She'd called him Craig. Never should have told her his first name. Was a dumb joke, anyway.

Couldn't believe he'd done that, let her cry on his shoulder. All it did was make him hurt more.

More punishment.

Maggie was teasing him now. It was hell. Carla used to tease him all the time, about everything under the sun. He closed his eyes and tried to push those feelings away, but he couldn't. Couldn't think anything, other than missing Carla like crazy―

And thinking about Maggie. Didn't know why he'd even suggested that idea to her, it made his chest hurt to think about―he shoved the thoughts to the side, trying to ignore them. Maggie hadn't been very happy with the plan, either. Made her upset, he didn't like that.

He was asking for the pain, now. Seeking it out. At least that was normal.

Maggie was a lot less confident than he'd originally thought. Her anger petered out the minute she started thinking about her sister. It made her breakdown at the Grub n'Gulp all the more awful, for him. He'd cried, before, but seeing Maggie crying for Carla―seeing Carla's face in hers while she cried―

Christ, he wished she wouldn't have to cry. He didn't know how to get her to stop. Made him sick to his stomach, watching her cry. Thinking about the last time he'd talked to Carla, how emotional she'd been. Maybe because she was having a baby. Maybe because he was a bastard.

After everything that he'd done in his life, he was a bastard. A dirty bastard who deserved to be tortured this way. That seemed right. Gave into it.

Not Maggie. She didn't give in easy. Maggie fought him, fought hard, wasn't afraid to throw a punch, wasn't afraid to fight dirty. To act dirty, like a bastard. She was weak, she was strong. She was nasty but had a decent side, even if it took a lot to pull it out of her. Like Carla, she had strong feelings about her mother. They were both strong. Stronger than he was, maybe.

Carla was like starched lace. Delicate-looking, but tough on the outside. Maggie was a collar around the neck, rubbing the wrong way. Making his throat tight. Making the skin raw.

Skin. Maggie didn't mind being naked in front of a stranger. It unnerved him, thinking about that. Touching her bare skin. He'd been a little rough when he sewed her up. Forgot about his stimpaks until she reminded him here in Nipton.

Jesus, she'd bled and bled until he sewed her up. He could still see the blood. Could still see her chest and the trail down her breast―he shook his head, trying to clear it. Maggie wasn't Carla. Shouldn't be thinking like that, dammit. Wasn't his place to think like that.

She'd attacked him because he shot Carla. Sucker-punched him and went after him with her machete. Tried to kill him, maybe. Tried to kick him in the crotch. She was rough, but it only went so far. She'd bit him on the mouth. ...Her lips were soft.

He cringed at the thought. She wasn't Carla, goddammit. Needed to stop putting his feelings for Carla on her. It was going to get him killed, probably by Maggie. She'd already promised she might.

She'd cried on his shoulder.

Boone stood up a little straighter and stared directly into a burning pile of tires, tried to pull up the anger he'd had before. Tried to clear his mind of thoughts about Maggie. Tried not to go crazy from how similar the women were. It was only getting worse, the more he traveled with her.

Tried to remember he swore vengeance on the Legion, to kill every last motherfucker. For Carla.

Maggie had been thrown into a pile of burning tires.

Goddammit.


He'd approached the Powder Ganger nearest the Nipton Town Hall when he heard the noise. A muffled scream―

Boone slammed the door to the town hall open, looking through his scope into the darkness. The lobby was empty but for a couple of dead bodies; further down the hallway, Maggie was standing with her foot on a mongrel's neck, trying to pull her machete from its head. Another was lunging at her just as she ripped her weapon free, jaws open and mouth slobbering.

It fell out of mid-air as he shot it, advancing down the hallway. Maggie took a deep breath and her head snapped toward him. She lowered the machete after a tense second. "I had it under control," she said, grumpily. "It's just a couple of dogs."

"You didn't ask me to come along just to sit on my ass," he said, quickly thinking up an excuse. Shouldn't have rushed in. She was angry now. He didn't have to save her ass; got the feeling she didn't care for him helping her after that mess near the shack.

Maggie stared at him and rolled her eyes. "Might as well check the rest of the place with me, then," she said, waving him on. She started walking up the stairs at the end of the hallway.

He followed. Heard the dogs before she did, shot them. The town hall was full of Legion mongrels, dead bodies and ruin. Just like them to leave a trap for the next unlucky bastard. Maggie grumbled as she rifled through desks and filing cabinets, gathering up some weaponry. Nothing either one of them could use. Maybe she would sell it. She could use the caps to get herself some decent armor, something other than the flimsy Brahmin-skin jacket she was wearing.

She found a dead body in the upstairs with reinforced leather, and stared down at it with pursed lips. After a moment she turned to him. "Uh... you want some new clothes?" she asked, awkwardly.

"You need it more than me," he replied.

Maggie's head swiveled slowly from the dead body to him, meeting his eyes. "I don't―" she started, then rubbed her forehead. "I've never worn armor like that," she finally said. "Besides, there's got to be something better around here."

Boone relented, stripped the body of armor, and watched Maggie as she examined the next set of rooms. She was getting testy. Wasn't sure why, seemed like she expected something but wasn't finding it.

Third floor, mayor's office, she picked the lock on the back door and opened it to find a stash of food, ammo, and guns. "Fucking nice," she murmured, and thumped him in the chest with the back of a hand. "Start grabbing food. I'm gonna look through the crates."

After a while of searching, Maggie sat back on her heels and touched her jacket, grumbling under her breath. "There's nothing here," she groaned.

He glanced over and saw she had a complete set of leather across her lap. "Wear the leather, then," he said, shoving another box of apples into her pack.

She shot him a look. "I told you," she growled. "I never―"

"Stupid excuse," he interrupted.

Maggie's eyes narrowed at him. She curled up her lip and stood, stomping out of the room. Boone watched her go, then picked up the leather armor and followed. Wondered what was up with that.

When he caught up with her she was pulling the outfit off of a dead woman, a caravaneer outfit that had seen better days. "Better off with the armor," he said, pushing the issue. "You should wear it, instead."

Her eyes met his, and she looked angry. "Shut the hell up," she said. "I'll wear what I want!"

"You're going to lose another shoe."

Maggie dropped the woman's leg, and stood up straighter. "I'm trying to find something decent to wear!" she hissed.

He stared at her. Angry Maggie was a sight better than crying Maggie. Didn't remind him, so much. "What's decent?" he asked, quietly.

She kicked the woman's leg away from her and put her hands on her hips, growling in frustration. "I dunno, a dress or something! I don't wear that shit!" She gestured at the armor in his hands.

"A dress."

"Yes, a dress! Something I can walk around in!"

Boone stopped for a moment. Lost his voice in his throat, anyway. Carla had been real picky about wearing a dress. Had to have Pre-War stuff, never wanted the "dingy" field hand outfits or any kind of suit. Made her stick out like a sore thumb, everywhere they went. She'd always liked how her hips swayed in the dress, said it made her look good. And it had. He wouldn't argue that.

He could imagine Maggie, in the wastes, wearing a dress. Could imagine getting shot at, and her in a damn dress. Hips swaying like Carla's―it was ridiculous. He laughed, bitterly. She was definitely a city girl, like Carla. It was too much for him. She was killing him slowly.

Maggie lifted her fist up and made like she was going to smack him again, but lowered it. "What's so fucking funny," she snarled.

"Take the armor," he said, shaking his head. "You'll get killed if you don't." He shoved it into her hands and walked away.

Around the corner he stopped and leaned on the wall, hitting his head against the rough boards. The image of Maggie in a dress would not leave his head.

Goddammit. Goddammit!


She wanted to camp in Nipton. It wasn't too late to get moving, to go somewhere else, but she wanted to sleep in a bed that was more than a mattress or cardboard mat on the ground. Wasn't much he could do but agree to it. Maggie put her heels in and he didn't want to... to have to touch her again, have to grab her and stop her from kicking his ass. Once was enough. She'd probably bite him again, and he didn't know if he could laugh it off, again.

She did put on the armor. Looked good on her, hugging her hips. Her machete dangling from her hip, boots striking the ground, auburn hair pulled up behind her head... she looked a lot less like Carla. He was grateful for that. Maybe he could stop the thoughts, now.

"I was thinking about your stupid idea," she started, sitting at a table in one of the houses. Nipton had all the comforts of home, before it was ruined by the Legion. This house was fully stocked with booze and food and a queen bed. Maggie was sitting at the circular table in the living room, chewing on a piece of maize from the centerpiece, her face intense and eyes critical.

"Forget it," he muttered. "Wouldn't work, anyway."

"I think it might," she said, her voice hard. "But only if I figure out some things, first." The look on her face... She was trying not to cry. Dammit.

Boone walked out of the house. Couldn't bear to think what he was, about that idea. Maggie looked too much like Carla, already. Is being crazy infectious. Maggie seemed pretty crazy. Maybe he'd infected her, though.

God, he hoped not.

He rubbed the bite wound on his lower lip, closed his eyes. She'd stopped drinking. It was good, she was a lot more effective without the booze. Maybe he ought to start again. Might make sense of whatever the hell he was thinking. Didn't want to think it. Didn't even want to think about thinking it.

Maggie glared at him when he returned to the house. She had her machete in her hand, her partly-burned hair out of the strap she'd tied it with. In one quick motion she wrapped her hand around the end and sliced through it with the machete.

The clump fell to the ground, coupled with her swearing and trying to dislodge a few errant strands. "There," said. "Shit was burnt up, anyway." She laid down the machete and kept glaring at him. Her hair was mangled but slightly curled on the ends from the fire, falling around the base of her skull.

Thank God he was wearing his sunglasses. His eyes started to water.

Goddammit!

"How does it look?" she asked, ruffling it into a mess.

Boone swallowed and looked away. "Like a mess," he mumbled. The armor didn't matter now. It was all in the face, anyway. And her haircut―

"Well, no shit," she grumbled. "At least it doesn't smell anymore." Her nose crinkled, at the words. She picked up the strap and looked at it, then pocketed it. "Alright, pick a house, we'll get some sleep and go back to Novac."

"Why?"

Maggie rolled her eyes at him and shoved a piece of yucca fruit into her mouth. She ate messily. Like a savage. "Because I'm gonna have to pick up some clothes to look like Carla, if I'm gonna pull off this disguise," she said, flicking a hand at her hair. "I doubt you got rid of her stuff."

Didn't have to tell him twice. Boone turned around and left the house again, walking to another place across the street and slamming the door behind him.

Like he could sleep through this torture.