A/N: So… I had an idea and I rolled with it. I've changed the timeline of the game to suit my purposes, along with some events that happened. I played the main missions of the game a loooong time ago, closer to when it first released, so I might be a little rusty. The POV will eventually bounce around to different characters as this thing gets rolling. Anyway, this is a story about the Courier and Boone, and since Boone is Boone, it might be a long while before there's any actual romance. Thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing.
I don't own Fallout: New Vegas or any of its characters.
Exhausted, she pulled Freeside's gate open with her good hand, her left, which had not been crushed when her powerfist malfunctioned. She hated traveling alone, not that she would ever admit that aloud. Charlie especially missed Rex, who would playfully nip at her heels as they walked and growled at the earliest sign of danger. Boone, who spoke scarcely a word despite all the time they'd spent together, Charlie didn't mind leaving behind. She was grateful for his steady aim, but he was not what one would consider an emotionally supportive travel companion. She was not proud of any of the series of lies she used in order to leave without attracting suspicion, but she wasn't sure if she could depend on him. The Brotherhood of Steel was technically a NCR enemy, and Boone still bore the First Recon beret. Charlie didn't want to burn any bridges before figuring out what was what. She could've explained that she was trying to earn more enemies for the Legion, but she doubted that he would've followed that line of logic. Not that Boone wasn't smart, he was quite intelligent, but Charlie knew that he didn't trust her whatsoever.
So she left on her own, searching for days before finding the exact bunker, just to be paraded around in her underwear and then forced to wear an explosive collar. So maybe Charlie was secretly glad that Boone wasn't around to witness her embarrassment. It was easy enough to talk the NCR Ranger into leaving; speech craft had always been her specialty. The Elder took notice, and after a few other assignments that had more or less left Charlie in their favor, she asked for their alliance to the NCR-or rather, to Charlie, since Moore had ordered her to just blow the Brotherhood to smithereens. Feeling rather invincible, Charlie had made the journey towards New Vegas quickly, managing to dodge some fiends along the way. Sure, she might able to handle them on her own, but she'd wait for her companions. Rex loved chasing the drug-addled far into the Mojave, just so that Boone would have an opportunity to carefully assemble his rifle, curl his finger about the trigger, press his sunglasses against the scope, and shoot. They'd bonded. Boone and Charlie had not. Perhaps if she captured a criminal and brought him back so that Boone could fire a round from a thousand yards away, they would become fast friends.
Honestly, Charlie was jealous of his precise aim, Boone's ability to hit any target from any distance, with any gun. She could shoot, yes, not with the cocky surefire precision that Boone possessed. No, she preferred to get up close to her attackers, swing her powerfist or maybe a club, if she were feeling merciful. She was not sure where the inclination to position death so closely had come from, but Charlie always felt more comfortable with her fists clenched against the powerfist instead of around the barrel of a firearm. Boone, of course, despised her preference. He had asked her once, one of the few times he deigned to speak to her, where she learned to fight like a Legionary. Charlie had responded by childishly calling him asshole. Boone had shrugged and finished the conversation by reminding her that if she weren't a woman, Caesar probably would've summoned her to fight on his behalf. She didn't tell him that he already had.
It had been within a mile of the Freeside gate that she'd encountered a fucking Cazador. Three swings into the scuffle, she'd felt a strange locking sensation on her right hand, before something sharp pierced through her palm, distracting Charlie just long enough for the insect to sting her hard in the hip before she managed to wrangle the combat knife out of her sleeve. At least she still had vial of antivenom, she'd thought, right before the powerfist sputtered again. It wasn't the first time Charlie had heard a bone break inside of her hand, but it was the first time she'd heard it more than once. Groaning at the fact that she'd decided to sell most of her excess supplies to a trader the day before, including the super stimpak that she'd found in one of the vaults, Charlie managed to make what should've been a quick trip back into a long hike of agony, all because she was too stupid to check the condition of her weapon.
It could've been worse, she reminded herself, she could've been using a gun, which could've backfired, which considering her luck with getting shot, would not have been so surprising.
Arcade Gannon had almost laughed when Charlie entered the Old Mormon Fort, her old friend amazed that she'd let herself get into such a clumsy sort trouble. Mumbling a few threats, she sat as calmly as she could manage as he pried the weapon off her, handing her a stimpak in the process.
"I don't know how you manage to do things like this sometimes, Char." Arcade commented, straightening his glasses. "And I don't know how Boone didn't notice that your fist-y thing was in such disrepair. Damn, even I can see that, and I haven't fought anything worse that your oddball injuries."
"Boone did not accompany me on this excursion." Charlie replied, gritting her teeth as he examined her hand, "And I didn't need him to."
"So that means what? You were fighting bunny rabbits in the Mojave Desert? You know that it's dangerous to travel alone, no matter where you're going. I swear, if you ever come back here and tell me that you were doing something so stupid, I will refuse to treat you. Understand me?" His bespectacled gaze was hard and even, all traces of his trademark humor erased. "Well, Charlie? Do you agree or not? It's a long way to the New Vegas Medical Clinic. Think you could've made it today? What if you had gotten yourself shot? Poisoned?"
"Damn it, Arcade, I get it." She answered, irritated, leaving out the minor detail that she had in fact been poisoned, but actually prepared for that. "But contrary to popular opinion, I can handle myself."
He jerked her hand away, the pain jutting all the way to her shoulder. "Oh really? Because you've done such a bang up job this time, right?" He sighed, "I know you're smarter than this. Why didn't you take the dog at least? Or Cass? I completely understand leaving that zombie, the sniper, but why them?"
"I had to do something that I wasn't sure he'd approve of, and it was just easier to lie to everyone and avoid it, rather than trying to explain myself and hope he'd listen. I should've taken Rex, but Boone would've known that something was wrong. I won't do it again."
"You're fucking right, you won't. I need you here. Who else can bring me stories about Dr. Alex Richards?" He grinned, bandaging her hand. "He was here again, while you were gone. Picking up some supplies, without the NCR's knowledge, you know, since the Followers are sort of their enemies. It's all very romantic, don't you think?"
"Arcade," She groaned, "It would be romantic, if you were at least able to speak to him. Silence does not make a man fall in love."
She could be very wise when she knew absolutely nothing about the subject of which she spoke.
"What am I supposed to say, Char? Oh, sir, you're very good looking. I was wondering if you'd like to come to my tent for some fun even though you have no idea who I am because we've only technically met one time. Do you remember that? No? Okay, excuse me while I go kill myself. Yeah, that would totally work."
She laughed. Arcade was one of the few Mojave citizens with that ability. They'd traveled together to Camp Forlorn Hope, where he'd met the good doctor Richards, and developed a crush. It was true, maybe they had only exchanged a sentence or two, but he didn't know that Richards asked about Arcade every time Charlie went to him for medical help when she was near Forlorn Hope. If she could only convince Arcade to leave the Followers again, for a quick excursion, Charlie could reunite the pair. She hadn't been able to get him to leave since they went to the Ultra Luxe, where they'd discovered that the White Glove Society were cannibals. Not she blamed him. If she weren't so used to getting into dangerous situations, Charlie would probably never leave the Lucky 38, where she had set up base.
"You're so right, Arc." She teased, accepting another stimpak from him.
"Well, despite my complete depression because of a lack of romance, I managed to fix your injuries. Lay low for a few weeks, won't you? You actually didn't break any bones, the popping you heard might've been your tendons being squeezed by that vice grip."
"So I'm fine?"
"No, Charlie, that is not what I said. If you use your right hand without waiting for it to heal, you run the risk of completely tearing the tendons and ligaments from the muscles. Which means you will not be able to form a fist, let alone hold a weapon. It means surgery, which is sketchy at best, so therefore, retirement. Understand?"
"Yes, Arc. I get it. Stay home. Be bored. Whatever."
"Come back in a few days so I can examine it again, when the swelling goes down. Maybe- and that is a strict maybe, Charlie- you'll be able to make small journeys. But I don't promise anything."
"Thanks, Arcade. I owe you one."
She stood and placed a small kiss on his cheek, pressing a few caps into his fingers. He deserved payment for the stimpaks at least, which judging by the roll of his eyes, he did not want. They were close friends, yes, but Charlie did not want him to get into trouble with Followers for giving free medical exams. She promised to return by Thursday, and to stay on the Strip, where she'd be most safe. Charlie knew that Arcade did not really believe her, and she wasn't sure if she did either.
Feeling better after seeing Arcade, Charlie was not sure what would await her at the Lucky 38. Should she just tell Boone where she'd gone? Then she'd have to explain about her hand. Not telling him would mean another lie, which would lead to more. Fuck it. She wouldn't tell him outright, but she wouldn't deny him the truth if he requested it. That was really the best option, considering that he spoke never willingly spoke to Charlie, not unless she asked him something first. Fine. Two could play at that.
Cass was standing by the entrance to the Lucky 38, bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. She flashed Charlie a nervous smile, which made her instantly anxious as well.
"What is it?" Charlie asked.
"It's nice to see you too."
"Sorry, Cass." There was no reason to make another enemy in her party.
"It's okay. One question though, have you heard about this alliance between the Brotherhood and the NCR? I mean, it's just rumors that the Brotherhood has been seen above ground for the first time in I don't know how long, right? Especially people that say that a woman was involved with the deal, they must have no idea what they're talking about."
"Damn it," Charlie cursed, pissed off because she hadn't even told Moore what she'd done yet. "Where did you hear it?"
"Every-fucking-where. The whole desert is talking about it. Even Boone asked me what I knew about. Word is, he's asked a lot of us about what we know."
It was a clear warning, and Charlie nodded warily before walking inside. Empty. Even the securitrons were someplace else. She grabbed a bottle of vodka from the overflowing bar before heading straight to the elevator. Charlie went up to the presidential suite, glad that she hadn't found Boone's disapproving face on her way to the elevator. Rex was waiting inside her room, the dog bounding forward as she entered, excited to see her.
At least somebody was happy that Charlie was back.