I just want to thank everyone for the reviews and story alert sign-ups. It's nice to know that someone's reading.

Having said that, here is chapter 2 - wanted to make it longer, but I'm trying to keep the chapters a reasonable length. I'm really trying to do away with my bad habits one by one. =)

He knew she could smell it. Smell it, sense it, whatever – she'd pick up on the change like a nightstalker to movement in the darkness. This was one thing he'd learned about her from their time traveling the wastes these past weeks, that she possessed some sort of radar for nonverbal cues that gave her insight into those around her. He was sure it also helped that she played her cards close to the chest – he didn't really know anything about her besides tidbits here and there when she was shaking people down for information about Benny, and what he picked up from observing her as well. After all, he wasn't without his own skills in perception gained from watching people through the scope and being generally more of an observer than an engager. But she definitely had a gift for it beyond what he could do. Maybe he was a little envious of this, too.

What he wasn't sure of was which of them would take the first step to break the ice, which he knew was inevitable now. He was beginning to find himself with questions for her that he hadn't cared to ask before and was having difficulty keeping out of his head, and he knew that she was the curious type.

As he dried his face and head with a threadbare towel another thing occurred to him: girl's as curious as a cat in a kitchen, and slick as a snake… she's talked NCR, wastelanders, powder-gangers, and everyone in between into spilling their guts. Hasn't talked to me about anything else besides the weather and what to shoot and what's for dinner. Weird.

She's gotta be waiting for something… but why? And… fuck it, stop thinking about her.

He pulled his fatigues back on, throwing his belt over his shoulder and rinsed out his dirty shirt in the sink with what was left of a sliver of bar soap left on the lip. He wrung it out, and threw it over the shower curtain rod to dry. With one last deep breath in privacy he opened the door.

She nearly knocked him over – she'd been waiting at the door with her arms crossed and he grabbed the doorjamb to steady himself and will down the anxiety in his chest. Damn stupid…

"Jeeezus, Cour, don't do that!" he spat out, stumbling out of her way to see her sheepishly shrug back an apology.

"Sorry! Oh holy heck, I have to pee!" she shut the door and the lock popped closed. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, regaining his composure.

"You went in the shower so fast I didn't get a chance to go, and the one in the lobby is possibly radioactive," he heard her echoey voice continues from inside the bathroom.

He snorted.

Never know if she's going to carry herself like the queen or like the jester. Definitely the queen with those Legion bastards, or more like a black widow with a gun… There you go again, leave it off with her!

But she's so… different.

So what? She doesn't need you with her, you know.

Yeah… I guess she doesn't… handles her firearms as well as any NCR vet I know, knows her way around the wastes and what trouble to get into and what to stay out of… though I really haven't seen her actually stay out of trouble. What does she want with me anyway?

He heard the john flush and the door popped back open soon afterward, and she emerged looking relieved, even smiling as she made an exaggerated sigh of contentment. He didn't look over at her, busying himself with cleaning his rifle as he did every night, but snorted again.

Ridiculous.

"The shower here any good?" she asked in passing as she picked up her .357 to join him in the nightly cleaning ritual.

"Not bad. Hot water's good for about fifteen," he replied. This was the usual sort of banter that struck up between them, usually at camp, though at other lulls during travel:

"What did you think of that shot I took just then?"

"You know anything about cooking gecko meat?"

"Know anything about constellations?"

"Wasn't that guy back at the outpost a dick?"

"What on earth can we get around here for firewood?"

And it would just go on from there. Nothing much personal, nothing important. But they did talk. Granted, at first it was mostly her, but after the first couple of weeks he grew into a comfortable back and forth routine with her. Now that he was thinking about it, it was kind of nice – and it usually helped keep his mind from wandering to where he didn't want it to go.

Except for today, when I'm thinking about every goddamn thing all at once.

"Heh, I'll take that to wait till' morning and not take a half-hour shower," she smirked across the bed at him over her shoulder. Little jab jokes were normal too; as were his snorts back.

"Unless you like a cold shower. In that case, it's all ready for you," he replied without missing a beat. Continuing the joke back was new, only in the last week. Of course, now that he was paying attention to it all he had the realization that he was opening up to her ever so slightly. He suddenly longed for last week when he didn't think about what he was doing, he just did. This was certainly all going to get messy. He knew that well now and it caused the pins in his gut to thrash about in anticipation of those unwelcome emotions and memories.

You don't visit them, they come visit you – just like obnoxious relatives. Fuck.

She chuckled at him before she reassembled her pistol with a smart snap of metal on metal. He felt the bed shift in the familiar way that told him that she had taken a reclining position. Glancing over his shoulder, he was almost (almost) taken by surprise at her snuggled up with her new toy – her very own sniper rifle, pinched from the armory of that irradiated vault they went to before arriving here (oh man he didn't want to have to taste another dose of Rad-X for a long, long time after that…) She was cleaning it lovingly with a rag and working at jammed parts with a little oil and a screwdriver with a look of delighted concentration on her face.

He couldn't help but turn a corner of his mouth upward a bit at the sight.

She's good company. That I can't deny.

Something settled him a bit with that thought. The pins in his gut stopped dancing for a bit.

First grounded thought all night.

"Hey Boone, you think you could give me some pointers with this thing?" she asked after a long while in comfortable silence, "I'm familiar with the scope from my Carbine, but the weight's really unfamiliar." She paused to experimentally peer into the loading chamber as she cocked it, taking extra care to make sure it was as unloaded as she thought it was. "Big shells too," she said more to herself than him.

He turned from where he had finished cleaning his rifle and sized up the situation before responding. Women were sometimes just too petite for the higher caliber rifles, and the .308 packed a serious punch even for smaller men. But she wasn't by any means a small woman, and though he was aware of her figure, this time he really looked: not taller than average, broad shoulders, hips full, heavy in the thigh… not fat, just meaty. Sturdy bones, definitely not shopping in the petites like Carla…

"Sure," he grunted before his mind could race off with him again, and willed himself to keep talking to keep it that way. "You're a pretty decent marksman already, and I think your frame can handle the kickback. Though, you'll probably do better crouched or prone to steady the barrel," he told her with utter professionalism.

"Hm," she scrunched her mouth in a thoughtful frown, bobbing her head as she considered what he said. "I'm big, but not that big. Ok, that's fair."

"Wasn't trying to offend you," he replied, regretting opening his mouth at all now.

"I'm not," she said gently, "I know what I am and what I look like. Couldn't do what I do if I were a cute little thing. I'm sure I could do some other interesting things with that…" she trailed off, amusing herself with the idea of being a delicate flower.

"Anyway," she said, tucking the rifle carefully next to the bed, "I'd really like a lesson when we're back out in the Mojave – don't really think there's a high-power range tucked in this lil' suburb."

"Sounds good," he mumbled back, not looking at her anymore lest his thoughts returned to what Carla was shaped like and liked to wear.

The bed squeaked again as she stretched and then heard the zipper on her pants rip down loudly and the bed shook a little as she shimmied out of her pants as she did every night before she settled in. "I'm ready to call it a night. Think you could hit the light over there? Oh man is it good to sleep in a bed for once…" she muttered as she flopped her head onto the pillow and gathered to up with her arms.

He got up and flicked the light off and suddenly found himself at an impasse. Rather than ask, he grabbed the other pillow off the bed and kicked his boots out of the way to make a Boone-sized clearing on the floor.

"Um… what are you doing?" she said sleepily when she heard him rustling around.

"Moving my stuff, what does it sound like I'm doing?" he replied, sounding more annoyed than he wanted to.

"Are you really going to sleep on the floor?"

"Yes?"

"Pity's sake, Boone… I don't have cooties. It's a huge bed."

No response.

"Ok." She turned over again, "Well, I'll let you know how awesomely I slept in the morning. Mmm mmm mmm, this is cozy…"

Damn it all.

In the dim light that came in through the window he could see her curled up on the far side of the bed, back to him. He was always thankful that she kept a pair of shorts on under her leather pants, but he stood there, realizing that she was still pretty much in her underwear and here he was half-naked and trying to fathom all of the conflicted feelings running through him at that moment. He sighed and decided to just make a decision.

He pulled another tee shirt on and climbed onto the bed, keeping to the edge as close as he could without falling off. He could have sworn he heard her snicker. He didn't care – somehow that made it better. Somehow.

Familiar sky, dusk, clouds and dust in his nose and eyes. Wipe sunglases on shirstsleeve, feel the grass prick at his cheeks and neck from where he sat crouched as still as a stone waiting. All so familiar…

Here they come, you know what to do man, it's what they told you but I'm all alone and how did I get here and… here they come…

Rifle ready. Wait. Aim. Pull—

There's one and another and another… and here's one and…

My god, what am I doing?

"Someone, radio HQ – they're just civilians!"

I can't stop (another one) can't stop shooting… (another) One more look down the scope faces after faces I know him and her and where did they and how and…

Fuck, NO!

… and Carla. All dead, perfect shots to the head faces sickeningly torn off and blasted off skull caps and…

I'm still shooting, someone stop me, my (another) hands won't stop (another)…

Looking up across the ravine there's another Recon scout, red beret on a head with long dark brown hair blowing in her face, a heavy sniper rifle leveled in his direction. How long had she been there?

"Stop me, shoot me, make it stop!"

He eyes are cold and dark. She stands regal, menacing. I stand and I'm raising my rifle at her and I feel myself pull the trigger… She's hit on the forehead, her face is covered in blood but she still stares at me, I've shot her and she still stands, lowers her rifle and turns to leave me here alone with the damnation below me and—

"WHY COULDN'T YOU END MY PAIN?"

"Fucking… ungh?" he woke up nearly shouting, eyes watering and his chest soaked with sweat, and sat up abruptly with a thrash of his arms.

"OW, what the who the—who's there or I'll pin you to the wall!" She was up and had her .357 in hand before you could sneeze. Sonofa… he'd smacked her in the side when he'd woken up so abruptly, must've tossed and turned his way closer to her during the night.

"Cour," he croaked, his throat dry from sleep, trying to get her attention, instead getting her pistol aimed at his head from the sound of his voice. Shit she's still practically asleep… gonna shoot my brains out before she knows what she's doing…

"Cour! Shit, put that thing down, it's just me," he hissed urgently as he dodged his head to the side and away from her incoherent aiming.

"Wha..? Boone?"

"Yes, put it down… son of a…" he muttered as he saw her silhouette lower the gun and relax, her face staring down, remembering where she was. She sighed loudly and flopped back down onto the bed.

"Heck. Sorry 'bout that," she sounded disgusted.

He sat on the ledge of the bed, face in hands, elbows to knees, "Nah, no… I woke up with a start and hit you on accident. Can't blame you for the rude wake-up." It was just sinking in… the dreams were really bad again. They'd never really gone away, but they hadn't been so intense as to break into the waking world – mercifully, he wouldn't even remember most of what they were once he woke. But now… that one was almost as bad as when he'd come back to Novac after he'd found Carla, after he'd…

He huffed and crawled back to the pillow. He knew there wasn't much of a chance for more sleep.