Chapter Text
The Courier had taken a turn for the worse when the Platinum Chip had fallen into his hands and, to pour more salt in the wound, was shot in the head by a clown in a checkered jacket on a power trip. In turn, he had lost some of his memory. But hey, things could be worse right?
He followed Benny's trail to Vegas, but when he had fled at a most unfortunate time the Courier had found some luck. The Courier met a man named Arcade, who set him up with a job as his assistant. In turn the Courier let Arcade bunk with him at the Lucky 38. It was a fair trade and the Courier was thankful that he didn't need to do anything... Intimate. Not that the Courier would've minded having sex with Arcade. He assumed Arcade was gay. The comment Arcade made about "Some lucky guy picking up this eligible bachelor" was a dead giveaway.
Arcade was handsome, smart, straight-forward, and not a bad shot. But he lacked confidence and seem uninterested in anything unrelated to science. The Courier thought it was all a facade though.
Sure, the Courier had made advances toward Arcade, but Arcade shot him down everytime. Well... Almost everytime, that is.
You see, the Courier wasn't all bad looking either. He was still young, only twenty-something, but he wasn't exactly boy-ish. He wasn't manly either. The Courier was wimpy looking, sure, but he could pass for someone twice his age if he didn't shave for a few days. Which is why he kept a little stubble in hopes of presenting experience (which he had little of).
But when Arcade didn't turn him down, they'd fumble toward the bed kissing eachother. Stubble scraping against Arcade's face, hands ghosting over shaking bodies, and the telltale stirings in eachother's pants. Every so often Arcade would moan underneath the Courier's slick lips and buck his hips up against him. And when clothes were discarded, Arcade would suddenly stop. He'd sit there in his underwear with a confused Courier and pant out an excuse as to why he couldn't continue.
But that was just Arcade. And the Courier wouldn't press in after that.
You could say it was an official-unofficial arrangement between them. It happened more than once, but feelings were never spoken out loud. It could be easily explained away. People get urges all the time and the Courier wasn't sure if it was love or just raw basic need. The need of a body pressed up against his, but if that was the case he'd go to the Gomorrah.
It had to be something more, he thought. Trust? Him being a cheap bastard and not wanting to pay for sex? Either way it had to be more that animalistic needs. That just seemed unfair for Arcade's feelings. The Courier knew Arcade had been hurt in the past, even if the information was vague, and respected his boundaries.
But this had to stop at sometime, thought the Courier. After all, he had a life to rebuild.
**************
A few weeks after the Courier had initially started his job, a rather curious bunch had shown up at the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside.
"Hey buddy," Arcade popped his head into the Courier's tent. "I need your help."
The Courier stood up awkwardly and followed Arcade to a larger than usual tent. He scrunched his dark eyebrows and when he entered, his eyes grew wide. A super mutant and two ghouls towered over him by at least a foot. They suprisingly looked friendly.
"C," Arcade motioned for the Courier over to one of the ghouls. "Patch these guys up with a stimpak and some bandages. I'll have Julie check in later." Arcade walked out of the tent and left him alone with these hulking creatures.
The Courier grabbed a clipboard and walked over to one of the ghouls. He eyed him up and down, not knowing where he needed to be patched up. Don't get him wrong, he accepted all creatures of the Wastes, but the ghoul's skin was making it difficult.
"Ummm, where exactly does it hurt mister..?"
"Charon," the ghoul said flatly. "My left bicep."
The Courier grasped the rigid arm and cleaned the remains of blood off. He took a stimpak and injected it directly into the wound. Charon didn't even flinch. The Courier bandaged him up and continued on with the super mutant, Fawkes. Although the super mutant was highly resilient, his leg was badly crippled. Possibly a landmine.
After he fixed up Charon and Fawkes he moved onto the other ghoul. Charon and Fawkes laid down on a couple of open cots. The Courier knelt down in front of the ghoul on the stool. This ghoul was different from the other. His skin was a little fairer, but not by much and he had more hair.
"Hope you don't mind if I ask you some questions."
It wasn't a question. The ghoul would have to answer one way or another. Not that they were being accused of anything, simply research.
"Where are you hurt?" The Courier asked professionally, as if he'd been doing this his whole life.
The ghoul unzipped his jumpsuit to expose his mutated chest. Patches of skin here and there looked smooth, hinting that he hadn't been a ghoul for very long. And the apparel he wore looked like a reinforced vault suit. The Courier was now curious about this one.
"My ribs are pretty dinged up," the ghoul said in a rather soft voice.
The Courier stuck out his hands and prodded around the affected area. The ghoul winced a few times and the Courier apologized. He could feel those foggy green eyes on him and he looked up meekly. Their eyes connected and the Courier blushed when the ghoul smiled at him.
"What's your name traveler?" He asked, trying to break the awkward atmosphere.
"I have no name, smoothskin," came the blunt reply from the ghoul.
The Courier raised an eyebrow at him. "You must go by something?" He watched the ghoul consider this and he thought he saw some amusement in those eyes.
"Friend's call me Nomad."
"Like a wanderer?" The courier inquired.
"Something like that."
And this ghoul, this 'Nomad', took joy in watching the young assistant's hands tremble over his patchy chest. They were both silent after that and the Courier took some bandage and taped up Nomad's ribs. They didn't appear to be broken, but who could be sure? Rather to be safe than sorry.
Nomad zipped up his jumpsuit when the Courier was done and used the stimpak and med-x that was given to him.
"What happened out there?" The Courier asked shakily as he watched Nomad.
The ghoul chuckled,"Well, we failed obviously."
"Failed?" He replied all too quickly.
"Curious little thing aren't you?" Nomad smirked with a sly grin. "We went to salvage some supplies over at Black Mountain. We figured there'd be a goldmine up there since the place was crawling with radiation. What we didn't know was that it was also crawling with Super Mutants and some creatures called Nightkin." Nomad seemed to be naive about Black Mountain and it's... Inhabitants.
"Yeah? Well, radiation isn't the only thing that keeps people away." The Courier paused to look up at Nomad. Nomad looked completely clueless and it dawned on the Courier. "You didn't know?"
Nomad shrugged. "I do now. I'm just glad we found this place. We haven't been here long and all these new threats are... Well, new," he chuckled. Nomad clutched at his ribs when he did so.
"I'm guessing a super sledge to the gut isn't a very good welcome party, huh?" The Courier smirked.
"Super sledges I can handle, Super Mutants are a different story. Especially one wearing a wig and glasses," Nomad grunted.
"So you met Tabitha, huh?"
"And a ghoul named Raul. Pretty handy with a wrench, that one."
The Courier chuckled lowly and shook his head. Nomad was polite and had a sense of humor. He didn't seem ashamed to admit defeat or show pain. The Courier admired that about the ghoul. He was "real". He was human, even if he looked like a walking corpse. He was more human than anyone he's ever met.
"Where'd you come from?" The Courier asked, breaking the silence.
"Capital Wasteland." He saw the Courier raise an eyebrow. "Washington, D.C." Nomad clarified.
The Courier nodded knowingly. "I've heard some crazy stories come from there."
Nomad tilted his head and smiled. "Stories?"
The Courier locked eyes with him again and smiled nervously. Now he was being bombarded with questions and was put on the spot.
"Surely you've heard them," the Courier inquired.
"I want to hear them again," Nomad flirted.
"Well," the Courier blushed through his stubble,"the stories about the two people who crawled out of a vault and perpetually cleansed the water. Or how a handful of soldiers single-handedly defeated the Enclave. Stories like that."
"You forgot about Liberty Prime and John Henry Eden. They were very important pieces of the story," Nomad commented. "But I suppose after awhile the legends lose their key details."
"Right."
"What's your name, smoothskin?" Nomad changed the subject.
"I can't remember." He frowned.
"Playing hard to get, huh?" Nomad joked. "What should I call you then, sweetie?" A predatory smile etched across his face. It made the Courier flush.
"Um, well, I.." He trailed off, a little flustered.
Nomad stood up with some difficulty and hobbled over to the Courier. When he reached the Courier he staggered and slouched down against him. The Courier caught ahold of his arm and propped him up with what strength he had. The Courier lead him over to an open bed to lie down.
"You need to rest a little," he said with some concern in his voice and Nomad clutched at him not to leave.
Nomad was beginning to feel a little woozy from the pain, not to mention tired. He felt the Courier's presence, but the vision of him was fading slowly. He was going to pass out. "Please... Tell me your name... Angel..."
He could tell Nomad was delirious from the mix of pain, stimpak, and med-x, but didn't know what to do. He honestly couldn't remember his name. After being shot in the head, who would? And he didn't feel like lying either. So he just gnawed on his bottom lip a little and smoothed the strip of his punked hair to the right side of his head.
"Call me whatever you want," the Courier soothed as he laid Nomad onto his back.
The words that came out of Nomad were incoherent and mumbled gruffly, but the Courier's ear caught one word distinctly. It was a name.
"James," Nomad uttered. "James..."