A/N: If this seems familiar, that's because this is another rewrite, of my very first fic that was written just over two years ago (although under a different title)! I'm pretty excited to be able to go back and see how much I've improved since then (the original was kind of #yikes). Hope you enjoy!
Near the beginning of his shift up in the dino's mouth, on a night that he was expecting to be the same as the rest before it, the old wooden door behind him creaks open without so much as a courtesy knock. He jerks to face the intruder, gripping his rifle tight and already prepared for the worst.
The worst ends up being a small, unimposing woman with wide eyes and an arm wrapped up in a flimsy makeshift sling. She looks about as taken aback as Boone feels, but that's probably more so due to the fact that she's got a gun aimed at her than anything.
He lowers his aim – just a little bit, not enough to make her think she's welcome up in the sniper's nest – and scowls.
"Goddammit," he hisses through his teeth. "Don't sneak up on me like that. What do you want?"
She blinks, and then her eyes slowly scan over him, around him, all over. He has to force himself not to fidget at the way her gaze turns calculating. He doesn't want to be calculated.
"Expecting visitors?" she asks after a beat, with a small lopsided grin. She points at her bounded arm. "Trust me, with this arm there isn't much I could do even if I wanted to. Jackals popped my shoulder out with a grenade launcher, down past that ranger station," she adds, as if he cares.
She looks young, probably a few years younger than him, although he's never been good at gauging that sort of thing. He wonders, with an annoyed inward sigh, if this is another one of Jeannie May's attempts at playing matchmaker for him – which, as he's told her time and time again, he really doesn't appreciate.
"Yeah," he says slowly, "I guess maybe I am expecting visitors. But not like you."
"Well, if that isn't the most cryptic thing I've heard in a while," she says cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the leave me alone vibes that he's constantly giving off. Either that or she's just ignoring it.
"Why are you here?" he snaps. He has work to do, and she isn't helping. Not that his work ever requires effort much on his part most nights, but still. He'd rather be alone with his thoughts, however dark and empty they might be, than stuck with someone who he doesn't care about.
"I was checking out the dino and saw your rifle poking out of the mouth," she replies with a shrug – using only the shoulder that isn't in the sling. Her eyes sweep all around the inside of his small wooden room again, and to his chagrin, she is ultimately unfazed by his attitude. "I was curious."
"That's a bad reason to go around opening doors you're not supposed to be."
She laughs. He frowns – deeper than before.
"Buddy, that's the story of my life, right there," she says, and that's the most cryptic thing he's ever heard, although he's not about to tell her that. "I'm sorry, trust me, I can tell you don't want me here. You might as well have a big sign that says 'get the hell out' all in lights above your head. I just got into town, you can't blame me for having no self control when it comes to a big wooden dinosaur."
And that makes him pause, for a reason beyond his understanding until he takes a moment to look at her, really look at her. Several things, several very important things that he hadn't seen before, register at once.
She's got dried blood and dirt splattered in small patches all over arms and torso; she hasn't had a chance to clean herself up (or she just doesn't care). The faded red fabric of her arm sling has most likely come from her shirt, which has been ripped at the midsection in a hasty attempt to handle her dislocated shoulder; she more than likely hasn't seen a doctor yet, which is a good thing considering how terrible Dr. Strauss can be sometimes. Over the shoulder of her good arm, she clutches a worn canvas bag – decently filled, if the tight stretch of the fabric is anything to go by; she isn't staying in the motel, at least not yet.
She must have just gotten into town, straight from the road. She would have missed the full effect of the Jeannie May Welcome Wagon, at this time of night.
Her smile slowly fades the longer he stares. It's her turn to feel uncomfortable under a calculating gaze.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks warily. "At least, I think you are. It's really hard to tell behind the shades, you know."
And then, he makes a split-second decision.
She doesn't act that night, and with her dislocated arm, Boone doesn't blame her. On her first day in Novac, he hears that she's gotten her shoulder put back in its socket and that she's talked to just about everyone in town worth talking to. He's certain that no one knows that she'd met him before anyone else, and he'd like to keep it that way.
Truthfully, he doesn't expect anything to happen the first day. He gives her all the information he has – not much to go by – and sends her off to do whatever detective work needs to be done, but he's prepared to wait for as long as it takes, as long as she doesn't leave town. If anything, he prefers that she take her time. He needs her to be absolutely sure of her conclusion.
She's absolutely sure by her second night in Novac.
Less than an hour into his shift on the second night, he hears indecipherable voices that could be traders or residents out for a night stroll. Whoever it is seems to just be caught up in idle chatter. He knows they're coming closer to the dinosaur when the voices steadily grow louder, becoming clearer and clearer, and he can tell by now that it's two women. He's up and alert when he can distinctly make out the voice of the stranger – the Courier, she'd called herself. Much to his disappointment, whoever is accompanying her goes conveniently silent, and he can't tell who it is.
The urge to duck down and hide behind the large wooden teeth of the dino is overwhelming, until he reminds himself that he has nothing to hide.
Whoever is coming certainly does, though. That is, if the Courier is right.
"What exactly is this about, again?"
The voice makes him take pause; the face, when it comes into view, makes him freeze up altogether. For a moment he thinks that maybe, after only two days of investigating, the Courier is wrong. Or maybe she's serving her own ulterior motive, or she's simply doing something else besides the task he's trusted her with. He doesn't want to believe it – and then, they're stopping in front of the dinosaur.
"I was walking outside here right before I came to get you, and I noticed that the thermometer was cracking," the Courier is saying.
Jeannie May Crawford looks irritated. Boone wonders if the Courier had to disrupt her dinner to get her to come, at this hour.
"Where? I don't see it."
"Right about," the Courier gently tugs Jeannie May into a very specific spot, and points – noticeably below where Boone is quietly watching, stunned, "there. You see?"
"No, but I'm sure this could wait until tomorrow morning…"
"It's probably a little too dark now," the Courier interjects smoothly, "but I thought you should know as soon as possible, because it's a bit of a structural hazard, you know."
This gets Jeannie May's attention. It gets Boone's, too. The Courier catches his eye and gives him an almost imperceptible nod, and he realizes that she's buying him all the time he's going to get to make his decision. He fumbles through his shock and disbelief to steady his aim and look through his scope.
"It is?" Jeannie May asks, squinting harder to find the crack that doesn't exist and oblivious to the attention of the sniper.
"Oh, yes," the Courier continues. "Just from eyeballing it, I'd say a lot on the structural support of the dinosaur is based in the front, with the thermometer. If the crack where to get worse, and it broke, the whole thing would come crashing down."
"Really," Jeannie May breathes. "Well, we can't have that, the dinosaur is a huge attraction for Novac, it really adds to the charm of the town."
"I completely agree, it's just such a lovely attraction for a truly lovely town. That's why I thought it was so important that I show you."
"Where did you say it was? It's just so darn dark out here…"
"Right where my finger is pointing – no, don't step forward. It's not visible if you get right under it." As she guides Jeannie May back into the spot, she reaches behind her and pulls out a familiar beret. "There you go."
She dons Boone's faded beret and shoots him another meaningful look over Jeannie May's shoulder.
If you're going to do it, do it now, it says.
The corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. He isn't entirely sure why. Maybe it's the way the Courier's eyes turn cold when Jeannie May isn't looking at her. Maybe it's the way the fingers of her hand twitch towards the pistol on her belt, as though she's eager to do the job herself. Maybe it's just his own pure satisfaction in being able to finally get some sort of revenge for Carla.
It doesn't matter to him in the end. All that matters is that he finally knows exactly who tore his entire world to pieces.
He can't afford to hesitate. His shot rings out in the night, and Jeannie May unceremoniously falls into a heap onto the dirt. Boone lowers his rifle, unfazed by the sound, and knows that no one will be worried; everyone in town is used to hearing their snipers at work, and won't think anything of the shot he's just taken.
The Courier is hit by splatters of blood, but she doesn't seem to care as she takes a moment to spit disdainfully on the body after it hits the ground. She doesn't meet Boone's gaze at she removes his beret from her head and walks away without hurry.
He steps back from the dino's teeth, absorbing the moment to the best of his ability. He doesn't feel any different than he did before, and yet everything is different now. He's done it; he's sourced out who was responsible for everything that happened to Carla. The only goal he's had since she died, and he's fulfilled it.
He looks out between the dino's teeth and into the wasteland, at no spot in particular, and wonders what's next for him. He has no reason to stick around Novac anymore. And, quite frankly, he doesn't want to.
There's too many memories buried here, now.
When the Courier comes up to the mouth of the dino the second time, she has the decency to knock and wait for him to quietly allow her entrance. He turns around to face her and tries to read her as best as he can. Not a hint of remorse can be found in her joyless expression, and he's surprised to find that it solidifies the lack of regret he has for the murder of Jeannie May Crawford.
The Courier silently hands him back his beret, which he swaps out for his spare immediately, and wipes the blood from her face as best she can. Her efforts only serve to smudge red streaks over her skin. He offers her his canteen, which she takes gratefully and uses to wash most of the blood off.
"That's it, then," he says finally, when she's finished drying her face using the collar of her shirt. "How did you know?" And he's seriously hoping that she does, indeed, know.
She sighs and reaches into one of the pouches that decorate her belt. A single, damning sheet of paper is held out for him to take.
"Something just wasn't right, whenever she talked about… about, you know. I followed my hunch and broke into her safe in the lobby of the motel. Found the bill of sale."
"A hunch," he repeats, for lack of anything better to say. He doesn't move to take the paper from her; he can see the writing just fine from where he is, and he doesn't want to touch it.
The paper, and the words on it, transports him back to the slave auction where he saw his wife in front of a sea of scum in crimson, bidding and reaching for her like she and their unborn child were objects to be owned. All of what he'd seen, what he'd had to do – or at least, what he'd felt he had to do – was because one fucking sheet of paper that had been locked away by the very woman who'd given him and Carla a home. All of the subtly distasteful looks Jeannie May had given Carla that he never thought anything of, all of the smiles she'd given him after his wife's disappearance, all of the times she'd try to convince him to move on from Carla because of his health, it's not healthy to cling to the past – it all comes back to him in one big, loud rush that sweeps over him, overwhelms him.
He's absolutely miserable and unbelievably livid, a combination that he's become more than familiar with in the past few months and has driven him to the brink of death too many times since Carla died. The piece of paper this strange, strange woman is holding out to him is the embodiment of every one of those memories, of every ounce of alcohol he drowned himself in, of every drop of blood he made himself shed, of the burning helplessness and loneliness that's consumed his life completely, and…
He wants it gone. Out of sight, out of mind.
The sound of her clearing her throat snaps him out of his trance.
"Yeah, I get a lot of hunches. Sometimes, I wish I didn't." She eyes his shaking hands and takes his silence as a hint, tucking the paper back into the pouch. "I'm, uh... I'm sorry."
His answer is to dig into the bag he's brought up with him tonight. He shakes it and makes the caps inside jingle around.
"Here. This is all I can give. But I want you to have it. Please."
She takes the bag from him, hesitantly, and peers inside. He doesn't know how much is in there, truthfully, but whatever it is, it's not worth enough for what she's done for him.
"I can put these away and bring the bag back, if you want," she offers lamely.
"Don't bother." He almost wants to laugh, because he doesn't give a damn about the bag. He doesn't give a damn about anything anymore. "I think our dealings are done here."
She nods, but the way she lingers tells him that she isn't as done with him as he is with her.
"What will you do now?" she asks quietly. Her eyes scream pity, almost like everyone else's after Carla's disappearance, poor Craig Boone lost his wife and child, how terrible, but he can't let himself be angry about it. She's helped him more in two nights than anyone else has in months.
"I don't know," he breathes with a deep sigh." I won't be staying, I know that. Don't see much point in anything right now, except hunting legionaries." He shifts his gaze further down, away from her sharp eyes, and stares at the dirt-caked rubber soles of her boots. "Maybe I'll wander, like you."
She doesn't say anything for a long moment, only nodding lightly without meeting his gaze. She chews on her bottom lip, taps her fingers lightly on the band of her leather belt. It makes him just a little uncomfortable, that she's lingering so awkwardly.
"Come with me," she blurts, just as he starts to open his mouth to dismiss her for good. "Let's go after the Legion together."
"You don't want to do that," he replies quickly, almost on impulse, with a bitter laugh. He curses inwardly when his warning only seems to feed her determination; she stands taller, meets his gaze, and crosses her arms.
"I thought snipers worked in teams," she quips matter-of-factly with a quirk of her brow. "What good are you going to be at hunting legionaries if you're all by yourself?"
He visibly pauses. He wants to be indignant, to stand by his decision, but for some reason, he's seriously considering her offer.
It must show, because she slowly starts smiling, like she knows she's won.
She isn't entirely wrong.
They leave in the middle of the night, after quickly hiding Jeannie May's body.
"Let the town wonder what happened to her. Let her disappearance forever be a mystery," the Courier insists. "Just like what she did to you."
He can't quite argue with that logic.
The Courier – Lilith, as she introduces herself once she puts the finishing touches on the unmarked grave of Jeannie May Crawford – informs him of her agenda as she's already leading him away from Novac: she's on her way to Boulder City, tracking down a man who had stolen from and nearly killed her. It's only then that Boone catches sight of the harsh scar on her forehead that's just barely being covered by her bangs.
He simply nods. He doesn't have anywhere specific to be, and he's content with whatever she wants to do – as long as she follows through on her promise to kill any legionaries they come across in the process. It's strange, having a companion again. He's isolated himself so much in the past few months that having someone else around to look after him, and for him to look after in turn, seems like a distant, foreign memory.
With his ties to Novac effectively severed, he doesn't even feel a hint of remorse over abandoning his post as the nighttime sniper. Instead, he feels something that he hasn't felt in a long time: purpose. There's a strange pull that makes him feel like wherever the Courier is going is where he's meant to be. He thinks he may have found his final repayment. He's going to do everything he can to protect her, until his judgment finally, finally comes.
The pull feels like fate. It makes him think; maybe she should have been who he was expecting all along.
A/N: All of the chapters will be in order of who the Courier met (according to my own plot). Stay tuned for everyone else's story!