Hey now, don't make a sound
Say, have you heard the news today?
One flag was taken down
To raise another in its place
- Foo Fighters, "Long Road to Ruin"

"Grab those papers and throw the rest in the fire! And someone get my footlocker!"

Caesar was leaning over one of the long worktables in his tent, gathering documents and determining routes on a map. His bristling anger served to mask one very fine detail: he was nervous. For the first time in 34 years he was ordering a retreat and was himself falling back to a more secure location. The morning had started off well, with his troops advancing across the dam against the Republic, but with the arrival of what appeared to be combat securitrons and some kind of aerial assault the Legion had been forced back into their own camp. Every few minutes the NCR and Company drew closer and it wouldn't be long before the last drawbridge had fallen.

Half of the Praetorian Guard had left headquarters to put down an outbreak of violence near the carcer. Those who stayed behind were gathering personal and classified items from the tent for removal or destruction. In a few more moments, Caesar would be escorted to the Legate's camp via a hidden trail and from there they would regroup in the hills.

He was down, but he wasn't out and if it took another five or twenty years, he would find a way to make those worthless profligates atone. He would line the Long 15 with their carcasses and lay waste to every symbol of hope they had ever dreamt of knowing. His mother had chastised him during his youth for holding grudges, but he clung to them because they were harbingers of his justice and everyone paid.

Caesar was drawn from his preparations by the sight of Vulpes Inculta sweeping into the tent. The man had chosen the Second Battle of Hoover Dam to wear his gifted armor and his Lord was right. It looked exceptional on the Fox and he imagined NCR troopers pissing blood in his wake.

"You look damn fine, son," Caesar said. "Hell of a day to wear it, though."

The Frumentarius ignored the compliment, instead waving for Lucius to join them. "Take what's left of the Praetorians and go. I will follow with Caesar."

His brow began to furrow. "Are you certain? The gate is almost breached."

"Yes. Too large of a group will draw attention. Now go."

Lucius nodded and signaled for his men to head out, dumping a box of papers into a nearby fire pit before joining them. Giving a nod and a salute, he disappeared into the Fort.

"Excellent idea," Caesar commented, rolling up the last of his maps. "Grab my veteran armor and we'll go." Realizing that his subordinate did not move from his place, he paused in his packing. "Vulpes?"

The sound of a machete clattering across the packed dirt filled the air, punctuating the void that now lay between the two men. Turning away from the table, Caesar was taken aback by the sight before him. Mere feet away, Vulpes stood like a stone monument of visceral bitterness.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Setting myself free," Vulpes said, tightening the grip on his own machete.

Caesar tensed more than he thought possible when the Frumentarius's blade glinted in the sunlight. He could barely make it out, but there, near the base, was the faded etching of "Psalm 144:1."

"Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"I took a few liberties with my trip to Zion. Joshua asked that I remind you of Ezekiel 25:17, by the way."

Caesar's expression hardened. "Did he put you to this? Did he turn you against me?"

"No," Vulpes smirked. "It was your own hand that accomplished that feat."

"I don't understand."

The Fox took a moment to study his prey. Flushed skin, teeth grinding together, sweat on his brow. The man was sufficiently frightened. He tutted. "I was married once, did you know that?"

Caesar watched his once loyal right-hand and cursed the man. It was unnerving to see his treachery playing out in such a conversational, almost relaxed way. Too incensed and uncertain to speak, he elected to remain quiet.

"She was beautiful, intelligent. In fact, you considered her for yourself recently."

"The Courier?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes." The velvet of Vulpes's voice began to rip away, exposing the incisive steel beneath. "You forced me to scourge my own wife."

Caesar was beginning to see the honed rage swelling up under the surface. He had never married - never saw the point in it - but he had seen the lengths some profligates would go in the name of Venus. If he chose his words well, he might be able to return the younger man to the fold. Before he could speak, however, Vulpes continued.

"I tried to remain loyal to you. I tried so fucking hard, but all you've ever done is take and take and take. Have you ever had something taken from you, Edward?"

Caesar's eye twitched at the use of his birth name. He loathed it and found its use to be disrespectful. "Bring her with us. I'll grant her a pardon and-"

"No."

Silence drew out between them. Vulpes wasn't naïve enough to believe such a hollow promise. If Jordan was pardoned, they would live in peace for a number of months, just long enough for comfort to ease in. Then, on a starless night, their home would be besieged by a contubernium. He was would beaten and left for dead while his wife was torn from him once more, raped and murdered, her body left for vultures in the wastes. He knew, because Caesar had ordered the same once before, over another officer's insulting wife. At the flexing of his wrist, he began to hear Rex's barking in the distance. Time was running down.

"What could she give you that I can't? You have a home, a purpose in the Legion. Women, slaves, glory-"

"Free will."

"It's overrated."

"Says the tyrant who has it."

Caesar scoffed, "She has ruined you." This was not going in his favor and his hope was now morphing into insolence. His gaze hardened as Vulpes gestured to the machete at his feet.

"No, it was you who nearly did that. Defend yourself."

The aging commander swallowed hard as he bent to retrieve his weapon. It had been many years since he had had cause to wield a blade and he knew his skills paled in comparison to his opponent's. Moving them to the open center of the compound, Caesar knew his only chance of surviving would be pure luck, and he didn't believe in luck.

Wanting to catch Vulpes off-guard, he lunged forward, swinging madly. His attempt was rebuffed and he was sent tumbling forward, earning a slice to his cheek on the way. Righting himself, Caesar tried to recall the attacks and defenses he had taught so many in years past. Perhaps the tumor had damaged more than he realized before it was removed.

Vulpes waited for his former leader to gather himself. For a brief moment he had entertained the idea of allowing the man a glimmer of hope, of drawing out their combat so that when he at last dealt the killing blow, its cruelty would be that much sweeter. Yet now, hearing his wife's cyberdog draw closer still, he wished only to end it. The sooner the bastard was dead, the sooner he could go to her.

When Caesar lunged forward once more, Vulpes sidestepped and sliced through the tender flesh of his lower hamstring. He howled when the pain blazed through him a moment later and when he spun to face his opponent, his other leg was dealt a similar blow across the thigh.

Dropping to his knees, the grit of earth digging into his skin, Caesar cast his eyes upward. Looming above him, a machete drawn out to his side, was the very thing the Legion commander had feared for months.

"You feel betrayed, don't you?" Vulpes cooed. "Good."

Caesar spat into the dust, the sounds of his men being slaughtered outside catching his ear. "You'll pay for what you've done."

"Perhaps. But for this? I don't believe I will," he smiled. "Last words?"

"Fuck you."

/

Despite the November chill, Jordan was sweating under her armor. She'd opted to wear her riot gear that morning, without the duster, to better conceal her identity from the NCR. They may have had the same adversary, but General Oliver had never marched to the adage of making friends from enemies, not even for one day.

She had fallen in with a squad of veteran Rangers early in the engagement after overhearing that they were headed for the Legate's camp. They had taken an unconventional route through the fort, forcing openings in areas already weakened by the Boomers, and it had put them just ahead of the main body. After breaching the gate, Jordan pushed forward in the ranks, switching from her .45 to a gladius. From what Vulpes had told her, bullets would be pointless against the giant's armor.

When the squad reached the midpoint of the camp, Rangers broke off to strike at the Legionaries left to defend the area. Jordan seized the opportunity to head for the Legate's tent without interference. She wanted his blood on her hands and hers alone. The NCR would not be laying claim to that triumph.

Her feet pounding through the first bend of the makeshift stairs, Jordan glanced up and came to a full stop when a glimmer of light caught her eye. Standing like an immovable mountain, the Legate waited for her in the second turn.

"And who are you to come before me? You don't bear the mark of the Bear, yet are ready for battle."

A shiver passed without notice through Jordan. She was almost certain Lanius could stand eye-to-eye with Marcus and his voice sounded of brass horns blowing from the deep, heralding the arrival of a long-forgotten devil. Worried that her own voice might betray her, she instead unlatched her helmet and tossed it aside.

"Ah, Courier," he sneered. "The gift that escaped."

"Caesar wasn't brave enough to come take the Dam himself?" she asked with an air of amused nonchalance. His reminder of her previous status had only served to breathe new life into her courage.

"Caesar's will is made truth through me. I am a hammer against all that defy his rule. If you seek to stand against me, you shall fall as the West falls."

She smirked. "Do you mind if I take your helmet with me when we're done? Or is it a permanent installation?"

"I shall make a cape of your skin. And your skull – it shall sit by my side, mute, watching as my armies march West," he snarled. "Woman of the West, you will learn your place – in my tent, and again, when you beg for release on the edge of my blade."

"Come and get me then."

Lanius growled to himself. This woman was every bit as impertinent as he had heard. Vulpes would have enjoyed her, but he only wanted to break her. Jerking his bumper sword free from his back, he rushed down the hill towards her.

Jordan stepped back, repositioning herself in the first turn of the path, and loosened her shoulders. When the Legate's sword came hurtling down, she jumped back, swatting it away on the follow-through and slicing into the flesh of his knee. With his roar of pain, she retreated out of his reach.

Lanius advanced again, showering the woman with a flurry of strikes and swipes and forcing her further down the pathway. Bringing his blade above his head, he was surprised when she dove out of sight. When a moment later he felt the sting of steel carving its way through the exposed upper portion of his calf, he shouted out.

Jordan almost congratulated herself. It was becoming clear that he was not used to having people target the weak points of his armor, those little gaps left open for movement.

"Courier!" he thundered. The Legate was growing more frustrated by the minute. Though he appreciated a challenge, the Woman of the West should not have given him so much trouble. It was an insult to his mastery that he could not tolerate. Tearing his helmet from his head, he cast it aside and whirled to find an unprepared opponent. Intending to impale her thigh, but catching only her pant leg, Lanius pinned her in place with his blade.

Jordan struggled against the sword, trying to wiggle it free from the dirt or use it cut through her trousers. Seeing the shadow around her grow, she raised her eyes in horror. The Legate towered above her, blotting out the sun and laughing at her misfortune. With a chill, she realized the rest of the camp was devoid of sound. The Rangers had all moved on, no doubt deciding to let their enemies duke it out and reduce the workload for them. Jordan was alone and trapped. When immense hands grabbed hold of her breastplate and began to lift her from the sword, she panicked, slashing and kicking outward in the hopes of loosening his grip.

"Fool," he laughed.

Before Jordan could respond, she felt herself being thrown backward into a rock wall. Landing with a heavy thud on the hard earth below, she wheezed. Everything was beginning to hurt and she wondered if it was a mistake to face the Monster of the East without backup. She had not expected the Rangers to leave or for the rest of the NCR to be so far behind them. Rising onto her hands and knees, she pawed at her gladius and looked around. He had thrown her into the first bend of the stairs. If she could recover enough air for her lungs, she could take advantage of her new location.

Lanius limped his way towards the crumpled woman. He was going to enjoy the sheer terror he would elicit from people when they learned it was the Courier's skin that adorned him. Watching all of their hope drain out of them would be enough to give him a hard on. The crack of a bullet passing by and lodging into the rock face tore the Legate from his thoughts, however. On a ridge near the camp's gate, he could make out the figure of the would-be sniper.

"Vulpes!" Lanius bellowed in laughter. "Always trying to pilfer my kills! Your aim is as terrible as ever, I see!"

When he turned once more to the Courier, he was startled to find an empty patch of dirt. It wasn't until it was too late that he found her. Jordan leapt from the path above him, sinking her blade into the column of his neck and swinging her body out behind him. Dropping to the earth, she stepped back, uncertain of which way he would fall.

The Legate's knees hit the ground first, his torso swaying in place. The crunch of boots sounded behind him and he groaned when the woman removed her gladius from him. This was the end. Felled by a profligate whore on a battlefield that should have been his. Eyes drifting skyward, he wondered.

His thoughts never finished, the Courier's bullet providing the last act of violence in a life of war.

/

Winding his way through rocky chutes, Vulpes rushed towards the Legate's camp from its surrounding defenses. He knew it wasn't part of the plan, but he needed to confirm Jordan's well-being with more than a rifle scope before carrying on. Moving so rapidly that his feet began to slide across the graveled path of the camp's main enclosure, he felt a surge of relief pass through him when found her stooping to wipe the blood from her machete on the Legate's cape.

Observing Vulpes's hasty approach in armor she'd never seen, Jordan noted the watering of her mouth as she stood. There was no question she would be tearing it off of him later. In her mind's eye she could already see it littering the floor of the penthouse, a trail left from the elevator to the bed.

Sheathing her weapon, she called out, "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself that you were okay," he said, arriving in front of her and gripping her arms.

Jordan nodded, paying closer attention to his appearance. He was covered in sweat, blood, and grime, no doubt having had to fight his way through NCR troops to reach the ridgeline. She wasn't certain he had ever looked more virile, but the ebb and flow of adrenaline had always toyed with her libido.

"I am. Thanks for the assist."

Gunfire flared in the distance, breaking their focus. It wouldn't be long before General Oliver was marching his way in and delivering a self-saluting monologue. "You need to go," Jordan warned.

Vulpes grabbed the front of her armor and yanked her in for a searing kiss before whispering, "See you at home."

She watched his retreating figure for a moment before sprinting her way up the stairs towards the Legate's tent. She wanted to go through his belongings and hide away any useful intelligence in case her plans went up in flames. Once inside, Jordan couldn't say she was surprised by the lack of personal items, though she felt her stomach roll at the pile of mutilated bodies in a darkened corner.

Hiding a few inventory lists and troop movement reports, she exited the tent and made her way towards the giant mass of former Legion greatness lying in the dirt. Not far from him lay the bronze mask she had teased the Legate about. Retrieving it, Jordan strolled through the camp, making her way towards the gate. As she drew near, its metal planes shuddered opened.

In his excitement, Oliver did not bother to keep his voice lowered as he gloated to his men that her capture would make "two war criminals in one day." The news of Vulpes's apparent capture stung, but failed to rattle Jordan. As she had informed him days before, there were contingencies for that.

Slowing to a stop, Oliver noted the imposing helmet dangling at the Courier's side. So the reports were accurate. "Caesar on the cross, been a long time since I've seen the kind of work you've laid down today...a damn long time. And the screams of those Legion bastards as they kicked dirt running East - like a choir of angels to my ears. Speaking of - that crazy lightshow over the Fort, what the fuck was that? Some kind of thumb from God you called down? Amazing, fucking amazing. Could use a hundred of you. Just scatter you over the East like jacks, give those plumed fucks the what-for."

Jordan listened to the general's spiel with disinterest. She knew the compliments were empty lies designed to lower her guard. Even the casual observer would have heard the falseness in his tone. "Wait until you see my next trick," she smiled.

Oliver felt his skin crawl at the sound of securitrons rolling up behind him and his men. He'd seen them and their upgrades mowing down Legionaries and had been thankful their firepower wasn't aimed at the NCR. That good fortune appeared to have run out. "These, uh, these boys with you?" he stammered as two of the combat robots came to a rest beside the Courier. "Hello, there, smiley."

"General, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

He didn't appreciate her tone. "And just what would that be?" he asked, eyes shifting between the two smiling securitrons at her side. "Can you ask them to put their weapons down? Was just reaching in my coat to you a cigar."

"'Cigar' is a funny name for handcuffs, sir - and no, I won't." Jordan resisted the urge to smile at his soured expression. "Vulpes Inculta. You have him, I want him."

Oliver laughed at the demand. How she would have known that was beyond him, but she was a stupid little girl if she thought he'd accommodate her. "What makes you think I'd be dumb enough to hand over your lover boy?"

"And what makes you think I would sink so low as to sleep with Legion filth?"

It was not the response Oliver expected. Her posture was commanding and her eyes betrayed her feelings of offense. Maybe their intel had been wrong? No, that couldn't be. The source was reliable and a close confidant of the Courier's. "The late Corporal Craig Boone – who I'm sure you remember well – spilled all of your dirty little secrets," he jabbed. "Including your sexual habits with the Frumentarius."

If he was counting on her to blush, stutter, or shrink away, Jordan was happy to disappoint. "Is that what that jet-addled wretch told you?" she chuckled. She could hate herself later for tearing down her friend's memory. It was a luxury that Vulpes's safety could not allow at the moment. "And you believed him?"

"He had no reason to lie!"

"Of course he did," Jordan said as though explaining a simple life lesson to a child. "When the chems meant more than I did, I dumped his ass in Novac and moved on. I can't say I blame him for trying to retaliate, but dragging the Republic into his own drama was a bit much. Wouldn't you agree?"

The heat rising in Oliver's cheeks threatened to burn him alive. So he'd been made a fool, then? Fine. The Courier was still going to leave that despicable Fort in NCR custody. Perhaps he could catch her in a lie, though. "What do you want with Inculta?"

"He has a debt to settle with me – one that he can only pay in blood, you see," Jordan smiled. "I've been after him for quite a while, but they don't call him the Fox for no reason."

Oliver shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he sneered. "If you think either of you are leaving here with your freedom then you're dumber than-" His words were cut off by the clap of a bullet kicking up the dirt inches from his toes. Stumbling back and landing on his behind, his Rangers clenched their weapons tighter and looked to the hills for the point of origin. "What the fuck was that?"

"How many cards do I have to show in order for you to understand that you've lost?" Jordan asked, crouching down to his level. "There are snipers in the hills and securitrons surrounding you. Give me my prisoner and I'll let you leave with all of your squishy bits intact."

"Fine!" he said before ordering one of his men to fulfill the Courier's demand. Maybe he could just kill both of them in one go, tell Kimball they'd died in the fighting. Turning back to her satisfied face, he yelled, "Who the fuck do you think you are? Looking to cash your chips to the sound of NCR bullets?"

Hatches opened on the shoulders of the securitrons, small mortar rounds sliding forward. The robots' AI appeared to be more protective of her than others would have anticipated.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Jordan asked. How much longer was this asshat going to keep pretending?

"I know you're riding high right now," he spat, "but let me tell you – you ain't pissing on me right now, you're pissing on the Bear. You been far enough West I'm guessing to know how far that claw reaches. Fuck with the Bear and-"

Again the general's speech was cut short as Vulpes was brought forth and shoved onto his knees, his hands bound behind his back. Jordan could see fresh scrapes and blood trails that had not been there thirty minutes prior. His nose appeared to have been rebroken as well. Rising to her full height, she said, "It's time for you to go, General."

He stood, dusting himself off and grumbling about being "suckered by some slip of a woman." Stepping in close, he said, "When the NCR comes at you - and it will - pray you're ready. I promise you, our situations reversed, I'd see you hang."

"I'll be waiting," Jordan said.

Oliver stepped away and motioned for his men to follow. Nearing the gate, he glanced over his shoulder, hoping for one last parting glare at the Courier. The sight of her being held up by Vulpes Inculta, her legs hugging his waist as laughter and kisses fell from their lips enraged the general. Punching the shoulder of a Ranger, he ordered the man to take them out.

Before the shot could be fired, a nearby securitron launched one of its miniature missiles at them, killing the Ranger and almost taking Oliver down with him. He could still hear the laughter of the Courier and her Fox as he hastened his retreat. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Tucked away in the hills above the camp, Veronica whooped and giggled, tension sliding away from her. They had done it. They had made it through the day. Beside her, Cass cringed into her rifle scope in disgust.

"Good God, get a fucking room," she grumbled.

A/N: First things first, I'm writing a sequel. I had not intended to do so originally, but my S.O./Beta kind of lobbied for it and after thinking it over, I'm not quite ready to let Jordan and Vulpes go yet. There's no title for it yet, but I have plotted most of it out and written the first chapter. It will be set some years after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. It will probably be a month or two before I start posting anything, though. I had planned on being further along than I am now, but holidays happened.

In the meantime, are there any one shots that you would like to see? Moments from the intervening years? Suggest something, and, if it stirs up a solid idea on my end, I just might write it.

Afterword

Long Road to Ruin was borne out of a shitty time in my life. I had been unemployed for months when I got the bug to write. It was a way to channel the crushing rejection and depression that accompanies the inability to even get so much as an interview for 13 months. What started as therapy, though, eventually turned into, "Holy shit. Maybe I want to do this full-time?"

Initially I had started out writing a Boone/Courier story, but while I was brainstorming a scene where Vulpes gets into the 38 and threatens the Courier, I had a thought. What if those two knew each other from before the Legion - like, they'd been a couple or something? A few days later a skeletal plot for the story struck me while I was listening to "Long Road to Ruin" by the Foo Fighters. The Boone/Courier idea was promptly discarded and I never looked back. (I assure you, it would have been awful and terribly unoriginal had I carried on with it.)

I've read a lot of FNV fanfiction and I wanted my Courier to be my own. I didn't want her to have memory or intelligence problems (I mean, the brain is a super amazing organ and is capable of bouncing back from some insane shit), but being closed off felt right. She'd been through a lot in her life and had undergone a radical transformation because of it, yet at her core, she was still the same kind, witty person from Utah.

Vulpes, though...I never understood the fascination with him until I started writing him. In my mind, when I think of him now, he looks like a-hour's beautiful work of art, Fallout NV: Vulpes Inculta. If you haven't seen it, rush over to DeviantArt rightthissecond. He's amazing, broody, mysterious, angular, and just ugh. For his personality I tried to build off of what FNV gave us, but turning him more towards a brilliant man stuck in an unfortunate circumstance rather than the evil/slimy/disgustingly opportunistic individual I had so often seen. The idea of an Erwin Rommel-type came to mind and from there I found myself considering the idea of Tommy Shelby from Peaky Blinders (played by the incredible Cillian Murphy and thus where Vulpes's English name was partially drawn from). And when he gets frustrated? A touch of Damon Salvatore comes out - all sass and dark humor.

Getting Vulpes from destroying Camp Searchlight and banging Caesar's concubine to betraying an empire took quite a bit of research and consideration, though. I questioned my S.O. for hours, going round and round with ideas and themes, trying to get at the meat of not only the male perspective, but the military perspective as well. I could not have written Vulpes at all without his help and I am deeply, eternally grateful.

The fight scenes were also impossible without the influence of my S.O. For every single one I relied on his experiences with martial arts and sword fighting. Some, such as the scene in The Thorn, were worked out step-by-step in our living room floor. Others were inspired by fights from Starz's Spartacus or movies like The Hunted. Jordan's fight in this chapter was influenced by that super unfortunate bout between The Mountain and The Viper in Game of Thrones.

As for Boone, I drew a lot from various people I have known over the years - the self-loathing, the emotional fixations and transference, the just-this-once moments. I didn't intend for him to die, but as the story grew, I realized I couldn't stop him from dying. At least, not in a way that felt right or true to him. I mentioned in a comment in one chapter that I knew I could have fleshed him (and Felina) out a bit more, but I worried about straying too far from the story I was trying to tell. I still feel that way. But what's done is done.

I created Felina because I didn't want to have a love triangle. Both Jordan and Vulpes thought the other dead and had moved on with their lives as best they could. It made sense for there to be other people in the picture ten years later, even if neither of our heroes were fully invested in them. I decided to make Felina so young a) because it feeds into the creepy Legion culture factor and b) when we ladies are in our teen years, our hormones tend to do a lot of the thinking for us and that can lead to some pretty messy shit. Other characters and moments were inspired by various things. Crispus was a nod to Spartacus's Varro (played by Jai Courtney). Jordan's temporary blindness at Jacobstown came from my own inability to see when using Refresh PM (it's annoying af).

I spent a lot of time on Google maps and running through areas of FNV. I tried to take the landscape, Fiends, and various mutant creatures into account when determining a scene or amount of time required for travel. And I pulled tons of info from the Fallout Wikia. I know, I know. I probably went way too deep on this story, but I wanted to challenge myself and I wanted to get it right.

I know I mentioned at the beginning that I was unemployed when I started writing this. I eventually did get a job, but as it turns out, I loathe it. The people are okay, but I'm a bit too Sherlockian to sit at a desk and twiddle my thumbs almost every day (read: "My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work!"). So I'll have plenty of time to space out and work my way through scenes.

I won't post anything until the story is written in its entirety. I can't because my mind does not work in a linear fashion and that makes story-telling (and joke-telling) a real pain in the ass. The first draft of Long Road to Ruin was just a handful of the major points of the story. I then went back in and added all the fun bits like Crispus, the Big MT, the escape from Fortification Hill, etc. The upside to all of this is that it means you'll get weekly updates when I do start posting the sequel.

As I mentioned before, let me know if there is something you'd like to see! Please feel free to ask questions, too, if I didn't cover something in here that you were curious about. It has been an absolute blast to share this experience with you and I cannot possibly thank you all enough.