcade.

“Short or long version?” replied Six.

“Let’s start with the short version first.”

The Courier procured a large metallic ingot from behind him and handed it to Arcade.

The weight and shine was unmistakable, and the metal was machine engraved with ‘10 OZ PURE GOLD 999.9’. A Pre-War relic in every sense of the word.

“What?” he stared at the bar in disbelief. “Why do you have a whole gold ingot?!”

Six then pointed to a large pile across the room, where at least a couple dozen more bars were crudely piled together. ED-E hovered above the hoard. Arcade hadn’t noticed either the gold or the Eyebot before now, somehow. He was far too focused on his reunion with Six.

“Petitio principii." Arcade placed the ingot onto the floor. "What happened to you? You were gone for weeks!”

“I missed you too.” Six cracked a tired smile.

“Not what that means.”

But he did miss his company all the same.

“I know. I know. Beg your questions, dear doctor. I won't run away. Can't anyway. Pretty sure I pulled a dozen muscles hauling that all that gold back here.”

"How on earth did you carry that much here?"

Did it take several trips? Did he have help?

"I'm a reaaallly good courier, y'know." he widely grinned.

It wasn't important. Not now.

“Right. Will you let me do a physical examination?"

Six nodded, and Arcade lifted up the arm closest to him. He squeezed along the bones and ligaments, feeling for anything broken, his patient tense, but doing his best staying still. Gannon worked his way up, past the shoulder, around the neck and cupped his hands around the other man's face, looking close at the scratches and bruises.

Six stayed Arcade's hands with his own, leaning his chin into the doctor's palms. Bloodshot eyes fluttered closed.

“It's okay.” Arcade cooed reassuringly, and rubbed at his cheeks with his thumbs.

For a moment he thought Six had fallen asleep again like that, but his hands were released soon after. The Courier looked up at him with the same tired eyes, but a weight, not unlike the gold ingot, had been lifted.

“Will you tell me the whole story after you get some rest?” requested Arcade.

He nodded again, offering up his other arm to be examined. Arcade unlatched the Pip-Boy on his arm, setting it down beside them. Nothing broken, at least in the moment, but there was evidently a lot of damage taken and he had a veneer of grime on his skin.

“Can you stand?” he asked Six.

“I dunno. Prolly not. I think I collapsed here before. Can't remember...”

There was also the possibility of another seizure. Six only carried a certain amount of his medication with him, possibly not enough for the time he went missing. His story was sure to be as unbelievable sounding as the thirty odd gold bars that now decorated his room.

“I'm going to examine your legs now.”

The state of how Six's legs looked and felt made the arms seem pristine in comparison. His trousers rolled up more easily than they should have, indicating more weight loss and dehydration than Arcade assumed from examining his arms. How he hadn’t collapsed on the journey bringing back the ingots astounded the doctor. Each side was deeply bruised, a patchwork of cuts and lesions that looked like they were chemically burned, slashed and stabbed. Several dislocated joints from both sets of toes to one of his knees. He wouldn't have been eating or drinking enough, stagnating his injuries' recovery.

Six was in a bad way, but nothing that Arcade couldn’t fix.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first. Let’s take off the rest of your clothes.”

Arcade expected the Courier to crack a silly flirty joke about what he said.

“N-No! Don't.” Six shrank onto himself, shielding his torso with his arms. He tried to drag his legs up but they barely moved despite visible effort.

“You've got dozens of cuts that'll get infected if you don't get cleaned up." Gannon insisted. "I promise I'm only doing this to help you get better. You're in no condition to do it yourself.”

The last thing that Arcade wanted to do was to strip him down and clean him by force. Six’s autonomy was important to him.

“I know. I'm… scared.”

“I can give you a shot of Med-X if the pain is particularly bad.”

“I’m scared you'll think of less of me." Six shook his head frantically. "It'll change how you see me!”

“Do you have some sort of embarrassing tattoo? You know I've probably seen worse at Freeside!”

"No! No. It's not that…"

"Is it an old injury? It can't be any worse than that deathclaw scar I told you about…"

The Courier bit down on his lower lip, staring intensely far from Gannon's gaze, looking just as frightened as he did at the meteor crater.

"Has someone hurt you?" Arcade whined. "Did they… mark you?"

Six could have been captured and branded by slavers. The Courier had taken down slavers before, but they might have overwhelmed him with numbers. It would explain the bruising and clawing around his neck. Not so much the sudden ingot collection, though. An experience like that wouldn't make Arcade think less of him. He only hoped Six delivered his usual justice to his would be human traffickers.

He met Arcade's eye again, with a look on his face that made the doctor's heart ache.

Defeated, the Courier sighed and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his bare torso, also slick with grime and darkened by bruises.

And two neat, well healed surgical scars visible on the underside of his pectorals.

Arcade focused on a cluster of injection sites, most likely where the Courier injected his testosterone and lightly tapped it with his fingers.

“It's as I feared. A crippling Med-X addiction.” he said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Six trashed about, a surprising amount considering how frail his condition was, pushing Arcade away.

“I'm a tranny, doesn't that bother you?!” he screeched.

“Of course not! I'd be a pretty terrible doctor if I had a problem with transgender patients. Not to mention a worse friend.”

In the fragments of Six's memories, he must have retained the feelings of rejection and repulsion people had towards his body. Maybe he remembered specifics, maybe he didn't. How dare anyone reject him for something like that, thought Arcade.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I wanted to. I was so scared to how you might react…"

“You don't have to be sorry about anything like that…”

With his permission, Arcade tenderly peeled off the last layers of clothing, and scooped Six up into his arms.

* * * * * *

Six was carried gently into the bathroom, and lowered down into the empty bathtub.

Leaving the drain unplugged, Arcade turned on the faucet to let warm water gradually flow over his friend's back and body.

“Is the temperature okay?”

The Courier nodded, assisting where he could in rinsing himself off. Watery grime flushed down the drain, a mix of sickly browns, reds and greens. When the water ran clear again, Arcade put the drain plug in, letting the tub slowly fill up with warm water.

He looked over the open shelf near the tub. It was stacked to the brim with all sorts of personal grooming supplies. Some looked to be Lucky 38 issue, much fancier than some of the scavenged hotel toiletries Arcade had seen before. The rest looked to be Six's own supplies, or perhaps some belonged to his other friends. A bright candy pink container caught his attention. It was shaped like a strawberry, although several times the actual size with a flat base.

The cap, which was shaped as the stalk of the fruit it resembled was unscrewed. A distinct, very strong synthetic strawberry smell overwhelmed his olfactories the moment the top was prised off.

"Where on earth do you find this stuff?" Arcade coughed, setting aside the bottle near the bath alongside some other selected products.

It was the sort of thing Six liked.

"I gotta bit of a reputation among a lot of caravan companies for buying unusual stuff." remarked Six. "They know I'll buy weird shit for more caps. But I'm pretty sure I found that one myself. I like bubblegum."

"I would have never guessed."

Arcade rummaged through the first aid box on the lower shelves. He took out a tube of chlorhexidine and a stimpak. After a quick check over at the labels, he returned to the tub, where the water reached up to the Courier's ankles.

A couple of wounds had seeped open again, a trickle of blood dribbling from each.

“I'm going to give you another stimpak, which should close up any lesions. If it doesn't, I'll get some sutures.” Arcade said to Six.

He took off his lab coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. The steam from the bathwater kept fogging up his glasses, which needed a wipe on a clean patch of his clothing repetitively.

A drizzle from ‘Big Pops Bubblegum Bubble Bath Supreme!’ (as told by the giant strawberry's peeling label) was poured in. Arcade increased the tap flow. The mixture was sickly sweet smelling even diluted in water, and the Courier examined the novelty bottle it came in. Just like the mix in Novac. Soapy bubbly suds soon engulfed the sides, leaving only Six's head poking out. When a glob of the bubbles fell over the side, Arcade shut off the water.

The Courier looked at his attendant with a warm smile. With the grime washed away and the stimpak slowly healing his wounds, he looked less exhausted. Tired but relieved.

With a glob of facial wash in his hands, Arcade softly rubbed Six's face in a circular motion, starting at his jaw and moving upward and inward. His companion kept his eyes closed, his eyelids twitching. Occasionally his hands scraped against the wiry bits of facial hair that had been unkempt during his time away. Wiped away clean with a fresh face towel, warmed by the tub’s water.

Arcade scrubbed in the shampoo next, carefully massaging it into the scalp. He noticed tears pooling in Six's eyes.

“I haven't hurt you, have I?” he panicked, holding up Six's face in his hands.

“You haven't. I'm fine. I'm just a lil' overwhelmed, but in a good way.” Six sobbed, and held up his hands beneath Arcade's, nuzzling his face against the doctor's touch again. “You really care about me.”

“Of course I do…”

“Am I really worth all this effort though?”

“If it's you, it is. At least to me.”

Arcade wiped away the tears on his cheeks with a swish of his thumb.

He rinsed the shampoo off, using an empty water jug to scoop out the bath water. His spare hand cupped around Six's eyes and then his ears as he poured. Next he added the conditioner, paying special attention to the hair tips.

Now that the stimpak had worked its metaphorical magic, he could disinfect the skin properly. Chlorhexidine was usually used to prep patients skin before surgery, but it would clean up any would-be infections on Six.

“This is an antiseptic wash, so it might sting a little." he showed Six the tube. "Is that okay?”

“Go ahead.”

Arcade shuffled toward the other end of the tub, delicately lifting the Courier's leg up by the ankle. Six had sunk himself down in the foam, hiding most of his face. As his attendant rubbed the lotion across his legs, he flinched a little. The stimpak hadn't quite healed the ligament damage and Arcade would need to pop the joints back into place.

“I'll make you some splints for your legs when you're dry.” Arcade told him.

Back at the other end of the tub, when the wash was rubbed onto his shoulders and arms, Six began to hum.

“I don't recognise that tune. What's it from?”

“It's part of the song that unlocked the vault.”

Not like a Vault-Tec vault, Six explained. It was where he had found all the ingots. He wasn’t initially interested in taking any of the gold, but he thought of all the good it could buy for an independent New Vegas. Gold also had its uses in technology and medicine too, he argued. The Courier also wanted to give his suffering meaning. Arcade still wasn’t sure what that entailed, but judging from the venom in his voice and the damage on his body, it must have been horrific. The value of all those gold ingots could fund all sorts of things.

Six had been 'looking for' the Brotherhood bunker House had instructed him to destroy. He was choosing his words deliberately, in case House was listening in. In his travels he had found an bunker that looked to belong to the Brotherhood. It was abandoned, and Six would have known that before he entered. It was part of the ploy: Six looked like he was following House's orders but no one was going to get hurt. Or so it seemed.

The bunker had an active broadcast signal, which Six recognised as the same frequency used by the former United States government for emergency announcements. Where he learned of that, Arcade had no idea. It was incorrectly broadcasting a Pre-War advertisement for the Sierra Madre - a place he'd heard plenty of rumours about. None of them good. Naturally, Six went to turn the signal booster off, so unwitting travellers didn't make a perilous journey to a place 'no one returned from'. However the door to the room locked behind him, which explained ED-E's recording, and the room filled with gas that knocked the Courier out.

When he came to, the Courier had a bomb collar strapped around his neck. Six struggled giving any details about the device or where he was taken to, mostly ending up a frustrated mess shielding his neck with his hands.

Eventually he dropped his hands and went silent again.

Arcade was familiar with the devices he mentioned. They were used to keep both America’s prisoners of war and its own citizens ‘compliant’, before the bombs dropped. Nowadays they were repurposed by slavers to do the same thing to their victims, regardless if they actually functioned or not. He could only imagine how terrible it must have felt to have that threat constantly loom over him.

Six was given a final rinse and the bath’s plug was taken out. Arcade readied a heap of towels and rods from the Courier's scrap locker to be used for his splints. The mass of bubble suds persisted long after the water drained, so he ended up having to dig through to hoist his companion out and onto the bath mat. There he draped the towels over him for his privacy and warmth, and started rubbing him dry.

“Arcade?”

“What’s up?” he framed the towel around Six's face.

“Is my body disgusting?” he asked, but shied away from making direct eye contact.

“You’ve got some nasty bruises and big bags under your eyes, but nothing a little rest can’t fix.”

Six let out a frustrated groan.

“All bodies are gross, Six. We’re electrified tubes of meat, mucus and salt water.” Arcade added.

“Let me rephrase it then. Do you find my body disgusting?" Six asked.

"No. Of course not."

"But do you think of me differently now?"

"I do."

Six tensed up, trying to hide himself under one of the towels.

"Not in a bad way!" Arcade assured as he searched through the dampened cloth, and Six's bloodshot eyes stared back. "Is it a bad thing I admire you more now? All life in the Wasteland has the odds stacked against them even before the moment of their conception. Not only have you survived, but you've overcome challenges that I couldn't ever fathom."

Arcade would have been born in a clean, fully resourced hospital with the best the shadow government of a former super power could buy. Teams of medical doctors and nurses on beckon call, and the cutting edge of medical technology. It was unlikely that Six's birth, or any stage before that, had any access to a fraction of what Arcade's parents had.

The Follower had drawn ire for his sexuality, but it had never gotten as bad as what they both dealt with in combat. Arcade had been beaten up, yelled at, called names, but Six could have been too, for the same gendered attraction.

But never had he had to defend being a boy, being a man, not really. Nothing outside the usual cruelty shown to people who loved like he did. No one insisted he was 'actually something else' or 'just pretending' when it came to being male. His gender wasn't a 'cry for attention'. He wasn't forced into clothing he thought didn't suit him as a child. Arcade wasn't ever asked to compromise on those facets of his identity by the people that were supposed to love him unconditionally.

"Please don't tell anyone about this." begged Six, tears welling in his eyes again. "If word got out I wasn't a real man…"

"Who told you that?" asked Arcade, offended on Six's behalf.

"Told me what?"

"Who told you that you weren't a real man? Who lied to you like that?!"

Six exhaled sharply.

"Y'know. I can't even remember their names and faces. Isn't that kinda ironic? I remember all the hurtful shit they said, but I couldn't tell you who said it. Nor when or where."

"I've never had any reason to believe you were anything other than a man. That hasn't changed." Arcade paused. "Unless… Unless you're something else entirely? Should I be referring to you as something else? Do I need be ticking the 'other' box on your medical records?"

His friend started laughing, beaming a smile. That familiar sparkle was back in his eyes, despite how battered and bruised he still looked.

"Keep ticking 'male' on my medical records, thank you. Even without my memories I think I would have figured out if I was neuter by now. You don't need to change a thing. But please… You can't tell anyone else about this."

"I know." Arcade replied solemnly. "Your secret is safe with me. I just wish you were able to tell me on your own terms, not because you had to… If you were going to tell me."

Gannon remembered what Benny had said to Six on the thirteenth floor of the Tops. 'You think House, the NCR or Caesar won't kill to put Vegas in their pocket, then I really did blow out your brains.' Extortion would keep their hands clean and let their puppet wires in. Arcade couldn't let that happen.

"I was. I was going to tell you eventually. I wanted to! I promised to! I feel like I could tell you everything." Six leaned out from beneath the towels, the tips of their noses almost touching. "But I when I thought of the slight possibility you wouldn't accept me… I didn't wanna go back to a life without you in it."

Arcade gently wrapped himself around Six, bringing him into a damp but warm hug. What he said truly resonated with him. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure his Courier stayed in his life too.

* * * * * *

With his legs bandaged into splints, Six was dressed into some undergarments and tucked into his bed. Gannon tucked the duvet underneath his arms.

“Will you stay here with me?” he asked Arcade.

Gannon looked around the room. He noticed that ED-E was still hovering around near the gold pile. Rex had curled up asleep on the end of the bed.

Four's company.

“If you want me to." Arcade looked down to what he was wearing. His rolled up shirt was soiled from handling the grime that was on the Courier's body and dampened by the bathwater. "I'll get changed first.”

“There's some clean clothes that might fit you in that wardrobe." Six pointed out.

The Follower unbuttoned the first couple of rows and dragged the shirt off and over his head. When he looked over his shoulder, Six had a smug expression plastered on his face.

“Please. I'm hardly entertainment quality.”

Arcade picked out the first shirt that looked like it would cover his body. He didn't make a habit of wearing short sleeves in the Mojave sun, but he was only going to be sleeping in it. It didn't matter if it was too baggy.

“Very cute.” Six gave him a thumbs up.

“Maybe if it was a little more fitted." he chuckled, thinking about the tailored outfit he had already. That was too nice to sleep in. "I think I'll stick with my old shirt and coat once they're washed.”

He kicked off his shoes and tunnelled under the covers, lying parallel to the Courier. There was no need to share a bed at the suite, but he was used to sleeping platonically in the same bed as Six. Whether or not it continued to be strictly platonic, Arcade could only speculate. It wasn't appropriate to bring up the night he had last seen Six. Right now, Six needed to focus on his recovery, and Arcade needed to focus on keeping Six safe.

The delivery boy opened up his arms, inviting Arcade into a cuddle. Despite only accepting the invitation once before, Six often offered when they slept in the same bed. To the Courier's delight, expressed with a happy stretched out 'ee' sound, Gannon accepted and sidled over. There had been enough worry about where Six was these last few weeks. Arcade knew exactly where Six was if he was enveloped in his arms.

His dear friend was right beside him, and he smelt strongly of bubblegum with the distinct undertones of antiseptic.

Six nuzzled his head into the cavity between Gannon’s chin and chest. Arcade stroked along the top of his freshly washed hair.

“I did miss you a whole lot, delivery boy.”

“I missed you more, good-looking doctor.”

Soaping together
is sacred to us.
Washing each other's shoulders.
You can fuck
anyone - but with whom can you sit
in water?

Ilya Kaminsky, Deaf Republic

Chapter Text

Love is enough. Let us not ask for gold.
Wealth breeds false aims, and pride and selfishness;
In those serene, Arcadian days of old
Men gave no thought to princely homes and dress.
The gods who dwelt on fair Olympia's height
Lived only for dear love and love's delight.

Love is enough.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Love Is Enough

Arcade jolted awake. He was not met by the usual blinding light and warmth of the old adobe fort. Instead he was in relative darkness, taken surprise by a lingering synthetic candied smell. The weight and warmth of another body beside him. He looked down to see the top of Six's head nuzzled into his sternum, and the exposed skin of their arms together.

Wait.

Did they?

Was this a drunken morning after?

Gannon adjusted himself. The arm looped underneath his companion had lost most of its blood circulation. As he clenched and unclenched a fist, he felt the fabric of unfamiliar clothes on his body.

For a minute he thought he had ended up in bed with the Courier for a very different reason. Arcade reminded himself that he rarely drank anything alcoholic, especially not in excess. His mind just needed a moment to catch up. The both of them were clothed, just not in their usual sleeping attire.

He hadn't woken up to Six in his arms before. The delivery boy coughed in his sleep, tugging the borrowed shirt he was clung to.

Arcade had been asked to stay: to play the role of protector. To make sure his friend felt safe. So that Six could sleep peacefully. Truthfully the feeling went both ways: Arcade certainly felt safer knowing Six was beside him. The sleep he had gotten was the best he had gotten in weeks too, although that was not a hard feat considering the circumstances. It wasn't the lagged behind presumption his lethargic mind and uncorrected eyes came up with.

In a reality where his presumption was right, it wouldn't have been too embarrassing to wake up next to a man like Six after a night of casual sex. There wouldn't be any need of alcohol for someone like the Courier. It also seemed far too impersonal and shallow. Casual romps in bed where more of a thing Gannon did while he was still exploring his sexuality. Hook ups were just another painful reminder that Arcade wasn't worth the effort outside the sheets for most men.

But Six wasn't like most men. In more ways than Arcade would have guessed.

He had gained a new admiration for his friend. Yet his heart still fluttered the same when he thought about the kisses they shared back in the moonlit field of flowers. If he was supposed to have an aversion to his body after finding out about his transition, Gannon didn't feel it. It was Six's body. Arcade liked Six. He couldn't be faulted for playing the cards he had been given in life. There was no repulsion to the Courier as a person when the doctor tended to his wounds. If the delivery boy lost one of his legs and had to get a prosthetic, it would still be his leg when he wore it. It really didn't seem that complicated - Six was a man and Arcade already knew he was attracted to other men.

Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto.

It did complicate some, although strictly hypothetical, physical intimacy. Gannon hadn't been with someone like him. He knew full well the functions of Six's set of gonads medically speaking. To a certain extent he knew what testosterone did to those sets of organs.

Though, didn't Six mention he hadn't 'been with' anyone as far as his memories were concerned? Wouldn't that put them on the same level of inexperience?

He scolded himself. Moonlight kissed infatuation wasn't going to help Six recuperate. Intimacy would only reopen his cuts and lesions. There would be a time and place that they could talk about the night they last saw each other. It wasn't here and now.

If the question was 'what were they?', then Arcade already knew part of the answer. It was his job to make sure Six stayed alive.

Gannon wasn't used to seeing so much skin from his companion though. It was hard to look at him as fragile as he looked and sounded, but even metaphorical forces of nature like the Courier were mere mortals at the end of the day. Six's tank top had twisted into the tight helix the two of them were making embraced, showing the mastectomy scar loop around his underarms.

It was an easy guess those scars were the reason why his friend always wore sleeved and collared shirts. They looked quite faded, and Gannon wondered if Six remembered anything regarding the surgery. If he had to guess, those memories fell in the time period which the bulk was missing. There were plenty of places back in the NCR that could have facilitated it. Bilateral mastectomies were simple procedures, but still required a minimum amount of medical training to perform properly. As a doctor, Arcade couldn't help but speculate the details.

Six being a transgender man made a lot of things Gannon had brushed off as idiosyncrasies make a lot of sense too. Being pedantic about going to the toilet on the open road. Never changing clothes in front of anyone. Acting suspicious when asked if he was taking any other medication.

It also made Arcade cringe at some of the things he had said to Six in the past.

He really had no idea!

It wasn't like he was ignorant or oblivious to the existence of transgender people. He had met trans people before, though it was virtually always under medical contexts. There would be others he was unaware of too, like Six had been. Gannon had once prided himself on studying any sort of humanoid body he might need to treat: human, ghoul or super mutant. There was such a diversity of what the human body could look like, and Arcade wanted to cover every basis possible. The limits of his education he knew, and so was the number of people who lived in the area. The NCR had a population of about seven-hundred-thousand. Before the War there were tens of millions of people in California. It was statistically more probable for the Courier to be a Pre-War ghoul than transgender with those numbers.

Numbers and hypotheticals weren't going to help Six in his recovery either. Nor was waking him up too early.

Careful not to put too much pressure on the patchwork of plasters and bandages, Arcade brought his dear friend closer. His nose pressed into Six's head of hair.

* * * * * *

For the second time in the same day, Arcade was jolted awake.

He had seen Six thrash about in the grips of a nightmare before. From the other side of the bed he might have gotten a kick or a nudge once in a while. In the cradle of his arms though, Arcade was facing the the full brunt of the storm. Or at least a weather system threatening to become one in the state it was in.

If his asleep attacker wasn't so injuried, Gannon might have tried restraining him to limit the damage he was outputting. Calling his name over and over hadn't woken him up.

One of the delivery boy's knees shot up into his crotch.

"Ow."

That.

Arcade rolled himself over, facing away from Six.

Really did hurt.

At least his legs were working… It woke the Courier up too. Like hitting a phallic alarm clock.

"Arcade!" he cried out, scrambling over to the victim of his night terrors.

"Good… morning…" strained the doctor, waiting out the waves of pain.

"I didn't think you were actually here..."

Six ran his hand along the doctor's side, making sure he was corporeal. Like the touch of a feather compared to his knee.

"You did ask me to stay." Arcade reminded him.

"I did… didn't I?"

Through the upholstery of the mattress, Arcade could feel Six shuffle around nervously. He craned his head back at him. Without his glasses, it was hard to discern the smaller details of the Courier's expression, but he looked lost.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kick you."

"I know."

"Can I…?" Six pinched the side of Arcade's shirt.

"Please don't kick me again." he replied quickly.

"I wasn't going to! I wanna hug you. I know you're not touchy feely."

It felt like a lifetime ago when Arcade had said that to Six. That information wasn't applicable any more, to put it lightly. Was there any way he could casually convey he had been thinking about being touchy feely with him specifically? That being particularly touchy feely had plagued his thoughts the entire time he was gone?

"That doesn't apply to you…" he admitted, offering a smile.

Before Gannon could turn himself back over and extend out his arms for another embrace, he felt Six's forehead and nose press into his spine. One arm looped over the top of him, and the other tunnelled under the cavity between his head and shoulder. The Courier's legs framed his own, though there was an inch of distance so the splints didn't dig into his calves.

Being spooned was a sort of hug, Arcade supposed. Before his imagination started to conjure despair, he had thought about being close to Six like this. He hadn't let himself be the little spoon in those daydreams. There was always an untold expectation, as Arcade was usually taller than his bedfellows, that dictated him to always be big spoon.

He rather enjoyed being the little spoon.

Six spooned Rex and the Eyebot at any given chance though. It wasn't particularly special.

"In my dream, I could hear you. Callin' me so sweetly." professed Six. "I was still in that awful place. I heard all sorts of things that weren't there after not sleepin' for a few days. Made yesterday feel like the dream instead."

Arcade still didn't know what exactly happened in those weeks. He couldn't piece together the few bits of information he'd been told. Bomb collars. The fabled Sierra Madre. A vault that housed at least thirty seven gold ingots. It could only be traumatic just from inferring to his patchwork of wounds.

"Could you tell me more about what happened?"

"Prolly easier if you read it. Some parts I don't remember too well."

His journal.

It wouldn't feel right reading it again. Still, the doctor reached for his glasses.

Six shifted himself, carefully manoeuvring his broken body off the edge of the bed. He stumbled, staggering on his hands and knees. Arcade rushed to assist him, but he was keeled over coughing and spluttering when he got to him. Thick chunks of rusty coloured mucous sprayed out onto the floor.

"Should'a known that Auto-Doc couldn't clean that shit out properly." he spat.

Arcade's stomach twisted. If Six had access to an Auto-Doc, the injuries sustained on his body were only a fraction of what he could have endured.

When his coughing fit ceased, Gannon sat the Courier back up.

"Stay. I'll get your things."

He gathered up both of their packs. The doctor dug through his own, pulling out an emptied vial and a pair of tweezers. One of the phlegm chunks was plucked and stowed into the tube. It would take a few weeks to get it sent back to the Boneyard or New Reno laboratories.

Six handed him another vial with a reddish powder inside.

"Here. This is Cloud residue. It's inert when dry. You're sending that off to be analysed, right?"

"Cloud?" inquired Arcade.

"Corrosive shit. Sierra Madre is blanketed with it." Six explained. "It was impossible to avoid inhalin' any of it - but I wouldn't have gotten out otherwise."

The Courier pulled out his journal from his bag. A mess of mismatched papers was stuffed partway through. He offered it over to the doctor.

Arcade pushed it back.

"I can't. Those are your private thoughts. It was wrong of me to look at your journal when I did."

"What else could you possibly learn about me?" laughed Six.

Everything, thought Arcade. Anyone literate could read an autobiographical text. There was a limit to what the written word could tell. To actually experience it? For him to be part of the primary source? Gannon knew the organic structures and chemical processes that fired off the sensory organs of a human body. It seemed like a waste not to experience Six with every sensation he possessed.

"Here." the Courier grabbed out the tattered inserts, obstructing Arcade's stare. "How about just the Sierra Madre then. Didn't have my journal there."

The doctor begrudging accepted the bundle. His friend's usual attention to detail, if only from a quick glance. Six had kept up his daily entries as best he could. Carefully, Arcade set them down beside him.

"I'd like to check your vitals first. You're still in a bad way."

"Go ahead."

Gannon trawled through his things. In hindsight, he hadn't stopped and checked his kit before rushing to reunite Six. He was missing a lot of his instruments, a few of which he remembered lending to his colleagues. Hard to justify having the researcher hold onto important tools.

"You wouldn't happen to have a stethoscope somewhere here? I must have left mine back at the fort."

"No, not here, sorry. Got like, three of them in Novac though. Been meaning to drop them off to Julie sometime."

"I'd like to listen to your lungs, but uh..." he hesitated, a little bit flushed. "I'd need to do it the very old fashioned way."

"Oh! Like an ear trumpet?"

That was technically a very old fashioned way of listening to the inner workings of a body.

"No…" Arcade responded. "I'd be putting my ear directly onto your chest. You can say no. I can go get a stethoscope, but I'd have to get dressed and go back to Freeside."

"Go on ahead. It's not like you haven't done that before, y'know." teased Six.

Gannon's face started to blend in with the colours of the wallpaper.

Once he recomposed himself, Arcade pressed his ear up against one side of the Courier's lungs. His companion was directed to take a deep inhale, then exhale slowly. The doctor moved down, then across, each time. Six drew in each breath without the shudder or hesitation of someone with cracked or broken ribs. His lungs did sound similar to someone with pneumonia or a heavy smoker.

"You don't smoke, right?"

He had never had seen much as a cigarette in the delivery boy's mouth. Hard to light up with a gas mask on most of the time.

"Naw. Honestly the smell reminds me of bein' buried back in Goodsprings. No other feelin' about the things. Maybe I've smoked before, but I doubt I did it regularly. Sellin' scavenged cigarettes is good caps… and chips."

"I don't think money is a problem for you anymore." Arcade shot a glance at the gold pile.

"Suppose not." Six shrugged. "Guess my lungs sound like shit though, if you're askin' that."

"It'll be hard to know how long it'll take you to fully recover. My only close frame of reference is smoke inhalation and damage from cigarettes. Oh, and chest infections… It doesn't quite sound like any of those."

"How long?"

"A month at least. Maybe upwards toward a year for it completely clear out. I'd have to see the lab results first."

"Fuck."

Arcade's ear hovered above the space that housed his heart, a smooth and rhythmic pace. Six's cardiovascular system sounded healthy. One of his patient's deft fingers circled around the physician's outer ear and fixed a crown of messy blond hair around it.

"Pulse is steady." he cleared his throat, sitting back up. "A little high, but you've just stumbled out of bed."

"Wouldn't of it been easier to use my Pip-Boy for all this?" Six pointed to the unlatched device, still on the floor from yesterday. "That records my vitals and all that."

He'd been taken for a ride again, hadn't he? He looked over to see a shit eating grin on his friend's face. Arcade's head hung down in defeat, and he groaned. The bridge of his nose was tightly pinched as he went to retrieve the personal computer for the Courier.

* * * * * *

Arcade agreed to read the journal entries Six had made - on the condition they read them together. Somewhere not on the floor. He would have plenty of questions. Gannon helped the Courier onto his feet and over to the the seating area in one corner of the room. The doctor sat conventionally, while the delivery boy took up the rest of the couch spread out and leaning up against his companion.

With Six quite literally embedded into his side, Arcade started to read the leaflets.

Most of the pages, especially the first few were written in smudged scrawled pencil onto whatever paper he could find. Both sides used if he could, though some of the pages were the backs of pulp fiction novels and event posters. It had taken him long enough to find something to write with, and down on in the dilapidated villa surrounding the fabled Sierra Madre casino. A constant corrosive haze, the Cloud, burnt at his skin and lungs. Where the Cloud did not reach, it persisted and itched like bugs crawling under his skin. Sulphuric and coppery to the taste, Six recorded down everything he knew about it. Such a thing alone would be difficult enough to suffer through, but it was just one of the horrors his friend had to endure.

Scrawled on the wall: Cloud kills. Fast or slow. Gets us all.

The Courier had awoken shackled with a bomb-collar. Not the ordinary Pre-War issue, upgraded upon somehow. A workers' jumpsuit replaced his usual attire. Additionally, all of his supplies were taken from him. Everything from what he was wearing, his medication, food and water to his armaments. As Arcade read on, one of his cohorts, another victim like him, helped synthesised some anti-convulsion tablets via one of the Auto-Docs.

Scrawled on the wall: If anyone finds this, I'm so sorry you're here.

Sierra Madre's snare laid out for him in the bunker, his being there and the collar around his neck were all the machinations of someone called 'Father Elijah'. He barked orders through a holographic emitter in a fountain and through the casino's speakers. The lack of supplies was apparently due to a security feature of the Sierra Madre, but Six wrote his disdain and complete distrust for his kidnapper.

Arcade felt his brow knit together tightly. Six knew of him already. He was a sort of father figure and mentor to Veronica before he disappeared. Gannon supposed that she and Six were close enough to talk about family matters like that - but the knot of guilt appeared all the same. Elijah had no idea he was dealing with his surrogate daughter's friend. The doctor doubted that would matter, considering the Brotherhood's attitude of strangers and the way the former Elder spoke to and treated the Courier. To Elijah, Six was disposable, and it was only his usefulness that was keeping him alive.

He's listening through the collar. Maybe through my Pip-Boy. I have to be careful about what I'm saying aloud. So I'm writing down my thoughts like I always do, but maybe if I don't make it, my words can help someone else escape. I don't want whatever is here.

"Do you plan on telling Veronica about Elijah?"

"She deserves to know… wouldn't you wanna know if your family did somethin' terrible?" replied Six.

The son of an Enclave officer and doctor stared back down at the page, but he would not find any absolution there.

"I'm not sure if I could handle it." he paused, his face scrunching up. "If it was me in Veronica's situation, I mean."

Six gave Arcade an affectionate nudge into his side. He continued reading.

There were three others in Elijah's demented 'heist of the centuries' their lives connected to the bomb collars. If one went off, they would all die in mutually assured destruction. The Courier described his cohorts in great detail, much like the profiles he had seen in his actual journal. The first was a Super Mutant he was scared of, though he only admitted that in the privacy of his own writing. Second, a Pre-War ghoul he reported as 'an arrogant prick'. However, Six knew staying alive was better than being right, and had 'held his tongue' around him. Thirdly, there was a extensive passage about a bald and mute woman he eventually found out was once part of the Brotherhood. Despite her inability to speak, they communicated with one another easily enough.

Arcade wondered if Veronica knew this Scribe too, like she had known Elijah. Further along the pages Six would admit to paper that he considered her a friend.

Scrawled on the wall: FLOORS HAVE TEETH.

The decayed and hastily built infrastructure and the Cloud weren't the only dangers Six had to contend with. Others trapped before him had been paranoid enough, understandably to an extent, to set up traps. The floors with teeth. A bear trap had to be pulled off his leg while fending off what he called 'Ghost people'.

Ghost people, with the green glowing eyes? They don't die unless you cut off their heads. At least, that's the way I've been making sure they're dead. They don't bleed like living things do. Couldn't help but scream when the first one popped back up. Bunch more came after me. If I don't get some stimpaks soon I'm going to bleed to death. I've heard stories about how many died when the bombs fell. Even that seems like a mercy compared to whatever existence these bodies became.

"I lost count of how many Ghost People I killed. I always thought it an exaggeration that the Old World had so many people. Sure believe it now."

For a detailed driven man like Six, losing count must have meant he had disposed scores of the abominations.

"…How do you know what part of the page I'm up to?" asked Arcade.

"I've noticed you drag your thumb around where you're readin'."

Six poked at Arcade's thumb partway down the page.

"That's observant…"

"Sorry... That prolly sounds creepy as hell."

"If it were coming from anyone but you, maybe. Spending time with someone you tend to pick up on little things they do. For example, you stick your tongue out when you read." Gannon stated, providing his own demonstration. "Just enough to open your lip up. When I can see your face, of course."

"Keep readin'..." the Courier hid his embarrassed face into the doctor's hip.

His writing started to lose clarity when he talked about the holograms and radio static. Six had stopped reading along and buried his eyes into his side, his hands covering his neck. BEEP BEEP BEEP filled the margins and dozens of crossed out mistakes.

shot radio that looked like the one repaired in goodsprings my first memories helping someone fixing something and its broken BROKEN wont sing no more make it STOP please make it STOP the beepbeepbeeping ringing in my ear i cant sleep they will find me have to find them first

Arcade had to take a moment from looking at the next page as scratched pen described the pain of being shot at by indestructible security holograms. Six had avoided any direct hits until he had reached the casino.

The blast was near lethal.

He had to crawl broken and bleeding to find enough chips for the vending machine to pay out some stimpaks and a shot of Med-X to save himself. Little droplets of dried blood stained the edges of the paper.

it got so dark like the grave the dirt the sky i miss the sky the stars even the sun when its harsh&sobright i miss everything everyone i am so sorry i ran away please forgive me please remember me fondly i tried sososos hard but it wasnt enough i wont ever complain again wait for me wait for me please wait for me

i can do just about anything knowing someone is waiting for me

It was impossible to tell how much of the time Six was delirious and hallucinating inside the Sierra Madre casino. He had stopped putting the Pip-Boy's timestamp on his entries, and the next timestamp that appeared was days after the last one. According to his notes, he holed himself in one of the hotel rooms and slept for 'longer than he thought humanly possible'. Only then did he confront the others and make his way to the fabled treasure vault.

Old man doesn't know I've been able to listen in on him too, now he's using the same signal to bark orders at me over and over. He can't hear me now. I'd call him a cunt but he lacks warmth and depth. I've got everything I need to unlock the Vault, but honestly the only thing I want to do is sleep. Christine says she'll keep a look out while I take a nap. Need every advantage I can get when I go down to the vault. Her new voice reminds me of Julia's a bit. I hope she and the Followers are doing okay. I doubt Arcade wants to see me ever again after I ran away like that. No. Can't think like that. I'm so close.

At least Six was wrong about his assumption of him, thought Arcade, and not of the sociopath trying to kill him and everyone else with the Cloud.

The delivery boy had peeked out from his hiding spot.

Can't remember the details, but I've dealt with men like Elijah before. They think they're untouchable because they're smart, or they think they are. Maybe I was like that before I got shot. Dying really puts things into perspective.

You tell them exactly what they want to hear, and you make them think you're putty in their hands. Then that's when you strike. Didn't care much for tricking people, but there's always exceptions. He can hear him now, calling out on the same frequency he ordered me about on. Backpedalling. Promising secrets and technology and a place called the Big Empty. As if a place called that sounds appealing for fuck sake.

"Elijah wanted to 'wipe the slate clean'." strained Six, his voice wavering and cracking. "Kill all life in the Mojave. All the people, the plants, the animals. I couldn't let him, obviously. Even when there's irradiation here and there, deserts are still places full of life."

"It's a good thing you stopped him. I only wish I was able to help you."

"I'd do it over again if it meant you didn't have to." he vowed, checking over the page Arcade was up to. "You're nearly at the end. No real happy endin' sorry to say."

"You're back. I'd say that qualifies."

"Awh, not even a gold joke? It's okay, you can workshop it."

I wished I could have convinced Christine to come back to the Mojave with me. I told her that she probably has someone waiting for her, just as I have someone waiting for me. But I should have known that if Ronnie couldn't convince her to stay, I couldn't convince her to return. We're sadly alike, in a way, we both have our duties as caretakers. To safeguard some relic of the Old World.

But I'll always have her voice on holotape, even if it wasn't originally hers.

And-

The Courier sat himself up again. dialling and prodding at his Pip-Boy.

"I... we... hope you've enjoyed your stay. Farewells can be a time of sadness." the voice in the recording sounded melancholy, and Six coiled himself up Arcade's side and latched onto his arm. "Letting go... difficult. As a guest of the Sierra Madre, you know that truth more than anyone."

I have someone waiting for me.

Penned in red ballpoint.

"Frederick Sinclair believed one's life could be made anew every day, that fortunes were more than the wealth in your hands. Love. Life... family, those to care for, and those who will care for you."

Six's handwriting started to loosen and dip outside the faded lines. It must have been a struggle to keep print so neat when his hands had all the cuts he turned up to the Lucky 38 with.

People who care about me.

"To those who know these joys, the Sierra Madre holds little they don't already have. Out in the world, beyond these walls, that is your chance to begin again."

And my own little garden oasis in the clouds.

The lower third part of the page was burnt with the rust of the Cloud. Six had started to draw over the stain, faintly outlining plants in barely legible strokes and scribbles. Some looked like the species that grew in the conservatory some floors near them.

"I hope you'll return, in happier times. Until then, the Sierra Madre... and I... will hold you in our hearts."

Arcade's hands trembled as the recording clicked finished. He tucked the last page back in order.

All that suffering. He didn't even feel the tears escape his eyes until they dripped onto the page. The moisture picked up the pen's ink and smudged it, dragging it down along the tattered page.

This was beyond his capabilities. He could treat the damage done to Six's body but the mental trauma and anguish? Arcade didn't even know how to comfort him about something like that, let alone treat the mental trauma. What good was telling him he did what he had to? The Courier was already aware of that.

Gannon turned to his companion, who wore a brave smile on his face, despite the hardships he kept having to endure. Six leaned over and wiped away the next set of tears. His fingertips lifted up the frame of his glasses as the beads were flicked away.

Arcade grabbed Six and pulled him close to him.

It was the only thing he could think to do.

"Woah, blondie. You weren't kiddin' when you said not bein' touchy feely didn't apply to me." said Six, startled, but warm.

"I wasn't there to help you…" Arcade lamented.

"Don't blame yourself." he gently patted Gannon's back. "I was the one who ran off on my own with my twitchy Eyebot…"

"Could you…" the doctor took a deep inhale. "If you plan to go off on your own like that again, do you think you could tell someone where you're headed? So if you don't come back we can try and look for you?"

"Reckon I could do that…"

Six was held as close and as firm as his injuries would allow, and Arcade nested his face into the nook of his shoulders.

"When you wrote that you had someone waiting for you, who did you mean?" he asked.

"I was kinda hopin' you'd be one of the folks waiting for me to come back..."

"Not waiting. Searching. There was only so much I could do but-"

He stopped as Six pulled himself back. Two bandaged hands cupped around the doctor's face. Their foreheads were brought together, til all Arcade could see was the Courier's adoring stare back at him.

It wasn't a fluke…

Arcade had felt guilty replaying the kisses they shared in his mind's eye. Then imagining himself kissing Six again. And again. He'd always be healthy and fine in those dreams. Right now, his Courier's lips were chapped and dry, and he could feel the scabbed edges of the cuts across the skin. Gannon still reciprocated eagerly, leaning into the kiss.

The taste was all wrong, nothing like ones in the wildflowers. Metallic, but not like blood. He would have felt if one of the cuts opened up. Blood tasted different anyhow - Arcade had bitten his own tongue before. It came from his breath, carried up from deeper from within his lungs.

Six was, although not intentionally, giving him a direct taste of the lingering Cloud.

Arcade broke away. He only had instinctively held onto some part of him, but he felt warm congealed blood touch his hands.

He looked horrified at the bloody smear on his hands. His grip must have accidentally reopened one of the injuries.

"Six. This isn't right." he stammered, trying to avoid his friend's stare.

The Courier's eyes flinched closed, and he started to retract himself back into a nervous ball.

"You've just gone through something extremely traumatic. You're still badly hurt physically…" explained Arcade, streaking the drying blood onto his slacks. "This… this feels like I'm taking advantage of you."

"I kissed you, though." Six glared.

"But I let you! It's-it's ethical thing. It's natural for people who've gone through something terrible to want to… to seek out comfort. Affection." Gannon continued. It felt more like Six was trying comfort him, not the other way round. "I just don't want you to regret it later on. Please. I have a duty to you. I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you."

But looking at Six's face, all Arcade could see was hurt.

"I understand." he whispered sadly, head hung low. "Did you want to leave?"

"Do you… want me to leave?"

Arcade couldn't blame him if he did.

"No… I'd like you to stay…"

"Then, I'll stay."

"Can I still hug you?"

"Of course." he opened up his arms, inviting Six in.

Chapter Text

I can swallow it down, keep it all inside
I define myself by how well I hide
I feel it coming apart, well, at least I tried
I can win this war by knowing not to fight

Nine Inch Nails - Me, I'm Not

He couldn't stay.

Arcade wanted to, of course. Despite the stagnant atmosphere of the old casino and his dislike of being inside it, he felt the pull of staying. The tug to make up for the time stolen away from the both of them in those weeks. Everything except for the location was appealing - spending days in a comfortable bed with his best friend. All cuddles and comfort, with the added benefits of climate control. Between checking the delivery boy's vitals and changing his dressings, there really wasn't much Arcade could do the rest of the while. It didn't feel appropriate to become some sort of bed-warmer for Six.

The doctor had returned to the Old Mormon Fort, with the promise to make a house call to the Lucky 38 each day to check in on Six. It was unbearably humid out, and the old fortification walls could only shade so much sun and block so much heat. Usually the Mojave summer was bearable, or at least survivable, in the shade. A dry heat. Sweat drenched Gannon's clothes, undoing all the good that laundering them had done.

A monsoon summer. His first as a resident of the area. Arcade overheard the locals and some of his colleagues talking about the last one. Huge thunderstorms, heavy with lightning, were coming their way if their recollections were to be believed. Though it would be hard to convince someone not familiar with weather patterns that: the sky was clear and a wonderful shade of blue.

Between drowning in his own bodily fluids and unable to focus, Arcade was not getting any work done. That much was as clear as the so-called heavens above.

Six wouldn't mind him bringing his research up to the Presidential Suite, he thought to himself. There was plenty of space for him to set up in the games room or the kitchen. He could house the apricot mallow in a window sill. An ambient and consistent temperature would yield more consistent experiment results, he reasoned.

The Follower could barely grip onto his own pen.

Gannon only needed to pay the slightest attention to his slicked clammy hands to imagine the Courier's blood on them again. It wasn't sudden onset haemophobia: Arcade had seen Six's blood before, in the plenty of times patching him up. It was guilt, knowing that vying for his friend's intimacy had literally hindered his recovery.

He had been warned about this, in a way.

One of the Boneyard lecturers had referred to it as 'Florence Nightingale Effect' - even though surviving texts about Nightingale herself suggested it was a misnomer. Regardless of the authenticity of the name, it was part of his education. That it was grossly inappropriate for a doctor to pursue a relationship with their patient, or vice versa. Patient-doctor and doctor-patient misconduct. There were laws and regulations in the NCR that shaped how medicine was practised in the fledgling nation. It was a sect of their government Arcade for the most part agreed with. Such rules were usually in place to protect both physicians and their clientele.

He never thought he would have to toil over it personally.

But Six wasn't strictly his patient, nor was Arcade just his tag along medic. Their relationship had never been rigidly doctor-patient. It was just one facet of working together. Nor were they in the NCR's actual jurisdiction. Did any of that really matter? Arcade felt awful trying to justify his emotions and he felt worse trying to subdue them. He could name all the physical reactions he was having just fine. The names of the chemicals and hormones coursing through his brain and the rest of his body.

Why now, of all times, did he selfishly want to act on some degree of mutual attraction? Gannon asked himself over, as if he could give himself an actual answer.

He would think better after packing up his things and checking up on Six.

"Arcade!" a familiar voice called out to him.

Crawling underneath his desk to gather his pack properly this time, Arcade knocked his head on the edge of the table in response.

Veronica offered out her hand.

"Six is back!" she announced, overtly relieved. "He's okay!"

"Yes... I know…" he replied, helped up by one hand with ease.

"Then what're you doing here then? I thought you of all people would be at the Lucky 38 with him… he didn't sound so good."

"I had to get my work things."

He couldn't admit he was saddled with complicated feelings and wrangling ethical concerns.

"Finally moving in, are you?"

"No! No- that's not it." Arcade stammered, hearing himself get flustered. "It's inefficient going back and forth. Plus Six has been a great help with this-"

"Sounds like you're moving in to me."

Arcade pouted.

"Are you going to help me carry my things or not?" he huffed.

* * * * * *

"You can't have my bed, by the way." Veronica told Arcade as they entered the Lucky 38.

"Your bed?" he asked, taking a moment to let himself dehumidify. The palpable relief of the cool dry air was almost chilling.

"The one with Marshal Mallow on it."

He looked over at her blankly. She had to explain what she was referring to. A plush toy of a Pre-War mascot. There were plenty of those in the suite. A white pellet looking thing with a scout uniform, she described. He had seen it on one of the guest bedroom beds. None of which he had occupied before.

Arcade had only ever slept in the master bedroom.

"That thing is yours? I thought it was just another part of Six's growing collection."

With how much fellow mascot 'Dinky' dominated the interior, anyone might think they were passing through Novac.

"He did give it to me… I'd never hear the end of it if I brought it back to the bunker."

The Brotherhood probably wouldn't even let a child in their midst keep such a thing.

"I haven't slept in 'your' bed." he assured. "Nor do I plan to."

"Knowing that cuddlebug of ours, you'll probably end up sleeping in Six's bed anyway. Even a skyscraper like you could sprawl put completely without touching the edges."

Arcade's fingers twitched, and the crate of supplies he was carrying nearly slipped out of his grasp. He lifted the box up and tucked his chin into the side to steady it - and to discretely hide his face.

"I bet that bed is so cosy…" she trailed off in thought.

"Well howdy, you two!" Victor chimed in. "I'm afraid yer deputy is up seeing the sheriff at the moment. How about you go and wait a'while up in the clubhouse."

As if they had a choice - the cowboy Securitron had tapped the corresponding elevator button already.

Six sounded like he had the strength to walk again, at least to the elevators, and to where he met Mr. House when they talked. It seemed good progress, but Arcade could only imagine what sort of parley mess the Courier was in. The abandoned bunker was supposed to be an easy red herring to shift House's focus away from the Brotherhood. Instead it chewed him up and spat him out again.

* * * * * *

It didn't take long to unpack all of his things. Everything, both work and personal objects fitted into two crates and a knapsack. Ever since leaving Navarro, he had only kept around what he could keep on his person. There was no leaving behind anything if the worst came to pass. Now his personal effects filled its own box, a great deal being gifts Six had given to Arcade. Books, mostly. Interesting curios too. Anything that didn't have a greater need elsewhere he had held onto.

Veronica picked up and opened a metal lunchbox where Gannon had stashed Six's more delicate gifts. Desert bleached skulls and bones of critters, an assortment of different feathers, pennies from the Old World and the like. They'd get crushed by all the books and larger pieces otherwise. Many had been spontaneous, picked up and shown to him during their travels. 'Look at what I've found, ain't it beautiful?' He would say about something most people turned their nose up to. 'Hold out your hand, I've gotta surprise for you.' The surprise was something so small Arcade wondered how he ever spotted it in the first place. 'Don't you think it's real interesting?' The Courier asked the man who others called, and thought himself: boring.

"It's nice you're able to keep all the things Six finds for you. As a 'procurement specialist' -" she waggled her fingers in parenthesis before picking up one of the feathers. "If it's not useful to the cause… If it doesn't fit into the Codex's axioms, it gets discarded. Thrown away. I'd hate them to make an example of destroying something 'childish' that Six has given me. I'm already pushing my luck with the dress and the photos we took together."

"I haven't kept everything he's given me…" Arcade admitted, arranging his research logs in order across the kitchen table. "A lot of the books have ended up going to Boneyard to be copied and archived on the university's computer systems."

"That's still actually helping people." she huffed, spinning the feather between her fingers. "That's what the Brotherhood should be doing. I feel like I've done more good by letting Six make holotape copies of our non-critical archives than years of being a Scribe. McNamara has taken a liking to him so maybe the both of us can push them in the right direction."

Arcade supposed that was part of the reason why the Courier was so determined to keep the Brotherhood around, and not just for Veronica's sake. Six saw and believed in the potential of what Veronica wanted for her family, like how he believed and supported the potential of the Gannon's dull plant research. If anyone could achieve it, it would be their mutual friend, but Arcade still had his doubts. Santangelo still hadn't been delivered the truth bomb that Six had waiting for her.

"Good luck with that." he said. "I mean that sincerely, for the record."

"Hey, you do work with plants, right? You should tag along with us to a lead me and Six planned to follow up, it's this kinda 'vegetation enhancer'. NCR has its eyes on it. Self-sufficiency might just be the ticket to get the Brotherhood to finally change."

"I don't think Six is in a condition to go anywhere at the moment… but if I can help, then I'll come along, sure."

The creak of elevator cables interrupted their conversation, and the feather Veronica was playing with was deposited back into its case. She peeked out from around the corner, waiting to see if that heralded the arrival of their friend or not. Arcade had nearly finished unpacking onto one half of the long kitchen table, so he stayed put.

"Six!" she called out happily.

"Hey, Ronnie." he croaked from the other side of the wall. "Been meanin' to talk with you."

Gannon poked his head out as well.

Six had dressed himself in his usual attire, but not particularly well. His shoes were untied, his slacks without a belt, and his armour tilted to one side. Meeting with House truly wasn't face to face, and the Courier fiddled at the back of his gas mask and already unbuckled helmet.

"Oh, Arcade's here too. Wasn't expectin' to see you til later."

Each of his steps were wobbly, and he let his mask and helmet drop and spin out onto the hallway floor. He stumbled and braced himself against the wall.

When Arcade had left the night prior, Six understandably still looked exhausted. Now, it was hard to look him in the eye, but he stared on. He looked even more drained, as if someone had squeezed the last bit of vigour out of him. Both his eyes dulled, like the surface of two glass marbles purposely scratched and sanded across pavement. Not clear and bright like they had been weeks ago. Gannon could only speculate what his friend and House ended up talking about, and maybe it was just a symptom of recalling his nightmarish experience again. Flawed human intuition cried out that something else must have happened, that some glimmer of hope Six had held onto had been snatched away.

Veronica started blubbering. She had the benefit of being warned about Six's state unlike Arcade, but he couldn't deny it was just as upsetting to look at their friend as he was.

"Careful Ronnie, you don't wanna open up the doctor's good work patchin' me up." Six said to her, and she loosened her grip.

"Who the hell hurt you?!"

The Scribe didn't see the pained wince on Six's face when she asked. It was enough for Gannon to cast his eyes away. It wasn't his place to say anything, but it still hurt him to know what a difficult conversation awaited his friends.

"I'm not worth cryin' over, Ronnie… I gotta talk to you. Please. I'll tell you everythin'…"

The Courier reached out his hand past to try and grab Arcade's attention. Wrapped fingers danced at the doctor's side, just out of reach.

"Please, could you give us some privacy, Arcade?" he whispered over her shoulder. "We'll come meet you in the ol' cocktail lounge."

"Wherever you need me." he joined their fingertips together as he brushed past.

* * * * * *

He didn't hear Six, nor the elevator he rode up in. Only when his friend sat next to him and bumped into his side did Arcade realise he was there beside him. So quiet, even with loose shoes and battered limbs.

There wasn't much point being on alert and counting how long a private conversation he had no part in took. After being greeted by Archibald, whose programming allowed the garden in the sky to thrive in the Courier's absence, Arcade parked himself on the seat Six often perched himself on. Wisps of clouds had started to gather, and the distant horizon shimmered in the heat. The sight was mesmerising.

"Is Veronica not joining us?" he asked Six.

"No. She's gone home."

"How did she react to... well... all that?"

"Better than most would." he exhaled. "She's always been braver than me."

Six rested his head against Arcade's shoulder and let his eyes close.

"So what did you and House talk about?" Gannon asked, gently clearing his companion's face of stray hair.

"Just keepin' him updated about my progress… or lack thereof... " he blindly but hesitantly reached for the doctor's arm to steady himself. "He suggested workin' on the Three Families til I'm one hundred percent again. Stay close to help."

"That's… actually a rather good idea."

"Been puttin' that off. I know you don't like The Strip much. I'd hate to ask for your help with trawlin' through those casinos."

"Don't ask then, I'll help you. Just tell me where you want me."

"I'm so tired, Arcade. D'you think you could stay right here for a while."

He could stay.

Chapter Text

This love, it will not flinch at the sight of your darkened past — it will hold you there. Not just when you are a gleaming example of beauty or perfection, but when you are baring your teeth. When you are unravelled before it. It will not run from you when you take off your mask.

Bianca Sparacino, A Gentle Reminder

"It's a pretty view, ain't it? Couldn't help but stare when I saw it the first time."

Arcade had his eyes fixed onto the horizon. The view from the revolving cocktail lounge turned conservatory was lovely, that he agreed with, but he had mentally wandered far from the sight in front of him. He was wandering through his memories, his education, and possible contacts like one would walk through a library of books and archival drawers. Tethering him to reality was the warmth and press of Six's fingertips into his arm, and his cheek on his shoulder. He couldn't remember being this determined to help one person so thoroughly before.

At least, someone he knew he could help.

"It is. Sorry. I'm millions of miles away." Arcade took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "I thought you had dozed off."

"Toward the Sun or away from it?"

Six had one of his eyes peeked open when Arcade turned to face him. He was posing his question as if his friend was literally spaced out, somewhere millions of miles away, perhaps in the orbit of Earth's neighbouring planets.

"I think I'd be long dead from exposure to the vacuum of space either way."

"True. True. Not right away in one of those Hermes mission spacecrafts..." nodded Six, shuffling into his headrest. "Y'know. I was readin' about the solar system sometime ago. I was on the chapter about Venus. Folks used to imagine it as this sorta jungle world covered in thick cloud. Before that they thought it another star in the night sky."

There was something reassuring about Six talking about one of his interests again. It brought back fond memories of the REPCONN planetarium visit. Arcade had been so worried that the Sierra Madre had cashed in anything deemed 'non-essential' about his friend to survive.

Gannon also knew about the Hermes missions from the Enclave's invested 'interest'. But the Courier could talk about their X-01 sets of advanced power armour if it brought the light back into his eyes.

"The Morning Star?" the doctor asked, testing his own astronomical knowledge.

"Yeah. I vaguely remember bein' dragged along by that super mutant toward the Sierra Madre. When I first saw that awful smog, that Cloud, thought it looked just like the pictures some probe took hundreds of years ago. I must be dreamin' that I'm on Venus, right down to the burnin' toxic gas and molten ground."

Only a poetic soul like Six would imagine being dragged into a man-made hell was like visiting another planet, thought Arcade.

"I didn't really remember that til I left… Wrote it in my actual journal." mentioned the Courier. He hunched himself over with his elbows on his knees. "There's not really anythin' outside the Villa walls. You pick a cardinal direction, stay on course. Pip-Boy clock said a day's walk, but I could'a been convinced it was weeks. "

Six lined up his index finger over ones of his eyes and made an azimuth with his arm down. He was vaguely pointing north-west, if Gannon was remembering his distant landmarks correctly.

"All haze, no discernible landmarks. Just sand under your feet and endless smog above you. No tellin' if it's night or day." Six recalled, his eyes shut into a wince. "No idea if you've made any progress 'cause there's no tellin' how far you've gone or left to go. Sand quickly loses any footprints."

"It started to get actually dark. Figured I must be losin' consciousness." his story started to strain his voice, but like walking out of the Sierra Madre, Six continued. "Still hurts to breathe, to move. Didn't think of findin' one of the Auto-Docs once I saw sight of the exit. I'm cartin' that fuckin' gold behind me. Maybe I'm finally dyin'. Wouldn't be the first time..."

Arcade felt his chest tighten. Grief and empathy loved to mirror their subjects' pain. He was lost too, that was until he reached for the Courier's nearest hand with one of his own. His thumb ran up and down the bridge of Six's knuckles.

"Then I see this lil' flicker of light." said Six, weaving his fingers into Arcade's hand. "Thought I must have looped back and I'm seein' one of the street lights of the villa… Then I look up and the Cloud has started to thin. It's the night sky I'm lookin' at… It's the Mornin' Star… The planet Venus."

"My guidin' starlight." the Courier gazed upon their joined hands, and a flicker of a smile had crept onto the delivery boy's face. "Although not an actual star… I… used to navigate with the stars before I got my Pip-Boy."

When Six noticed the soft expression that Arcade looked back at him with, he recoiled his hand back guiltily. That shame wasn't there when they had embraced the other day. When Gannon told him that intimacy needed to wait, he didn't mean they couldn't share any sort of affection.

So he reached back verbally.

"Do you know any constellations?" asked Arcade.

When the remnants were greater in number and transient, Kreger had made Moreno teach Arcade about different constellations. The old soldier had always been a bitter and grouchy man, even then, but he knew a great deal about the names given to stars. His family had named him after one the Greco-Roman set of constellations, after all. Judah recognised that Orion needed something to ground him, and teaching Mark Gannon's little boy was just the anchor he needed.

"Just a couple I read about. It's… hard to remember how exactly I went 'bout it." replied Six, scratching at the scar over his brow. "I'd need a guide or somethin' to spot them."

"Next time we're out on one of our nightly escapades, I'll try and point some out for you." Arcade offered.

The Courier replied with a smile so sweet that it almost warranted a blood sugar test.

"Is it true, back before the bombs, that cities like Vegas didn't have stars in their night skies?" Six's demeanour soured. "Dean told me that the only stars were famous folks in 'the big city'."

Arcade could only imagine what it would be like, to be a Pre-War ghoul with their faculties intact. To actually have memories of the old world, in both its splendour and its excess. They'd surely be used to the hellscape some two centuries later, but to know a world so different, even if it was the one that caused the present day. He hadn't thought of being to see the night sky as a silver lining to an apocalypse.

"In the largest cities, yes. The amount of artificial light blocked out any distant light." explained Arcade, and he loosely gestured to the waxing moon. "Well, other than the moon. Hard to shine something that luminous and close to Earth."

"That's real sad." Six sighed. "I know some of the lil' and dimmer stars can't been seen on The Strip, but to whole night sky? Not even the Mornin' Star?"

Not even the Morning Star.

"The Morning Star is a Nat King Cole song too, right?" Arcade prompted, after he noticed Six retreat back into himself. "Do you know that one?"

"I think so… though it would sound like shit if I tried to sing it now."

"Would you sing it for me when you feel better?" he requested.

At least he wasn't blurting out incriminating links to his familial past, thought the doctor. For once.

"Shucks, Arcade. I didn't know you liked my singin'." Six teased, a glimmer of mischief returning.

"You could use a few lessons." Arcade retorted in jest.

"No need to sing, good sirs! I'll pop on some music for you!" Archibald told the room, unable to properly read it.

The Mister Handy bot couldn't have known better. That the hum and static of waking up an AM/FM radio would trigger such a reaction. Arcade could have been staring down Six and not have seen the full zero to hundred motion he pulled off. Archibald barely had clicked on the power dial when the Courier seized up, un-holstered his revolver, and fired a single round at the radio receiver box. It shattered into an indiscriminate amount of broken pieces.

He had shot his firearm close enough to his companion that the shot popped one of the Follower's eardrums. Gannon instinctively sheltered his ears with his hands and cried out in pain, although too late to muffle the noise of a .45-70. The bullet casing clinked onto the floor below and Six stayed twisted back, his breathing ragged.

"You know there are far better ways to turn off the radio, sir." Archibald sneered, mildly inconvenienced by almost getting shot at.

"Fuck." Six whined, immediately pushed underneath the weight of his actions. "Archie, buddy, I'm so sorry. I wasn't tryna' hurt you I just-"

His hands trembled and he shuddered violently as he holstered the gun back at his ribs. Only context tempered what seemed like a irrational measure. It was an act borne of self-preservation and defence.

Knowing that didn't stop the ringing in Arcade's ears though.

"Arcade?" Six whined, and his shaking hands couldn't bridge the distance between them.

"I'll be fine." insisted Arcade, gritting his teeth. "You'll lose your hearing if you keep firing like that."

With a deep exhale, Six dragged himself up and out from the bench they sat at. He kicked up and caught the spent case off the floor. Gannon watched as he trundled over to the explosion of broken plastic and internal circuitry.

"I can fix this." said Six as he went and gathered up the pieces. "I'm good at fixin' things."

Arcade followed close behind.

It was a fool's errand. Not that he didn't believe that the Courier couldn't glue back together how many pieces it broke apart into. Not that he couldn't re-solder the wires back together, like grafting cellular tissue. Not that he couldn't take the still functional parts from another broken radio like harvesting organs from a freshly dead body. Normally Arcade would admire the drive to repair over replace - but there would be more Old World radios than people who could listen to them. It just seemed like a waste of Six's time, his talents too, on something easily replaceable.

Although it might be just the thing for Six to focus on while his own body repaired though. He sounded determined. A symbolic gesture that anything he broke could be repaired. Never the same, of course, but perhaps rebuilt sturdier than any factory could do centuries ago.

Arcade joined in on picking up the pieces. He knelt down and collected up some he could spot, careful not to slice his fingers on the jagged edges.

"What's the diagnosis?" he asked Six.

"Broken."