Chapter Text
1. Beliefs
The man that everyone seemed to be talking about, The Burned Man, looked different than what he had in mind. With his taboo reputation amongst the Legion while judging from how Follows Chalk talked about him, he imagined someone worse; ghoulish in appearance, harsher words, and unforgiving. He wasn’t expecting someone strong-willed and respected; only worn out by experiences on the wild wasteland and decades of ruling with Caesar. The poor bastard was wrapped head to toe with ragged bandages. Courier Six half expected him to still be wearing a Legion style uniform instead of the low collar. He was only a little less stoic than the current legate, though the Courier had only ever seen Legate Lanius a handful of times and during very important meetings.
Joshua Graham’s voice greeted him with the most dispassionate voice he had ever been welcomed with. “I was indeed expecting a courier,” he said without looking up. “But an assassin wouldn’t have come with a caravan, I suppose.”
At the Courier’s bewilderment, Joshua responded with something like being hunted by the Legion. Testing his patience, the Courier decided to lie and said that he was going to tell Caesar about Joshua’s whereabouts. He looked up then, the Courier feeling brazen under his gaze.
“That wouldn’t do,” he said simply. “Do you think he would admit to having failed in killing me? Caesar made no mistake, and he certainly won’t admit his lies.”
So, the Courier had made his mental notes that The Dead Man Walking, who made Caesar so scared, was some kind of a preacher. He was still very intimidating, though. He sounded like a man you wouldn't want to anger, frightening even without vocalizing threats to Courier Six when he, initially, refused to cooperate with his plan.
And he seemed to be very adamant about his God.
Courier Six was confident in his understanding of the worlds of the apocalypse and he certainly knew what a religion is. He had heard about the Children of Atom. There was also that time when he helped those ghouls in Novac. He just didn't know that there is a legitimate history behind Joshua's. After that first chat they had inside the Angel Cave, Courier thought whatever religion Joshua had was one of those wasteland madness that seemed to be very common.
Yet he couldn't bring himself to mock Joshua in his beliefs, even if he himself didn't see much of the appeal.
"In a world filled with misery and uncertainty, it is a great comfort to know that, in the end, there is light in the darkness." His voice echoed around the stone walls of the cave, sure and proud. Courier thought that doesn't sound so bad, after all.
For a former legate, Caesar's most brutal and merciless right-hand man, Joshua spoke like a saint. He was not some fugitive. The Courier found himself connected to this broken man, in a bizarre way he would call fate.
2. Scripture
Every night, like a habit, Joshua sits around the campfire and reads his book. It is as close as a routine he will get in this busy time. He will sometimes read aloud some verses, whenever someone else is around to listen. If the Courier happens to stop by to rest between all the help Daniel has asked of him, he may read it to the Courier too. Surprisingly, he is a curious kind. Not one to mock his way of life. It’s not that Joshua expects the Courier to fully absorb the words, but it is nice knowing that he listens; that he was intrigued.
Usually, the Courier will lie down on top of his bedroll, one hand propped beneath his head, facing Joshu and the fire as he listens politely like a child to a bedtime story. Yet every time Joshua finishes his readings, the Courier will still be wide awake. His eyes crystal clear as he inquires for more. Joshua, most of the time, has to be the one who excuses himself first.
“If you don’t mind, you can read more,” he says, one night when Joshua has to stop reading as he is too tired to be coherent. His face is open with genuine interest. “You have a soothing voice, like Mr. New Vegas. I like to hear his story sometimes, when sleep comes way too slow.”
Joshua doesn’t know who Mr. New Vegas is, he has never bothered to listen to the radio. It just reminds him, the Courier is civilized. He is too often surrounded by machines and politics back in Mojave. He is not someone who is made for Zion Valley. He sticks out like a sore thumb even when he is doing nothing.
Still, he opens his book for the second time that night, despite drowsiness clinging on to his eyelids, as he continues his routine.
3. Decisions
“The thing is, I want to help you and I will. But I think the tribes should stay. I think you and Daniel should talk it out yourselves.” He was clear about it, wanted to say it ever since he was faced with the inevitable fate of the tribes. From the very start of this problem, he already has every intention of avenging his little caravan with or without these people. On his own, regardless of the support that he would’ve gotten beforehand. And if their motives are the same, he should then combine their resources. “Please, don’t tell me to make decisions for them,” he finished.
Joshua glowered at him as he walked closer. “You do not understand me, Six. Daniel and I have nothing to be discussed on this matter anymore than we already did. He had made up his mind about what is best for the Sorrows, and so have I. The Sorrows and the Dead Horses will never be free from the White Legs if we don’t put a stop to it.”
Six was what Joshua decided to call him, after some time. Joshua had insisted on calling him something else that wasn’t a job title, but the Courier had lived so little life outside of being Courier Six. The nickname was starting to grow on him.
“Well, both of these decisions are bad,” he said, exasperatedly. “It won’t do right for the tribes. You’re willing to give up on their innocence. I don’t think even Daniel can handle the conflicts that will arise in the future.”
The Courier was right, but Joshua must have known that before he made his decision.
"I won't be able to help you when the time comes," he continued.
"You believe there is something else we can do. There is none," Joshua replied, quietly. He gathered his scripture, and moved to leave the campfire for the night. "I hope when you fight enough White Legs and make your own decision, it's not too late to act on it. God be with you."
The Courier laid back on his bedroll, facing the moon and the jagged edge of the narrows. There were no solemn readings or quiet voices for him that night.
4. Impulsiveness
It has been a few weeks after the Courier's arrival in Zion and it has already been days since they last talked about their plans. Yet everyday, without fail, Joshua catches a glimpse of Six and Waking Cloud go about their business, running around Zion and then returning to the narrows looking more battered each day. Joshua finds them tedious but he supposes they are dealing with wild beasts more than humans.
Occasionally, when he does manage to sit around the campfire, he finds them resting while tending to their new injuries. Courier Six will ask him to help take a look at his mangled equipment and then they will chatter about his encounters that day like there was never a dull experience. It is usual for newcomers and tourists to be stunned by Zion, as it truly is a beautiful place. He delights in the Courier’s appreciation of this place. He takes no pride in the compliment as it does not belong to him, but the Lord.
“Sure, he made the place or whatever. But if we drive the White Legs away, then wouldn’t Zion be yours anyway? To conquer, I mean,” Six says to him one day. He finds Six’s question to be quite troubling. It is only a reasonable thing to do, putting your enemies in their place so as to not be trampled by them. He tries not to think that he indulges in his rogue instinct.
Six, however, looks far too comfortable in this foreign land that is full of creatures he has never even seen before, creatures that could have killed him in seconds. When Joshua brings that up, one day, he warns Six about treating the deadlier as toys.
The Courier only shrugs. "These things aren't so bad. I'd choose having three yao-guais chewing down my legs over having one alpha deathclaw running at me from a mile away," is all he had to say.
There is this one afternoon, where Six comes back to the camp limping, him and his belongings half-carried by Waking Cloud. He looks bathed in blood and grime, muddy trails behind his steps, his armor looking like it almost got shredded, and he reeks of animal carcasses. On the other hand, Waking Cloud who had to babysit him around, looks pristine, there is not even a single drop of blood that stains her body. She just looks troubled while Six is practically splitting her ear in two with his excitement; no doubt, he was under the influence of chems. Joshua follows the both of them into White Bird’s cave.
He approaches Waking Cloud who stands near the entrance of the cave. “What happened to him?” Joshua asks her, watching Six having what looks like an important (and discreet) talk with White Bird. The suspicious smell of herb in the cave will probably give him an idea of what goes on inside.
“He asked about my gauntlet and White Bird told him to put the Ghost of She to her rest,” she answered truthfully. If it is visible, Joshua will probably raise his eyebrow to look at Waking Cloud squarely.
“Why did you think that it is wise for him to go through a rite of passage?” he asked incredulously.
Waking Cloud bristles on her feet. “I offered him my company, to help, but he wanted to do it himself, like the Sorrows,” she says in defense. “I told him that one yao-guai cannot be compared to She, but he told me to wait near a guard camp. I should not have left him alone but he went to the Ghost Den by himself.”
Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose. This whole thing is ridiculous.
“By the time I found him, he was already in this state,” she finishes. God, what an image he would have been; The beast’s paw in his grip and a victorious smile on his battered face.
The Courier is a fool. Sure, he may not lack intelligence, but he is a fool nonetheless.
Like he always does, Joshua finds him in the Sorrows Camp that night. He looks worn out, that much is expected. Physically, he looks quite literally like he has been mauled by something triple his size. Not unlike some unfortunate wretch’s corpse inside the caves in Zion. His helmet and trench coat discarded, forgotten by his side. He looks almost smaller without them. He has bandages covering his limbs, his face is entirely purple, and he sits so carefully like if he ever moves the wrong way his torso will scatter. Although he does a great job to hide the pain, only manages to wince every now and then. Six is sitting cross-legged on the ground, holding the damned gauntlet in his hands. He has seen that gauntlet before, similar to that of the Sorrows, albeit cleaner and with tidier stitching on its side.
He steps in front of Six, letting his body loom over the man. When the shoes covered in rattlesnake skin touch the edge of the Courier’s knee does the Courier finally lift his head. His eyes have that glazy kind of look that is probably the effects of whatever drug White Bird gave him. Judging from the discarded empty syringes and flower stems around him, though, he may also be drowning in stimpaks and healing powders. Probably seconds away from passing out into the fire.
“Whoa, hey, Mr. Graham,” he greets Joshua. “We look so alike here! I’ll just need one more bite from these bears, and boom! I could probably walk around in your skin,” the Courier slurs, reaching his hand up to grab Joshua’s arm. He stops halfway through as it feels like a stretch on his own rib cage. His exhale comes out shakily, like he is choking on his own tongue.
The Courier is an absolute fool, and Joshua tells him so.
“No way. You don’t like this, Mr. Graham?” he straps the gauntlet on his barely working right hand, waving it and almost flaunting it in front of Joshua’s face. “Come on, I look cool as hell don’t I?”
Joshua takes the gauntlet away from him and he watches as the smile falls from Six’s face.
Joshua is… restless. It’s such a strange feeling watching this man–a kid in his eyes, practically, because he is way younger than Joshua himself in both experience and age–actively putting himself in harm’s way, popping useless chems after chems to settle the wounds (this is the most irritating fact as it is something Joshua can never do), and act like it was another Tuesday experience for him. Joshua reads him a book, he doesn’t do things just for the sake of it, or in this case, the myth of it. Joshua knows the Courier doesn’t care enough about the Ghost Beast’s past to have the rite of passage. He does not care what the Sorrows consider as sacred, a ritual. But that’s not what Joshua is peeved about. It’s the fact that he does things because in his mind, the victory will be worth much more if he suffers a lot more.
It is strange to see his former self, reckless and vain, in someone who walks near death in each step.
"Have you lost the desire to return safely to the Mojave? If the White Legs were to come for you, they would have you perish sooner than you would believe, and now you intentionally incapacitate yourself for your own pride, making it easier for them to ambush you while you're vulnerable. Do you feel happy with yourself?" He tries to sound infuriated, but God help him, this thickheaded, chem-filled, brave son of a God is testing him.
Six stares at him for a while. Joshua isn’t sure if that took his muddled brain way too long to process. He drops his hands down to his lap, eyes downcast, not exactly thinking of what to say more so than waiting for Joshua to finish himself.
"If the White Legs are coming for me right now, I figured they would have to face you first," he finally says.
The Courier is a fool. Joshua might as well be one too.
5. Telltales
Joshua was in pain. That much was obvious even to the tribes, who think so highly of him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not was only a matter of time, and the Courier would gladly observe. It wasn’t like he's loud about it, but from his experiences alone, Six knew the littlest gesture could tell a lot about a person. Sometimes, it was the familiar inhale or violent hiss he did whenever he accidentally scratched on top of his no doubt suffocating bandages. Other times, it was the weariness seeping through the gap in the bandages where his eyes show. He was not fully healed, not yet anyway. The battle he lost was only some time ago, and the experience must still be vivid to him.
They were doing their nightly readings that was a routine for them in The Dead Horses Camp after a day of Six running around Zion in search of healing powder materials for Daniel's request. He still had bandages on his arms (from his own stupidity with the beasts, if he was more honest) but he healed up pretty fast. The blossoming bruises and bite wounds were almost gone, leaving only yellowish blotch on his skin and new scars. He knew because he checked on them often, inside the cave or outside around the campfire.
Joshua, on the other hand, could only be seen changing his bandages a few times because he refused to ask for any forms of help from anyone. If anyone ever caught him changing, it would’ve been because his hands were too covered in gun oil to postpone in changing them.
(Every time he's doing his bandages, he would seclude himself inside the Angel Cave and nobody should dare to come look for him. But, if you peer inside the cave a little bit, and listen closely, you could hear his pained hisses and groans.)
Courier Six knew he was staring for too long, but he just couldn’t stop himself. He was more engaged in whatever little moves Joshua had been doing unconsciously for the past ten minutes rather than what he was saying. Occasionally, when Joshua looked up from his scripture, they would make eye contact and Six would give a twitch of his lips he wouldn’t even call a smile. Then when Joshua got back into reading, pretending like he didn’t just stop abruptly, Courier Six would eventually get distracted again.
He was currently transfixed by Joshua’s hands. One, settled on top of his pulled up knee, easily holding the book, and the other simply laid on his thigh. The one on his thigh would sometimes go up near his neck, hovering a little, before he brought it back down again. He looked irritated by it, and the Courier watched.
Six unconsciously scratched his bandaged arm as he watched Joshua idly scratch his own. From the exposed skin of the tip of Joshua’s fingers, what little he could see, there were no nails on them. Yet, one, two little pulls of his finger was enough to make him flinch and stop. Courier Six wondered if the dismissive act of his own pain was intentional in Joshua's mind.
Being in the place of power usually left someone afraid of being seen as vulnerable. They tend to avoid letting people know that they are also human.
"Are you always hurting like that?" he finally asks, because after all, he was the living embodiment of curiosity. "Can I do something to make it better? I've got plenty of chems for two people."
The question seemed to remind Joshua about his state as of now, as if he was just now realizing the bandages covering almost all of his skin, he looks down. "No, thank you, but no. It's not that I don't appreciate your generosity, but there is nothing you can do to help lessen the pain," he said, remorsefully.
"There's no way you would have to go through it by sheer spite alone, though?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I see it as a way to remind myself of my sins," he replied. "While I'm not blind to the advantages and disadvantages of chems in this condition, I've learned long ago that I'm immune to the effects."
“I certainly would choose to kill myself before the fire kills me,” he wonders out loud. Six thought about all the more dangerous fights he's faced before. None of those fights would've left him whole if not for the impressive amount of jets or med-x that he had to compulsively inject into his system. Then he thought about being thrown a molotov cocktail and being flamed in the face by some Fiend's incinerators, about being burned down to his bones. "I don’t know how a human body can survive something like that," he said.
That was weird. He was not supposed to say that.
Six was known for his clever way of choosing words and certain approaches to get what he wanted. He was cunning and charismatic. He gave sympathies and words of encouragement because he wanted to know other people’s reaction. No one had ever known what he actually felt as he never talked about himself. None of it mattered though, because right now, for the first time since however long he remembered, his head was in a mess. His head was in a mess because of how much he wanted Joshua to know that he can admire his will. That no one could probably endure what he went through as well as he did and he is the most admirable person Six had ever encountered in his short life.
Joshua went quiet for a while. He watched the fire licking the dried logs in the pit like it would wake up and started telling Joshua's whole story for him. The silence hung between them like the threat of a guillotine. Maybe he was a little too far on the wording? Was he too nosy? Six felt jittery, like he needed something to hold in his hands, but he kept his mouth shut. He couldn't help but feel like he underestimated Joshua’s suffering. Maybe Joshua didn’t actually want to talk about it with him? Was it too soon to talk about a little shared experience–
When he finally spoke, after a few solid minutes of nothing but cold air between them, it was too sudden and it almost made Six jumps. It tore whatever thought that ran through Six’s head.
"Everytime I’m changing them, it feels as if I'm reliving it again. If I'm out in the sun for too long in the day, the bandages would stick to my skin and the drags of it…. It's like grating your skin with a machete. But anything is better when it’s cleaner, even if it’s uncomfortable,” he declared. Some of the words were almost lost to the sounds of water against the cliffside. “There’s no need to feel sorry for me,” he continued.
Six felt an absurd amount of desire to comfort this man, a man who didn’t need his concern or his pity. To feel sorry for him was to degrade him, and Six would face whoever dares to if Joshua Graham ever asks him of it. It would be ridiculous if he was loyal to someone who was once he would consider an enemy. He barely gave any more shit about Caesar, he could cross out The Legion from his options any day if necessary. Even if he knew nothing about Malpais Legate aside from what the people who feared him said.
Morals constructed what humans would deem regrettable. Morals obstructed humanity’s ability to forgive.
It had yet to cross his mind to condemn Joshua for the things he had done in the past–the things he had done while serving under Caesar. If he ever put his morals into the question, he would care most that Joshua Graham, The Prodigal Son, could be who he is today because of what Caesar did. Both Six and Joshua, changed men as they are, were reborn from a buried past, and in the Courier’s case, it was literal.
But, there was something in him who wanted to be reliable for Joshua. He wanted Joshua to be able to depend on him whenever he’s troubled. This scarily felt more than just a mutually beneficial relationship. Something like devotion. A fleeting, yet still scary, thought ran past through Six’s mind as he wondered if this was what those Legion men felt being under his guidance. What a dangerous path to go through.
“If you so desire,” Joshua started. “I can let you help me with changing them, instead.”
Damn the man. Like Six could ever refuse him.
6. Attentive
Six, the Courier, is not a God Send. He is not The Good Samaritan Zion needs. It does not matter how many times Six lends a helping hand, tends to those who need help, or assists the tribes, he will never do anything without rewards or some fruitful results. Even if those rewards are mere praises and acknowledgements from him or Daniel. No, Six is not seeking anyone’s approval, he is simply too arrogant. Six likes the idea of being everyone’s confidant.
The tribes look up to him after all the helpful nature he shows around the camps. They see him as The Knight in Shining Armor. And as long as Six remains harmless to the tribes, Joshua lets it be.
Six has his way around words. He knows exactly what to say to get the people around him to crack open their chest, reach inside themselves, and offer him their heart on a silver platter. He is oddly perceptive towards his surroundings, whether it be social or the life-threatening situation he has put himself under. He observes the tribes and, as quick as a yao-guai’s reflexes, adapts to their way of living.
Six is a cunning man, and he watches in interest as almost everyone falls to his traps and honeyed words.
Truth be told, Joshua Graham is no exception. Six isn’t exactly compliant, but he prioritizes Joshua’s judgment above anything. Six would be more likely to listen to him than anyone else, without a question. Without defiance. Six gets himself covered in blood and guts too often to be uneasy around them. And to have the most unreadable man be loyal to him is like having a sword lit in flammables. It could be useful, if he is careful to not get caught playing with the fire.
But Courier Six brings out a past memory, long buried under his rage towards The Legion. Memories of hundreds of men in tight formation, obedient and dutiful, ready to head to war if he deemed them fit to. The ecstatic feeling to be in control, in power , over these deadly individuals. The addictive sensation of waging war and conquering anyone who opposes you.
What a sick, sick feeling Six evokes in him.
Six is a dangerous man, and Joshua does not want to be in control of him nor does he want to be on the opposing end of his fury. Joshua does not want to become addicted to Courier Six’s aid. The correct way to deal with this, before the destructiveness has strengthened its roots, is probably to just cut his habit of asking Six for his assistance.
Unfortunately, he is not aware of how deep he has fallen inside the void.
The Courier has finally made up his mind about joining him in exterminating The White Legs and getting them away from Zion valley, once and for all. From what little he can see out of this man, it was not some stupid decision made because Six wanted to get on the good side of him. He seems confident when he gives Daniel his final choice, entirely out of his own accord. Even more surprising is that he has his own side plans that go along with Joshua’s more elaborate plans. Daniel, as stubborn as he can be, seems to begrudgingly accept Courier's answer. He can even be convinced to join their battle discussions inside the Angel Cave, something Joshua had never been able to get him to do.
Joshua watches the satisfaction growing minutely from Courier Six’s direction. There it is again, another clueless victim caught in Six’s net.
“Will you be coming with me or should we split?” he asks Joshua.
They always wrapped up the discussions together, without Daniel to argue with every single detail involving the tribes' involvement. Both of them are currently standing, hunching over the table where the map of Zion valley is laid out full of scribbles, mostly from himself. Six is leaning on his left hand, his right is playing with a rusty knife he frequently jabbed on the map whenever he has something to say about a location or a decision.
Joshua feels the Courier leans a little bit closer to him, his breath tickling his cheekbone for a split second. He straightens himself, gets his hands off the table. He walks to get his box of .45 magazines. “We will be moving together unless the circumstances force us to move along by ourselves,” he answers.
If the Courier gives out a sigh of disappointment, Joshua certainly won’t acknowledge why.
“You're glad Daniel is on board with us,” Six states. It’s rhetoric but he continues anyway. “You’re glad he would hate to leave Zion as much as you would.”
He turns to face the man now standing beside him again, crowding him against his shelves. Six isn’t someone who enjoys physical contact, at first. He used to see Six flinch everytime Joshua tried to pull him aside or grasp his shoulder when he was distracted. But these days, Six will stay and wait a little longer after a praise like he wants to ask for a headpat. Six will lean a little closer after each word of affirmation. He will find every opportunity to let their hands brush, or to linger for another second, or to bump their shoulders. After a while, Joshua starts letting him hold his hands whenever he feels troubled. It goes on for some time, open to anyone in Zion valley to observe, before eventually Joshua welcomes all of Six’s littlest physical touches.
He lets Six rest his head on his shoulder. He raises his free hand to ruffle Six’s hair.
With Courier Six leaning on his side and being trapped between Six and the shelves, he chooses to double check his magazine's stock standing there rather than sitting down in his usual makeshift desk. As much as it terrifies him how quickly he seems to open up–to trust–another person like Six, he can’t deny how easy and comforting it is to know that he will always have this violent, charming, and loyal companion by his side. If Six ever turns on him, Joshua doesn’t know if he will survive this one.
He lets the Courier’s hands wrap around him as he works.