Five years passed like caravans along the Long 15. Every day melted into the last. The routine was what sustained Craig Boone. The minor details.

Making coffee. Cleaning his sidearm. Shooting the shit with Corporal Betsy. Reminding Ten of Spades to tie the loose lace on his boots. Sharing a cig with Bitter Root. Telling him he's a prick and half-meaning it, even though the kid has grown on him, actually makes him think of Manny a bit.

A few things shifted around, of course. Couldn't help it. The land they marched over became more parched, greener, hotter, colder, rockier, muddier, flatter, more elevated. His feet hurt more or less, depending on the state of his boots, whether his socks were dry or damp, how much distance they had to cover, how much weight he was hauling on his back. Ten of Spades finally became the Jack. Somewhere along the line, Corporal Betsy got herself a steady girlfriend and wound up growing her hair out a bit.

In spite of himself, Boone was promoted. He didn't like the responsibility, but he never managed to screw it up badly enough for them to kick him back down to Corporal.

Routine, though, routine plodded along, unconcerned with the changes. It had a way of connecting the past to the present and the present to the days and months to come. He couldn't look at his red beret or sleep under the stars without thinking of Six, just as he couldn't fry up bacon and eggs or spend a night in a run-down motel without remembering Carla.

Of course, memories of Carla were safer than thoughts about Six. Carla was gone forever, no coming back, no chance of making things right, but also no chance of making them worse. Six was lost only to his stubbornness and the long years of silence like a desert between them.

First Recon received orders to march northwest, towards a Followers' Camp called Santiago del Mar. In recent times, the Followers had been acting up, taking stronger stances against NCR policies on expansion and their treatment of tribals on newly claimed lands. In the south, there'd been protests, a fight in North Waco that'd left ten injured and two dead, although nothing disturbing enough to break the treaty negotiated before the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.

If the NCR wanted them near Santiago del Mar, it was so that they could keep an eye on things, watch out for any signs of insurgency while they claimed to keep the camp safe from Fiends, aggressive tribals and the occasional molerat or deathclaw. They were a symbolic presence. Nothing else.

At least that's what Boone kept reassuring himself, as he crouched on a hill overlooking the encampment, watching the distant white-clad figures of doctors, patients limping through the courtyards, even the occasional child darting from tent to tent.

It was beautiful country in the northwest. The hills bristled with pine trees and ferns grew among the wreckage of long, winding highways. Looking past the old Spanish mission, Boone could see the coast and the grey-green line where the ocean met the sky.

"We should go down to the mission," he said. "Talk to them. Find out what kind of supplies they've got. If they're on the up and up, we got no reason to bother them."

"We've got plenty of reasons," Bitter Root retorted. "I don't like this Follower bullshit. It's like some goddamn cult. Nobody is that nice unless they're compensating for something."

Boone thought of Arcade Gannon and Julie Farkis and all those other eggheads back in Freeside. Sometimes nice really was just...nice. It didn't mean he particularly liked it or that he even understood it, but it was there. It existed, just like deathclaws and taxes.

"I knew some Followers once. Not bad people. Better than most."

"It doesn't take a whole lot to be better than most. Pretty low standard."

It said something depressing about Bitter Root's outlook on life that, of the two of them, Boone was the optimist. At Camp Golf, one of the new recruits had given them the nickname, The Undertakers. It wasn't just because of their kill count.

The next day, there were more orders from NCR Command. Suspiciously specific orders. From the way they were worded, Boone suspected they came from the newly promoted General Moore. They were to go down to Santiago del Mar and confiscate anything that looked suspicious – chemicals, weapons, explosives, anything high-tech, even relatively innocuous items like radiation suits or basic armour. Boone knew the decision wasn't going to go over well. Moore probably knew it too. She was probably counting on it. Boone had been at this work long ago to know how her type thought, how they liked to poke a stick into the cazador's nest every so often, just to see what came out.

In Santiago del Mar, the Followers of the Apocalypse were situated in an old Spanish mission, a red clay building surrounded by tiled courtyards. Half of First Recon was posted at the eastern side of the building, their guns trained on the stained glass windows, while the other half, Boone's half, approached the wrought-iron gates that led into the first of several interconnected courtyards.

When Boone reached the gate, he found it locked. There were two Followers standing just behind the black metal bars and they had laser pistols in their hands.

"First Recon," one of the Followers said. He was a lanky guy with thinning, curly hair and blotchy skin. His voice was already slightly nasal in tone, but it wasn't helped by the fact he was sniffling with allergies. "Your reputation precedes you. We were wondering if you were going to come down here and say hello or if you were just going to snipe at us from the hills. It's good to see that you decided to be sociable."

"We're not out for trouble. We just need to see what you're doing. Check out your supply situation. Routine procedure."

"It might be routine procedure down south, but up here, we like our independence. Ever heard of this little thing called intellectual freedom?"

Bitter Root gives a loud snort, his lips curling with disdain. "Somehow, I'm thinking my sniper rifle is going to trump your 'intellectual freedom'."

The quieter of the two Followers, a blonde woman wearing pink-rimmed glasses, became visibly paler at the threat, but the talkative one wasn't having any of it. Boone wondered if he was trying to show off for the woman.

"You could try that. If you don't mind being court-martialled for murdering civilians. First Recon might've gotten away with Bitter Springs, but we're not Khans and this isn't a disputed territory. We help the people around here and if they find out you slaughtered us for the sake of some ridiculous rivalry with the NCR, they're going to be baying for blood."

Boone was about to answer, when he saw a little kid poke her head around the corner of the chapel.

Normally, he tried not to pay too much attention to kids (it put bad thoughts in his mind – bad reminders), but this one was notable for two things: one, she was wearing a First Recon beret that was much too big for her head; secondly, Boone was positive that it was HIS First Recon beret, the spare one he'd lent to Six in Novac. The gold insignia was pinned on at just the right angle and it had a dent in the metal in precisely the same place.

The little girl grinned and pointed at him or rather, at the beret on his own head, noting the similarity between the two items.

The quieter Follower glanced at the kid, putting on a patient expression. "Sev, where's your mom?"

"Around. She had work, so she said I got to play with Cow-purnia. But Cow-purnia's slow."

She'd barely finished her explanation when 'Cow-purnia' came thundering onto the scene, a heavy-bodied Nightkin wearing a checkered housedress. Her orange hair is set in tight curls around her large purple head. She put Boone in mind of a younger, less addled Lily or a saner, less evil Tabitha, but then all Nightkin kind of looked like to him. Huge, purple, prone to ridiculous accessories, but so terrifyingly strong and so batshit crazy that nobody would dare to laugh.

"THERE you are! Your MOMMY told you to stay in the YARD!"

Most children would've scream at the sight of an eight-foot SuperMutant lumbering towards them, but this didn't seem to faze the kid at all. "I was looking at the hat men."

She tilted her head at the Follower guards. "Gonna let 'em in?"

The appearance of Sev and 'Cow-purnia' seemed to make the Followers feel sheepish. Hard to talk tough when you had a weird little kid on one side of you and her Nightkin babysitter on the other.

"We'll let one in," the male Follower said. He glanced at Bitter Root and shook his head. "Not that one. The reasonable one. With the sunglasses."

Boone had never been referred to as the "reasonable one" before. He wasn't sure how to feel about it.

"You aren't in any position to be setting us conditions," Bitter Root said. He gave Boone a hard nudge in the side. "Don't fucking go in there, man. They're looking to get themselves a hostage."

"I've still got my weapons. I'm alright."

He wasn't scared of the goddamn Followers. What were they going to do, heal him to death? Sure, those laser pistols had a charge on them, but he doubted the guards would be able to shock him more than once before he'd shot them both between the eyes. Besides, they weren't going to try anything, not while the kid was standing right there, wearing his old beret.

When they let Boone through the gates, he was hardly thinking about the Followers' supplies. His mind was occupied in trying to sort out how his beret had gotten from Six's knapsack, which he'd last seen at Hoover Dam, to a Followers' camp a couple hundred miles to the west. He could only guess that she'd had sold it, probably to someone at the Old Mormon Fort. The thought of that hurt worse than he'd anticipated. It brought back a familiar ache of disappointment and regret that went with everything related to Six.

"What in the hell's going on? Is this a hospital or a three-ring circus?"

Hearing that voice, Boone knew he'd made a mistake. Six hadn't sold his old beret, at least not at Old Mormon Fort. No, she'd carried it with her all the way to the Northwest, forgotten in the bottom of her pack. Discovering it upon her arrival, she'd tossed it to some kid as a toy, because it meant nothing to her, about as much as he had.

His jaw tightened and his throat clenched up so that the only sound he felt capable of making was a soft hiss through his teeth.

The Follower guards crowded around Six, trying to explain the situation. From their panic, it was easy to see that they were almost as frightened of their boss as they were of First Recon and its sniper rifles.

"Dr. O'Shaughnessy, the First Recon scouts have come down from the hills. They say they need to see our supplies."

"We told them we'd let one in. Just one. A compromise. He's going to report to the rest. He seems reasonable."

It wasn't the adjective Boone would've used to describe himself at that particular moment. His face wouldn't give anything away to these Followers, but Six had learned how to read him. He was sure she'd be able to see how mortified he was.

At last, she broke her silence.

"He isn't reasonable. Never was."

Six didn't appear to share his surprise at their impromptu reunion, but then she'd always been good at making the best of a bad situation.

Whatever else she'd become, she was still a good-looking woman, although she'd gotten a little skinny for his tastes. The last few years had made her rangy and angular, her skin hugging her bones. They say time heals all wounds, but it didn't look like it'd healed hers, any more than it'd made a difference for him. Time, as it turns out, had never been much of a doctor. It was more likely to kick your ass than bandage you up and set you back on your feet.

Six strode over to the little girl and drew her arms around the kid's shoulders.

"So, Corporal Boone, are you going to say something? This is my home. I didn't walk into Camp McCarran - or wherever you First Recon guys are stationed these days - looking to stir up trouble for you."

It annoyed him that she'd address him by rank, as if she barely knew him. Before, it'd been just plain "Boone" or later, when they knew each other better, "Craig". He'd never liked that name, had practically given it up after Carla, but the way Six used to say it had done a lot to reconcile him to it.

"These days, it's Sergeant Boone," he corrected her. "I'm not here for any trouble."

"A promotion. Good for you. What are you here for, Sergeant? I've been watching you and your spotter sneaking around in the hills. You guys are falling off your game. Whatever happened to 'the last thing you'll never see'?"

Trust her to twist that line back around on him.

"If we were here to shoot you, you wouldn't have seen us."

"You pulled quite a disappearing act after the Dam. Guess I shouldn't be questioning your ability to stay out of sight. Anyway, if I thought you were here to shoot me, I'd have shot you first."

She said that without a trace of irony. He can believe it too. She's killed men, in cold blood as well as in the heat of battle. He wouldn't have been the first of them to have gone to bed with her. Probably not the last either.

Six stroked her hand over Sev's hair and Boone suddenly noted the resemblance between them. It had less to do with features and more to do with certain mannerisms – a lifting of the brows, a tilt of the head, a slight quirk of the lips. Mother and daughter? Aunt and niece? Hell, with the Followers and their weird science, the girl could be a clone or some crazy shit like that. Boone guesses at the kid's age and starts counting backward. The timeline doesn't make sense - not unless...

"Who's the kid, Six?"

"My kid."

Six dealt him a fierce, tight-lipped smile and the little girl nodded her head in agreement. Two against one. It hardly seemed fair.

"Sev, right? That's her name?"

"Short for 'Seven'. It's a nickname."

"What's her real name?"

"Not really your business, is it?"

He stared at the kid, searching her face for a resemblance to his own. Not much in the eyes or nose (thankfully – he'd never liked his nose) but there was some potential in the narrow lips and the firm line of the jaw, a chin that was surprisingly stubborn for a little girl. The kid had lighter hair than Six, but it was dirty blonde, not an embarrassing red-blonde like his used to be when he was a kid, before he'd wised up and shaved it all off.

The kid's hair was that kind of dark blonde verging onto brown that could turn any colour by the time Seven was actually seven years old. Might even go as dark as that Legion bastard's was, he thought. Another strong candidate in the 'Who's your daddy' sweepstakes.

"It might be my business," Boone said softly. "Never claimed to be smart, Six, but I can do math."

Six stared at him and for a moment, he thought that she was going to break down and confess that it was his kid, that she'd been keeping quiet about it all this time because they'd fought and she just couldn't bring herself to go back to him for help. For a second, he was sure the words were just on the tip of her tongue and he was all ready to forgive her, to look past the fact that she used him, and do what was right, for the kid's sake. In that brief moment, it'd occurred to him just how much he'd loved her and how easy it would be to let those feelings take hold again.

"Her name's Lucretia," Six said. "A good Roman name."

Bad thoughts swarmed him like cazadors. Be relieved, he told himself. The kid isn't yours. Not your problem. But he wasn't relieved. In fact, he felt as if she'd just kicked him in the balls.

"No, it's not, Mummy!" Sev protested. "It's Lucy."

Six petted the kid's head, picking a piece of grass out of her tangled hair. "Same thing, honey. One is Latin. One is English."

Boone finally managed to locate his voice again, although it came out strained and angry. "Hmf. Interesting choice."

"When I chose it, I was thinking of her father. I always wondered what he'd think of it."

Boone gave a slight grimace, but didn't offer a reply. What he wanted to say wasn't fit for a little girl's hearing, even if Vulpes' brat wasn't likely to understand what it all meant until many years later.

It'd been worse than he'd ever believed. Six hadn't just wanted Vulpes. She hadn't just entertained guilty thoughts. She'd let him fuck her in his command tent while the Second Battle of Hoover Dam was raging on outside. Maybe more than once. It's not like those Legion pigs probably spent a lot of time on foreplay. She'd let that Legion bastard knock her up and now she was raising up his goddamn Legion spawn, letting it prance around in a First Recon hat for a sick joke. Six even looked proud of it, standing there with her shoulders squared, her eyes defiant, as if daring him to call her out as a traitor, a Legion whore. He wouldn't do it. She'd probably enjoy his scorn, knowing that some part of him still loved her and that the betrayal stabbed him deeper for that.

"But you aren't here to reminisce, are you?" she said. "You're here to see our supplies. Checking us out for the good ol' NCR. They couldn't have sent a more loyal soldier."

She turned to the Super-Mutant. "Calpurnia, I'll need to handle this. Would you please take Sev back to the yard?"

"Sure CAN!" Calpurnia roared. "I'll keep a CLOSE EYE on her."

"Thanks."

Six crouched down, scooping her daughter into her arms and pressing a kiss against her cheek. "I'll be back soon, sweetie. Why don't you and Calpurnia make sandcastles?"

"No. Mudpies," Sev corrected her. "Just mudpies. We're making supper."

"Mmm. Sounds delicious. Can't wait to eat 'em all up!"

She tickled the girl's stomach and the kid ran away, shrieking with delight, the Nightkin hot on her heels.

The kid might have had Legion blood, but she looked like any other little girl you might see around a settlement – scrawny, dressed in dusty play-clothes, kind of cute – if you liked children, if seeing them didn't just remind you of things you've lost.

Six's gaze lingered on them as they went, but when the kid disappeared from sight, she frowned and went back to being all business.

Digging into the pocket of her lab coat, Six pulled out a small silver key and dangled it before him. "Come on. I'll show you our stuff."

Six took Boone through their supplies, patiently explaining the purpose behind each chemical, each piece of tech. They sounded innocuous enough, though she could've been bullshitting him. She knew he wasn't exactly a brainiac when it came to science.

Regardless of what the canisters contained, Boone knew that he'd have to confiscate a few, just to have something to report to NCR Command. It should've pleased him, being able to throw a wrench into Six's plans after the way she'd screwed with his head, but it didn't. Even in the brief time he'd spent in the camp, he'd seen that they were doing good work. If Moore didn't like it, if it raised her hackles, it was because these small, self-sufficient settlements made the NCR look ineffectual by comparison. The Followers were out here, winning hearts and minds, while the politicos back in Shady Springs were still bickering over how to carve up the spoils from a five-year-old victory in the Mojave.

Of course, there was one room that Six never opened to him and that was the one he really wanted to inspect. He plodded over to it and turned the door knob, finding it locked.

"What's in here?"

"I think that's the janitor's closet."

Boone may not have been a Follower, but even he wasn't dumb enough to fall for that.

"Looks like a big room for brooms and mops."

"We do a lot of cleaning. We Followers are big on sanitation."

"Sounds boring. Show me anyway."

Six folded her arms over her chest, her breasts pressing together under the threadbare tank top she wore under her lab coat. Boone did his best to ignore it, but it was hard not to notice the single bead of sweat that trickled down her neck, disappearing into her cleavage.

It was getting to be a hot day. Not a real scorcher by Mojave standards, but definitely humid and stifling, the way summer days seemed to go in the Northwest, when it wasn't pissing rain. He plucked his shirt back from his chest, trying to get a little air between the cotton and his damp skin.

"And if I say no?" she said.

"Then you say no. And I go back to my guys and I tell them about it. Wait a couple more days and you'll have fifty more of us at your door and we won't take 'no' for an answer."

She sighed. "You know, I'm really starting to regret handing the Mojave over to the NCR. Stupidest decision I ever made."

Boone scowled at her from behind his sunglasses. She probably would've preferred the Legion, once she and Vulpes' had gotten over the lovers' spat that had triggered nearly a year of petty warfare. Must have been tempting, the idea of going from a slave to a queen. He still wasn't sure why she hadn't betrayed them all at the last minute and brought her forces over to Vulpes' side, once they'd been reunited. Maybe there just hadn't been enough time. They'd been fucking busy in that tent - too busy fucking. The thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

"I don't want to hear it. You made your bed. Now lie in it."

She looked almost amused by that. "You're right. I got into bed with the NCR. Let them screw me over. I always knew they had problems, but I kept hoping something would change. It was a bad gamble."

The knot in his stomach tightens. "The NCR weren't the only ones you got into bed with. Now open the door."

She unlocked it, pushing the door open just enough to admit them both and shutting it quickly behind her. This wasn't just a secret she'd been keeping from the NCR, he realizes. It was a secret that she'd been keeping from her subordinates too.

He glanced around the room, expecting bombs, heavy artillery, maybe the beginnings of a bio-weapon. Instead, they were just a few computers and a weird-looking Securitron, one with a sickly smile plastered across its blocky screen.

"Hiya, Six! You're looking especially authoritative today. Who's your new friend? I'm sure he's someone we can trust, even if he is wearing one of those stupid NCR uniforms! You're always a good judge of character!"

Six rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Yes Man."

"Yes, ma'am! You're right. I'm always talking too much, aren't I? Guess it's just the way I was programmed!"

"Boone, this is Yes Man," Six said. "Seeing the damn thing, maybe you can guess why I lock him in the custodian's closet. Believe it or not, I don't need some crappy heap of nuts and bolts following me around, agreeing with everything I say. "

"Tell me what you really think of me, Doctor," Yes Man said. "Your honesty is always so refreshing."

Boone could understand how this smarmy tin can might get on Six's nerves. It still didn't explain why she'd been so hesitant to let him see the robot. He narrowed his eyes at Yes Man, looking the robot over like he actually knew something about tech when what he was really searching for was an OFF switch or a big red button labelled 'SELF-DESTRUCT'.

"What do you do around here?"

"You're so nice to ask me questions," Yes Man said. "I don't do anything here. All of my work is in New Vegas and around the Mojave. I calibrate -"

Six glared at the robot. "Did I say you could talk?"

"You didn't say I couldn't," the robot noted. "But now, I'll just zip my lips. Because I like following your orders, Doctor."

He'd mentioned New Vegas. That was NCR territory, except for the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside. The robot might work for Julie and Arcade, but if so, why was he hidden so far away?

"What's going on, Six? I'm not leaving here without the full story."

"You've gone five years without the full story. I don't see why you should start troubling about it now."

He took off his sunglasses and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, trying not to give into frustration. She wanted to him to lose his cool so that she'll have grounds to call in her guards and boot him out.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you rush to false conclusions. You get ideas stuck in your head and they're the wrong ideas."

"Well, then tell me what I should be thinking. Because right now, I'm seeing a Securitron and a room full of computers and I'm thinking you're trying to sabotage NCR forces. As it happens, I know a lot of guys stationed out on the Strip. I plan on keeping them alive."

Something in her face softened. Looking at her in that moment, he felt as if no time had passed at all and they'd been transported back to the main lounge at Gomorrah. Of course, back then, if they'd been this utterly alone, he would've had pushed her up against a wall, his mouth hard against hers, one hand kneading at her breasts and the other fumbling at his belt. The memory was enough to bring him to half-mast and he shifted his weight uncomfortably, thankful that the uniform khakis were loose in the crotch.

"What about Arcade and Julie?" she said. "Would you like to keep them alive or have they stopped counting?"

"They're not in any danger. If they were, I'd tell you. I wouldn't let the past...get in the way of that."

"They're in danger, Boone. So I am, not that you'd give a damn. As soon as Moore heard I went back to the Followers, she started trying to turn folks against us. I'm sure she's made it sound we're terrorists. We're only terrorists if your idea of terror is helping sick people get better and making sure the settlements have are supplied with clean water and decent food. That's General Moore's idea of terror."

"Look, I don't like her either. If it were up to me, I'd see her court-martialled. But it isn't and I've got orders to confiscate anything suspicious."

"And you always follow orders, don't you? Would never dream of telling those bastards 'no'."

She knew exactly how to hurt him. He'd shown her how, as surely as if he'd drawn out a map and put 'X's over the places where mines were buried.

"That's not fair. I think you better shut up before you piss me off."

"And if I do?" she said. "Then what? You'll give a signal and tell those guys you have positioned by the chapel to open fire? I thought better of you. At one time."

"Don't lie. You always thought I was a fucking patsy. You played me like a grand piano. Hell of a performance."

"Yes, she's a masterful manipulator, isn't she?" Yes Man enthuses. "I wish I could be even half as good at making people do what I wanted. But I'm just a follower - with a small 'f', not a big one. I take orders. I'm just not all that assertive."

Six reeled around, as if suddenly remembering the robot's presence. "Yes Man, power down. Before I shoot your screen out."

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I guess I shouldn't have been eavesdropping on your conversation. Even if it was about me. Powering down...Have a great day, guys!"

The robot's screen flickered off, the smiling face replaced by a dark square radiating dull green light.

Despite the robot's apparent cheerfulness, there was something not quite right about it. Something that Boone found downright creepy. He wondered if Six felt the same way. Maybe she was used to creepy. Maybe she liked it. "Creepy as fuck" had seemed to be her Legion boyfriend's big selling-point with the ladies.

"What's that thing do?" Boone asks.

Her back was still turned to him. She probably liked it better that way, not having to look him in the face. "I didn't lie to you. Maybe I was confused, but I wasn't playing you for a fool."

She sounded sincere and it bothered him. She was a good actress. Probably could've had a career in those moving pictures they made in Shady Sands.

"I don't want to hear it. I don't want your excuses. I asked you a question: what's that thing do?"

She looked at him at last, her eyes wide and reproachful. "You could've been nicer to Sev. You could've smiled at her. She's just a kid, Boone. She didn't ask to be born. She has it hard enough with me for a mother."

Of all the things to say to him. He doesn't understand why she'd even care what he thought of the kid. The girl doesn't belong to him. She's the daughter of a dead man, one who put a sword through his gut five years ago, after starting and losing the war that'd ruined the Legion.

"Why should I play nice with your Legion brat? If you wanted her to get special treatment, you should've stuck with Vulpes. Or would he have made her somebody's slave?"

Six gave him a strange look. "You don't seriously think – Oh, fuck. Really?" She broke into a sharp peal of laughter. "You're an idiot, Craig. A real Class-A moron. I hope and pray that Sev grows up smarter than her father."

He blinked, registering the insult. "So now I'm the father? Back in the courtyard, you said – "

"I said she had a name that was both Roman and English. I said I wondered what her father would think of it. I never said he was Legion. I never said he was dead. And honestly, how in the hell do you think I would've gotten knocked up with Vulpes' child? Was it an immaculate conception?"

"You were in that tent with him..."

"I was in that tent with him for two hours tops, in the middle of a battle. I'd just seen his men hack up a patrol of Rangers with machetes. I wasn't in the mood for romance. I wanted to go home, cry my eyes out and take a fucking shower. Which is exactly what I did after you walked out on me."

"Hmh. You seem to think I had an easy time of it. You were the one smiling at all parties, Six. Not me. "

"You went and had your little tantrum over nothing. Was I supposed to come running after you, trying to make it better? Guess I missed the memo on that one."

It was a good question. He still didn't know what the answer was, whether he'd honestly wanted to be on his own or if some part of him had wanted to her to chase him down and make him feel important.

"I needed time to think."

"You've had five years to think. Is that all you can come up with? Look, even if Vulpes and I been in there, fucking like molerats – which, I stress, NEVER HAPPENED – how likely is it that I'd have his kid? I'll just say it straight out. I don't think Vulpes was getting anyone pregnant – not his wife, not me, not anybody. My guess is that pistol was shooting blanks. And all I can say is thank Mars."

Boone grimaces, unsure what how to respond this sudden flood of information, most of it details he really didn't want to know.

"On the other hand," Six continues, with an almost scholarly detachment, "you and I, we were doing it on the regular. And as you'll surely recall, we weren't always so great about using condoms. You know that. Shit, Craig, it doesn't take a fucking genius."

That...that all made sense. Boone couldn't argue against it. Hell, sometimes when they'd been together, he'd been reckless about birth control just because he'd entertained fantasies of a happy accident. He'd felt like, maybe, if he was lucky, fate would give back a little of what it'd taken away in punishment. And in a strange way, it had. When Carla had told him she was pregnant, he'd been hoping it'd be a girl. Couldn't say why. Probably because a daughter would've been like Carla. Not like him.

"So she's mine. Sev- I mean, Lucy. That's my kid."

"Yeah. I mean, we can do a paternity test if you like, if it's going to give you some peace..."

"I...don't know. I gotta think about that. I want to believe you."

"But you don't."

"I just...why now? Why wait until I show up here to spring this on me? I got to wonder if you're trying to play me, Six. Only this time it's for higher stakes, 'cause you've got that robot and you know the NCR isn't going to like it. Don't know what I'm supposed to make of that."

"You can make what you like of it. I know you like to think the worst of me. So go right ahead."

"Why didn't you tell me before? I mean, that kid's what? Five years old?"

"Four and a half. I had her a few months after I showed up here."

"So you went four and a half years without saying shit-all to me."

"The last time we spoke wasn't encouraging. Besides, I knew what you'd do. You'd try and do the right thing,"

"Damn straight, I would."

"I don't want to be your duty. Especially when you hate my guts. When you think I'd spread my legs for the emperor of the Legion while my own troops were dying outside."

He wasn't sure he believed that anymore. It was possible that she hadn't stooped that low and the worst she'd been guilty of was a bizarre sympathy for her former master. Her tenderness towards the man still gnawed at his guts, but it might be that he'd overreacted to that one undeserved mercy.

"I know you can take care of yourself," he said. "But bringing up a kid on your own – that's tough. You shouldn't have had to do that."

"Tough, I can do. I took two bullets to the head. Having a kid isn't that much harder. And Lucy – well, she's a good kid. Smart. Has a quick eye too. Might be decent with a gun one day. We could use more Followers who can take care of themselves."

Boone had trouble picturing any kid of his growing up to become a Follower. Not that they were so bad, he supposed. He would've preferred a daughter of his to grow up pledging her allegiance to the Republic, picking up the values that went along with life in the NCR. Follower women were a bit too bohemian and free-thinking for his comfort. He'd heard that some of them were out-and-out commies. They did seem to have self-respect though, which was more than he could say for females in a lot of the other factions, where they were talked down to or passed around like NCR $5 bills. Women in the Followers were smart too and Boone admired that, even if it intimidated the hell out of him.

"Now that we're being so straight with each other, are you going to tell me what's going on?" he said. "What's the danger you're so worried about?"

"The NCR's moving in on us. It's not so bad up here, but down south and out east – it's getting tough. The way things are going, Moore's going to find an excuse to violate treaty and then we'll all be Enemies of the State. That's why she sent you down here. You, specifically. She knows we've got history and she figures that if you come storming in, making demands, I'll do something impulsive. Light the fire she's been waiting for. I don't intend to do that. Knowing what you know, I hope that you won't either."

"Alright. I can buy it. But what about Yes Man? You still haven't told me what that thing does."

"It controls the Securitrons in New Vegas. If necessary, it'll keep the NCR from kicking the Followers out of Old Mormon Fort...or worse. I won't activate it unless I know there's trouble. It's a defensive measure. Nowadays, we Followers need every defense we can get. It's my fault. Arcade told me that the Mojave would do better as an independent zone, but I didn't think I was up to the task of running it. I figured the NCR was the lesser of two evils. And well, I thought it'd make you happy..."

This was a twist to the tale. "Make me happy? What the hell, Six. You made a decision about the future of the whole goddamn Mojave and you based it on what was good for me? What are you, thirteen years old?"

She gave a wry little chuckle. "I didn't just base it on that. But the thought did occur to me that you'd be a whole lot more well-adjusted if the NCR came out on top. It was just an idea. And frankly, it kind of backfired, what with you dumping me for First Recon..."

"Still trying to wrap my head around this. You had this big, world-changing decision and my sanity was what you were thinking of? That's...I'm not going feel guilty about that. That was your screw-up."

"It was. But it just goes to show you – I'm not the cold manipulator you keep saying I am. If anything, I haven't been dispassionate enough. I let my heart and my gut get in the way of my logic and it's done a lot of harm."

He was oddly touched by that. It was weird to think that she had even considered him at all when making the choice that would affect the Mojave for the next hundred years and longer. She might have been lying about it, but he doubted that. It was so petty that it must be true. And if it was true, then she must have cared about him, at some point, for at least a little while. Nothing but love could be that stupid.

"You've done some good too," he said, giving into the impulse to comfort her. He could never stand to see a woman upset. He'd shot women dead, for good reasons and bad, but in conversation, he still felt the need to be chivalrous. "You saved some lives. At least as many as we killed. You pulled me out of a hole too. Would probably be dead by now, if it weren't for you."

It was true. Alone, he might've racked up a decent score-sheet against the Legion, but eventually they would've caught up to him and hung him from a cross. Before he met her, getting crucified would've been his idea of a good time.

"Laying it on there pretty thick, aren't you?" she said. " An hour ago, you thought I was a lying, traitorous Legion whore. Keep changing opinions like that, you're going to make me dizzy."

"Maybe I haven't been fair to you. Acted like a real bastard when we met. Made all kinds of assumptions. Figured I'd cured myself of that, but it could be I haven't. Never been all that good with trust."

"I know. That isn't new information for me. The question is, are you going to trust me now? Will you keep quiet about what's going on here? The Followers need their defences. I won't give them up. I'm not asking you to lie. I'm just asking you to omit certain ... details."

"No, you're asking me to lie," he said. "And I'm going to do it. Because I owe you. Because I'm not going to lead the charge against you or the Followers...or my daughter. I like the Army fine, but I'm goddamn sick of war. And a long time ago, I loved you. Maybe the feeling was mutual."

"It was."

"Well, then. Something I can feel good about."

Boone decided to believe her. Even if it was too good to be true. Even if she was just speaking in the past tense, drudging up history, not discussing current events.

Six locked up the room, escorting him back along one of the mission's winding corridors.

"You...you can stop by sometimes, if you like. I'm guessing you aren't stationed around here, but if you're ever in the neighbourhood, you're welcome to come by and see Lucy. As you can see, she's already very fond of your hat."

"It's about time I took some leave. I'd like to see her. I'm not much good with kids, probably scare her off, but I'd like to get to know her a little."

They passed through a narrow archway, returning to the bright sunlight of the main courtyard.

"I think you'll like her, Craig. She doesn't scare easy. Comes with having a Nightkin for a nanny."

"Hmn. Gotta admit, that's a one story I'm interested in hearing."

When they arrived back at the gates, she took his hand as if she was going to shake it. Instead, she just gave it a hard squeeze. "Come back then. I'll tell you the whole story. This time, maybe there's no need to leave anything out."

He clasped her hand a second too long. Time had passed, sure, but it hadn't been long enough to erase what'd been there. She still had an effect on him. He wondered if she felt it too or if she was batting her eyelashes at him in the hope of keeping the NCR off her doorstep. Knowing her, it was probably a bit of both.

"I'll come by soon, Six. Soon as I can. In the mean time, say hi to the kid for me, will you? Tell her I'm sorry I was in such a bad mood earlier."

"I will."

Boone met Bitter Root on the other side of the gate. His spotter gave him a look of disgust.

"Stop looking so goddamn happy. You're creeping me out."

He put his hand to his mouth, surprised to find that his lips were stretched thin with a smile. Smiling made his mouth sore. Those weren't muscles he'd used much in the last couple years.

"What'd you see in there?" Bitter Root asked. "Other than sexy librarian types. I never figured you'd go in for that sort of thing. I guess opposites do attract – considering you're dumber than a bag of hammers."

Boone punched him in the shoulder, just hard enough to let him know that he'd crossed a line. "Didn't see shit. Just a bunch of poindexters in lab coats, helping people. The NCR must be hard up for enemies if we're going after a bunch of nerds."

A bunch of nerds, maybe, but they were headed up by Dr. Margaret "Six" O'Shaughnessy, courier, doctor, former resident of a grave in Goodsprings Cemetery, ex-slave, one-time saviour of the Republic. He knew she'd do whatever it took to keep her people safe – to keep their child safe. It was hard not to love that about her. Already, he felt his allegiances shifting.