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"Look, it's First Recon!"
"Oh my gosh, all those red berets here!"
"Hope they can help us re-take Nelson."
The mood in Forlorn Hope was the closest it'd been to excitement in months, but Quartermaster Mayes scowled watching the soldiers enter the camp alongside some Courier who'd apparently single-handedly taken out the three most dangerous Fiends threatening McCarran.
First Recon was needed here on the front lines now that the situation there was calmer. And while he should have been grateful for the reinforcements against Nelson, the fact that it was First Recon specifically was quite a sore spot for the Quartermaster.
There'd been a time not too long ago when Carl Mayes would have told you that he wanted nothing more than to be in First Recon... but they'd never picked him despite his best efforts to join. And over the years the resentment had grown inside until he couldn't even bear to look at the unit that wore the red berets that he'd desperately wished to don himself.
Everyone was fawning over them too, and the Quartermaster ducked back into his tent as soon as Major Polatli returned his salute while passing by. Carl really wanted a drink, but the camp's alcohol rations were limited to medical use only and it wasn't worth the punishment for stealing it.
He was still in a surly mood when someone came into the tent-- thankfully it was just the Courier.
"What do you want?" Carl asked gruffly.
The Courier raised an eyebrow over some thick goggles that obscured their eyes and made them look a bit bug-like, especially with their shaved head.
"You greet everyone with that same warmth and hospitality?" they drawled sarcastically, and Carl frowned.
"If you're looking for supplies, I'll make this easy for you... there aren't any." He sighed when the Courier didn't immediately turn to leave.
"But, something tells me you're not here for that. What do you want?"
The Courier smirked. "Major Polatli sent me to help you out."
Quartermaster Mayes sighed. "So the Major has you running errands for him. Well, we're short on personnel and supplies so we'll take all the help we can get," Carl said, and he explained to the Courier what they needed before getting back to his inventory counts.
Later when someone entered the tent, he assumed it was the Courier again and turned while still saying "Were you able to find those supplies?"
"Just wanted to see if the rumor was true," came a low voice and a chuckle, and Carl's stomach twisted as he recognized just who it was: Corporal Sterling.
Standing tall and proud as always, wearing his Ranger hat instead of the First Recon beret. His trimmed white mustache and hair stood out against his dark skin, his uniform crisply pressed; you'd never guess he was nearing sixty years of age with how the man presented and carried himself. You'd also never guess that he'd barely survived a run-in with evil Legionaries who'd attempted to mangle his body to death.
Sterling was a legend in the NCR to this day, and of course Carl respected him a lot, but... as someone who'd wanted so badly to be on First Recon Mayes couldn't help but be jealous of Sterling holding that spot well into what could already be his retirement years.
There was a time when the two of them had been close... Sterling had mentored Mayes, helped him out with his marksmanship drills and encouraged him to keep trying for First Recon despite the many rejections. But even the Corporal's steady encouragement couldn't keep up Carl's spirits over the years at McCarran.
It wasn't fair: Mayes didn't even drink nearly as much as his peers, yet Craig goddamned Boone had made it onto First Recon and he couldn't?! It was embarrassing, and even hearing that Boone had been discharged after Bitter Springs wasn't enough to dull the sting of that embarrassment. Because they'd just immediately replaced Craig with someone else who wasn't Carl, someone else young enough to be his nephew.
And once people started gossiping about what had actually happened with the battalion at Bitter Springs... Mayes had finally stopped caring about being part of First Recon and started to wonder why he'd wanted so badly to join them in the first place. It didn't matter that Sterling and several others hadn't been at Bitter Springs... Carl still felt ill that his beloved battalion had been involved in that massacre. Besides, it was easier to hate them for this than for never letting him join.
When the call for Forlorn Hope had gone out after Legion took Nelson, Carl had signed up for a transfer in a fit of nihilist loathing, convinced that dying on the front lines was the best he could do at this point. And he still hadn't yet, meaning he'd failed in that as well somehow.
Seeing Corporal Sterling again was just another reminder of all his life's failures.
"Heya kid," Sterling said affectionately, making Carl tense in anger.
"What are you doing here, old man," he growled, being disrespectful quite on purpose. "Go find someone who wants to kiss your broken feet."
Sterling just laughed quietly instead of responding with an insult the way everyone else around here would have-- the old man had patience and a sense of humor like no other.
"It's good to see you, Carl," the Corporal said in his low baritone, tilting his hat in greeting. "I'll get out of your hair, just wanted to stop by and say hi."
Quartermaster Mayes said nothing, staring at the ground until Corporal Sterling sighed and exited the tent.
--
The days passed by fairly quickly as they always did here, and in his supply tent Quartermaster Mayes was able to avoid most of First Recon-- they stuck to the command tent whenever they weren't out on patrols.
In fact, by having this job Carl was allowed to avoid just about everyone-- he didn't even go to meals with the rest of the group, eating hideous tinned rations here in the supply tent even though they cooked fresh food at the mess hall almost daily. He just... didn't want to go. It was easier to stay on his own.
He hadn't made a single friend out here at Camp Forlorn Hope and wasn't going to start making any now. The Courier, who had at least bantered with him in a friendly way, had already left on their travels after securing his missing supplies. And he worked alone, restocking things around camp in the early dawn when most everyone was asleep. The Major didn't care when he did it as long as it got done.
So after days of barely talking to anyone he was startled to see Corporal Sterling enter the tent again, about a week after the first time.
"Hey, Carl," he said gently, looking concerned. "You want to come out and join us in the mess hall today for dinner...? I didn't realize you... stay in here so much, I never even see you around camp."
"It's not your business what I do any more, Corporal," Carl replied in a frosty voice, not liking how Sterling was just assuming some sort of paternal role again when he hadn't asked for any help-- hadn't wanted any assumptions about his mental health, even if they might have been correct.
"...No, I guess not. You made that clear when you left McCarran without telling anyone," the Corporal sighed.
"But I-- I missed you, Carl. We all did, but-- me especially," he said, and their gaze locked for an uncomfortably long moment before Carl looked at the ground.
Corporal Sterling was still talking, though.
"I'd been looking forward to being assigned here because I thought I'd get to spend time with you again. It's... hard to see you like this. Isolating yourself so much. Please, won't you just eat with us? For old times' sake?"
"Fuck off old man," Carl growled, understanding that he was overreacting in anger but unable to stop himself.
"I stay in this tent because I don't want to see you, or First Recon, or anyone."
"Carl..." Sterling said his name like his heart was breaking, and it made Carl want to spit in rage.
What he really wanted to do was cry, though, and he couldn't do that with the Corporal still in the tent.
"Get away from me Sterling," Carl whispered dangerously, his vision going blurry with unshed tears.
He turned away from the older man and balled his shaking hands into fists, pressing them knuckle-first to his damp eyes and inhaling raggedly when he heard the tent flap open and close.
--
Carl could get in big trouble for this, but he didn't care. It was his birthday goddammit and he was going to try to enjoy himself if it was the last thing he ever did.
He'd gotten info from Private Stone that the medical tent was unguarded during the middle of the night when Dr. Richards was asleep, and decided to risk stealing some booze last night. It had gone off without a hitch, and now on his birthday he'd started drinking at noon, nursing the bottle even as he kept up with his inventory and supply work.
The whiskey was ancient and almost rancid, but it did the job of getting him drunk quickly and thoroughly. Carl began to feel younger and even danced around a little to the radio before getting out of breath and stopping.
Shit, how had he done this every weekend twenty years ago? Fuck, he was getting old.
Someone entered the tent and Mayes froze with the bottle halfway to his lips.
"...Carl?"
Whirling around, Carl nearly lost his balance and flailed out a hand to steady himself on a nearby crate.
"Sterling," he slurred, scowling. "What're you doin' here."
"...Are you drunk?" the Corporal asked in surprise. "Where did you even get the liquor? I was told there wasn't any for recreational consumption."
"Isn't," Carl hiccuped with a lopsided grin, and Sterling sighed.
"Ahhh, I see. Well, can I talk to you for a few minutes anyway, Carl? If you're not busy," he added coyly, and Carl snorted.
"Never 'busy' around here lately," he said while shrugging, then continued "Today's my birthday. I'm the big 4-0 at last. Now I'm over the hill jus' like you."
Sterling chuckled as he sat down on a nearby crate. Carl did the same.
"Happy Birthday... I knew it was the spring time but I'd forgotten the day. Welcome to the Old Club," the Corporal teased good-naturedly, and despite himself Carl found a smile curving his lips.
"Thanks," he said before he could overthink it, taking another swig of whiskey.
Silence fell between them, heavy with unsaid words wanting to be shared as the mood in the tent sombered.
"...I really missed you, Carl," Sterling began seriously, and Carl frowned.
"Why you gotta get all mushy," he interrupted, and the Corporal gave him such a hurt look that he stopped and held up his hands in an 'I surrender' gesture that invited the older man to continue.
"...After four years of friendship, it cut me deep that you left for this camp without saying anything," Sterling said quietly, looking at the ground rather than at Carl.
"It took me days to find out where you were. Then I applied for a transfer myself but they wouldn't let me, saying that First Recon had to stay at McCarran until the Fiend leaders were dealt with. If that Courier hadn't come along and taken them out, I'd still be back there... and still have no idea why you left. So now I'm asking you, Carl. Not to shame you, but just-- because I need to know."
Corporal Sterling lifted his gaze to Quartermaster Mayes's face at last. "Why did you leave? Was it... something I did?"
Carl fidgeted uncomfortably, not liking the sincere vulnerability he heard in his mentor's voice. He'd known a converstaion like this was probably coming and had not prepared himself in the slightest. His only plan had been to avoid it, and well, too late for that now.
"No," he said, then made a frustrated noise and continued "Not-- exactly. It wasn' you I was mad at sp'cifically but just... the whole group of ya. First Recon. Bunch of professionals too good for the incompetent fuck-up Carl Mayes," he said miserably.
"Craig Boone, the fuckin' alcoholic 23-year-old gets put on b'fore me-- I mus' really suck."
"Oh, Carl, no," Sterling said sadly. "You know the brass is racist. The only reason Boone wasn't discharged for alcoholism is because he's a Caucasian like all the rest of their favorite boys; they coddled him for way too long. I told you that son..."
Now that his old friend was saying it again, Carl had to admit he did vaguely recall a time where Sterling had tried to reassure him of this very thing a year or so ago. But in the depths of his depression since relocating to Forlorn Hope, he'd started to forget how things had gone between them.
"Carl... look at me," the Corporal said gently, waiting until Mayes did before contniuing.
"I may still serve the NCR, but I know its flaws as well. Not just Bitter Springs either... all of it. Kimball and others are destroying its good reputation, and allowing ridiculous things to happen in the name of what was once an honorable institution. Including the fact that you never made First Recon and so many undeserving men did."
"Y-you're just saying that," Carl said thickly, wiping his face on his sleeve and getting embarrassed when it came away wet.
"No, son. It's true, and I hope you don't forget this later from the alcohol because you are one of the best soldiers I've had the pleasure to know, Sergeant Mayes," Sterling said as he smiled faintly at Carl.
"You know I put in every good word I possibly could, don't you? But you also know why they don't take my word very highly above that of paler folk?" Sterling asked pointedly, and Carl felt his face get hot as he nodded.
"Yeah, I-- get it. Still doesn' make it any easier to stomach though."
"True," Sterling sighed. "It really fucking doesn't," he muttered, his voice dropping so low it was nearly inaudible.
The older man cussed so rarely that it was a treat to hear, and Carl felt a little better.
"...Thanks. F'r always being on my side," he said quietly.
"Will you still let me be, Carl?" the Corporal asked just as quietly, holding out his hand towards the Quartermaster.
After only the briefest hesitation, Carl took it and they shook hands in a firm way that Mayes had sorely missed.
"Yeah," he said, his throat too choked up to say much more at the moment.
I missed you too, he wanted to say, but the way the Corporal was smiling at him, maybe he didn't need to.
Their hands broke apart, and Carl felt suddenly guilty for ever being jealous of or resentful towards Sterling.
"I-I'm sorry," he blurted out, and the Corporal looked at him in surprise.
"Sorry for what?"
"For-- being jealous of you still being on First Recon," Carl said before he could overthink it and evade the question... guess being drunk had served a purpose today after all.
"Oh, Carl. I knew that," Sterling said with a low chuckle. "It's all right."
"...Thanks," was all Carl could say, feeling ashamed but also forgiven, so... it was all right. Wasn't it?
Then the Corporal stood up and Carl did also, wondering if Sterling was leaving.
"Can I give you a hug, son?" Sterling asked, and Carl nodded while being very grateful his assumption was wrong.
When the older man enveloped him in a gentle but loving embrace, Carl was finally close enough to notice the familiar scent of pipe tobacco from Sterling's smoking habit. It was so comforting that Carl nearly burst into tears.
Why had he run away from the only man who'd ever really loved him like a father should? He didn't deserve to be forgiven, but Carl needed it desperately as he clung to Sterling.
"Shhh... it's okay," Sterling reassured him while patting his back, as if the older man could sense Carl's anxiety overwhelming him.
"Just breathe, son... it's all right." Suddenly Carl felt as much as heard a rumble of low laughter from the Corporal, and it helped to calm him.
"I never took much stock in that Old World Bible some people still talk about," Sterling said wryly. "You might be my Prodigal Son, but I wasn't about to wait forever for you to come back. I'm glad I found you again," he added, his voice going tight with emotion.
"I'm glad too," Carl managed, feeling so relieved.
--
Later, after a lot of talking and Carl taking a much-needed hangover nap, Sterling had walked him right up to the Major to apologize for stealing the alcohol-- then he'd made him do it again to Dr. Richards. Carl didn't protest, feeling embarrassed but also... protected, in a way.
He knew Sterling was doing this for his benefit, so he wouldn't feel guilty about hiding the secret of the theft. Also in a weird way, he felt younger-- like Sterling was taking him through some sort of parenting rite of passage that he'd never actually experienced as a child with his birth parents. And from what he'd heard of Sterling's life before the NCR, the older man had never experienced it either-- as a parent or a child.
Luckily because the Corporal was taking his side, and because it was his birthday, Carl was let off with a warning and three days' worth of scut work for the doctor to repay the inconvenience created by the theft. Not bad considering that the usual punishment was a week of scut work plus a hefty fine. And though he was more than a little humiliated from the situation, Carl felt protected and cared-for by Sterling today... he needed that more than he'd realized.
That night Carl had eaten dinner at the mess hall for the first time since his fourth day here at Camp Forlorn Hope. And if he'd been worried that the men would treat him differently for that, he'd worried for nothing-- they talked and joked with him like he'd been there the whole time. Carl wondered to himself why he'd been so insistent on denying himself this community and camraderie.
It was, in several strange ways, the best birthday he'd ever had.
--
"Ha ha !" Carl crowed in triumph, doing a little victory twirl while still holding his rifle-- his target practice had gone very well today after only a few days of getting back into his old drills.
Corporal Sterling had been coaching him and Carl felt years younger, enjoying things like he hadn't in ages.
"Sharp shootin' son," Sterling called out proudly, grinning and giving Mayes two thumbs' up from where he stood by the sidelines.
"Look at that!" Carl cried, grinning too as he holstered his weapon and went to retrieve his bullet casings from the haystack targets. "Right down the middle of the bullseye. Did everything like you said this time too."
"You're getting right back in the swing of things," Sterling agreed. "You'll be better than me soon, what with my eyesight finally going."
"Thanks for encouraging me to get back out here," Carl said as he stood up. "It's been a lot of fun."
"Of course," Sterling said, nodding. "Uncle-nephew bonding time... I've enjoyed it also."
And all of a sudden it didn't matter that Legion wasn't far away, or that they were out in the middle of the infested wasteland... with Sterling back in his life, Carl was happier than he'd been in a long time.
Together they could take on anything.