"There a reason you're staring at me?"

"What is that stuff?" Maria had been dabbing at cuts on her neck with a clear liquid that seemed to bubble and fizz briefly as it touched the wounds. It didn't appear pleasant.

"Peroxide," she said, not pausing. "Don't want to get infected. We don't have a ton of water, though, and I figure smelling like a bottle of vodka probably isn't smart." With a sigh she capped the dark brown bottle, wrapped it in a shirt to protect it from shattering, and slipped it into her pack before tying the bandanna around her throat again. "The brain can be a real bitch, you know?" she said. "It always saves the worst shit for when you're sleeping."

"That it does," he agreed.

They had been gone for three days now. He had expected the trip to be agonizing, but so far she wasn't as horrible a companion as he had feared. Don't expect me to treat you like Fox does, Cato had warned her, worried she would attempt to hand off her heaviest items to him.

The courier had stared, smirking with her eyebrows raised. She looked to be fighting back a laugh. After a moment Cato realized why. Um, yeah, she had said, I really prefer you don't. Really. And I think he would say the same. She had laughed at his embarrassment. He had to admit, it was probably well deserved after the times he had gone out of his way to embarrass her.

If he had to guess, he'd say Maria was more nervous than she had let on. The first few nights, after her watch had ended, he woke to catch her practicing walking like a man, back and forth, over and over.

She had, so far, only managed to walk like a man who was suffering from some kind of back disorder. Cato didn't point it out, though. A patrol partner who looked like he had a pole up his ass was less attention-drawing than a patrol partner who swayed his hips and swung his arms with every step. Especially when those arms were both thin and hairless.

This was a horrible plan. He would have been better off with the doctor, of all people. Too late for that, though.

"Can I ask you something?" He decided he might as well make the best of things, and the silence was driving him insane. Seeing her buried in a book only made him feel stupid. She offered him a book, but… that made it worse. Cato realized, years earlier, that the only reason he had ever worried about his own intelligence was because he had the misfortune to be brother of Vulpes Inculta. He was probably the only man that came close to being Caesar's intellectual equal. Cato wasn't stupid. In truth, he knew he was actually fairly intelligent compared to the average legionary. But compared to Fox, he might as well have had his shoes on the wrong feet and drool on his chin. No one could measure up to that kind of standard.

Knowing that didn't help.

"Haven't we had this conversation?" she replied. "Ask whatever you want. No guarantee I'll answer. But asking isn't a crime." The courier set her book down. A few days earlier she had given him one, which he was doggedly refusing to read, if only because the woman had been adamant that he would like it. It's about a guy who has to blow up a bridge, she had said, but it's really about war. How it feels to be there, for real. He had debated asking if she really knew much about war, and thought better of it after remembering they once fought in the same battle. On opposite sides, of course, but that didn't make her view of it any less real than his.

"So what do you want to know?" she finally asked.

"Your guns," he began. "You've got all those fancy guns your friends brought up from New Vegas."

"I do," she said. "I like guns."

"Why don't you have any energy weapons?" he asked. "Rich kid like you, I'd figure you'd have all sorts of crazy glowing rifles. But nope. Just normal guns."

Truth be told, Cato had been slightly excited to see her collection of firearms unloaded from the wagon. She had admitted her friends made comments about bringing her back to New Vegas, but they prepared for the opposite by bringing her whatever she had once valued. That, it turned out, was for the most part a respectable collection of firearms. A magnum with silver engraving, a sand-colored sniper rifle, Maria even had a 45 that she claimed belonged to the Burned Man, which was almost immediately presented to Fox as a gift. There had been a conspicuous absence, though. The most expensive weapons in the Mojave were energy weapons, and she didn't have so much as a laser pistol.

She looked surprised by the question. "Don't believe in them," she said simply.

He raised his brows, staring at her. "They exist. Don't tell me you've never seen on—"

Maria sighed. "Not like that. I know they exist, I'm not a fucking idiot. I just mean I don't believe in them in the, you know, moral sense. Philosophical. Whatever. I don't like them. I don't think anyone should use them." His expression must have betrayed his confusion. "Look around. The world's a fucking mess. There's whole cities you can't even get near without your skin sliding right off your bones. Shit's a mess. How is shooting more radiation all over the fucking place going to help anything? Real guns kill just as well, and don't leave glowing sludge everywhere." She shrugged. "I'm probably overreacting, but every time I see one that's all I can think."

Cato considered that. He hadn't used many energy weapons himself, the Legion frowned on them, but he'd seen plenty in use. The greenish puddles they would leave behind always made him uncomfortable, in a way a normal corpse never had. He gave them a wide birth and, on the rare occasions he stepped in one, found a quick excuse to dispose of the boots he'd been wearing. He had never really thought about it why, though, not until now.

With a sense of annoyance he realized that he had always, to some degree, believed the same thing she did.

"Besides," she added, "you've gotta get those energy cells or whatever for them. If all you have are laser rifles, what will you do when there's no more left?" She laughed then. "Well, besides getting slaughtered by you guys since you're not helpless without old world garbage."

"We don't slaughter people."

"Sure you do," she said, voice as cheery as ever. "That's why everyone's so fucking scared of you."

"You're not."

"Yeah, right. You're one person. Get me in front of a whole mess of you and I'd be scared. I won't lie."

"And yet you're walking straight into Flagstaff," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'm really good at making bad decisions. It's kind of my hobby."

"You do know you're a slave, too." Vulpes attempted to ignore the woman, forcing her voice to become an annoying background buzz. It wasn't working. She continued, demanding to know when he was given any choice about joining the Legion, saying he had been nothing more than cannon fodder. "Most people with a job get paid," she said. "You know who doesn't? Slaves."

He spun to look at her. "First," Vulpes said, "although my finances are of no concern, you would probably be surprised to discover I had a rather nice house in Flagstaff, and no small amount of coin. And second…." She stared at him, still hostile. "Second, everyone is a slave to something. If you doubt me, let me dump out that bottle. Tell me how free you are when you're shaking and sweating in a day's time. I served Caesar, and worked for the hope of a better future. You serve whiskey, and work for your own mind-destroying inebriation. But please, go on. I enjoy hearing you slur your way through insults. Watching a woman barely able to stand straight act as though I were her inferior is far more entertaining than I would have imagined."

She swung the bottle in her hand at him and Vulpes took a step to the left, dodging it easily.

"All right, enough," the doctor said, stepping between them and grabbing her wrist before she could make a second swing. "Why don't we just agree you two stop speaking with each other, hm? Everyone wins that way. Especially me."

He didn't object. The peace was welcome.

They made camp in a cave as the sun was starting to rise. It had been a camp before- an encampment, more likely. There was a door built into the cave wall, and random bits of trash here and there that spoke of human inhabitation. Raiders, perhaps. The dust was thick enough that it might very well have been that, and unoccupied since the Legion came to power and drove them off.

But, regardless of what it had been, it currently was empty. That was good enough for them.

The doctor approached him later in the day, when they were the only ones awake. Vulpes had been absentmindedly turning Maria's pip-boy over in his hands, running his thumb across the buttons. She had left it with him, in case he needed it. It had better not mysteriously disappear before I get back, she warned. Probably for the best, as his first thought when she removed it and passed it his way was where he could dispose of the thing that Maria would never find it.

It was heavy. He couldn't imagine wearing it on her arm was easy, or comfortable. Some days he suspected she left it on just to annoy him. Or assert herself. She knew he hated it, so she continued to wear it. Some kind of metallic proof of independence. That would be just like her.

She certainly didn't seem to value the thing. If she did, well, he doubted using it to club ghouls across the head was the best method of care.

Maybe he should pretend to like it…

The tall man folded himself into a seated position, looking at Vulpes with shock. "You actually do care about her?" he said, glancing at the gadget.

"Hm?" looking over he realized how it must appear. Sentimental mooning over a chunk of metal and plastic. "Actually, I was trying to decide the best way to convince Maria to throw this away for good," he said. "I suspect if I tell her I think it's quite attractive, feminine, and not at all reminiscent of decadent societies better left in the past she'll throw it in a ravine just to show that my opinions have no sway over her." He passed it over. "Feel this."

Gannon made a sound of shock before passing it back. "I didn't expect it to be so heavy."

"Nor did I," Vulpes agreed. "She has such small wrists. It must hurt."

"I think she's just scared to let it go completely." He gestured and Vulpes passed it back, watching the man adjust the wrist size before putting it on. The screen came to life as soon as it had latched closed. "For a long time, this was her lifeline," he said, flipping through screens quickly before settling on a section called, simply, notes. "This thing used to beep at her all day long. She would set reminders constantly."

Vulpes looked at the list. Remember to fill your canteen, one said. When did you eat? If you can't remember, eat more. Powder gangers wear blue=kill, legion wears red and black=run, ncr wears green=OK. They only seemed to get worse. Tie your shoes, and another, which had apparently once been set to go off every hour: drink water or you'll die. One, near the top of the list, simply read stay the fuck away from crosses, dipshit. He suspected he knew what had inspired that reminder.

"I suspect she'll throw it away on her own eventually," he said, taking it off. "Maria's probably just worried she still needs it."

"Perhaps," Vulpes said. "But I suspect it's going to remain at least until she has another radio. I'm sure you know how she gets about music." He slid it back into his pack. "Regardless, she knows I dislike it. If you're correct and that is why she keeps the thing, well, I'll certainly not destroy it, as much as I want to." He looked dubious. Vulpes signed. "Why in the world would I do something so needlessly cruel?" he asked. "Cruelty should serve a purpose. If I do that, what would I stand to gain? Nothing. Meanwhile I stand to lose her trust, which I value a great deal."

"Because you care about her," the man pushed. He seemed both surprised and amused.

"My uniform doesn't make me any less human than all of you," Vulpes said. "Is discovering I might actually possess emotions so unbelievable that you honestly need me to confirm it to you?"

The doctor was silent. "Well," he finally said, "when you say it like that, I just feel like an asshole."

He couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Good. That was my goal." He looked over. "Right now I'm contemplating what will happen if she's caught. Aurelius would realize what he has rather quickly. She would be tortured, of course. As much for information as for punishment. I have no doubt she would be raped as well, if only because she's mine, and it would be viewed as an insult to me as much as an attack on her. So, of course, with that as the goal it would be as public and vile as possible. Aurelius has a perverse streak I've never much approved of. They would execute her, and likely find a way to send me her head. But it would be after a very long, agonizing ordeal. And she was completely aware of all this when offering to go. So please excuse me if I'm not particularly thrilled to have this conversation at the moment."

"Why did she agree to go?"

"It seems obvious to me that you aren't as fond of Maria as you may have once been," Vulpes said. "The world hasn't been kind to her, and she's responded with equal force. Even I can see that the woman she is now is a far cry from the one that crawled from that grave. But deep down, I think that girl who wants nothing more than to help people and see the world become a better place still exists. She appears every once in a while. This is likely one of those times." He had suggested sending the doctor. Vulpes was quite sure the man would agree, if they had positioned it correctly. It's not his risk to take, she had said. I put Arcade in danger too much as it is.

"Does that bother you?"

"Why would it? The majority of women are, at their core, helpful creatures who are inclined to aid others. She may not be the most conventional of women, but she is still very much a woman. Occasionally she acts it." He laughed to think of how she would respond. "Of course, if you tell her I said that she would probably beat me within an inch of my life."

"Mind repeating it then?" he asked. "Just let me grab that pip boy recorder first."

"Doctor, you don't share my bed. I have no problem with punching you in the face."

"I'd hit back."

"I'm sure you would," Vulpes agreed. "But probably not as hard as Maria."

Cato was clearly horrified. He had been very vocal in his worries that she wouldn't be able to pull off the disguise, and it turns out he had been right.

"Gods below," he muttered, glancing away.

"Sorry," Maria said, not feeling particularly apologetic as she wiped blood from her arms. She had only a few seconds to react. It was something that could have gone very badly, so she picked the safest way out she could see.

They had been stopped by a routine patrol. It wasn't even a stop, really. It was just a couple Legionaries approaching them to say hello and see what the news was. At least, until they asked her name. Marcus, mumbling the word quickly, voice artificially low. It didn't sound bad, but it wasn't believable. The man had stepped forward, yanking the hood from her face, revealing the long hair Maria had carefully pinned up into place.

What the fuck is this, he had said, reaching for his gun. Before he could grab it, her leg was out, foot landing square in the middle of the man's chest. She had used the distraction of the kick to grab her own gun and shot his partner, before shooting the man on the ground.

Infiltrating was never my strong point, Maria had said.

"You don't fucking say," was all said in reply. "Come on, we need to get out of here, now." They were just a couple hours outside Flagstaff. It was amazing another patrol hadn't already come running at the sound of gunshots. "I knew this was a bad idea," he shouted over his shoulder as they ran, putting as much distance between themselves and the road as possible.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they collapsed against the wall of an old garage, deep in the late afternoon shade. He could see the outskirts of the city already, small bunches of homes clustered together along small roads. "We'll hide out until after dark," Cato told her.

Once night had fallen they snuck quietly through the dark streets, passing behind houses and staying low. Reaching his own house, Cato raised an arm and Maria froze behind him. Back to him, she had a gun at the ready while he unlocked the door. "Come on," he whispered, locking it quickly behind him.

"Hey!" shouted a female voice. "Who's there? Cato?" The tribal accent wiped the C from his name, making it sound like she had called 'Aito.

"It's me," he called back. There was a loud groan followed by heavy footsteps. He broke into a grin as a blonde woman entered the room, wrapped in a long robe. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her feet were bare. Maria assumed this was Sage, his wife. She refused to think of the woman as anything else. "I've missed yo—"

His words were cut short by her hand across his face. "Months!" she snapped. "You leave me like this for months! I don't know where you go, I get no letters, you could be dead for all I know. And then what happens to me?" She looked ready to yell a bit more, but stopped after looking around the room. Her eyes went wide when she saw Maria, and the color drained from her cheeks. "I… I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I…" wringing her hands, Sage stepped back, clearly afraid.

"No need to apologize to me," Maria replied, not bothering to disguise her voice. Yanking off the hood, she scratched at her braided hair. "I'd hit him, too."

"At least I know you're sorry," he said, tone light as he tried to make her smile.

"No I'm not," she replied sharply. "I was sorry when I thought I could lose a hand for striking a legionary."

He winced as Maria turned to glare. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I don't make the damn laws."

"You enforce them!"

"I think it's pretty fucking obvious I don't do that, either," Cato said, walking into the other room with his shoulders slumped. This wasn't the homecoming he had been waiting for, that was pretty obvious. There was a creak of springs as he flopped onto an old sofa.

With a curious glance at her, the woman turned and walked… well, waddled, after him. Maria could only make out the slightest whispers, not actual words. She made a point of standing far from the door. It seemed wrong to listen in. At one point she was sure she could hear crying. It didn't last very long, though.

"We're going to get you out of here," he said, in a theatrically loud tone. "It's all going to be fine." Maria took that to be her cue and walked in.

"It's late already," she said. "Better to hide out and leave tomorrow night."

"No longer, though," Cato agreed. "If we're too far off schedule Fox will worry."

Sage made a face. "Fox?" she muttered.

"We're meeting up with him at Fortification Hill," he said. "Later we're going on to Phoenix."

"Why?"

"He's taking his place as the true Caesar," Cato said. The words still felt strange to her. Him as well, if she had to guess. He made a face after speaking, as though it was the first time he had contemplated what they meant.

"I warn you now, Cato," she said, "I am as big as a house, I can't reach to put shoes on, my back hurts, walking on my swollen legs hurts… I am in no condition to pretend to like that creepy brother of yours."

Maria tried not to laugh. It wasn't easy when she could see Cato shifting with obvious discomfort. "Well, my creepy brother did send his mistress to help me get you out of Flagstaff." He wouldn't look over. She wondered if he expected her to be angry. "I'm going to pack, so we can get her back to him before he decides to scorch the earth looking for her."

"I don't like that word," Maria muttered.

"Are you really?" the blonde looked torn between horror and curiosity.

"I guess," Maria said. "I don't like the word, though. It seems like a fancy way of calling me a whore."

"Whores get paid." The bluntness surprised her, but the woman only shrugged. "Does he hurt you?"

"No," Maria said, not sure why the woman would have thought that.

"He just seems like that kind of man," she said. "The kind that likes hurting women. The Legion creates a lot of men like that."

"Not at all," Maria said. "He's never done anything like that." Sage seemed to be trying to keep her mind off what they were actually doing, so Maria went along with the creepy questioning. The woman was acting as though she had just discovered someone had a deathclaw fetish. And, as soon as it got quiet she looked at the windows nervously, hands wrapped protectively around her middle. "I used to think he was creepy, too," Maria admitted. It seemed a small way to gain the woman's trust. "I told him so, too."

She giggled then. "What did he say?"

"Well," Maria said, "I had to explain why. It seemed like he tried to be less creepy after, though."

She laughed then. "Tried? Succeeded, I would say."

Thanks as always to my readers and reviewers. Sorry for the long break. Life got a bit crazy, and then I got a new video card which was something of a distraction. ;)