For some reason, this particular dream always had a blank background. He doesn't really know why. Maybe it's because his mind simply isn't creative enough to give such a scene a specific place. Maybe it's because the background doesn't matter, only what's happening.

Either way, it gets more disturbing every time he sees it.

He's surrounded by black, as if he's the last piece of matter in the universe. No floor, no ceiling, no walls, nothing. He's just standing on nothing, spine straight with his hands in his pockets. It oddly feels normal at first, as if the abyss around him had always been there, un-noticed.

"Craig?"

His stomach lurches, his jaw clenches. He knows who's behind him. It's the same every damn time.

"Oh, Craig?"

That sing-song voice calling out to him, her tone so light and inviting. Any other person would turn right away, that voice seeming so comforting. He, on the other hand, doesn't move. He knows what's waiting for him. No beautiful goddess was going to greet him.

"Craig? Don't you want to see the baby?"

It's always the mentioning of the baby that tricks him. He had been so excited to be a dad. He never showed it, but it was there. That little twinge of joy that pulled at him every time he saw her folding baby clothes or buying those stupid dino toys from Cliff at the gift shop.

He turns, swallowing, hoping that same disturbing image wasn't coming towards him.

He's sadly disappointed.

Carla's striding in his direction, somehow going fast but slow at the same time. It seems like it takes hours for her to reach him, allowing him to take in her whole image. He first recognizes the dress, the one she wore on their wedding night. The bright yellow one with the flowers, the one that he thought looked odd for a wedding but never questioned it. The dress is pristine, a blaring opposite to who is wearing it.

Half of Carla's face is rotted away, the grimy white bone visible in places where the long dead flesh had faded away. She's carrying a little fabric bundle in her thin arms. Once she reaches a certain distance, as if on cue, the bundle begins to cry. It wasn't the cry of a normal infant. It wasn't even a cry, more of a pained screech. A screech so loud he winces, lowering his head. He doesn't cover his ears though. He feels as if he needs to hear it.

As if he deserves to hear it.

Carla finally reaches him and stops, her mangled face only inches from his. The bullet hole in her forehead stares at him like a third eye. It was a clean shot, probably the cleanest he had ever taken. Silently she reaches over, her thin fingers gripping the end of the bundle. She gently begins to pull it, opening the bundle to reveal…..

Nothing, it always stops right there.

Boone shot upright in bed, air rushing noisily from his lungs. He gasped once before clamping a hand over his mouth, forcing himself the breath through his nose.

"Fuck," He murmured, allowing himself to breath silently through the mouth. He pried his eyes open wide and peered around the thick darkness, just barely making out the sleeping form of Cass in the next bed, one arm laying lazily off the mattress. Veronica was in the bed next to her. Arcade was probably sleeping in Six's room, or maybe on one of the couches.

Boone shook his head and sighed, rubbing his sore eyes. He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but found himself tangled in the sheets. He swore under his breath and struggled, unable to free himself blind. Suddenly the door to the guest room creaked open, followed by a bright blue tinted light.

It was Rex.

The dog poked his head in, panting happily at the sight of Boone. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and ran up to the bed, sitting obediently at the snipers side.

"Nice timing," Boone sighed as he used Rex's creepy yet useful brain light to untangle his legs. Once he was free the dog barked, excited.

"Shhhhh, don't wake anybody."

Rex lowered is head and whimpered, stamping his front feet impatiently. Boone stood and stretched his back, sending out a few pistol-shot cracks.

"Six forget to feed you again?"

Rex perked up, the word "feed" exciting him once again. Boone nodded and started for the kitchen, the robot dog restlessly at his heels. He pushed open the thin metal door.

"Veronica?"

Sure enough, there sat Veronica at the kitchen table, a steaming cup loosely resting between her fingers. She looked up from the cup and smiled, pushing a strand of dark hair from her face.

"A little late to be up, isn't it?"

"….. Sorry."

The scribe laughed lightly, beckoning for him to come in. Between her and Rex pushing insistently at his legs he really didn't have much of a choice. He kept his head down as he grabbed a piece of Brahmin meat from the fridge and dropped it into Rex's dish, sending the animal into a feeding frenzy.

"Well, you look like shit." Veronica announced, still smiling. Boone turned to her, feeling naked without his glasses or beret. He only managed a weak "thanks," which made her laugh again. She pulled out the chair next to her and patted the seat, beckoning for him to sit. He complied, practically falling onto the old wooden piece of furniture. If he refused it would only lead on more that he had a problem.

"Here," She slid the cup over to him "it'll make you feel better. Its tea."

How she knew he was feeling down in the first place Boone really didn't know. Maybe it was woman's intuition. Maybe he really did look like shit.

"Thanks,"

He took the cup and lifted it to his lips slowly. But, once it made contact he jumped the gun, drinking too fast. He grimaced as molten hot liquid trickled down his throat. Veronica placed a hand over her mouth, half-heartily trying to mask her giggles.

"I didn't think I had to tell you it's hot."

Boone set the cup down as gently but quickly as possible. He took in a breath, trying to sooth his now burnt tongue.

"Sorry, I'm a little off tonight."

"I noticed, have a bad dream?"

"….. It's nothing; let's just say I won't be sleeping for a while."

Veronica nodded, knowing better than to push the issue. She leaned back in her chair and stretched, yawning. She turned to him, still smiling.

"You know, I bet we could find some good booze around here, even at this hour. I'm pretty sure The Tops is still open. Let's go drown some sorrows, eh?"

Boone shook his head gently, chuckling.

"Not going to use that therapy bull on me, are you? I get enough of that from Arcade."

Veronica leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. She thought for a few moments, and then shook her head with assurance.

"Mmmmm, therapy bull? No. I'm not a therapist. But, I am a bored young lady who would love to get a drink."

Boone blinked at her, not sure how to respond. How could he say no? Saying no would just make him feel worse. He smiled playfully.

"Fine, but you're paying."

"Oh, how gentlemen of you."