#I better hit commission this check or I’ll riot

[foldingfittedsheets]

Weird vibe to my day. I had to get up super early to go to a meeting but we also rearranged the showroom of the little store which entails moving basically every bed and adjustable base into new positions.

It was a bit of a shit show and I was useless since I’d gotten up early. Then I left early to open the big store while the rest of the team finished up. I figured we’d have a sleepy Sunday which suited me fine but instead I was helping two people at once most of the day. It feels like weeks since I did the floor move, so much day has passed in the regular hours of this day.

[thelordfool]

When The Sun Rises - Chapter Three

Non Facias Malum ut Inde Fiat Bonum

“Why don’t you come with me?”

Between the two men sat a long period of silence. Arcade turned the helmet of the riot gear over in his hands a few times, feeling the weight of it, humming at the possibilities presented to him. Aberdeen patiently sat, fingers folded across his torso in a relaxed stance.

“Well,” the doctor finally sighed, “I have a few questions, first.”

“Shoot.”

“One, why do you have a spare set of this armor? Two, where did you keep it to return so quickly? Three, why me?” Arcade had a look of... bewilderment. All of this was happening so quickly. “And I have a fourth, depending on your answers to the previous ones.”

Aberdeen sucked in a breath. “Well,” he sighed out, “it’s always a good idea to have a spare set of armor around in case yours starts to fall apart - which mine has - but I figure, it’s been the best set of armor I’ve ever had and probably will ever have save for a set of power armor, which I’m not even able to use anyway.

“To answer your second question, I had it stored nearby in McCarran. They owed me a few favors so I’ve got a little temporary setup over there since it isn’t exactly easy to travel to and from Novac every night for some decent sleep. Can’t sleep with all the lights and noise of the Strip right on my doorstep, personally, so a short walk is fine by me.

“And third...” The courier paused. Underneath his own mask, his lips were stretched taut. Why did he want to travel with Arcade? “You said I needed a friend. I think we could be friends.”

“Aren’t you blunt.”

“I seem to be getting that a lot today. Are you people not used to honesty, or something?”

Arcade snickered. “Unfortunately, we aren’t. Around here we get a lot of addicts, gamblers, and youth who are always trying to find an excuse for what’s happened to them.” With this, he sighed, finally setting the helmet down. He noticed something carved into the back of it - the word FORGIVE, just like that. He briefly wondered what that meant. 

“You said you had another question,” the courier interrupted his thoughts. “Hopefully I answered you in a way that allows it to be asked.”

“Well, Courier, I’ve heard of what you’ve done. Everyone talks about it - talks about you, I should say. How you found a way to peacefully settle what would have been a bloody battle in Goodsprings, right after you crawled back from death’s grip. How you got Primm back into working shape.” The name of Primm made Aberdeen wince, and it was a good thing Arcade couldn’t see his face. Aberdeen could only think, in that quick moment, of the eyebot that had been in his life so briefly. The doctor continued, “Providing medical relief to various NCR camps, farms, villages, and you’ve gained quite the reputation in the Legion, as well. My question is, with all the help you’ve given to others, do you plan to continue that in Freeside?”

“Of course,” replied the courier without hesitation. “I’ve seen... I’ve seen what war can do to a man. What the wastes can turn people into. The people of Freeside are no different. If the Legion had an ounce of basic human respect in their blood, I would be giving them the same treatment.” He sounded bitter about this, like he had lost an old friend to Caesar's reign. “The NCR has its faults, and quite frankly, if the Followers were in charge of everything... this world would be a better place,” he finished quietly.

“We’re not all that perfect,” Arcade admitted. “Caesar was once one of the Followers. Before my time, of course. He wanted to rebuild a new world in the image of the old. A sad story of good intentions gone bad. In that regard, he’s hardly unique.  If you set aside his leadership capabilities, extensive knowledge, and ruthless cunning... he's just another jerk who steps on people to get his way." He shook his head, rustling the hair that he had managed to relax back down on his head from right-out curly q’s to something a little more manageable. “If the Followers can produce such a man, then-”

“Then you are not at fault,” assured the courier. “As a whole, I mean.”

“We know that, just... abundans cautela non nocet.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. Don’t let that caution get in your way of pursuing what is right, though.”

“You- you speak Latin?” Arcade sputtered.

“Semper paratus,” Aberdeen said with a wink, who then realized that he still had not removed his mask. “It was more out of necessity than anything.”

“What could have possibly- you know what, no,” Arcade slapped a hand down on the table. “Actually, I don’t even care. From your actions alone, I can say - with strength - that I will come with you. I’m not sure what help I’ll be out there, but... Something in my gut tells me this is right.”

Somewhere, in another area of the Fort, Julie Farkas was hit with a sudden and great wave of relief and joy.

“But.. one last question.”

“Hit me.”

“Uh, do I have to wear this?”

“It’d make me happy if you did. It’s a security measure. You won’t be protected from Fiends - or the rain - in that lousy lab coat of yours.”

Arcade looked down at his coat. It hadn’t been washed, in, well, probably a few years, if he had to be honest with himself, and running out into the rain that morning didn’t count. It was actually still a bit moist, as the lone radiator in the room only worked so often, and when it did, it was barely enough to keep one from shivering, much less able to dry anyone. Even so, the doctor felt almost insulted.

“What’s wrong with my lousy lab coat?” He grinned at his childish joke, stripping it away to rest against the back of his chair.

“Yeesh, if I’d known you were that attached, I’d’ve found someone to perform marriage rights for you,” the courier was quick to retort. The two men shared a chuckle. “I’ll get out of your hair to let you change. You’ll want a dry set of clothing underneath that too - it chafes like the devil.”

“Noted.”

*

Aberdeen’s Pip-Boy chimed, signaling noon. He really wished he could figure out how to turn that off, as it’s ruined a number of covert missions. He snorted at the thought of that phrase, thinking back to pre-war spy holotapes. He’d seen a few in the Big Empty, before he ditched that place. Soon he’d have to return on his monthly trip there, though, if not for the fear of the wrath of the Toaster, but to check in on everyone. 

The last three-ish months had been eventful, every day packed with fighting, not sleeping, and a load of things he truly didn’t understand. It was right after the bullet had been lodged in his head that Aberdeen found paths that lead outside the Mojave. A week, at best. He vowed never to listen to another strange radio signal again, because a month and a half each in the Big Empty and dealing with the droning on of a voice he’d come to hate gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. Long had he wished just to taste the copper sands of the Mojave on his tongue again.

Under the cover of a mostly dry overhang, the courier lit a cigarette. He wondered if the good doctors here in the Fort would chastise him for such an activity, but as soon as the nicotine hit his brain, the thought dispelled and flew away in a puff of exhaled smoke. He let the next inhale simmer in his lungs as he stared into the relentless rain. 

What am I going to do today, he thought. More importantly, what is taking him so long?

Arcade should have been finished dressing himself by now. The courier gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that not as many people would be ready to go as quickly as he would be. For now, the courier sat on the lone, rain-moistened stool, elbow propped on a table. There was an ashtray, a radio, and a few playing cards turned indecipherable by the water. Lightning flashed overhead, followed by the cursing rumble of thunder, and the radio, to the courier’s astonishment, flickered to life. 

Like earlier, he couldn’t really hear it, but he heard the unfamiliar words “Sierra Madre” and reached to turn the volume up. Leaning in, he could make out the broadcast.

“... s inviting you to begin again. Come to a place where wealth, excitement and intrigue await around every corner. Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort, make new friends, or rekindle old flames. Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert under clear star-lit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our villa rooftops. Countless diversions await: Gamble in our casino, take in the theater, or stay in one of our exclusive executive suites that will shelter you and cater to your every whim. So if life's worries have weighed you down, if you need an escape from your troubles, or if you just need an opportunity to begin again, join us, let go, and leave the world behind at the Sierra Madre grand opening this October... We'll be waiting."

There was about thirty seconds of buffer silence before the dialogue repeated.

“Oh, hell naw,” he scoffed, smacking the radio off. 

���Something the matter?” The suddenness of Arcade’s voice made the courier jump with a yelp. Arcade chuckled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” The doctor now looked nearly identical to the courier in his riot gear, and, Aberdeen noticed, he had a plasma pistol strapped to his side. 

“No, just...” Aberdeen hesitated. “You ever hear of a place called the Sierra Madre?”

“Hm... Yes, on the radio, and in passing some time ago from... someone I used to know.” He was omitting something there on purpose, but Aberdeen didn’t want to pry. “Why do you ask?”

“Just heard it myself on the radio here,” he gestured to the radio with a now-broken switch. 

“Think the signal might be worth checking out?”

“Aren’t you eager to get out and about. No, I’ve had my fun following lost signals. I have other things to do. So, who around here needs some help?”

*

This is part three of ? of a slow-burn Courier Six (Aberdeen)/Arcade Gannon fic. If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or donating to my PayPal. I am remaking my commissions post, but I also do artwork.

If this is your first time seeing this, you can start here with chapter one on tumblr or on Ao3.