Oh, but you cannot safely say
While I will be away
That you will not consider, sadly
How you helped me to stray
PDA, Interpol
It's not the first time she's disappeared on him, on them. The last time she had, she'd come back with that smoldering anger firmly on the surface. It had always burned within her, glimpses coming out when she was on a hunt. But since then it was front and center and it swayed her every decision, their days of lazing around the cocktail lounge a thing of the past.
He simmers silently. He had seen all the signs. But he had also said nothing. The Wasteland called to her again and when she finally went, she went alone.
She slips out after a bad fight with the scribe, one he's not meant to hear. But he can never get used to sleeping for more than a couple of hours at a time, even in the 38. Veronica can't stop grieving and Six... Six had completely shut down, cold and resolute. He recognized that animal in her even as he turned away from it in disgust.
She had been buried in her Pip-boy for days, the sound piece pressed against her ear with the volume low. When he'd looked in the cabinet for a can of pork 'n' beans, nearly half of them were missing. So were most of the tins of Cram. She tucked purified water in her pockets whenever she stopped in the kitchen - all supplies she usually made him carry.
But the biggest tell was when he found her at the workbench, replacing the scope of her sniper rifle.
Six was a fan of explosives and melee, loved to string trios of grenades into bouquets that resulted in her targets going airborne. Nephi's driver was her current melee of choice and he'd heard her yell 'fore!' more times than he could count before she made contact with her power swings. When she needed a sniper rifle, she took him with her. But not this time.
It's two weeks after she disappears that he finds her.
He's following an itch of his own, restless and looking for something other than Cassidy's booze or another game of cards with Raul to distract him. He's debating about stopping at the Atomic Wrangler for the evening when he spots ED-E. The eyebot is floating by the gates to Outer Vegas and he can't remember the last time he'd seen the bot since Six took off.
ED-E begins beeping as he approaches and Boone slows, coming to a stop by the door. Hands in his pockets, he contemplates the robot and his current boredom. When he nudges his head towards the gate and ED-E blips out what sounds like agreement, he moves.
The bot keeps pace with Boone's careful watch. But as they get closer to the New Vegas Clinic, ED-E's battle tune trills out just as he sees laser fire in the distance. He aims as he rushes towards them, picking the Fiends off quickly. ED-E keeps them back from a figure crouched near the ground, almost invisible in the twilight but for a curve of dark blue energy.
The Fiends are all dead and he's a dozen yards away when he recognizes her. She has to straighten for him to get a good look at her, the lights from the 38 distant but welcome.
The suit is dark and hugs her body,and when she crouches as he nears she almost disappears into the shadows of the clinic again. He is distracted by what it does and doesn't see the way she's coiled. Not until she lunges at him.
She knocks him back hard, his shades and beret knocked loose, the energy blade of her axe sizzling the skin of his throat as she holds it there, eyes burning with a manic light. He doesn't breath and feels his blood run cold as Six pants heavily above him, fear wild in her features.
ED-E is beeping above her and Boone says her name slowly as she blinks once, then once more. Heavy blinks, as if coming out of sedation. Her breathing becomes frantic as she scrambles back, dropping the axe in the process. It slices into the meat of his bicep like butter, and he moves away from it, the blood trickling sluggishly out of a clean, straight cut.
His throat burns white hot, but he isn't bleeding from there. He walks to Six, who had gotten on all fours and was gasping like she'd sprinted all the way back to them. He helps her up and leads her to the clinic, ED-E floating behind.
They remain there for the night, sleeping in separate rooms. He touches the bandage at his neck, the dressing light on the burn. Second degree, they said, and it would scar. Probably end up looking like rope burn. Assumptions would be made.
He's discharged the next day, and when she isn't, she's ready to walk out in her hospital gown if need be. She argues that she's hale and hearty but Doctor Usanagi was not cowed easily.
When the guards begin inching towards Six and Boone flicks the safety off his rifle, Usanagi finally caves in, giving the courier a grave look.
"You need medical attention."
Six sets a bag of caps on the counter and drops the stealth suit next to it, the suit making a small noise of disappointment Boone is sure he didn't imagine. "Thanks for the treatment, doc."
They walk out in silence and Boone feels compelled to loosen the ties to his leathers and give her something more to wear even as she bends to pick up her discarded axe. She shrugs the chest piece off, asking for the face wrap of his armor instead. She wraps it around her head and over her mouth, hiding the new scar that rounds her forehead, below the line of reddish-brown hair growing in curly snippets since it had been shaved in Goodsprings. He hadn't noticed it in all the chaos that had followed once he found her. He wants to ask, but the tight pull of her mouth and the dark set of her brows makes him hesitate.
She picks the lock and disarms the traps of a front door to an abandoned house before she waves them over, disappearing into the back room. He can't relax because she seems so on edge herself so he stands by the window, scoping their surroundings. ED-E floats by with only his fans making noise. Nothing threatening was on the perimeter.
When she emerges, she's dressed in a merchant outfit she found in the dresser, the skirt brushing her calves and the tops of her boots. She shoulders her axe and holsters a weirdly shaped gun he hadn't see until then. But she doesn't explain and they continue back to the Strip in silence.
It isn't until the reach the gates of the Strip that she finally speaks.
"Can we not tell anyone about this?" she pleads, her eyes dull even in the casino lights as she looks at him. "About the whole stop at the clinic?"
He nods carefully at her request and she returns it, already looking away. A few of the others were just exiting the Tops, Rex barking at the sight of the courier.
When they ask him later about his neck, he mentions laser fire caught him.
Boone wonders if they notice the way Six freezes for a tiny moment before she loosens up enough to return to the poker game Raul had roped her into.
1.25.2283
If it wasn't winter, he would've braved the roads directly south from Reno to New Vegas on his own, but it was a slim chance he'd make it through with all his limbs intact. The shorter days made the nights almost unbearable and lean winters meant hungry predators.
The caravan is too slow for him to continue with, however, so he strikes off on his own after it arrives in the outskirts of NCR City. He sticks to the outer perimeter of the city, taking the long route around. His supplies should keep through to Junktown and he only stops in Junktown long enough to collect a note from Mike at the bar of the small tavern.
It mentions a finding with no specifics and an address, a small ranch outside the town proper. Boone reads it but continues south and then east without stopping by. His blood was running hot, and while he still needed half a bottle to force a full night of sleep, he was up before dawn each day, thirsty but jittery with pent up energy.
When Tiaret had brought out the collar with assurances that it was only for the safe transport of her guest, he had cut the meeting short by standing, taking the job but leaving the collar behind. He had made it as far as the door before a rifle had been pressed against his back and the collar pushed on him.
While he wasn't sure what he was planning, he followed instinct and kept walking. If he didn't find her, they would hire someone who would.
It takes two weeks to reach the Mojave Outpost from Reno and when he comes upon the hulking statues of the two rangers, he pauses in surprise.
The graffiti isn't new. He'd seen it when he had passed through months ago. But the two Rangers are broken down to their leg stumps by now, equipment still set aside. The job wasn't completed yet, by the looks of it. The highway toll booth had been re-established and all who passed had to show identification, an NCR stamp added for tariff purposes within the Free Economic Zone of New Vegas. But they kept no record of who passed through the booth, something the majority were in favor of.
The statues remain on his mind as he passes Primm and a few securitrons bundled near the correctional facility. He glances at it from a distance, spies the flashes of light and distant eruption of explosives coming from the interior, followed by the crack of cover fire.
He hurries past it, the memories shaken loose too vivid for him to process. The sight of the Strip lit up is hard on the eyes and he dons his patrolman sunglasses almost immediately.
He doesn't resist the lure of a whiskey bottle when he settles in the Casa Madrid Apartments that first evening, getting down to the clear bottom before he passes out.
But the nightmares are festering this close to ground zero and he jerks awake after midnight, sweating and shaking. And running on empty, he finds, searching through his pack in the stuffy room.
He lays on his back, trying to find sleep again but his head spins when he closes his eyes and all he can hear is business booming in some of the other rooms. The moans and knocking bed frames make his jaw clench and he tries to block it out even as he feels a telltale twitch in his pants.
He stumbles out of his room, on the hunt for an additional sleep aid.
"You planning on going to Klamath's?" Pretty Sarah asks as he opens the front door to cool night air. "He's closed. Had a family emergency."
Boone lets out an annoyed breath through his nose. He could walk, he supposes, but that would only serve in waking him up further.
"You sure you don't want some company? Might work wonders for your night. Our most popular girl is just finishing up."
He turns to Pretty Sarah, frowning but is distracted by the door that opens out of the corner of his eye. A client walks out, his back to Boone as he continues facing the woman that leans against the door jam, running fingers through her chestnut hair, the cut short and framing a heart shaped face.
The smile on the woman is too full, missing the crooked curve on one side, and the eyes are too light to be hers, but for a minute there...
His blood is loud in his ears as the front entrance closes behind the other man. Even the gust of cold air is not enough to pull him from the sight. She's running a finger on the hem of the open flap of her short robe, legs long and lean.
"Why don't you take our Wasteland Protector for a spin?"
The prostitute that looked so much like the courier turns her smirk on him and he's suddenly reminded that his cock is still awake, at half mast at the sight as she opens her robe a bit more, the skin beneath dark and smooth in the faint light. They had gotten some of the details right.
He hesitates, aware that this could go very badly for him. He would have to face her soon and he now has questions he didn't think he ever would, thoughts that had never crossed his mind now surfacing through his lowered inhibitions.
When the woman before him reaches out, he flinches at his body's reaction. But he doesn't stop his forward momentum when she pulls him in.
AN: I don't have a beta, so con-crit is welcome. Just don't completely tear me to pieces, is all I ask. :D