Around. Around. Steep mountains and rocky cliffs may have gotten them closer to Novac and avoided certain danger, but it was a task like no other for the young man. Not even as a courier did he face such resistance. Most roads still paved and whatnot. Even the most rural, remote places were flatter than this hike from hell. Lawrence, however, was unaffected. Even as he watched dying smoke from the razed town of Nipton darkening the skies behind them. 

Gravel paused crunching beneath the ranger’s boots. Vincent squinted, reluctantly watching the man climb to a higher rock. “What are you doing?” 

“I can see Nipton from here.”

“How bad is it?” The boy groped the rock. Sweaty hands refused to find a grip. Even without aching legs, those scant muscles couldn’t pull him up anyway.

“Mojave outpost still hasn’t made it down here,” he said. A hand slid in his duster for the inconspicuous radio hidden on a shoulder. A patrol ought to be here by now. Investigating. Searching for Legion. They never went this far west… 

Vincent groaned. Finally giving up on conquering the rock for the shadow it cast instead. A tiny oasis in the desert. At least until the greedy sun would steal it away. Noon encroached. Slowly, shade receded as the sun claimed its high throne. Feet burned. Aches came in pulses. He flexed and squeezed exhausted muscles; the next best thing to the massage he’d promised to give his feet at the end of the day. Frankly, he had walked enough. His routes mostly kept him around the Boneyard at its farthest farmsteads. Sometimes further north. Until Vincent decided to take this job. Once he saw that number though, he couldn’t turn down the caps. He didn’t want to be a courier forever. That decision was further cemented by the bullet in his head. 

Vincent sighed. Wind whistled through the mountains, picking up dust and gravel as it rustled patches of sagebrush. Radio static intruded on his rest. 

“Shit…”

“What happened?”

“I can’t get—”

“Lawrence!” Vincent jumped to his feet. Gaping eyes locked on the creature as it limped closer. Slow and staggered. The conglomerate of ghoul-flesh with more hands and arms than any normal once-human lumbered towards him. A face no longer bore any resemblance to the human it once was. Obscured by sagging skin and radiation burns. Breathy grunts and groans respired from vein-webbed and flaking lips.

A boom wracked his ears and the thing dropped in its path.

“We need to get out of here.”

“What was that?” 

“I’ve seen them before,” Lawrence mentioned, undisturbed by the sight. “Only a few times. Strange things lurk in the hills. I think we just wandered a little too far from the main road.”

“You said you weren’t too worried about them!” Vincent tailed Lawrence, stealing occasional glances behind him as if the mutated mess of flesh would get up and start after them again. Or worse…

“And I still ain’t.” Lawrence tugged him along. “Let’s get back on the road while we can. Then we have to take another detour.”

“Back in the mountains?” Vincent whined, already exhausted from the mere thought of more impromptu hiking.

“Can’t go through Searchlight.” Rough breaths broke up his voice on the descent. Dirt and debris kicked up by his boots flung to the wind. Vincent followed his haphazard course. Abrupt stops paused him every so often to regain his balance. 

“I thought Searchlight was our territory,” Vincent huffed between labored breaths. Feet finally met solid ground. 

“It was,” Lawrence grumbled. Brows narrowed over the rims of sunglasses as Vincent’s own reflection stared back at him. “Fuckin’ Legion did something and the whole place is irradiated to shit.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s scope out that cluster ahead,” the ranger gesture down the road. “Take a breather for a bit.” 

Right, the war. Round two of the showdown four years passed. The enemy: Caesar’s Legion. A vicious, zealous army painted in blood by the newspapers, the voices on the radio, and now the ranger in Vincent’s company. Terrifying and grisly. Inhumane, if those stories were right. The New California Republic won the first standoff at Hoover Dam and for a time, it seemed quiet. The republic had the largest source of water and power in its grasp. Some leviathan structure left over from the old world called Hoover Dam, but more importantly, the NCR could keep up with its hasty expansion. Plenty of work to go around drew people out of California and into this new land of opportunity. But the Legion wouldn’t give up so easily. They gathered strength across the winding Colorado, marching up from foreign lands further south they called Arizona.

The black top simmered on the horizon. Metal frames winked back at the two. An ancient wreck of old-world machines. Gutted, looted, robbed by man and time. These skeletons were everywhere, and sometimes their living form could be deduced by what remained. Most found new life being salvaged, others were a pipe-dream-project by some wastelander convinced he could revive the things for easier transportation.

The ranger slowed his steps and overtook Vincent. He whipped a pistol from its thigh holster. Cocked. Rigid arms aimed forward. He warned the boy about it ahead of time. These scenes were ripe for ambushes out here. Stumble upon a twitchy prospector and they might not be so hesitant to shoot either. The ranger brought him to the cover of a long metal body. Mangled and twisted where it barely remained attached to its head. Lawrence paused. The wind settled. Stagnant heat crept in. Lawrence took to a crouch and peaked under the desiccated machines. 

He returned to his feet and resumed the inspection around the graveyard. Lawrence rounded the skull of the rusted carcass. A daring peak leaned out from his cover. “All clear.”

Plopping down in the shade, Vincent let out a relieved sigh. Dormant aches resurfaced. Along with them, a drifting mind wondered if it was all worth it. But something happened that night in a shallow grave. Visions he couldn’t escape even in sleep. Memories that once came out, ignited a fury like no other inside him. His expression so slightly contorted, enough the ranger knew Vincent was lost in thought. Lawrence lent the open tin can to Vincent. Jiggling the supply of nuts brought the boy out of his trance. He looked up to the ranger. Wide-eyed, like that of the most unfortunate orphan seeing generosity and kindness for the first time. Dainty fingers plucked out a few.

Lawrence grunted disapprovingly. “There’s plenty to go around.”

Vincent pulled out a palmful then looked at his bounty. A variety of wild nuts and bits of dried mutfruit sweetened the chalky pinyons. “Thank you,” Vincent muttered. The ranger only responded with a hum as he scanned the horizon. Something about that grunty-hum brought a smile to Vincent’s face. Much like a cactus, a prickly exterior guarded a soft inside. “So, what’s the Legion really?”

Lawrence looked at Vincent, one dark brow arched over the rims of his lenses. The outline of his eyes barely caught in the backlight. “Well, I mean I’ve read the papers and listened to the radio. I’ve heard some people say they’re a cult and then others say they’re just organized raiders.”

“They’re a bunch of tribals,” Lawrence stated. “Organized, yes. All started with the jackass they follow—Caesar. With every tribe he’s conquered, he gets more numbers and bodies to sacrifice. Practically worship the guy.”

“Do you think they outnumber us?”

The ranger shrugged. “Even if they did, they got some aversion to using guns, old-world tech. Only the high ranks carry things like shotguns, rifles, pistols, whatever. Don’t ever underestimate them,” he abruptly added. “They don’t see you as people. You’re just an obstacle to them or a tool to use.”

Vincent grimaced. “Luckily, I’ve never met one person.”

“You ever do, get the hell out of dodge—”

Ding!

Lawrence yanked Vincent down from their perch. He tugged the boy around the side of the body as another ding came cutting through tarnished steel and iron. “Stay low!”

“I know you’re out there!” 

Lawrence planted himself on the sandy shoulder slope. Gravel scraped his armor, stirring up tart and dry soil while he crawled to a better view. One eye squinted down iron sights aimed between the gap of the trailer’s rotted belly and a cracked road. Two Great Khans. Ugly as sin and unwashed for days. They were more like a raider gang than tribals anymore, especially after the NCR decimated their numbers. Lawrence fired. The warning shot skidded between a pair of boots. 

The Khan jumped back to cover. The second pair of shoes jogged to his companion and exchanged harsh whispers. “We already killed you once!” One Khan belted out. His voice was hoarse, raspy, with a conspicuous twang Vincent recognized before its owner buried him. “We’ll do it again.”

“Ain’t who you think I am!” Lawrence shouted. He returned to his feet. Peering around his cover, one hand told Vincent to stay put. “Suggest you leave.”

“It’s ours!” The second Khan yelled. He jumped out from the bumper end of their cover. 

Lawrence turned his sights on him and before the Khan could fire, Lawrence unleashed a round. With a yelp, the man retracted behind rusted tailfins. The ranger lingered, arms slightly lowered as he squinted on the horizon. Dark static rolled down the highway. Straight for them. 

“Run.” Lawrence whipped around. The frightened boy stared back at him, frozen solid by one too many brushed with death. “Run!” He shoved Vincent and finally got to moving. Stealing glances over his shoulder, the swarm grew. Ominous thrums preceded them. Rumbling through the valley and tripling their numbers. At the faintest buzz, the Khans darted into the desert. Orange wings flashed in the black mass. Stingers caught the glare of the sun on their tips. Evil red eyes shimmered in the swarm, growing larger and larger as the horde rushed down the highway.

“There!” Lawrence pointed down the highway to a dilapidated rest stop off the side of the road—the only cover for miles. He reached the ancient gas station first finding it cleared out by time. Doors ripped off their hinges. Windows shattered to empty sockets. Only mounds of sand and dust clung inside the breezy structure. Attached to it, was a garage with its door intact. Using all his strength, the ranger pushed up the springy metal. He spun around and waved urgently for Vincent merely feet away. The boy slid inside. Lawrence followed, and finally he took a breath. 

The swarm rumbled by. Rapid drums thumped against the metal door, echoing the boy’s hammering heart. He dropped to a squat and hugged his knees watching the orange glow around the door vanish until the black cloud consumed day entirely. Lawrence crashed next to him. A heavy sigh deflated the ranger, his breath finally caught and danger caged outside. 

Lawrence looked for Vincent. Dulled by the dark. Only the glistening sweat of his skin told of his contours. “You been pissin’ off Great Khans?”

“I recognize one of the voices.”

“Guy who almost killed you?”

“One of them…”

Lawrence shifted next to him. “How many were there?”

“I think four or five.”

“And none of them managed to actually kill you?”

Vincent shrugged, unseen, but heard. A husky chuckle broke the silence and hushed the buzzing outside. “You got some kind of luck.”

By the late afternoon when night peeked over the eastern ranges and the heat retreated, they reached Novac. Legs ached. Feet burned. Tomorrow, blisters will surely arrive. With every gust of wind, he shivered under a damp shirt. Only hours ago, he begged for such a chill. Insect noise chirped in the dark. A quiet town, livelier during the day when traders and travelers passed through. Grown from the bones of an even older one. Its lifeline, the trading routes abound in the southwest. Simple, single-story structures littered the roadside. Sturdy adobe and wood mimicked the same old-world styles back home in California. Others newer as their numbers grew. Nothing fancy, but they’d survive the heat and sun of an arid desert. 

The local saloon garnered the better part of the town’s population. A gentle breeze carried the smokey scent of grilling meat, homebrewed drink, and the faint radio buzz. Wood chairs creaked gently back and forth on the porch

Observant locals watched two strangers roll in like tumbleweeds. The cacophony of chatter inside the bar hushed whatever the old men whispered. While that scent food got stronger, so did hunger pangs throttling the boy’s stomach. Across the way, a hotel. The only one you’d find for miles and with quite the sight to break up the landscape.

A dinosaur towered over the highway exchange. Shiny silver skin beamed under a chipping basil veneer. Clutched in its claws was a thermometer. Probably not a real one, given the giant bite taken out of it. Then in its opened mouth, Novac’s lookout seen only by the barrel of a long rifle resting in the gap of its teeth.

“Huh,” Vincent hummed as he stared up at the beast. “Why do you think they built it?”

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!” A booming synthetic voice spooked away any lingering sleepiness. He heard that voice before. A familiar one he found—rather found him. In a deep ditch. “If it ain’t my pal from Goodsprings.” 

“Hello, Victor,” Vincent squinted under the glare of the bright screen. The cartoon cowboy had a wide smile to match the synthetic, upbeat voice. “What are you doing in Novac?”

“Don’t rightly know.” 

Lawrence studied the machine casually wheeling over of its volition from the shade of the hotel’s canopy. One of hundreds, maybe more, manufactured centuries ago. They were big, bulky things with an arsenal of weapons hidden in utility arms and a boxy body. Bright screens beamed out from the center of the body and typically didn’t have unique faces such as this one. Nor the upbeat voice that grated his ears. In fact, he didn’t think any could have a personality. Not of their own accord at least. All the more reason to be suspicious; this one had a purpose. 

“I just got the notion to make my way to New Vegas! Reckon I’ll find out when I get there. Don’t suppose you might be headin’ that way too?”

“Doubt it,” Vincent shrugged. “I haven’t found those guys who attacked me.”

“Look me up if you do!” The machine urged. It raised an arm as if to tip an imaginary hat. “Stay safe out there yonder.”

“What was that?” Lawrence inquired, his judging gaze followed the machine-cowboy. A nonchalant stroll down the on-ramp to the highway. An odd one. The same make and model that roamed New Vegas long before the NCR and Legion wandered in. But they weren’t aimless roamings. They were ordered to, like scouts and infantrymen. Only after making contact did the NCR realize the robots weren’t anything to be trifled with, and not just because of their discrete arsenal hidden inside, but rather, who they belonged to—the mysterious, elusive, and shrewd Mr. House. 

“That securitron pulled me from the ditch I was buried in, after I was, you know…” One hand paused on the doorknob. Chills rushed through him every time he recalled that awful night. Like being thrown back into that musty grave, his mouth was parched by soil, panicky breaths gasped for air that would never come. His face twisted to a tight grimace as he shook the thought off. “Might be the only reason I’m alive right now.”

“Why am I not surprised the bullet-proof vest on you didn’t absorb a bullet to the head?” Lawrence said, giving a tug to Vincent’s vest.

A sharp squint shooed away Lawrence’s playful gesture. At least Lawrence assumed him as a boy thus far. He tried desperately to hide himself, for his own peace of mind and safety too, but fear of being discovered always loomed over him. Even his own mother didn’t want him… It was better Vincent kept to himself, kept the vest tight, kept his hair short, and kept quiet when he was assumed to be just a dumb kid barely on the cusp of manhood, even if it irritated him to no end.

He hadn’t told a soul in a long time, and it was isolating. He wondered if someone as kind as the ranger had been could ever keep being kind after knowing.

“Hm,” Lawrence hummed. The front door quietly shut the encroaching night behind them. “Strange that a securitron would drag you out of ditch of its own accord.”

“Maybe,” Vincent shrugged. “I don’t think too much into it counting that he saved me.”

Dark brows tightened as curious eyes investigated their bland surroundings. “That means it was watchin’ but didn’t intervene,” Lawrence pondered examining the old, sun-bleached paintings adorning the walls. Colors had drained away to a world washed in pink. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers…”

 “Hello dear!” A frail, twangy voice greeted him. “Can I help you with anything?” She was an old woman. Silver haired. Deep lines on a sagging face and tiny eyes squinted behind glasses. 

“I hope so!” Vincent forced his best smile in spite of the exhaustion ready to toss him on the floor. Standing on the tips of his boots, Vincent met a parade of green dinosaurs marching in place on the countertop. Little hats and clay tools occupied clawed hands. Some were dressed in dapper little outfits of miniature tuxedos sewn together from scraps and crocheted dresses complimented by little bags filled with dried flowers. He met the old woman’s patient smile and reminded himself everyone needs a hobby… “I’m looking for a man who may have passed through here. Wearing a checkered suit, kind of gaudy looking.”

“Oh yes, I remember! Real rude.” She shook her head as lips thinned to a sour taste. “I don’t know where they went, but good riddance.”

“I was hoping to get a hold of one of them…”

“I hope you aren’t one of those trouble-makers.” Saggy eyes narrowed on him as though she was grandmother ready to scold Vincent for sneaking intro the cookie jar.

“No, see—He stole something from me. Kind of need it back…”

 “Maybe you should ask Manny. I think he spoke to them so most likely knows where they went. Oh, and his shift should just about be done.”

“Where can I find him?”

“He’ll be coming down from Dinky any minute now,” she nodded, her friendly smile returning for a brief moment.

“Thank you!” 

Lawrence followed him out with a cigarette and match in impatient hands. “I think that’s the guy you want to talk to.” 

A wood-stocked rifle hung off his shoulder. A red beret was tilted over one brow, its pins flashing with every other step in dwindling sunlight. He was far too tall for Vincent’s confidence. Seemed everyone was lately—Lawrence, this guy, that guy. Everyone but him. He took a deep breath to hush creeping insecurities while putting one foot in front of the other and murmuring the script he’d ask the stranger. “Are you Manny?” 

The man paused, beating dust off his beret. “Yeah, who are you?” 

“Vincent. I’m looking for someone who came through here a while ago. Maybe wearing an ugly checkered suit…” Vincent explained, then stole a brief glance back to his companion. The ranger kept his distance at the courtyard’s gate, content for the moment to smoke. “Heard you may have seen him.”

“Sure, I seen him.” Manny’s expression refused to betray emotion. The stoic ones were the hardest to read. Just a hint of something to go on would have been nice.

 “Well…” Vincent’s voice trembled forgetting what he should say. He cleared his throat and forced down his alleged Adam’s apple. “Well, he nearly killed me and stole something from me. I just really need to know where he could be headed to…”

“Nearly killed you?” Manny crossed his arms as brows knitted together, seemingly evaluating the peculiar boy before him barely concealing a nervous smile as he shifted on his feet. Manny’s gaze lingered on his scar, however. Was that curiosity? Pity? Vincent would take either at this point if it helped. “Doesn’t surprise me. Guy’s a dick. Y’know, the type to make a lot of enemies the moment they open their mouth…” His voice trailed off as if considering the young man. “I can definitely tell you where he went, but maybe we can do a trade?”

Lawrence grumbled. He tossed another dud match and checked on the boy’s status. The two were still chatting, their topic carried away by the breeze. 

“Sure!” Vincent smiled, eagerly nodding. “I have a few interesting things I’ve found in the wasteland,” he informed, reaching a hand inside his satchel. “Like these caps with blue stars—”

Manny chuckled. His solemn façade finally replaced with a smile. A good sign, Vincent hoped. “Follow me.”

The ranger’s eyes followed the boy. Manny nodded. A friendly gesture for Vincent to follow. The kid smiled. Something the ranger had come to like seeing— “Shit!” He hissed. Burned fingertips flicked the match. 

12 seconds. He did it in 10 once and had yet to repeat that. The ranger hummed inspecting the standard issued pistol. An assortment of dirty rags, a dented tin of lubricant, and a splayed multi-tool was the company around him. He reassembled the pistol before tending to the sniper rifle next. It was his favorite. His pride and joy he saved up mounds of caps to get. Not to mention all the bells and whistles. He learned eagerly, earnestly, and with great expectations placed upon himself to master the rifle before he got his own. Yet, he still wasn’t the best of the best. Even with plenty of successful missions and tales behind him. Stories he didn’t get to share with the one person who should have been proud of him. 

The slow creak interrupted Lawrence’s regrettable thoughts. Vincent peered around the door. Lawrence eased his shoulders and returned to his task. “Found out they’re headed to Boulder City,” Vincent said. He paused. Full eyes hooked on Lawrence. The man sat in just a tank and underwear, not that Vincent complained. An urgent inner voice begged him not to stare echoed in his head. Especially not down south—Well, maybe just a peek…

“Bout six hour walk, but you sure do got a penchant for going places you shouldn’t.”

Muscles in Lawrence’s forearm twitched as he spun the multi-tool against a screw. So masculine in shape like Vincent wanted his own to be. A map of superficial veins pressed beneath the skin of strong hands. Hands he wanted to feel on himself—Vincent averted his gaze and hoped the ranger didn’t notice his admiration. Or worse—could somehow read his mind.

“What are you doing?” Vincent mindlessly asked.

“Just some maintenance,” Lawrence muttered. The black sheen of the rifle glowed in his hands. It was all matte and long with plenty of gear added beyond just a typical scope. None of which Vincent knew the names or purpose of. “Your gun need cleaning’?”

“Yeah, probably.” Vincent set his satchel aside before plopping down with the ranger. “I don’t actually know how to do it myself.”

“No?” Lawrence looked up to him, a slight wince on his face. “Have you even used it?”

“It’s good for spooking off geckos…”

“Ah, right, the geckos. How could I forget.” Lawrence chuckled and set his rifle aside. He gestured for Vincent to hand over his gun and he did, holster and all. “Who taught you to use it?”

“Oh, uh, no one.” Vincent shrugged, “seems pretty straight forward.” Lawrence’s inquisitive brow arched. His gaze remained on Vincent even as he unloaded the pistol’s magazine. “Why are you always giving me that look?”

“What look?” Lawrence inquired with an all too innocent tone as he went to work on the gun.

“Always pointing that judgy look at me,” Vincent said, crossing his arms.

“I might be pointing a look a you but I ain’t judging,” Lawrence said. His disarming charm almost made Vincent believe him.

“Then why you looking at me like that, huh?”

“I’m not allowed to look at you?”

Vincent opened his mouth before he realized he had nothing to say to that. So, he squinted at the ranger instead. A playful smile crinkled Lawrence’s eyes and quiet returned to the room as he worked on the 9mm. Occasional mutterings about the poorly kept firearm broke the silence.

“Do you even know how to take this apart?” Lawrence piped up. Vincent pursed his lips wondering how many ways he can say no without appearing incompetent. “Even my useless father showed me that.”

“I never me my father,” Vincent mentioned with a casualness he hadn’t realized until Lawrence gave him the look. “You’re doing it again!”

“Looking at you?” The ranger feigned annoyance. “What happened not beggars can’t be choosers?”

“What?” Vincent squeaked to his dismay. He calmed his voice and lowered his pitch. “I didn’t beg for you to come with me…”

“I can leave if I’m bad company,” he said, but with the little smile tugging his lips he wasn’t convincing. “Plus, I think you like when I look at you.”

Vincent held his breath with this new look the ranger was giving him. He was already handsome, but when he smiled his rough side softened and melted everyone around him too.

“You—You’re arrogant.” Finding himself without any clever remark, Vincent scrambled inside to keep his composure. He hoped the warmth he felt in his face wasn’t him blushing. He never blushed! Or found himself so charmed by someone… “Are all ranger’s so smug?”

Lawrence laughed it off, of course. He wouldn’t know it, but his playfulness kept Vincent awake that night and bashfully smiling at what it could all mean. For those fleeting seconds, he pretended Lawrence might like him despite what he was hiding.










The walk to Boulder City was as long and hot as the ranger knew it would be. It was all the same scenery he saw a hundred times before. The distant mountain ranges faded to blue on the horizon. Simmering asphalt shimmered like an oasis mirage. Mile markers blended together about midway through, and he stopped counting. The sun was the worst of it all, looming high in cloudless, blue expanse. But even under its beating, inescapable heat that wrung out bodies like soaked towels, there was peacefulness in the desert. Hope grew in the verdant fields of sage brush and desert broom rooted in dry lake beds. Tall saguaro and squat barrel cacti filled the rocky void between, splashing a bit of color on a beige canvas with pink and yellow flowers. And then there was Vincent. Somewhat oblivious, naïve, but endlessly curious about all the new sights around him.

Life wasn’t completely wasted out here, even if Vincent’s almost was. In spite of nearly dying via eating a bullet, the boy didn’t appear too put down by it. If that had happened to Lawrence… “So, what are you going to do once you find this guy?”

“Ask him why he tried to kill me.”

Lawrence’s sunglasses did little to hide his peculiar expression. “That’s it? Ask him why he tried to kill you?”

“Well, no, not just that,” Vincent murmured. “I am owed a few grand in caps and coincidentally from him!” 

The ranger grunted. “Suspect.”

“He’s supposed to be my contact once I got to the city—New Vegas, I mean,” Vincent added. “Not to mention, this whole thing seems really suspicious. What’s so important about it that he would rather kill me than just the usual mugging? Hard not to take that personally…”

Lawrence hummed, staring down the distant road and blinking away the droplets  streaming down his brows. “That securitron seemed suspicious too. I thought I saw one earlier when we were in the mountains on the way to Novac.”

“Really?”

“On the road, but didn’t think much of it,” he explained. “I’ve seen a few here and there out in the desert. Rather not approach strange robots, y’know?”

“Maybe I’ll kill him,” Vincent pondered, yet it felt just like that—all talk. “This guy seems to have a reputation for being an asshole. I might be doing people a favor.” 

Kill him. 

It’s what a real man would do. Without a doubt, he knew a real man wouldn’t let himself be pushed around so much.

 “I’ll be frank, Vince…” Lawrence swallowed his laugh as not to offend the boy. “I really doubt you’ve ever killed anyone, even if self-defense.”

“Well,” Vincent’s voice weakened. It felt too high and uncomfortable in his throat. “No, not really—Not that I know of…”

Lawrence nodded, biting back a joke only he would find funny. He flicked the cigarette butt off the side of the road. “It’s not always easy,” he said, returning the serious demeanor Vincent first met. “Even people who killed in self-defense and would’ve died had they not, still don’t sit well with it.”

Narrowed brows tugged on his scar tissue and reminded him why he was angry. “I don’t have any empathy for someone who shot me in the head and left me for dead.”

“I’m just saying, maybe think on this a little more,” Lawrence continued. “The guy is clearly dangerous, probably well connected, and I’d hate to see you get hurt or worse—actually dead this time.”

Vincent loosened the tension in his face. More than half of him knew Lawrence was right. He wasn’t the best with a gun and really it was just for show. Most of his troubles as a courier had been running and hiding. He hated having to do that. He hated that other people were so vile and dangerous and made him feel weak. He wouldn’t tell Lawrence how many times he had almost been killed or had something worse happen to him. The ranger surely thought of him as incapable and soft… Which was why a tiny part of him screamed so loudly, urging for revenge.

The rest of their quiet walk led them to be planted in the middle of nowhere with not a soul for miles. The sun barely peeked behind the western mountain ranges, taking any lingering warmth of day with it. Black clouds rolled in from the east where night swallowed dying red skies. Soon the nasty things that lurked in the night would emerge.

“We ought to stop for the night,” Lawrence halted in the intersection as Vincent continued on, oblivious with eyes glued to the ranger’s map. Lawrence tugged Vincent back by a loop of his vest.

“Aren’t we close to Boulder City?” Vincent turned to the ranger with hopeful eyes.

 “Creepy crawlies and night stalkers don’t make good travel companions,” Lawrence shook his head, then waved for the boy to follow down a different path. “There’s a ranger station a few minutes west of here. We’ll continue in the morning.”

Vincent sighed. Map crinkled as it fell to his legs. He stared down the northbound highway that led to their destination. A long black road stretched into the dark that eventually swallowed it. There was no moon tonight. No stars either. Only consuming darkness. Nightstalker howls echoed around them and suddenly dinner and sleep wasn’t so bad.

“This why you starin’ down deathclaws? A li’l too eager for revenge?”

“Pff!” Vincent scoffed. “It was just an overgrown lizard.”

Lawrence shoved the boy along. “Hah! I’ll remember that next time.”

The ranger station was a small outpost wedged in a canyon crevice fortified by repurposed vehicle frames and sheet metal. Black apparitions wandered the ramparts. Disembodied steps clamored on hollow shelves. In the center of it all, one building. Once a highway patrol station, now it had been converted to living quarters for the rangers that guarded it. Soft flickers of lantern light led them to the door. The gentle hum of a radio invited them inside.

 “Howdy.” A hoarse voice greeted the two first. She manned the radio equipment set on a desk pushed adjacent to the door. A pile of papers occupied one corner while an open notebook and pen sat in front of her.

“Been quiet here, Mel?”

She turned around and horror suffocated Vincent. Black and maroon eyes flickered on him. The animated corpse-woman nodded. “Hoping it stays that way.”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Lawrence said, taking an unfortunate step towards the ghoul. Peeling and pocked flesh clung to her skullish face. Her nose was withered away to two slits. “Legion’s got a hold of Nipton. Already told Mojave outpost but nobody’s been out to secure the area.”

A parched hum grumbled loosening cartilage in her throat. She looked at Vincent, much to his dismay. “Survivor?”

“Not from Nipton, no. I didn’t get to close to the town. They razed it. Lots of crosses out there.”

“I’ll radio Mojave,” Mel acknowledged. “Who’s your friend? What a cute little thing with young and fresh skin.” She chuckled, baring time-stained teeth and wrinkling dehydrated skin. “What are you doing out here, girl?”

Vincent grimaced at the word. Before he could correct her Lawrence stated, “I found Vincent wrestlin’ a deathclaw. We’re stayin’ for the night before moving up to Boulder City.”

“Oh, my bad,” she laughed off her unintended slight. “Only got one open bunk though.”

“It’ll have to do,” Lawrence shrugged as he gestured for Vincent to follow.

He crossed the small office, eyes still fixed on the ghoul and unable to peel off of her even by his own will. She retrieved her bulky headphones and brought them over her ear holes. A “smile” saw the two off. “Goodnight.”

Down the hall and passed a few closed doors was one open one. A storage room really. One flickering light. One bed. A mattress without a sheet. Dusty, springy, surrounded by hordes of supplies and junk left over from the previous tenants. Staring at it, a whole new fear crept in Vincent’s mind.

Lawrence groaned as a hand rubbed the back of his neck. He surveyed the room for a second then pushed through, shrugging off his burdens to the floor. He grabbed a crate and pulled it to the side of the bed. Testing out his idea, he lay horizontally. Long legs sprawled on the crate with the rest of him on the mattress. “Welp, it’s gotta do.”

Vincent followed his example before settling in at the foot of the bed. Lawrence stood up, shirking off his duster and then unlatching the chest piece. The bullet belt came next, followed by the holsters and the hunting knife before reunintine to all be neatly stacked on his duffel bag. Vincent glanced at himself andt his satchel set between them.

“It’s ok for me to be here?” Vincent inquired.

Lawrence returned to the mattress, cozying under his duster as feet pushed off his boots. “You one of them raiders, warlords, outlaws, or all of the above we lookin’ for?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then get comfortable, just don’t wander off, unless it’s for the latrine.”

“I just thought only rangers could be at the stations.”

“Good thing I’m a ranger then,” Lawrence noted. With his nightly ritual complete, he looked at Vincent, brow arched with judgy gaze set on the boy’s Kevlar. “You worried you gon’ get shot in your dreams?”

Vincent crossed his arms. “I just like my vest.”

“Alright.” He turned his head back to face the ceiling as the flickering tube finally went out. Vague shadows stretched in their room from the orange-washed hallway. Intriguing shapes manifested like finding animals and things in the clouds. Vague faces morphed in the illusion. At least none as terrifying as the ghoul’s.

“I hope I didn’t offend Mel…” Vincent muttered. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Never seen a ghoul before?”

“Not up close. There weren’t any in my town. They lived on the outskirts because people didn’t like them.”

“Sound like a bunch of assholes in your town.”

“Yeah,” Vincent sighed. “You’re not wrong. Kind of why I left.”

One reason. One of many, honestly. Argument after argument with his mother. The looks. The gossip. The reason he hid under a ratty Kevlar vest, cut his hair short, and abandoned a name that fit him worse than own his skin. Worst part of it all was the supposed friend who went and told everyone his secret…

The next morning was uneventful. The road was much the same as yesterday. The sun hung heavily above them, relentlessly stagnant, licking bare skin with a fiery tongue, and soaking their bodies for all it was worth. Barely did a breeze grace them, but once the ruins of Boulder City shimmered on the afternoon horizon, did some life get breathed back into the odd pair.

 The once quaint, small town and gateway to Hoover Dam was now reduced to rubble on a maze of fractured streets. A tiny section quartered off from the rest of what remained stood surrounded by a makeshift fence of relocated rubble, chain link, and soldiers awaiting orders. Beyond the stand-off, trading posts and a saloon skirted concrete borders. Boulder City was never rebuilt. Too many still mourned the loss and building atop how many corpses there were under the rubble just seemed unpleasant.

“So, tops send in a ranger?” A soldier remarked as Vincent and Lawrence approached the crowd of tents. “Lieutenant Monroe, sir. Didn’t here about you coming.”

“Call me Lawrence.” The men exchanged salutes before shaking firm hands. “Just passing through. What’s the situation here?”

“Two Khans took hostages. I don’t know if they’re alive or not, but I’m not about to let them go.”

“Where are they hiding?”

“In the last standing building. We have them surrounded there.”

“Well, good thing I was wanderin’ on by,” Lawrence mused, a cocky tint to his voice. “Cazador company, second battalion sniper. I might be able to solve your problem.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Vincent interjected. “I need to talk to them, remember?”

“Don’t know how you think you’ll do that,” Lawrence retorted. “They just put themselves in a situation they ain’t gettin’ out of.”

“Why do you need to talk to them?” The lieutenant inquired, suspicion hinted in his tone.

“They know someone I’m looking for—” The boy’s face lit up. A smile crossed his face as an idea ignited inside his head. “Why can’t we negotiate with them? Guarantee no one has to die.”

Lawrence and the lieutenant balked at this as they exchanged looks. “That could make the situation ten times worse,” the ranger shook his head. “Khans don’t negotiate.” 

“Well, maybe if you do it,” Vincent’s glare accented his protest. “I don’t think those Great Khans want to get mowed down.”

“And who do you suppose is gonna talk to them, assuming they’ll stop to listen?” Not only did Lawrence not give his idea a chance, but the way the ranger towered over him added insult to injury. “Great Khans will kill any NCR soldiers on sight. It’s a miracle those ones aren’t dead already.”

“I can!” Vincent rolled his eyes. “I’m not a soldier and only they can answer my questions. I need to speak to them.”

“Have you ever dealt with Great Khans?” He turned to Vincent, chest broadened as hands hung on his hips. “Oh, wait! You have. You wanna get shot again?”

Vincent groaned. The man had a point, but how else could he move forward?

“They haven’t killed the hostages yet!” Vincent proclaimed. “They obviously don’t want to be killed. Not a lot of them around lately if you haven’t noticed—Oh, wait! The NCR is responsible for killing them—”

“Hey!” The lieutenant interjected, his face scrunched and ego bruised.

“You got a point,” the ranger reluctantly admitted.

“If they wanted to go out in a blaze of glory they would have killed those hostages and probably more of you,” Vincent declared. “Let me deal with them.”

The ranger’s stare was relentless, but it may have met its match. “Alright!” He threw up hands. “I’m covering you from up high. Don’t get shot and don’t say I didn’t warn you if you do.” Lawrence marched off before Vincent could sputter a quip at him.

Vincent trudged through rubble with determination. Despite the adrenaline and fear rushing through his veins and the odd glances from the soldiers, he had the good sense to prove Lawrence wrong. Whether that was worth being shot again… He only hoped whoever he was talking to didn’t have the best aim. Hell, given the last few encounters with Khans, maybe none of them did. Determined feet lost their motivation steps away from the door. Unless the checkered suit was in there… Vincent could end his journey here. Kill him. Find not just the physical thing he stole, but also something else he took from Vincent that night.

“Hello?” Vincent knocked on the door. “I’m just here to talk. Not a soldier.”

Vincent sighed, realizing this was a rather weak start to a delicate situation. Maybe he just made another stupid mistake, but now he’d have to see it through or probably return to a smug I-told-you-so-look from Lawrence. He pushed the door open a bit. Slow and careful, nothing sudden to raise suspicion. Hands promptly shot up. Two barrels set their sights on him and suddenly Lawrence’s smug look didn’t seem too bad.

“What the hell? You again!”

“I knew you was following us,” the other butted in.

“Yeah, I unfortunately remember you two…” Vincent sighed. They were the same Khans who nearly killed him. The same men that stood with his attacker and dug his grave. Typical lackeys became even more dangerous as cornered animals. Oh, this was absolutely a mistake. Yet here he was… “But! You guys want to make it out of here alive right?”

“Jessup, just kill this fool—” 

“Wait! I can get you out of here, but if you kill me then those soldiers out there will open fire.” The Khan’s glanced at each other. Stoic faces didn’t buy whatever the boy was selling, but guns had yet to fire. “The lieutenant out there already agreed that if those hostages leave here intact, then he’ll let all of you go.” 

“We damn near killed you. Why would you help us?”

“You’re after him,” Vincent blurted out. Stumbling over his words, he quickly found his balance. “You’re after Ugly Suit too, right?”

Chalky rubble tainted the air, Thick and coating the back of his throat in fine film. Boulder City was a waste of a town Lawrence vaguely remembered before it was blown to bits. Now it was eerily silent. Nowhere even the wildlife roamed in. Another scar on the land, and another reminder of everything he wish he had the willpower to leave behind. Among the ruins, a lone door opened. His scope honed in on the figure.

Vincent.

Alive. No new holes, but no hostages with him either. Vincent turned around, hand up to his brow as if looking for something. Then he stopped. Squinting and waving his arms he jumped up. “Lawrence!” 

Lawrence pulled away from the scope and stared down at the scene as if his own rifle were lying to him. 

“They want to talk to you!” 

Lawrence’s face soured. Was he serious? Lawrence glanced around, meeting curious eyes from the soldiers. Each wondering the same thing he was.

“Lawrence!” Vincent shouted louder as he gestured more wildly for the ranger. Lawrence sighed and began packing up. “Yes you. Sniper-guy—”

“Shut up!” 

A distant holler crossed the ruins. Vincent winced, brows narrowed before he muttered to himself, “rude...”

The door bounced off its hinges as Lawrence stepped inside. Disarmed as promised, but the ranger still wielded a sharp glare. “The hell is this about?” 

“Is it true?” Jessup asked. “You just pick random kids up off the side of the road?”

“What?” Lawrence looked at Vincent then back to the pair of Khans, their bandanas clearly a little too tight around their head. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-one,” Vincent grumbled.

“What really?” The Khans muttered, then some nonsense about being relieved didn’t actually kill a child since that’s only when murder’s regretful followed.

“Can we get this show on the road?” Lawrence butted in, hand rotating as if it would speed up things.

“Hey!” The two Khans stared him down. “I ask questions— Why you with this kid, ranger? You looking to get in on Benny’s stash?”

“No, I ain’t lookin’ to get in on someone’s stash. I stumbled on him and plucked him out from under a deathclaw a few days ago. Look at him—” Lawrence crossed his arms. Eyes scrutinized Vincent. A curious brow arched as he wondered what he said to the Khans to make it this far, but Vincent’s disapproving scowl met Lawrence’s gawk. “Boy’s one card short of a full deck. I can’t let him go out alone, so he’s hitching a ride to Vegas with me.”

“Damn son. We tried to kill you then you go out finding deathclaws?”

“You got some bad juju,” Jessup shook his head. “Wait, why were you guys tailing us then?”

“We had no idea you two existed until you found us and then the Cazador swarm came,” Vincent noted. “I figured you’d gone off with Benny.”

“Nah, that bitch ditched us.”

“Didn’t pay up either. Alright,” Jessup squinted, eyeballing the two behind a foggy haze. “We’ll give up the hostages, but we go free. And the Tops’s vault is ours!”

“You know what, you guys take whatever he’s got stashed. I only want the chip,” Vincent explained. “In fact, take the whole damn casino and your family will never have to be running from NCR guns again. You’ll be swimming in caps, and you won’t even have to lift a finger!”

The Khans looked at each other, each seeing the caps sparkling in the other’s eyes. They nodded in agreement, and in Vincent’s adrenaline withdrawal haze, found himself back outside, the hostages released, and the Khans cautiously making their retreat. Nothing but a sea of rubble and unsure footing was around him.

“Mind the ground,” Lawrence suggested as Vincent stepped on a chunk of drywall then swiftly fell. “Or you’ll get hurt…”

Vincent peeked at his latest damage. Red beads swelled in grated pink flesh. Dirt dusted the seams of broken skin. “Sit down,” Lawrence ordered, and the boy plopped down on the concrete. Vincent’s darting glances evaluated who else might have witnessed his blunder. A cold cloth pressed his arm. He winced at the sting that followed. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Vincent muttered as Lawrence pulled him back to his feet.

 “You managed a successful negotiation to free hostages from Khans but get done in by your own feet,” Lawrence said, brushing dust off Vincent’s shoulder.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Sure, take it that way,” Lawrence flashed a smile as he reached into a duster pocket and produced a crushed cigarette carton. 

“Benny—codename: Ugly Suit—is apparently a chairman of one of the casinos in Vegas,” Vincent said, holding up the silver lighter that was a parting gift from the two Khans. Lawrence took it, inspecting every corner of a typical souvenir he’d find in the casinos on the strip. “The Tops.”

“He look as obnoxious as his name sounds?”

Vincent laughed, “yes. I remember that much.”

“Guess we’re going to the strip.”

“You still want to come with me?”

“You keep insinuating I’m bad company.” Lawrence flicked it open and lit his cigarette.

“I do not!” Vincent chirped. “Just curious why I suppose…”

A smile broke Lawrence’s façade. “Ought to keep that curiosity in check. Look where you’re at.”

“I’m still alive.”

“So far,” the ranger added. “Come on, three hours and we can stop in Henderson for the night.”

The desert cooled as they walked along a twilight precipice. The fuzzy white halo illuminating New Vegas swallowed the stars above. Vincent studied the skyline. Examined its dips and rises, pondering the one tallest among them all. It was reminiscent of a needle, burning brillitantly at its circular apex. With so many lights and towers of every shape and hue, he wondered what the city itself looked like. A shiver stole Vincent from his thoughts.

“Tired or cold?” Lawrence asked, lighting a fresh cigarette between his lips.

“A bit of both,” Vincent muttered through chattering teeth. Lawrence shrugged off his duster and draped it over the boy’s shoulders. Butterflies fluttered in Vincent’s belly. He pulled the pre-warmed duster around him, hiding his smile with its tall collar. The ranger must’ve doused it with his perfume. Relaxed leather no longer had its natural smell but was replaced with something more pleasant and masculine and woodsy to cloak the cigarette smoke.

But happiness was fleeting for Vincent. 

The ranger certainly wouldn’t offer his coat up if he knew the truth. The truth… As if Vincent was a liar. As if living as himself was some sin or ruse. His truth was, he was happy, for the most part. Imperfect, but better than the past that felt the like true ruse. Yet his shortcomings still nagged him, not as terrible burden as it was before when everybody called him by the wrong name. The same feelings still present as was the wrong body and alien face that blinked back at him in the mirror. He wondered if it would ever go away. Wondered if it would ever be fixed—Could he ever be fixed?

“Henderson is just a stone’s throw away.”

Vincent yawned again. Feet ached with every irregular piece of gravel under weakening soles. Once sturdy, now they felt little more than thin paper. “Rest would be nice.”

“Mind if I ask you something?” Lawrence looked at Vincent as he pulled the cigarette from his lips. The lit end traced the contours of his sharp angles in a soft glow. A hesitant hand hovered, biding time till Lawrence took another a draw. There was a brief moment of timidness with the way Lawrence glanced to Vincent. “Did you sleep with the guy in Novac?”

“N-No!” Vincent shook his head. “I mean, he was kind of coming onto me and… Well I don’t know what I said—You ever had someone just… Spill their whole life-story on you?” Lawrence’s brow hung in intrigue as Vincent continued. “He was going on about his friend who lost his wife, but then he goes and confesses his love to his friend. Of course, the guy mourning his wife is not going to reciprocate that! Let’s completely ignore the fact he was married. To a woman. That might be your first sign nothing’s gonna happen between you. And now he’s shocked the dude doesn’t want to be around him. I get you two were best friends n’ all, but you gotta have some tact.”

An exasperated sigh concluded Vincent’s rant. Lawrence stifled his laugh and stuck his cigarette between his lips to shut up any impending wise-ass remarks. He choked on the smoke instead. Coughing and laughing simultaneously, he fanned away the smoke from his face.

“What makes you think I did?”

“Y’all were headin’ back to his room.” 

“I learned a few things from watching the women where I lived.” Vincent halted in his steps. “Not like that!” He wagged a finger, urging Lawrence to consider otherwise, but the ranger was already wearing one of his looks. “I mean, how to talk to people. The prostitutes knew how to liberate money and information from men

A gray plume collected on Lawrence’s lips, waiting for the wind to soon scare it off into the breeze. He was silent for a moment then stated, “When I was your age, young, poor, and kicked-out of my home, I thought about trying that.” A shrug accompanied a laugh found only in hindsight. “Figured I was good-looking and horny enough.” 

It was hard to imagine Lawrence playing that role. The man was made of barbed-wire, but occasionally Vincent caught a glimpse of something more in the ranger.

“What did you do instead?” 

“I met a ranger. He convinced me to join, and I turned my life around.” Lawrence looked at Vincent and said with a sudden change of tone, “pretty boy like you would be eaten alive. Don’t even consider it.”

Vincent hoped it was too dark for Lawrence to see his bashful expression. Warmth and fuzziness was a rare feeling for him but Lawrence somehow kept goading it out. He wasn’t sure if he liked that, but at the same time it was hard not to relish those words. Pretty boy—maybe he could be something other than an amorphous sexless thing.

“I’ll take that advice. Some of the girls were my friends—or, my mother’s. They looked after me sometimes, mostly when I was young and needed it.” 

Lawrence lit another cigarette as he surveyed the wide-open plains. Empty, for now. “She, uh, a madame?”

“No, she did accounting stuff. Kept track of the money, but she worked with the madame.”

“Ah.”

“Thanks, by the way,” Vincent grabbed the collar of the coat and stiffened it. “For everything.”

“Not a big deal.” 

“Well, I hope I didn’t get in the way of your plans…”

“Not at all,” Lawrence said, but Vincent wasn’t sure of his honesty. “Seen one cactus you seen ‘em all, right?” 

Henderson was a sprawling, up and coming town of mostly NCR sharecropper farms, livestock herding and trading, and of course prospectors looking to pick an ancient monolith clean of its valuables when its robot guards weren’t looking. The usual businesses popped up to meet the needs of all those folks in the form of saloons, general stores, and hotels. When the sun set, downtown was lit up like a match. The bar rooms came to life as the shops closed. Music flooded out from each glowing doorway in a jumbled cacophony as Vincent and Lawrence passed each one. Shadows danced to music, twirling and strutting away the dread of the real world. Laughs waded out to the beat of an aspiring comedian or some fumbling drunk.

Only one hotel held a lit neon vacancy sign in their window and that was just the one they wandered into. Like most of Henderson, it was a refurbished old-world skeleton given a new façade and some paint. The bar room was the life and entrance of the hotel. Tables hosted strange characters of all types. Prospectors, drifters, mercenaries… Suspicious eyes glanced up at the drifters wading through poker games and conversation. The burn of alcohol intoxicated the air and riled up Vincent’s empty stomach on the way to the bar that was also the receptionist’s counter.

“What can I get you two?” The host’s eyes met Lawrence before a subtle evaluation of his duster and its NCR insignias.

“We need a room for two.”

“Any room can be a room for two if you don’t mind sharing a bed.” Brown eyes twinkled with a rehearsed thin-lipped kind of smile. “Fifty caps a night, or sixty if you’re paying with paper money.”

“I have caps!” Vincent said when Lawrence reached in his duster. He rummaged through his satchel for what measly allowance he still possessed but Lawrence was already forking over their due.

“Just mind the rules,” the bartender announced, thumb jerking over his shoulder to the sign hung high between liquor shelves. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

Vincent looked at the sign of black and white on old aluminum. Swirling decals decorated the margins. A single bullet hole pierced the center of dusty metal. 

No noise after 10 PM.

No gambling. 

No gunfire.

The stairs creaked all the way up to the second floor and Vincent winced each time. The narrow and rickety thing was liable to lose a step any day now. Old wallpaper plastered the hallway. Faded green hues caged in waxy wood panels made the halls feel more claustrophobic than they were. The room itself wasn’t different than the overall look of the place. The bed at least had clean sheets—or at least they looked clean. A table pushed up against the wall held back flowing white curtains from an open window. Two chairs were already pulled out, welcoming tired travelers to rest and Lawrence was quick to accept that invite. 

Lawrence angled the bottle purchased before they headed up on the side of the table and brought down his fist, popping off the cap. He took a refreshing sip of Nuka-Cola and sunk into his chair. His head flung back as a content sigh escaped his lips.  Vincent joined him, setting down two plates full of food but he found the ranger more enticing. Eyes wandered down the man’s strong neck. Thick muscles framed his Adam’s apple that bobbed every time he spoke. Light stubble shadowed the underside of his jaw, surrounding the tuft of coarse hair coating his chin. Temptation crept in. Reach out, touch him. Feel the rough texture of his cheeks, the masculine slope of his neck—

“Zonin’ out over there?”

“Hm?” Vincent caught himself before any more embarrassing thoughts could follow. “Yeah. Just tired…”

“Ever been to Henderson before?”

“I’ve never been this far into Nevada.”

“It’s not bad, mostly just farming, trading, scavenging from the old-world factories… The locals are a tough bunch and apprehensive to the NCR, but not overtly hostile like you find in Freeside.”

“I noticed the no gambling rule on the sign,” Vincent, sawing a dull knife back and forth in the overcooked meat. Meanwhile Lawrence dug into his easily with his hunting knife.

“Henderson relies on Hoover Dam’s power output and guess who’s in control of that? Only reason the NCR is tolerated here is to keep the power and water on. Some of the laws will reflect that, but don’t mean its enforced.”

With a full mouth and soon to be satisfied stomach, all Vincent needed was entertainment. Gazing out the window into the night, he wondered what New Vegas had to offer. It was a beacon in the dark, metaphorically and literally. The city was one of promises and opportunities. Maybe he’d find something better for him there, but just thinking about that felt like another turn of fate he was gambling on.

“You really twenty-one?”

Lawrence’s voice stole him from the window view. “Yes.”

“I was thinking seven-or eighteen.”

Vincent sighed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad thing.”

“People think I’m some dumb kid most of the time.”

Lawrence stacked their empty plates in the center of the table. He leaned back and brought a cigarette to his lips. “Don’t worry about what some passing jackass thinks of you, it’s seldom anything beyond determining how useful you are.” 

“Are you calling yourself a jackass?” 

A dramatic plume of smoke lit the stick. He waved the match until it died while keeping squint locked on Vincent. His mildly amused lips said otherwise. Vincent found them to be quite provocative. A playful warning that also whispered seductively to Vincent try me.

“Don’t worry what some passing jackass thinks of you.” Vincent’s smile pushed the ranger’s buttons. Lawrence’s dreamy gaze vanished as soon as it arrived, however.

“I learned that the hard way,” he explained. “Not everyone’s opinion is worth keeping in your head.”

Vincent pursed his lips thoughtfully, but also disappointed that Lawrence didn’t want to keep playing whatever game it was they were occasionally having. “What if they’re family?”

“Especially family,” Lawrence said without hesitation, a notable hint of regret in tone.

Vincent vied to ask more with that response, but he kept his questions reserved. It wouldn’t be the same experience, similar perhaps. Where Lawrence was kicked out of his home, Vincent willfully left without goodbyes verbally or otherwise. Despite everything that had happened on the way, he hadn’t regretted it. But he wondered if he was wrong for the reason that made him leave. They might’ve had more common ground, yet hesitation always weighed down on Vincent. It was better he never got too close to anyone, no matter how painfully handsome they were.