ORIGINALLY WRITTEN: April 2024
NOTES: A gift for Tumblr user bruderup as part of falloutfandomeventhub 's Celebradiation Gift Exchange event, which celebrated the release of the Fallout TV Series!
He had always been a good soldier. Arguably, a good man.
So it was then, when the Courier had delivered the news that Curtis was the one giving away key security intel, Colonel Hsu felt a gaping abyss settle into his gut. A conflict arose from it, grabbing at his heart and his mind, balancing them within its evil hands like the scales of judgment. Part of him knew he had a duty to the Republic; apprehension and punishment was the only “right” approach to the matter. Their forces were stretched thin as it was, and the last thing they needed was a grand schism. The other part of him, though, knew there had to be something more. Something that swayed Curtis to turn his back on his compatriots and find himself within the Legion’s iron grasp.
Or perhaps, despite that dawning realization, there was a part of him that was a good man. A good soldier. Someone who could be swayed back into doing the right thing and amending this error before the word spread beyond his control. It was that justification that he held onto. What drove him to save face, to the best of his ability. Lips pursed together as weary eyes trailed toward the door, staring past the Courier as if they were not there before him.
“Curtis? He’s been in the NCR long before our conflict with the Legion. There’s just no way... I hope you’re mistaken, but somehow I don’t think so. It’d explain a lot.” He paused, standing from his seat and adjusting the finer details of his uniform. When he continued, his voice was ever more exhausted. Defeated.
“This is much worse than anyone expected. You’ve done everything that was asked of you, and you have my personal thanks for this. I’ll... have Curtis taken into custody. If he lets himself be taken alive, that is. I’ll take things from here. You, uh—Lieutenant Boyd might be willing to get an extra hand in interrogating the Legion prisoner. She’s upstairs, on the other side of the building.”
As soon as he was alone again, the Colonel let out a bated breath. It shuddered, nearly choking him as the weight of everything crashed down on him. His mind swirled as he found himself marching toward the Captain’s office, scribbled plans clenched in his own iron fist. Yet when he appeared in the doorway, he seemed composed. Calm. What he had to be, with so many eyes on him.
“Captain Curtis, I hope you’re not busy?”
There was something off. Ron knew it. James hardly spoke to him so punctly. Especially behind closed doors, made apparent by the soft thud as the Colonel further ensured their privacy. Moreover, it was rare that he approached him. For the Colonel to seek him out...
He, too, braved face. Turned and offered a polite nod as blue eyes scanned his form. Caught the way the other’s bore into him. “Of course not... sir. Is there something you need?”
“What I need is an explanation. I believe these,” he held up the crumpled paper, making it a point to straighten it out best he could and reveal the plans to the officer, “are yours?”
The cracks began to form, just as crinkles on the paper were smoothed to reveal hastily sketched schematics. Slanted, written notes about the monorail’s schedule followed by the guard rotations for the week. Brows knitted together as muscles wound taut, posture straightening. The other simply stood steadfast, only his gaze softening as he stepped to place the paper down on the officer’s desk.
“I—”
“There’s an explanation, I know.” James’ voice was lowered. Focused. “And it had better be a good one. I don’t... This isn’t something that can be brushed under the bed. Even talking to you now puts my ass on the line. So what I want—need you to do, is to tell me why, Ron. Why the Legion? If it were House, or one of the casino mafias, I could try to understand it. But this?” He quieted, voice beginning to shake as it was muted to a whisper.
The Captain couldn’t help the way his heart weighed within his chest. The way it’d sunk into his gut, quickly swallowed by the churning acidic whirlpools. Being caught was one thing; enough to turn his stomach and make his blood run cold. But to see James in such a state? To see him barely keeping professional composure as he begged him to explain himself? It made him properly sick. Brought the bile to the back of his throat, and forced him to swallow it down as now-chapped lips parted.
“... Before I swore myself under the Republic’s banner, I was Legion. Born under Caesar. I’ll spare the details, but my being here was no coincidence. Before the Legion began challenging the NCR, Caesar needed eyes on the situation. I was, at the time, placed within Bravo Company. The officer at the time would... meet his end, and that is when I took over and caught the eye of General Oliver. I was transferred here, and it gave me that vantage that I’d needed to launch Racket.”
There was just too much information. The fact that everything had been a lie. Everything. Curtis’ allegiance to the Republic. The backstory he’d weaved and spun about facing Legion atrocity, when he had likely been the ones seeing them out. The death of Bravo Company’s commanding officer, details obscured by the tears that’d coated his jacket as he’d helped deliver the news to his partner at the time. Did that mean, then, that their love was a lie? That he was just another pawn in the operation? As much as he wanted to confront it, the Colonel knew he needed more information first.
“Racket? You mean the monorail explosion? ... It’s supposed to be a distraction, isn’t it?” James stepped closer, bringing Ronald to step back in a vain attempt to keep the distance.
“... Yes.”
“For. What.” Another step forward, another mirrored backward. The room felt miniscule; constricting. The Captain was, almost literally, backed into the corner. A caged animal with two options:
Fight or surrender. Maintain his allegiance to the Legion and lose everything he has built in his time beneath the Bear’s banner... or give in. Recognize that he’d found something better. That there was a life worth living outside of the torch-lit encampments. That there was a life, and not ceaseless scrapping for survival. Pallid eyes peered past the Colonel’s scrutinizing gaze toward the door. Awaiting... something. Anything. A sign.
Then he felt a gloved hand grasp at his shoulder. Felt it command his attention. Fingers dug into the fabric of his uniform, a vain attempt at clawing at the muscle that lay beneath. Nails tearing into tendon, ripping apart at everything it’d grabbed until nothing remained. An intimidation tactic. A loose cannon waiting for the opportunity to fire.
“For what, Ron?” Spoken softer, despite his posturing. Desperate to reach the man he’d grown to know. The man that he prayed was still in there.
The Captain sighed, shoulders slumping under the weight of the other’s touch. “... An attack on the Strip, orchestrated by the Omertas while Caesar’s forces took the Dam. It’s a waste—Your courier friend took Nero and Big Sal out of the picture already. They may still have a stockpile of weapons, but I’m not certain where the new leadership stands.”
Nothing felt any clearer, and it’d only raised more questions. More avenues for the Republic’s forces to be split down whilst the Legion fixated theirs at the Dam. He’d have to bring this up with the top brass; attempt to launch an investigation into the Omertas in a way that doesn’t breach the contractual obligations the Republic has with House. He’d simply make a note of it for now; put a pin in the task of asking Ronald to testify.
“I see. This information will be... useful.” A pause, hand lingering on his companion’s shoulder before slowly withdrawing, pulling with him the temptation to send a firm fist forward and put an end to things as they stood. That would get them... nowhere. Make the situation worse, despite how much the urge coursed through his veins. He simply clenched and unclenched his fist, then shook his head.
“Professionalism aside, where does this information leave us?”
Curiosity. The subtle tilt of his head. “Us?”
A sadness reflected in the Colonel’s deep eyes. One that, should the Captain dig deep enough, was thrust forth by unbridled rage. “You know what I mean.”
Of course he did. It was no secret what he had meant in the line of questioning. Their little... affair had been something they had built up for quite the time. Practically ever since the Captain had been transferred to Camp McCarran. It started out innocently enough; as innocent as two commanding officers sneaking away into the abandoned wings of the airport terminal could be, that is. Something casual—their own form of stress relief—blossomed into something much more serious. Much more connected. And, it would be a lie to say that it didn’t sting a little thinking of how it’d become so entrapped in the web of lies Curtis had spun throughout his career.
He paused, almost unable to meet the gaze of the Colonel. A low sigh fell from his pressed lips, releasing the heat of his own tension. The urge to claw his way out of the room, damned be the consequence. Cowardly, as it were, he didn’t want to die. No—that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to kill James Hsu. His James. And so he spoke, voice leveled as he cautiously untangled his thoughts.
“I have... learned things, being here. Things that do not change my view of the Republic’s beliefs. No, the NCR will continue to do nothing more than bolster its presence on the Strip. Hinder the land with its standing.” His voice grew firmer, though he paused. This ideological debate was not the focus of their conversation. “But there is something beyond that. Something that you, and you alone, have shown me. I do not see you as an adversary, James.”
The closest thing to a confession—an affirmation—that the Colonel would receive. And, perhaps naively, it would have to do. It would be enough for him in this moment. He took a breath and stepped back, checking the door once more. Ensuring it was still shut, ensuring that the approaching footsteps continued past. Only when they were distant, near silent, and only then, did he speak again.
“If what you say is true, then you have to make this right. It is your duty to bury this,” he slides the schematics onto the nearby table, hesitating before abandoning them. Entrusting them back to their designer. “I... trust you have a plan for such a contingency.”
“Of course.” He spared the details. Figured that James would wish to stay in the dark, which did put a bit of a damper on his own mood.
The plan was straightforward, though it would be easier if there were an additional set of hands on the matter. Sneaking the plans and some loose junk into Davey Crenshaw’s footlocker would be fair game; hardly anybody lingered in the barracks long enough to notice. No, the hard part—and the most exciting, to Curtis—was the disposing of the Private. The two had an amicable enough relationship that he was certain he’d be able to lure him away from suspecting eyes. That said, there could also be a creative spin to put on it. A twist leaning into the youth’s knack for theatrics and pranks. One way or another, blood would be spilled, and they’d have a mole to serve to upper brass. He shrugged the idea off, though was unable to hide the spark in his eyes that had tipped James off.
The latter simply shook his head and sighed. “Whatever it is, just make sure it’s done... right. We cannot risk—”
The Captain stepped forward, finally secure in taking the initiative once more. He closed the gap considerably, leaving less than an arm’s length between the two. Left little room for the Colonel’s startled breath to escape him. Who’d cornered who, now?
Ron grinned, allowing muscles to relax as the other’s briefly grew taut. He oozed the same confidence that’d carried him so far. Carried him through his ranks, and into the arms of his compatriot; carried him to press his lips against James’. To grab at his arm and hold him in place as he’d sealed their deal. When he withdrew, he left the conversation with one last note of interest. One last prod at the Bear’s jaw.
“I know. Your secret is safe with me, amicus.”