Chapter Text
Nebula belli
It caused chaos, confusion, stupidity.
It causes a group of NCR rangers to murder an encampment of children, the sick, and the elderly, solely because they were given the orders.
It causes a Freeside doctor, born into a life he didn’t claim, to take up arms and fight under that very cause. To know that associating with the Enclave is a death sentence, but to do it anyway.
It caused a nation to hunt the doctor for dead, all because he wore a suit.
Nebula belli, the fog of war.
Arcade was so tired of running.
From Navarro, from California, from his secrets, from himself. All because the NCR couldn’t let the past die. They had to chase it down and kill it themselves.
His legs shook with the effort of each step, begging him to lie down, to not rise again until someone came to put a bullet into his sorry soul. If he were lucky, his death would bring a wave of grief, perhaps even mourning throughout Freeside and The Followers, before it was widespread that ‘Arcade Gannon, secretly an Enclave fascist this whole time. More news at 11’.
But he couldn’t give up now, not like this. Qualified doctors were few and far between in the wasteland; his knowledge alone made him invaluable for saving lives.
“We may have overextended ourselves here in Freeside, but the people here need help from someone. If not us, then who?”
Something he’d once told the Courier, a phrase that kept him moving when he just wanted to let his eyes slip shut without the looming dread of knowing they’d have to open again. He was no knight in shining armor, no beacon of hope. But he’d saved countless lives in his time with the followers. To die now would be to not only give up his own life, but the life of anyone he may potentially save. Even still, he’d chase his duty into the grave.
“Nil sine labore,” Arcade reminded himself, through a throat dried from days without water. Nothing was without effort, least of all for Arcade.
He abandoned the armor shortly after first fleeing, disheartened that his father’s legacy would now just rot in a cave, at best found and turned to scrap. But as much as he cherished one of the only pieces of his father he had left, trying to run from the Enclave allegations when you bore their crest was a fool's errand.
Arcade had already been fool enough.
Six had told him to stay with the followers during the battle of Hoover dam. He was no soldier, after all, and there would be plenty of people who needed medical care. He’d been a doctor longer than half the other medics had been alive, his poor bedside manners be damned.
He was even content to listen. What was the point of a war if you couldn’t conserve the lives fighting for it? But watching his companions, his friends, gear up to face the enemy head on, he couldn’t stand by. It was time to take the armor that haunted the nightmares of soldiers and children alike, and finally put it to good use.
The fight had gone far better than any of them even dared to hope. Six’s truly staggering army of allies left the legion far outnumbered. The bullets had briefly flown his way, but once the soldiers realized he was on their side, they fought as one. Arcade was the hero he could only ever be in his dreams. Finally filling the shoes he was always too small to fill.
As every sun must set, so too must the battle end, and when they were out of legionaries to shoot at, the guns turned towards him once again. That was when he should have made his timely exit, not tried to plead his case to ears deaf with bias.
It was Veronica who recognized his voice. An incredulous outburst of his name that he wished was just that, incredulity. She’d expressed her hatred for the Enclave to his face at a time when things were far calmer. The thought she’d reveal his identity maliciously hurt nearly as much as the confusion and betrayal on his companions' faces.
Veronica’s fists, which had been raised and gloved in power fists in preparation of another fight, lingered unsurely. Her face flashing the different stages of grief, watching, but not acting, as the soldiers around parroted his name and barked orders for his death or capture.
Boone had been perched on the roof of the office building, he admittedly might not have even known right away. Another face that Arcade didn’t have to worry about seeing in his darkest thoughts, but the looming threat of a sniper—not just any at that—was honestly his biggest concern of all. The bullets of the soldiers mostly slid off, but Boone was more than capable of landing one between the plating of his armor, destroying the electronics and rendering the suit immobile. Yet the shot never came.
Lilly seemed to not realize it was her “grandbaby” within the suit, only seeing it for what it did to countless of her brethren. He didn’t blame her for listening to Leo when she saw him, swinging Oh Baby at anyone who got near.
Even through the chaos of the moment, he didn’t miss ED-E’s fearful beeping, or Rex’s whines. The fact that neither of them dare let him get close.
At least Six hadn’t been there to hear it. At least he hadn’t had to see her face as she was told exactly who she’d kept close.
The painful memories of the previous day were cut through by the explosive sound of a gunshot. So loud, leaving his ears ringing, yet so quiet in the expanse of the desert. The bullet didn’t hit him, instead kicking up sand as it dug into the ground at his heels. His footsteps stopped, hesitating as his muddled brain struggled to catch up, thoughts silent through the thrashing wind and his own gasps of air.
The bullet hadn’t missed by accident, no one chasing a prize this valuable would allow themselves to miss, not by such a large margin.
They want me alive.
Though his body did not agree with the burst of adrenaline that followed that thought, aching bones begging for rest, there was no choice but to run. Moreno told him the stories of what happened to Enclave soldiers captured by their opposition. The only thing worse than dying here would be to not die here. He’d sooner take a scalpel to his innards than spend the rest of his life in the bowels of a NCR prison, staying tortured within an inch of his life.
Another shot rang out, straight past his head. Arcade stopped dead in his tracks.
“Six.” He breathed out, turning slowly. With that accuracy it had to be a Ranger, or the Courier, and the NCR’s policy was to take out the knees.
“That’s far enough, Arcade.”
The glint of her lenses was the first thing he saw, red glass shining off the evening sun as she walked through the sand clouds. Her voice was an echo of a cadence he heard a thousand times, aimed at fiends, legion, even a particularly difficult night stalker. Never at him though, never like this. Even when they were nothing but strangers, passing like tumbleweeds in the wind, her voice had never lacked so much warmth. When she got close, her boot met his stomach, and the ground became a painful bracket under him.
“Et tu brute?” After a drawn out silence, whereas he couldn’t tell if she met his eyes or not, he continued. “I would ask if you’re here to listen to me, but context clues say otherwise.” His hands gripped her boot, trying to alleviate the growing pressure to his ribs.
Why should he have been surprised, to think Six’s loyalties lied with him above all? He should be happy she isn’t putting a single person above the law. Arcade had his reservations about some of the NCR constitution, but believing it best that they can be broken at someone’s whim was a slippery slope he didn’t dare fall down.
“And what exactly is there to hear out, Arcade?” The ranger helmet she wore made her voice all the more void of emotion. If there were hints of anything, betrayal, anger, hope, it was lost, stifled by the dispassionate speaker that parroted her words.
“Put that gun down and you might find out.” He waited with baited breath. All that met him was the cocking of Six’s revolver. One click, two. The sound normally so comforting; knowing that his life was held in the Couriers hands. Never did he expect that thought would be so terrifying. The hope that she, of anyone, would hear him out was sizzling down to ash.
From this angle, he felt a bit more sympathy for those who met Six’s wraith.
“Our months of travel truly didn’t even earn me a conversation? In this democracy you so idly follow, I’d have rights to a trial.”
“I can’t hear you out Arcade. I’m the Courier of the NCR. Listening to you will only make this harder for the both of us.” She held the gun firmer, resolute in her decision. “Killing you instead of letting them take you prisoner is the only mercy I can afford to show. There’s many who want to see you suffer.”
“Just help me get to the borders, please. I can escape NCR territory and you’ll never have to think of me again. Look at me Six, do you really think I deserve to die over this?” Arcade was begging at this point, he didn’t care. Coming face to face with one’s own mortality, it was… more desperate than he expected. No silent goodbye, no ‘out in a blaze of glory’, just him on his knees, put down like the mutt that all believed him to be.
“Don’t you get it Arcade?” She furiously pushed away, lifting her boot from his chest, walking a few steps away. He managed to rise to his knees, but made it no further as her attention turned to him once again. “There isn’t escaping this! This isn’t some dodgy shootout that you can get away from if you run fast enough! The NCR— they—”
Six took a deep breath, removing her helmet and looking at her reflection in the goggles. “They set up a tight border before the battle even started. It was kept secret, but highways, trader routes, even the offroads when they had the men to spare. They’re stopping anyone who tries to leave, searching for legionnaires and they’re going to have your face long before you even get close. This is it Arcade.”
“You’re the Courier, you know the whole of the Mojave better than most know how to hold a gun. Surely you know some beaten trail that will take me to Utah.”
“That’s the problem!” She yelled, hooking her helmet onto her belt in favor of her frustrated gesturing. “Anything I could think of, I told them about! This is why you don’t keep things from me! Because I didn’t stop you, and now you're faced with my own methodical bullet-ridden head!” She pointed the revolver to her temple before gesturing out with it again “And not even I can outsmart myself!”
The way in which she waved her gun around made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He’d seen her eccentric behavior on a number of occasions. Hell, he’d had to be the one to calm her down more times than he could count. But never had he had to fear for his own safety so severely, never so unsure as to where she’d take this next.
Arcade couldn’t even be secure in the knowledge that she’d refrain from hurting him, considering her motive for chasing him out here. She was not one for making people suffer, but she also never indulged the details of what happened the night she faced Benny. Would his betrayal be enough justification to her?
“Saving you is out of my hands, this isn’t.” Six said resolutely, metaphorical mask slipping back on as she leveled the gun between his eyes. “I know you don’t believe me, but this is a mercy, Arcade.” Her tone was a shadow of the fury from before, but it was no more fond.
Arcade leaned forward, forehead touching the cold, unforgiving, metal of the barrel, letting out a slow breath. “So this is it then?”
She didn’t respond, eyes on the sunset to the west.
“At least look me in the eyes while you do it,” Arcade said softly, then firmer at her lack of response, feeling justified in his last request. “Specta in oculos meos, Six, look me in the eyes, damnit!”
Her gaze met his once again, whatever bouts of emotion that had slipped through the cracks were tucked under, in a way in which he couldn’t tell the depth of her fervor about the situation.
A deep part of him hoped whatever poured out now was only the crash of waves that the ocean couldn’t keep contained. But what had he even been wishing for? Tears? More than an ounce of regret? Was he a selfish friend to wish the prospect of his death tore her apart, if even just a little? To have any impact on this world, even if it was small and bitter?
Better that be true, than what greeted him now. The cold stare Six showed to all who fell by her hands, the prospect that the only grief around was his own, mourning the friend he believed himself to have, who’d fight the world for him like he would her. Who’d shed even just a single tear as he sat on his knees before her, awaiting the bullet she’d use to carry out the order of his death.
It was almost poetic in a way, the near-death that gave Six new life would also be the same way she ended his. Except this was no casualty of a much bigger war for power, this was just a companionship that was supposed to last a lifetime, ending in the most Creonian way possible.
Maybe someone would write a tragedy about him some day, “Arcades Folly”. Or perhaps, if he could be so lucky, and history painted him so, it would be “The Madness of Courier Six.”
“Nihil novi sub sole,” Arcade whispered, never thinking that turn of phrase would mean this, of all things.
The saying never rang more true, though. Who was he to think that there was a universe where a mendacious man was loved still by those he held dear; where a society would accept those they deemed worthy of nothing more than death. Before the Enclave it was Nazi’s, before Nazi’s it was the Roman’s, then a hundred more, a thousand, that history never cared to remember.
There truly is nothing new under the sun.
This, exactly this, is how it would always end. It was idealistic to have ever held onto the hope that there was any other way.
“It’s okay, Six,” Arcade said louder this time, catching the Couriers eyes after she looked off again. “You have to, I know.” Staring down the barrel, the enmity faded into a deep ache. Who was he kidding? He didn’t want his only legacy on this god forsaken earth to be a face that haunted the hero who saved the Mojave. He didn’t want his last impact on someone to be pain. His life would not amount to something so bitter, he was better than the stains the Enclave left upon him. “You always were loyal.” He managed the best smile he could, given the circumstances.
Yeah. He thought to himself, what he knew would be his last. This is how I want to be remembered.
Six’s grip on the gun tightened, trembling slightly in an uncharacteristic show of remorse.
Maybe my death will mean something after all.
Her finger wrapped around the trigger, firmer this time, and just as she began to squeeze it, she aimed the gun to the side, furiously firing the remaining 4 rounds into the sand before throwing the gun on the ground for good measure.
“Dammit, Arcade!” Was all she said, turning her back and walking a few steps away.
“I’m.. sorry?” Arcade replied automatically, gripping his chest as his ears tried to stop ringing. The bravado he told himself only had to last a few more seconds was shattering away. Though his heart raced, and he longed to know what ‘Damnit, Arcade’ (As Six so eloquently put it) meant exactly, the only words that left his mouth were: “Except no I’m not. I don’t believe I’m the one who owes the other an apology here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Six begged desperately, ignoring him. “I could have told you how stupid it was to show up on the NCR’s doorstep in that armor.”
Arcade gestured vaguely to the situation at hand. “I knew if I… I knew it would end like this, no matter what. You’re the Courier. I mean, you see what happens when people find out.”
“I’m not people.” Six’s tone ached with betrayal. “If you didn’t make me choose between you and everything I’ve been fighting for so blatantly then things could be different. They know Arcade, and they aren’t going to stop hunting you down.”
“Then help me,” Arcade pleaded.
“I don’t know you anymore! The things General Lee said—!” Frustrated tears welled in her eyes. “They showed me what people like you do, the lengths they go to preserve the Enclave’s mission. I don’t know if you even deserve my mercy, but I didn’t care!! I was trying to save you from the NCR, but I can’t help you like this, I can’t lose everything on your behalf when you never had the gall to stop lying to my face!”
“If I deserve it?” Arcade echoed, latching onto those words and temporarily ignoring everything else. The growing hope in his chest, the embers that sparked after Six lowered her gun were stomped out, forcing the air from his lungs along with it. “You truly believe I serve the Enclave? Me?”
“Showing up to a battle with your own Enclave armor was some pretty damning evidence!”
“Oh, because the Enclave had issued me armor straight from the grave, for the express purpose of serving their mortal enemies!” Arcade snapped back.
Six opened her mouth, retorts already forming themselves before becoming sputters on her tongue. Her brows furrowed in slow realization. It was an uncharacteristic show of reservation on her part. Her back straightened, hands falling to her sides as she stared at the sand between them.
Arcade took the chance to settle in the sand, knees (and ego) protesting against the abuse of staying knelt, leaning his arms against his legs. Six would come out with another half-thought out retort eventually, firing them out without care like she did her revolver. For now he let the silence cool the coals of his own anger, knowing such back and forth barbs would only spin them in circles.
Curiosity began to win out, as the silence dolled for longer than Arcade believed Six to be capable of. Her gaze didn’t meet his, instead continuing its focus on the sand below, the gears visibly turned in her head.
“What?” He finally asked.
“Why… Why did you fight for The Dam? If you were a remnant of the Enclave, why reveal yourself like this?”
It seemed to be the first time she’d actually stopped and pondered the question. Like the heinous villain the NCR promised him up to be had crumbled, revealing to her that it truly had been him the whole time.
“I…” Arcade let out a long breath, he’d asked himself the same question every time he closed his eyes. “I don’t know anymore,” he said weakly. “A desire for glory, to feel like I was doing something tangible to help the war effort, to be that feather that tipped the scales of the battle.” He waved his hand halfheartedly to accentuate his point, before letting it drop back against his knee. “Every excuse blurs together.”
Six went quiet again, settling in the sand next to him. Never had the distance felt so far. It took a long glance at her haunted expression to realize the weight of his words, the same phrase being uttered to himself from her. He didn’t understand it then, how she could waltz through life with so little direction. How she couldn’t even know why she was so adamant to throw herself in front of every gun she could for the sake of the NCR.
He understood it now, the overwhelming sense of duty within, it had a million reasons for coming to be. The sole answer, the one that started it all, being buried so deep, intertwined with so many layers of duty, need, and desire, that you didn’t even realize it was there, that it was something you had to search for in the first place. All you knew was you had to do it.
“Fighting at Hoover dam finally felt like something my father would be proud of,” Arcade finally said, realizing it as each word fell off his tongue, or maybe he’d known it all along, in the hidden vaults of his mind that not even he let himself see. “He died when I was young. I never knew him, not really, just the stories people told. I thought fighting on the side of good, doing it in his armor, I could finally stop wondering if, and just take the Bighorner by the horns.”
Arcade had never spoken much about his father, Six scarcely knowing more than the pain on his face whenever she poked at the wound. The remnants and his mother gave him stories, but they were tinged deep in grief and Arcade eventually realized it cruel to keep asking. When Six came along and asked the same questions he once did, Arcade saw the same emotions within himself, but this was only a shadow of what the grief could be. The remnants mourned the man they knew, Arcade was only ever wounded by the space left behind.
The silence hung long and heavy between them.
“I’m sure he would be proud of you,” Six finally said, hand hesitantly coming to rest on his arm.
“Really? Bragging to everyone that his son turned out to be a researcher, staring at slides of cactus fruit all day? The factotum of the real hero of the Mojave?” Arcade's normal monotone was beginning to betray him, emotion leaking in where it wasn’t welcome. His throat ached in a way he’d not felt since getting the letter of his mothers passing. “Face it, I’m only going to be remembered as the quiet doctor that always followed you. ‘Arcade Gannon, I might’ve seen him around once’.”
Despite sacrificing his whole life to achieve a reputation that was nothing more than that, he didn’t want his actions to reflect it. He didn’t need glory, he didn’t even need to be remembered, but he wanted to know deep down that it meant something. To look back on his life and know the world was better for it.
“You know you’re so much more than that.”
“I know,” He said, but wasn’t sure he did. “I didn’t want it to come to this, believe me, I didn't. Now with the nebula belli no longer clouding my thoughts… I don’t know what I’d have done differently. Maybe shut my mouth for once.” His wry tone did nothing to alleviate the weight that settled over them.
Six’s silence made an instinctual part of him want to recoil, to spin some poorly thought-out lie that would take it all back. A lifetime of experience screamed at him, despite knowing that secrecy had no home between them anymore. If anyone was going to understand, it would be her. If she didn’t, well, hopefully he didn’t live long enough to dwell on it.
Instead of putting him out of his misery, however, she slowly stood and offered a hand to him. “I’m going to go talk to Moore. You can hide in my room in NoVac while I do.”
A joke danced on the end of his tongue, some sardonic comment to shy from the waves of, frankly complicated, emotions upon hearing that. Instead he cleared his throat and asked a quiet, “Is this… safe? I mean I should be finding a way across the borders, they’re only going to get more reinforced with the battle at The Dam being finished.”
“Come on, I thought you liked playing the Vergil to my Dante,” Six smiled easily at him, and by whatever god let all of this happen, if Arcade couldn’t feel a bit reassured by that. He’d seen her scared before, pushed to the ledge with no choice but to jump. This wasn’t it. She had a plan, and her overconfidence spoke volumes far louder than her words.
A small chuckle escaped his lips (likely due to stress-induced hysteria from the last few days). “You can’t use my own phrases against me.” Arcade finally accepted the hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. “Even if this feels far more like Dante’s inferno than the fort ever did.”
“Really? This over the lion's den of the megalomaniac roleplaying Ancient Rome?”
“With Caesar, the worst thing I had to fear was death,” Arcade unhelpfully added.
Six clasped a hand firmly on his shoulder. “As if I’d let the NCR lock up my favorite doctor.” She kept her helmet off, a welcome gesture to remind himself that this was really Six, not the mask she showed the world.
“Favorite? With the competition being between me, and the man who fished two bullets out of your skull. I take great pride in that.”
Six’s laugh was a welcome sound after days of nothing but his own mind to fill the silence. Not even the setting Mojave sun could chill the warmth of hope that settled in his chest.