Chapter Text
Sitting in the farthest tent in the Mormon Fort, tucked away so he can be easily missed, Arcade reads a pre-war book, the paper becoming more fragile due to the Mojave's climate. He can't tell if it's the lack of light or his two hundred year old glasses that is making it especially trying to read the words. He's read this one several times, and he wishes he were in the Boneyard so he could get lost in the Followers' library rather than rely on the small collection he and a few other brought along with him to New Vegas. He's gotten used to Freeside enough by now, and people here either ignore him or give him a polite greeting when they see him. It's easy to disappear here, either by death or simply by not wanting to be found. That's why he's out here with the Remnants, even if the NCR has become a much more visible presence around here since the Republic took the dam back in '74.
The Mormon Fort is never a quiet and orderly place to be, but lately, it's been busy for a good reason. Julie has been handing out actual supplies, nothing watered down or diluted to last longer or scavenged. He's also heard plenty of gossip and talk about some courier coming into Freeside and stirring things up (for the good, apparently). Yet it's night, and most people of Freeside are either in the Atomic Wrangler or keeping one eye open while they sleep.
The book's pages become illegible when it talks about ocular color implants. The majority of people now believe the Great War caused humanity to lose their ability to see color, a punishment either from a deity or due to radiation (he remembers even some fellow medical students from the Followers believing the radiation explanation). Yet neither are true as this phenomenon occurred well before the Great War, but only a few know that. Only a few gain the ability to see color these days, and before the War, no one probably waited on chance. It was almost standard procedure to perform the ocular implant surgery when a child was old enough.
His parent's generation, who hailed from the oil rig, all had the surgery performed. He wasn't old enough for the surgery before he fled with his mother from Navarro, so he's just like the majority of the Wasteland in that regard. It makes it just a bit easier to blend in, and he doesn't have to badly lie about lacking ocular implants, something the NCR and the Brotherhood used to distinguish Enclave runaways from the average wastelander. Not that they do it much anymore, not since the Legion became public enemy number one by the Republic and the Brotherhood of Steel lost Helios One.
It's a good time to call it a night and get some sleep. There haven't been any major late night emergencies in a while, which most of the Followers have been taking as a good sign and that Freeside is improving.
He closes the book he was reading, putting it on a stool. He yawns as he gets up, just about ready to make preparations for bed. He hears some noises, some banging, but that's expected of Freeside so he ignores it. Then he hears more stumbling, loud footsteps, but before he gets the chance to react, someone lands face first onto the ground of his tent.
This isn't the first time something like this has happened. He'll just get Beatrix to help him pick up whoever this is off the floor and get them into one of the tents to sleep it off.
“Can you get up?” Arcade asks whoever this is, sighing into his words.
He hears a groan, and the person, a man, uses his palms to push himself up so Arcade can see his face. “Y-yeah, sure.” The light isn't the best in the tent, but this person's labored breathing, they aren't in the best medical condition.
The Follower doctor in him says he should help this stranger up, get him to water, give him a quick look over, and then get him a spare bed in one of the tents. The tired human side of him wants to get one of the guards to help the stranger out of his tent, passing him along to another Follower so they can address and deal with this man.
This is why he picked this tent, so he could avoid this sort of stuff.
“If you're able, you can sit in this chair and I'll get something to help alleviate some of your symptoms temporarily.” The other man seems steady enough, wobbling a little, gripping the chair nearby as if the floor underneath him is shaking. Arcade feels kind of bad that he doesn't help him into the chair but too late for that.
“Thanks.” The words are slurred, and this is starting to seem more than just some Jet addict overdosing or a drunkard walking into his tent by accident. Yet it could still be those things, especially considering this is Freeside.
As Arcade gets some Fixer from one of supply bins (it's rarely this full), he's still tempted to ask someone else to take over. He sees a few interns that could easily deal with such a case, probably a lot more enthusiastically and with better bedside manner than he could.
Yet he doesn't, and he returns to the tent, seeing his new patient hunched over the chair, curled up. “I got you some Fixer. It should make things a little easier, but it would be good to know what you took to end up this way.”
Arcade offers him the Fixer, and instead of the expected snatching of it, a shaky hand takes it. “Dunno. I took a little Med-X in the morning, but not much.” He points to his head, and that's when Arcade sees a recent head injury, stitches that look to still be healing. “Uh, maybe a Mentat or two, no Psycho or Jet.” Arcade watches as his new patient scrambles to ingest the Fixer. “Went to the Atomic Wrangler – the Garrett twins owe me for doing some jobs for 'em. Had a few drinks there, nothing too strong, not Mojave strong anyway.”
“There's a chance someone could have spiked your drink to ensure an easy mugging.” Arcade knows this has happened plenty of times, and the drugs put in the drinks are usually cheap, effective, and have terrible side effects.
“Mug?” He laughs at Arcade's theory. “No, if that's true, more like kill.”
“Well, that too, I suppose.” With that information, Arcade has an idea on what to do next. He'll take his pulse, ask one of the interns to keep an eye on him, and then go off to bed. Then the next morning he'll ask if he's alright, clearing his mind and conscious.
Well, that's how it's supposed to happen.
Instead of that happening, his new patient vomits on him. Then in the first time in his life, Arcade Gannon no longer sees things on the gray spectrum. There are colors, colors he can't label because it's too much to take in (and vomit on his coat is not an issue). No, it's the fact he's naturally acquired the ability to see color, which only means one thing.
Arcade can't sleep, not when everything around him now has actual color to it, not shades of gray (he's stared at trivial objects for minutes on end like he's never seen them before). Then there's the reason he can see color sleeping on the floor of his tent, a blanket over him. He's shaking, recovering from some sort of poison. After vomiting on him, this stranger has been in and out of consciousness. Arcade watches over him, hoping this doesn't play out like some Greek tragedy of two soulmates finally meeting only to have one of them die (and Arcade hasn't even gotten his name yet).
Yet he could see that happening to him, not that he wants that to happen. He's not a lucky person, so he's always cautious, always seeing something 'good' or 'lucky' as a tragedy in sheep's clothing.
Like Arcade even knows what a soulmate means these days. People fall in love and get married to people that are not their designated soulmates and live happy lives. Just because it's some biological effect, heavily outdated and superfluous, does not mean he's destiny bound to fall in love with this stranger of a man. Maybe it was needed once, but not anymore, and not for him.
At least he repeats to himself.
The more time passes, the more anxious he becomes. Most people in the Wasteland do not know how people naturally gain the ability to see color, lost to time. How is he going to tell someone who he just met they are soulmates and that's why they've both gained the ability to see color? That or even explain what a soulmate is, a complicated subject enough. He's never prepared himself for this conversation nor expected it to happen once he passed his early twenties. When he was in his late teens and early twenties, he pictured meeting a man in the Boneyard, well dressed and educated, sweeping him off his feet. He wouldn't care about Arcade's familial past with the Enclave because they were soulmates after all, destined to love each other until death separated them. Youth led him to believe something like that for a time, but age and experience led him to believe in something else.
When the sun begins to rise on the Mormon Fort, Arcade feels like he's back in med school cramming under a portrait of Nicole in the Follower's library. He knows it's just not about staying awake at his age, but the anticipation for what is going to happen next. He has no idea what this man is like, but he's far from the Boneyard Boyfriend he had teenage dreams about.
He goes back to pretending to read a book, one he's read before just in case someone asks him what it's about.
“Eddie?” He looks away from the book, seeing the man on his floor groggy, but much more awake than he was most of the night.
“A decent guess, but my name is actually Arcade.” It's probably not the best time to make a joke, but Arcade isn't sure what else to say or do. Is Eddie a friend? A boyfriend? That's going to make things much more complicated if it's the latter.
“No, no...” He shakes his head. “My robot, my floating robot.” Floating robot? Either there is still something in his system, Arcade thinks, or he's just gotten involved with someone who gives their robot cute pet names.
“There wasn't a robot with you when you came in last night.” Arcade's trying to be a professional about this, but he can't help but craft some pet theories on what this indicates about his... soulmate thing. Whatever. “Do you know where you are?”
“He wasn't with me?” He pushes himself enough so he can sit up, his eyes squinting. “And the Mormon Fort, right? Julie said I could come here if I needed doc stuff.” Arcade notices how he assigned a gender to his pet flying robot, which is even a bit more unnerving (attachment, companionship, and fondness).
“You went to my tent instead of hers.” Arcade sets the book aside (also realizing he was holding it upside down). “She probably would have greeted you with a warm smile and some water, but you got me.”
Arcade watches him as the conversation is on hold, the other man thinking clearly about something, possibly trying to recall what happened the night before.
“Not such a bad face to wake up to. I could get used to it.” Is he being flirted with? He is. Which isn't totally outrageous, but Arcade isn't expecting that.
“Do you tell that to everyone you wake up to?” Arcade caves just a little, flirting back, testing the waters and seeing how this back and forth feels.
“Not everyone, just ones that help save my life and are easy on the eyes.” Arcade can appreciate his forwardness and charm, it feeling distinctively Mojave in style.
“More flattery,” Arcade laughs. “You must really want something, which I most likely can't help you with, so your flattery will not get you far in this case.”
“I'm not dead, so that's a start.” Arcade can agree with that at least. “But there is something, I guess. Not sure if it's related to this,” he points to his head injury with the stitches, his hand shaping into a form of a gun. “Or some side effect of the shit someone slipped me.” He puts his hand down, but before he does, he mock fires his gun hand.
“Gunshot?” Arcade's tone transitions the conversation back to the doctor and patient format.
“Mhmm,” he hums. “My vision's changed. Not sure how to describe it besides brighter and not so same-same.”
Arcade knows exactly what he's talking about, but he's still not sure if he should say it. He fixes his glasses, trying to think of something to say to stall as he debates the ethics and morality of telling or not telling him the truth. “Well, it's hard to say with a wound of that nature, and we don't have the equipment to give you a proper brain scan here. Usually the occipital lobe-” he pats the back of his head, displaying where it is. “Is where anything vision related concerning the brain is located.” He fixes his glasses again, thinking of more medical things he can info dump to stall. “Yet with major trauma, it's hard to gauge. Then there is actual eye damage or shifting, and who knows what possible things you were dosed with. You'd be surprised at how much toxic waste and chemicals are still out there that we've seen people inject in themselves.” Arcade looks at him, and he's hoping to see someone with glazed eyes, clearly not following his words, but that hasn't happened yet. “Then colors are connected to cones and rods, the retina as well. Or maybe it's the connection, the signaling between the retina-”
“Colors,” Arcade's chest tightens, realizing he's slipped up. “That's what it is, seeing colors.”
“Congratulations are in order then, I suppose. Besides surviving a lethal poisoning.” Arcade can't look him in the eyes, out of guilt and embarrassment. He just wishes this conversation would end soon or that he could stop being indecisive. Yet at the same time, he wants to talk to him and engage with him more so he can understand him better.
“A doc in Goodsprings asked me about seeing colors before, but he said my brain was a real mess, so maybe it needed time to get things to work together again.” Arcade feels like there's no longer a deathclaw behind his back. At least for now.
“Possibly.” Being a bad liar like himself, Arcade depends on vagueness or sarcastic deflective truths.
This new stranger in his life tries to get up, wobbling a little, but before Arcade can help him find his ground, he's no longer teetering. “I should get going. Got a floating robot to find.” When they make direct eye contact, their physical proximity no longer medical related, Arcade feels something. He can't describe it, and thus he makes himself push it down as far as he can. “Thanks again. Maybe I'll see you around while I'm around here?”
“You might. I don't leave the Fort much, or even this tent, so...” He wants to hit himself for sounding so pathetic, but he has to remind himself he is rather pathetic. “Just don't come to me if you're almost dying. I'm not so great at that 'watching and worrying all night' thing.” His nerves let that confession slip, and Arcade sees that smirk on his face.
“Worried, huh.” He looks victorious like he's conquered and claimed a part of Arcade.
“Standard professional and medical protocol; empathy and guilt are quite the motivators.” He's back to being defensive, but it doesn't work this time.
“We'll see.” He leaves the tent, and Arcade is still trying to gather his thoughts, sort his emotions before his brain crashes.
It's about thirty minutes later, as he tries to distract himself by reading, that he never even got his soulmate's name.
Eventually, Arcade does learn his name through Julie, who seemed relatively happy and surprised Arcade had taken an interest in him, in 'the Courier' or 'Six'. He doubts someone would actually name their child Six, but as he thinks about it more, he's heard strange names, fake or real. In this case, he's very sure it's a title this man has fashioned into a code name.
It's three days since he's seen Six, and he's much better at seeing colors. Julie has a few suspicions that something is new about him, but he's been able to avoid more questions by asking her about Major Kieran.
In one of the few times Arcade leaves the Fort, he comes back only to be told by Julie that the Courier, Six, was here and Arcade just missed him. Julie mentions he was looking for Arcade and asked about him.
“He said he would be back in a few hours, at the most.” She tells him, and Arcade isn't sure if that's a good or bad thing. “I hope you don't mind I told him about Dr. Henry; it seems like he's determined to help the poor dog out.” It was a slip of the tongue by Arcade as to why Julie knows about Dr. Henry, a mistake he hopes to not repeat again.
“It's fine. They're rather rare these days.” Cyberdogs remind him of the Enclave, of experimentation that tested humanity and morality. “It'd be sad to see another one lost to time.” Julie looks relieved at hearing Arcade tell her that, but anyone poking around Doc Henry isn't the best thing. After all, only very few have any experience with cyberdogs, the NCR never getting a good grasp at understanding their anatomy and physiology.
A dog bark ends their conversation, and at the gates of the Mormon Fort, Six walks with two things that remind Arcade of the Enclave.
“Julie,” Six greets her first. “Arcade.” He smiles at Arcade, but he still has a lump in his throat as he's processing how someone ends up with both an eyebot and a cyberdog of all things.
“Welcome back, friend. Did you tell the King about Rex?” He nods at Julie's question.
“Yeah. I'm going to make the trip up to Jacobstown.” Six raises the arm with the pipboy on it. “I got it marked on my map.”
“Do you need any supplies? I might have a few to spare I could sell you.” He shakes his head.
“More like I have a few to drop off; I stocked up already, maybe a little too much to carry around.” He probably doesn't know it, but Six is appealing to Arcade's charitable heart without even trying.
“Then maybe I can offer you something else.” Julie looks at him, and he has a feeling he knows where this is going.
“What? Don't tell me I'm on the same level of a stimpak or some Med-X, Julie. I'm at least a super-stimpak.” Could she be picking up there's something going on between them? Even if that something is mostly extreme uncertainty and mental gymnastics on Arcade's half.
“If you want to go. I'm sure Dr. Henry would like to see you again. I heard it's lovely up there around this time, even some snow if you're lucky.” That might be Julie's subtle push saying he should take advantage of this opportunity and get out of the Fort.
“You know the doc that can help Rex?” Rex barks at that, and even the eyebot reacts.
“I do,” it's awkward to admit that. It's too close to what he's tried to keep private and distant. “Not very close or anything, but I know of him. My mother knew him through friends of friends.” It always feels like a game of 'how vague can Arcade Gannon be without being called out?'.
“Well, if you want to come along, I'd love the company, and I'm sure Eddie and Rex would appreciate it.” Arcade has to recall that name, and he remembers Six describing a flying robot from earlier. It's actually sort of embarrassing that Arcade didn't know it could have been an eyebot earlier. Yet they are extremely rare these days, and he's never seen one this far out east.
“Um, well.” He doesn't exactly have a good excuse not to go. He also sees the look Julie is giving him, a mixture of concern and trying to get him to go. “Sure, I guess. Just so you know I can't bandage well while being shot at or physically in danger.” He could use this trip as an opportunity to get to know Six better, to see if this soulmate thing isn't just some cruel joke or something that could possibly be prosperous.
After all, he barely knows him, and Arcade figures step one in deciding if he should even bother with the soulmate thing is getting to know who the stars have written to be the love of his life. If things do work out, a conversation about it is a lot easier to bring up if they know each other better versus face and name recognition. The biggest issue, though, is Arcade opening about himself, he knows that. For now learning about Six will come first.
“I wouldn't blame you.” Six seems glad to have him around, but he's probably assuming having a doctor around is akin to a portable hospital (a grievous mistake).
“Just one thing.” Arcade looks at the eyebot and the cyberdog. “Are you sure that eyebo-, robot thing, isn't going to turn on us? I mean you. You can never trust robots.” His thoughts were scrambled before he even spoke, but it sounds much worse now that he's said it.
“Uh,” Six looks confused, Arcade expecting no less. “Eddie's good and friendly.”
“Right. Just don't expect me to patch you back together when it turns you into a pile of ash. Then said ashes are blown away by a vertibird scooping down to collect your robot friend here. ” He mostly mutters to himself, and by the awkward silence and Six's face, he just made this conversation extremely awkward.“Okay then. I guess I'm ready whenever you are. I just need to bring a few things.”