It had been several weeks since he saw the Courier and her companion. Jeannie May's corpse had not been removed from its place crumpled amongst the rocks and its scavenger-picked bones served as a reminder of Boone's failure to protect his wife and child every time he would sweep past it through his scope. His usual routine was back in full swing, his days spent sleeping and his nights spent looking down the barrel of his rifle for Nightstalkers or raiders. The death of Jeannie May had yet to bring him a modicum of peace; instead, the usual miasma of guilt and rage that clouded his thoughts had engulfed him even more completely. He constantly relived his days spent enjoying the hospitality of the person who had sold his wife to the Legion; he remembered Jeannie May trying to calm him down as he frantically searched for any sign of Carla, Jeannie May sharing her condolences with him after his wife's fate was sealed, Jeannie May sending meals and drinks to his room to be sure he didn't starve himself to death while in the throes of his depression. The rational part of Boone's brain told him he didn't know it was Jeannie May's fault, she was playing her act of innocence to perfection, but another part that told him he was a monster, and a coward, and that he should've just known was quick to rear its head again. Terrible, it would hiss.
It was enough to make Boone sick. Sleep was a welcome relief, dreamless thanks to daily doses of whiskey, and the active moments of his shift were bearable. If his brain was busy scouting, spotting, calculating distance, considering windspeed variables, working efficiently to bring down a potential threat, he could usually keep the swirling mass of thoughts from creeping up on him. It was the hours in between, where he was alone with his thoughts and the dark, static Mojave was stretched out before him, that were agonizing. Boone tried to not go crazy, but it was getting a bit more difficult with each passing day.
So it was no small relief when the Courier caught him one evening between his room and Dinky, his rifle slung over his shoulder and ready to relieve Manny of his shift in the dinosaur's mouth. She looked worse than the last time they met. Her black hair had been cropped close to her head, most likely to expedite the regular bouts of cleaning that the scabby patches on her scalp required, a sign that someone had yanked several fistfuls of hair out of her head. She had fresh bruises and new scratches, not at all uncommon for a Mojave drifter, but she was nursing what looked like the recovering stages of a broken cheekbone. Her armor had recently seen a decent amount of repair, Boone also noted, with several leather panels having been meticulously mended, a few outright replaced with looted parts, and many more marred with the black-singed rings that denoted the glancing blows of plasma weapons. Boone idly wondered how that mission to help the Brotherhood of Steel had ended.
"Are you ready?" The Courier asked with no preamble. Boone was confused for a moment. Ready for what? His shift? It took him a while to recall the Courier's promise made several weeks ago to ask him if he wanted to travel with her. Boone was about to decline again when he noticed the silence that settled between them—no enthusiastic, sarcastic remarks or good-natured chatter. No Brotherhood scribe girl. Boone cast another glance at the Courier's singed leathers and became worried concerning the fate of the kind girl with the power first.
"Where's your friend?" He asked, voice gravelly from disuse.
"New Vegas," the Courier replied by way of explanation. Boone stared levelly at her, the two of them knowing that a more detailed answer would be required before their conversation continued. "Things didn't go quite as we had hoped with the Brotherhood of Steel," the Courier admitted. "Veronica absconded from the Brotherhood in favor of a different path, and there were some of her old fellows that did not appreciate that. There were several events that were…unpleasant for her, and difficult to process. I told her to take some time off, unwind. Gave her the key to my suite and left her to herself." The Courier's eyes softened a bit, her voice affectionate. "Veronica is tenacious; has more fortitude than she gives herself credit for. She'll be okay."
Boone merely nodded and gave a noncommittal grunt, not quite sure what to make of the situation. He turned on his heel suddenly and walked briskly back into his room, slamming the door behind him. When he emerged several minutes later with his old Recon pack in hand, the Courier was waiting patiently, leaned up against a post in the shade.
"Ready," he said.