Work Text:
Vulpes stalked the street of New Vegas as the sun laid to rest, surrendering its smouldering heat to the cold touch of the Mojave’s night. The city awoke under the moon, street signs flickering alive as people flooded the streets. Crowds soon growing at the entry of Freeside establishments – Drunks, soldier and citizen alike chatting as they downed bottle after bottle. Vulpes could already their slurred speeches from where he stood. Pathetic. He soon took his eyes away from them to scan the rest of the crowds but could not find her anywhere. The Courier had been rather hard to catch on that day – her shadow exiting each street he had entered.
Tracking her within Vegas had always proven itself rather strenuous compared to the vast plains of the wastes. His gaze would always find her silhouette as she walked the desert, leaving piece of her existence in each of her footstep. But the crowd of Vegas muddled her step, ripped her silhouette from his gaze. But he would find her, if only to tear himself from the suffocating growing crowd. Vulpes hurried his steps, eyes rapidly scanning the silhouette until he bumped into someone.
Turning to offer a curt nod in apology, Vulpes met the gaze of a drunken soldier, eyes fixed on his face – a hand latched on his forearm. Moments pasted, but the hold on his arms wouldn’t lighten, fingers digging deeper and deeper into his flesh. Vulpes began to walk backward, trying to pry his arm free from that stranger. But something seemed to flash behind the drunk eyes. A moment of lucidity before the soldier barked a laugh, the stench of warm alcohol reaching him.
“Ain’t wearing your dog head today, freak?” the soldier barked between laughter, finding the situation most amusing. After all, who wouldn’t? Finding one of Caesar’s best man alone was akin to pure gold being delivered on a pristine plate. He could only dream of what would be awarded to him when he returned with the fox’s head.
The cacophony of the crowd went silent as his work echoes. That fool knew. He knew and he intended to kill him. Vulpes held no doubt in his ability to take care of this soldier, but his intoxicated state rendered him unpredictable. The crowd only worsened the problem, who could know how many of his brothers stood among the crowd, all more than eager to join this fool. Vulpes searched for any opportunity of an escape when he felt the soldier harshly pulling on his arm, dragging him down another street. There was the opportunity.
He was more than a fool. He had an ego – wishing for this kill to be his alone. To be his victory.
The street emptied as they walked – a few groups huddled around a fire. The grand and luminous signs had ceded their place to the flickering hum of the streetlamps. Shadows grew heavier in this part, smaller street swallowed by the night. The soldier grew more erratic as they walked deeper, nails digging into his skin. He let go of his arm as he shoved Vulpes near a building, waving a gun wildly in the air – his addled mind already sure of his victory. Vulpes slowly reached for the weapon tucked away under his coat. The strike would be quick, decisive.
Both stood ready to strike when a shout rose behind them – Kings boys. The rising tension in the city and made them more alert, especially towards any NCR dogs harassing the locals. Perfect. Vulpes silently watched as the small group approached them, eyes set on the drunk soldier. Vulpes held no curiosity on the fate of this fool as he watched them surround him. He turned back without a word, the scene already forgotten.
Vulpes ignored the shouts and commotion as a hand grabbed his wrist, the dark alley swallowing him whole.
The world spun for a moment as a stranger pulled him, an imposing silhouette shielding him from the street. His hand found the hilt of his weapon once again until her voice cut the silence. The warm smell of sand that clung to her every step surrounding him, putting to rest that horrid stench of alcohol. There she was.
“Rough night?” few words ushered as they stood alone in the alley, breath brushing against his cheek. Even as the night hid her face, Vulpes could still hear the smile tugging at her lips. Only the gleam of her eyes shone in the alley, a silent gaze reading him. Neither moved nor spoke as her hand lingered on his wrist – a quiet warmth reaching to soothe the growing bruise. Words felt unnecessary, neither caring to explain what had happened – or why they hid. The alley held a strange quietness, shielding them both from the world – until the soldier’s shout shattered it once more.
The Courier turned towards it, the soft light of the streetlamps now adorning her face. Its softness contrasted the scowl she wore as the incoherent wail continued. The voice grew louder, accompanied by the sound of metal – sobriety still far from the soldier’s grasp. Unwilling to let a prey of this size simply evade him. Killing the man in the street would have been simple, an accident rising when temper and alcohol met. The city would forget his face when she woke the next morning. A murder committed by an unremarkable man among a sea of people. But not the Courier’s, they would remember her in the morning. A murder that wasn’t hers, staining her step.
But as Vulpes retreated further down the alley, tugging at her wrist to follow, The Courier stilled. Her face still angled toward that noise, feet planted on the ground. Unwilling to hide from the affront. The soldier’s shouts echoed across the street, footstep growing louder by the second.
The hand that held his moved, travelling across his body until it settled in the small of his back. Each step of the soldier’s dictating the rhythm of her actions. Pulling his body flush against her, Vulpes searched her gaze – trying to read her plan in the depth of her eyes. As her other found his nape, all Vulpes could read was a request of trust – to follow her lead. Fingers playing with strands of his hair before pulling him closer, breath crashing against the other’s cheek. The shadow of a man entering the corner of his view as their faces met.
A perfect facade.
The street faded behind the sound of her breath, the steadiness of her hands and the heat of her body. Her mouth ghosted his, not quite touching, but the contact was already too much to bear. Hands gliding against her arms, settling against her nape to pull her close. It was a diversion, nothing more. A performance he himself had perfected, used on others to fit his need. One he could have used on another on this night. But this felt different. Almost real. An actor longing to step down from the stage, a fake candle wishing for a true flame. To any onlookers, they would be a simple couple, two stranger finding comfort in the shadows of the city. Two that wished to be one.
But it was diversion, nothing more.
Nothing even as her fingers curled against his skin, lips grazing the corner of his. Nothing even as the contact burned his skin, a what-could-be etched onto his skin. As the incoherent wails from the soldier faded away, worries from earlier already forgotten. Even as his eyelids grew heavier, lulled by her very presence – witnessed as hers closed too. As he refused to find the shadow that had entered the alley, to ensure that he had left. Even as the softness of her lips caressed his harsh skin, mending the small scars scattered across him. It meant nothing even as the moment lingered between them.
The pressure her lips eventually lightened, warmth retreating as the cold night settled once more against his cheek. Lips seeking to follow them, to chase that warmth before reminding himself of his place. Eyes fluttering open, seeking the other’s gaze as they opened. A message lingered behind her eyes, one Vulpes could not read. Or perhaps refused to.
Had the soldier left yet?