A noon gust brushed his face, drying sweat before it finished its endless trails down his nose and temples and into too many other places he wished weren’t so damp. He closed his eyes, taking in a chill against his drenched back. The breeze was a gentle gust of encouragement to continue on. The only break in a constant inferno for a few precious seconds. The second reprieve graced his fingers in slick dew, beading down the curves of a mental canister. His other hand was sore, pulsating with every labored beat of his heart. Calluses atop of calluses on reddened palms. gripped the haft of a shovel. Not by will anymore rather stiff joints.

If he was this beat, Vincent had to have it worse. Yet the boy kept going. Exhausted muscles twitched in his arms. White-knuckled fingers stuck around the wood handle. He huffed with every thrust. Grunting with every heave and toss of a meager pile. If it weren’t for the few volunteers Gina requisitioned and a couple of Mr. Handys, the two would have given up long ago. Lawrence reached to the boy, halting Vincent’s first thrust into the next unsuspecting cactus.

“Take a breather.”

Vincent hesitated. If he stopped now, he might not get back up again. Shoulders deflated with a final huff as he let the shovel fall. Strained arms lost any form, feeling more like his mother’s nopal noodles than anything that had dug up seven ditches. Aching hands still felt the damn thing in them. Rough patches appeared on his palms, reddened and sore like the black ink on the fourth finger of his right hand. A fleeting memory of the kind of nights he had come to live for crossed his mind whenever he looked at it.

Cool gel on his skin jolted Vincent back into the moment. The thick slather quelled hot flesh tender to the touch—He already reconciled with himself the inevitable burn.

“We’re both gonna be redder than a brahmin’s ass after this,” Lawrence grumbled as he tended his own exposure. There was no solace from the sun in these hours, but Vincent smiled at Lawrence as though the ranger was that solace. He had a matching tattoo, on his left hand though. Two thin lines circled his finger and sandwiched in between them was Vincent’s name. He wondered if the ranger had any regrets about it. Vincent didn’t even if it was a spur-of-the-drunken-moment, and much like his new and only tattoo, Lawrence was exceptional.

Scraping soles announced her before she spoke. “We’re thinking about calling it quits for the day.” Tanned shoulders glistened a faint red. Her hands listlessly set on the upper half of the flight suit tied around her waist as her weary head hung low. The broad weaved brim of her hat shaded her face and neck yet still wasn’t enough. “Just want to rest up a bit before heading back,” Gina added, yanking off her gloves—the only part of her that hadn’t tanned or burned. 

Lawrence nodded, barely containing his relieved expression. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“Need water?” she pulled one of several bottles stuffed in suit pockets.

“Thanks,” Vincent sighed in relief and took the olive branch. So far, the gardener had been the most amicable of the Boomers. Few spoke to the two outsiders, but that was better than the initial reception.

“I was thinking…” Gina continued, picking up the shovel for a crutch to lean on. She looked at the both of them, perhaps still debating voicing her thought, but her attention lingered on Vincent. A gentle breeze rustled her short curls as she raised a boot to the spade and dug it further in the dirt. “Savages ain’t interested in helping us, so I guess you two aren’t savages. Still, can’t help but wonder why you want to help.”

Vincent wiped away the sweat lingering on his brow. “Pearl didn’t tell you?” Gina remained quiet. Wrinkles wrapped around her green squint. “Well, to prevent more chaos, to put it simply.”

“I know y’all keep track of what’s goin’ on out here,” Lawrence added. “The Legion, the NCR...”

“Can’t say I like either, but I’ve heard nasty things about the Legion.”

“If the Legion takes the dam, then more problems come for everyone, even Nellis. What they want, they take by force.”

An affirming hum marked Gina’s nod. “I know the elders been worked up about it. They don’t want us to worry about their issues though.”

“I offered Pearl an alliance,” Vincent clarified. “To preserve and protect Nellis. All it requires is a little assurance we’re on the same side.”

“If the Legion don’t get the dam, who will? We need that water too and the NCR is trying to take it away from us.”

“It belongs to New Vegas,” Vincent said. “To this region and everyone who lives here, including the Boomers.”

“I trust my elders’ judgements…” Gina shrugged, letting out an uncertain sigh. “Some people been wondering if—”

“Gina!” 

She spun around to the pair of hands waving wildly in the distance. Her helpers gathered around the loaded trailer finally hunkered down for the walk back to Nellis. Ropes coiled around mechanical steeds, tightened and out of reach of their fiery propellant. It must have been a sight to see traveling down the road. Metal beaming like a beacon. Filled to the brim with neatly packed cacti, aloe, agave, and even one pinion sapling. The logistics of the hair-brained plan was calculated by the gardener herself. The plants would do fine for a bit unearthed, but as soon as they got to the base, they’d be replanted right away by the better part of Gina’s farmers waiting on the delivery.

“Think this’ll be enough to get Pearl on our side?”

Vincent shrugged. “She was interested last we spoke and enthusiastic about my farming ideas.”

“Seems like only Gina and Pearl have spoken to us.”

“They’re independent people,” Vincent noted, looking ahead to the caravan treading black water. “They follow their leaders though. I think Gina is one of them—maybe a kind of de facto leader.”

“I’m surprised House would wanna put much effort put into the Boomers instead of seizing the base with his metal fan club.”

“I don’t think Mr. House is evil,” Vincent pondered. “Definitely not the compassionate sort. Calculating, detached…”

Lawrence hummed. “Better than whatever the Legion wants to do—or I hope so.”

Vincent studied Lawrence, his gaze lingering on the sweat beading the pointed tips of his hair. However, the ranger’s eyes were the windows to his true thoughts. They were far more expressive than Lawrence believed, yet beneath dark lenses Vincent saw nothing. “What do you make of all this? I know it can’t be easy.”

“Can’t say anything worthwhile ever is,” Lawrence said, staring ahead at the suburban ruins taking over the horizon. Tension clamped his jaw, as if restraining unspoken thoughts. “I’m still thinking about it all.” 

“That’s alright,” Vincent assured him.

“Sometimes the right thing isn’t playing by the books or following orders,” the ranger admitted, the weight in his tone hinting at a wealth of experience. The silence between them deepened like a splinter digging into overworked palms.

They’s seen plenty of each other around Nellis. Yet, that’s where their interactions began and ended. It was a merely a passing exchange of hellos and smiles, maybe a quick hug or kiss if they were alone. There was far too much to do —planning for the farm, salvaging solar panels, addressing an explosive ant infestation, and now cultivating the crop field. The more the silence grew, so did Lawrence’s exhaustive list of self-criticisms and where his loyalties ought to lie. With the NCR, or with himself. At least the work kept his mind occupied.

Though his mind strayed. He wondered if Marcus struggled with something similar way back when, but the both of them were rangers. Not some pair of star-crossed and shotgun lovers never meant to be. Vincent’s motivations weren’t cloudy to Lawrence. The boy was honest. Sometimes, too honest. The persuasion of money didn’t speak to Vincent’s character. He had no thirst for power either being much to easily steered off track with all the great things he could do for the little people forgotten by House and senators in the NCR. Vincent wasn’t one to look for a fight either. He was much too shy, too aware of his disadvantages. Lawrence hated himself for pondering such a topic. But it was only another track of his larger train of thought.

The New California Republic. The nation and the organization he had devoted his life to since he was old enough to enlist. Its shine had lost its luster in recent years. Some time ago, he thought those protesting in the streets, the soldiers and rangers complaining about the war and the draft and the management of the whole charade, well, they were the cowards. Immoral. Unpatriotic. Except, those sentiments began making sense the older he got. The republic was in over its head, drowning in all the bodies they had thrown into the Mojave and all the ones they were willing to sacrifice.

House’s plan wasn’t perfect though. But it would force President Kimball, General Oliver, and all those fools in the senate who didn’t have to send their sons and daughters into the meat-grinder what they weren’t willing to do. The enigmatic ruler of New Vegas had a solid strategy, a rarity in a world where too many were driven by immediate results. It could buy the republic time. Do what they should be doing and stabilize everything within their borders. Invest in their people. Fortify the door for when the Legion inevitably came knocking.

Despite whatever justification Lawrence conjured up, it was going all in on a high stakes poker game with everything he had to his name.

In Nellis’s hangars, one would find a common space. A shaded respite, cluttered with salvage from old homes beyond the base. Tables and chairs huddled in one corner, bearing the designation of a cafeteria with a sign overhead. On the opposite side, a congregation of sofas populated by a few readers and others playing card games or enjoying lively discussions. Yet it was the other half of the hanger that drew the two outsiders’ attention. 

Propped up by its landing gear, the once-stalwart plane displayed the scars of time and wear. Three twisted blades whiskered its nose, while two weathered wings extended from its sides. Rust seeped from seams and rivets. Absent panels revealed inner workings in a mangled mess behind steely ribs. The tall ladder set to its body led up to the roof, allowing defiant little Boomers to gather overhead to observe in curiosity and laugh at unheard jokes while the two strangers moseyed over to an isolated table.

A groan escaped the ranger as he sprawled out in the chair, legs splaying underneath and arms folding behind his head. His gaze was fixed on the boy seated across from him that was engrossed in the pleasing clicks of dials and buttons of his pip-boy. The screen’s soft glow outlined the contours of Vincent's hooked nose. The ambient light unfolded a kaleidoscope of blues in his eyes like a teal oasis discovered in the final stretches of a relentless desert trek, sparkling under an unyielding sun, rivaling the vibrancy of a cloudless sky. Lawrence found solace in those calm and serene eyes. A tranquil image that had become a rarity in recent times.

Vincent smiled at the ranger. “Something on your mind?”

Little did the boy know just how much was on his mind. A sixteen-ton brahmin felt like an accurate description. Vincent made things difficult. Just his mere presence alone, as comforting as the boy could be, was a giant thorn in the man’s side he both wanted around and needed to ignore. Not that it was any fault of his own. No, it was all Lawrence’s doing. He only promised to take Vincent to Primm. How did it go this far? 

Lawrence shook his head, rattling weary eyes awake. “Sort of.” Sighing, he leaned his elbows on the table. “I wanted to ask you a few things—”

“Hey!” A voice interrupted them. It was one Boomer Lawrence didn’t want to deal with. Raquel, master-at-arms of not only the base’s security personnel but nasty looks, too. “I gathered those supplies we needed for the fence.” Not one for greetings, rather she liked to get straight to the point. The bobbing leg also a hinted for Lawrence to hurry-up. Her choleric expression hadn’t even faded since they first met, and he often wondered if she just looked like that. “You did say you’d help.” Her arms crossed. Eyes fixed on Lawrence as if they were her sidearm. 

“Yeah…” Lawrence sighed with an equally lethargic nod. 

“Oh, repairing the fence?”

“And electrifying it,” Raquel added. “That’ll keep savages out.”

He did promise to help, but he didn’t expect her to actually find the supplies they’d need, let alone all of it. He told himself he wouldn’t help the Nellis Nutjobs—he’d help Vincent. Yet here he was…

“Shit!” Lawrence pricked himself again on exposed wires. Little red nicks dotted his fingers. Small hurts he had gotten used to by now, whether it had been for Vincent or Marcus. He knew the boy had grown on him. It became too much to ignore. 

“Lookin’ good,” Raquel gave an approving nod. She followed him down the fence with the spool of wire. “The fence, I mean. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Lawrence flashed a toothy frown. At the last twist of wire he came to his feet.

“Alright,” she sighed, as if she were the one doing all the work. Hands planted on her hips, and she looked on proudly to the fence. “You do the honors.”

“Hah,” Lawrence scoffed. “You rather I get fried in case the wires are shoddy.” She glared at him but remained quiet. Further proof he was right. Lawrence opened the breaker box. Several switches faced him. One for turning the fencing on and off, one to adjust the voltage, and the other, well it was better not to touch what you didn’t know.

Raquel glanced at him then to the box, wearing a perplexed expression twisting her scowl. “It’s on? How do we know it’ll work?

“Go touch it.” 

“Whatever. I’m tired and it’s almost dark. Let’s call it a day.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Lawrence could have brushed it off. Could’ve left that boy to his own devices after saving him from a deathclaw. Yet, he had this charm about him. The way he smiled, laughed, his stubborn nature and refusal to give in despite everything thrown at him. That night in Primm, Lawrence figured going to Novac didn’t seem that far. He would have parted ways there in Boulder City, but that bull-headed, incisive nature hidden in Vincent debuted. Not only there as they argued about logistics in a standoff, but again when they stopped in Freeside.

Vincent had something more than a boyish charm. He wasn’t as coy or naive as he led people to believe. Another chance to part ways slipped through his fingers, rather Lawrence let it. He pretended it was all part of his non-existent plan anyway. He could try to ignore the second time someone grew on him. But it was outside of Nelson when he looked up to Vincent, wearing the same helpless and frightened face Vincent gave him on the side of a road after staring down death wrapped in a scaly hide. Lawrence knew it was too late. Washing away the events of the day, holding someone important close, feeling content and wanted.

He bit his tongue. 

Lawrence told himself some time ago, no one else could live up to Marcus. He wasn’t longing for physical intimacy. Plenty of men and women threw themselves at him and flirting with and meeting new people was fun itself. Still, Lawrence didn’t want to let Vincent go. Guilt and loneliness were in a standoff once again, both following closer than his own shadow. 

Lawrence turned away from the thoughts growing like weeds in the cracks of his mind. He sighed and slapped down the notebook on his stomach. The springy old bed on a creaky frame wasn’t that comfortable anyway. Any sleep that dragged him to the tent disappeared somewhere on the way. He glanced at Vincent’s spot. Loathsomely empty. Lawrence reached for the bag stowed under his cot. A quick unzip and he retrieved a full pack of cigarettes along with the lighter. A long inhale calmed his nerves and hands, and he returned pencil to paper to continue the sketch. Grey scale, not ideal to capture the depths he wanted to put on the paper, but it had been more of a conduit for his thoughts than anything.

Light steps drew his eyes to the tent flaps. Vincent stepped in, pausing when he found Lawrence still awake. “Hi.”

Lawrence returned the smile to the boy. “Hi.” 

A tank a couple sizes too big hung loosely on a lithe frame while a towel draped his neck; a strategic placement rather than convenient one. Damp hair vied to retake its wavy shapes as Vincent rustled locks with the corner of the towel. “Finally, time to rest,” he chimed. “For good!”

Lawrence took one last draw from the cigarette before he snuffed it against the metal pole holding up the tent. He watched the boy’s nightly routine. Hanging the damp towel, searching for a fresh sleeping shirt—Vincent was particular about what shirts he wore to sleep. Something big, not too big and preferably not too thick, either. Vincent turned his back to the man as he pulled off the tank, only to be quickly replaced by the sleeping shirt. That was one of those brief hints of trust that sent pangs of guilt hidden among the butterflies for Lawrence.

“Come here,” Lawrence beckoned. Vincent turned to the ranger, his smile still on those lips Lawrence rather have pressed to his own. “Made something.” 

Lawrence passed the book to Vincent. A light touch felt the dusty graphite, careful not to smear the portrait. Vincent glanced at the ranger then back to the lifelike image on the page. “This is me.”

“Felt like trying something,” Lawrence shrugged. “So, I drew you from memory.”

The boy’s smile widened. “Think you can make me look more like a man? Like I’m supposed to be.” He gave the notebook back to the ranger. “I just wonder what that would be like.”

Lawrence blinked at him. Clearly, he meant no disrespect to Lawrence’s skill, but it still left him with an odd feeling. There wasn’t one thing Vincent lacked. Not one bit of him Lawrence would criticize or compare to any other man. He looked back to the paper, and he spotted what was missing. Humming, a brow arched as he tilted his head and muttered. “More masculine?” One fluid swipe with the pencil completed his work. Before Vincent stood up to resume his business, Lawrence turned the notebook around.

Brows furrowed when Vincent looked at the unchanged picture. Just his name in a familiar and eloquent script foreign compared to the blocky letters Lawrence typically wrote. 

“It is in my artistic opinion,” Lawrence started, a playful, but matter-of-fact tone colored his voice while hands steepled together, “no alterations or revisions were needed.” Vincent shook his head but couldn’t shake his smile. Lawrence closed and set the notebook aside. “Now, come here,” he extended open arms to the boy. Promptly, Vincent nestled himself against the man. Lawrence planted a kiss on Vincent’s temple once finally settled in. “I’ve been thinking about that break.”

“Me too.” 

“We were invited to a little get together. Us and two of my closest friends, practically family.”

“Oh? When and where?”

“She said this Thursday at the Millennium,” Lawrence said. “It’s opening night for some play. Jackie and Eve like those sorts of things, but I’d like you to meet them.”

“Like family?”
“Yes and—” Lawrence’s smile faded. Oh, no. Had he really failed to mention it? He told stories of the two and especially Eve when they were younger, but… “Also on paper,” his voice trailed off. “Evie and I are legally married, but—”

Vincent withdrew from the ranger’s embrace. He whipped around. Hands and feet firmly planted on the blanket as he took to a pouncing crouch. Like the scar that split a brow, lightning flashed in those eyes. “What?”

“I’m married with her, not to her.” Lawrence clenched his jaw. “It’s just on paper, for benefits—Evie and Jackie have been together for seven almost eight years now and as handsome and captivating as I am, I don’t think I’ll persuade them to change sides. Evie and I got married after…”His shoulders tensed as he searched for his words but intrusive memories muddied his thoughts. “After a lot of bad shit happened with our families.”

“I’m listening…”

Lawrence never could look anyone in the eye recalling those days he wished he could leave behind him. No, he’d rather nuke those memories instead. Enough firepower to make the Great War look like an alley scuffle. Anything to get rid of how horribly it still tore him up. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Evie lost her family when we were about eighteen. I was already enlisted by then to get away from my own problems at home. We agreed to get married to support each other,” Lawrence explained through slow and deliberate words. “She has nothing and no one, just me, and later, Jackie. You’ve probably heard the policies; the NCR wants their citizens married and making future soldiers and they reward you for that. We weren’t into the ‘future soldiers’ part, though…”

Vincent’s gaze faltered. “Sorry, I—”

“No,” Lawrence shook his head. “I’d be upset too. I should’ve mentioned it sooner, even if Evie and I aren’t like that.”

“She’s an important part of your life,” Vincent said. “I’d like to meet her.” Lawrence finally looked up to him, met with a sweet smile as warm as the lantern light drew out his own. 




—

Raquel mirrored his stance, adopting the ranger's focused expression. With feet planted firmly, they both raised open hands. Both had discarded their armor for the lighter clothes underneath prior to entering the imaginary ring. Their audience crackled with jeers as taunts as the two circled each other.

Lawrence advanced, gauging Raquel's reflexes, finding them as sharp as expected from someone in her position. Each move was a deliberate test. With the familiarity of their dance, Lawrence exploited the advantage of his might and size, invading her personal space enough to disrupt her sight and footing.

“I’m not delicate,” Lawrence teased.

Raquel smirked, “neither am I.”

“Then bring me down.”

She pressed forward. Lawrence raised an arm to deflect an amateurish strike. Swiftly circling, Raquel lunged in the opening moment, sweeping his leg before he could secure his footing. A resounding thud met the mat, and a loud groan escaped Lawrence's mouth.

Turning on his side and catching his breath, Lawrence croaked, “about time.”

Raquel reveled in the cheers and claps of their audience. Her triumphant grin was a pleasant change compared to her perpetual scowl. Extending a hand to Lawrence, she brought him back to his feet. Lawrence strutted off the sparring square while Raquel boomed orders before eager kids and recruits left the mat. The demonstration was another subtle manipulation, something she implored him to do, whether intentional or not.

“When you going to show me how to do that?” Vincent asked as Lawrence settled next to him.

A cheeky grin crossed the ranger’s face as he leaned toward the boy, “I will, but we’d do it the right way. Naked.” Vincent scoffed. It was the only thing he could do to quell the bubbling desire spurred by that image in his mind. Meanwhile Lawrence wore the grin of a man all too proud of himself.  

“Hello.”

Lawrence’s hand paused before it slid up Vincent’s thigh. Both looked up to the girl. Her crooked grin was framed by long brown hair tied in a lazy ponytail. Probably not much older than Vincent, but a few inches taller. “I enjoyed your demonstration.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Susan,” she thrust a hand to Lawrence. “Would you show me some pointers?”

“Uh…” Lawrence raised a hesitant hand for a delicate shake. “Alright.”

“Don’t be too lenient on him, Susan,” Pearl’s aged voice encouraged. Her hands clung behind a slight hunch. A motherly smile deepened her wrinkles.

“Oh, mother Pearl!” Susan chirped as she spun around. “How are you?”

“I’m well, child,” Pearl assured. She looked at Vincent, raising sparse white brows and setting a hand on his shoulder. “I came to fetch you.”

He promptly stood up. “What did you need?”

“Come with me.”

Susan plopped down in the vacant seat next to Lawrence. A mousy face stared back at him. Her mouth was much too big for her head. Eyes were too wide as well, gawking at him, absorbing him “I’ve always been curious about savages and their ways.” She inched closer. “You should tell me all about you.”

“I’m gonna get back in the ring,” Lawrence muttered, leaning away from the girl. 

Susan jumped up with him. “I’ll be your sparring partner!” 

He stepped on the mat, desperately searching for Raquel as a means to escape. For once the woman wasn’t breathing down his neck. Instead, she stood with Pearl and Vincent chatting. Then out the corner of his eye, the tawny crown of Susan’s head butted in his vision. She took an awkward form and raised clenched fists. Lawrence sighed and turned to her. The girl was small, thin—The runt of the Boomer litter from the looks of it. The last person who should get into any kind of fight. “First, that’s an awful stance.”

Vincent pulled another bin and glanced at the list. From his time as a courier, not only did he learn the fastest and safest routes to travel, but also the names of little odds and ends people sent all over. The Boomers had too many of them. Parts and pieces of planes and all their fine inner workings. Along with guns and miscellaneous machinery filling rows upon rows of shelves and little plastic bins with their own unique labels. He pulled the last tube of bin #35. Another thing struck off his list. Long and rubbery, it bounced around like a snake when he dropped it on the table. Loyal, one of the Boomers’ elders—crotchety, blunt, and older than dirt—inspected every part Vincent brought him, scrutinized under folds upon folds of wrinkled eyes. Only a disorganized pile occupied the table. Once Vincent relayed the great news to the man, he got to work with his understudy and Vincent along with them.

“Oh, what are we doing in the workshop?” A shrill voice echoed through the hangar. Vincent twisted around, meeting the storm waltzing in. Behind him, the source of the ranger’s scowl. “I like the common hangar more. Doesn’t echo.”

“So do I.”

“Once I was in here looking for a light bulb—” Lawrence paused once he spotted the makeshift lounge set up in a corner looking over the whole hangar. Without hesitation, he crashed on the sofa. “—because the schoolhouse light went out—” She joined him on the couch and continued, “—I couldn’t find anything!” Searching for Vincent, a plea begged for help once he found the boy. Susan leaned to him and whispered, “I don’t think the organization is the best in here.”

Vincent departed the table. Loyal and his understudy wouldn’t notice if he slipped away anyhow. They were too lost in putting the thing together and mumbling amongst themselves for the next part or tool needed. 

“See, now I have a system for everything—”

Lawrence whipped his head up at the familiar voice, weariness washed away by a smile as he laid eyes on Vincent. “What’s going on?”

“We were discussing ideal systems of organization,” Susan informed. 

“Riveting.” Vincent returned his attention to the ranger. “I got news, though.”

 Lawrence stretched arms over the sofa. His head hung over the back as another sigh deflated him. “Please tell me it involves leaving the base.” Next to him, the mesmerized girl fixated on the ranger’s neck. Her gaze followed the curves of his throat as the knot bobbed up and down with every word. 

“It does,” Vincent confirmed. Susan inched closer to him, setting off the ranger’s alarms once again. His eyes narrowed on her as he retracted his back to him and constrained his hands between his legs. “We’re going to Lake Mead.”

“I don’t even care why, just tell me when.”

Vincent shrugged, looking back at the worktable. Loyal’s and his understudy’s backs were turned to their guest. hunched over a mess of odds and ends. “Probably not for another day. Loyal and Jack over there are putting together a few things we might need.”

Lawrence’s brow arched as he took a gander. “And what is it we need?”

“It’ll let someone breathe underwater for a short time,” Vincent explained.

Susan gasped. Her mouth was agape as the two looked at her. “Are you going to get the Lady in the water?”

“Uh, yes. Pearl asked us to.”

Pressing a hand to face, Lawrence tugged on tired eyes. It was the only way to keep them from calling it quits on their own. “Do I even want to know?”

He had encountered many curiosities. Just one of those things that came with traveling across untamed wilderness. Possible skinwalkers in Baja, or the lights out in the desert a little further north of New Vegas, or even the strange people that lived in the city’s sewer system. Oh, and the never-forgettable killer moss-men of Vault 22—Little surprised him anymore. Lawrence never looked for weird things or trouble, at least until he met Vincent. 

“So… A plane?”

The docks extended toward the shorelines, reaching out but never quite meeting the gentle caress of lapping waves. Weeds defiantly sprouted from the cracked lake-bed soil. Among half buried boats, metal barrels, and once-sunken treasure from the dock-shade they claimed, the lake itself shimmered. Somewhere in there, at the bottom of the lakebed, lay a B-29 bomber. And they would bring it to the surface. Vincent resumed fiddling with the breathing mask; tubes connected a repurposed gas mask muzzle to two small canisters. “Apparently, it’s been some kind of…” he shrugged, “hope or purpose to them to get a plane working and flyable.”

“Oh, and the one that’s been marinating in a lake for the last two centuries is gonna do that?”

Vincent looked up at the ranger. Surely a scowl was hidden under those dark lenses. Arms crossed against his chest highlighted the musculature of the ranger’s forearms. Contours Vincent couldn’t wait to feel again in the privacy of their suite in the Lucky 38. “In exchange for their more agreeable side, seems like a steal.”

“You know what?” Lawrence cocked his head at an epiphany. His lips thinned with a quick lick as he shifted on his feet. “It’ll keep ‘em occupied long enough and away from the artillery.” Holsters slipped off with ease before getting to the belt which was where Vincent paused to watch the ranger continue unbuttoning the shirt. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna go down there. I got the training and know-how,” he declared. “I take it they know where it’s at down there?”

Vincent looked at the mask and tubes. “Well, sort of yes.” He knelt for his satchel and set the contraption aside to search for the map Loyal gave him. A worn-out thing, drawn one too many times over, complete with notes scattered here and there. Taken from something bigger, if the uneven and frayed ends were any sign, but the map itself was of the lake. Topographical outlines and tiny numbers in between gave some idea of what it looked like beneath the surface. “Should be… Over there.”

Lawrence followed his finger, brow arching in unison with a weary sigh. “Over there?” He reached for the sparkling water, hand flat as a reserved wave gestured to the entire lake. “Where all the water is?”

The map crinkled and a cacophony of crumpled paper quieted the boy’s huff. Hands plopped against his legs. “Lawrence.” He rolled his head on shoulder to set a glare on the man. “We’re here to figure out where it is first.”

“Alright,” Lawrence huffed, tossing his pants aside. “You gonna owe me though.”

“Owe you?”

Lastly, with socks stuffed in his boots and casually stripped, a firm hand landed on the boy’s butt. Then squeezed. “We’ll work out the details later.” Lawrence smirked. The vibrations in his voice sent Vincent’s hairs on end in excitement. A cocky wink followed, riling up the young man who couldn’t resist such tactics.

Lawrence adjusted the strap of the mask and fastened the belts. One last check confirmed the air canisters in place and ready. When Vincent told him about the plane, he wasn’t thrilled. When Vincent told him about Loyal’s plan, he was certain it wouldn’t work. However, if he got the thing to the surface, then it would be the entourage of Mr. Handys’ problem. Lawrence ventured out from the shade of the weathered dock. Some yards away, a bare foot tested the water. Lukewarm, tolerable. In the next few months, it’d be frigid. He stood there a minute, gazing out at the lake then ventured in, one step at a time.

Pearl assured the boy she would honor the agreement and that was all that mattered at this point. He didn’t think the Boomers would be amicable to any sort of truce or alliance with NCR, especially not with past transgressions that left the base with a stifled water supply. Truthfully, everything Vincent had done to help them was more than the NCR would have put effort into. At least it would be a truce by proxy—House wanted to secure the Boomers arsenal only so it couldn’t be used against him, but he also wanted and needed to keep the NCR close.

Vincent glanced at his pip-boy. Only a few minutes had passed since Lawrence waded out onto the surface. He submerged and surfaced again here and there, each time a little further out from shore. Vincent could only watch, antsy to know the plan worked. He’d rather it all be done in one day and get back on the way home. Looking at the mess Lawrence left behind, he found a distraction in the clothes tossed in a haphazard pile on rocky sand. Never did he think boredom would lead him to chores, but Vincent gathered them, folding each piece and set aside where water wouldn’t find them. 

Then to the gun holsters. A heavy twin set. One side held a standard issue 9mm while the other was a sequoia. The rest of the ranger’s arsenal was stowed away on the base. Vincent recalled when he asked Lawrence about the sequoia, one of his long lists of questions he interrogated the ranger with while on the walk to Novac. Lawrence said it was given to rangers who served for twenty-years. A six-shooter—heavy and packed with a bang strong enough to break a wrist if handled wrong. Well, that’s what Vincent assumed would happen if he handled it. Brushing fingers over the gold filigree depressions chilled uncalloused pads. Delicate lines sprawled gentle whirls across the cylinder and barrel. One side bore the reason a ranger would be given such a magnificent revolver: for honorable service. On the other side perhaps the motivation: against all tyrants.

Did Lawrence believe that? 

Perhaps that’s what bothered the man lately. He didn’t want to further a tyrant’s agenda, whether it was Mr. House, the New California Republic’s questionable interests, or Caesar’s Legion. But Vincent figured the sentiment focused more on Mr. House. Vincent could understand why, but he didn’t think the recluse was anything like Caesar.

Vincent sighed. How much trouble was he getting Lawrence into? The dark cherry wood grip knotted and swirled as he turned the revolver slowly. A bear stood tall and proud next to a star. Polished to perfection, the gold symbol of the Republic caught a brilliant glint. Brilliant like what the NCR hoped its future would be, but Vincent never felt the same. Then another glare flared on the butt of the revolver. Gold filigree in emboldened, strong letters spelled the same name drawn over Lawrence’s ribs.

Marcus.

The flurry of water startled Vincent. Lawrence surfaced again and this time kept swimming until feet found the shore. He ripped off the breathing mask. Taking a deep breath of fresh air and shaking water from his hair. “I think I saw it, but it’s dark, murky, and cold down there.”

“Oh,” Vincent’s shoulders slumped.

“However,” Lawrence continued, panting between words, and swiping back drenched hair. “We just need some diving equipment; light stuff, maybe a suit, and something better than this,” he suggested, holding up the breathing mask. 

“Think that’s something they’d have on base?”

“I doubt it.” Lawrence turned back towards the lake, squinting at the gentle waves lifting and lowering minuscule stars dancing on the surface. “Camp Golf might. Veteran recon teams use equipment like that to patrol underwater on the border.”

“Great idea,” Vincent chimed. “Want to head over after you dried up?”

“Don’t remember if I packed a towel…” 

“Good thing I checked,” Vincent said, pulling out a miraculous towel.

Lawrence caught a glance of the sequoia out of its holster. “Wanna shoot it?”

“Oh, I was just looking at it,” Vincent explained. “Never seen one up close…”

“It was the only thing I got of him.”

Vincent looked at Lawrence, draping the towel over his shoulders and shimmying to scrape off the soaked underwear clinging to him better than his own skin. “Of Marcus?”

“It was supposed to be shipped back to his family with the rest of his belongings,” he said. The soaked lump of cloth fell on the dock with a distasteful plop. “Seeing as we were just friends I got nothing. Not even the little things I gave him.”

“That’s awful. How’d you get his sequoia?” A smirk crossed Lawrence’s face as his eyes flickered up to the boy. Vincent chuckled. “I think I know…”

“Why don’t we head back to Vegas tonight?” Lawrence suggested as he retrieved the pair of dry underwear. “We’ll go to Camp Golf tomorrow. That plane ain’t going anywhere in the meantime.”

“I suppose we can.”

“It’s Thursday, and we got a play and two hot dates.”

The plane could wait, he was right about that. Loyal or Pearl never expected it the same day and, well, Lawrence and Vincent deserved a break. Work was non-stop. Seldom a breather to be had unless it was those precious moments before bed, but that had been Vincent’s choice. Once set out on a task, whether it was a delivery or an ill-conceived plan to raise a water-logged plane from the depths of Lake Mead, he wanted it done. Albeit the ranger was rather convincing and not a face so easily ignored. 




—




“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. New Vegas here—can you feel luck in the air tonight?” Vincent glanced at the radio as the rich voice of a faceless host took over. Smokey and strong. No wonder about every radio in the city tuned to him. “Interesting developments on the outskirts of the North Vegas and Nellis area have some residents concerned—” He thumbed through the magazine. It was one of Lawrence’s—Devoted to out-doorsy stuff the boy had no inclination for beyond reading—and a little worn and frayed on the edges. The publication date spanned back two centuries. “According to some farmers, peculiar holes dotting the landscape may be traced back to recent cattle abductions.”

Lawrence switched off the radio. “Ready?”

Vincent jumped up from the sofa, “yes!”