Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  Arcade was no stranger to warm nights. It’s been six months. Six months since he had been sold to the Legion. Turns out, something about sleeping outside in nothing but a tent in the Mojave is not the coolest of experiences. The sun gleamed brilliantly onto the sand all day, soaking up the triple digit heat like a terrible sponge. when night came, it only cooled around three, and that was only on merciful days where the nights were colder. Tonight was, unfortunately, not a merciful one. Arcade had tried to fall asleep for hours but he just couldn’t do it. He just laid in a state of untired boredom for hours. His white shirt stuck to his body from sweat in the most unsatisfying manner,  similarly did his hair to his forehead.  He felt a headache coming on from laying for so long, so, finally,  he got up. Figured to walk around, get some air. 

  Normally Arcade wouldn’t venture outside Caesars tent in fear of getting murdered or raped by even just one of the terrible men at the camp, but by know he knew that the Legion couldn’t touch him. No one could. He was Caesar's little pet. And gods damn the pitiful man who dares to scar Caesar's pet. Caesar would go out of his way to let him know that too. The odd remark about his appearance, the condescending smile, the shoulder and head pats– way too much physical contact. Just the way he talked to him– sweet and too nice.  Arcade could see through it all though, Caesar knew it as well, he wanted that. He wanted Arcade to know just what his status was. Just who he belonged to.

  The thought tore his heart open. Reduced to a slave! Sold by a man he had thought he knew! Arcade didn’t know what happened to the courier after the battle of Hoover dam. Part of him wished he was dead. The other part of him wanted answers, wanted to be saved by that wicked man. Wanted to be caressed again by those hands. What mental gymnastics he’s willing to do to forgive him too! Those nights they spent together…hot nights similar to the very night in question. They could not be disregarded or forgotten despite Arcade’s bitterness. Arcade held those memories- those sensations dear to his heart– especially on lonely and sleepless nights like tonight. 

   He walked along the sleeping legionnaires’ tents. Even through the rubber souls of his shoes he could feel the heat irradiating off the hardened sand. He hadn't gotten new shoes for years and the souls were worn down severely, trotting around behind Courier like a goddamn puppy halfway across the Mojave and back certainly didn’t help its condition. Another bitter and unwelcomed reminder of that man. 

  He eventually found himself at the edge of a cliff, looking down, the air was clear; the scene lit with a full moon, enough light for even a clear shadow. The atmosphere gave no haze to the sight. He saw tents beyond that cliff. All filled with men who were trained from childhood to kill, not just with guns or machetes, but with their bare hands. The scene was speckled with warm light every yard or so each way in an almost grid-like placement. The torches gave the whole view a nice saturation. Beyond those tents was the lake. It beautifully reflected the moon, a soft vignette of blue night surrounded the reflection of moonlight on the water.  Everything was quiet at that moment. Even a view as grand as the one he was facing still seemed so quiet and calm, as if just for him. The lake seemed to stare back and all of a sudden things didn’t seem all that bad, if only just for a single second. 

“Doctor.”

Arcade looked over to the one who spoke. It was Vulpes. 

“Vulpes.”

  Arcade was scared at that moment. But as he examined the feeling further it seemed to be more of nervousness. A social anxienty rather than a more approrate one of terror to be staring at a man who had been the terrible end to so many. He thought it strange but didn’t investigate the feeling, just returning the gaze for now.  Vulpes just stood there, his face emotionless- a default for him, Arcade noticed throughout their time together. Arcade had his head turned to him, his body still facing the cliff. Vulpes just stared straight back at him, his eyes landing exactly where his whole body was faced: right at Arcade. A firm stance. 

“You aren’t planning on jumping, are you Medicus?”

  Arcade looks to the cliff. That thought hadn't even crossed his mind. For a second he mentaly congratulates himself on being healthy enough not to think of such a thing. A light breeze passes by and lifts his hair nicely, it cools the sweat on his body and face in such a satisfying way. He speaks. 

“So what If I was?”

 He turned back to Vulpes, now a little bit more of his body facing the other man. 

“You forget yourself, doctor. You belong to the Legion, you belong to Caesar. Your life is not yours to take.”

Gross. That makes me want to jump. 

“Is that really all you’ve got?” He turned to face the other man entirely, body and all. Vulpes didn’t say anything for a moment, as if struggling to find the right words. His harsh stance did not waver. 

“It would be hard to find another physician of your expertise, Gannon.” He replied with a hint of insecurity in his voice.

 A complement?

“Your ‘talking off the ledge’ skills truly leave something to be desired, Vulpes.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head, his weight leaning on one leg. “Luckly for you I didn’t want to kill myself, because if I did I would have jumped halfway through this conversation.”

“I’m sorry.” He did seem genuinely sorry somehow. Not necessarily because he failed Arcade, but because he failed the situation. His head drooped down a little. He had his goggles on so Arcade could not see where his eyes landed. 

“It’s whatever.” The doctor smiled.

It’s whatever? What the hell does that mean?

“I should show you back to your tent, physician. I don’t think Caesar would be happy to see that you've left.” 

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Arcade’s movements were animated in exaggeration. 

 Arcade was up for some military-grade sarcasm, though he knew that it was a dangerous road to walk with Vulpes. Sarcasm let him reclaim even the smallest bit of agency over himself and the others around him. Wry was all he had now, it was all he had since he was sold to the legion. Though if you ask some it's all he ever had. So, despite himself, he continued.

“It really is a wonderful night, Vulpes!” his lips curled further into a smile.

“Medicus.”

“No really, look at that view!” 

“Medicus, I should take you back.”

“Oh come on Vulpes. Take off those goggles, you’ll be able to see better!”

Arcade stepped into Vulpes’ personal space and reached for the other man’s face. He expected to be punched, stabbed or at least have his hand swiped away, but none of that happened. He took off Vulpes’ goggles with little effort and Vulpes just stood there, now his expression was one of annoyance. 

Now Arcade had no idea what he was doing. This was a strange attempt at sarcasm if it was indeed sarcasm. 

“See? What a pretty war criminal you are!”

He hated to admit it, but Vulpes really did have a beautiful face. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, but other than that he was in full armor. His cheekbones were high and his irises were big and green. Or perhaps they were blue–Arcade couldn’t quite tell in the moonlight. There was something soft about the man’s clean-shaven face, even the sun aged scars seemed to make his face more delicate and complex in its strange beauty. 

“Pretty?”

A pink flush. Vulpes was blushing . The doctor chuckled scoffingly. “Are you blushing?” His lips curled even further into a grin, he couldn’t help but find the obsertity in such a man as Vulpes getting flustered. His hand covered his mouth half-heartedly. “I called you a war criminal and you are flustered because a boy called you pretty.” 

Vulpes stood there firm, his lips were tightly sealed, his jaw clenched. 

This is good. This is really good. Gannon thought. It made him feel better about the fact that he was a slave to taunt this man for his weakness. Pride and the reduction of others through wit was something that he was severely lacking over the past few months.  He tried with Caesar, but the man was one of such high disposition and dignity that he could not break him. So yes, this was very good.

“I didn’t know you swung that way, Vulpes. At least not for anyone but Caesar.” He continued to laugh. 

“I’ll have your tongue, profligate!” Though his voice was more aggressive he did not lift an arm or even really lift his stance to one of violent intent. 

He was making this too easy.

“Vulpes, how vulgar! At least take me out to dinner first.” Arcade spoke between sharp breaths. Now he was sure he was going too far. It was dangerous to speak like this to a legionary, Vulpes Inculta especially, though he could not help but get caught in the hysteria of it.  It was probably the heat that drove his laughter to madness, or maybe it was those repressed feelings of anguish he had held back for so long, hatred for the courier, for the Legion, for Caesar, for everyone who had led him to this dreadful conclusion. Now, there was just Vulpes, a perfect outlet for all of his woes. It only was a plus that he happened to be a terrible person.  So he just kept on laughing .

Vulpes’ face turned from one of anger to one of concern. He held his hands out as if to catch Arcade if he fell, and he almost did, tripping over himself as he continued to laugh, though it now reduced fully to a cry of madness. He did end up falling onto his knees, but that was voluntary. He looked up to the sky when his laughter died down finally, hands hung to his side, shoulders slumped. Finally reduced to a pitiful cry devoid of any humor or anger, though his smile still present on his face. 

God, I’m going fucking crazy.

It was silent for a minute or so after that, the night was still quiet. The stars still so intimate.

Vulpes eventually leaned down on one knee and put his hand on Arcade’s shoulder. His square posture would be fit for a proposal. “Lets hope I’m better at therapy than I am at suicide prevention.” He almost whispered. Humor. Arcade laughs, but now more genuinely. It was a kind laugh that was subtle in its intent. A saccharine smile remains after; he almost tries to hide it, dipping his head to his chest. In this simplicity things did not seem so bad anymore, or at least they didn’t feel so complicated. Here he was, with Vulpes. All alone with Vulpes. As far as the night is concerned it was just them in the world. No legion, no Caesar, no Courier. He could feel Vulpes’ eyes on him. His gaze almost had a physical weight to it. Vulpes traced Arcade’s arm to his right hand. Arcade gave no protest even as the other man intertwined their fingers. 

“Tell me your woes, Medicus.”

Well... where to fucking start?

“I’m a fucking slave for one.” That should suffice.

“You belong to the legion.” Vulpes replied almost immediately, as if he had said the words before. 

He continued, "We all belong to the legion, Doctor. You are privileged too, you get to see Caesar’s grace everyday. You must realize what a supreme honor it is to even see him, much less live in his residence.”

His words meant to soothe, but of course it fell flat with Gannon because he wasn't brainwashed. 

“I should be so lucky.” 

Arcade suddenly realized that they were holding hands; he already knew that they were of course, but now he was beginning to think of the implications of such a gesture. 

 Were men in the legion just much more intimate with each other? Gannon recollects on old world societies where being gay was a crime but it was still socially acceptable to hold a man’s hand or even kiss him on the cheek-in some cases even the mouth.

Oh the homoerotic contractions of civilization. Arcade thought.

Because the Legion was a Neo-Roman hell, he’d imagine that Caesar would recycle Roman social rules on homosexuality. Something about virtus , he didn’t remember what little he read on the topic. Perhaps he would ask Caesar one day, make him uncomfortable, it would be funny. 

“You're holding my hand Vulpes, do you know what that means?” Arcade didn’t lift his gaze from their joined hands. His expression still had a smile to it, but now more intimate.
“Would you like me to let go, Medicus?” his response was whispered, genuine concern in his tone.

Arcade slowly positioned his hand so that he could squeeze Vulpes’. 

“No.” 

“So what does it mean then, Arcade?”

“I don’t know about where you come from, but where I come from men don’t usually hold hands. Unless they were dating or something.” Arcade smiled, eyes lovingly looking at Vulpes’. Vulpes’ gaze quickly dropped from Arcade’s eyes and back onto their hands. Where once Arcade had taken pleasure in making fun of him, now he was taking pleasure in making him blush. It was much nicer for the both of them. 

“What are you saying, Arcade?”

Arcade gently rubbed his thumb on the other man’s hand. 

“I’m not saying anything.” He continued to insist on looking at Vulpes’ eyes, forcing the other man to return the gaze once again. It’s a good thing he hasn't lost the skill of making straight men feel uncomfortable. Something told him that Vulpes wasn’t entirely straight though, or, at least wasn’t fed preconceived notions of male intimacy that most of the men in the wasteland were. 

“You're making me feel strange, Arcade—and I’m not sure if I like it.” 

Vulpes smiled for the first time since the interaction started. It was authentic but tight– he was nervous.  

“What do you mean, strange, Vulpes?” Arcade leaned his body closer into Vulpes, their faces now closer than they were before. 

“Warm.” Vulpes replied immediately. 

Arcade took his free hand and gently laid his hand on Vulpes’ Cheek. 

With that simple contact, his eyes widened in sudden realization. “By gods! Arcade you know exactly what you're doing to me, don’t you? You’re doing this on purpose!” He didn’t pull away Arcade’s hand or even try to untangle their fingers. 

“You really do have beautiful eyes, Vulpes.”

“Stop…Stop saying my title like that...” Vulpes stuttered. 

“Relax, Vulpes.” He continued to punctuate his sentences with his ‘title’ despite his objection.

“Everything is fine.” Arcade lifted the hand that was stroking Vulpes’ face, tracing upwards along his cheek, finding his night black hair eventually. Usually Vulpes shaved his head into a military style cut, but now it was spiky at the top; he was overdue for a haircut. Arcade thought to himself that he liked his hair much more like this, and a whole lot more than when he had that stupid hat on. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Vulpes, so just relax.” Arcade reassured, still stroking the back of his head. Petting him. 

“Do you do this with all the Legion men?”

“No. Consider yourself special.”

“Why me, Arcade?” 

Arcade continued to pet Vulpes, now higher on the head.

“Simply because you’re here, Vulpes.”

Vulpes smiled weakly, as if he was trying to convince himself that he was still okay with the whole arrangement. To reclaim what little control he still had in this situation, “I thought I was special?”
Gannon answered within a shaky breath.
“You are here, aren’t you?”

There was a growing feeling of warmth in his stomach. He wasn’t just manipulating Vulpes, he was manipulating himself! The pessimist side of him thought that warm feeling to be lust in advantage. The nicer side of him thought it to be love. The reasonable side thought it to be a terrible betrayal of his morals in every conceivable way.

“A man’s never felt me this way, Gannon. I don’t know how to feel.”
“Have you been touched like this with a woman?”

Vulpes left no room for hesitation. 

“No.”

That explains why he was so susceptible to Arcade’s advances, not even with a woman.  To be the first one to show him this kind of affection. He could do whatever he wanted with him, he could totally own Vulpes with just his sexuality. That thought excited him more than he cared to admit. 

Arcade continued to smile. He untangled their fingers and with his now free hand he took Vulpes’ chin, guiding his head to make their faces closer. He could feel the heat from the Legionary’s face now. The breaths he took were more moist than the surrounding dry, dry desert air, he felt it on his lips. 

Gannon examined the man for a while. Just really taking in the moment, the intimate expression on his face and the way the moon reflected in his half-lidded eyes. 

O he had him in the palm of his hand!

Arcade leaned closer to Vulpes until Vulpes had to fully sit down, where before he was holding himself off the sand by his knees and feet in a square squat, again, like a marriage proposal. He leaned back, his arms supporting his weight. His legs were both slightly bent at the knee, parted from each other to allow Arcade to crawl between his legs, again, towards his core. 

“Do you understand what I’m doing to you, Vulpes? Do they teach you this?” His voice was low, almost baritone. 

“You’re devaluing yourself, Doctor. You should stop.”

Vulpes takes a hand and cups the back of the other man’s head, his nails finding the nip of Arcade’s neck, just, just below the spot where the blonde hairs of his head were the shortest. The sharp contact of Vulpes’ nails in a spot so sensitive sent shivers throughout his whole body, he felt the electricity shoot to the tip of his cock. Even though it brought such a reaction, it felt like an attempt to limit Arcade’s advance. 

“I’m Caesar's slave, so wouldn’t it only make sense to pleasure his best man?”

“That's not how it works, Medicus. Your role is Caesar's personal physician. You came here as a doctor, not as one of Caesar's…” Vulpes stopped at the last word as if he was ashamed to say it when referring to Arcade.  Vulpes looked everywhere but Arcade’s eyes, eventually landing them on Arcade’s chest for a while. 

“He doesn't make you do these things, does he?” He looked scared. 

“No.”

Vulpes sighed in shaky relief. 

“Relax.” 

Arcade leaned forward and kissed Vulpes. Vulpes, with his hand still cradling the back of Arcade’s upper neck, gently pushed Arcade further into him. Arcade figured he’d deal with the moral absurdity of kissing someone who reinforces your status as a slave later. For now it was just a cordial feeling. 

Arcade was the one to pull away first. He examined the situation again. Arcade could feel his face burning with blush. The shallow darkness and the warmth of the night made it all seem like a dream. There was something surreal in the setting. Something about the moonlight made him almost drunk, he figured there was no way he would ever act this way without the mood the night let on, he was also sure that Vulpes wouldn’t be so prone to his behavior if not for the dreamy night. This dreamy night where movements appeared as slow motion and infinitely meaningful. Much in the same way the moon told of the warmth and brightness of the sun, so did his eyes tell of the intricacies of his mind. Arcade thought him beautiful at that moment. The moon lit his face so tenderly. 

“I don’t think you make a very good therapist, Vulpes.” The doctor whispered while smiling mockingly, eyes half-lidded by the closeness. 

Vulpes pulled Arcade back into the kiss with a force that he hadn't shown since the interaction had started. It was just short of being violent, but still enough insistence for excitement in surprise. It was desperate but still held back.

Vulpes brushed his tongue against Gannon’s lower lip, prompting Arcade to allow entrance. 

He really didn’t think Vulpes would be the type… though nothing about the predicament thus far was traditional.

 They just made out for a while, caressing and groping, scratching and pulling almost to a violence. Arcade now had an erection, though it was nothing compared to what Vulpes had. Every once in a while his knee would accidentally brush up against the Legionaries bulge, and, to give Arcade credit—the first time really was an accident. The man was hard, painfully hard. 

Arcade relished the thought of having such an effect on another man. It was always such a pure pleasure no matter who he was doing it with. Hell, even with the few women he did it with! 

Arcade figures he would limit himself tonight, if just for his ego. He pulled off Vulpes, who was now fully laying on his back, Arcade on top of him. Only then he realized how tangled they were. He also was just noticing the absence of his glasses. 

Arcade sat himself aside from Vulpes’ hip. 

Would be a good time for a cigarette he supposed, if he had a cigarette, if he had smoked. Instead he patted around for his glasses. 

“Huh. Why did you stop?” Vulpes elevated himself with his elbows, still mostly laying on the ground. His eyes were still drunkin. 

“Glasses.” 

Vulpes quickly grabbed and handed Arcade’s beaten-down-200-year-old glasses to him. He must have been the one to take them off, seeing as how fast he found them. Arcade hadn’t noticed them going off. 

Arcade put on the glasses, now that everything was clearer, he saw the desperate expression on Vulpes’ face. 

“I think I’ll pass on the offer to take me back to the tent. I know where it is and you should get some sleep.”
Gannon smiled, Vulpes said nothing. Arcade got up, his erection was not noticeable unless you were to really look. By that logic, especially since no one was around, it was okay to walk around with a boner. He took sadistic pleasure in the fact that Vulpes wouldn’t be able to do the same with how bad he had it, and how a lot of the people in his quarters were most likely still awake. Also, also the Legion probably frowned upon masturbation. so he couldn't do anything about it!  

“That's it?”

His voice was groggy.

“For tonight, yes. If you want anymore you will have to wait.” Arcade straightened his shirt, noticing now that a couple of the buttons were torn off. Another thing that happened in the spur of the moment he didn’t realize.

Dammit. Explain that to Caesar.

“-Yeah. Yeah, you're going to have to wait.” He finished his thought.

“I don’t think that we're done yet, Arcade…  You certainly don’t look done.” Vulpes let his eyes fall down to Arcade’s pants.  Maybe Arcade was downplaying the erection he had. Regardless, he had a limit tonight that he would not breach. Besides, he filled a bank of depraved memories that he could use for his own purposes later.

“I wouldn’t want to devalue myself.”  Arcade smiled, hands and eyes still focusing on the buttons (or lack of so) on his shirt. 

Vulpes relaxed his shoulders in defeat. 

“Yes. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

Arcade finally lifted his gaze from his shirt “I’ll see you tomorrow…maybe.”

Yes, Leave the night open-ended. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Vulpes replied a little too immediately, his expression still one of awe.

Perfect .

Arcade didn’t say anything, he just smiled, turned heel and left.

Tomorrow should be very, very interesting. 

Chapter Text

Simmering dog fish 
Gather beneath the bridge late at nite
Waiting
For the suicides. 

I became a slave in just one day
I changed. 
I became- a slave. 

  It almost felt as if yesterday night was a dream at first. Truly the situation in all its improbability did not actually happen. Surely he did not do something as crazy as make out with a crazed murderous conqueror. A dreadful reminder brought him to drop his doubt: the missing buttons from his shirt. A confirmation that yes, last night did happen. Looking down at the milky buttons of his shirt (or lack thereof) triggered a replay of his night, at least the interesting part he spent with Vulpes. The memory brought subsequent regret and disgust, then embarrassment, finally annoyance for the fact his favorite shirt was now broken. He wondered if he could get it fixed before Caesar noticed.
  And by god, Caesar will notice. It was made quite clear that nothing went past that man’s perceptions, especially in regards to Arcade. Even the slightest change in his gate or stance the tyrant would take notice. Arcade didn’t know if it was because Caesar was attentive to his valued slave, trying to notice any imperfections to keep Arcade fed and pretty; or if he took note of changes to see if he was trying to escape. Arcade hoped it was the latter, because that option is more dignified, but in his heart he knew it was the former. Really, there was no escape from Caesar’s hold, for the Mojave belonged to him. 

  Arcade always kept his hands busy around the camp. Caesar never wanted him to be anything but his own personal physician but stopped trying to keep Arcade from helping around the camp. Besides, it’s not exactly the worst thing to have a trained doctor around helping people. He would only help the children. The children, he reasoned, weren’t murders yet. It was okay to help them. He knew this logic was flimsy; what else would these young men become but killers? As for the girls, he had a special sympathy for them. It sickened him how they were treated as just future babymakers. Every time he saw these girls he would find a fresh hatred for the Legion. 

   Outside of the compound women's rights were more-or-less the same. Women were allowed to own property and run business. It would be very hard to instill all the Legion’s conservative values onto a population which didn’t grow up within Legion tents. Arcade was sure that if it were practical or possible to do so, Caesar would make women second-class citizens. Luckily, as of now, it was not. All this Arcade heard from Julie Farkas; she worked around the Mojave by order of the Legion, sometimes she would get stationed here and they would talk. These were the moments which felt the most normal to Arcade. Just sitting and talking to Julie could make him forget. And lord did he need some forgetting. 
 Now he was treating a broken leg. He did the best he could without chems, which was a feat. Lucky for this kid Arcade’s knowledge in natural medicine gave him the tools to successfully drug him out using only plants, it was all he could do for the pain. If only he could use a stimpack or med-x. Wouldn’t that be swell.  
“Alright, champ.” He patted the kids back, immediately cringing at his use of the word ‘champ’. 
Arcade lifted his gaze to the adult accompanying the child. The instructor to the kid he assumed. “He will be fine. If the pain gets too much at night, mix this powder with water to a paste and rub it gently onto his leg.”
“Thank you Doctor, don’t know what I'd do without you.” The Legion instructor took Gannon’s hands and shook them. For a legionary trainer his handshake was pretty limp– guess that’s why he trained the children rather than actually scouting and conquesting. 
“...Anytime.”  

The kid limped off to the tents, in the jumpy way a child would, even in pain, amazing is the soul of a child.
Arcade had wished the man had the same haste in leaving,  but the man stayed.

Great, now he wants to talk. 

   The two of them were in the shade of a building, offering an escape from the heat, though now it wasn’t so bad because it was just morning. The building was a prewar one, something the legion didn’t build. You could tell pretty easily because the legion can’t build much more than a tent (if you could even call that building).
“Arcade, what’s going on with you?” 
Arcade leaned against the wall closest to him.
“Nothing much at all. Up to the same things. Like being a slave. You know-the usual” 
“Haha! Arcade! You’re really too much, amica!” The trainer said, the ejaculation of his tone startling Arcade. 

The man just kept on laughing, Arcade stood there awkwardly. “I’m glad someone appreciates my jokes…” he said, half annoyed and half fascinated at the man laughing at such a simple remark.

The man hit Arcade in a kidding manner. Arcade flinched. “Oh! You’re crazy… crazy.” He continued to laugh. 
“Yeah… Crazy…” Arcade stared blankly in the distance. He was looking at Vulpes but the events of last night didn’t connect with the man in the hat currently standing 30 feet away from him. It was as if he was an entirely different person. Hell, it was as if he himself was an entirely different person. Arcade remembered the intimate expression of Vulpes last night. Compared to the man he was staring at now, it was night in day the way they differed. The cold expression, the sinister hat, the concealing goggles. Gannon focused on the man’s goggles and wished he could see those starry eyes again. Wondered what they would look like in the light of the sun. 
 Arcade felt a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch a bit. 
“Well Arcade, I’ll be going then.” The man was now standing, holding Arcade’s shoulder. He leaned in closer, his cheery smile still present after his fit. 
“I wouldn’t stare at Vulpes too much.” the man whispered, then sloppily slid his hand off Arcade’s shoulder. “Goodbye, Arcade. A million thanks.” 
The man’s former words made Arcade smirk. 
“I did much more than just stare at him last night.” He said to himself, starting to clean up the supplies from the dirtied white centerfold table. But the man was probably right—he should be careful around Vulpes now.  If he regrets last night and I do something stupid he’ll probably just kill me.  Arcade figured it would be better just not to talk to him at all. If Vulpes wanted to talk, let him. But, ultimately let Vulpes set the pace. Because he didn’t have much control over last night, give him some.
  Arcade headed back to Caesar's tent. It was too damn hot today to be anywhere else, though the tent didn’t help at all. It was almost like a greenhouse, trapping in the hot air. No, it was much more akin to an oven. The mojave was the greenhouse. The tent was an oven in the greenhouse.  Though, the sun didn't penetrate it- and that was enough for Arcade to stay inside. He sunburns easily. 
 “What happened to your shirt, Arcade?”
Arcade’s spine shot up at the sound of Caesar's voice. It was only after the initial surprise did he process the question, and when he did finally process it, he was still on edge. 
   “Uhm. Well. I’ve always been a fidgety sleeper. Must have tugged at it in my sleep, breaking it…” Arcade did not look at Caesar. 
  “You shouldn’t have slept in a shirt then. It’s better just to sleep naked.”
Finally Arcade turned to Caesar, seeing his expression he was at ease again, though, now he was annoyed.
  “Oh. Now I get it… your fucking with me. Good one…”
Caesar laughed heartily. 
 “You don’t have to lie to me about the reason for those broken buttons. Tell me Doctor, none of my men had their way with you last night, did they? When you left the tent?”

“No.” Arcade said firmly, his mind flashed to last night very briefly.
“That’s good. You’re my doctor, not a whore.”  Then Arcade noticed the bald man sitting across from him was drinking something. He wondered if it was coffee. Or if coffee was considered against their pure values. 
“I’m very glad you are concerned about me potentially getting raped.” Arcade said, meaning every bit of venomous sarcasm that the words posed.
“Well of course I would be concerned, Arcade. You are MY slave after all. Wouldn't want anyone else to take you."  The stupid fucking bald man took another sip of the mystery liquid. 
  Arcade wondered now if he could make the man uncomfortable. “Yes, of course… I have been meaning to ask though, what are your… the Legions opinions on man on man action. I thought it might be relevant.”  
Arcade took two of his fingers from opposite hands to touch, pointing to each other. He did not realize at first the crude and dishonest gesture of gay sex.

Caesar did not waver at all in his pose or expression. “Well, Arcade this information is actually irrelevant to you as you are my slave and should remain celibate. But, of course we are men of information aren’t we? So, I will inform you. I do know about your lifestyle of debauchery before the legion. You were quite promiscuous as Vulpes told me.”
 This entire operation of making Caesar uncomfortable, to bring back an ounce of power in their relationship backfired completely and terribly. A fool was he to think he could outwit a man such as Caesar! 
“Vulpes told you that? How would he have even known to keep tabs on me before the Courier?” Arcade replied a bit too suddenly for coolness. Caesar smiled.

  “Nothing escapes Vulpes’ eyes or attention, nothing he ever sees is forgotten. No intel is irrelevant to him. Even so–you as a follower, were always a person of interest.” 
   “Ugh… I wasn’t THAT promiscuous…” Arcade did not know how to reply other than the meek defense of his character.

  “This lifestyle you had led could have gone one of two ways, one: you debased yourself by a man taking you or, two: you retained your status as man by taking another… Though Vulpes never told me which one you were… I wonder if he knows.” 
  Arcade was dumb-founded at the words coming out of Caesar’s mouth. Even though his description was so clean, so without any racy detail, and he had initiated the discussion in the first place he was still baffled by the very thought of Caesar talking about the matter. He realized then that his mouth was a jar. He closed it and cleared his throat.
 “So. What you're saying is if you're fucking the guy it’s okay and manly and straight, but if you're getting fucked it’s bad, feminine and gay?” 
“In the crudest framing, yes. Of course, it would have to be only a dalliance. A romantic connection is out of the question.” Caesar finished the last sip of his drink and placed it on the table. Arcade now saw it was tea. The tea he prescribed. He should've guessed. “I’m very glad I could inform you. Even if it’s not useful to you anymore. You should have asked me before!” 
“Mmhm.” Was all Arcade could give as an affirmation, desolated in full. 
  Caesar stood from his chair. “You know, Arcade. However you broke your shirt you can get it fixed. Just hand it over to Marx. He sews.”
 "Sewing… isn't that woman's work?" 
"I am a man of tradition. But, I am also practical. Marx can sew. He is useful as a man for that."
"So then, are your morals flexible or inconsistent?"
Caesar laughed. "You are the only person in the entire Mojave who can talk like that. But, even so– don't fucking push it." 
   Then Caesar fucked off. He had totally won the powerplay, though it isn’t a very hard feat if your opponent is also your slave.
   Arcade did take his shirt to Marx, in the shirt’s absence he wore a gray undershirt. He noticed it had a bit of dried blood on it. He figured it must have been the Courier’s (His name is just basically just going to be the Courier for now.) Or maybe it was Boone’s. Arcade walked around the compound, unconsciously, a little bit consciously, he searched for Vulpes with the corner of his eye. His mind wandered to him as well. The words of Caesar intrigued him, how long did Vulpes know Arcade existed?  How did he know about his sexual practices? Why was this important? Was it even important? Did he learn by interview or did he learn from observation? And, most burningly, did he know which way Arcade took? Did he know if he was one who takes a man or gets taken?  And did this have anything at all to do with last night? 
 Though Arcade’s face was buried in a book, he was merely skimming the lines as his thoughts drifted to the questions above and then they drifted to much more lewd thoughts. Oh the backdrop of the Legion’s taboos with gay sex made it such a exiting thought! Surely, as such a higher up of the Legion Vulpes should know about this rule. Follow and fear it religiously.
   So then why on earth was he so okay with Arcade’s advances? And why, why was he so unresisting to his own domination? You would think that because he was so damn indoctrinated by these Legion values, he would take more offense to being on the bottom. Or was it okay because no active penetration was taking place? Were his morals as flexible as his lord's were?

   Oh wow, what, then if ‘active penetration’ was taking place? What would that mean? If Vulpes was as good as an informant than Caesar promotes him as, of course he would know that “way” he took, that of being taken by another man or taking another man. If he was as good an informant as Caesar advertised then he would know that usually, Arcade was the one who “took”. That is, Arcade is the one who dominated, who penetrated. No information is irrelevant to Vulpes, and no information was forgotten as Caesar himself said. So if Vulpes did know about Arcade’s position, then why did he let last night happen, invite it even. 
  Throughout the day these thoughts circled around in his head, with affirmations and denials. He couldn’t focus at all, it was torture in such blazing heat. His lust got to its summit around sunset. It had happened before where Arcade’s libido got so strong he had to “take care of himself”. This he was always so scared to do. If he was caught, what would happen? Stoned for sexual degeneracy? For this reason he was always very particular about where he did it. Last night he did fully consider rubbing one out on his cot but decided against it, he didn’t want to get killed for being horny.
    The sexual mood of the soft twilight brought back memories of his past meetings with men. He remembered the stupid things he did as a follower. The number of kings he’d banged was absolutely embarrassing. Those were still some of his favorite encounters, even if they did retain that stupid accent all the way through. As much as he hated to admit it, he did find the accent sexy. Even if it was very, very stupid. The very best part of the kings was the way they broke, every single one of them he’d rode. They weren’t going to tell their buddies about that though. And every time he passed a group of them congregating in a circle, at least one would start to blush and pretend not to see Arcade. Very rarely did any of them come back to him for another round. 
   He remembered going to New Vegas for the first time when some of the other followers pooled some caps to pass the credit check. Though he did not drink nor gamble, he had his most fun there. The lights, the music, all of it was so alive! In such a place as the Mojave it was a needed oasis. Arcade was sober then (and he supposed he was now) but one could get drunk just on the atmosphere.  He met a man in a checkered suit, something about Arcade seemed to charm him so he treated him well. And well the man could treat him, he was loaded with the fruits of poor souls who gambled. 
It was very clear that Arcade was the first man he had pursued. Just a little bicurious, as a man almost always is when he’s the age the rich man was.
 His name was Benny, he was suave to the point of annoyance, but, much like the Kings, he was totally into it. It took a fair amount of time before it finally happened. To take a man’s anal virginity was Arcade’s absolute favorite. The way Benny moaned! Even without any stimulation to Benny’s cock he still came all over his stomach.  This Arcade remembers as his favorite sexual encounter. 
 After that night Benny was very friendly to him, very clingy physically. Always so close to him. Arcade reckoned that Benny saw him as a boyfriend after that. Arcade didn’t mind too much, though he had never had a “straight” man as a partner. 
  Benny acted like a playboy, but in private he was very sweet, but still none-the-less clever in his duologue. Arcade found it funny how, even though Benny was a bottom in every sense of the label in bed, in public he acted as if he was courting one of his girls when he talked to Arcade. Arm around his shoulder, buying him things, promising things, flashing his white teeth.  Arcade let him. Because he knew no matter what role Benny played in public, at the end of the day he would always be the one face down in bed sheets, drooling into them as Arcade railed him. Oh the degradation of men! 
  Benny did teach Arcade a lot about sex. Particularly about feet; Benny was really into feet. Arcade smiles to himself every time he thinks of the character Benny. The rich man in the checkered suit who really liked feet.
  Arcade returned to the place where the event with Vulpes happened. He figured that since they didn’t get caught last night, then he certainly wouldn’t get caught for tonight. Gannon did not have a very good imagination, so he replayed his past. The vague outline of a body, of a repetitive action, a man’s hips, a smile, lips, the face a man made when getting fucked. The face Benny made when getting fucked. It happened eventually, though it was sloppy, and it wasn’t very satisfying. The fear of getting caught, contrary to popular notion, did not make the action more pleasurable, only more terrifying. He came on his hand. He wiped it off on the hardened sand and awkwardly kicked dust over it. 
  It lasted a couple months. Those were good months. Benny got a girl though and they stopped seeing each other. Arcade didn’t think the relationship meant anything to him while it was happening, but the night he spent staring at the ceiling  in the corner of his tent back at the Old Mormon Fort seemed to dispel the idea of casualness entirely. He did not cry. 
   So it did hurt when he saw Benny killed. A quick death for him. Arcade supposed the Courier was feeling merciful that day. Such a climatic end for such a climatic man. He wondered if it ended similarly with the Courier. Arcade cried that day. 
 He figured he’d stay there for a while after the fact. Staring deep into the depths of lake Mead. It wasn't like last night at all. The moon did not shine an aphrodisiac glow as it did that night. It was calm in a lazy way, not quite in a dreamy way as it had been. It only took a short while before a voice he was half-expecting sounded. 
  “Arcade.” The man’s voice was so short of being masculine, and his current tone deprived him of all fear. A soft tone, one that was hidden, as if it itself was a secret. 
  “Vulpes. It’s good to see you.” 
Arcade was sitting now, his back leaned against the most wall-like rock he could find. Vulpes stood, his stance so insecure and uneasy. Clearly out of his element, Arcade invited him to sit next to him. He accepted, seemingly taken by Arcade’s lead. They sat considerably apart, about three feet separated them.  
 “You know, Lake Mead is the largest reservoir in the U.S. All made by man. Though, I am not entirely sure how true this is… the book I read it from was pretty old.” 
Vulpes said nothing. 
 “Older than 200 years, that is. Old when the bombs fell. Everything is old now I suppose.”  Arcade gave no hint of acknowledgement last night. He took out his discarded flask and drank from it. “It’s water. Don’t get excited.” After his remark he looked over to Vulpes. He was jump scared by the sudden stare that met him. Vulpes’ eyes were of hunger and embarrassment, he was ashamed, as one might look if they were at their mistresses residence. A guilty glance that, though acknowledged it’s sin and repented for it, would never, ever stop sinning. This glance shut Arcade up, and he was speechless. 
“I saw you looking at me, Arcade. Today, I saw you looking before I went off to perform my assignment. And I could not put to words how I felt when you looked at me. Truly you did something terrible to me, and I do not know why or how. So, today I meet you again. Hoping for just an answer, Is this something you inflicted upon me or is it my own corruption?” 
Again he was speechless at the confession. The words were low and without malice. The same tone described above. 

“Um…I… I think it might be a little bit of both?” 
Vulpes stared into the lake, and sat in a similar way of Arcade, now his tightness was gone, replaced with the slouch of man who had just realized something deep.
“Then we are both corrupted at our cores?”
“Well.. I wouldn’t put it like that…”
“No, Arcade, you don’t fully understand the extent of my impure thoughts! These thoughts that led me to meet you here again! And how these thoughts were never just of you!” 
Arcade did not sign up to be this troubled man’s therapist. But when you play with a man’s sexuality there always is that risk. He never did know what to do with male tears. Not that Vulpes was crying. 
“You’re saying that you’ve had these thoughts about other men?” 
“Yes, all my life I had these terrible thoughts.” 
“And what makes these thoughts so terrible? It is not forbidden in the Legion to take a man.” 
“I could not say, Arcade. Even to you I could not say.” 
 Arcade then did something stupid, he reached his hand over to Vulpes’ shoulder and consoled him, bringing his body closer in the process. 
“I think It is your touch that makes me feel worse, even so I cannot tell you to stop.”
“Hey. I won’t… do anything to you, alright? You’re safe with me. Why don’t we just…sit here for a while.”
 Vulpes leaned into Arcade and rested his head against his shoulder, and he very cautiously reached his hand to Arcade’s chest. Fully disregarding the person it belonged to, he caressed the fibers of his shirt, as if playing with it, fascinated. 
“I can feel your heart.” 
Arcade did not know how to properly respond. “Yes. That is where my heart is.” He should have just said nothing. 
“Did you just have sex?” 
“Hm?”
“You are flushed, your bearing is relaxed, your heart rate seems high. The way you sit… Forgive me if I am wrong.” 
Arcade readjusted himself as much as he was allowed with Vulpes on him. As if changing his position would stop Vulpes from reading him. He knew it wouldn’t.
“You’re not… entirely wrong. I was alone though.” 
Vulpes removed his hand from Arcade’s chest and took Arcade’s right hand. Holding it with one of his hands, while inspecting it with the other. 
“You are right handed, yes?”
Arcade nodded, then he realized that Vulpes probably couldn’t see him nod, so focused he was on the hand. 
“Yes.” 
It was embarrassing to have the same hand you had just jerked off with inspected in such a clinical eye.    Vulpes inspected it for a while longer before staring back at Arcade’s eyes, holding the hand in the same manner still.
“It was cruel how you left me last night. Even crueler how you relieved yourself tonight.”
Suddenly a casualness was regained between the two and Arcade finally let his shoulders loosen, now not feeling as if he could be stabbed in the heart at any ticking moment. 
“Oh, but you have to understand that these things don’t work like that.” Arcade had gained again his arrogant tone. “Sometimes people don’t want to go all the way, and that is a decision that must be respected, it’s normal in an functional sexual relationship.” 
“But Gannon, You must know yourself that masturbation is forbidden in the Legion. Unlike you, I am not above Caesar’s divine law.” 

 “You think that I am above Caesar?”  Arcade asked plainly.
“No, no one is above Lord Caesar. Perhaps I did not phrase my words correctly, what I had meant to say was that you can do things without being punished by Caesar.” Vulpes paused for a beat, maybe looking for a reaction from Arcade before he continued, “You are his favorite slave.” 

“What a supreme honor.” Now he had gotten a reaction. Arcade's classic and reliable sarcasm. 
Vulpes paid no mind to Arcade’s sarcasm.  “I believe it is correct to say that Caesar likes you because you do not act like a proper slave, your conviction is strong and unbroken, even through total loss of autonomy. You are an intellectual who does not yield to him or his teachings; a doctor of wit, resolve and petty rebellion. Though I think the reason he likes you most is because–- even though you are such a man, you are still owned by him. To own a man such as you, it must be a great pride for him.” 

Arcade did not shift his gaze from the lake and he did not move. Vulpes was still upon him, now resting his head on the other man’s heart.  Though the pose was intimate, Arcade now felt coldly towards the man as he reminded him of his own slavery. Vulpes's words made him suddenly resentful.  
“What did you come here for, Vulpes? What did you really come here for?” His resentment leaked into his words, though subtle enough that only a great socialite would notice. A strange case Vulpes was, so aware of everything–a twitch of the lip, escalated blinking, deepness in breath, hesitation in movement, a stutter, a wince, a tilt of the head! He calculated people–Arcade understood this, how he gathered information and calculated people! 
 What before Arcade thought was intimacy, now he looked down at the man on his breast and saw a calculator. A man who calculated others. Such a great asset to Caesar he must be to read men and women like a book. Oh, and then to tell Caesar, his “O holy LORD. Lo! The wise and mighty!” So they may be hanged or burned or crucified for their subliminal actions! Ah he was brutal in information, not just with a spear! Any man could die for Caesar, fewer could kill for him but ONLY Vulpes could inform!
 This man that lay their weary head to rest on his chest was an evil man! When he flickered his eyes to Arcade, removed his goggles he could have been deceived by them. His shiny eyelids smoothed by oil, his curious eyes, made smart by his experience, long eyelashes that seemed to make sound when he blinked. So often do we think that a snake ought to have snake eyes! Perhaps that was why he wore the googles; to cover his cordial eyes. 
“I…I do not know. I can tell you that I wanted to see you. But I do not know why.” 
  Another color he was painted in. And it was not the color of initial fear, not the intimate one of last night, and not the hatred of just then. And then the man who laid against him was again an atavistic mystery. It was clear now that there was no malice in his words. There was no intention of cun in his dialogue about his slavery. Just an observation. It had just been something in his mind that he had put to words. Yes, this man was a calculator, but socially inept. He was not witty, he was not sarcastic or ironic, he simply saw, he observed and then he told. How lucky for Caesar to find such a man. 
  Here is a man now, practically forced to priest-hood because of his religion, his cult. He could not relieve himself, so the question remains: why can’t he choose another way to satisfy himself? He had young men at his disposal. Clearly he was not principled in his straightness given recent events. So, probably with some wit, some malice that Vulpes did not share, he asked. 
“Have you ever taken a man before, made him less? Caesar was telling me about how… relationships with men function in the Legion. Certainly you know and certainly you would take advantage of your status.” 
“No.” Vulpes answered, quite abruptly, though not loud, still stern. This sternness reminded him of the idol of Vulpes, the brutal man known to the Mojave, on NCR propaganda, in the fear of those who hated the legion and, and even to the crypto-fascist who pretended not to fear. It made his heart jump, but his posture did not stiffen. Though, even if it didn’t, Vulpes the observant would have noticed a shift in deposition anyway. 
The man elaborated. “I do not take my men, I do not take women, I do not take those I conquer in battle, while not sinful under the eyes of Caesar, it is sinful to me.” 

“What is sinful? Rape, homosexuality, or sexuality in general?” 
“Oh, I do not mean religion. Not sin in an idolatry sense, but… a personal preference.”

A preference, a preference.. How interesting an idea for any man under Caesar to have a preference. 
“ A preference for abstinence or for something you cannot get under the legion?”
Vulpes was quiet for a moment, causing Arcade to look down to him to see what was the matter, only to be met with the same sensual man, his eyes focused on something distant. He was thinking. 
“I wouldn’t know.”  He simply replied. Arcade did not pry. It seemed as if he could say anything at all to the soft man, warm and melted in Arcade’s embrace. He had to remind himself of the horror of the man. It was this implicit fear of the warrior that didn’t allow Arcade’s hands to touch Vulpes like he did last night. Arcade’s arms were to his sides, awkwardly away from the man who was practically laying on him. If Vulpes had been a lover, a child, or even a fling, he would have wrapped his arms around him. But because Vulpes was none of these things, his arms remained to their respective sides, his hands on the sand. He didn’t even think about how much more comfortable the position would be if he held Vulpes against him. 

 For no reason at all, a wash of awareness hit him. Why the hell was Vulpes cuddling him? It was so weird he didn’t even think of it. The past six months felt like a dream. No, a dream would be abstract, confusing and ever shifting, fleeting. His current predicament was cold and real and seemingly endless. But even though he saw through his own eyes, felt with his own hands, it was at times as if it wasn't him at all. Like he was watching some idiot blondie slave clinging to his last bit of control, rather than being some idiot blondie slave clinging to his last bit of control. 
Yes, he had heard of something like that before; a response to trauma that made someone revert to a third person narrative.  Though now he couldn't recall the name, nor the specifics of it. It didn't matter anyway, he was not a psychologist and his condition was not severe nor did he think he even had a condition. Just something that he had noticed. But now, perhaps for the first time in a while, he was in first person, and he had some burning questions about the situation. 
"Why are you clinging to me?" Arcade asked, a new interest in the man's current pose. Vulpes' head rested against his chest still, his hands held daintily, oh so softly, too soft for such strong and capable hands, on the back of Arcade’s shoulder blades, bringing himself into Arcade. There was still a strength to this embrace, as there would be for anything a man like Vulpes holds or caresses. 
“Yes, I remember that now. I told you to come closer.” 
He felt terrible for feeling pity for the man. 
“What did you do today, while you were out?” Arcade asked. Wanting a very specific answer. 
“My hands have killed fifteen people today, nine men, five women, one child.”
Such a blunt way to put it. With no sugar coating and no explanation. Arcade wondered why the answer was so simple.  
Was it because it was the most efficient, sharing only his accomplishments for that day? Had this been what he reported to Caesar? No it couldn’t have been, Vulpes was a man of information, there would be information attached to those he killed, who was it? Why did they resist? Did they resist? Did they initiate?  A millita? Remanence of NCR that didn’t get pulled out?    Vulpes would provide it all. His men were his eyes across the Mojave, especially so for Vulpes. 
  Was it because he wanted to shock Arcade? Make him fear him again? Had he wanted to regain their relationship before last night? The one of fear and intimidation? 
Or was he confessing to Arcade? 
“Please, Arcade. Won’t you hold me?” His plea was desperate, but in a beaten way; as if he knew what Arcade was going to say. 
“I think… Vulpes. We better get some sleep.”
Vulpes had no objection. 

Chapter Text

Arcade woke up from his cot, feeling absolutely terrible, a memory of a dream struck him and he was left with residual warmth from it. He hadn’t dreamed in a while, or at least he hadn't remembered his dreams for the past month or so. But before he could dwell and try to reinforce that memory of sleeping bliss he was made aware of the figure which woke him up. He grabbed his glasses and made the world clear, he saw that the unknown figure was Caesar. The sad reality hit him that he would not be able to keep the dream due to the interruption, it would degrade in the brain as it slowly realizes it didn’t really happen. 

When Arcade noticed that it was Caesar a wave of relief hit him. Caesar was the only one who he’d ever felt a semblance of familiarity towards. He was the one he spoke the most to, and who he had the most stimulating conversations with. The fact ate Arcade up inside, but he really couldn’t dwell on facts here or he would probably go insane. 

“Good morning, Gannon.” 

Arcade waited for what Caesar really had to say. Although he was familiar to him, pleasantries were never shared. 

“I have something very important to discuss with you. Get up.” Caesar said, standing tall above him.  

Fear entered Arcade, which finally surpassed the drowsiness he felt from being awakened. If Caesar knew that Arcade was playing around with Vulpes that might be the final end. He got out of bed and stood up, finally leveling with the old man. He was only wearing underwear.

“What is it?” He tried not to let fear into his voice.

“Put some clothes on and meet me outside.” Caesar said, with a bit of disgust in his tone.

Unless there were formalities about having pants on when crucified, Arcade was safe. Caesar left and Arcade got dressed as instructed. He walked outside and was greeted with a pleasant sight, it was overcast. The sky and sand did not blind him today. The landscape was gray and blurry, the coolness of it was regenerative after so many days of blazing heat. He looked around and quickly found Ceasar around the tent. 

“It might rain today.” Arcade said, not really knowing what to say. An awkward observation about the weather to a tyrant was not something that he’d ever thought to experience.

“Hopefully the flash flood will finally wash out those NCR degenerates.” 

He was specifically referring to a group of leftover NCR troops that were giving the Legion trouble with their guerrilla warfare around Goodsprings. Arcade could imagine that there were other forms of resistance out there, but that was the only group that he had heard of. Information was scarce here, he only knew what little Caesar mentioned to him casually, and what he overheard others talking about around the camp. 

“You don’t honestly expect me to respond to that, do you?” Arcade said, finding his voice for the first time that morning, in all its bitchy glory. 

“I know you never liked the NCR.” The tyrant folded his arms and stared into the landscape, looking at what was his. 

“What did you want to tell me?” Arcade folded his arms similarly to Caesar, though at least looking at the person who he was talking to.

“We’re moving to the strip. I cannot properly rule my new domain on the outskirts of it.”  

“What? When?” Arcade couldn’t say anything else. The information was too huge.

“Today.” He smiled, and looked directly at Arcade for the first time. 

 The strip was actual civilization- at least more civilization than here in his tent-prison nightmare. There was a chance for something big here. Escape ? He hadn't thought about escape in a long while. The possibility had seemed so far away from him for so long that it was hopeless, and he internalized it already, adopting indifference rather than the scorn and confusion of the early days of his slavery. This hopelessness hadn’t appeared in increasing increments over time, there was no slow break. He could specifically remember the day where hope died; it was exactly one week after Caesar won the battle of Hoover Dam. The slavery wasn’t enough to break him, the betrayal of the Courier only summoned rage, but that day all that rage and all that emotion died. 

Caesar called him into the main tent that day, the carpet dirty on that desert floor, the tarp tent lightly swaying in the wind, steadily breathing. For Arcade at this time everything was new and horrific, and he was still deadly scared of Caesar, talking to him with the same type of fearful respect that everyone else did. Caesar sat on his throne and stared at him, smiling that sly, cunning smile which only men with unarguable power often deserved to have. 

There was something wrong about that day. Arcade knew it deep in his soul from the moment he woke up. He didn’t believe in spiritual premonitions, but as he went throughout the day, boiling in his tight slave collar which he never grew used to, there was something looming over him.  Some threshold moment in his life from which he could not recover would take place that day, in that tent.

  The wind from outside carried through from the degraded edges of the tent, and the air around his feet was flowing, somewhat relieving the stagnancy of the environment. This offered no comfort to his pounding heart. The exposed top of the tent let in no wind, and offered little light from above. It was dusk, and the flames that burned on either side of Caesar’s throne were brighter than the sky at this time. The old man’s face looked painted in the fire’s light, blurry and sealed in old, cracked varnish, eyes reflecting the light of the fires in flaring highlights. The intensity of it freaked him out in such a primal way, his legs felt the evolutionary urge to run but his modern mind knew better. Caesar’s men were all around him, standing firmly, all staring at Arcade. 

 Arcade kept his gaze to the floor, off Caesar's piercing eyes, and onto the carpet below him, all flickering in its intricate pattern. His slave collar made this hard, the restricted movement only led to more anxiety. 

“Look at me.” Caesar said, simply and without any anger. 

Arcade did, he stared right at the man, less than ten feet away from him.

“You have been good to me, Gannon. You should already know by now how privileged you are compared to other slaves around the camp.” 

He said nothing in response. 

“I have taken it upon myself to embrace you with an act of kindness.” Caesar spoke. The old man gestured to someone, and in response a legionare walked up to Arcade. He didn’t know what to think, so he didn’t. He stood there stiffly as the man got close and reached up towards his face. He instinctively closed his eyes as the man did so. A moment passed and he felt a pressure leave his neck for the first time in days. His slave collar had been taken off. 

“I trust that you will not need it anymore.” Arcade’s eyes were still closed for an unknown reason. He opened them again and was met by the same scene, but the world was distorted. 

There was no good side of Caesar. His unburdened neck felt a tightness more severe than the collar had ever given him. I trust that you will not need it anymore. He was stuck. The mojave belonged to Caesar, there was no meaningful resistance, no NCR base that he could find shelter in, no protection.

Even if he were to run away there would be no place to go. The former home of the followers was gone entirely, the Enclave was never an option. There was no feasible way he could make the trip further West to California. There was nothing.

 Caesar taking his collar away was the biggest powerplay that he had even inflicted on Arcade. The rest of Arcade’s days would be spent here, however few they may be. He couldn’t imagine old age, there was no possible way that he could survive a life this cruel. But it was done. The mojave had been claimed, stable in Caesar’s grasp. Every which way was his, as far east as New Mexico. 

Arcade felt his neck with his hand, the skin slimy from sweat and human oil left without air. He didn’t take his eyes off Caesar. He felt a hollow resentment. Though it held no ground in his mind, something broke and his consciousness told him to give up. His face reflected this, it was slacked, not even allowing itself to conform to the emotion. 

“You don’t have to say anything. There’s no need to thank me.” He smiled, he knew that Arcade was smart enough to understand the gesture. He was his, no escape and nothing else. 

Arcade continued to wordlessly stare at the scene. Caesar really did have all the blessings of the classical Gods. The fire, the rustic throne, those savage men in skirts; it was a pagan sight that he was the center of, reincarnated Mars himself. The only clue to the modern time were the guns that two of the guards were holding, close to their chest and ready to kill. But even these guns seemed strange in the hands of them, technology didn’t seem to exist here, and Gannon couldn’t imagine a world beyond it. In that moment he had forgotten about the outside world in fear of this one. 

The sun around this time had already sunk into the landscape, the sky that the unceilinged tent exposed was growing darker every second, it only made the fire increasingly bright and consuming. Could he ever assimilate to this? 

“You can leave now.” Caesar said, with pretend disinterest. 

This was the end, and it was shallow instead of bitter. Individually could only exist within himself as a delusion. Though no matter how sarcastic he was, no matter how much he talked back or critically thought of the Legion’s customs, it only existed inside of him. He was property of the Legion, and that was the only truth. He was powerless. 

Remembering this, escape became far from his mind. The initial hope that the Strip brought had been logically shot down.

“You couldn’t have told me this earlier?” Arcade said, sapping back to that present gray day.

“It’s not something that I want to advertise.  The people further east wouldn’t be happy with the move. And besides, I really don’t have to tell you anything, you forget your status frequently.” 

“The people wouldn’t be happy with the move? Aren’t you their god or something? Just make something up-I don’t understand why you're suddenly being considerate of your masses.” Arcade ignored the “status” comment. 

Caesar looked into Arcade’s eyes, finally returning the gaze that Arcade had kept throughout the whole conversation.
“ You think my people are more stupid than they are. Most of them were like you, not born into the Legion. Tribals who lived savage lives before they ever even knew of us. They made the decision to conform, despite prior ideologies that corrupted them.” 

It was times like this where he felt most leveled to Caesar, when he explained his empire and beliefs. There was no reason that he had to, Arcade was his slave, not his moral consultant. It was the only time where the interaction had no purpose beyond the fact that they mutually let it happen. 

“You offer material stability. Your ideology has nothing to do with it. You control Arizona because you were the only option besides tribalism.” Arcade said, opting to stare at the foggy landscape instead of Caesar. 

“Maybe you’re right, Arcade. But in termino , if I’m the only choice, I am the best choice.” 

“You weren't the only choice in the Mojave.” Arcade said in quick succession. 

Caesar was silent for a moment. Arcade looked back at him, just in case he was gearing up to punch him with his displacer glove. He wasn’t, he was standing still, thinking. Finally, he spoke.

“You’re very smart. But intelligence has nothing to do with it. In the end, all that matters is force and fear. I have the power in the Mojave because I have the most men in the Mojave. I have the most who fear me.” 

“I thought we were arguing ideology.” Arcade acknowledged the goal post shift. 

“Ideology…is nothing. It means something only to people like you.” Caesar said.

“The people of New Vegas had a taste of liberal stability with the NCR. And you’re right, I never liked them. But it was a lot better than your rule. You may have the guns and the men, but if you can’t brainwash these people into your greatness it won’t last long. Convincing a bunch of tribals is easy. You won’t break the Mojave.” Arcade wondered if he believed the words that came out of his mouth.

“You think it's even about the people? I have enough people, and those who defy me will be slaughtered, most already have been. You’re overestimating the loyalty that people have to freedom. When pushed, we all choose compliance over death. That’s what you did. That is why you’re still here.” 

Arcade couldn’t win. He could never win. “When are we leaving for New Vegas?”

“Noon. Get whatever you think is necessary. We'll meet at the entrance, closest to the river.” Caesar walked away, proud that he had won the repartee once again.

Arcade walked back to his cot, unsure what to do with himself for a couple hours. He supposed he could try and wash his clothes, but it would take a long time to dry. Usually that wouldn’t be a problem, wet clothes would even be pleasant.  Though today the air was cool and the sky overcast. 

It was a familiar worry that he had: what to do with his time. He hadn't really expected his slavery to be this boring . He understood that he was not quite like other slaves in the Legion, he had it really good. But the idleness ate at his soul, every day he would find something to do, and nothing lasted long enough for any meaningful passage of time. If he really thought about it, that was probably the reason that he went crazy on Vulpes. He was horny, yes, but he was incredibly bored. That’s really the emotion (or lack thereof) that makes humans do crazy things, doing shit just because the alternative is nothing. 

He noticed something right besides his cot that he had forgotten he’d had. He picked it up. It was a wooden idol of Mars— or of Caesar he’d guess, if people believed that he was the god of war reincarnated. Religion was weird here and he never thought to ask about it. A woman had given it to him three months into his slavery, Arcade had helped treat her brother’s shoulder fracture. It was the only thing that Arcade owned. It was important to him because of that. Screw whatever religious meaning it had. Someone had whittled it and gave it to him- that was pure kindness. She knew he was a slave too, he remembered what she’d said as soon as she gave him the idol. 

“Don’t tell Caesar I gave this to you. You aren’t allowed to have possessions.”

It was the one act of noncompliance that he had observed from anyone in the Legion, and yet the interaction was so casual.. Looking at the idol in his hand he wondered again if the men and women of the legion were totally brainwashed, or if very simple acts that went against Caesar's wishes were actually commonplace. He didn’t know. Living so close to Caesar, the only people he’d regularly interact with were all soldiers. Maybe other parts of the Legion outside of the fort were dramatically different. Maybe there was some noncompliance, even in a Legion soul. 

He pocketed the idol. 

–

It was noon now, Arcade had been found and taken to the edge of the camp, where several boats were loaded in the still water, ready to make the trip across the river to Vegas. Some looked a bit more like typical pre war skiff boats and others were more simple rafts of straight, unprocessed timber, held up by half submerged barrels which allowed it to evenly float. Those were the same types of rafts that brought him to this burning hell camp in the first place. A surge of anger passed over Arcade as he saw those boats. Seeing red he imagined the face of the man which brought him here. That anger had absolutely nowhere to go, so  grew numb as soon as it came, and turned swiftly into a feeling of sorrow and regret. His throat started tightening up, but he didn’t cry. He couldn’t.

Him and the Curiour weren’t even fucking. How do you follow someone into a deathtrap of crazy Romantic reenactors wearing skirts, when you aren’t even fucking them? Arcade felt like a regular Sancho Panza but if Don Quixote was a psycho fascist who would side with the worst possible option for everyone. Maybe he was far, far more stupid than he thought. Even a strung out Fiend wouldn’t step foot in Legion territory. 

It was the delusion of smartness that got him in this situation, this idiotic persona of the neutral man who rises above ideology in favor of fact and logic. “Let's hear him out.” Oh yeah. That’s really smart, let's hear out the slaver tyrant who thinks he is a literal reincarnation of a God that no one even believes in anymore. 

A familiar voice brought him out of his thoughts, the voice was somewhat distantly behind him. It clearly wasn’t directed to him so he didn’t turn to look, but he shut up his rambling thoughts and listened. 

“It would make sense for me to coordinate the troops. I don’t understand why I wouldn’t. Any lowly recruit could stick a gun at his back and he would not run. He is a coward. It’s a low job.” It was Vulpes, sounding rather annoyed.

“You know how important he is for Caesar’s health. This is not a low job." It was Lucius. Arcade had heard them talk before, the two legionaries seemed to be comfortable with each other in conversation. Vulpes arguing with Lucius wasn’t at all strange. Arcade often listened in on their conversations around the tent, when they weren't strategical or war related they were really casual, nearly heartwarming. Obviously he knew both of these people were terrible murderers of the worst most organized kind, but Arcade had to internalize  the few moments of tenderness that he observed. It was the only way he could keep living.

“He’s a stubborn degenerate,” Lucius continued. “He needs a lot more breaking than the others. He is smart. You are smarter. I don’t trust a recruit to do the same job you would.” 

They were talking about him, the degenerate was him. Arcade tried to look a bit more idle than before, trying his best to look as if he wasn’t eavesdropping but it seemed that the conversation had come to an end anyway. 

“Hey, turn around.” It was Vulpes, Arcade could hear his crunching footsteps behind him grow louder. It was not a kind tone, but it wasn’t harsh either. Arcade turned around to face him, he had on his full attire, goggles, skirt, stupid hat. He was also holding a bit of rope in his right hand. 

Arcade opted out of speech, he didn’t want to say anything at least until he could gauge Vulpes’ energy better. 

“Hold out your hands.” Vulpes said, still giving nothing to convey what he was thinking. 

Arcade did as he was told. Vulpes quickly took the rope and tied Arcade’s hands together in an inescapable, tight knot. 

“These are doctor’s hands you know. It wouldn’t be right to-” 

“Shut up.” Arcade was interrupted. He shut up. 

It looks like for the remainder of the trip he was stuck with a pissy Vulpes.