"Tell me about yourself."

Four words. Simple and unassuming when they emerged from the mouth of the Courier, almost musical. Distinct from how the recruiter had spoken to Boone when he'd enlisted, where the question had come off as a formality and not a request for information.

The sun dipped low in the sky, the heat slowly subsiding from the earth. ED-E scouted the land in front of them to neutralize the radscorpions and the mole rats that they came across. The walk was long, and hot, and boring. The only sounds were their footsteps and the Courier's occasional speech, either his self-utterances or his questions. His four words.

Four words that the Courier kept repeating.

He tried ignoring him. That had worked the first and second times he'd asked. The first time he'd just repeated himself, assuming Boone hadn't heard him. So he repeated himself, but Boone ignored him again.

This was the third time.

"Boone, I know you can hear me."

He remembered what he'd said to the recruiter. He was eighteen, his beard just starting to grow in consistently, and he'd sat down in the NCR office back in his hometown and said he wanted to enlist. The recruiter gave him some paperwork to fill out and led him back to a dingy office for the interview.

The interview was a formality, of course. The NCR accepted anyone who was still upright who wanted to join.

His answer back then had been simple: "I want to fight for the Republic. That's all you need to know." Short, sweet, and salient. What did a recruiter need to know about Boone's childhood, anyway?

However, he doubted that answer would fly with the Courier. Boone stopped in his tracks, heaved a sigh, and turned to face the boy. He was chewing on his lip again. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

The kid's face lit up, his lip slipping back into place, and he grinned. "Okay. I have a few I've thought of, if that's okay."

"Whatever," he said cautiously, resuming their march to the Mojave Outpost.

"Okay. First: do you ever take your beret off?"

He scoffed. "No."

"Really?"

Boone shot him an annoyed look. Obviously he had to. He just… didn't like to.

"Okay, I get it. What about Manny Vargas?"

Boone clenched his jaw together tightly, his teeth gnashing into each other. He bit back the urge to spit at the kid and tell him to never talk about him again.

"What about him?"

"Weren't you guys friends?"

"Were."

"But not anymore?"

"No." Boone did not care to elaborate.

"I had a friend once," the Courier said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," the boy responded. "It was when I was a kid. I think her name was Bea? I remember we used to build towers together with those silly little wooden blocks. I was always the best at it, of course. And she'd get mad and knock them down. I think she always expected me to get mad, but I remember I never really cared." He sniffed, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "God, we played together all the time.

"What happened to her?"

The boy frowned. "I don't know. Isn't that funny? You spend all your time with a person and then one day they're just gone."

Boone snapped his jaw together again and ground his teeth.

"What do you think about New Vegas?"

"What do I think?" Boone confirmed.

"I know, I know, but I haven't… been here before."

Boone furrowed his brow at that. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a Courier," the kid said, smirking. "I think I got a job here from somewhere else."

"You think?"

Hesitating, Boone watched as the kid chewed on his lip once again. "Yeah. Things before my attempted murder are still pretty fuzzy." The kid fumbled in his pocket for his customary bottle cap to twirl in his fingers as they walked.

Boone took a drink from his canteen, cleaning out the rest of the water he had. He hoped they were close to the Outpost, if only to get something to drink and eat.

"It's… big."

"That's for sure," the Courier snorted, finishing off his canteen too. "We're close to the Outpost, though."

"No, like it's a lot of territory for the NCR to keep ahold of," he continued. "There just aren't enough bodies to secure it, let alone settle it."

Hell, he'd seen it first hand in the First Recon. They trained more and more two-sniper pairs as time went on, absorbing people who could barely shoot to be spotters instead of talented shooters as it once had been. It only took an idiot to know that the army was spread too thin, both with troopers and supplies.

"Do you think they can keep it?"

Boone shrugged. "Sure as hell hope so. The NCR has its problems, but I would take a disorganized army over a bunch of slavers any day."

"What do they stand for?"

"Who, the NCR?"

"Yeah."

Boone scoffed. "I think you'd be better off asking a strategist about this, kid. I'm not an expert."

"But I'm asking you," he insisted.

Boone scratched the back of his head. His hands came back wet with sweat. He wondered if the outpost would have water running so he could at least wash off some of the sweat plaguing his body.

"Securing the land. Making things safer. That was part of the push back East, or so they told us." He paused, watching the Courier walk. He had turned so he was walking backwards, staring straight at Boone. His ball cap shielded his eyes so Boone could not see his blown pupil or his sweaty blond bangs.

"Was it bad… before?"

Boone nodded. He had been fresh out of training when they deployed him out to New Vegas, excited to get his hands on Legionaries, when his outfit had realized that most of their enemy was comprised of raiders, mutants, thieves that roamed the open roads, tearing into anything that crossed their path, soldiers and traders alike. The latter was honestly more detrimental to the whole operation. It was not rare that Boone would run into camps of dead NCR soldiers, not from any form of violence, but from sickness or starvation.

"Untamed," he said. "People were scared to venture out, to do business, even get to the Strip. With good cause, too. It wasn't just radscorpions they had to handle out here. It was the people that were the worst." Still is, Boone thought, although he did not articulate it.

"The NCR's made that better. I believe that. It just… could be better. It always can be."

The Courier nodded thoughtfully. "So the NCR is good."

"Yes." No hesitation. He believed it wholeheartedly, the concept ingrained in his head from a young age, when he would watch the soldiers walk by his home triumphantly after a battle, like true heroes of war. He'd wanted to be a soldier like them for as long as he could remember, different from many of his acquaintances in the military, who joined to travel, or for money, or for fame.

So how had he become such a useless soldier for an institution so noble? Boone shoved that thought down, knowing it was a rabbithole he did not care to dive down.

"They're just," Boone decided to say. That was what mattered, anyway. Justice.

The two approached the tacky statue situated outside the Mojave Outpost just as the sun set, turning the sky brilliantly orange and pink behind it. ED-E beeped and paused, waiting for the two of them to catch up. It was uphill, and Boone's legs burned from the exertion, but he did not let his pace slow. He was thirsty, after all.

"Where are you from, Boone?"

"Where are you from?" Boone shot back.

The Courier shrugged. "Here. There. I don't really know. I think we moved around a bit when I was a kid, my dad and I."

Boone again wanted to question what exactly he meant by saying he thought he moved around, but he held his tongue.

"What's that?" the boy said, pointing at the massive statue spanning the entrance to the town. They approached the stand in front of it and Boone watched while he read the text. "Who are the Rangers?"

Boone frowned. "They're NCR soldiers. Pretty notorious. We had one back in… Andy. You've met him. Remember?" The boy's expression demonstrated that he did not, in fact, remember the aging Ranger Andy. Boone knew they had interacted, though. "Ranger Andy? The man you stole a medical journal from?" Boone prompted.

Suddenly, recognition flashed across the kid's face. "Oh! The old guy."

"Yes, the old guy. He was a Ranger before he got hurt." The notoriety alone had been half the reason they'd let him stay in town. God knows it wasn't his skill that kept him around, rent-free. "Damn good one, from what I heard."

The two walked forward, running into a stocky man that went by Kilborn who immediately recognized Boone's cap, just like he'd expected. He invited them to stay, sleep in the barracks, grab a drink, poke around for a bit, but warned them how crowded things were. A warning, of course, to not overstay their welcome.

Again, Boone was pretty used to that. There were a lot of places in the eastern NCR territory that barely had the space for bedrolls, let alone free beds or food for sale. They found the nearest water source, refilled their canteens and washed dirt off their hands, before continuing to the barracks. The pair stashed their belongings on free cots and headed to the bar to eat. Or drink, as was the case of the young Courier. He asked for a steak and a bottle of vodka. But Boone didn't feel the need to comment, especially as he gave into his voracious hunger and thirst, eager to alleviate two of the physiological needs that grounded him.

"You know, I gave back the journal," the Courier said. "Just wanted to read through it first."

"Huh?" Boone said through a mouthful of meat.

"Ranger Andy's book," the boy said. "I gave it back."

Was the kid trying to assuage his conscience? Just letting him know?

"You probably could have just asked him," Boone grumbled.

The two finished their meals in silence. The Courier slapped some caps on the table, and though Boone attempted to pay himself, the Courier just shoved his payment back towards him. And although Boone desired nothing more than to go to sleep, the Courier insisted they check out the Headquarters before they turned in for the night.

NCR's bureaucracy was not something Boone wanted to contend with that late in the evening. Luckily, as someone in the First Recon, Boone had remained far away from the red tape, but his commanders were almost constantly radioing back and forth, filling out form after form, talking strategy and whether or not their attack plans were permitted or not.

When they got into the headquarters, a caravaneer was arguing with the man behind the counter, clearly exasperated. Boone overheard the woman complaining about clearance papers, and the man responding back something about working as fast as possible, how there was nothing he could do except offer repair services at a discount.

"Who's he?" the Courier asked, nodding towards the man behind the counter. Boone shrugged. "How do you not know?"

"You think I know every NCR soldier in every shitty outpost throughout the Mojave?" Boone grunted. Hell, he'd never even been here before. He only knew it was NCR by hearing about it while he served.

The Courier shook his head. "I feel like you'd remember him."

Regarding the man, Boone looked him up and down. He looked like an aging soldier, with deep wrinkles on his face, dark eyebrows, and a stern expression on his face. Definitely not in the infantry, probably hadn't seen battle in years. Overall, Boone couldn't have distinguished him from Adam. He disagreed that he was particularly memorable.

Finally, the caravaneer left in a huff, her arms crossed in front of her chest, muttering under her breath. It meant it was their turn. Boone hung back while they talked. He expected the conversation to take a while, since the Courier talked all the time, asking questions and asking for opinions, and judging by the man's

He watched as the man's stoic expression turned into a nervous one, his eyes flickering over to Boone every so often. His responses were hushed, concerned, and he shook his head every time the Courier cut in.

And then, in a flash, the blond turned around and left. Boone followed hotly after him. The kid was fast - that hadn't been a lie - and Boone jogged to keep up with him.

"Fuck this!" the kid shouted, bursting into the barracks where they'd set their bags upon arrival. Boone followed him into the room, shutting the door behind him. The Courier paced around, panting, his hands balled up in fists. He chewed his lip with a ferocity Boone had not seen before. The kid was worked up, that much was clear.

"What?"

Suddenly, the Courier stopped. He turned to Boone, his face flushed, his eye twitching. "You lied to me. You said they were just, that they were fair. That the NCR cares about justice."

"I've never lied to you."

"You omitted," the boy spat. "It's the little things that you think don't count, Boone. That's what matters. It matters to me."

Still utterly confused, he countered, "What did I omit?"

"You realize they wouldn't let someone who likes men - someone like me - even serve?"

The implication of that sunk in and Boone was left speechless.

Had he ever met someone who was gay in the NCR? He racked his brain for something. Honestly, he hadn't thought about it all that much. He just assumed all the guys he served with liked women. Well, he hadn't had to assume it for most of them. Manny, for example, practically begged their unit to go to Gomorrah so he could sleep with the first hooker who looked at him right. He loved dark hair, big tits, and a dirty mouth, all details Boone had, frankly, never asked. Some of the other guys hooked up with the women who served in the NCR. Most of them were fit, if not a little too curt.

Boone realized he hadn't ever met a gay man serving with the NCR.

"Oh, what, you're not going to travel with someone who wouldn't be allowed to serve in your precious NCR army?"

"I cannot tell you how little I care about who you sleep with," Boone admitted earnestly.

Hadn't met one, or hadn't known he'd met one, he supposed.

"I didn't know the NCR was so hypocritical," the Courier spat.

"It's better than the Legion," Boone barked, crossing his arms in front of him defensively. "They won't even let women serve."

"So? Who gives a fuck who I fuck in my spare time? Does that impact my ability to shoot things?"

"No," Boone agreed. It's your inability to shoot things that impacts your ability to shoot things. "Which is why I don't care."

"But your institution does," the boy shot back. "That makes you just as bad as them."

Something snapped inside of Boone, be it the nagging voice in the back of his head, or the implication that Boone approved of the NCR's apparent homophobia, or his exhaustion, but he lashed out and pinned the boy to the wall.

"Stop talking about things you don't know about," Boone whispered.

"Yeah? What don't I know about, Boone? What other dirty secrets are you hiding for them?"

The Courier shoved Boone off of him and cocked his fist, ready to strike at him at the first provocation. But Boone did not move. He did not know what to say. What other dirty secrets was he hiding? Where the hell could he start? Where he came from, his wife, his never ending thoughts of the end, how he could barely sleep for longer than a few hours?

And that wasn't even the secret Boone was hiding for the NCR.

Fucking murderer.

How could he articulate that?

Fortunately, the kid spoke before him. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Let's just… go to bed and get out of here first thing tomorrow morning." He lowered his fist and left the room.

By the time he returned, Boone was already in bed, curled up and facing the wall, trying to tune the little voice in the back of his head out. The little voice that repeated the same two words, over and over and over again.

Fucking murderer.