.10
Just before they would have arrived at Lake Mead they came in contact with several Legion scouts. They'd spotted the group around a hundred yards away and took their sniping positions to pick them off, like usual.
But Boone wasn't himself, and Ash could see it. He'd suggested waiting that one out but after Boone told him to shut it, he snapped back and took out his own sniper rifle. He screwed on the suppressor but before he could pass it to him, he had already taken the first shot. Went off with a bang, and killed the first soldier.
Ash froze, whispered to him sharply, "What the fuck?! We were supposed to wait!"
But Boone wasn't listening. He took another shot. All he thought about was destroying every last one of them right there and it didn't matter if he died doing it this time.
"Fucking bastard," Asher said with fury at his rogue companion, thinking that the guy had finally cracked.
He took out his rifle and looked through the scope, submachine gun right next to him. He took a shot but the bullet veered due to the wind. He didn't have enough experience to do it at this range without his spotter.
The Legionaries started scattering behind covers in the terrain to flush them out. He picked up his machine gun and placed a hand on Boone's shoulder.
"Come on, we gotta go," he said in a silent panic. He felt Boone trembling under the adrenaline.
"Boone," he called quietly. It took him a few nudges before the man decided to move from his place.
They quietly skulked around the rocks and mounds, in hopes of leaving their enemies' radar or ambushing a lone scout.
Boone wasn't exactly in the right state of mind, he didn't say a word. Ash could hear his breathing quickening, but he was too focused on escaping quietly to scrounge up a makeshift plan to eliminate the stragglers.
When Boone spotted two scouts standing together on a small hill ahead he shot at them immediately. Ash winced every time Boone pulled the trigger and hoped to high hell the last scout they hadn't yet seen wasn't around here somewhere.
But sure enough, the last one had appeared and spotted them from just around thirty yards away. Neither of them had noticed the scout until Boone yelled in pain when a bullet tore into his upper thigh. He turned furiously and aimed at the source without using his scope. Shot three times, with only one hitting the enemy's leg.
He had to reload but by now the courier had taken up his machine gun and squeezed trigger continuously while the Legionary had been stumbling to stand up.
Asher was so livid he didn't care that he was wasting ammo. After the magazine ran empty he fed more ammunition as he cut off Boone's line of sight and started walking towards the scout, precisely aiming the bullets from his submachine gun at everywhere but the man's head. The ones that didn't ricochet off the crimson armor hit him in the arms, hands, knees, and the scout finally crippled to the ground in agony, deliberately kept alive.
Still holding his gun up, he strode towards him. The scout was screaming in pain. From where Boone was he saw the courier standing before the Legionary, aiming right at his head.
It was a young man. He begged for mercy, apologizing desperately, saying that he had been wanting to desert for some time now but he'd been too afraid of Lanius, of what might be done to him. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he kept whimpering.
"You were the last one. You didn't have to attack him," the courier said coolly.
"But, but please-" before the man could finish he heard a single shot fired, and then, pure silence.
Ash trudged back holding his gun in one hand and the Legionary's loaded hunting rifle in the other.
"Hold on," he said to Boone, and left to double-check if the other two scouts were still kicking.
When he came back soon after, Boone was clutching his thigh with labored breathing. Ash narrowed his eyes at the wound on his leg and firmly told him to sit up against a rock.
He unhurriedly opened his duffel and took out his tools. Boone tried not to move too much, he wasn't the one with medical training but there was no exit hole, the bullet was still lodged in him. He just watched the courier stonily with the harrowing pain in his leg.
Ash took his brand new bottle of whiskey and looked at it for a moment, as if reconsidering using his last supply of alcohol for something like this. He poured some into a glass he'd rinsed with clean water to soak a pair of medical tweezers and suture set. He walked over, not meeting his eyes, and proceeded to cut an opening on his pants around the wound. After there was a big enough hole he unceremoniously poured some of his whiskey onto the open wound, not even bothering to warn him beforehand.
Boone swore loudly from the burning, and then gave a long, pained snarl. But he knew the worst of it wasn't done yet. Wondered if he was doing this slowly on purpose.
Ash searched his bag for something, a frown slowly forming on his face. He then stopped, turned to look at him.
"I'm out of Med-X," he said with a deadpan look in his eyes.
Boone closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Figures. Or maybe he was just doing this to piss him off. Out of revenge. He grabbed the whiskey off him and took a few gulps. Burned his throat and he felt like throwing up, but this was the next best thing. The bottle was promptly taken away from him after.
Ash removed the leather belt around his waist. "Bite on this," he said and passed the belt to him. After Boone took it between his teeth he slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and started to dig around the wound on his thigh with the pair of tweezers.
Boone winced again, groaning shakily through the belt. It. Hurt. Like. Hell. The center of the wound and the area of torn skin around it burned excruciatingly, especially when someone was jamming a freaking piece of steel into the crevice.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Felt a hand resting on his shoulder for a split second before it lifted off again.
"It's pretty deep," Ash muttered as he held the wound open wide enough for the forceps to move around inside. Guess that was his form of a warning. It was so painful that Boone was starting to whimper.
"Just a little more. Please. Sorry," he whispered, frowning hard and clearly fazed by the sounds he companion was making.
He managed to stay still long enough for the bullet to be yanked out. The .308 round was dropped to the ground in disgust and Ash wiped the blood around the wound with a small cotton swab, one hand squeezing Boone's wrist methodically after he was done, as if it was all automatic. Like he'd done something like this many times before.
He gently tilted his leg to irrigate the wound with more whiskey.
"Whiskey's great, huh?" Ash made a very weak attempt at a joke as he readied his suture and needle driver.
"Beer's my favourite, you know. But straight spirits-" he put the first of the stitches through the skin.
Boone groaned loudly, knew that he was trying to distract him with conversation. The needle was put through again.
"...straight spirits do the job much quicker."
His whole thigh ached till it was almost numb. Boy, he seriously needed a drink now. Not sure if he wanted to relieve himself of the pain from the wound or from his empty chattering.
"And it's not like you'd want to carry around a dozen beers for me, would you," Ash smiled wryly. He was obviously finding small talk very difficult. At least Boone wasn't shaking so badly now.
He stayed quiet for a bit as he sewed up the opening, trying to remember what he'd learnt at the Boneyard.
"Lucky it didn't hit anywhere else," he muttered.
Familiar line, familiar situation. Boone made a small grunt. Maybe a chuckle. He spat the belt aside.
Ash glanced up and looked back to the suture, "Don't need it anymore?" He asked for the sake of talking.
"...no," Boone said gruffly and breathed shakily each time the needle poked through his skin.
He hissed a little as Ash finished closing the wound and dabbed the final bit of disinfectant on it. Never been patched up from a rifle wound without painkillers before. Didn't want to do that again. He got a shot of stim but only after the wound had been sewn up.
Ash wrapped his thigh with clean bandages, all around his pants too. And once he made sure the stitches were still intact when Boone carefully moved his leg, he stood up and finally decided to talk.
"Alright, now you tell me what the hell that was," he glared down at Boone, who'd glared back for a moment before looking down at the beret in his hands. Just seconds ago, he was gently patching him up with a clear face.
"Hey," Ash leaned forward and crudely snapped his fingers right at his face when he didn't answer. That pissed him off even more.
"Shut it, you hear me," he muttered dangerously, eyes piercing the courier's from under his brows. Ash stared straight back without one flinch.
"No," he said clearly, "Tell me why the hell you almost got the fuckin' both of us killed."
Boone stood up slowly and picked up his bag, keeping quiet.
"Is it Bitter Springs, or what?" Ash said, sounding louder, more furious by the second. Guessed he knew it was nearby. Boone picked up Ash's bag as well and started to walk ahead.
"Hey," he yelled at his back.
Boone wanted it to be a signal for them to drop it and continue walking but Ash stomped over in front of him and held him by the neck of his shirt, "Don't. Walk. Away," He looked like he was ready to kill in a heartbeat.
"Fuckin' coward!" he shouted and shoved him hard. The bags dropped to the ground as he stumbled backwards.
That did it. This guy wouldn't quit, he'd make him.
"You wanna fucking die, then don't drag ME into it!"
Boone snapped. Before Ash could start with a punch he swung his fist at his face and it landed on his cheekbone, making him the one falling back this time.
Screw him. And everybody else. The whole fucking world.
He wished everything would be done with him. But at the same time he wanted to make this man pay for giving up on him. It didn't make sense.
Holding his bruised face, Ash glowered back, shaking in pure anger. He lunged forward and punched back at Boone, whom he knew could've evaded easily but didn't.
"I'm trying so fucking hard to stay alive because of him!" the courier shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Shut up."
Ash caught him by his shirt and flung him aside, "So why the FUCK aren't you doing the same for her!?"
"Shut. The hell. Up." Stop fucking swearing.
Ash didn't give Boone a chance to regain balance, he swung another punch that landed on his jaw, cursing him to the ends of the earth. Went ballistic, kicked the bottle of whiskey out of his way and then threw Boone against the rock face, intending to beat the lights out of him.
But Boone didn't care to take anymore. In that moment of odd clarity, he hated everything. Hated the republic, hated the fucking Khans, hated how the other man was in a better place than him, hated himself. Wished the world would be destroyed again just so he wouldn't be the only one being toyed with.
He started to fight back, and even with a wounded leg he did with more force and effectiveness than the courier ever could.
Where Asher's uncontrollable temper made him careless and impulsive Boone had the ingrained level of patience and reflexes to reciprocate. He was a trained soldier, and it showed. He punched back but missed. Got punched in the stomach in return. He punched twice.
They both felt like they could kill each other. Their guns and knives were so near, but neither of them picked them up. Didn't even think of picking them up.
They were panting heavily, from both anger and exhaustion. Several more hits and they were finally subdued, holding onto some of the boulders around them. Asher had a harder time standing up, his lips and nose were bleeding. While all Boone had were bruises and the gunshot wound to his leg.
The courier spat blood onto the ground.
"Fuck you," he stammered. "Fuck you, you know that," he slid down to the ground and held his head in his hand, exhaling shakily. He painfully knew Boone had purposely avoided his eyes or his nose. He did too. So really, what had been the point?
Boone, out of breath as well, looked up at the orange sky. The past few days were hell on him. It was a slump, all he had thought about was Bitter Springs, whether death would save him from this suffocation, and how he would choose to die.
He felt it coming, really soon. The fight before wasn't it.
Everything had been so, painfully, heavy. After punching it out he somehow felt like a small load was off his shoulders. Didn't know if it was just another peak before the crash, but it didn't matter for now. He'd hold on while he could. He always did.
He looked down at Asher. He surely wasn't feeling the same way, being at the other end of his vent of frustration.
He was still sitting on the ground, head still in his hand. Couldn't even be bothered to stop the bleeding, there were blood drops on the ground that dripped from his face. He kept taking deep breaths, he looked like he was trying hard to calm his rage, lest he suffered more under a fist fight with the professional. Boone felt a pang of guilt at the sight.
He stumbled towards his bag to get a clean tank top and threw it over to him. Ash didn't stir. Probably didn't even notice it hitting his knees. He made his way over and sat down next to him.
"Here," he grunted and held the tank top out to him. Ash stirred, looked at the grey singlet and just stared.
"You want me to wear it?"
"No," Boone raised his voice, "for the bleeding." He involuntarily let out a small laugh. Didn't know how that guy could be smart one moment and really stupid the next.
"Isn't that clean? I don't need it for this."
"Just take it," he droned. Ash finally grabbed it and held it to his face as he leaned his head back to stop his nosebleed, groaning.
"Sorry," Boone said solemnly, staring down at his bandaged thigh.
It was a long moment before Ash said anything.
"I'm sorry, too. Shouldn't have said…what I said," he muttered, still holding the shirt to his face and staring at the sky. His voice was husky because of all the yelling. A crow called in the distance, sounding like it came from the sunset. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"I keep saying things I regret. I'm sorry, I don't want you to die. I - really don't," he said, voice trembling. Boone could feel his heart sinking, wondered why someone like him was wasting his time with a dead man.
They stayed quiet for another long moment. Boone scratched the back of his neck, wanting to say so many things, but didn't know how and where to start. The courier broke the silence.
"Hey, I know you're-" he cleared his throat. Seemed he was finding it awkward as well.
"You...think you deserve, like, every freaking worst thing in the world. Or...that you've got nothing else to live for," he took a deep breath.
"That's not true. I want you to know that. You just gotta find it."
Boone lowered his head, "...you don't understand. It's not that simple," he muttered. It hurt his head, thinking about all this. He wished he could stop thinking altogether.
Then Ash gave a long, long, frustrated sigh with his eyes closed.
"Yeah, you're right," he said in a low voice. He opened his eyes turned his half-covered face to look at him.
"I don't get it. I'll never get it."
His eyes were resolute, "This goes way beyond losing your wife. I've never had to deal with anything like this before."
"I've never had guilt, grinding me down, into dust," he stared right into his eyes, spat the last word through his teeth.
Then he abruptly paused. And let out a dark chuckle. When he continued he almost sounded deranged, voice shaking with odd mirth.
"God, I fuckin' wanna help you, man. I really. Really, do," he stared upwards, eyes wide, "But it feels like - you're not letting me. Why the hell not?"
"No," Boone whispered. He folded his arms and kept his head bowed, "I'm...just not ready. To talk about it. I'm sorry," he frowned.
"But. Doesn't mean I don't want the help."
The courier was quiet as he blinked at him with a tinge of surprise in his eyes.
Up till now, he hadn't actually believed the other man had even wanted support. Boone had been deliberately avoiding making plans for the future, and seemed to be pushing everything and everyone away even if they flung themselves at him. It grew frustrating, for the both of them. And sometimes it'd seemed like he was one of those people who simply couldn't be happy no matter what.
But that one thing he'd said changed everything. He felt immensely guilty at not having been able to understand the toils of his broken mind, he should've seen it sooner. Didn't have enough empathy.
He nodded lightly, "Okay," he said with a small smile, "that's fine, I'm always gonna be here."
Boone's eyes fell. The problem was that he wouldn't always be.
"I promise that," he added, "take as long as you need."
They sat in silence again. Then Ash got up and poured some water on the shirt to wipe the dried blood off his face. He groaned from the pain, and his bottom lip had swollen from the cut.
"Cretin," he mumbled under his breath, "'course I can't win a punch with someone all brawn and no brain."
Boone was putting on his beret, when he heard that he dropped his hands to his lap and frowned up at him. Ash just peered back innocently.
"Just kidding. Come on, let's go," he said quickly, and he swung his duffel bag over his shoulder, with the wet shirt still on his face.