Note: I think I'm getting back into the swing of things. Sorry about the holiday weirdness

minor edit. my bad

Okay, so... we need a plan. Maggie scratched her hair and stared down at the collection of holotapes in front of her. She'd listened to them all but couldn't make heads nor tails of the contents, and was irritated and miserable. Had to think up a plan for dealing with McNama-amara or else she might end up wearing that stupid collar again―

She wouldn't be miserable if she hadn't been right about the sand in her pants. Boone seemed perfectly okay with it―bah, he would be. She shot him a glance and grumbled. He hadn't been on his back in the dirt, to get sand in his ass.

Not that she didn't enjoy what had happened. Maggie tried to keep the smile off her face by thinking about how bad she was at flirting with him. ...It'd been a long time for the both of them. She knew he missed it; she missed it, too. And... hell, she hadn't had that much fun in ages, what with all the crazy that was going on.

There was still a little of that, around. At least this crazy was a lot more manageable, with the Brotherhood and her trying to take down House.

"Let's go," he said, holding up his rifle. "Sooner we get this done, the sooner we can deal with House."

"Yeah, alright," she grumbled. Maggie scooped up the holotapes and stuffed them into her pack, shouldering it. "But you gotta stop trying to take charge. Don't you forget, Craig. I'm the boss."

"Always," he said, and she saw him trying to hide the smile on his face. Picking on her, again!

"Keep it up, jerk!" Maggie growled and made a face at him.

The trip back to Hidden Valley was uneventful at least, until they arrived at the broken fence. Maggie was stomping her way down through the rocks when Boone suddenly grabbed her and pulled her backward, ducking behind some rocks. Maggie made a sharp noise in surprise and he laid a hand across her mouth, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. Put a finger to his lips and motioned her up onto the rocks, above the fence.

"Stay quiet," he murmured, crouching. He handed her his rifle and pointed out the problem.

Three nondescript men in combat armor were milling around the sand outside of the bunker. Maggie squinted through the scope and set her mouth. "Who do you think they are?" she asked, as quietly as she could.

"Mercenaries," he replied, taking back the rifle. He stared through his scope at the men, muttering under his breath. Maggie watched him carefully, as a smile crept across her face.

Boone at work was something to see. He was so intense, so focused, he wasn't even noticing that he was making noise. He kept muttering to himself, barely audible, counting the men and their weapons, then went into a litany about wind conditions and distance.

Reminded her of when she'd first met him and he'd been all cold steel and ice, way back before he'd mellowed out. She probably had something to do with that―Maggie put her knee onto the ground and rested her elbow on her thigh, looking up at Boone with her cheek in her hand. At least... she was pretty sure she'd managed to help make a u-turn on his crazy.

Back before, she'd thought he was a murder machine. She wasn't wrong. Boone had been trained to kill people by the NCR; special training, even, for killing enemies from a distance. Mark of pride for him to be in First Recon. If it weren't for Bitter Springs, he would have been a perfectly normal man. Might have been as funny as he was now, as... gentle and quiet as he could be, without her having to push him into confronting his past. Without what had happened, he could have even been a different person entirely.

Maggie hadn't really understood him at all. Not until they'd gone to the refugee camp, and he'd been so saddened by his memories... So willing to die, because it was a better alternative than understanding what he felt; because he felt guilt for killing innocent people, and because―

Maggie shifted her weight. Because he was a lot better at feeling for other people than her. She wasn't empathetic, no way no how. Boone... was like a sponge, soaking up all that sad and hurt. Shit, no wonder he'd gone nuts. And Maggie, she'd―

Well, she hadn't understood that he'd been broken by all that murder he'd had to commit. Hadn't had the chance, since he'd been too crazy to open up to her like he had at the office park. And when he was forced to―to put Carla down―fuck. She wished she could feel half the shit he had then, just so he wouldn't have to.

Her fingers twitched on her cheek, thinking about head shots. The family history. Fucking hell!

Maggie looked away into the wastes and breathed out through her nose. I ain't ready to go to Galilee, just yet. You keep waiting, mom. ...You too, Carla. I'll... hell, I ain't the best person, but I'll watch out for him. However I can.

Boone continued his survey for a moment or two. She watched him, probably enjoying herself a little too much for her own good. Watched his muscles under his clothes, the sheen of sweat over what skin was visible. She started thinking about what went on that morning. Maggie covered her mouth and pretended to cough, hiding her smile. Not the time to think about that!

But, shit, she hoped it was gonna rerun.

She flushed a little, looking back at him. "...You gonna shoot them, then?" she asked. "We ain't got all goddamn day."

"Could," he muttered, staring through the scope. "Would be difficult." Boone shifted position and adjusted his hands on the rifle, without removing it from his eye. "Probably not a good idea, though. No markings. Can't tell who they are."

"You think they're House's men?" Maggie asked, nervously shooting a glance over the rocks. She checked her side and pulled out her shotgun, cracking it and making sure there were shells loaded. Hadn't had to use it very much lately, not since Freeside; didn't want a repeat of what'd happened with that goddamn Legionary in Bitter Springs, though. She grasped the stock and held the barrel so that it pointed downward. "Like, he's got it out for me, sending out mercs to kill me on account of I ain't playing his game?"

"It's possible," he said, and breathed out slowly. He turned his head to glance at her. "What's the plan?"

"Well..." she pursed her mouth and thought for a while. "We can't just shoot them without finding out who they are... right?"

Boone chuckled. "Why is that a question," he said, his mouth twitching. Oh, that jerk―picking on her, again! Would he ever stop! She was about to knock him one just for having the audacity to try!

She bared her teeth at him. "Listen, you son of a bitch, I ain't lived in the desert for over ten years, and you know I don't have proper manners―"

"Maggie," Boone chastised. He shot her a look that she knew, a look that said "Don't take it out on me". She hadn't meant to, but he was picking―didn't make her mood any better.

She growled, louder than she'd intended. "I might have been a goddamn tribal back in the day, but back in the day we killed any strangers running around!" She clenched her fists on the shotgun, remembering. "Seeing strangers usually meant the fucking cannibals were around, waiting for you to take their bait!"

He stared at her for a moment. "Were there really canni―"

"Yes," she hissed, angrily. "And if you think for even a moment that all of those bastards are 'reformed', you're about as dumb as dumb gets!"

Boone made a thoughtful noise. "That's why you don't eat meat," he said softly, his eyes on hers. "Isn't it."

Maggie paused, surprised. He'd... noticed. Well, she hadn't tried to hide it. She hadn't figured he'd notice, though. And now he'd figured out something that she hadn't wanted to remember, ever, an embarrassing event from the past that she didn't need to recall.

Maggie turned and started moving away. "I'm gonna go ask them who they are," she muttered. "Keep an eye out. Start shooting if you gotta, but don't shoot me, jackass."

She jumped down from the rocks and stomped down toward the fence, hopping over it and toward the mercs. She hadn't thought about that memory, not for a long time. Lots of things in her past she'd come to terms with, but not that. Didn't even want to start thinking about it, not even as an aside―

Back in the day, that was what got the Slither Kin killed more than anything. Because the cannibals were real good at staking out a decoy and luring people where they wanted them; an injured man dressed in Kin clothing would bring any one of them to help. Back when Nero wasn't yet a warrior for the Kin, and no one had the smarts to effectively fight the cannibals on their own land... well, you protected the Kin. They'd been the Kin, the Family, and if you saw your own wounded and lying on the desert floor, you helped them. That was how it worked.

Goddamn cannibals exploited that bond whenever they could. That was how Carla had been snatched, and Maggie was lucky she was faster than the manhunters. Lucky that she was small enough to hide in a mole rat tunnel and escape notice―

She pushed the thought out of her head. Imagining her sister being eaten alive, for the three hours she'd spent holed up in the tunnel... And then having to kick her way out, through a wall of wrinkled and biting mole rat flesh―she didn't want to remember.

And she especially didn't want to remember the way Sal had punished her for leaving Carla to her fate―

Maggie winced and stopped herself before she ran into the mercs, her hands on her shotgun and face contorted in memory. "Who the hell are you guys?" she asked the nearest man.

"Heh," the man said, turning to face her. "Look at this, Bart."

Maggie shot a glance at the others, noting the one who responded to the name. They were all three of them taller than her―like that was a feat, she was a short shit even in heels―and wearing battered but not broken armor. Couple of assault rifles and the one named Bart had a decent-looking .44 revolver. Maggie narrowed her eyes at him.

"There's more of us than you," Bart said, "so why don't you tell us who the hell you are, first."

"Name's Boone," she said, borrowing his name.

"That a first or a last," one of the others said.

"It's both," she snapped. "Now, who the fuck are you three?"

"Mercs," Bart told her. He glanced at the first one. "We're looking for a lady, name of Magdalene."

Maggie twitched a little, and swore internally. "Heh," the first one said. "We ain't looking no more, Bart." He sidled up closer, and she backed away by three steps.

"You stop right there, asshole," she said, frowning. "I don't know any goddamn ladies. Ain't nothing I have for you, neither. I'm leaving." She moved to the side and took a few long strides toward the bunker, before Bart reached out and grabbed her arm, roughly.

"Now, hold on a second―" he started, and Maggie turned her head away.

Yeah, she didn't need any gore splattering her face. She smirked to herself. Bart's head exploded in a mess of blood and brain matter, and the other two were immediately on alert. One of them darted behind a vent cover, crouching down, while the other moved behind Maggie and held her up under one arm. Before he could even say anything she'd jammed her shotgun under his chin and was about to pull the trigger―

Shit, the asshole had a knife she hadn't seen! A sharpness at her throat caused her to loosen her finger from the trigger, but she didn't remove the shotgun. "You son of a bitch," she hissed. "What's your fucking game!"

"My game―" His hand tightened and the knife sliced into her skin, painfully. "You listen, you fuckin' whore―you play nice, or you're going home about eight pounds lighter!"

Huh. The first merc she'd ever met who wasn't as stupid as he looked. Hell, that was a rarity in of itself. And come to think of it... This was the first time she'd ever had a knife to her throat. She wasn't scared, but didn't know how she was gonna get out of this scrape. Sal never taught her this one―

The man behind the vent cover shot them a look, then turned his rifle out to the wastes, searching for Boone. As soon as his head was over the edge he was dead, his body flailing with an impaled forehead, rifle tossed to the side and limbs twitching. Maggie screwed her mouth up. Fuck her, if Boone was gonna try to shoot the one holding her, too―

"Hey, now," she said, calmly. "Are you guys working for House?"

"Yeah, and he gave us your number," the man said, keeping himself securely behind her. "Told us about your little 'friend'. You ain't going nowhere 'til he shows himself. So start talking, lady."

"Pssh," she muttered. "I ain't no lady. And he ain't gonna come out for me. Bastard's 'bout as dumb as that asshole was." She motioned slightly at the dead body beside her.

"You stupid cun―" The merc jerked and yelped and Maggie hissed in pain as the knife scraped across her skin, pushing herself sideways and away. She hit the ground hands first as a burst of laser fire sounded behind her, feeling the blood running down her neck.

Maggie was up and aiming her shotgun behind her as soon as she could, one hand on her throat and the other squeezing the trigger. She stared at one of the power armors soldiers from the bunker, who was casually strolling up to her.

"Sorry about that," the Brotherhood soldier said. He turned to face her, a laser rifle in his hands. "Heard the commotion through the air vents. Couldn't get up here any faster."

"Shit," Maggie said, turning to look up at the rocks. Boone was already on his way down, and she turned back to the soldier. "Thanks, I guess. You didn't have to help."

The soldier turned to look at the dead body. "It's my job," he said, dismissively. "You could have told them where the Brotherhood is, at any moment you chose. Now, you can't."

Maggie chuckled, and winced in pain. "I get it," she said, as Boone caught up to her.

"You okay?" he asked, turning her to face him.

"I'm alright. Just a little scrape." She didn't lower her hand. If he saw how bad it really was―she didn't want a lecture. "Let's go report to McNama―Nara―mamera―"

"Elder McNamara," the soldier said.

Maggie nodded, and winced again. "Yeah, that guy."

She let the soldier lead the way into the bunker, firmly pressing her hand against the slice on her throat and trying to remember which pocket her stimpaks were in.