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Best Served Cold

VIII

Warnings: Mentions of SA, slavery, suicide mention, self-loathing.

AO3

The news was a sledgehammer to your temple, a nightkin’s blue fist squeezing your heart.

Your gesture with her wavering thin arm made your hairs stand on end, fizzling with frequency.

Bullshit. Bullshit. It had to be. You were nothing alike whatsoever!

You ground your teeth till they were powder, as the statue of a much younger and stronger man peered at you through the window.

Green eyes.

They had put emeralds in the bloody statue. A gaudy gaze if there ever was one, bearing down at you.

Shooting up from the hard floor, your head spun and your vision spotted black. Shaking like a new-born lamb you backed away from Kateri, shaking your head.

“You’re wrong…” The rough wall met your back. “You’re just not right, that bastard didn’t… make me…”

Your voice wavered, the edge of a flint scraped away by a rock till its edge softened. You swallowed hard.

Kateri stood, tall and diaphanous in her long white tunic. She kept her distance, a sullen siren warning the sailor from her danger as she clasped her hands over her heart.

There was a sandstorm in you, raving and ravenous, it whipped your soul around in its twister.

The emeralds glinted in the torchlight outside.

Cutting across the room you ripped the sheer curtain shut.

And yet the bastard still glared. Mocking you.

In your rage, your shaken foundations, in the truth of your life which crumbled away not even by a spoken word, you swore the damn thing smirked at you.

Kateri pointed at the statue again, then at you. Her long black braided hair swayed as she shook her head and made an ‘x’ with her dark arms.

“Yeah, he’s not my fuckin’ dad, that’s why!”

She shook her head again, spurred on by the edge of your tone. She placed a long finger to her lips and lowered her hands.

Knock knock knock.

Meerkats, the pair of you were, as you both looked to the door.

You spied a scalpel and clasped it in your hand. A kitten with a claw out.

You held your breath, a hunter awoke in you again for the first time in over a month and you prepared to smell Legion blood.

“Kateri? Sorry I know it’s late.”

But the scent on the wind didn’t come; for it was Arcade.

Kateri opened the door and pulled him in before he could speak again. He adjusted his strewn glasses as he stumbled while she closed the door softly.

He had been carrying a crate full of herbs, cloths and thread. He looked different too, he wore a crisp white tunic which came above his knees.

He stumbled in his pierced legs. No doubt from the arrows that were pulled from them.

The scalpel softened in your hand, as did your temper, all at the sight of this pink man in a silly Roman tunic.

“Arcade.” Your tone was weak, wavering, as you fought off tears of pure relief.

He set his glasses properly on his nose, and saw you for certain in tourmaline clarity.

He gasped your name, set down the crate, and embraced you.

Wrapping your arms around each other, you breathed in his scent, still of disinfectant and herbs.

You held on to him like he would be ripped away from you again. His arms were strong and grounding.

But would he still embrace you, if he knew you were the spawn of his enslaver.

No. No no. He would help you, tell you that Kateri was a foul liar.

You shook again, your breath shuddering.

“Sweetheart,” he looked at you, his beautiful eyes glassy with tears; relief.

His smile was demure, fitting for the situation, two prisoners passing each other in the yard during their indefinite sentence.

His hands were steady and warm while they clasped your shoulders.

Your chin quivered, you couldn’t get out the words, they were heavy tarmac chunks stuck in your trachea.

You couldn’t. You just looked back at the statue.

His whole face, perfect and slightly pink, blissfully less red from when you last saw him, softened.

The dream of seeing a friend again, after she had been near swallowed by doom, had shattered into asbestos shards. The poison of this false-truth would grow like a cancer.

“Lucky…” He was steady, consoling, like he always was.

You had expected a “what’s wrong sweetness?” or a grim “you can’t be that upset to see me” from him.

Not this.

“Lucky. You’re nothing like him.”

You shoved yourself away from the tender grip, shunning his bloody lies.

“You were told this shit too?”

Arcade gave you space, stepping back in your unpredictable, sorrowful, confused turbulence.

“Yes. I was.”

You stood to pace, a beast kept in a cage too long.

“What’s this story then?” Since you two know so much,” you cruelly spat at them, these poor, well meaning, emotional punching bags.

Kateri placed a gentle hand on Arcade’s shoulder, he was tall, a whole head more so than her.

She moved her hands in a series of queer movements. Methodical, purposeful.

“I agree,” he nodded.

“What the hell’re y’all talkin’ about? More bullshit? I’m fuckin’ done here!”

You really were a cruel thing, a small part of you thought, while you stormed out into the garden.

Dad was a small voice in your head sometimes, you knew he was praising you in your moments of benevolence, when you helped feed Freeside orphans with Veronica and Arcade. And when you used the tips and tricks he taught you to deactivate the bomb collars around slaves’ throats.

But now, you knew what he would say.

He would call you a goddamn brat.

In the lightning strike of it, the news, while the electricity fizzled still, you didn’t care.

While the door thudded behind you, you heard Arcade.

“No. Don’t. She needs a minute.”

Your throat tightened and you ground your teeth while you ignored the sounds of the night.

“I would as well.”

It was pretty out tonight too, with the crickets and the frogs singing.

How dare it be so pretty tonight.

You had met Vulpes in this garden, while he was reading out his old words to you.

If you wrote what he said down in the dirt, it would be sure to grow flowers.

You were never much good at writing or reading.

You were better now compared to what you once were, you didn’t need to read to be a courier, you just needed to know where to go.

You were barely literate when you met Arcade, Dad taught you all he could, he wasn’t much of a reader or writer either.

But the good Dr. Gannon taught you by the campfire light. Illiteracy was a problem in the Wastes, but you still felt stupid.

When you wrote something down, when you read those comics you picked up, you thought of campfire, of secret lessons.

He was the only one to know your secret, that the poor though deadly Courier Six, could barely write her name.

Six was the number you were always given on jobs, it became your signature even back before you lost your memories. It was -after all- easier to simply write “6” than “Lucky” on a slip.

He was patient, he never called you stupid. He, in fact, praised you.

Your best friend asked about the comics you read by the fire while he read his thick leather bound tomes of wisdom long dead.

It wasn’t dead to him though, only forgotten.

You felt a stab of guilt already as you sank to sit by the rose scented fountain.

There were no friends with you, no moon to look down on you in your pity in the indigo draped night.

You thought of them. Lily, Veronica, Cass and Raul. Did they make it?

You thought of your sweet little bot, of Rex. If they were covered by the sands together, at least they wouldn't be lonely.

Would they all forgive you if you were blessed enough to meet them again in New Canaan?

Would they forgive you for Boone?

You hugged your knees to yourself.

Rotten woman, foul thing, better if you stayed in the shallow grave, then this may not have happened. You wouldn’t have been in this Legion garb, and neither would have Arcade.

You should have listened to him when you left Mr. House.

Go back to Yes-Man, make Vegas independent.

You couldn’t, you were a coward. Maybe the Think Tank took your guts too.

It didn’t take the Legion long you thought to yourself while you ran your fingers in the water, the odd petal kissing your undeserved fingers.

Two months, maybe less for the Legion to spring up like a knot weed choking a sunflower.

You pondered further, who did kill Mr. House?

It didn’t matter now, he was dead, so was Boone.

Guess who was to blame for that?

Maybe you were Caesar’s spawn, you helped him enough in your inaction.

You sat there, running your hands in the water below you while the palace windows lit gold, floating faeries holding lanterns.

“Hey Lucky.”

Your cheek rested on your knee while you languidly splashed the water.

“Hey.” You picked a pink petal up with your fingers before flicking it away.

“Can I sit next to you, pretty lady?”

“Yeah.” You felt like a recently scolded child being consoled by her well-meaning father. A balm to your fried nerves.

You saw him sink beside you in your peripheral.

“You know, I remember when you first told us you weren’t really a man.”

“Didn’t tell you,” you splashed at him. “You and Boone found me bathing in the river one night. Perverts.”

Arcade hummed a laugh.

“Not me, you’re a beautiful woman. But I prefer my women to be… well not women at all.”

You looked at him, this angel of a man. How could he be so patient with you? He hated Caesar, if you were his daughter, why was he being so kind?

“Poor Boone went red. He had no idea. Decided to tell y’all after that.”

“You’re not the first woman in the Wasteland to crossdress, many do it for safety.”

“Fat lot of use that’s done for me in the end.”

Another splash.

“It did put an end to Veronica’s matchmaking,” he said.

There was a pause in the stillness of the night.

“So how did you get your memories back? You mentioned that they did something to your brain in Big Mountain.”

The Big Empty. You missed them those strange floating scientists. You wondered what Arcade would make of them.

“It was weird,” you straightened up. “You know already they took my brain out, I… spoke to it.”

“And that is still one of the strangest things I have ever heard in my life. And I have treated Freeside junkies.”

“Nilly nobly sub soil-y.”

“Nihil novi sub sole,” he corrected, smiling.

“It told me everything. My first memory, sneakin’ up on my dad and him pretendin’ to be scared, of course. The first gun he gave me, after-” you swallowed thickly.

“After I got kidnapped by Legion. When he started dressin’ me as a boy. Everything, right up until-” you made a gun out of your hand and pulled the imaginary trigger.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” You questioned.

“I do actually, we’ve been on some adventures together. Seen and read about stranger things than what you’ve been telling me. Even though that is pretty strange. You also have the scars to prove it. You really scared us, coming back after, what, a month of nothing. We were trying everything to find you.”

You picked up another petal from the water.

“Do you want to talk about… well, you know.”

You certainly did. You nodded, mute.

“My real dad was a ghoul named Peeler, he raised me. But,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, lest there be ears on the walls. The ‘but’ of it, the steep fall off a cliff face.

“I just hate how it makes sense, everything. Where Dad found me, Kateri’s picture. He picked me near a settlement in Flagstaff. He was guardin’ a caravan at the time.”

Arcade leaned in to hear you.

“His first thought was to at least give this premature baby girl some dignity before she died. But I didn’t,” you had been playing with the petal in your fingers, and threw the tiny ball of dark pink back into the water.

“Called me Lucky, since I lived. You know, I always had a suspicion that my parents were Legion. Boone said they tend to reject sickly babies, especially girls.”

You looked at yourself in the reflection and smacked it, splashing the rose scented water.

“I wouldn’t put it past Caesar to reject a helpless baby girl,” his tone was bitter. “Tending to his needs, I was right about him, like I am with many things, he is a monster.”

Gently, as though picking up a thin piece of shattered stained glass from a ruined cathedral from times long bombed away, he grabbed your wet hand.

“That’s how I know you’re nothing like him. For two years I have travelled with you, I know you,” he was adamant, steadfast, but as he wore his Legion garb and the unknown fates of the other Followers hung in the air like a balloon you were too scared to pop, you felt like a fraud.

“When did Kateri tell you?”

“She told me she was a Follower. Said that Caesar let Julie and the others go.”

There’s that balloon popped.

“I got to know her, I think she was happy to see another Follower, that, and I was the only one within a hundred mile radius who knew sign language. After we got you out of that cell, and it looked like you were going to pull through, she told me.”

“D’you think,” there, your words stuck again. “Caesar somehow knows?”

Arcade rubbed his chin and narrowed his brows in thought.

“Perhaps. He is more keen on sparring with me philosophically than speak of his rather large family tree, reference: the many daughters I’ve had to treat. But with your resemblance to your mother, if he remembers her at all, he may have had some suspicions when we first met the gentleman at the Fort.”

The Fort. If Caesar rejected you for being a sick girl, did he know you were a woman when you first entered his tent?

If he didn’t, you were glad Vulpes wasn’t there to give the game away at the time.

A hand on the knee, he squeezed it affectionately.

“Your curiosity will be sated, if we both ask Kateri.”

You nodded.

The desert was cold at night, people don’t often realise that.

Kateri’s little herbal clinic bathed you in warmth as you entered once more, the chill on your skin was scared away.

She stood, solemn.

“Kateri,” you started, crossing the threshold. “I’m so sorry, to both of you. I was just… I was-”

She held up a hand, smiling, and signed.

“She says that she understands, it’s… shocking news to hear to say the least,” Arcade translated.

She signed something and he sat down on a chair near your bed. She led you to it and patted beside her for you to join her.

The hand movements again, she signed in length while shooting a look to Arcade.

“Sounds good. She is telling us that it will be easier if I translate what she is signing, can’t really play charades with this story like you both have been.”

Your throat was dry, your stomach, a bag of jostling acid, you tasted bile in your mouth.

“O-okay. Lemme hear it.”

Arcade nodded at his fellow doctor, and watched.

“I was a Follower and so was your mother, her name was Daisy. She was my best friend.”

Her gaze fell at your mother’s mentioning.

“We were young then, both nineteen, she was my guard and I was a researcher like your handsome friend,” he paused. “She really said that by the way, I’m not adding embellishments.”

“Daisy and I had been travelling with two other male Followers, Dr. Samules and Daisy’s father, Allen. We…”

Kateri sighed, pausing. Swallowing hard, she continued.

“We got a bit lost, ended up a bit too close to Legion territory in Arizona. That is when they found us. They killed Daisy’s dad and Dr. Samuels. They… took us.”

You leant forward, your throat going drier. You squeeze her weathered hand and she smiles, melancholic.

“I was assigned to be a healer, as you know. But Caesar-”

Her face twisted to a visage of scorn.

“-He took a liking to your mother.”

“Oh no,” your voice wavered and you covered your mouth, gasping.

“Caesar thought of her like some… thing, a piece of pretty meat,” her hand movements were notably more frantic, rough and angered.

“She was his only Caesarissa. But she had no power, it was merely a title. When she got pregnant, if you were a boy, you would be groomed to be the next Legate after The Burned Man, if you were a girl, as you were, you would be wed to Graham.”

“The Burned Man…” You sighed, your nerves fried up.

She nodded and continued.

“That’s the thing with Caesar, he sees his own sons as cannon fodder, he thought he “loved” your mother enough to make her some sort of queen. But he didn’t he…”

She sniffed.

“She went into labour a month too early with you. She… didn’t make it. You were weak, sickly and so very small. I thought you were dead too. But then you wailed. As per tradition, you were brought to Caesar.”

Another sad shake of her head, her jaw was tight with anger.

“He turned his back with you, and soldiers went to take you away. I was then ordered to expose you to the desert.”

“Obviously that was unsuccessful,” you rubbed your arms for comfort. She nods.

“People always talk about Legion roads, how caravans and traders can move through with ease. I hate to say it, but it’s true, no raiders.”

She let out a bitter laugh.

“I knew of a caravan nearby, despite the lack of thieves, merchants are still going other places so guards are still common. I saw this big ugly ghoul with a lovely family of traders. I thought they were no better people to take you when I laid you down near a dune.”

She seemed to ease with the denouement of her story, your story.

“I threw a rock at them when the guards in the distance weren’t paying attention. The mother picked you up… then set you back down. The ghoul got angry. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he wrapped you up and left them to it.”

“Sounds like Peeler, but why didn’t you go with them?”

She sighed and signed.

“No point, I knew they wouldn’t take me, the soldiers would go after and kill them to bring me back. But a baby girl who was sentenced to die? They could take her and not care. Well, that’s it really, both your story and mine.”

“I gotta thank you for savin’ my life… D’you think that Caesar knows? Does he, Arcade?”

They look at one another, Kateri signs again.

“We both think that he is using Vulpes in a way to keep an eye on you. I am not privy to what he discusses with the Frumentarii, but I did overhear your name sometimes. I assumed he was wanting to know about your condition, but I wouldn’t put it past Caesar to investigate you further.”

Kateri signed. Arcade breathed a laugh.

You shuffled, awkwardly.

“You… can't talk. Did they-"

She nodded and signed.

“Punishment for ‘letting’ the Ceasarissa die.”

Looking to Arcade, she signed again.

“Yeah you’re right. She’s glad that you just like your mother and not him.”

You gave a half smile. Nervous and with trepidation.

You had to ask her.

“Did my mother,” your throat was sandpaper, dry and coarse. “Did she have a name for me?"

Kateri paused for thought and wrung her hands. She looked at Arcade.

“May need to write this one down, it could prove a bit hard to translate,” he admitted.

She nodded.

Sitting on the floor, she drew, just as she did for your family tree. The gift of understanding Arcade gave you came to its pinacle there.

She wrote out your true name.

Arcade left. He couldn't stay forever after all, though he promised that it would not be the last time you saw him.

What was Caesar’s ultimate plan for you? It was a mystery you three had yet to solve.

Would you be kept on a gilded cage? A bright red phineox, a trapped smoking dragon there for ringed nosed bulls to gaze at in their triumph for having caught you?

You shuddered at what Julius said before throwing you in the cage.

You eyed the scalpel, it called to you in the glimmer of the night.

Sleep alluded you. You weren’t sure if Kateri was getting a wink either.

You thought of dead Boone again. How ironic, he was trapping around with one of Caesar’s daughters, and neither of you were any the wiser.

Would he still call you friend? Or label you monster spawn, crafted by assault?

You shuddered as the night air caressed your flesh.

You were better now physically from your time in the maw of the cell, a sight stronger than you were a few weeks ago.

But you had lost some of your muscle mass, you were a bit smaller than you were as well.

Your future was as tangible to you as the radiation in the air. Poisonous and fleeting.

You… one of Caesar’s daughters.

You prayed to who ever was out there that Vulpes didn’t know.

You couldn’t sleep, you tried, you merely gazed up at the stars above, the same stars you hoped your friends were looking at in Zion.

You looked outside at the statue with its green glaring eyes.

Eyes like yours.

The sheer curtain waved in the breeze as you sat in your thin gown.

Then you heard it. The door swing open.

Vulpes burst through with a horde of men.

You eyed the scalpel. Whose throat will it open?

He nodded at Kateri’s room. You shouted to her in desperation.

“Stay away from her,” you try to charge them with your needle, but were caught by Vulpes in a steely grip of the wrist.

“Ave,” he twisted your wrist and the scalpel fell with a clatter. With a fist full of black hair, Kateri is dragged and thrown to the floor in front of you.

Your frantic eyes fall upon her as she gasped, her visage morphed into terror.

You were weak as a child in your recovery, your skills melted away in the cell as you head swam.

In a swoop, they bind her with violence, your poor friend crying out in the flurry.

“Don't fuckin’ touch her!”

Vulpes’ words were grave and icy, he pulled you closer with your back to his armoured chest.

“But you have been so chatty, you three, and without me!” His tone was faux-pain.

Your heart sunk, your hair stood on end.

“One of my little foxes had much to say about your conversation earlier.

You thought back to the little boy in the garden before you met Vulpes, the one with the bright blue eyes.

“A piece of free advice for you,” his talons sank into your flesh, an anaconda’s fangs in the flesh of a rabbit.

“Though, with House, I really thought you would have known better. In this place, this palace, the walls have eyes and ears.”

A pause.

“Princess.”

It was a sickly sibilance, a sonorous siren of doom.

“Take her to her Lord father.”

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