"You're really putting aside time to take care of this?"
The Courier turned her armored head to the side, looking right past Boone. Not that anybody could tell with that mercenary armor covering every inch of her body. Instead of her companion, she focused on the nearby Boomer and asked, "Pardon?"
Dismissing her inanely profuse politeness, the sniper said, "Very funny." He took this as indirect sarcasm, or something; he seldom spoke, so she must have been poking fun at that by mistaking the voice addressing her for somebody else.
"I'm sorry, Boone. Could you repeat that? I didn't know it was you the first time," she explained honestly, pulling up the loose gloves that had nearly slipped off of her fingers once again.
"What, is all that metal deflecting sound from getting in?"
"And have you been hanging around Raul too much while I'm away from the suite?" she countered, referencing his sarcasm. No, he wanted to answer, he was sarcastic most of the time. Gloves back in position, she straightened up and focused on the older traveler. "But really, what?" He could hear the friendly smile in her voice.
Well, now that he was put on the spot, and had to repeat it, for God's sake, he didn't feel so talkative anymore. "What you just agreed to do. Help the kid meet that woman at Crimson Caravan." The Courier didn't speak, waiting for elaboration. "Isn't it a little … insignificant? We arrived the Strip weeks ago, and now we're wasting time with idle pursuits."
Though he wasn't one-hundred percent sure, he figured the Courier was giving him a long and hard stare. She jerked her head towards the hangar door exit and led the way.
"This going to be a problem, Boone? Mr. Plaid ain't smart enough to leave—he didn't make sure I was dead. Exploring Vegas more thoroughly can wait."
She had some kind of skewed point, but he still believed that the guy should have been gunned down ages ago. Although her words seemed to have ended the conversation (high tendency of that happening, really—she was in charge, he was just along for the ride), he wanted to have the last, usual critical words.
"We ran through explosive artillery … to play Cupid."
The Courier chuckled lightly, pace slowing a little as she un-holstered her sniper rifle, aligned her eye with the scope, and fired of a shot at a nearby fiend. Unfortunate fellow thought he'd be making it out alive on Boomer grounds with her here? Boone only took pity on his stupidity.
"You never know, Boone. It might just help us out in the end."
"Here you go, darlin'. Jack prepared this Boomer uniform for you so you can safely trek across the field without getting a mouth full'a fire." The look of pure delight did not vanish when the pretty red head skipped off to find her could-be lover, half-stripping as she ran so she wasted as little time as possible with changing.
The Courier put her hands on her hips and let out a satisfied sigh. "A little rash, the two of them jumpin' to love when they've only seen each other a few times without speaking—but I think they'll be just fine."
She was talking to herself more than Boone, and he knew this, so he didn't respond, but acknowledged her words with an inclination of his head.
A silence stretched onwards as the Courier's eyes scanned the horizon. "Alright," she said suddenly but softly. "Let's head back to the Strip. I want to check up on the King on the way there, however."
She and the King had grown to trust each other. He always had a few of his gang scattered around Freeside, and because of this, he knew she was coming before she actually arrived. He'd send her a stimpack or some caps to help her out—just a reminder that everything she'd done so far, for both the Kings and Freeside in general, was much obliged.
Boone wondered if she had taken his advice to actually get a move on. If so, then thank heavens. He wasn't quite sure why he worried so much about getting there in time; Plaid-boy could have left two nights ago, one week ago, or two weeks ago for all they knew. Maybe he had a stealth boy. Or maybe he's planning another attack on the Courier.
"Oh," she murmured, noticing her Pip-Boy still had some marks on the screen. "Wait a minute, that reminds me. The Boomers still need help with something. They say it's gotta do with something real important, an', well …" Curiously, she didn't make a move to do anything, sniper rifle still cradled in her arms but her movements inert.
"And?" he prompted and cocked an eyebrow, unseen under the red of his beret.
She looked as if she was hesitating, but then quickly snapped out of it and nodded. "And being fully allied with the Boomers would really help in the end. C'mon, let's go see what Loyal wants."
So much for going back to Vegas.
His female companion was stripping out of her reinforced combat armor so it wouldn't rust. He sort of admired her dedication to keep her belongings as safe and fresh as she could, even though it seemed like a waste of time occasionally. In the usual undershirt and wear, she picked up the item she had gotten from Jack that could help her with retrieving the crashed B-29.
Her hair looked dirty when she pulled off her helmet and her eyebrows were far from thin and womanly, but then again, everybody shared the same fate. She looked at the water and tried to fluff out the clumped locks to make them look somewhat decent, even if she was just about to get them wet. "Definitely need to stop back in Vegas …" Mr. House gave her an entire suite, but Boone was convinced that the Courier's favorite section of it was the bathrooms. He provided shampoo, after all, and that was a rarity—hence her dreary sigh.
"Are you sure you can trust that thing?" the sniper asked, peering over at the Courier, who was snapping the clasps shut on the hand-crafted rebreather.
"I'm the one that suggested how to make it," she pointed out, voice muffled. "I know how it works."
Her skills with science were generally reliable, but honestly, he wouldn't trust her ability when it looked like that. Maybe it was because he'd never used one before, but the idea that a thin sheet of plexiglass was the only thing separating you from sucking in a mouthful of water and drowning, well, wasn't very appealing to him.
"Stay on guard," she told him, "I wont be long."
That was that. She gazed at the water again and stepped in, testing its temperature and radiation level. Everything was fine, because she descended the rest of the way and out of sight in just a few seconds.
Boone did as he was told and scouted the area for any possible threats. He expected her to be back in a minute or two, but as time stretched on, he wondered if she encountered a problem. Each minute had him honestly getting more and more tense. It wasn't that it was a tragic loss if she died, but she was still his companion and had offered to keep him housed, sheltered, fed, and so on as long as he was with her. She was strong, kind, got things done (even if they were small and seemingly insignificant things), and had his back like she had hers.
When the tenth minute reached its close, Boone was peeling off his white shirt, deciding that it had been long enough. He didn't have a rebreather, but he could open his eyes under water, and therefore see if the Courier just needed a bit more time, or … ended with a different fate.
Just as he was about to step foot in, the woman resurfaced and yanked her rebreather off. She let in a handful of non-recycled air and tossed the mask towards her folded clothes on the ground by the shore.
Arching an eyebrow, there was an awkward beat of silence. Her eyes flickered from the top of Boone, to the bottom, back up to the top as she met his unshaded eyes.
"So … coming in for a swim? The water's nice, I don't blame you." It would have been a truthful invitation if not for the sarcastic and somewhat irritating grin that stretched on her lips.
"Quiet, Courier. I figured you needed some help, taking so long like that."
"Nope, I got it. Thanks anyway, though." Unfortunately, her voice totally betrayed that—she knew he had actually been concerned and it still left that coy smile on her face. Her attention was then dropped from the sniper, and she trudged back up onto solid ground. Yanking up a towel she brought for this mission, borrowed from the Boomers, she dried herself off and began to put her armor back on.
She pulled out the detonator and got into the zone, pulled the trigger fearlessly, and admirably watched as the plane rose up to the top of the water.
Before they began their journey back to the Boomers' base, she slapped his back in a friendly manner. "And done. That wasn't so hard. Once we tell them we're done, we're going to head back to the Strip. Sound good?"
When did she start asking him for his opinion? Anyhow, it didn't matter. He nodded his head, and they began their trip back once again.