A/N: Sorry about the premature update, I didn't realize that deleting the previous chapters would do that, lol. Anyway, this fic has been rewritten, and will update on Fridays!

Also, the events of this fic take place immediately after the first chapter of Zero Days Without Injury. You don't have to read that to really understand what's going on here, but... it'd be nice.

It's been a very long night for them.

After the Courier is rendered more or less concussed in Cook-Cook's camp by a surprisingly well-armed Fiend wielding a brick, Arcade has to make the executive decision to take her to the New Vegas Clinic to be examined and monitored. It's the safest option, really, because he knows that concussions require a certain kind of care that he isn't confident enough to offer.

Their night turns from a simple bounty hunt to a suddenly not-so-simple scramble to figure out what their next move should be.

Eventually, it falls into a series of steps.

STEP ONE

… is something they have to debate over: do they first take the Courier to the clinic, or do they try to turn in the head?

On one hand, her groaning and heaving is getting worse by the minute and it's clear that she needs medical attention as soon as possible.

On the other hand, McCarran is already nearby, and is actually on the way to the clinic – not to mention that none of them are keen on carrying Cook-Cook's bloody head around for any longer than they need to.

They settle for going to McCarran first. Arcade gives the Courier some water and a shot of Med-X for any pain she might be experiencing; if the nasty reddening cut on her head is anything to go by, she isn't lacking pain.

"We're going to stop by McCarran, and then take you to the clinic," Arcade informs her, slowly and clearly. He wipes a wet rag across her forehead to clear away the blood that's begun to drip down.

If she has any argument to give them, it's not coherent enough for any of them to understand.

STEP TWO

… is working out how they'll actually get the Courier from the Fiend camp to McCarran to the clinic. At first, Arcade tries to test out how well she can walk, only to quickly discover that she can hardly keep herself upright let alone walk in a straight line, and the few stubborn attempts she makes end in her falling right back on her ass. Cass laughs as she watches the younger woman stumbling around and spewing nonsense, but the sharp glares that Arcade shoots at her are enough to make her stop – though not without huffing and muttering unintelligible words under her breath about him.

She gets it, though, despite her dislike for being scolded like a child – verbally and non-verbally – by the doctor. Arcade is genuinely worried for the wellbeing of the Courier, and so, in her heart of hearts, is Cass, for that matter. They all know the Courier's brain has already undergone a great deal of trauma just from being shot in the head, and while it's amazing that she has retained all of her cognitive functions after that, Arcade isn't sure how much more it can take before she's left with permanent brain damage.

It's why he's so adamant that they take her to the clinic. They have some of the best doctors and equipment that the Followers have in the Mojave chapter, and given the Courier's already sour history with head trauma, he doesn't feel comfortable leaving her in the care of anyone else. It helps that she's already done a great deal to help the Followers recently; he's certain that they'll take care of her and see that she makes a smooth recovery.

In the end, Boone silently and gently scoops her up into his arms, mindful of her rampant nausea by keeping his movements from being too quick and jarring. She seems as content as she can be with the position and rests her head against the sniper's chest, but Arcade keeps a careful eye on her to make sure that she doesn't fall asleep.

STEP THREE

… is setting up a series of basic, non-verbal signals in order to properly communicate with the Courier. The process of carrying her along with them is only further aggravated by the fact that she can barely talk, and if she thinks she is, it comes out as nothing more than pure gibberish to the rest of them. This doesn't pair well with the extreme nausea and vertigo she's experiencing; as a result, she can never adequately convey to them that she's about to hurl. Arcade thinks mournfully of his sullied boots, which will undoubtedly smell of vomit for a long time, no matter how hard he tries to scrub the odor away.

They develop a "system", if it can even be called that, that is straightforward and simple: instead of trying to use garbled words that make no sense to anyone involved, the Courier just slaps Boone on the chest as many times as she has to until he lets her down to do her business. It's a system that works, and no one else gets vomit on their shoes that night.

STEP FOUR

… is turning in the bloodied, stinking, disgusting head that no one wants to carry.

"I can't," Boone says, holding out the armful of Courier he has. The woman gives an aptly timed groan of misery and he nods as though his case has been made.

And it has, Arcade and Cass can both agree, but it doesn't mean they like it.

"No," Arcade says before he and the caravanner can even lock gazes.

"Well, I'm not doing it either." Cass crosses her arms and turns her nose up as if that's that.

They have a silent stand-off for a few minutes because neither of them is willing to bend and admit defeat. Every now and then they each glance at the head that Boone has left on the ground for them to deal with. Each time they look into its vacant eyes and its dirtied and bloodied neck hole, they grimace and their resolve becomes more steadfast.

The Courier lets out a small yell, and whether it's because she's in pain or just making loud noises because she can, it startles both of them out of their stubborn glaring. Just when Arcade realizes that this is time wasted that could be spent getting the Courier the medical attention that she really needs, Boone kicks a stick at them.

"Break the stick," he tells them. "Whoever gets the smaller piece has to carry the damn head."

Arcade and Cass share a look before shrugging. Arcade picks up the stick and holds it out for Cass to grab the other end. On the count of three, they both close their eyes and pull until they hear a decisive snap.

With trepidation, they slowly open their eyes to see the result.

"Yes!"

"Fuck!"

Cass holds the head by the hair all the way to McCarran, at her full arm's length and wearing a permanent scowl. She's thankful that she wore gloves, because the head seems to get even nastier the more she looks at it.

She might just burn the gloves all together. Maybe.

Luckily, McCarran isn't too far from the South Vegas ruins – although in Cass' opinion, it's not close enough. She gripes the whole time and almost throws the head at Major Dhatri when they finally make it to the airport and find him. Despite the late hour, he's still up and patrolling near the entrance to McCarran, which is just another stroke of luck since it means they don't have to hold onto a decomposing Fiend head until the morning.

"I would say that I hope it wasn't too much trouble, but evidently," the major eyes the Courier, whose head lolls back against Boone's shoulder, "that isn't the case. I'm sorry for whatever might have happened, but I can't thank you enough for what you've done."

"Yeah," Arcade sighs, when none of them seem to know what else to say. With the Courier out of commission, he quickly realizes that they have to do all of the talking now. He taps his foot nervously before adding, "If we could get the payment for that head now, we really need to get her to the New Vegas Clinic."

"Of course." Dhatri leads them to a small station, where he pulls out a small box that he hands to Arcade. Upon shaking it, Arcade can hear caps jingle around. "250 caps for Cook-Cook's head. Tell her to talk to First Recon if she's going to complete the set and go after Nephi. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to lend a hand."

The Courier rouses at the mention of First Recon.

"Bessy," she mumbles.

Arcade leans closer in an attempt to understand her better. "What was that?"

"Bessy," the Courier repeats. "Hafta… till Bessy. Betssssssy."

"Corporal Betsy," Dhatri clarifies, his own confused frown smoothing out. He gives her a soft smile. "Yes, I'll be sure to tell Betsy what you've done for her. Feel free to drop by and talk to her yourself once you're feeling better, though. I'm sure she'd appreciate that."

The Courier mumbles out something else, but it trails off into something indistinguishable. She goes to close her eyes again and Arcade snaps lightly in her ear to keep her awake. She weakly smacks at his hand.

STEP FIVE

… is getting the Courier to cooperate once they finally, finally reach the clinic. She refuses as much as she can to be let down from the sniper's grip onto an examination table. The Courier can sometimes be finicky when it comes to being checked and prodded at by doctors, as Arcade had quickly learned, and a goddamn concussion that renders her virtually useless to everyone including herself is no exception. Luckily, the vertigo proves to be a bit of an asset in this situation, and makes it nearly impossible for her to thrash and run and fight like she undoubtedly wants to.

Eventually, though, they manage to actually calm and sedate the incoherent woman and settle her into a plush chair to wait while Arcade talks, in soft and hushed tones, with Dr. Usanagi about the circumstances of what had happened.

"And you said she has a history…?" Usanagi asks, hastily scribbling down notes onto a clipboard.

"With head trauma, yes. She was shot in the head about," he pauses to count, but he really doesn't know the precise date or details of the night the Courier was shot, "two months ago? Roughly."

Usanagi's pencil pauses and she stares at him, wide-eyed. "Two months ago?"

"I know," Arcade agrees. "That's why I brought her here."

"Where in the head was she shot? Please show me."

They walk over to the dozing Courier, who's being kept awake by another doctor talking to her about nothing in order to continue stimulating her. Arcade kneels down and gently sweeps the Courier's bangs out of her face, uncovering the vicious scar on the left side of her forehead.

"Oh, shit," Usanagi breathes, just as the Courier slaps Arcade's hand away and grumbles with a frown. Her hair falls back into place and the scar is hidden from sight once more.

"Yeah."

"I'm amazed that she's still alive. It's very rare that someone is able to survive that kind of trauma. Who was her doctor?"

"Someone in Goodsprings, I couldn't tell you the name."

"I'll have to ask when she's recovered."

"Speaking of…," Arcade begins, and Usanagi quickly nods and directs him to the side, away from the Courier again.

"Right," Usanagi says lowly, reading through her notes. "Well, I definitely want to keep her here for a little while. Lord knows what this could do to her brain, what with the previous damage that's been done. We'll run a scan, monitor her, and do some basic cognitive tests to see if anything's been disturbed. If anything unusual turns up I'll send someone to let you know, but otherwise she'll just have to rest and we'll see what happens."

"How long will that take?" Arcade asks warily.

Usanagi shrugs. "However long it takes for her to heal. Longer if the process is hindered in some way. We really don't know. A rough estimate would be about a week to a week and a half, it just depends on the severity of the injury and the health of the individual."

Arcade can only nod at that, because it's something that he already logically knows. He's just having trouble applying it to the Courier, who they've never been without for so long. He spares a glance at her, sitting in her chair murmuring gibberish and actual words alike to the doctors and clutching a metal bucket that they're given her for the nausea, and decides that he'll just have to deal with the wait time if it means that she'll be okay.

When he sputters over his promise of eventual compensation for the care and offers up the box of 250 caps that they'd just received from Major Dhatri as an upfront payment, Usanagi gently lays a hand on his shoulder and tells him they can work those details out later, when he and the others aren't so obviously exhausted. The smile she gives him is warm and reassuring, and though he already knows of Usanagi's medical experience, he feels much more comfortable with leaving the Courier in the clinic's care.

And finally…

STEP SIX

… is the quiet walk back to the relative safety of the Strip. The hour is late and they're all tired, and without the Courier to act as their middle ground, no one bothers to make any attempts at conversation. Arcade almost wishes Veronica had come along to help with the bounty; she chatters more than the Courier does, more than anyone does, regardless of whether or not anyone is actually listening or responding to her.

It helps, sometimes, to have someone who can fill the lengthy silences.

When they finally reach steps of the Lucky 38, ignoring the flashing neon lights and the loud tourists and the faint music that makes up the sights and sounds of New Vegas, it's already just past three in the morning. Arcade is ready to crash, but he has to endure the ride up the elevator with Victor before he's able to.

Veronica, who is still awake for some reason, frowns at the distinct lack of Courier as soon as they arrive to the suite.

"Were you waiting up for us?" Cass asks, a sly grin forming at Veronica's resulting blush.

"Maybe I was bored. And lonely. And worried. Shut up."

Cass only laughs as she heads off to the bedroom. Over her shoulder she calls, "At least you're honest with yourself."

Veronica shushes her and waves her away with a be gone with you gesture.

"You guys took a lot longer than I expected," she admits, turning back to Arcade. He looks ready to collapse. "And where's…?"

He gives Veronica a brief summary of what happened and where they left the Courier. Her frown has deepened by the time he's done explaining.

"How long will she be gone?" she asks.

"The doctor, Usanagi, said probably 7 to 10 days, as long as she's recovering normally," Arcade tells her tiredly. "But there's really no saying for sure."

Her eyes widen slightly and grow distant with thought, but she only nods and says, "You should go to bed."

And he's never heard a better suggestion than that.

He flops down onto one of the double beds in the guest room without ceremony or grace, just barely able to shrug out of his coat and pull his soiled boots off. As his eyelids slide shut, he hears Cass getting up and grumbling over the smell of vomit wafting from the boots. He lets out a wordless grunt of acknowledgement into his very comfy pillow when Cass declares that she's throwing his boots into the farthest bathtub in the bathroom for him to deal with later.