1.

Most of the time, Arcade is blase about declining women's advances. If they seem genuine, he is a little more kind, but being hit on by women has never made him uncomfortable.

Until he walked into Gomorrah.

He had agreed with Kieran that they should split up for a couple hours, to better play the part of average casino patrons, but within ten minutes he wishes he'd argued to stick together. Kieran had headed toward the blackjack tables without a second thought; Arcade had wandered into Brimstone for a drink, and the only reason he didn't turn around and walk right back out is because that would seem suspicious.

He has never seen so many women so close to being naked. Some of them are dancing on the catwalk stage, hips twitching and rolling as Big Maybelle declares that there's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on at near-painful decibels. Arcade has to shout at the bartender three times before they understand his order.

The girls approach him not long after he has his drink in hand, pressing close to him, flirting and teasing and whispering encouragement and promises and prices, and well over half of them have the slow, sleepy voices and dilated eyes he associates with Med-X abuse. It makes his skin crawl for reasons that have nothing to do with his orientation.

Arcade does his best to seem casual, but it's difficult. Even the patrons that aren't willing to pay for the girls' time don't complain about being touched or fawned over, but Arcade seems to spend most of his time waving his hands and saying inane things like Oh, no thank you, thank you though!

After an hour the girls seem to take the hint, and Arcade relaxes a little. He sips a second whiskey drink and spends the next hour people-watching, keeping an eye out for either the beautiful blonde Joana or the short, balding Cachino despite the dim red lighting and growing crowd.

Not long after he finishes his drink, a hand comes down on his shoulder. Arcade turns, bracing himself to push another girl away.

To his immense relief, it's Kieran standing there. Arcade turns on his swiveling bar stool to face him, trying to hear what he's saying, but it's no use - the music is too goddamn loud, and he has to point to his ears and shake his head.

Kieran pauses, nodding, and slips closer until he's standing almost between Arcade's knees. He leans in; Arcade catches the faint scent of scotch on his breath, and then his skin is tingling with gooseflesh as Kieran speaks into his ear.

"Got us a table closer to the stage," he says, and Arcade can't stop the shiver that runs down his spine. "I'm hopin' it'll be easier to see down there. Ya ready?"

"Y-yeah." Arcade swallows, doing his best to compose himself. "Lead on."

"Better hang onto my shoulder," Kieran says, "Crowd's thick."

Arcade doesn't argue; he gets to his feet and lays his hand on Kieran's right shoulder, letting Kieran lead him through the throng and down to a table at the right-hand corner of the T-shaped catwalk. The rope lights running along the edges of the catwalk are a soft red, and in the center of the black table is a tall, sturdy steel pole.

"It was the only one available," Kieran says, with an apologetic shrug. "It can't be that bad, right?"

Arcade sits, heaving a sigh as a girl wearing slightly more clothing than the dancers stops to ask them if they'd like drinks. Kieran hands her an aureus and tells her to bring them Dirty Wastelanders til they leave and consider the rest a tip.

"You sure?" she asks, somewhat startled. "This is..."

"I'm sure." Kieran winks at her, grinning. "I had a streak of luck at the blackjack tables earlier."

As the girl leaves to get their drinks, Arcade looks at Kieran, one eyebrow arched.

"What?" Kieran scratches the back of his neck, his grin shifting into that sheepish little aw-shucks-mister smile that Arcade both hates and loves.

"A little streak of luck, huh?" Arcade echoes. "How much did you make, Kieran?"

Kieran mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a number ending in thousand, and Arcade blinks at him, incredulous.

"Come again?" he says. "Sorry, my ears must need cleaning. It sounds like you said you won a thousand caps? At blackjack?"

"Seven," Kieran mutters, averting his eyes.

"Seven...?"

"Seven thousand." Kieran sighs, scrubbing a hand over his stubbled cheek. "I won seven thousand caps playin' blackjack, 'Cade."

"Seven thou...Kieran, we're supposed to be keeping a low profile!"

"I can't help it!" Kieran hangs his ragged black cowboy hat on the back of his chair, pushing stray locks of his red hair back from his forehead. "It just...kept happenin'. Look, at least this way we got spare caps for bribe money or somethin'."

"Well, if we don't spot Cachino or Joana soon, we might need it." Arcade sighs, glancing around the area; it is clearer down here next to the stage, and they have a better view of the whole of Brimstone. "So what, do we sit here and people-watch until we find what we're looking for?"

"Guess so. If we ain't laid eyes on 'em in a couple hours we'll revisit the bribe idea, how's that?"

"Fine by me." Arcade opens his mouth to add something, but it evaporates from his mind as a platform heel plants itself in the middle of their table, leading up to a pair of long, fishnet-clad legs.

"Howdy, boys," the girl says, speaking in a high, breathy drawl as she slides into a crouch behind the pole. "Is there anything I can do for y'all tonight?"

Arcade glances toward the girl and immediately shifts his gaze in the opposite direction, his face flushing; Kieran splutters for a moment before finding his tongue.

"Ah, no, no thank you," he says, his voice tight and nervous. "But, um, th-thank you?"

Arcade sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses as the girl flirts, much to Kieran's further embarrassment.

It's going to be a long night...

2.

Another hour passes before they're approached by the only male dancer in the room. Arcade had seen the light come on with the last girl they had politely rejected, and as she left their table, she had caught the male dancer's eye and nodded toward them.

At first he's relieved, but as the dancer swings down off the stage and onto their table his relief dissolves into something else, something that's part horror and part embarrassment.

This is no man, not really. The boy could be in his mid-twenties, but in all likelihood he's closer to 19; he's beautiful and well-built, with dark, wavy hair, evenly tanned olive skin and startling blue eyes, but his face is too smooth, too soft, and Arcade has enough medical training to recognize his extreme muscle definition for what it is: dehydration.

"Hey fellas," the dancer says in a low, pleasant baritone. He hooks an elbow around the pole and sinks into a crouch, the shiny black material of his tight shorts squeaking against the metal as he slips down.

"I'm Helios." He smiles at them, showing off straight white teeth. "The girls think I might be a little more your type. That right?"

Arcade opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out; he doesn't know what the hell to say, and he glances at Kieran for help, unsure how forthcoming they should be.

Kieran, however, is useless. His only response is a semi-hysterical giggle that he smothers behind one hand.

"Nervous, hm? That's okay. People care about that kinda thing out there." Helios tosses his head in the approximate direction of the front doors, indicating the wider world beyond them. With slow, sensuous grace he rolls his body up the pole and swings around in front of it, bracing it against his back, and Arcade can't seem to make himself look away.

"But in here..." Helios laughs softly, resting his hands on his knees and sinking into another crouch, spreading his muscular thighs as he goes. "Well, in here, anything goes, and whatever you need, boys, I promise I've got it."

Arcade clears his throat and struggles to swallow. Helios has a great deal of something, and under different circumstances Arcade might even agree with needing it, but at the moment he's too embarrassed to form a coherent thought, and Kieran, damn him to hell, is snickering again.

Helios studies them, his full lips quirked into a smirk; after a moment he rolls his body forward and kneels down near Kieran's side of the table, his latex-clad ass resting on his heels as he glances down at Kieran in a conspiratorial sort of way.

"I believe your partner is a little embarrassed, sir," Helios says, speaking in a stage whisper. "Is he shy?"

Kieran's eyes widen, as if he can't quite believe what's happening; despite Arcade's furious glare, he's grinning like a madman, and his freckled cheeks are flushed pink.

"Ya can say that again," he replies, his voice strained with the effort of holding back laughter.

"Awe, poor baby." Helios feigns sympathy, his luxurious voice hinting at a pout; he leans forward on his hands to face Arcade, fixing him with sultry, half-lidded blue eyes. "Don't you worry about a thing. I promise I'll be gentle."

Kieran almost loses his mind at this, covering his mouth with both hands and vibrating with silent, hysterical laughter.

Arcade glares at him, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Helios despite his best efforts; he can feel the heat in his face, and he tries to explain himself, tries to articulate the reason for his discomfort in a clear, intelligent manner.

What comes out of his mouth is anything but clear and intelligent; he stutters and stumbles over his words, turning his explanation into a desperate and indignant hiss.

"It's not that - I mean, you can't just - I don't - you're not - I mean - I mean..."

Kieran is wheezing; Helios is smiling at him, soft and indulgent, and Arcade can't take it.

"Damn it, I'm 36 years old!" He snaps, then reels back and sinks down in his seat as he realizes the volume of his outburst. To his relief, Brimstone is still loud enough that no one but Kieran and Helios seem to have heard him...although it might have been better if everyone but those two had heard him.

Kieran loses control for a moment, dissolving into a brief but frantic fit of laughter that he chokes back with significant effort.

"Age is just a number in Gomorrah," Helios replies with a smirk, crawling closer.

Arcade scoots his seat a few inches away from the table, heart racing, trying to remember how to swallow.

Bemused, Helios peers over the edge of the table, fixing his bright blue eyes between Arcade's legs.

Panicking, Arcade scoots up to the table again, only to freeze in place when he finds himself almost nose to nose with a smirking Helios.

"But if it helps," Helios purrs, cocking an eyebrow, "I can take just as good as I give, daddy."

Arcade's entire head seems to catch on fire; he covers his face with his hands, sinking low in his seat, the only thought in his mind a constant, frantic refrain of oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

A moment later Kieran loses it, bursting into a breathless fit of giggling to rival any thirteen-year-old girl, and Arcade manages a groan of disapproval. He peeks through his fingers, glaring, and Kieran makes a semi-successful effort to get himself under control.

Helios sits back on his heels, giving Arcade space, and after a moment Arcade sits up and reaches for his drink. After draining ¾ of his Dirty Wastelander in one draught, he holds his head up again.

Helios laughs, winking at him as he rolls his body back into a crouch.

"I can't help teasing the handsome ones," he says, "Would you two prefer if I shut my big mouth and danced for a while?"

Helios had apparently decided that neither Kieran nor Arcade were going to take his bait, but as usual, Arcade's sense of relief is short-lived.

"Actually, I was kinda hopin' for the opposite," Kieran says, much to Arcade's shock. "If I wanted t'get you alone with the two of us...how much would that be?"

Helios's eyes widen, but he recovers quickly. "Depends on how long you can last, big guy...and what you want."

Kieran nods, but Arcade can tell from the mad light in his eye he's still on the verge of dissolving into laughter.

"Here's...let's see...four aureus. That a good start?" Kieran asks. "I'm good for caps too, but it, uh...seems like ya ain't got much room for those."

Helios laughs, plucking the gold coins out of Kieran's fingers and tucking them into the tiny back pocket of his tight latex shorts

As Helios gets to his feet, Arcade shoots Kieran a wide-eyed glare, mouthing What the hell is wrong with you?!

Kieran's only response is that familiar, infuriating aw-shucks grin; as he turns it on Helios, offering his hand, it grows into a beaming smile.

"Well, aren't you a gentleman?" Helios murmurs, placing his hand in Kieran's and letting him help him down from the table.

"I, uh. I try." Kieran rubs the back of his neck, blushing, and a surge of absurd but undeniable jealousy rises in Arcade's chest.

Kieran is oblivious, preoccupied with settling his hat on his head and knocking back the last of his drink, but Helios misses nothing. The boy leans toward Arcade and touches a finger beneath his chin, tilting his head so that Arcade has no choice but to look at him.

"Relax, handsome," Helios says, speaking under his breath so that Kieran doesn't hear. "You're the one going home with him, after all. I'm just here to make sure you both have a good time."

Arcade doesn't know what to say to that and doesn't have time to reply.

Kieran offers Helios his arm and Helios takes it, offering his to Arcade. After a brief glance at Kieran, he sighs and links arms with Helios.

They make a stop at the bar where Kieran and Helios exchange flirtatious comments and arrange for someone to bring drinks to the room. As Kieran turns to pay the bartender, Helios's sultry expression falters; his eyes glaze over and he clutches at the edge of the bar for support, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head before taking a deep breath and letting it out in a slow, even exhale. A muscle under the skin near his cheekbone jumps and when he swallows he takes two or three times to do it properly.

"Water," Arcade hears himself say, tearing his eyes away from Helios and looking at the bartender. "A gallon, if you don't mind."

Kieran gives him an odd look, but shrugs and hands over the caps.

As Helios leads them down one of the red-carpeted hallways toward his room, Arcade tunes out the conversation in favor of studying the young man's body. There is nothing sexual in his appraisal; he makes note of the sharp muscle definition, the lack of sweat, the muscle tics, the occasional tremor, the heavy breathing disguised as breathless excitement, and most of all the heat baking off his skin.

It's that heat that concerns him most, because Helios isn't sweating at all.

By the time Helios turns the lock on the door to his room, most of Arcade's embarrassment has evaporated in favor of deep concern.

3.

"You two wait here for the drinks while I go change into something a little more comfy, hm? I promise I won't keep you waiting too long."

Helios winks at them before turning his back and walking through the doorway in the far corner, into the restroom. Arcade glimpses a refurbished wooden wardrobe and a multicolored mosaic tile floor.

As soon as the door closes, Kieran's hand falls on his shoulder.

"'Cade, y'know I'm not doin' this for real, right?" he whispers. "I'm doing it to get infor...'Cade? You okay?"

"Hm? Yes." Arcade steps away from Kieran and approaches the door to the restroom; age has warped the wood, and it no longer fits into the frame as well as it should. There is a small gap above one hinge and Arcade turns an ear toward it, listening to long, careful, measured breathing, and a few muttered swears. He barely registers room service, noticing and dismissing Kieran's mumbled words of thanks and the quiet clink of bottles and glasses.

"Helios?" Arcade says at length. "Are you all right?"

The whisper is soft, near tears, almost panicked: Shit!

The actual voice is as sultry as ever, teasing him: "Just getting ready for you, daddy."

Kieran snickers again; Arcade glares at him, and something about his expression must give away the depth of his concern, because Kieran falls silent, his grin evaporating as he nods his understanding.

Satisfied, Arcade turns back to the bathroom door.

"Helios, you don't have to keep that up," he says. "When you feel all right, please come out so we can talk."

There's no response; Arcade hadn't expected one. He crosses the room and sits down beside Kieran on the black-and-red reupholstered loveseat.

"How many caps have you got on you?" He asks absently, fishing his penlight out of one pocket and clipping it to his lapel within easy reach.

"A lot," Kieran answers. "Blackjack, remember? Most of it's in the friggin Legion's money 'cause it's easier t'carry, but not all of it. Why?"

"Because you might have to buy this boy's services for the next week."

"Damn, 'Cade." Kieran cocks an eyebrow, bewildered.

"Not like that." Arcade sighs, too preoccupied for embarrassment. "He's sick, Kieran. Sick and dehydrated. If he doesn't rest he's going to get worse, but I doubt the Omerta bosses let their, ah...dancers...have much time off unless it's paid for."

"Oh, shit." Kieran tilts his hat back, glancing toward the bathroom door. "In that case, yeah, sure, I'll buy him out for a week, I can afford it. And if I can't I can find some dumb drunk gambler willin' to play Caravan."

"Freelance gambling in the Omerta casino doesn't seem like a great idea, Kieran," Arcade mutters, bouncing his leg; he's speaking just to be saying something, and Kieran seems to realize it. They both know that with Kieran's uncanny luck he wouldn't get caught pickpocketing the Omerta bosses themselves, let alone doing any unsanctioned gambling.

They sit in silence for a while. Arcade is too preoccupied for conversation, and Kieran studies the room just for something to do.

The Omertas had done an exceptional job raising Gomorrah from its original state of abandonment and disrepair, and the rooms of their 'dancers' seem to be no exception. Lengths of textured fabric in various shades of black and red hide the pocked ceiling and battered, faded walls, and heavy, black and grey rugs cover the patched concrete floor. The wooden furniture is well repaired and painted black, and pieces that had once been inlaid with glass have had it replaced with wire mesh.

A queen-sized bed sits across from the loveseat and coffee table, resting in a heavy iron frame that's been painted black and draped in gauzy lengths of fabric; the colors range from blue to green and all the shades in between, providing a contrast against the black and red bedding.

Next to the bed, where there had likely once been a second of similar size, a smooth steel pole extends from ceiling to floor. Huge pillows, reupholstered sofa cushions, and myriad blankets are scattered in a circle around it, creating a comfortable little nest.

On the far wall from the pole dancing area is a heavy dresser. The drawers have individual keyholes, and there are two padlocked footlockers on top of it.

Kieran blushes, his imagination running away with him as he wonders what could be behind all those locks; he's so distracted that he almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of the bathroom door.

Helios emerges; he's combed his hair back and there are bright, hectic spots of color on his cheeks and lips, as if he'd pinched and bitten them. He's also wearing snug, silky black boxer briefs and nothing else.

The outfit, such as it is, leaves very little to the imagination. Kieran swallows the absurd, knee-jerk urge to laugh, and waits for Arcade to take the lead.

"Well, looks like somebody wants to play doctor." Helios smirks, moving toward them with sinuous grace and offering Arcade a slow, sultry smile. "Or are you just worried you might catch something?"

That thought hadn't even crossed Kieran's mind, but Helios doesn't give them time to answer. He nudges Arcade's thighs apart with one knee and slips between them, neat as whiskey, and just like that Arcade is back to blushing and Kieran is fighting the nervous laughter that threatens to bubble up in his throat.

"I keep myself clean, but I'll let you two examine me all you like." Helios shifts as he speaks, his body moving like liquid as he turns and drapes himself across their laps, his upper body resting on Kieran's thighs. "For four hundred caps, I'm yours till morning, boys."

The mention of caps jogs Kieran's memory; he glances toward Arcade and asks, "Four hundred times...what's that come to, 'Cade?"

"Ah...um. Two thousand and...eight hundred," Arcade answers; his nose scrunches a little as he thinks, and it makes Kieran smile.

"Can you handle that?" Arcade adds, tilting his head. "I know you said you won seven thousand, but have you exchanged it yet, or...?"

Kieran rolls his eyes and snorts with laughter. "Of course I exchanged it, I ain't an idiot. I can handle it, 'Cade, don't worry."

"While I'm flattered," Helios says, reminding them of his presence with a faint edge of fear creeping into his voice, "I haven't been told that my contract is for sale. Or are you two...oh, god, y-you two aren't from the L-Legion, right?!"

His hands shake; his body grows tense as stone, though he doesn't move, doesn't run away. He only lies frozen across their laps, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable, breathing like a hunted thing.

Somewhere in the back of Kieran's mind is an opening in the fog, a break in the blank haze of nothingness that has obscured his past ever since he woke up in Doc Mitchell's house.

It frightens him, and he shies away from it, closing his eyes and shaking his head before he forces himself to concentrate on Helios, rather than whatever lost memory Helios himself has triggered.

"Hey, no," he says softly. "That ain't...c'mon, how 'bout ya sit up for me?"

Helios tries to move, but he's shaking more now, glancing back and forth between Kieran and Arcade with wide, jittery eyes.

"C'mon, I gotcha." Kieran helps Helios to his feet and guides him to the foot of the bed, crouching down next to him as Arcade pulls a blanket around his bare shoulders.

"Look at me. Hey, Helios, look at me, okay? We ain't Legion," Kieran says, emphatic, holding Helios's gaze. "We ain't Legion. And while I'm sure you're damn talented, we ain't here for service, neither."

Helios does not seem comforted; if anything, he grows more suspicious.

"All right. So you aren't Legion," he says, wary. "But you were talking about close to three thousand caps. I've never had a man so much as buy me a drink without expecting something in return. So what is it you two want? If it's me, that's fine, I'll do anything you say, anything you want, but please, just...I'd rather you just come back and see me when you want me? I don't...I don't think I'm suited to, um...personal servitude."

"We aren't trying to buy you, or your contract," Arcade says quietly.

"Then why..."

"I've got some questions I'm hopin' ya can answer for me, that's all," Kieran assures him. "We're looking for a couple folks and ain't seen 'em so far tonight, and we was hopin' you could tell us a little more about 'em if we got ya in private. That's all."

Helios frowns. "Who..."

"Not yet." Kieran sighs and sits back on his heels, nodding toward Arcade. "He wants to check you over first. That all right?"

Helios turns from Kieran to Arcade, studying him with a little wrinkle of concentration between his brows, tilting his head to get a better look at the symbol on the sleeve of his lab coat.

"The Followers of the Apocalypse...? So you really are a doctor," Helios murmurs. "But I don't understand, why does it matter to you if I'm sick or not?"

"That's what the Followers do," Arcade answers with a sigh, dragging a red wingback chair up to the foot of the bed and taking a seat. "We help people. And you need help, Helios."

Helios cocks an eyebrow. "You won't try to get me to quit sex work, right? Even if the bosses would let me go, I don't know that I would. I like the job."

"If you don't want to quit, that's fine," Arcade answers. "But you need time off. A week, maybe more. That's what we were talking about, buying you a week off so you can get well."

"Shit." Helios runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "Is it...I was trying so hard not to show how rough I felt. Was it really that obvious?"

"No. I noticed because I'm trained to notice," Arcade says, unhooking his penlight from his lapel. "Do you mind if I check your throat?"

Helios smirks for a moment, but he keeps his innuendo to himself for the time being and opens his mouth. Arcade peers in and frowns.

"Hm." He snaps off his penlight and clips it back to his lapel, lifting his hands toward Helios's neck. "May I...?"

Helios nods, allowing Arcade to check his lymph nodes without protest.

"Have you had a sore throat?" Arcade asks, pulling away and grabbing his penlight again to scribble a few notes. "The inside is very red, and you have some minor swelling."

"Off and on, for about two weeks now." Helios sighs. "Thought it was, uh...work related, but it's been...well, long enough."

Arcade nods, making another note, and pulls a small, flat steel case from his side pocket. He opens it and selects a thin glass tube; mercury thermometers are uncommon in the wasteland, and he takes care as he disinfects it with a shot glass of whiskey from the coffee table.

"Hold that," he says, pointing the thermometer at Helios's mouth.

Helios tucks it under his tongue.

"Good. Now where did I put..."

Arcade turns away, mumbling to himself and patting his pockets before locating his notepad and pen. He doesn't turn back around, scribbling another few words and re-reading what he'd written before, absently tapping one foot.

Kieran glances at Helios and offers what he hopes is a comforting smile. Helios smiles back as best he can, but within seconds a devilish gleam appears in his blue eyes. He points at Arcade, rolls his eyes back in his head and mimes fanning himself.

Kieran grins; he can't help himself, and nods his agreement, knowing Arcade can't see them.

Helios points to Arcade again, then points at Kieran; he repeats this a couple times before looking at Kieran and cocking an eyebrow, as if to say, Well?

Kieran's face flushes with heat. He shakes his head with a nervous smile, waving his hands; No, no, it's not like that!

Helios gives him an incredulous look, throwing his hands out, palms up; Why the hell not?!

Kieran mouths the word friends; Helios rolls his eyes before pointing at Arcade, then pointing at Kieran; he turns hopeless puppy eyes on Arcade's back and mimes a swoon before pointing an emphatic finger at Kieran once again.

Kieran can only shrug, his face burning as he scratches the back of his neck and gives Helios that sheepish smile that Arcade knows so well.

Helios rolls his eyes again; he points to Arcade, then to his own eyes, fixing them on Kieran with a dreamy, lovesick sigh.

Kieran waves this off with a silent laugh, shaking his head...and then he pauses, glancing at Helios and tilting his head: Wait, seriously?

Helios gives an exaggerated nod.

"And sixty," Arcade mutters, and by the time he turns around and reaches for the thermometer, neither Kieran nor Helios are so much as looking at one another.

"You have a fever of a hundred and one, Helios," Arcade says, frowning. "Yet you aren't even sweating. When was the last time you drank water? Plain water?"

Helios shrugs. "We - the male dancers, I mean - don't drink much water 'cause being dehydrated makes our muscles stand out more. Brings more customers."

Arcade sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "And on that note...Kieran, go ahead."

"The family don't give ya time off?" Kieran asks.

Helios shakes his head. "If I didn't work for a week, they'd...well. Wouldn't be pretty. They make more money off the women, but I'm one of the best men they've got for profit."

"Whatever they'd do," Kieran says, sparing Helios the need to elaborate, "They'd do 'cause they'd lose money. How much d'you bring in a week?"

"Um...I get about 250-300 caps on an average night," he answers. "So that's..."

"2100," Kieran supplies. "And how much of that d'you keep?"

"50 caps a night, 350 a week."

"How much of that do you really get to keep?"

"Not much. The family keeps most of that to pay for room and board, food, medical treatment, stuff like that, but it's never enough. It's in the contract. I guess it's kinda designed to keep us here, but I don't mind as much as some others do." Helios shrugs. "I like the job, y'know? I do. A little more...agency, I guess, that'd be nice. If I could refuse clients..."

He shrugs again, giving them a hint of his flirtatious smile. "Wouldn't refuse you two, of course. I'm a little disappointed. You're both so handsome, and all you wanna do is talk to me."

"Flattery will get ya everywhere," Kieran says with a grin. "When you're not sick, anyway. How much do ya think I'd have to offer the bosses to get 'em to let ya rest for a week, then?"

Helios thinks for a moment, counting something or other on his fingers. "Around...2500 on the low end. 3000 if they're in a bad mood."

"And who do I talk to to find 'em?"

"Cachino, most likely. Balding guy, tan suit, short, rude."

Kieran grins as he gets to his feet, adjusting his cowboy hat with one hand before pulling Arcade to the side.

"I ain't gonna press Cachino just yet," he mumbles, speaking under his breath. "Get him settled in, see what he'll tell ya about Cachino and Joana. I'll take care of his time off, don't worry."

"Be careful," Arcade says.

Kieran flashes him a grin as he reaches for the doorknob.

"Always," he replies, and with a sarcastic tip of his hat, he's gone.

Arcade stares at the closed door for a moment, fighting off the anxiety that always blooms in his chest whenever Kieran is out of his sight, relying on nothing but his own wits.

A heavy, exasperated sigh from Helios snaps him out of it somewhat, and he turns toward his new patient with one eyebrow arched. "You wanted to say something?"

"Me? Nah," Helios replies, "You, on the other hand, should say something to him. Soon."

Arcade pretends not to hear this piece of advice.

4.

The Omerta bosses insist that they can't let Helios off for a week for less than 3000 caps.

Kieran, burdened with blackjack winnings, offers 5000 for a week and a half, plus better food and more water.

The bosses agree to those terms without complaint, and after a brief discussion of details, they dismiss Kieran and start counting their caps.

Kieran leaves, tucking a Guns & Bullets magazine into his jeans pocket as he goes and making a brief pit stop in the office next door. He isn't sure which of the bosses belongs to which office, but it doesn't much matter; right now, they're both in the other one, and Kieran has plenty of time to hack into the terminal and unlock the safe.

Without so much as a backward glance at the door, he pockets the contents of the safe and closes it again before going on his way.

5.

Kieran slips back into Helios's room to find him sitting up in bed, propped against some cushions from the floor near the pole. He's grinning at Arcade, who sits in the red wingback chair next to him, blushing furiously as he scribbles something on his notepad.

"You're off for a week and a half," Kieran says, electing not to ask questions. "And you'll get more food and water, too."

Helios's eyes widen. "How much did you give them?!"

"Five thousand." Kieran shrugs, tilting his hat back as he leans against the wall near Arcade. "Again, blackjack. Seven thousand caps."

"You should watch it," Helios says, arching an eyebrow. "They ban you from gambling at nine thousand, you know."

"Well, shit. I do now." Kieran glances down at Arcade, who tears out the page of his notepad and adds it to two more on Helios's nightstand.

"Prescriptions or instructions?" He asks.

"A bit of both. He answered my questions about Joana, by the way. I'll fill you in, we need to let him rest." Arcade puts seven Stimpaks on the nightstand before looking at Helios. "I'll come back in a few days to check on you, all right?"

Helios glances up at Kieran for a moment before turning his best sultry gaze on Arcade.

"I'll always be happy to see you, daddy," he purrs, as Kieran stifles another fit of snickering behind his hand.

Arcade sighs, his cheekbones flushing pink, but this time he doesn't miss a beat.

"Not if I come back to find you talking like that, you won't," he says sternly, tucking his notepad and pen back into his coat pocket as he gets to his feet. "A week off means a week off, Helios. So why don't you be a good boy and do what you're told, hm?"

Kieran and Helios glance at one another in wide-eyed surprise. Helios is too accomplished at his job to be thrown for long. Kieran, however, looks stricken, his cheeks flushed with heat, his throat working.

Delighted at this reaction, Helios gives Kieran a less than subtle smirk, dropping his gaze down between Kieran's legs before looking up again and arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes sir," Helios replies, drawing Arcade's attention before he sees what he's done to Kieran. "I'll be so good for you, daddy, you'll see."

Arcade sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Helios..."

Neither Helios nor Kieran can tell if the faint warning edge in his voice is real or playful; they exchange another brief glance, and the panic on Kieran's face sends Helios into a fit of laughter that triggers a single, painful cough.

"Well, shit," he mumbles, still smiling despite the tightness in his chest. "That's what I get, I guess. I'm sorry, Dr. Gannon, sometimes I can't help it. But I really will be good. Thank you both. You didn't have to do this."

"There's, ah...no need to call me that," Arcade replies, waving a hand. "Arcade is fine. I'm just glad I could help someone in here."

"Aw, hell. I'd rather spend gamblin' money on doin' somethin' good." Kieran smiles, still a little red in the face. "If anyone starts given' you a hard time, just let me know."

"I will. You two be careful," he says, with a little more gravity. "The family is...they're not the kind of people you want to piss off."

Kieran's smile widens into a grin, his violet eyes darkening to that stormcloud shade that Arcade is so familiar with but never seems to get used to.

"Neither am I," he says, and then the stormclouds recede and he's smiling again, sunny and bright as ever. "Take care, Helios."

He steps into the hall, leaving Arcade and Helios looking at one another.

After a moment, Helios cocks an eyebrow and fans himself with one hand. "Goddamn."

Arcade smirks, glancing out the door at Kieran's back before looking back at Helios.

"I know, right?" he says, and walks out the door.

6.

By the time Arcade and Kieran return to check up on Helios a few days later, Joana is safe and Gomorrah is under new management.

In theory, Cachino is in charge. In reality, Kieran has Cachino by the short hairs, and the man caves to him like wet paper, agreeing to leave the sex work aspect of Gomorrah's management in someone else's hands and focus on running the casino, understanding that if he so much as looks at a single one of the 'dancers' in the wrong way, he'll soon lack the equipment to act on any fantasy ever again.

Once he's well, Helios takes on the job of fixing Gomorrah's sex work system. He forms a committee with a few of the other popular sex workers, and together they throw out the contracts of everyone who wants out, offering them a thousand caps each as reparations and 500 as severance. For those that want to stay, they renegotiate their contracts with fair, safe terms, and with Arcade's help, they come to an agreement with the Followers to provide medical care to the sex workers in exchange for a cut of the casino's profits, giving the Followers a source of caps to work with.

Many of the Omerta thugs continue to work at Gomorrah, their loyalty secured by more freedom, less fear, and better pay; they have no qualms about kicking out anyone who tries to break the new rules about client behavior.

For a few weeks there are bitter complaints about these changes, but it comes to nothing. The patrons of New Vegas adapt, as they always do.

Besides, once folks realize who's really in charge, they shut up in a hurry. No one on the Strip is keen to cross the Courier.