And we're off! To the Citadel! And a major plotline! Awayy!


Benny woke me up by rolling on top of me in the middle of the night. After pushing him off with no sympathy, I sat up to find Boone staring at the wall, one hand on his trusted sniper rifle.

"Can't sleep?" I asked.

Without looking at me, he answered, "I can only sleep every other night."

"Tragic." Glancing at the double bed, I noticed that Arcade was curled up in a ball, his head ignoring the pillow. He really seems to like looking smaller than he really is, I mused. "I think I'm going to venture to Raul's room. Benny won't let me sleep tonight otherwise."

"Don't think that I won't do it."

I froze, looking at him in confusion. "Do what?"

The hand on the rifle twitched. "Attack. The Brotherhood. If they threaten Arcade."

The doctor looked so different without his glasses. His face seemed… soft and lacking. "I never doubted that."

"Good."

"He considers you as a good friend, you know," I murmured. "He trusts you."

Boone pulled his rifle onto his lap, stroking it softly. "He's too easy to trust."

I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. It made sense, of course. It seemed as if Arcade had run into many problems with trust, the Courier probably not the first. Though, I wasn't sure if Boone meant that he thought of himself untrustworthy or if he was just blatantly stating a fact. He was definitely a frightening man—always a gruff expression, brute strength, never revealing the emotion in his eyes—but I felt as if I could trust him all the same.

"Personally, he's like a brother to me," he said finally. "Little brother. Needs to be taken care of. Watched over."

"He told me that you don't care about anyone but your wife and the Courier."

"I don't," he said. Then, after another long pause, he added, "but I care about him too."

That makes total sense. "Tell me about your wife, Boone."

"Her name was Carla. I shot her in the dead of night when Legion came to take her away from me."

"That's… very tragic."

"Hm." The hand stoking his rifle paused and he glanced in my direction. "You should get some sleep. Should the Brotherhood decide they don't want us around, I don't want to be the one to drag your tired ass back here."

I clenched my jaw grimly. "Likewise, I guess."

"We could follow the river down to the Citadel this way, boss," Raul announced while I played around with the item sensors. I picked up my box of Danny Boys, causing the "Danny Boys added" icon in the top left before putting the box back down. "And if you don't want to eat those apples, boss, I'm sure someone can take care of them for you."

"Get off my back, Raul, I'm just messing around…" I opened the box, releasing the fruity smell as Raul fiddled with more buttons and dials on my Pip-Boy. "Say, Arcade… you didn't sell your helmet, did you?"

"Doc Church has been keeping an eye on it," he answered, forcing his feet into the metal boots again. "Just part of that favor he owes me."

"I wish I had someone that owes me a giant, never-ending favor…"

Raul took a step back from his tinkering. "I should think that Moira owes us one of those favors, boss."

"You'd think she would. Nope; all she gave me was a sizeable sum of caps and a pat on the back." I looked at what Raul had done and was immediately confused. "What is on my screen right now?"

"The radio, boss. I thought it was about time I showed you that you had one to begin with."

My mouth dropped open. "You mean to tell me that I could have jingle jangled for that entire stressful quest?"

"You're starting to sound like Benny on us," Arcade warned, and the Chairman paused in carefully styling his hair in the window to shoot him a look.

"But I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle," I protested.

"And I have a nine-iron on my hip if you end up abusing your radio privileges, boss. No playing it during all hours of the day, or singing along around the campfire, or luring in thugs by turning it on when you don't need it."

"Yes, please don't do that," Arcade sighed. "I've wasted enough stimpacks in my life on repairing crippled limbs after a giant firefight that started because of a radio trap."

"If it ever comes down to that, boss, I know a great guy that specializes in amputations. His name is My Pocket Knife."

I looked back and forth between the both of them, eyes wide in shock. "You guys aren't kidding, are you?"

Boone emerged from the staircase, his usual gruff, stoic expression on his face. "We should get going," he said.

Benny shot him an incredulous look. "Hey, hey, paly, you can't rush perfection here."

"We're walking to a military base, not staring in a fashion show."

"Boone has a point, Benny," I said mildly. "Why bother with your hair if the wind will just mess it up?"

He scowled at me. "Easy for you to say, doll-face. You get to wear a hat."

"And I assure you, I most likely have horrid hat hair. But I don't care. Because even if I did, the hat would go right back on and the hat hair cycle would continue." I stood, gesturing for everyone to collect their things. "Your hair looks fine, Benny, I promise."

"There's a lock dancing the jive on my face," he protested.

I grinned at him. "Tell it to get its spurs and jingle jangle then. Seriously, Benny, Boone wants to leave and I don't want to get a .308 to the face today, so we're leaving."

"Glad you see it my way," the sniper huffed. "What's our route?"

"Along the river," I told him. "I can see that you're itching to get out of here, so you can go on ahead and wait for us by the gate and we'll drag Benny down there when we can."