Note: A somewhat boring chapter but you'll see where I'm going with it in the next one.

Maggie cleaned under her fingernails and realized she'd drawn blood from Boone's arm. Sitting in his hotel room, running her thumbs along Carla's diary and willing herself not to lose her temper or blubber again, she was looking for just about anything to keep herself busy. Her knuckles were split along the middle finger, and she laughed at it. But the cut was just another reminder of the fistfight in the lot, and unwanted thoughts rose to mind.

Didn't know what to do about Boone, still. Didn't know what to do about the plan. Kind of felt like she ought to leave him here and go to Vegas on her own, but she'd die real quick. That was one hundred percent the truth, Maggie knew. And she couldn't let her pride get the better of her anymore. Needed his help and he needed―shit, she didn't know.

It was downright ridiculous, but she was probably just as lonely as he was right now. Except that she'd lost Carla two years before, and he'd only had her for that long. The both of them missed her really badly, badly enough in his case to have some... lingering mental defects from the awful nature of her death. Maggie was just a bitch and liked to punch people.

What could she say. She was a simple sort of girl.

Boone had fallen asleep on the couch, his head leaning on the wall. His mouth was open and he was snoring loudly, and she really didn't know what to do. As soon as he'd fallen asleep she'd let out the tears that she couldn't, before. Was afraid he'd get weird again, start thinking he needed to console her, if she cried in front of him again.

Worst part of that was that she couldn't say she didn't need a goddamn hug, right now.

Maggie sighed and put her hand in her chin and stared at him, sitting on the couch in his reinforced leather armor and beret. Even sleeping, he was weird. Sitting up? Hah, it was funny, how he'd just slumped back onto the couch and tilted his head onto the back. Must have been exhausted as all hell―

She was pretty out of it, too. Couple of punches to the face did that to you. Her nose had bled a little, but nothing too concerning. Manny pulled his punches for her, she bet. Most guys did, didn't have the guts to really hit a woman. Maggie'd used that to her advantage too often not to know. She needed to get up to her room and sleep a little, so they could bug out later. They were gonna have to get the hell out, quick. Avoid the neighbors and let it blow over.

She sighed again and pushed herself up out of the chair, going to the door. He'd locked it, she remembered that. It wasn't a privacy lock―she'd need the key, or she'd need to pick it. Maggie crouched down and looked at the keyhole, running a finger along it.

She swore and smacked herself in the face. Aw, fuck! She'd left her pack up in the other motel room. Shit! Her tools were in there!

It was hilariously stupid. Her eyes turned to Boone, who was still asleep. He wasn't going anywhere and she did not want to wake him up again. Asshole. He had the key in his pocket. Fucking hell, she wasn't going anywhere, not if it meant having to wake him up to ask him to let her out of the room.

Maggie went and sat down at the table again, moving the telephone and laying her head on her arms on the surface. Wasn't anything else to do. She sure as shit wasn't lying down in his bed. In Carla's bed. It was weird enough already without waking up to find him molesting her or some stupid shit like that.

Maggie made a face. She didn't like this, not one bit. Him thinking that she was Carla because he'd―he'd lost his goddamn mind when he had to mercy kill her to save her from the Legion.

Her armor was uncomfortable. She needed to get back up on the Strip, get something proper to wear. Yawning, she glanced over at Boone. If he still wanted to come with her, she'd have to be really careful around him. Try not to set him off, somehow.

It had been a very impressive kiss, though. Carla did pick good.

Maggie groaned to herself and buried her face in her arms. This was not the place or time that she wanted to start thinking about anyone in that way. Especially because―well, fuck, she wasn't a widow, yet. She rubbed her face and listened to the radio, trying not to think about it.

She fell asleep to the sound of his snoring, rhythmic and loud, filling up the motel room.

It was almost kind of nice.

Morning didn't come. Since the both of them had fallen asleep in the afternoon, it was nighttime when Maggie's head jerked up from the table, one arm dangling over her side, drool dripping from her mouth onto her arm. Musta looked real damn attractive. She groaned and peeled herself from the tabletop. Stretched out her arm, working the kinks. She blinked sleepily at the room.

First thing she noticed was Boone was gone. Second thing she noticed was that his whiskey―the couple bottles she hadn't managed to steal from him in their first encounter―were gone, too. Maggie sat up straight in the chair and listened carefully.

Water was running. She removed herself from the chair and scratched her head, yawning a little, as she walked to the bathroom door. It was closed. "Hey, uh, Boone?" she asked, tapping on the door. "Did you unlock the door yet?"

The water stopped running after a few seconds. Maggie blinked the last of the sleep from her eyes and watched the door knob turning. He opened the door, handed her a key, and shut it again.

Damn, he'd been crying. All puffy-faced and hiding it. She turned the key over in her fingers and tapped the door again. "Are you―" she started. What the fuck to say in this situation? Was he okay, did he need help, shit, she didn't know.

"Just leave," came the muffled response. Maggie grumbled to herself. He wasn't making this any better.

...And to temperance patience, she reminded herself. It had come to her that day on the highway. That she wasn't dead because she still had something to do. She was trying her best; he was trying her nerves. But―Maggie wanted to give him a chance. For Carla.

Carla deserved a little peace in the knowledge that her husband had someone with him who understood his trouble. Besides, the asshole would just go get himself killed if she didn't at least try to help him. And he'd helped her too much in the last week for her to let that happen.

Maggie stared at the door. "I'm not taking off without you," she said, slowly. "I promised I'd help you nail the bastard what sold Carla, remember?"

"That business is done," he said. His voice was deadened.

"No, it's not," she said, firmly. She leaned on the door, pressing an ear to the wood. She could hear him in there, moving around. "Jeannie May was only a go-between. Open the door, man, we gotta talk."

It jerked open and she moved back. Stood there, awkwardly, for a moment. Maggie gestured for him to leave the bathroom.

"Give me a minute," she said, and shut the door behind her. The bathroom was humid, made her feel sticky. He'd been running water for some time, the tub was draining. Maggie washed her hands, then studied the fresh dents in the wall and the even-more-broken mirror. Clearly Boone had a lot of anger, and probably most of it was directed at himself. She left the door open when she left the room.

Maybe he needed to direct that anger onto someone else.

"I need you to kill someone for me," she said, staring him down. He was back on the couch, red-eyed and damp. "I can't trust myself to do it."

"...Benny?" he asked, rubbing his knuckles.

Maggie growled and shook her head. "No, not Benny. I'll take care of that cocksucker."

Boone looked up at her and glanced away, unable to meet her eyes. Maggie scratched at her head again. "Look, I ain't told you the whole truth," she said. "About me and Carla and... the Family."

He looked up at her again, expectantly. Maggie was nervous now, fiddled with her hands. "Not sure how to start it," she said. "...When you first met Carla, it was on the Strip, right?"

Boone nodded. "Said I looked lost," he said, his words distant.

"Was it in front of Gomorrah?" Maggie put her hands on her hips. "Because that's where me and Carla lived."

The expression he had was what she expected. "We weren't whores," she said, covering her chest defensively. "Sal was a big shot in the Slither Kin and when New Vegas came around, well..." She shrugged. "We moved up in the world."

There was another awkward silence. Maggie breathed out carefully, trying to figure out how best to explain the situation. She wasn't good with words. That was Carla's thing.

"Carla was supposed to marry Benny. It was this huge deal for the Omertas to have ties with the Chairmen, to show willing that the Families could work together for Vegas. Nero set it up, had a plan. And Benny was all for making friends."

"But she didn't," Boone said, staring at his feet.

"No, she got the hell out of Vegas and it looked real fucking bad on Nero that his surety had vamoosed," Maggie said, sourly. "That's when I had to step up to the plate, and marry that rat."

"I'm sorry, Maggie," he breathed.

"I ain't blaming you," she replied. "You had no fucking clue, man. You're about as innocent as a baby, in this."

He laughed, bitterly. "Right. Innocent."

Maggie stared him down, her temper flaring. "Do you want to talk about what's going on with you, or do you want to go kick someone's ass?" she asked, trying not to lose it on him. "I know you didn't just beat the hell out of Manny because of Maggie."

Boone heaved a sigh, closing his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought," she muttered. "Look, Nero found out where Carla went." Maggie lowered her arms to her sides. "No one was supposed to touch her. Sal kept thinking she would come home. Nero―" She growled a little. "He―"

Her hands clenched into fists and shook. Maggie closed her eyes and breathed out, trying to keep her composure. Boone's breathing was heavy, filled the room. He lied, she told herself. He broke his promise, he plotted against me and Carla―and I'm going after him like I'm going after Benny. Using a flimsy excuse of his betraying the Family, which won't work.

It would never work. She just wasn't smart enough to take him down. But it would still happen. Somehow.

"Nero sent someone to talk Jeannie May into selling Carla to the Legion," she said, the words coming as if someone else had said them, like she didn't have to admit it. Tears were falling down her face again. Maggie wiped her face and looked down at the floor. "It was his revenge for her ducking out of Family business."

Boone sighed, painfully, and rubbed his face, staring up at her. "It never ends," he muttered. "Punishment."

"I need you to kill Nero, for me," she said, wiping her face again. "I... I can't."

The only answer he gave was the only one she wanted, the slow nod of a forever-tired face.

"Seriously, why the fuck are these assholes attacking us so goddamn often?!" Maggie flicked blood off her machete, and booted a Legionary body. "I'm starting to get real angry about the whole thing."

She turned to look at Boone―who hadn't been talking lately, not since the kiss―and saw him getting all strange on her again. They hadn't talked about what happened. She was sure he knew he was doing it, and was almost certain he knew she knew. But she had to find a way to get it to stop.

With a rough motion, she pulled the recruit helmet from the nearest body and jammed it down onto her head, adjusting the goggles. "There, maybe now we can have a normal talk," she muffled out, through the mask. "Listen, I told you the whole truth, back there. I need you to be thinking straight when we hit the Strip."

"I'll be fine," he muttered, and shouldered his rifle. He refused to make eye contact.

Maggie stared at him for a moment, then turned to face the Strip. Everything was lit up, just as it always was. It felt like a welcome, for her. She hadn't been back to the Strip for almost two whole weeks. ...She'd missed it, too.

"Let's go," she said, hooking her machete to her side. "I'm sure Benny's been awful lonely since I've been gone."

Their feet made little noise in the darkness, as they made their way toward the gate of Freeside. Maggie was thinking about Benny; about how best to hurt him, to fuck him up, to make him pay.

She only had enough temperance for one person, today, and it was going to be Boone who got it. He deserved it.

Benny deserved an ass-kicking that left him so bloody his coat couldn't be called checkered, anymore.

Maggie smiled grimly to herself as they entered Freeside.