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Turn Wounds into Wisdom 1a/? (Prologue)

[(Anonymous)]

Pairing: F!Courier/Vulpes Inculta
Tags: NV, Postgame, Wild Card Ending, Angst, Gen, Romance
Summary: Sequel to “The raw end of the deal” http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4237.html?thread=7239565#t7239565

New Vegas still has to fight for survival. And Tara has to face the fact that for her dream to outlive her, not only has she to make herself expendable, but she also will need an heir. Between the fight for survival and the everyday tragedies of the cruel and merciless world they live in everyone will be put under a harsh test and no one is going to come out of this unchanged.

A/N: This story had a long time coming, and I hope it can live up to its predecessor.

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Prologue

>>Flagstaff, October 18, 2282<<<

The young man standing on the dais under the red banner of the bull looked with unmasked disdain upon the procession of mourning priestesses that now slowly made its way through the temple doors, walking in time with their chanting, a mourning wail for all the lost warriors who fell in the battle that had taken place one year ago today. As they passed his dais, Tiberius, son of Caesar and now, after his father’s death, the Son of Mars, inspected his fingernails and seemed mostly unimpressed and disinterested in the ceremony and had seemingly little interest to please the gods, to ask their forgiveness, and to take up his father’s inheritance with the pride and conscientiousness that ought to be his trade. His senior advisors exchanged a few hasty, worried looks behind his back and one of them finally summoned the courage to lean forward.

”Tiberius, I beg you to at least keep up the appearance. The people are...”
”The people standing down there gawking like cattle? What concern are they to me other than that they shall not dare to disobey me?”
”They are your subjects and...”
Tiberius threw up an impatient hand. ”Cattle, I say. To be culled when I see a flaw in them. My father was far too lenient, and see where that got him. His noble cause, planned and laboured for during so many years, almost came to fruition and was undone by what? A woman.”
“This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this”, the advisor said under his breath. “Please, all I ask is that you at least pretend to honour the spirits of the dead men, one of which was your own honoured father, may Mars...”
“He will rot in Hades.” Tiberius straightened up again and thrust out his chin. “Mars has no place in his halls for a failure like him.”

The advisor pressed his lips together and with a hardly perceptible shake of his head, took a step back again into the ranks of the others who had listened to the conversation with stony faces.

With the last priestess having filed out of the dark, unlit temple the procession wound itself through the streets of Flagstaff, down the hill towards the place of Jupiter where the memorial fire would be lit and kept alive for twenty-four hours. Flanked by his honoured praetorians and followed by his staff of advisors Tiberius left the dais and followed the procession, watched over the lighting of the fire with a bored expression he made no attempt to hide, but at least showed the decency to offer the sacrifices to the fire, uttering the proper incantations in a loud and unwavering voice.
The councillors nodded towards each other, and more than one of them thought that if Tiberius just wanted, he could be a leader who would outshine his father’s light by far.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 1b/? (Prologue)

[(Anonymous)]

Just more often than not, he seemed not to care, being more interested in keeping a lavish harem of young girls that he kept calling his “Garden of Beauty” or watching gladiators spill their blood for him instead of taking a real interest in running what was left of the great Caesar’s empire.

After having poured the wine into the fire Tiberius now turned around to face the crowd and before it, the row of kneeling priestesses.

“We remember”, he said in a voice that rang out clear and powerful across the plaza, hushing every single soul into silence. “We remember, but looking back will lead us nowhere but into despair.” He drew himself up to his full height, armour glinting in the sunlight, and spoke even louder. “Long we have mourned, long we have remembered. And even if we shall never forget, onward we must look. A year ago was the day of our great loss, our great tragedy, our greatest shame. But we will be shamed no longer!” He threw his arms up and turned to face the rising sun. “By the light of Jupiter and the sword of Mars I swear revenge!”

Appreciative murmurs arose in the crowd, yet the councillors exchanged a few haggard glances.

“The world will tremble under the hooves of the Bull”, Tiberius roared, and the crowd began to cheer. “DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES!”
“Death!”, the crowd roared back to him, their cheering swelling into a thunderous chant.
“DEATH UPON THE WINGS OF WAR!”

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 1c/? (Prologue)

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Freeside, October 18, 2282<<<

Vincent awoke with a jerk, his hair drenched with sweat, his blanket crumpled under him. Only slowly did his mind free itself from the heaviness of sleep and with his heart still hammering in his chest he tried to remember his dream, but to no avail. With a frustrated sigh he shook his head like a dog to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling the forgotten dream had left him with and left his room, noticing on his way out that Tara was already up and about in the kitchen. He smelled coffee, and with a twitch of his lips headed for the bathroom to refresh himself before dressing. Only then did he join her in the small kitchen, watching her clutching her cup and inhaling the steam as if it was a holy ritual.

He didn’t understand it, he had tried coffee once to please her and found the bitter brew little to his liking. It had astounded him how something that smelled so pleasant could taste so foul, but to each their own. He slowly sat down beside her and reached for a piece of bread.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning”, Tara said, smiling into her cup. “You look as if you hadn’t slept all too well.”
Vincent shrugged as he chewed. “I actually slept not too bad, but I had worrisome dreams that I couldn’t remember. No nightmares, but they left me feeling heavy, however, and uncomfortable.”

Tara took a cautious sip of her coffee. “You are thinking too much.”
“One can never think enough.”
“I think one can.” She set her cup down. “You have been racking your brain for weeks now about the celebrations and all the possibilities of an assassination or whatnot, no wonder your dreams are heavy.”
“It is my duty to ‘rack my brain’, as you so disdainfully called it, when it concerns your life and your safety”, Vincent gave back sharply. “I know my place and...” He broke off and tore a small piece off his bread, but made no move to eat it.
“And?” Tara looked at him with a cocked head. “Speak your mind, by all means.”
Vincent sighed. “Very well. And I wish you would do so as well.”
“What do you mean with that, exactly?” Tara swivelled on her chair to look at him, and crossed her arms. “And what does it have to do with the celebration? Surely you don’t’ mean that I should remain absent from the celebration these people hold for me, in my honour and in honour of my deeds?”
“Of course not”, Vincent replied and took a deep breath. “A little more concern for your own safety however would...”
“Would make your job easier, I do understand. But what am I to do, wave at them from an open window from the Lounge?”

“Of course not.” Vincent dropped his bread. “But a bit more care...”
“Vince.” Tara shook her head with a tiny smile. “I know. I know what you mean, but honestly, an assassin could as easily pick me off from some rooftop or another when I’d just be walking down the Strip. I know that there are going to be a lot of people in an almost unmanageable crowd, but an assassin... why would he have to wait for a celebration to kill me?”
Vincent folded his hands onto the table before him. “Do you really want to hear an elaboration of all the reasons?”

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 2a/?

[(Anonymous)]

The anniversary of the victory of Hoover Dam was a grand affair, with a bonfire burning on the large plaza in front of the Fort all night. Food and drink was abundant, as if people didn’t care about possible shortages as long as they could properly celebrate this day, the day of their victory, the day they had won their freedom.

There was maize beer and a spirit of distilled honey mesquite and cactus fruit. Fruit juices and some kind of herbal tea that Vincent was eyeing especially suspicious, as the people drinking this had seemed equally inebriated as the ones consuming alcohol.
The tables bent under the loads of fruit and vegetables, both gathered and grown; under maize bread, cooked and roasted meat of bighorner, brahmin, mole rat, gecko and crow, the latter two also having supplied eggs for some other dishes.

There was music too, there was singing, and you could hear drums, reed flutes, dried gourds filled with sand or pebbles, and here and there a single pre-war instrument, fitting more or less well into the sounds of the earthen tribal sounds. And the people sang and danced long into the small hours of the night.

The courier had sent out invitations to all those who had helped her in winning the battle of Hoover Dam, and now, during the night of the anniversary, there was a rare sight to behold:
Members of all tribes united, White Gloves, Chairmen, Omertas, side by side with the Followers of the Apocalypse, the two surviving members of the Enclave Remnants and a delegation from the Boomers. The Brotherhood of Steel was absent albeit they had sent their regards, the same with the mutants from Jakobstown. While Tara had tried her best to establish friendship and cooperation with the latter two factions, all she so far had achieved was careful neutrality.

For Vincent, the day had been anything but happy. The celebration proper had started around noontime and Tara had spent the whole day amidst the crowds, talking, laughing, celebrating; letting men and women shake and kiss her hands, sharing food and drink with countless people, especially the former slaves, and had spent hours mingling with groups of dancers.
Vincent in turn had watched her every move, and every move of everyone around her, and her carelessness had almost driven him insane. And even although he knew she was aware of a possible threat, she acted as if there was nothing she would ever have to fear, and that was even worse to him.

Of course, none of the happy celebrators would do anything to harm her; he knew that well, but the possibilities of spies never left his mind. The NCR still hadn’t sent word, and he knew that back in Flagstaff, Tiberius, the heir of Caesar was still very much alive. He had told Tara as much, months ago in fact, but she was of the opinion that even with Caesar’s heir, the Legion wasn’t a force to be reckoned with, not anymore. He hadn’t completely agreed with her, but Tara had told him they had more pressing matters to deal with than a leader of a beaten army bearing a grudge. Whatever was left of the Legion, she had said, had nothing to oppose her army of robots, and most likely, she was right. But any frumentarius worth his salt would have had ample opportunity to kill her easily during that celebration, and by the time Tara finally retired back into the Lucky38, shortly before daybreak, Vincent was so tense that he felt as if his body was made of lead.

The utter relief he felt at having made it back into the safety of her home did little to ease his discomfort.
“I’m having a bath first”, Tara said to Vincent as they had entered the suite. “You don’t have to stay up and wait for me.”
Vincent gave her a grateful nod and his head had hardly touched the pillow when he drifted off into oblivion, finally knowing her to be safe.


x-x-x-x-x-x

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 2b/?

[(Anonymous)]

When Vincent awoke, early in the morning since he never slept more than a few hours a night, he realised he was still alone in bed. He sat up, blinked a few times in mild confusion, and came to the conclusion that Tara probably had been too restless to find sleep, no surprise after a celebratory night spend drinking, eating and dancing; and all that being done and happening in her honour.

With a faint smile, Vincent remembered how she had opened the celebration. She had looked so grand, her long dark hair flowing down her back, wearing those official garments that made her look nothing short of royal. Yet as much a queen as she looked, Vincent thought a queen should not mingle that much, even if the celebration was solely in her honour. She should preside over the celebration, acknowledge the peoples’ happiness and accept their cheers and hails. A queen should not dance revelry and definitely not be in the middle of a knees-up with her subjects. Yet he knew that this was one thing he and Tara would never be able to agree upon.

He got up, dressed, and then discovered that everything in the kitchen was still exactly as the cleaners had left it the morning before. She hadn’t brewed herself a coffee, and that made Vincent frown. It wasn’t like Tara at all to start the day without at least two cups of the bitter brew.
She wasn’t anywhere in the suite, and as it turned out, she was nowhere else in the Lucky38, not in the cocktail lounge nor in the penthouse suite. He even checked the maintenance levels, to no avail.

He went down to the casino level, and when he couldn’t find her there, back up into the suite, by now with a feeling of irritation bordering on mild anger. Why would she leave him asleep like that? How could she go without him, leaving him in bed like an invalid? He needed to be at her side, for her sake as much as his own. Already he could feel the burning of shame, that he had been peacefully asleep while she had been up and about and had left the casino with him being completely oblivious.

With an angry frown he re-entered the suite and the bedroom, only to finally realize that her pillow was showing no dent, no sign that she had ever been to bed, and her garments were neatly draped across a chair. Vincent slowly crossed his arms and realised that during the last months, he had grown far too soft, comfortable and careless if he allowed himself to sleep like that, remaining completely oblivious of Tara changing her wardrobe and leaving the suite. He should have noticed. The shame began to burn as hot as the anger at himself by now.

But why had she gone in the first place, and without him? With a sigh Vincent ran a hand down his face, adjusted his eye patch, and then went into the kitchen where he had a glass of water and a handful of pinyon nuts. Then he armed himself and made his way downstairs again to look for her. If she was somewhere in Vegas then his failure as her protector and guard would already be apparent, so him running around the streets looking for her couldn’t make it any worse. Still, he did not want to cause a stir, so he kept his search as inconspicuous as he could, keeping a calm face and a busy appearance as to give the impression he was running some errands.

She wasn’t in any of the casinos, and enquiring discreetly in the Fort revealed that the Followers had neither seen nor heard of her coming to Freeside. It was just as Vincent was about to leave the Fort when outside the gates he heard the sounds of people gathering and shouting; then a woman screamed. Arcade shoved himself past Vincent to see what it all was about, but at that moment two men carried a body through the gate. Vincent stood aside, and felt a strange, cold sense of foreboding when he recognised the dead man: Cobra, the leader of the former Powder Gangers. And with that sensation came another one: What if Cobra’s sudden, violent death was somehow connected to Tara’s disappearance?

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 3a/?

[(Anonymous)]

Vincent remembered well that it had been his own idea, and the Follower who had programmed, or helped Benny program Yes Man, had only had to make a few, simple amendments to ensure that the chance of abuse of the securitron’s helpfulness was reduced to a minimum: a single algorithm now ensured that the A.I. would only respond to the person physically in possession of the chip. Effective, and yet, suddenly dangerous. Anyone holding it could take control over New Vegas’ army now.

He slowly picked it up and inspected it, but the chip had no dent or any trace of damage or blood. Vincent narrowed his eyes as he stared at it, trying to figure out the meaning of his find. Tara couldn’t possibly have just lost the chip, and she would never have willingly taken it off, but if someone had forced her, then why hadn’t they taken it? Had they been disturbed by Cobra, which then had caused him to be killed? That still didn’t explain why the chip was still here. Had Cobra tried to assault Tara, and she had killed him? Then why was she still hidden and not in the Fort to be treated? Had Cobra had accomplices?

Then he looked at the tracks again and shook his head. Closing his hand around the chip Vincent looked straight ahead for a while, into the direction where the footsteps vanished, and closed his eyes. The string was torn, so either someone else had taken it from her and dropped it here, not knowing what it was… or she had done it herself, so whatever her fate, the platinum chip wouldn’t share it. A dark foreboding began to arise in him.
The silence around him seemed to scream at him about his failure.

With drooping shoulders he made his way back to the Fort to find out if the people in the Fort had maybe learned anything new, either about Tara or about Cobra’s death.

“He was stabbed”, Arcade told Vincent. “Right in the chest. Must have been dead in seconds.”
Vincent nodded and stepped towards the stretcher where Cobra was lying, chest bared and drenched in dried and clotted blood. Something about the wound looked oddly familiar to Vincent; the ragged, triangular shape nudged something in his brain that belonged to the part of him he’d have rather forgotten. But there was no denying, he had seen this kind of wound before. Countless times, in fact, and his heart grew even colder and heavier when he hat to acknowledge the fact that he knew the exact cause of death of the man lying before him. And slowly, the pieces began to fall in place.

Cobra had been killed by a legion spear.

“I think I know what happened to Tara”, Vincent said softly, causing Arcade to raise his eyebrows at the sound of his voice.
“Uhm... yes?”
Vincent still didn’t look up, and his fingers curled around the chip in his hand until its edges cut into his palm. “Have you not seen such a wound before?”
Narrowing his eyes, Arcade took a step towards the stretcher and inspected Cobra’s chest again. He frowned, shook his head and sighed. “I have, although...” He looked at Vincent again and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Care to enlighten me?”
After another moment of silence, Vincent finally looked up. “That wound was caused by a throwing spear.”
“A throwing...” Arcade suddenly paled when the meaning of Vincent’s words hit him. “Dear god... are you sure? I mean... You can’t be sure of this... can you?”
“Just recall who I am and what my past contains, and ask yourself that question again.”

Arcade silently stared at him, then slowly shook his head. “The… the Legion? But... for heaven’s sake... what are we going to do now?”
“We? You will do nothing but keep this to yourself. No one must know, it will lead to unrest, if not panic. Any kind of news that the Legion is back could lead to the people here losing their heads with fear. No one must know of this, no one must know that Tara is gone. I will follow her and do what I can to get her back.”
“That’s going to be pretty dangerous. And what makes you so sure it really was the Legion and not someone else, just using a legion spear to lay a false track, or… maybe a few raiders?”

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 3b/?

[(Anonymous)]

“I know about the dangers.” Vincent let go of the chip in his pocket and pressed his lips together as he crossed his arms. “And I cannot be sure about your doubts, as justified as they may be. But it is the only lead I have, so what choice does that leave me?”
“Vincent...” Arcade cleared his throat. “I know that this is maybe a bit of a sore spot, but...”
“You want to know why she was out there in Outer Vegas alone?” Vincent held Arcade’s gaze levelly. “Because I was asleep. After coming back from the celebration, she said she needed a bath and told me not to wait up. Yet she never went to bed, and when I awoke in the morning, she was gone.”
“She probably needed a moment or two of breathing space, of peace.”
“I fail to see how my presence would have disturbed her peace.”
A small smile flitted over Arcade’s face for a second. “Maybe she just wanted to be alone with herself and her own thoughts for a while? It’s called privacy.”
Vincent’s gaze hardened for a second. “I know. But she is the leader of these people, their queen, and she can have all the privacy she needs within the Lucky38 if she just asks me. Such luxuries are not hers to...”
“Vincent, please. She’s only human, you know.”

Vincent didn’t reply, and Arcade sighed while shaking his head. After another moment of him looking at Vincent who silently stared at the tent wall, the doctor leaned forward to pull the sheet over Cobra’s body again.

“The events may not even be related, you know”, Arcade said thoughtfully. “Raiders or some wasteland punks with looted weapons could have killed Cobra and Tara might have…”
Vincent looked up sharply, and Arcade shrugged and looked away.
“Is there anything I could do to help you?”, he then asked.
“There is.” Vincent rolled his shoulders and looked at the doctor again. “But primarily I need a Legion attire as a disguise.”
“As disguise?” Arcade pushed his glasses up again. “They can’t have more than a few hours’ head start?”
“Have you ever tried to follow a trail of footsteps through a desert?” Vincent tilted his head. “The slightest breeze obscures any footprints in the dusty earth, and whatever trail they might have left is long gone by now. I have no way of knowing the way they took, but I have a founded hope of knowing where they will bring her.”
“And where would that be?”

Vincent shrugged. “The Legion had a camp, as a bridge head, in Kingman. I do not know if it still stands, and if so, if it is still manned. Maybe they will bring her to Flagstaff. Anyway, if I catch up with them on the road or find out where they will bring her, attacking will only result in getting me killed, and endangering her further.”
“I understand.” Arcade cast a thoughtful look at Cobra’s shrouded corpse. “But… alone?”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “If you know of someone else intimately familiar with the Legion’s customs, discipline and language I am eager to know.”
Arcade opened his mouth, found he had nothing to reply and shook his head. “Sorry.”

Vincent nodded slowly ,and crossing his arms he then rested his eyes on the shrouded corpse once more, wondering yet again what the two of them had been doing outside the city walls. They might have accidentally run into each other, or he might have followed her upon noticing her walking the streets alone. He might have wanted to protect her, or he might have wanted to make a move on her. But since he was dead now, Vincent felt inclined to give him the benefit of doubt and assumed the former; any detail about this was impossible to find out before he hadn’t spoken to Tara herself anyway.

Jealousy was a feeling both unfamiliar and most uncomfortable for him. In all the months that he had been sharing Tara’s bed she had been happy and satisfied enough with what he had given her, but he was well aware of his shortcomings and couldn’t imagine that any woman, even a virgin who didn’t know exactly what was missing, would not at one point want to know a real man for a change. He couldn’t even hold it against her. He knew he should not let his feelings get the better of him to such an extent and was fully aware he was maybe doing Tara great wrong with thinking that, yet help it, he could not.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 4a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>Flagstaff, October 19, 2282<<<

With his advisors swarming him like so many spooked chickens Tiberius made his way for his place at the banquet table in swift, purposeful strides.
“You may sit down.”
“But Tiberius…”
“I said, sit down!”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the room like a dark foreboding as the slaves served the food and retreated again.
“Tiberius”, Gaius Aquila now began, his deep and coarse voice carrying through the room. He was one of the oldest legion-born warriors and had survived so many battles before becoming councillor that even he himself couldn’t remember how many. His hair was grey and his face tanned like old leather, but you could still see the warrior in him by the way he stood and moved. He was the only one of the councillors that had not yet tried to talk some sense into Tiberius about going to war, and that was the only reason Tiberius now chose to listen to him.

“Speak, Aquila.”
The veteran nodded and continued. “You have known me for all your life, and you know that I have served your father like I now serve you, Tiberius Maximus. And if you chose to call for war, then to war we shall go. No one here doubts your supremacy.” He ran a hand through his beard. “Yet I, as the others, remain puzzled and I do wonder, hoping you will enlighten me: We lost almost every warrior in the doomed battle of the Dam. And as eager as I am to see the dead avenged, I fail to see how we can regain our strength as fast as you wish.” He inclined his head and sat down again.

Tiberius, in turn, got up. “Very well. It is time, I agree.” He took a deep breath. “You all can but agree that we cannot take the city of New Vegas by force. Not yet, and maybe not ever. But I now confine to you what I have kept secret so far: I have sent a group of the most senior and experienced frumentarii, those that my father left with me to protect me from intrigues, to infiltrate the city. I did so months ago. Yes, my valued advisors, I know perfectly well that we cannot take the city by force. But neither will we have to.” Tiberius lifted his golden cup and took a sip of wine. “Because that city will welcome me with open gates and open arms, for I will enter the city with the Courier herself at my side as my wife. We leave tomorrow for Kingman to await her arrival there.”

After a heartbeat of silence, the room erupted in hails and cheers, the men around Tiberius chanting his name as he sipped of his wine with a pleased smile on his face.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 4b/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Freeside, October 19, 2282<<<

Of course it had been impossible for Arcade to get into the Lucky38 unseen, and pretty soon after he had entered, rumours began to appear about a possible illness of the Courier which was exactly what Vincent had hoped for.

He and Arcade now sat down at the kitchen table in the Presidential suite and tried to lay out a more detailed plan.

“I have to leave it to you to make up the medical details of Tara’s condition”, Vincent said. “But I advise you to make a very concise plan and memorize it very thoroughly.”
“Of course”, Arcade replied while nervously threading his fingers. But then he looked up and smiled. “And I know how to do it. After coming back to the Fort I will consult my medical books to confirm my… ah… diagnosis, and find a suitable illness that will keep her in bed for a sufficient amount of time.”
Vincent nodded. “Very good. Just remember: The fewer people know of this, the better. Do not even confine in those you trust.”

Arcade blinked a few times. “I guess I will need Julies help.”
“Very well then”, Vincent gave back with a sigh. “Do what you think is necessary. But remember that a secret spilled is like a bag of feathers emptied into the wind. You will never know where they end up and never be able to get them all back.”
Arcade nodded and met his eye. “Of course. And I assure you I can rely on Julie’s discretion.”
“Even though she is a married woman?”
Arcade narrowed his eyes a little. “Her being married is not a factor and, like her gender, has no effect on her medical confidentiality.”
“My apologies.” Vincent slightly inclined his head. “I was not implying she is garrulous. But she is very fond of her husband, and sometimes you cannot help but use those closest to you to ease your mind if something heavy is weighing on it.”
“I see. But no. Trust me, despite her appearance and her present condition she is a lot stronger than you might think.”
Vincent nodded with a stony face. “I will take your word for it. Relying on my own judgement regarding women has…” He hesitated, and Arcade put a hand on his arm.
“Gotten you into trouble”, he finished for him. “I understand. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Be that as it may. Vincent’s mouth turned into a thin line for a moment before he took a deep breath. “With you and your knowledge providing a suitable camouflage tactic that is one problem dealt with.”
“How many others are left?” Arcade wanted to know.
Vincent smiled thinly. “Apart from keeping everything we know and cherish from falling apart in a tide of violence and blood?”
“Sorry I asked”, Arcade snapped.
“My apologies for being sarcastic”, Vincent said after a small pause.

Both men exchanged a long look until Arcade ran a hand through his hair. “Go on.”
Vincent nodded. “As I mentioned earlier, I need equipment and a disguise. But I cannot leave this place to run errands like a common servant. That would be suspicious, something we cannot afford.”
“I see.” Arcade tapped his chin. “What do you need?”
“A set of Legion attire. Preferably one of the lower officer ranks, although I am aware that I cannot allow myself to be choosy. I cannot take my gun, and my weapon of choice back then was a ripper. I will need one of those, too.” He paused for a moment. “Supplies for the road, water and non-perishable food. And combat drugs and stim packs. I will not allow myself to think I can get through this without a fight. And I need every advantage I can get.”

Arcade nodded, his face set tight. “I guess I need not remind you how dangerous these things can be.”
“No. But as I said, I need all the help I can get. Since they are no longer taboo to me, it gives me a big advantage, since in the Legion these things are forbidden.”
Still nodding, Arcade frowned thoughtfully. Suddenly his face lit up. “I got it. Westside. I’ll go to Westside and buy all the drugs I can get my hands on, and set up a new research project about improving addiction cures. I’ll put a few into the chemicals safe in the lab and hide the rest somewhere else.”
This time it was Vincent who nodded, in appreciation. “A sound idea.”

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 5a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Freeside, October 20, 2282<<<

It was just before sunset, as Arcade sat in his office waiting for his shift to start, with a mug of coffee that had gone cold on him while he reflected over his misfortunes of the day, that he heard Julie call for him. With a sigh he put his mug down and left the building.
“Over here!”
Looking up towards the gates he saw two men come in, Julie already on her way to meet them, and he realised that one of them was Dylan. Well that was quick, he thought, and then he realised something else: Vincent had talked about an injury, but not about feigning one.
Having reached the former powder ganger who was now a frumentarius and/or a kitchen porter in the Tops, Arcade could not only smell the hot grease but also see the damage it had done to Dylan’s left arm. It was bright, dark red from wrist to elbow and covered in big, weeping blisters. Arcade swallowed, not because of the injury, but because of the fact that Dylan must have done this to himself on purpose.

“Second building on the left”, he said to the two men, the second one obviously a colleague who was helping Dylan along. And to Julie, he continued: “It’s minor, don’t worry. You call it a day, you’ve earned it.”
Julie gave him a tired and relieved smile. “Thanks, Arc. I do feel a bit under the weather today.”
“Get some rest.” Arcade smiled at her. “And have Aaron give you a foot rub.”
“I’ll tell him you said that”, Julie gave back with a chuckle and headed for the gates.
With his smile slowly dying on his face, Arcade then turned around to follow Dylan and, reaching the open door, he listened to the end of their conversation.

“You just go back, Al. I’m fine, really.”
“Okay. You’re really sure?”
“Sod off, Al. You’re clocked out and we both know you need the money.”
“Right then. See ya, Dylan.” Giving Arcade a nod the other man passed him by on his way out just as Arcade was about to step in.

After closing the door behind him Arcade turned around and wordlessly shot a look at Dylan’s arm.
“You’ve been lucky having gotten away with blisters. Burns from hot grease…”
“It was boiling water”, Dylan fell in. “The smell of grease is my apron. I ain’t stupid, man.”
Arcade felt his eyebrows shoot up and shook his head. “All right”, he said slowly. “Now let’s see to this.

“I assume you’ve got something for me?”, Dylan asked as Arcade prepared his equipment on a trolley.
“I would have”, the doctor gave back. “Only… well, I guess it doesn’t pay off to be the widely known tall, blonde and handsome doctor of the Followers, not in times like these in any case.” Turning around and wheeling the trolley over to the stretcher on which Dylan was sitting, Arcade suppressed a sigh, then noticed Dylan giving him a puzzled look.
“Believe it or not”, Arcade went on. “No matter who or where I asked, no one has ever heard of anyone or anywhere where you could buy drugs in Westside.”
“Oh.” Dylan shrugged. “I see. Well, if you have some caps then I’ll go over there as soon as you’ve finished patching me up and see what I can get my hands on, right?”
“Right.” Arcade pressed his lips together, then went over to where his overcoat was hanging over a chair and produced a small, clinking bag from one of its pockets that he handed to Dylan. “I feel like a fool for even trying.”
“No need.” Pocketing the bag, Dylan watched Arcade’s every move as the latter rinsed the arm with sterile water and after that, with disinfectant. “I could’ve told Vincent that, had he asked me beforehand.”
Not knowing what to answer, Arcade remained silent as he carefully wrapped the arm in a bandage.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 5b/?

[(Anonymous)]

“You should rest that arm for at least a week”, Arcade said after having wheeled the trolley aside and Dylan was about to jump from the stretcher. “I hope that poses no threat to your undercover… work.”
“Nah.” Dylan carefully flexed his fingers. “I’ve been clocked out, yeah, but I’m not there ‘cause I need the money.”
“Good.” Arcade was rubbing disinfectant onto his own hands. “And be more careful around boiling pots in the future.”
“Will do, doc.” Dylan smiled up at him. “Must admit you’ve got a good touch. That hardly hurt.”
Arcade narrowed his eyes. “I know what Vincent told me, and you as well, I gather, but I have to ask you to refrain from training your… frumentarii skills on your doctor.”
Dylan swallowed a remark and shook his head, then got off the stretcher. “Anyway”, he said slowly. “Be seeing you.”
Arcade watched him go with a deep sigh. He didn’t even dare to allow himself to think about if things might get worse in fear of summoning the devil.

x-x-x-x-x-x

When Arcade started his next shift around noon the next day, he was still mulling over his conversation with Dylan when even as he sat there brooding over it with his coffee, the object of his musing appeared in the doorway of his office.
“Hello there”, Dylan said brightly. “Coming to have my arm checked!”
Arcade silently put down his coffee, gestured for Dylan to come in and closed the door behind them.

As he was repeating the procedure from the day before, Arcade finally cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for last night”, he said slowly.
“Well, I wasn’t really subtle either”, Dylan gave back without looking at him. “But… well. When do you quit tonight? We could have a drink or two together.”
“Not wasting any time, huh?”, Arcade now chuckled as well.
“It’s not as if we had all the time in the world with what we’re really trying to achieve.”
“Right you are.” Arcade frowned again. “Just one more thing though before we leave this room.”

Dylan stopped grinning and looked up at Arcade earnestly.
“I’ve talked to the traders here in Freeside, and the two caravaneers that came in this morning. Neither of them had any Legion armour, but one of them mentioned that they had a few bits and pieces in the museum in Primm.”
“Get it”, Dylan replied. “I’d best get over there tomorrow morning, then. Until then that arm here should’ve give me no more trouble than I can handle.”
“I could give you a stim pack”, Arcade replied and was already reaching for his trolley but Dylan shook his head.
“Nah, Doc, leave those for people who really need them.”
Arcade nodded with a certain kind of respect. Few men could resist the offer of a stimpack when in pain.

“So when do I pick you up?”
“Uh… about eight...ish.”
“Eightish?”
Arcade shrugged with a lopsided smile. “You never know with these doctors, if I get an emergency in at seven thirty I might not make it out until eight.”
“Got it. I’ll be here about eightish, then.” Dylan grinned, displaying two fine rows of surprisingly well kept teeth. “See ya tonight, Doc.”
“See you then.” With that, Arcade saw Dylan out of the door and had a look at the people sitting on the benches, waiting for their treatment.

Casting a last look at Dylan leaving the Fort he then asked himself what he was getting himself into, or rather, what he had gotten himself into, and if he was going to be able to get out of this without damage to his mental health. He strongly doubted it. Then he took a deep breath, trying to focus on his tasks ahead.
“Next, please!”

x-x-x-x-x-x

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 6a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Freeside, October 22, 2282<<<

After having avoided her the last few days there was no avoiding Julie that morning when Arcade left his quarters in the tower where she had used to live before her marriage. She strode purposefully into his direction, and with as bright a smile as he could muster, Arcade walked up to meet her.

“Coffee?”, Julie asked, but despite her light, conversational tone, Arcade noticed the worry in her eyes. He simply nodded and once the two had equipped themselves with a brew, they retreated into Julie’s office.

Julie stared into her cup for a while. “What’s this I heard about Tara having Coccidioidomycosis?
Arcade looked up. “Do you doubt my medical diagnosis?” It sounded a little too sharp, even for his own ears, and Julie narrowed her eyes.
“Arcade, I…” Julie clutched her cup and after a long moment of silence, she put her cup down and sought Arcade’s eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Arcade stared into his cup for a long while. Finally, and with a sigh, he said: Julie… I need your help. Please, could you accompany me to the Lucky38?”
Julie frowned. “Arcade, what’s the matter? I’ve never seen you so worried…”
“Please?”
“Of course I’ll double check your diagnosis, but… I mean, valley fever is hardly a lethal disease.”
“No. No it isn’t… and that’s not the point.”
“But…”
“Please.” And in a whisper, he added: “Not here.”
Julie’s increasing confusion and worry were clearly visible on her face, but she finished her coffee nonetheless and reached for her doctor’s bag. “I’m ready.”

Neither she nor Arcade spoke a single word on their way across the Strip towards the Lucky 38, and Arcade refused to meet her eyes as they stood side by side in the elevator.

The elevator doors opened with a cheerful ding, and the moment the two doctors stepped into the suite, Vincent addressed Arcade in a low voice. “How far are we?”
Arcade shook his head. “Not very far, I’m afraid. Dylan is on his way to Primm.”
Vincent gave Julie a nod, who in turn looked utterly confused back and forth between the two men. Then she shook her head. “What is going on here? And where is Tara?”
Vincent extended an arm towards the kitchen. “Let us sit down.”

After settling down in the kitchen with some more coffee Arcade had brewed, Julie looked at Arcade again. “Where is Tara?” her voice had an edge to it, and meeting her gaze, Arcade shifted in his seat.
“I guess I won’t have to tell you to keep this to yourself”, he finally said. “When Vincent had a look at Cobra’s body he… he said the man had been killed by a Legion throwing spear.”

Julie paled and in a seemingly unconscious gesture, laid one hand on the small bulge of her belly as if meaning to protect the unborn child from such bad and dangerous news. “But… the Legion? Here? Didn’t Tara say there were no survivors?”
“No survivors of Caesar’s army”, Vincent said. “Back in the Legion’s capital city Caesar’s son is still alive.”

Julie flinched as if someone had slapped her. “Caesar had a son?”
“Not many people here know”, Vincent said slowly. “Maybe no one, maybe a few of the former slaves. In any case, after the defeat of Hoover Dam, no one believed the remnants of the Legion to be a threat anymore.”
“Which obviously was wrong”, Julie gave back in a toneless voice.
“Sadly, yes.”
“But…” Julie looked at Arcade and then at Vincent. “Where is…” And then she broke off, her face white as a sheet. “Oh god no… please tell me…”
Arcade put a hand on hers. “We all must keep our nerves now, Julie. I’m sorry I had to burden you with this, but I need your help in covering up her disappearance. Otherwise I would have spared you this.”

Julie swallowed, closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “So Tara has been kidnapped by the Legion?”
“We can only assume it. Vincent is sure of it, and he has plans for going after her, We’re… that is, Vincent, Dylan and me, we are working on getting everything together that he’ll need.”

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 6b/?

[(Anonymous)]

Julie looked up at Vincent again. “And what if he fails this time? And... and what about the platinum chip? Arcade... what in god’s name are we going to do if...”
“The platinum chip is safe”, Arcade interrupted her. “Tara must have taken it off when she was attacked, and by sheer luck Vincent found it when he had a look around the spot where Cobra died. The chip is safe, Julie. I know where it is. And...”
Julie gave him a long, scrutinizing look and shook her head. “Don’t worry. If you tell me it’s safe, I’d rather not know. The fewer people know the better.”

Arcade smiled, casting a quick glance at Vincent. His face was impassive, but he seemed to incline his head the tiniest bit. Then he addressed Julie again. “Our main concern is now to keep the people calm. Thus the illness, and thus you being involved. It would be natural that the doctors of Freeside would do everything to see her up and about again as fast as possible, no?”
With a silent nod, Julie stared into her cup. “Do you believe it? About the Legion, I mean. Not that I’m saying Vince is lying, but he might be mistaken.”
“I asked him the very same thing”, Arcade gave back. “All he said was to remember who he had been and what his past contained, and to ask myself that question again. I guess he has a point. If he recognises a wound as having been caused by a throwing spear, then that’s most likely what caused it. And honestly, I don’t really want to allow us the hope that it was only some wasteland raiders using looted legion gear.”
“I kind of wish he would be wrong, though.”

Arcade shrugged. “Try to look at it this way: if he’s right, then that’s not pleasant but he’s got a chance of finding her. Because if he’s wrong, then no one, not you, not me, not Vincent, has a single, flipping clue as to where she might be or who could have something to do with her disappearance”
Putting her cup down with a wordless sigh, Julie nodded. “You’re right, of course. I’d just have liked to think the Legion was history.”
“And I am sure the Legion, as we remember it, is. There can’t be that much left, not enough to attack us, anyway. That’s why they tried this, I suppose. But they don’t know about our secret weapon.”
“Secret weapon?” A puzzled frown appeared on Julie’s face. “What secret weapon do we have against the Legion?”
Arcade looked at Vincent again and smiled, a narrow, but undeniably amused and slightly cocky smile. “Vincent.”

x-x-x-x-x-x

>>>The Strip, October 23, 2282<<<

Arcade had just been about to hit the sack when someone had knocked on his door.
That someone had been Dylan, having just returned from his trip to Primm, and now he was sitting on a bar stool in the Gomorrah sipping a fancy drink with a paper umbrella in it.

“It’s not bad, actually”, he had to admit. “What was it called again?”
The bartender leaned forward with a smile. “That’s a Happy Threesome, Sir.”
Dylan gave his drink a distrustful stare. “What’s it made of?”
“Banana yucca schnapps”, the bartender replied while he poured whiskey and maize beer into a mixer. “Barrel cactus liqueur and agave juice.” He then proceeded to add sunset sarsaparilla and prickly pear juice to the mixture.
“A bit sweet for my taste”, Dylan said, but finished his glass with a shrug.
Arcade savoured his a little longer. “Most cocktails are on the sweet side”, he said and picked the umbrella out of the empty glass which he then placed coyly between his teeth.

“The sweetness is mostly due to the liqueur”, the bartender said in a friendly voice and poured the mixture into a high, narrow glass. “If Sir would like something less sweet and more tart?” He offered Dylan the glass.
“And what’s that?” Dylan eyed the mixture.
“A Slippery Dick, Sir.”
Arcade tried to suppress the snort building up in his throat, with meagre success as they had already sampled several other drinks. The umbrella fell and rolled under the bar. “I’ll have one, too!”, he said cheerfully and the bartender proceeded to mix another one.
“There you go, Sir.”

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 7a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Freeside, October 24, 2282<<<


When Arcade entered the suite in the Lucky 38 the next morning he found Vincent doing chin-ups in the kitchen doorframe. Vincent turned his head, then let himself drop to the ground.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning”, Arcade replied much more cheerfully than he felt. Cocktail sampling was the perfect way to achieve a perfect hangover. “I’ve got some good news and a bit of bad.”
Vincent crossed his arms. He was bare-chested, and Arcade was happy not being forced to see his mutilated nipples. He pushed his glassed up his nose.
“Dylan found an almost complete set of armour in Primm.”
“What is missing, then?”
“The helmet.”
Vincent’s mouth turned into a thin line.
“Dylan has me ask you for hints or leads as to where he could find Legion stashes”, Arcade hurried to say. “If they had hideouts or anything that hasn’t been burned to the ground.”

Vincent turned around and picked up his shirt hanging on the back of a chair. “Difficult”, he said slowly. “I know for sure that Cottonwood Cove has been razed. The Legion had a small hideout southwest of Nipton, but little equipment was kept there.” Then he looked up at Arcade again and shook his head.
Arcade scratched his temple. “There has to be something”, he said.
“Tell Dylan to look in Nipton”, Vincent said then, somewhat hesitatingly. “As far as I know, no one has ever set foot into the town after ...” He broke off, and with a tight jaw, slipped the shirt over his head.
“I know”, Arcade said gently to spare Vincent talking about it in any detail. “I’ll tell him.”

“What else?” Vincent asked after a while.
Arcade shrugged. “As far as I know, the helmet is the only thing. Dylan told me he has even found a brush gun for you.”
Vincent nodded. “Well and good. If a helmet hasn’t been found within the next few days I will set out without it. I cannot afford to lose any more time.”
“I agree with you, but isn’t that dangerous?”
“Of course”, Vincent said simply and met his eyes again.
Arcade shuddered, and tried not to think about what Vincent was going through.

x-x-x-x-x-x

“Nipton, huh?”
Arcade shrugged.” It was the only possible place he could think of.”

Presently they were alone in the canteen, and were still talking in whispers, their heads leaning towards each other.
“That place is a ghost town full of rats and coyotes, man. And I mean... if I’m lucky it’s only coyotes.”
“What?” Arcade feigned surprise. “Afraid?”
“No, dumbass.” Dylan straightened up and lit himself a smoke. “Anything left there is sure to have been ruined by now, is what I mean.”
“Sorry”, Arcade mumbled into his cup.
“Anyway”, Dylan went on as if Arcade hadn’t said anything. “I’m leaving at once. Fuck. If only I’d thought of that myself in Primm I could’ve saved myself a shitload of trouble right now.”
Arcade patted his hand. “Don’t worry”, he said. “If you make it back, I’ll be here to patch you up again.”
After knocking his coffee back Dylan mumbled something intelligible into his cup.
“Excuse me?”

Dylan gave Arcade a lopsided grin. “Was trying to get some courage together.”
“What?” Arcade felt something fluttering in his stomach. “For the trip?”
“Nah.” Dylan tapped off his ash. “That... you know. This. Us.”
Us. What a little word. And what effect it had on Arcade. “Uh... well. And... what were you thinking of that requires courage?”
Dylan shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t wanna be called a fag, ya know.”
Arcade felt a hysterical giggle rise in his throat and managed to turn it into a chuckle. “I don’t know what you expect, but here, in New Vegas, it isn’t so bad.”
Dylan looked up at him. “What? Being called a fag? Or being one?”
“What do you think?”, Arcade gave back with far more bravado than he felt. “Anyone can buy anything here for their tastes. Makes people... more tolerant, I guess.”

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 7b/?

[(Anonymous)]

Dylan fell silent for a while and finally extinguished his butt end in the ashtray. “Okay then.” He looked at Arcade and took his hand. “See ya as soon as I’m back.” With that he placed a hasty kiss onto Arcade’s knuckles and was out of his chair and through the door faster than Arcade could think of something to reply. He stared after him and with a sorrowful shake of his head, clutched his cup of coffee so no one entering could see how much his hands were shaking.

How long he’d sat there he wasn’t sure, but when he heard someone enter he wished they’d go away and leave him in peace. It was Julie, however, and she sat down beside him, placing a new cup in front of him, filled with fresh, steaming coffee.
“Was that Dylan I just saw walk out?”, she inquired cautiously.
“Yes, why?”
“Because... of the... thing we talked about. Are you... are you all right?”
Arcade finally dared to look up. It was Julie, after all, his best and oldest friend. The one person in the world who knew and understood him best.
“Julie”, he said slowly. “I’m in trouble.”
Julie chuckled softly and took his hand, closing her fingers around his. “No. You’re in love.”
Arcade gave her an unhappy look. “Same thing really.”

x-x-x-x-x-x

>>>Kingman, October 25, 2282<<<

“So this is the mighty Courier, the Whore Queen of New Vegas? Commander of an army of robots, leader of a city of slaves, whores, addicts, dissolute and other scum?” The centurion looked with such distaste upon Tara kneeling before him that she wouldn’t have been surprised had he spat into her face. He didn’t, but the disdain in his voice was audible, his facial expression a match. “She doesn’t look so great now, nor victorious, does she? And she smells.”
Having been alternately carried by one of the legionaries who had captured her or forced to walk in what was almost a run, with hardly any water and no food, Tara could well imagine that she looked a mess after the last few days. She kept her mouth shut, however, a part of her still waiting to wake up from a nightmare and another one furiously trying to think of a way out of the mess she had gotten herself into.

“And rather overconfident, as well”, the centurion went on. “You didn’t think the Legion wouldn’t be keeping an eye on you, whore of Vegas, for a chance of revenge?”
Tara chose not to answer, but her silence infuriated the centurion and earned her a slap on the cheek.
“Answer me, useless bitch!”
Swallowing, Tara stared at her shackled hands. “No.”
“Huh.” His boots were dusty and scraped, and Tara was focussing with all her power on the scrapes to keep her eyes somewhere safe. “Tiberius is going to be disappointed by that one.”

Tiberius. Something cold crept down her spine as she suddenly realised where she had heard that name before: Vincent had talked about him. The son of Caesar. The man whose father she had slain, together with all his army.
“Lock her away”, the centurion now said to the men who had brought her here. “I’ll deal with her later.”

Rough hands grabbed her and hauled her to her feet, and again Tara followed one of the men while the other two pointed guns at her head. They brought her to what to Tara seemed to be an old power way station, a small building with a corrugated sheet roof, the plaster crumbling but the walls still solid. The windowless building wasn’t larger than a hut and completely empty inside but for a small bucket and a solid wooden post in the middle. One of her capturers now unlocked her shackles and the other two cocked their guns, pressing two muzzles against her temples as the third man knelt down and shackled her right ankle to the post. Then they left her, locking the door behind her, and Tara was left in the murky darkness, the only light coming from a few cracks between the somewhat skewed, ancient steel plates of the roof.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 8a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>The Strip, October 27, 2282<<<

Sitting at a small table in a corner of the Brimstone Bar and sipping his cocktail (a terrible habit, and he was fully aware of it), Arcade had the rare chance of being alone with his thoughts and thought back on the turmoil of events of the last few days. Little more than a week had passed since the anniversary of Hoover Dam and the terrible morning after when Vincent had chosen him, of all people, to keep that god damn chip safe. And now he was sitting in a bar waiting for a man he was running a make-believe with and who gave him shaky hands and a fluttery stomach every time Arcade thought about him. Just his luck.

He was just about to get himself another drink when Dylan walked up to his table with two beers.
“Evening!”, he said brightly and put the two bottles onto the table. “You’re drinking that shit again?”
“It’s not shit, it’s a...” Arcade knitted his eyebrows together, then his memory sprang to life again. “It’s a Hangover New Vegas Style. And thanks for the beer, as I wasn’t planning on having more than one of those.”
“Whatever.” Dylan seemed more amused, however, than angry, but he eyed the glass with not a little suspicion before taking a sip of beer. “We’re complete now. Found a body that still had all his armour on. Wasn’t nice getting the helmet off, and it still smells of carrion, but that’s it.”
“Brilliant.” Arcade tried not to think of how it would look and smell to cut off the head of a year-old corpse.

Dylan lit himself a smoke and Arcade, not wanting to stare at his fingers, busied himself with picking the label of his bottle between taking sips.
“Can you stop that?” Dylan pointed with his cigarette at the little heap of paper scraps. “It’s driving me nuts.”
Arcade looked guiltily at his bottle and sighed. “Sorry. I’m trying to cut back on tobacco, I’ve been smoking a lot more these last few days than is good for me. Now I just don’t seem to know what to do with my fingers.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake”, Dylan replied with a small, cocky grin and held out his packet of cigarettes to him. “Take one and fuck sweet all. We’re in the Brimstone Bar, man, the air here is so thick with smoke it’s probably healthier if you smoke yourself.”
Arcade took a cigarette with a chuckle and shrugged. “You’re probably right”, he muttered as Dylan lit it up for him.

After they both had taken a few drags in companionable silence, Dylan leaned a little forward. “So what’s next?”, he asked in a low voice.
Arcade could only shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Huh.” Dylan took a sip of beer. “I do.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Vince told me that there must be a spy in here.”
Arcade looked around him with a puzzled frown.
“Not in here, you idiot. In the city.”
Arcade took a sip of his beer with a sheepish grin and gestured at Dylan to continue.

“He told me”, Dylan took a drag of his smoke and inhaled it deeply. “He told me I’ve got to keep a look out for anything and anyone while he’s away. I’ve quit at the Tops, ‘cause I won’t have time for that shit then, but I honestly haven’t got a clue who and what to look out for. Maybe I’ll do in time.”
“And did he say anything regarding me?” Arcade rolled the neck of his bottle between his fingers.
“Yeah. We’d best keep in touch like we’ve been doing so far. So I gather your daily routines don’t change much.”
“I don’t think so, no”, Arcade gave back. “Which is a good thing, as I’m really needed in the Fort. I’ve started a new research, which reminds me...” He took a sip of beer. “Could I get you to bring me a few samples of various drugs? One of the things we’re currently working on is optimizing addiction cures.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard”, Dylan replied and tapped off his ash. “Can’t say how soon, though.”
“No hurry”, Arcade replied. “I’ve got other things as well that need seeing to.”

They finished their drinks and made their farewells, and Arcade resisted the temptation to continue drinking alone and went home, as well. He had the morning shift the next day and would be of no use to his patients if he was hung over.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 8b/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Kingman, October 27, 2282<<<

After sleeping a few, fitful hours Tara awoke long before daybreak with a burning thirst, but there was no water in the hut, and no food either. At least they had provided her with a bucket, and after using it, she sat up with her back against the post and tried to think.

There was no chance for escape, not with her shackles and the locked door. And even if she would miraculously disable both locks, she was still inside a fully manned Legion camp and she’d most likely be dead before she had taken three steps. She shook her head and gritted her teeth. Maybe she could talk to Caesar Tiberius, somehow deceive him into believing her she would work together with him, so they could rule Vegas together. Maybe she could gain his trust and make her escape at one point...

Whom am I fooling? I killed his father through deceit, he wouldn’t trust me any more than I would trust him, she thought to herself and with that thought, a dark, heavy feeling of despair began to grow in Tara’s chest. No matter what, she was doomed. She could do nothing, and with her carelessness, she had let everyone down who had ever placed their trust in her.

Spies inside the city. And the Platinum Chip god knows where. It could be in the hands of Cobra, or the Followers by now, or in the hand of a Westside junkie with no idea about its worth. Or it was in the hands of a legion spy, and the whole city was only waiting to be picked like a ripe cactus fruit. And it was all her fault.

Tara sat up and wiped her eyes, unable to stop her mind imagining scenes of carnage and slaughter, watching before her inner eyes the Legion swarm into the city and storm the Fort, killing everyone they came across. She saw Arcade lying in his blood, saw Julie being killed, the unborn child being butchered inside her by a machete, and violently shook her head to dislodge the image, making her tears fly.
With a soft sob Tara wiped a hand across her eyes, but she couldn’t stop them.

Somewhat later, when sheer exhaustion had dried her tears, a young slave girl entered the hut, accompanied by a soldier, to bring her a piece of bread and a small jug of water. Tara greedily emptied it and took the bread, then looked at the girl, younger than herself by at least five years and yet with the eyes of an old, weary woman.
“Please, can I have more water?”
The girl looked away and hastily hurried out of the hut again, as if even being spoken to by the Courier would endanger her. Which was probably right. Staring at the bread, Tara knew that she was a condemned criminal, a mass murderer. No one here would be satisfied with just killing her. She could imagine that Caesar would most likely have had her tortured, and most likely to death.

With that realisation, she began to tremble, and a heavy, aching cold lodged itself into her heart. The tears came again, even if she had believed them to be spent, and with crossed legs and her head hanging down, Tara sat there, shedding tears for everyone she had let down, all those people she had loved so fiercely, had wanted to protect and had now fed to the wolves. She probably deserved what was coming to her, but that didn’t make thinking of her immediate and probably short future less terrifying.

In a last, fierce attempt to get a grip on herself she tried to take a deep breath, tried to focus on what could be done, tried to call into mind everything she had gone through before she had won the Battle of the Dam.
You’re strong, you’ll get through this, she kept telling herself, in the hopes she could eventually believe it and find a ray of hope, but as the hours passed, the darkness inside her and the heaviness of her mind defied the attempt of summoning courage to deal with the situation.

At one point, Tara realised that the sun had sunk so low it was visible through one of the cracks between the slates above, and she lifted her head to look at the glowing, golden sliver of fire, its rays warming her face but not her soul. She watched it until her eyes burned and hurt, but she didn’t look away before the sun had vanished behind the horizon and left her in darkness once again.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 9a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Kingman, October 28, 2282<<<

Thanks to the cracks in the ceiling Tara had some means to measure time, and it was on the third day after her arrival, shortly after sunrise, that she was given water and food again, yet this time, a legionary came with the slave, looking down on her in disdain.
He didn’t leave with the slave, though, and Tara ate her sparse meal and drank the water, trying to ignore the man staring down at her while trying to think of a reason for him being there.

Suddenly the door opened again, and outlined by the bright sunlight outside another man stood in the door, tall and broad-shouldered, almost blocking out the light. Even though Tara had never met him she was in no doubt that she was looking at Caesar Tiberius himself. He was accompanied by another man, an elderly warrior with greying hair and beard, whose bare arms were covered in battle scars.

“You may go”, Tiberius said to the guard, and with a nod, the man vanished.

Both men looked down at Tara for a long while before the elderly veteran spoke. “She doesn’t look like I imagined her.”’
“How did you imagine her, Aquila?” Tiberius narrowed his brows.
“I don’t know. Not like this. Plainer. More… like a warrior, I guess.”
Tiberius chuckled. “My dear friend, you have lived, breathed, eaten and shat war for all of your life. But my father was defeated by deceit, and this is what it looks like. Entirely not what you would expect.”
“And what now, Tiberius?”
“Now”, Tiberius gave back with a smile, “...now we are going to talk.” He looked at Tara with a benevolent smile. “Aren’t we, dear Courier?”

Tara in turn looked up at him and tried to stay alert. She gave in to no illusion that his friendly manners were but a façade, meant to make her lower her guard, and even if she, in other circumstances, would have thought Tiberius a very handsome man, she felt a revulsion looking at him she couldn’t logically explain. Her guts told her he was a monster, and her guts had rarely betrayed her yet.

“Aquila, be so kind as to find us some sort of seating, will you?”
The veteran nodded and opened the door, hollering a command in Latin. Shortly afterwards two slaves entered the hut, bearing to chairs. Tiberius sat down on one.
“Please, my dear, take a seat”, he then said, indicating to the other chair. Tara stood up, but couldn’t reach the chair due to her chain.
“Oh how impolite of me”, Tiberius said, got up and moved the chair a little closer to her so she could sit. After sitting down again he looked at her, still smiling, and Aquila stood behind him. Tara couldn’t help but notice that he looked just like Vincent looked when he was standing beside her, and that gave her such a pang of pain that she almost missed Tiberius’ next words.

“Now, dear Courier, please be so kind as to answer a few questions. I am sure if you cooperate, we can figure something out for both of us.”
Tara forced her mind into focus and nodded.
“I am sure you have a name.” Tiberius crossed his legs, looking completely at ease.
“Tara.”
“Tara…?”
“Nothing else. I remember nothing else, although my people call me Tara of Goodsprings.”
“Your people? Oh… the people of New Vegas, of course. You make them sound like they are your tribe.”
“I guess that’s what they are”, Tara replied cautiously. “They… they treat me as their leader.”
“Their queen?”
Tara swallowed. “Yes.”
“Did they crown you?”
“Crown me?” Tara had a hard time concentrating with Tiberius being so friendly. She kept expecting a blow anytime and was slowly becoming more and more nervous. “I don’t know… not as such but they gifted me with a set of very precious garments made from golden gecko skin.”
Tiberius looked her up and down.” Surely not those?”, he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“No”, Tara hastily replied. As if it would make a difference defending the honour of the women who made them, she scolded herself before she continued. “I didn’t wear them when I… was captured.”
“Yes, a very unlucky course of events for you, I agree”, Tiberius said mildly. Then he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 9b/?

[(Anonymous)]

“Do you know who I am?”
Tara swallowed. “Caesar Tiberius.”
“Very well.” Tiberius seemed genuinely pleased. “And you know who my predecessor was, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“And how he died? And where?”
“Yes.” Tara had troubles keeping her voice steady.
“I guessed so. And I also assume you can imagine I would have quite the reason to… let’s put it mildly, bear a grudge towards you. Can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And why is that, hm?”
Tara knew he was playing cat-and-mouse with her, but in her current situation, she couldn’t help but play along. Or rather, endorse being played with. She cleared her throat. “Because he was your father.”

Tiberius leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs again. “Yes indeed. Your deceit killed my father. But in all honesty, and we can be honest with each other, can we not? In all honesty, I could never stand that old bastard. And you know what else?”
Tara mutely shook her head.
“Since his death I am no longer the boy standing in his shadow. I am the man in power now, the Son of Mars, and I owe it all to you.”
Tara was becoming more and more terrified of this man.
“So”, Tiberius went on. “I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement, can’t we?”
“I wouldn’t know”, Tara said, her voice trembling. “What do you want of me?”

Finally, Tiberius dropped the mask. His smile vanished, and his eyes stared at her coldly. “The Platinum Chip.”
Her stomach churning in fear, Tara didn’t know what to reply at first, but there was only one answer. She knew, however, it was not the answer Tiberius wanted to hear, and she was terrified of his reaction to it.
“I don’t have it.”

A moment of heavy silence hung in the little hut.

“Come again?”
Tara took a deep breath. “I don’t have it any more. I lost it when your men captured me.”
Tiberius shook his head. “This is not what we agreed upon. Honesty, remember?”
“It is the truth!” Tara kneaded her hands. “I lost it. They hit me over the head and when I came to my senses again, somewhere on the way here, I checked and it was gone!”
“Well”, Tiberius said slowly. “I didn’t expect instant cooperation anyway.” He got up and nodded to his companion. “Find out the truth Aquila”, he said. “Do whatever you must, but do not ruin her, understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”

Without another word or even a look at Tara Tiberius left, and Tara was alone with the old warrior who slowly walked towards her, looking at her with no more emotion in his face as a craftsman would towards an object of his work.

x-x-x-x-x-x

When Tara came to her senses again she awoke to a world of pain. There literally was not an inch of her body that didn’t hurt, and her eyes were so caked with dried blood that she almost couldn’t open them. She heard someone move beside her, and then a moist piece of cloth touched her face. Most likely the slave woman, ordered to tend to her.

While the slave washed her face Tara realised the blood came from a split eyebrow, but otherwise her face didn’t seem to be damaged. Her cheeks were still burning form the slaps Aquila had given her, but her eyes weren’t swollen and her nose still intact. Her teeth were, too.

Taking stock of the rest of her body was painful, however. She had to be covered in bruises, but presently felt too weak to lift her head and check. Her whole upper body was on fire, and dimly Tara remembered through the haze of pain that Aquila had dislocated both her arms at one point, and while he had put the joints back together he had done it so slowly that Tara would be hoarse for several more days from screaming. Her throat still hurt, as well.
In the end he had even torn the pip-boy off her forearm, almost breaking her wrist in the process, and in the futile attempt of trying to find the chip hidden inside, had completely and utterly destroyed it. But the strange, empty feeling around her forearm was the least of her problems now.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 10a/?

[(Anonymous)]

WARNING: CHAPTER CONTAINS NON-CON, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

>>>Kingman, October 30, 2282<<<

Shortly after sunrise the door to her prison opened, this time, however, it was three slave women entering instead of one. None of them said a word as they set to work making Tara presentable, and Tara could do nothing but bear the humiliation as she had the ones before.
They washed her body and hair, then dressed her in a white, long tunic that reached her ankles and was belted at the waist. They combed and set up her hair, and by the time they had finished Tara might have looked like a queen, but she was still chained to the post.

Then they left her again, as silently as they had come, but before the door closed someone else stepped in again. It was Aquila, and Tara couldn’t help but flinch when he stepped towards her.

“Do not fear me”, he said. “Not any more, at least. I shall be your guard and protector, for the time being.”
“The... the time being?”
“Until tonight.”
Tonight. Tonight, when Tiberius would claim her as his wife.
“You should be grateful. He could have just killed you. Or tortured you to death for being the nemesis of his father.”
Tara swallowed hard. “I can’t.”
The old warrior chuckled. “Unsurprising. A woman like you would take a long time to be broken.”

Her voice was a coarse whisper. “I’d rather die.”
“That is no longer for you to decide, desert flower. But try to look at it this way: He could have killed you and taken the city by force. But he tried diplomacy instead.”
“Is it diplomacy to have you abducted and tortured?”
Aquila shrugged. “As I said. You’re alive, and with you, the people you are so fond of have a chance at surviving, too.”
Tara stared at her feet. “They will be made slaves. Again.”
“But they will be alive.”

“Would you rather be a living slave than a dead warrior?”
The veteran cocked his head and his lips twitched into a smile. “No”, he said.
“Then why do you think it’s the same for them?”
“It’s not the same. But I have been a warrior all my life. They have been slaves all their lives.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier. The contrary, I think.”
“Maybe.” Aquila looked around for a chair, pulled it close and offered it to her.
Tara sat down with a grateful nod and Aquila took the other chair for himself.

“But you will still be queen”, the old warrior said after a while.
“Please stop trying to convince me that anything good can come out of this”, Tara replied. “This is the worst that could have happened, to me or to them. Nothing can change that.”
“Well, you should have taken better precautions, then.”

Tara closed her eyes, trying to force the tears back. “I know. I know! I made a mistake, but why would my people have to suffer so much for this, as well?”
“That is the fate of the leader”, Aquila replied slowly. “His success pertains to all his subjects, as do his mistakes. A centurion makes a false decision on the battlefield and his men will die. He makes the right one, and they will be victorious. It is the burden of leadership. Neither your success or your mistakes will ever affect only yourself.”

Opening her eyes again Tara let the tears flow, she couldn’t see the point in holding them back anymore. She could remember Vincent’s words, could hear them as clearly as f he was standing behind her.

“I know my place. And I wish you would do so as well.”

Aquila watched her with interest, but Tara spoke no more. Words had deserted her.
There were only tears, pains and regret left for her to deal with.

“I have to, you are everything I have.”

x-x-x-x-x-x

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 11a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Kingman, November 2, 2282<<<

It was after nightfall when Tara could hear steps outside, and although Tiberius had told her the council could well last until the small hours of the night she felt her body clench in fear it would be him. Then the flap opened and a man stepped hurriedly in, almost too quickly, as if he didn’t want to be seen, and it surely wasn’t Tiberius. Tara watched him, her heart racing and her throat dry.
Then stranger took a few steps into the tent, and silently looked around. Spotting her he took another step, and looked down on her in a stillness that was unnerving as it was menacing. Tara looked up, the fear curdling into a hard, cold knot in her stomach, but another part of her was almost wishing for him to be an assassin. Death was the only way left for her to put an end to her suffering and shame.

The Legionary now cast a look over his shoulder, as if trying to make sure no one had noticed his entrance into the tent. His silent, stony demeanour was even more unnerving due to the closed decanus helmet he was wearing and Tara couldn’t stand the sight anymore. She lowered her head again, staring at her hands. He could stare and mock her all he wanted, nothing could be worse than what had already happened to her.
“Kill me, I won’t stop you.”
When he suddenly uncrossed his arms Tara flinched as if he had lashed out to hit her, and he froze for a moment before he slowly lifted his hands and even more slowly, as if he didn’t mean to spook her, removed his helmet.

Tara watched this, only from the corner of her eyes and shortly wondered how he was going to kill her before she closed her eyes again. But then the Legionnaire spoke, and despite the low whisper, the voice was utterly familiar.
“I have not come to kill you.”
Her hands began to shake, and despite herself she slowly and hesitatingly looked up at him again.
With the small oil lamp hanging behind him she could hardly make out his face in the dim light of the tent, but what she could see was a large scar on the left side of his face. Painful memories mingled with absurdly wild hopes before Tara shook her head and closed her eyes again. She had to be dreaming...

“Tara.”
The voice made her shudder and she looked up, to see the Legionnaire slowly crouching down before her. In the darkness she saw only his outline, but then he tilted his head the slightest bit, just enough that some of the dim light of the oil lamp fell onto his face. Just enough to make her realise that the scar ran right through the eye socket. Her heart skipped a beat and began to race so hard she had to gasp for air.
“Vincent”, she whispered, so softly that hardly a sound emerged.

They silently stared at each other until Tara swallowed hard and looked away. “I’m sorry, Vincent”, she whispered, her voice cracked and raw. “Go home again. There is nothing left here that’s worth saving.”
She heard Vincent take a deep breath. “I will not leave without you.”
Tara looked up again. “You’ll all be better off without me. I’ve made a mess of everything. I’ve destroyed everything. The Platinum...”
“The chip is safe”, Vincent interrupted her. “I found it. We’ll deal with everything else when you are safe again.”
“Go, and help Julie and Arcade put things right.” Tara looked at the ground before her. “No one...”
“New Vegas is waiting for its queen to return”, Vincent interrupted her again. “A queen who has made a mistake, but a queen who is, after all, only human. What happened to you was painful and cruel, but you will find a way to deal with it with the strength that I know you have.”
Tara’s head flew around and she stared at Vincent with tears streaming down her face. “You don’t know a shit about what happened to me”, she snarled.

Vincent took a deep breath, his face unreadable. “No one talks about anything else in the camp”, he gave back tonelessly. “But giving up is not an option. And you know it.”
Then he rose in one smooth, swift motion, put his helmet back on and was out of the tent so quickly that Tara wasn’t really sure that she indeed hadn’t just dreamt the whole occurrence.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 12a/?

[(Anonymous)]

Tara awoke again in total disorientation, there was no tent wall around her, just rocks, and it took her a few seconds to remember what had happened last night.
She was free.
Vincent had found her, and she was free.
She had been beaten, tortured, abused, raped and humiliated, but Vincent had saved her, and Tiberius would never lay his hands on her again. Relieve and the sudden absence of the strain she had been under felt like a knife through her soul and she had no means to stop the tears forcing their way out.

Dimly she could hear Vincent beside her move, and when he put an arm around her, she fell against his chest and wept. She couldn’t remember ever having cried so much, and she could hear herself mutter apologies and self-accusations between her sobs until at one point, Vincent told her to stop.
“There is no use in shaming yourself”, he told her in a low voice. “And there is no benefit for you in digging the pit you are sitting in even deeper.” He paused, and then took one of her hands in his. “I am not saying you should get on with your life as if nothing happened. But right now, you need to focus on survival. We have a difficult journey ahead of us. But once we have reached safety, then will be the time to put things right, and to learn how to deal with the consequences of those things that can’t be made right anymore.”

Tara took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “Sorry”, she mumbled. “I... I just wanted to die”, she then added in a hoarse whisper.
“Doubtlessly”, Vincent gave back in a surprisingly gentle voice and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “In trying times, death often seems the easiest way out. But when that is denied to us, we have to find a way to go on.”
Tara fell silent and listened to his heartbeat. Vincent was no stranger to pain, humiliation and torture, but the strength with which he bore his scars, both on body and soul, still impressed her.

“Vincent”, she whispered after a moment’s thought.
“Yes?”
“How do you do it? I mean... I know what you have been through.... how did you manage to...to go on?”
Vincent was silent for a while before answering. He remembered the training as he grew up, the flogging, Hoover Dam and what came after, and the way back home from Shady Sands. “I am not sure myself”, he then said. “But I guess there is a part of me that simply wants to survive, no matter what. And that will to survive has carried me through.”

“I am not as strong as you are”, Tara whispered hoarsely after a long silence.
“Maybe not.” Vincent’s voice was low. “But you are strong enough. And maybe it is not about strength but the will to survive.”
“I am not sure I want to, remembering the last days”, Tara rasped, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “Will it even be worth it?”
“That is not for me to say. Only you can decide that. And for that, you need to focus on what lies ahead, on what there is yet left to do, rather than on what lies behind.”
Tara fell silent again and closed her eyes. Vincent was still holding her hand and his hand felt like an anchor to which she could hold on.

Sleep claimed her again shortly after, but she was too exhausted to dream.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Vincent woke her up again at dusk, and after they had shared a small portion of their meagre provisions, some jerky and some water, they set off again westwards, towards Laughlin and the Colorado River.
They walked silently, following the cracked tarmac band west that was covered in the ever shifting sands for large parts, but whenever they could, they used it to make more speed.
But Tara’s strength didn’t last long; it was not even midnight when the pains in her abdomen had worn her out. Vincent looked at her and with a deep frown on his face noticed the blood running down her thighs.
He dug into a pocket.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 13a/?

[(Anonymous)]

Sorry for the long wait anons, life’s been a bit difficult lately. Things are looking up, though, so I’ll hope I’ll keep the story running a bit more smoothly now. Anything still reading this?
-------------------------------------

Tara had insisted on coming with him, she had no intention to wait alone on the other side of the river until he came back, she had said. So now she was here with him, but she could do nothing else but put a hand on his shoulder as they both stared into the narrow hollow between a few rocks and the empty bag that was the only thing left of Vincent’s equipment.
“What now?”, Tara asked, her voice shaking.
Vincent sighed, curling his fists in fruitless anger. “Unless we shed these garments and walk naked through the Mojave, a prospect that is as little appealing to you as it is to me, I gather, we have to make our way up to the I 93, cross the Colorado north of Hoover Dam again and head for New Vegas from the north-west. That would be the safest route, I gather, as there is little there that would need the attention of patrols.”

Tara knew better than to suggest talking with a securitron in the hopes of Yes Man recognising her. These robots had infrared target detection systems and would, daytime or night, shoot anyone wearing Legion armour on sight, and that meant long before Tara could even make an attempt of even calling out her name.

Rounding Hoover Dam cost them another day, and by the time they had finally reached the plains from which they could see the city lights, west of Lake Las Vegas, they had long since run out of food and water both. Yet drinking stagnant, irradiated lake water was nothing even the most desperate traveller would willingly do.

The sun was rising, but by now everything that counted was reaching the city walls, somehow. The human guards at least could be reasoned with, and they could only hope avoiding the patrolling robots from now on. Only a few hours, and they would be safe.

Vincent had little trouble in keeping himself going, despite the burning thirst and the aching muscles. Yet Tara, weakened by what she already had been through prior to the ordeal of this journey, could hardly walk anymore. Vincent supported her arm, using her spear as a walking stick, as they made their way across the desolate plain under a merciless sun.

Vincent was just about to tell her that he could make out the fortification ring when he heard, behind them, a dreadful, threatening humming. He let go of Tara’s arm and, raising the spear, spun around just in time to block the cazadore’s abdomen lashing out at him. Tara fell with a scream, but Vincent had no time to spare for her as he hefted the spear again in his left hand and drew his ripper with the right.
And then he heard another humming, coming from the right.
“Run!”, he yelled at her as he attacked the cazadore with his ripper. “RUN!”
He couldn’t check if she was getting away, but to his horror the second cazadore just passed him by. It was after Tara, weakened, defenceless Tara, and Vincent threw himself at his own adversary with a scream of fury. Not now! Not now, so close to safety!

By sheer luck the cazadore’s stinger missed Vincent as he pressed his ripper against the chitinous carapace, putting every bit of force against it that he could summon. The howling of the ripper turned into a ghastly crackle as the weapon finally pierced the exoskeleton and splattered Vincent in liquefied innards.

He had spun around on his heels even before the dying cazadore had hit the ground, throwing the spear first to distract the cazadore from its fleeing prey only to discover to his horror that Tara was already toppling to the ground and bleeding from a circular wound on her left hip where the cazadore’s stinger had pierced a weaker point of the armour.

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 14a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Freeside, November 12, 2282<<<

A blanket slung around her shoulders Tara stood in the doorway and stared numbly at Vincent’s pale body, connected to all sorts of tubes and cables. A low beeping noise, irregular and slow, mingled with the hissing of the ventilation.
“Will he live?”
Arcade put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It doesn’t look good, Tara, but he’s made it this far, so there’s hope. Every day he survives is a day his body has a chance to heal a little more, and he has already survived three.”
Tara sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose, then took a step towards the bed. She kept on staring at him, and suddenly she took a deep breath. “You will not die, do you hear?”, she said , forcing her voice to carry. “You will not die, Vincent. Is that understood?”
Arcade kept watching the monitor and realised that, upon hearing Tara’s voice, Vincent’s heartbeat became more stable. Not stronger, not faster, just a little more regular. And with a tiny smile to himself Arcade thought that if there would be one way to pull him through, then it was Tara ordering him not to die.

She left the room shortly after, and with a last glance at the monitor, Arcade followed her and caught up with her in the courtyard.

“Tara?”
“I want to go home, Arcade.”
He swallowed. “Of course, but wouldn’t it be better if we continued examination...”
“I said I want to go home!”
Arcade took a deep breath. “Tara, please listen. I’ve seen the blood when I treated the cazadore sting so...”
“I want to go home, have a bath, and sleep for a week”, Tara said in a voice that sounded close to breaking. “I do not want anyone to look at me or touch me there ever again! Not you, not Julie, or anyone else!”
Swallowing another remark Arcade thought it best to leave it for the moment and let Julie handle it later on. She was a woman so Tara might be more inclined to listen to her.

Escorted by five securitrons Tara made her way through the city towards the Lucky 38, and even if everyone seeing her greeted her with joy upon seeing her back, Tara felt even smiling at them beyond her.
When the elevator doors finally closed behind her and she was alone in the suite she let her tears flow, and she wept through having a bath, wept through making herself a coffee, and was still weeping when that untouched coffee had gone cold on her.

She couldn’t stand the enclosed, windowless space of the suite, so she took a blanket and a pillow from her bed and made her way up to the Lounge where she settled down on a sofa facing the windows. Her tears had finally run dry, but she felt no relief after having herself allowed to let go. She felt empty and drained and finally realised she was wishing that the cazadores had been faster. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with the memories any longer.

A few times she nodded off, only to awake from violent nightmares of Tiberius and what he had done to her. Her tears came back, and while she violently sobbed into her hands she wondered why on earth she had dreamed of Vincent so many times while she had been captured but now, that she was free and safe, she only dreamed of Tiberius, of his voice and body violating her.
“I HATE YOU!”, she suddenly screamed at the window. “I hate you and I’ll kill you!”
But it didn’t help. Nothing would ever make anything better.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Turn Wounds into Wisdom 15a/?

[(Anonymous)]

>>>Freeside, November 22, 2282<<<

Tara almost felt agoraphobic after cocooning in the Lucky38 for so long when she followed Julie and Arcade across the Strip towards Freeside. She would never willingly have left her seclude, but the two doctors had told her that Vincent was awake again and conscious, and that he had been asking for her.

And now she stood in the doorway to the room he was lying in, but at least it was another room now, with a normal bed, and he wasn’t connected to all that dreadful-looking machinery any more. He was still awfully pale and looked more than half dead though, his eyes sunken and shadowed and his lips white and cracked.

Tara made a hesitating step inside. “Vincent?”
He opened his eyes, slowly as if it was a great effort to do so, and blinked.
Tara took another step and sat down on the chair beside his bed. “Vincent...”
He swivelled his eyes into her direction, and after a moment, turned his head the tiniest bit to be able to look at her. “It is good to see you”, he rasped laboriously and closed his eyes again.
Tara didn’t know what to say, so she hesitatingly put her hand atop his. “Just rest”, she then said. “Rest and heal. Keep in mind that... that the fastest way to be back at my side is to do exactly as the doctors tell you. Do you understand? Every word Julie or Arcade say to you is to be treated as if it came from me.”

The corners of Vincent’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “I understand”, he replied in that cracked voice that made Tara’s hair stand on edge.
“Good.” She increased the pressure of her fingers for a moment before letting go, then she got up and turned around to Arcade standing in the doorway.

“Why is he still so weak? It’s almost two weeks...” She meant to check her Pip-Boy, only to stare at a pale, empty wrist. It would take her some time getting used to. “Isn’t it?”, she went on. “Why is there...” Then she broke off with a shrug.

“It’s the cazadore poison”, Arcade replied as he took her gently by the arm to lead her outside. “He got a lot of that, plus he practically bled to death at the same time. The poison has affected his nervous system, not permanently though, we know that from experience. But he will need a long time to get full control of his movements and perception back.”
Tara nodded and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “It will be hard for him.”
“Of course.” Arcade chook his head. “Awfully so. But there’s no help for that. And another problem that isn’t helping a speedy recovery is the fact that we’ve run out of blood bottles for him.”
Tara gave him a questioning look.
“On top of everything else”, Arcade said after a sigh, “... he has to be a person with a rare blood type. We used the three bottles we had, but that’s not really enough. We could help him along with more potent drugs to get the poison out of his system, but I simply dare not use them. I fear multiple organ failure if I do that now, or at least permanently damaging his liver and kidneys.”

Tara sighed deeply and closed her eyes for a second. “Have you asked around for a donor?”
“Of course we have.” Arcade pushed his glasses up his nose. “Everyone here in the Fort, including me, and even the King and most of his men have volunteered, but so far, no match.”
Shaking her head Tara opened her eyes again. “How rare is that god-damn blood of his?”
“He’s an A negative.” Arcade pursed his lips for a second. “That means we only can use two types of donors: Another A negative or someone with 0 negative. And with both blood types we have about a... six percent chance for a hit. You’re not one of them, by the way.”
Tara uncrossed her arms and rubbed her temples. “Is there a deity that makes people’s life difficult on purpose? Because if so, he must’ve pissed it off really hard.”
Arcade chuckled. “Given the scriptures of all the religions I read about, most of them are.”