A Howling Wilderness
The silence between them said more than words ever could. It was gentle, comfortable, and familiar. Above all things it stood out to Six as something meaningful in the desolate and godforsaken wasteland surrounding them. A pact, an unspoken bond. They were out to kill, perhaps even out to die. At least they were in it together.
…But sometimes Courier Six felt like she was falling.
Sometimes she would look out at the desert and wonder what she had left behind. She would touch her forehead, fingers gently tracing over the scar Benny had left there, and wonder what price she had paid for his greed. Once, somewhere out there, beyond the vast expanse of desert, Six might have had a family. She tried to remember her parents, but couldn't. There was simply…nothing. Those two bullets had erased it all, and left her with a mark that reminded her everyday that there might have been something else.
Something else. Something good. Something pure.
Six knew that Boone felt the same way. Though his sunglasses covered his eyes, she had learned over time to read his body language. With him actions were everything. He would jar up, stiffen, grimace. He didn't need to say it, Six knew he dwelled upon the 'What ifs' of his life just as much as she did hers. He was damaged just like her. Lost just like her.
"You and me Boone, we're like two peas in a pod."
He didn't talk much, and neither did she really. The silence between them allowed them time to brood and think and plan. Sometimes when they camped Six would find him looking in her direction. Sometimes after he shot down Fiends or Legionnaires Boone would find her looking in his direction. These glances and the silence that surrounded them were both tentative and curious on both sides. They'd passed the phase of awkward, getting-to-know-you chit-chat. Now what they learned about eachother and themselves came with the firing of a gun and the swing of a fist.
Six had the passion, Boone had the control. They fought side-by-side everyday, and each night they camped they acknowledged eachother without the need for words. "Good aiming today." Six would seem to say with just one look."Thanks for getting the good stuff." The way his lips would twitch in amusement spoke volumes. The same for the way his hand would linger too long as she passed him the whiskey bottle.
Once, when tracking down a Legion raiding party, he had taken a bullet to the shoulder. It had been his own damned fault but she had worried over him nonetheless. With none-too graceful hands Six had spent the night digging the bullet out.
A week later she'd tripped and twisted her ankle. Despite his shoulder, he had carried her the two hours to the nearest doctor. During the examination she cried, more out of shame than pain. He'd grabbed her hand, squeezed it tight, saying nothing and yet everything all at once.
Whatever this was, whatever they had together. It meant something. Something else, something decent. Boone was bound to this woman in ways he didn't understand, and she to him. They were spurred on by each other just as much as they were spurred on by vengeance. Theirs was a friendship like no other, because neither of them had anyone else who gave a damn about them.
"I've got your back, Six."
"You always do."
The tilt of a head, the clench of a fist, a nod, and an unspoken farewell.
In its own way the wasteland had destroyed them both.