The two of them - or the three, if you counted ED-E, which Boone did not - watched as the rocket launched itself from the testing center. In silence. Because any attempt the Courier made at conversation fell flat with Boone, and the robot was certainly not a conversationalist.

His jaw ached from the rebar hit he'd taken the day before and his ribs hurt from where the Courier had fought off his attacks. Surprisingly, his leg did not hurt. He'd peeled the brace off when they slept for the night - in the sewers, they had set up camp and slept in a supply closet - and found the skin completely unmarked, the bleeding and swelling gone. The doctor's bag had worked wonders. He'd almost forgotten it got crushed at all.

Next to him, the Courier had set a full coffee cup alongside a dark bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla. Boone had never liked coffee - it made him shaky - and after yesterday, he clearly could not afford any jitters if they had to fight any more freakish monsters off like the nightkin.

In the distance, a flare fired into the air.

"Alright," the Courier said, stepping up to the control panel. "That's the signal."

He furrowed his brow and glanced over the vast array of buttons on the tray in front of him. Boone had no idea what to do with that many options. If it were up to him, gun to his head, he would probably just end up smashing the damn thing.

But the Courier clearly had an idea. He tapped one button, and then another, and finally pulled a lever. He looked up, and Boone followed his lead, looking out at the distance for… something.

And then he saw something. In the distance, the large concrete dome opened up, and a rocket emerged. Slowly, with the vibrant yellows and oranges of the Mojave sunrise framing its emergence, the rocket unsheathed. The mechanical positioner moved the rocket until it was at an angle almost perfectly between parallel to the ground and standing straight up.

Boone held his breath while it blasted off, half expecting to be vaporized along with the launch. But it did not, and he watched as the rocket ventured into the sky, continuing until it was no longer visible to either of them as it vanished into the sunset.

"Is that… going to be okay?" Boone asked. "Like is it going to crash?"

The Courier shrugged. "I dunno. We gotta trust that the shit we got for it will hold up, and honestly, I think some of those ghouls' brains are close to going, anyway, so..."

The group had trafficked to an old junkyard to pick up the components the ghouls asked for, but they had not had to go anywhere for the fuel; for some reason, the Courier had bought ten of the stupid rocket figurines Cliff Briscoe sold in his gift shop back in Novac. And he had bought them, the Courier assured Boone upon further questioning.

Honestly, the Courier might be keeping Novac in business if he purchased worthless souvenirs at this rate.

"You can't tell me that wasn't worth it," the Courier said, sitting back and sipping on his bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla. In his other hand he flipped around the bottle cap like always, moving it rhythmically back and forth between his fingers. "Nothing like the smell of rocket fuel in the morning."

Boone said nothing, just instinctively grabbing the bottle out of his hand. Spitefully, Boone drank the entire bottle at once, glaring at the Courier the entire time.

"How do you drink that shit?" Boone growled. "It's too sweet."

He was in a bad mood. It wasn't even that the Courier hadn't warned him they might get killed. He had been pissed since he missed the damn shot yesterday. Boone racked his brain, trying to think of the last time he'd missed a shot.

And then he remembered. The last time he'd missed a shot was Bitter Springs.

If you hesitate, you die. And although Boone hadn't hesitated, the outcome would have been the same.

He shoved the sickly scream out of his head and instead focused on the present.

"It's honestly not bad," the boy mused, peering over the edge of the lookout and throwing the bottle at the ground below. It shattered on the ground, and the kid smiled, clearly satisfied at the action, or the sound, or something else. "Gives you a nice kick of energy." He proceeded to suck down the rest of his coffee in record time. As he dug in his pockets, he asked Boone, "You ready to get going?"

"Go where?"

The boy tossed a piece of gum in his mouth. "I dunno." And he spun on his heel and left the overlook, leaving Boone to scramble to catch up.

"If we're gonna keep traveling together, we need to have a chat about this partnership," Boone spat once the two of them had loped far away from the launch site. "I work in a pair. I don't just blindly take orders."

The Courier snorted. "I thought you were a military man, tough guy. Isn't blindly taking orders the name of the game?"

Ah, yes. Blindly following orders. Boone had been good at that, and look where it had gotten him. Where could he start? A dead wife? Living in a shithole town with nothing better to do than shoot at passing radscorpions? Bitter Springs?

The thought of the last one stung his throat. This kid had no idea what it was like, what blindly following orders could get you.

"Fuck you."

The Courier stopped in his tracks and stared at Boone.

"I'm done blindly following fucking orders. That's how people get killed."

His companion considered this, slowly chewing on his gum. His blond hair hung limply behind his ears. He did not move.

"What, you got nothin' to say to that?" Boone hissed. "Talked my damn head off on the way back and now -"

"No. You're right," the Courier said. "We should do this as a team. What do you suggest?"

Boone stood back in a stunned silence. He had not expected that to work. He had expected the kid to blow up at him, to walk away, maybe exchange a few punches, and then Boone would leave. He would sneak around the wasteland until he found the stupid crimson soldiers and take them out.

"I've never worked in a… in a pair. Tell me what I need to know."

"You've never worked with someone else? Ever?" Boone said incredulously, a single eyebrow creeping up towards his forehead in disbelief. The NCR would never let something like that happen. Boone hadn't had a moment alone when he served, even when he stepped away to take a piss.

"I was a Courier, Boone," he explained. "Most of my shipments were one-man jobs. At least what I can remember of 'em." Idly, the Courier blew a bubble with the gum. "I mean, wouldn't that explain why I got shot in the head? I didn't have a 1st recon guy looking after me. I might be able to actually help spot if you were there with me."

"What's your point?"

"My point is I still need you, Boone. I wouldn't have survived those stupid ghouls without you. So tell me what to do."

Again with his stupid, trusting, earnest expression. The kid had perfected that.

So Boone backed down. "Well," Boone said, clearing his throat, "you can start by telling me where we're going."

"Okay. I can do that." The Courier nodded to himself, deep in thought.

And he spun on his heel and kept walking.

"Hey. Hey!"

"Oh, like right now?" Boone nodded impatiently. Of course right now! Why else had he picked this fight? "Sure. I gotta go tell Manny I handled his ghoul problem," the Courier said.

"And then?"

"And then… I think we need to go here."

He extended his forearm and showed Boone a flashing box at the center of the screen. The tiny amber label just said Legion Raid Camp.

X

A/N: Thank you chickspaghnet for the thoughtful review! Totally aware this is a very dated fandom and probably doesn't get a lot of traffic - I am writing this as a break since I just finished penning my first novel and these characters would not get out of my mind! I wanted to work on my prose writing especially since I've historically struggled with that, so your compliment meant a lot to me :)