When Riley was a child, her father taught her a trick to use whenever she couldn't sleep.

"You count the stars," he'd told her, after she'd stumbled to his sleeping roll in the middle of the night. It didn't work too well, no matter how many times she tried, but being an obedient six year old she did it anyways, spending night after night picking out constellations, eventually losing her count and starting over. As she grew older, it became apparent that her father knew dick-all about trying to fall asleep - bless his heart - and it became less of a mockery of a sleep aid and more of a distraction, a way to pass the time on the road at night and clear her head.

When she set out on her own as a Courier at the tender age of sixteen, it became a way for her to remember her parents while she travelled. There was a method she'd developed, using her fingers to frame a box above her head. She'd count what was in the box, relax her hands for a few minutes, and start again with a new area.

Right now, laying on a picnic table in the back of the Mojave Outpost, she was on star number three hundred and forty-two.

They had made it to the Outpost shortly before midnight, signed in, and then went about the unwanted business of giving the report about Nipton to Ghost. The sniper had sworn up a storm and then - to the news that they had wiped out the Legion party that did it - swore up another one and promised to put in a good word for Riley with the higher-ups.

Three hundred and forty-three. Three hundred and forty-four.

It was far too late and she was far too tired to go looking for the owner of Cassidy Caravans, but she had decided to check out the bar anyways before trying for sleep. Lacey was closing up shop for the night when she stepped in, but she knew Riley from her work as a Courier. - she travelled through the Outpost frequently - and directed her to a woman passed out on the counter, hand still firmly wrapped around a bottle of whiskey. Riley decided it could wait until morning.

Three hundred and forty-

"What are you doing?"

She jerked and lost her spot. God dammit. She dropped her hands in frustration and lolled her head to the side, looking at Boone through tired eyes. He still had his beret and sunglasses on. It was past midnight and he still had his sunglasses on. What the hell.

"Why are you still wearing those?" she half-groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

"Habit," he replied. But he took them off anyway, carefully tucking them away so they were hanging off the hem of his collar. He looked… odd without them, she decided, feeling ridiculously triumphant that he'd taken them off. Triumphant and emboldened.

"And your beret," she said, sitting up. "Take it off."

"I don't think so."

Aw.

"Yeah, I never took mine off either," she smiled, a little sadly. "Back when I still had one I mean. Anyways. What are you doing up?" She stretched out her legs, swinging them around so that she was facing him properly.

"Same as you."

"I was counting stars. So unless you can tell me how many stars are in the Big Dipper I am going to have to call bullshit on you," she wagged a finger at him. He stared at her silently and she slumped her shoulders, sighing, running her hand over her face. Two days. She'd known him two days and she was already highly aware that his big moments of silence spoke volumes. Right now, it was saying I'm not going away until you answer and she wasn't sure if she could meet that challenge. "Yeah. Okay. You caught me. I can't sleep. Call the MPs." She held out her hands, wrists together, in mock surrender.

He shook his head, folding his arms in front of him and shifting his weight to the other foot. "Figured. You've been quiet since we left Nipton."

"Me being quiet isn't exactly earth shattering," she pointed out, dropping her hands. "When Veronica starts pulling the silent treatment, then it's time to worry." She yawned just then, wide and long, and she peered at Boone through one eye as she covered her mouth. He waited, watching with one raised brow.

"You seem tired enough," he said when she was done.

"Shut up," she yawned again. "S'different."

He shrugged. "Okay."

"And I don't see you sleeping. What's your big excuse?" she demanded, yawning again. God dammit.

He shook his head. "I asked you first."

"Technically you didn't."

"I'm asking now."

She laughed through a yawn, which was awkward and made her laugh some more while he stood and waited for an answer. Ghost appeared in her peripheral, peering over the rooftop for the source of noise she was making. Riley gave her a wave and the ranger nodded, turning around back to her post. Another yawning fit hit and she cursed inwardly. Weren't yawns supposed to be contagious? Why the hell wasn't Boone yawning? Bastard.

"Answer for an answer?" she offered, finally able to get her words out. His posture went rigid, and she smiled sleepily, predicting a blunt refusal or the image of his back as he walked away. Then she could get back to what she was doing, which was not thinking about what he was trying to get out of her.

"Depends," he replied finally. "On what you want to know. Sharing isn't really my thing."

"Shocker," she gave a wry smile, teeth flashing in the darkness. "I dunno. Let me think on it."

"If you want," he said slowly. "Now why aren't you sleeping?"

She grimaced. This wasn't going as planned; she hadn't really expected him to go along with it. She was banking on his anti-social tendencies to let her off the hook but apparently that was not the case. She began to see Boone in a new light: motherfucking relentless. Which, when you considered his primary goal of the destruction of the Legion, was a great trait to have. Right at this moment however, with him prying into things she wanted left alone, she was viewing it much like an approaching cazador: difficult to kill and persistent as hell.

"I can't sleep," she started lamely - as if this was something embarrassing and because it was obvious he wasn't going to leave her alone short of her snapping at him, and she really didn't want to resort to that. "Because… today I remembered things I didn't particularly want refreshed."

"Your partner?" he guessed, surprising her. But then, she'd told him about that the night before, hadn't she? She nodded, looking down at her hands.

"All I can see when I close my eyes is him up on the cross. It's not-" she sighed, rubbing her hands over her face, determined to keep the fatigue from showing. "It's not a big deal. I've dealt with this before. It won't affect how I work, so you don't have to worry."

"It will if you don't get some sleep," he pointed out. She paused, glaring at him through her fingers as irritation flared.

"You know, I could pull the same shtick with you," she declared, dropping her hands in a fit of annoyance. "See how you like it."

"That's fair," he shrugged. "Answer for an answer, right? Can't you-" he paused, as if trying to figure out the right words without offending her. "Can't you picture him doing something else?"

"What, like dancing?" she snorted derisively.

He sighed, moving to sit next to her on the table but still keeping a good distance between them. She watched him warily while he got comfortable, shifting his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs. "That's… sort of what I meant. What was his name?" he tried again, looking over at her in that quiet, patient way of his.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

He regarded her as if she was suddenly very simple minded. "Because I might have known him. I worked with Bravo and Delta at Hoover Dam." She hadn't thought of that, she realized. The idea that Boone might have known Noah was a strange concept, like merging two very different, separate worlds. Kind and affable Noah - with the easy gait and the quick wit - working side by side with stoic and quiet Boone, a man on a suicide mission, hellbent on revenge. They were on such opposite ends of the spectrum that merging the two would be akin to trying to force two magnets together. She just couldn't see it working.

"What?" he demanded, and she realized she'd been frowning in disbelief.

"Uh, nothing. I just… can't see you two uh… talking much."

He gave a quirk of his brow. "You never told me his name."

She blinked. "Um. Noah."

He nodded, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up beside her. She watched the way the smoke curled up, fascinated despite herself by the way he held the cigarette between his fingers. "Noah Wilson?" He asked. Her eyes lit up and she found herself sitting up straighter, suddenly more attentive. What were the odds? she thought. Boone nodded again. "I knew him. Played poker with him a few times while we were stationed at the Dam. He was a good guy. A good soldier. Curly hair? Blue eyes. Southpaw."

She laughed abruptly. "Yeah that's him. He was shit at poker, though," she remembered, pressing fingers to her lips as the memories came back to her. "Had a shit poker face. You'd think for a military man he could keep emotion off his face but he was just so easy to read." Her grin widened as she considered the man beside her. "I bet you'd be pretty good at poker."

"I am," he agreed, taking another drag on the cigarette, flicking the ashes away. "Easiest money I ever made came from Wilson."

"No shit?" She grinned. "How much did you take him for?" She could see it easily, Noah throwing his cards down with another losing hand. He never swore, in the year that she worked with him she'd never heard him say anything stronger than 'dammit', and even then it was a god damn rarity. So when he lost, she never saw him get upset. Instead, he'd say something about a chip and a chair and then get dealt in again. She tried to picture Boone being smug as he collected his winnings but it was just too foreign for her. She didn't know him well enough. She didn't think she'd seen him so much as crack a smile yet.

"At least five hundred. NCR money," he shrugged. "Easier to carry around."

"You'd think he would have learned," she shook her head, still smiling. "He still owed me money when he- when-" her smile faltered and she looked away, focusing on the backlit statues of the united Rangers while she tried to keep herself composed. "It doesn't matter," she breathed.

"It worked though," he said. She looked back at him, frowning, confusion written on her face, and he explained. "For a little bit there. You didn't see him on the cross."

It was true. It was easier to think of him sitting around a poker table glaring at the cards in his hand as if they'd wronged him somehow instead of up on a cross bleeding out under the Mojave sun. And she had Boone to thank for it, even if it was only for a few moments. So she smiled.

"Guess it did," she agreed. "Thanks."

He nodded, pushing himself off the table. He seemed to deliberate between something as he stood there, smoking idly. "Wanted to ask you another question," he said finally. Her eyebrows rose.

"That is two questions, you realize," she pointed out with a wry smile.

Apparently he didn't care. He took a deep bracing breath. "Been wondering… how you escaped the Legion."

Her smile froze. She could understand why he would ask; it was all too apparent by the painful tremor in his voice. It was the same tone he used in Novac, plaintively asking her to wait and hear him out. He wanted to know because of Carla. Because Riley was in the same situation and she got out. Because if there was a chance Carla could have escaped, he wanted to know about it.

But she couldn't. She didn't want to raise his hopes because her escape was so ridiculously reliant on a single, horrifying event, the chances of that happening again were slim to none. Besides, she'd only known Boone two days. Did she really want him knowing that she'd used someone's death like that? Or the fact that she hadn't given a single thought to any of the other captives when she ran? He was supposed to trust her with his back. What sort of impression would that make? Opportunistic. Selfish. Cowardly.

She swallowed and met his gaze, her smile still plastered on her face. Only now it felt forced. "Luck."

His expression made it clear that that was not a good enough answer. What had she said earlier about him being relentless? Shit.

She pushed herself off the table, intent on escape, putting distance between them with a few steps towards the barracks. Boone made to follow and she whirled on him, the image of a cazador still buzzing in her mind. "No. Leave that alone, okay? I can only get into so much shit in one night and that is not something I want to get into with you right now."

She didn't wait for an answer, just turned and walked away, and Boone didn't follow.