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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"No.  Nothing’s that cold in the Mojave.  I like it."
I shrugged noncommittally and replaced them.  Poor circulation was clearly very sexy.  Vampire fetishists were in luck with my pale, freezing ass.  At least she wasn’t complaining because that wasn’t something I could readily fix.  
The clit had never been my area of expertise, but trying to think of it as a very very tiny penis seemed to help.  I rubbed until my thumbs went numb and she came.  Panting, Lucia slumped against my chest.  I hoped we might be done for the night until she bit my shoulder.  Hard.  Slender fingers clawed my biceps and she settled her hips very purposefully onto my crotch.  
I wasn’t hard because I hadn’t thought that I’d need to be and when she realized that, the fury in her eyes had me expecting a punch.  "What the hell?!"
I raised my hands as much in surrender as to deflect an attack, but I shouldn’t have bothered.  She caught my wrists and used her leverage to pin me.  Her pale brown eyes probed for any weakness.  They paused on my bracers and collar.  Like a striking scorpion, she dove to untie the laces of the bracer on my right arm and I grabbed her wrist.  She way she glared, I barely managed not to whimper.  "Please, don’t..."  
Twisting her hand out of my grip, Lucia untied the bracer and shucked it off, throwing it across the room probably just because I hadn’t wanted her to remove it.  I let my smile fade, more focused on just keeping myself calm now.  She knew I wasn’t happy, that wasn’t worth hiding anymore.  At least not until I got out of here.  
Lucia sat back for a few seconds, one hand still holding the wrist of my limp arm.  I didn’t dare struggle, so I just let gravity resist her as much as it would, and hoped I wouldn’t slap myself in the face if she let go.  She held my forearm like a prize while her other hand moved to trace the lattice of scars.  From anyone else, I’d expect pity or concern, but I knew that wasn’t the case.  She was just enjoying how vulnerable I was; she knew she could use this against me.  
Lucia didn’t bother to check my other arm.  Once she was satisfied in her study of my scars, she grabbed the metal ring on my collar and hauled me into a sitting position.  "We’re going to have sex."
When I didn’t immediately move, she raked her nails along my abdomen.  "Even if you don’t fear death, I know you fear pain."
I maintained a grimace.  She was wrong.  I didn’t fear either.  But I didn’t want to be helpless, as I would be if I left.  And I would rather avoid more suffering while I was here.  I’d obey.  
I think she could tell that she had broken me, or at least convinced me.  She kept her grip on my collar, keeping it painfully tight around my throat, but she shifted her weight onto her knees and propped herself up, balancing with her hips far enough from my crotch that I could get myself hard again.  She barely gave me enough time before she forced me inside of her and slammed my back down onto the bed.  My skull smacked against the headboard and I groaned but fell silent as her free hand clamped over my mouth.  "Quiet."
I wasn’t going to argue with a heavily armed sadist, at least not considering that she kept most of her weapons in this same room and could no doubt use them more effectively than I could.  
Lucia pounded her hips against me hard enough that I saw bruises there later.  She shifted around my cock with the force of the muscles pushing her onto me.  Given that and the fact that I’d never been too clear on the sensation, I think she came more than twice.  She didn’t take her hand off my mouth and by the end I was gasping into it— as much because I couldn’t breath as due to pleasure.  It was the stimulation and the pain that got me off.  
When I came, Lucia hauled herself off of me, letting my seed spill across my stomach.  She hauled me upright by my collar and released my mouth.  I thought she did that because we were done or, more helpfully, so I could catch my breath.  At this point I was dizzy and my vision swam with lights and patterns.  I could feel my heart pounding painfully, but I chalked that up to my lack of air.  I glimpsed Lucia reaching into the pocket of her jacket but couldn’t process what she was doing.  I saw a flash of steel before something slipped beneath my collar.  Cold metal rested against my throat, pressing on my neck as I tried to breathe.  The blade nicked the skin and a trickle of blood snaked down to my collarbone.  
Lucia watched me unblinkingly.  "Never refuse me again."  She pressed the knife into my skin to emphasize her point before she retrieved it, slipping it back into the pocket of her jacket and leaving a deep cut in my neck, hidden beneath the leather of my collar.  "And if you tell anyone about this..."  She tapped that pocket pointedly.  
"Understood."  This arrangement wasn’t that different from what I’d had going with Nero, except the courier proved to be much more sadistic.  And I fully expected that she’d torture and kill me if I told anyone about this, whether or not they believed me enough to see through her innocent facade.  
Lucia dressed in under a minute and picked out her guns for the day while I tried to compose myself and get my heartbeat back down to a normal rhythm.  She paused, holding one of her largest rifles and gestured towards the door.  "Come on."
I was barely dressed when she shoved me ahead of her into the hallway while I was still struggling to lace my left bracer.  I found myself incredibly grateful that I’d even had time to cover my arm with it and lace the other one; stepping into the hallway, I found myself face to face with Arcade.  He’d been frowning in either annoyance or suspicion but seeing us leaving the courier’s bedroom, his expression shifted to awkward surprise.  At the time, I assumed that he realized we’d had sex.  I slunk sheepishly past him to go lie down on the couch where I slept.  
I didn’t hear all of the conversation he had with the courier, but I caught the gist as I laced up my bracer and made certain that my minimal clothing covered any possible sign of what we’d just done and what I’d done in the past.  I stretched out and spread the blanket over me while I listened.  
Arcade spoke in a hushed voice, presumably so I wouldn’t hear, but he underestimated my auditory acuity.  It probably helped that I’d never fired a gauss rifle in an underground bunker.  "Did you know he’d been making drugs?"
"Yeah," Lucia replied calmly and much more loudly.  "It’s fine, I’ve got him making Lily’s medicine and some things we might need if we run into another cazadore nest."
The doctor hesitated.  "You trust him with that?"
I heard Lucia laugh.  "And here I thought you might be biased based on his looks.  He’s cool.  You think he’s trying to poison us or something?"  She had the slightest edge to her voice and I knew she considered that possibility but didn’t think I’d be that defiant.  
"No," Arcade admitted, "and from what I saw of his set-up, it does look like he knows what he’s doing, but has it occurred to you why?  I know science isn’t your strong suit, but if the guy knows how to make these things..."
"What’s your point?"
Arcade sighed and spoke so quietly that I could only guess what he said from her reply.  
Lucia giggled.  "Relax, he’s not a junkie."  Did she believe that or did she just want to dismiss it the way she dismissed Cass’s alcoholism?  
He said something in reply and I couldn’t hear them anymore as they walked into the kitchen to get breakfast or deal with Cass.  I dozed off and didn’t wake until sometime that evening.  
*       *      *
Max was asleep when the courier and I got back.  I found him curled up on the couch, as usual.  The ragged pre-war wool blanket covered enough of him that I didn’t feel uncomfortable, but it also hid any possible sign that he might have been injecting himself.  I tapped his shoulder.  He mumbled something in his sleep but didn’t wake, he just rolled over.  I shook his arm.  "Max?"
Max mumbled something groggily and I froze with one hand still on his bicep.  Had he just said "paladin"?  He was still mostly asleep, and he hadn’t said it very clearly, but still.  A connection to the Brotherhood would explain his knowledge of chemistry and botany.  Although we’d found him at the Gomorra and he’d fled to us, not the Brotherhood, when Nero was after him.  Besides, there were other contexts for the word paladin.  I dismissed it as coincidence as he opened his eyes.  
Max yawned and rolled onto his side, "Huh?"  He looked about thirty right now.  The shadows and wrinkles around his eyes appeared even deeper and everything about him just seemed to sag, as if the vibrant energy he had when he was performing had completely dissipated.  He hadn’t shaved since yesterday and dark stubble added even more age to his face.  The day’s growth of beard also revealed a second scar, similar in width and shape to the one across his eyebrow except that this one ran along his jaw and neck, from the back of his particularly defined sternomastoid muscle almost to his cheekbone.  Either he used some sort of make-up in the mornings or he was hungover or sick.  He was probably hungover, considering last night.  
"Are you sick?"
Instantly, he was guarded.  He went from the kind of hopeless frown I saw in Freeside refugees to a cautious, questioning stare.  And then he tried to hide that.  "Do you just ask everyone?  Is that your method of doctoring?"
I chuckled and sat down beside him as he pulled his legs out of the way, curling up even more tightly.  That worried me although I tried not to show it.  I didn’t know him well enough to be certain and he was a good liar, but people usually curled up that tightly only when they were cold, scared, or in pain.  Granted, it was always a bit chilly here, but I doubted he’d be afraid of me.  Although, come to think of it, I had yet to see him eat... 
"Are you hungry?  And no, I don’t just ask everyone, you just seem...—"
"I’m not hungry," Max asserted, although his stomach seemed to contradict him by grumbling as he replied.  "And I’m fine, no viruses, no pathogens, no diseases as far as I know."
I’d been about to reply sarcastically, doubting he’d eaten anything all day, but his answer distracted me.  "Are you saying you’ve checked?"
Max nodded.  "I checked again yesterday, I check regularly.  You know there’s a microscope and a little medical equipment a few floors up, it seems like it used to be House’s personal physician’s office.  Or laboratory."  
He was deflecting, but that surprised me enough that I had to ask, "As far as I know, the courier never found that or she would have probably sold it all.  How did you find it?"
He folded his hands, right over left, not interlocking his fingers, and frowned.  For a moment, he stared at the wall.  Max sighed, "I can get places.  I’m good with machines.  Look, there’s really just the microscope, none of the rest is very useful or anything you can’t already get access to from the Followers.  My supplies are more limited."
"I could bring you stuff, you know.  If you need anything you can’t get here.  Like food?"
"I’m not starving," he insisted bitterly, "Stop asking."  The facade of the ever-friendly ever-flirty drunk had vanished completely.  I guess I’d sort of suspected, or maybe I’d noticed the cracks in his smile without fully realizing what that meant.  I’d mistaken him for someone like Santiago, who did anything for money and lied so constantly that he was always in trouble.  But that wasn’t the real Max.  He played the showman because that was how he survived and he’d either made mistakes or gotten forced into the life he had, but beneath that mask, he was a broken man, maybe even more broken than the junkies I dealt with back at the Fort.  
"How old are you?"
Those tawny eyes flicked over to me and his grin returned, not quite reaching his eyes.  "I probably look about thirty, don’t I?"
I nodded hesitantly, not wanting to agree if he was really much younger.  
"It’s my face," Max insisted, gesturing to his brow and boxy jawline.  "And probably how dark my beard comes in.  I’m eighteen."
My mouth went dry.  "...eighteen?"  I studied his face and frowned.  "There’s no way you’re eighteen."
He laughed and I couldn’t tell if that meant he’d been joking or if he was just amused that I didn’t believe him.  I rolled my eyes, deciding it must be the former.  He had to be at least twenty-five.  
"I’m serious, your bones aren’t as developed as they should be, it could be a sign of any number of diseases.  I know you have some medical knowledge, do you know if you might be malnourished?"  His build didn’t refute that; he was muscular with virtually no visible body fat, and his bulk could be easily explained by Buffout or other chems.  He certainly had the knowledge to make them himself and that would mask signs of starvation.  Thinking of his reaction to any mention of food and the fact that I had yet to see him eat, I wondered if he might be anorexic.  It would make sense, considering the emphasis his job had placed on appearance.  "Have you eaten anything today?"
His good humor vanished and he scowled at me.  "Stop worrying about me, please."  Max stood and stretched luxuriously.  He’d been sleeping in his clothes from the Gomorra, making that stretch a very distracting display of his body.  I’m pretty sure he did that on purpose.  I lapsed into silence, willing myself not to think about him sexually as he turned and staggered into the hallway.  I stood and followed him once I managed to focus again.  
*        *       *
My ploy didn’t work for long enough, Arcade stepped into the hall as I was passing the elevator, though I admit I wasn’t exactly running.  "Max, I can’t just ignore the fact that you’re sick, if that’s what this is—"
"It won’t do any good."
The floor swayed a little more than it had since I’d first stood and I stopped to lean against the wall with Arcade a few feet behind me, also halted.  His concern was justified for a lot of reasons, I guess, but it still annoyed me.  There was nothing I could do to change this right now, nothing he could do either.  Right now it didn’t help that I was hungover and had ended up two days late on taking what I needed to keep myself alive.  Either could have caused the vertigo I was now struggling with.  I stared at the subtle texture of the wall, trying to shake the feeling that I was standing in a very badly piloted vertibird.  Arcade spoke up before I felt stable enough to keep walking.  
"Why?"  I’m pretty sure he thought I was dying and I didn’t feel like correcting him.  For all I knew, I was dying, it was just happening more slowly than I would have liked.  
"It just doesn’t.  It isn’t going to change."  I didn’t look back, but I heard him follow me as I stumbled into the empty kitchen and grabbed a bottle of vodka from my stash beneath the sink.  I had about thirteen under there and didn’t expect anyone else to find them.  I didn’t mind letting Arcade see when I stashed them because I trusted that with his morality, he wouldn’t steal them and if he tried to wean me off vodka, I knew I could persuade him to give them back.  Besides, I’d distilled it myself and could make more if necessary.  Seeing the bottle in my hands as I closed the hidden panel and turned around, Arcade groaned.  
"Really?  You just woke up and—?"  He sighed in what I mistook for resignation.  "Max, getting drunk isn’t going to help."
I snorted derisively.  Arcade hadn’t moved since I’d entered the kitchen, so now his tall and pale figure blocked the doorway.  I walked up to him and opened the bottle.  "Getting drunk always helps.  Usually."  I downed a long gulp and when I paused for breath, he snatched the bottle out of my hands.  
"Whatever you’re dealing with, drinking isn’t going to solve—"  I wasn’t dealing with this first thing in the evening.  
Arcade held the bottle out of my reach, again, but I could still reach him.  I stepped forward, balancing on the balls of my feet and stretching upward to kiss him.  I lost my balance slightly, catching myself by grabbing his shoulder and accidentally pushing him back against the doorframe.  Falling and the fact that I caught him with his mouth open made the kiss deeper than I’d intended.  I slid my tongue into his mouth, stroking it across his own tongue as I edged into the doorway and grabbed the base of my bottle of vodka.  There wasn’t much space to move past him and I took advantage of that, intentionally pressing my body against his until I could reach the hallway.  I let my tongue trail over his lips as I pulled back.  I nipped his lower lip as I ended the kiss and grinned at his bewilderment.  His grip slackened so I grabbed my vodka and loped back to the couch before Arcade could come to his senses.  That had been even easier than I’d expected.  
I stretched out on the couch with the blanket over my legs.  I planned to go back to sleep after I had a drink; I could hide the bottle under the couch if I didn’t quite finish it.  With no sign of the courier or anyone but Arcade, I figured I’d be left mostly to my own devices until late tonight when Lucia returned, so I’d be free to sleep until then.  I would have liked to really be alone right now, but that wasn’t going to happen, so I just sipped my vodka and stared at the pattern of the rug.  I tried to think of some problem I hadn’t figured out yet, but I couldn’t come up with anything.  It just felt like pointless busy-work and I couldn’t be bothered.  Really, there wasn’t much I felt like doing lately except for sleeping, drinking, and sex.  
Arcade didn’t follow me for a while.  I estimated ten minutes, but didn’t have a clock so it may have been much longer.  I heard him pacing, no doubt having some argument with himself.  Maybe he was frustrated that I’d played him so easily.  Maybe he was devising some new plan to get me sober.  Maybe he was just trying to figure out why I’d said he couldn’t help me.  I didn’t really consider any other possibilities.  He was a Follower, thus absurdly moral and optimistic if not idealistic.  He cared about me because that was what they did; Followers tried to help and sober up everyone they met, even people they didn’t necessarily like.  I don’t think Arcade hated me, but I certainly annoyed him, I went out of my way to screw with him, mostly because there wasn’t much else to do in this new gilded cage.  I doubt he made any positive distinction between myself and the similar folks back in Freeside.  
Eventually, footsteps and the scent of sagebrush made their way over to the doorway in front of me and I looked up from the carpet to find Arcade standing there looking especially thoughtful.  
*       *       *
Max’s dangerous grin had returned.  I took that as confirmation of my theory, but I asked him anyway.  "Did you do that just to get your vodka back?"
The ex-prostitute laughed, "What do you think?"
I know I was one to talk, but did he ever really answer anything?  I guess I wasn’t surprised.  I sighed and leaned against the doorframe, folding my arms across my chest.  Two could play at that game.  "I think I might have to take your vodka more often."  If he was just doing this because it made me uncomfortable, I’d pretend that I found it just as amusing.  Although he was a prostitute.  It was probably a mistake to basically play chicken with him like this.  Of course, I realized that after I’d said it.  
"And I might have to do more than kiss you next time," Max retorted reflexively, that predatory smirk sending all the worst signals.  This was a mistake.  This was a huge mistake.  
I laughed nervously and stepped back, forgetting I had a wall behind me and bumping into it.  "Uh, no.  How about no."  What was I thinking, bluffing him about sex?  That was just a recipe for disaster.  But he was frustrating, in more ways than one.  In most ways, actually.  I realized that he was bored and that he liked messing with me probably because he didn’t have anything else to do around here.  I also saw how he looked and he must have realized I was attracted to him, considering he still wore his old clothes instead of the much more modest ones I’d gotten for him.  And he was trouble.  I couldn’t trust a single word he said, especially when he smiled like a cat eying a fish tank; Max radiated deceit.  It didn’t help that he was probably an alcoholic, anorexic junkie or at least a dealer.  
That reminded me.  "Max, are you addicted to something?"
Those jasper eyes flashed teasingly, "Cock?"  He gestured with the bottle of vodka, "Or are you insinuating that I’m an alcoholic?  Because you’re certainly not subtle about that; you shouldn’t have bothered to ask."
"So you’re an alcoholic?"  I hazarded the guess, sighing internally at his constant flirtation.  
"I’d say no," he laughed, "but it’s a fine line."
"So probably."  He didn’t answer and I continued, "I’m not jumping for joy either way, but don’t try to deflect a master deflector.  You know how to make drugs, it stands to reason that, with Vegas being the way it is, you’re using your product.  Are you?"
"I make a lot of things, it’s not all bad.  Even addictive chems have proper uses."
"But are you using them properly?"
Max shrugged and that sunken look crept back into his eyes as he frowned into his vodka.  "...yes."  
He was hardly convincing.  I sat down beside him, taking over the opposite end of the couch with his legs stretched out between us under the blanket.  "Max, if you know how to make chems, can you make Fixer?  At the very least, we could trade what you can make— ideally to the Followers— for Fixer.  You don’t need to—"  
"I’m not high."  I guess he realized that I didn’t believe him because his grin returned but didn’t reach his eyes.  He shook his head.  "I’m really beginning to think you’ve got a messiah complex and I got to admit, it’s kind of cute, but also very frustrating.  I’m not shooting up Med-X.  Or anything.  I drink.  I sleep around.  Right now, that’s the extent of my vices.  I’m not even having that much sex."
As usual, he had me torn between anger, pity, and awkwardness.  Messiah complex?  I wanted to punch him!  Nothing could be further from the truth, hell, I couldn’t even find out what he was on!  Really, I was probably the most useless Follower at the fort, my research wasn’t going anywhere and it wasn’t going to help anyone.  Working with the courier, I did what I could and that still wasn’t much.  How could he, how could anyone go through life without even trying to help make the world a better place?  It just proved how hopeless he must be.  He might be depressed, or else he was just convinced that the world could never improve so he’d given up trying.  That was most of what made me so desperate to help him, and I admit his looks were another part of that.  I couldn’t believe a word he said but he was damnably sexy and he knew how to use it.  He knew how to play people, so I had to keep him at arm’s length.  And he clearly knew that— whatever I pretended— I did like him.  
Before I could find a response that didn’t involve some level of swearing, he tried again to change the subject.  "`A master deflector,’ huh?"
The almost knowing narrowing of his eyes told me that was a very dangerous question.  I tried to play it off, but found my whole body had tensed.  I was suddenly very aware that there was no one else in the suite.  "Yeah...?"
Max moved quickly towards me, pulling himself forward to sit with his legs folded beneath him and his knees almost touching my thigh.  The motion made me flinch.  I backed against the arm of the couch until I could feel it bruising my leg and Max leaned forward, never allowing more than a foot of space between us.  He rested his hands on his knees, still grinning slyly.  "One thing about working as a prostitute: you get very good at reading people.  I’ve only met one guy better at it and as far as I know, he’s not a hooker.  You’ve got secrets."  
I couldn’t tell if my heart was pounding because he was balanced in such a way that keeping his balance etched his every muscle in shadows and highlights or because he’d just implied that he might know, or guess my Enclave connections.  It didn’t help that the blanket had fallen completely off the couch or that Max was so close to me that I could feel the heat of his breath.  By some miracle, I kept my voice steady to reply, "Then you’re not as good as you think you are.  I’m really very boring."
He scoffed and shifted his weight forward until he was kneeling on the couch beside me, his knees against the lateral edge of my thigh, his femurs nearly parallel to my bicep, and his back straight.  Trying to balance on the sofa kept his muscles tense and I realized much later that he’d been intentionally using the skills he’d learned for his dance routines, probably trying to distract me from my questions about his drug use and drinking, but by this point I hardly remembered them.  Kneeling like that lent the shorter man leverage and I couldn’t help but think tactically when he rested a hand on my shoulder to steady himself even though he hardly put any weight on it.  Panic hovered at the back of my mind.  He had me physically outmatched, especially from this angle; even though I was taller, Max was clearly very strong and if he had any combat training at all...  
He kept that confident, maybe arrogant smirk the entire time he spoke.  "Boring people never think they’re boring.  The only people who ever say they’re boring are lying or wrong, and you’re lying.  I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone more interesting.  You have secrets, and not the sort that drunk troopers and tourists like to gossip about.  You have a history, and powerful enemies, possibly armies after you, I know the look.  I wasn’t going to ask but I hardly think you’d shoot me to keep me quiet.  You have this cover like you’re just an ordinary doctor, but you’re running from something, you’ve been running for almost your entire life, but you can still remember a time before you were hunted and that makes it worse because you know what it was like to be safe."  
I don’t know what I would have done if his mention that he didn’t think I’d shoot him hadn’t reminded me about the plasma defender holstered at my hip.  He was unarmed.  I wasn’t.  
I brought my gun up between us and pressed the muzzle to his chest before he noticed it.  I didn’t know what to say and felt that he’d see how terrified I was if I opened my mouth.  If he forced this, either my secret would be out or I’d have killed him and I’d have to leave.  Even if no one found out and even if they didn’t care, I’m not sure I could live with myself if that happened with Max.  He was the only one who seemed to have found out on his own, I’d been stupid on occasion and let something slip or just made the mistake of trusting someone and been proven wrong, so this wouldn’t be the first time that I’d had to kill so people wouldn’t find out, but it would be the first time that I’d be dealing with someone who hadn’t confronted me already expecting a life or death confrontation.  
But maybe that wasn’t the case.  I saw the reality dawn on him when he felt the muzzle of the plasma defender against his chest, but I didn’t see fear.  Max looked resigned, maybe even pleading.  He said nothing, made no move to stop me, and for a while he didn’t even take his hand off my shoulder.  
"...Were you trying to provoke me?"
I didn’t lower the gun, but his expression shifted.  That jutting brow creased in a stubborn frown.  He let his right hand drop to his lap, joining his left.  He seemed to fold his hands, but I didn’t look too closely; he couldn’t be concealing a weapon in those clothes.  "No.  Are you going to shoot?"  
I sighed.  The caution that had been drilled into me all my life— and thoroughly reinforced by every time I had ignored it— screamed that I couldn’t let him live...but I wasn’t certain how much he knew.  Besides, this was Max, who apparently never left the Lucky 38.  Who would he tell, even if he did know?  That was stupid, he had plenty of people he could tell and more than enough ways to end me.  I wanted to trust them, and I wanted to trust the courier, but I couldn’t be certain that everyone would remain friendly if they knew.  Even if they did, with the way Cass spoke when she got drunk...  And Max was often just as drunk, often with Cass, if he knew... if Cass found out...  I couldn’t risk it.  
I steeled myself and glimpsed what might have been acceptance in Max’s gaze as the elevator arrived at the suite and opened.  Both of us froze.  If I shot him now...  Well, best case scenario I’d have to claim that he attacked me unarmed or dosed himself with Psycho, and then I’d feel guilty for the lie as much as for killing him; worst case Veronica, or just anyone who happened to be arriving right now would shoot me for attacking him, whether or not my shot proved fatal.  Granted, I hardly expected Max to survive at this range.  
My hesitation spared his life.  Rather than stopping by the kitchen or rec room, the drunk and chattering group of our friends walked straight towards us.  I knew they were in the doorway behind me when Max’s gaze flicked up, breaking eye contact for the first time since this started.  I started to pull my gun away from him before replacing it in its holster, but didn’t get a chance before it was seen.  Cass shouted first, "What the hell?"
She nearly drowned out Lucia and Veronica, who both realized why Max wasn’t smiling, for once, and rushed towards us with three different cries.  The courier yelled, "Max!" while Lilly mistook him for her grandson again.  Raul and presumably Boone restrained her, probably saving me from a very violent death at the hands of a sharpened vertibird rotor.  
Veronica was less predictable than Lucia, who jerked my wrist upwards while the engineer hauled Max off the couch with a scream of, "Gabriel!"  I think I was the only one who really processed Max’s actual name right then, everyone else was too distracted by what I’d been doing.  I glimpsed the prostitute standing behind Veronica, who had rounded on me.  He hadn’t resisted when she’d dragged him to his feet or gotten between us and now he just stood perfectly still, watching me blankly.  I didn’t have much time to wonder why he seemed unfazed before Lucia grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face her.  
"What happened?"
Somewhere to my right, Raul and Boone walked Lilly into the kitchen to calm her down and I tried to come up with some excuse.  I heard Veronica ask Max the same question and felt grateful when he didn’t respond.  I looked past Lucia to see why, wondering if he meant to keep my secret or if he was just too upset or dazed to answer.  Neither, he’d retrieved his vodka and paused to drink, leaning against a desk in the corner.  He was still frowning at me, but now I frowned back.  His drinking bothered me even more if it meant he might tell the wrong person whatever he knew about me.  
Ignoring Lucia, I stood up, addressing Max.  "Can you stop that?"