Chapter Summary: With Beth's condition still unknown, Boone is left to wait with his thoughts. Later, he has a confrontation.
Chapter 9: Fire and Rain
"Beth!" he called out, charging down the clinic hallway, opening one door, which lead to another hallway lined with more closed doors. The air was stiflingly hot and full of the smell of disinfectant. Feeling disoriented in the dim light, he was starting to panic-he had to find her. "BETH!" he tried to yell, but the sound would barely come out. The next door he tried was locked and he couldn't open it, as much as he tried. He was sure she was in there. Banging on the door, he tried to yell for her, but again couldn't get the words out.
Someone reached out and grabbed his hand. Turning, he saw a familiar blonde woman in a pale dress. "Carla? You should be at home. It's not safe here."
"I'm going to help you find her," she said earnestly, pulling him further down the hall to a door at the end of it. Walking out of his motel room, they stepped into the dusty courtyard, the bright sunlight was almost blinding. Beth squeezed his hand. Turning to look at her, there was a small dark wound in her forehead. Blood trickled down her face, down to her mouth. "Take care of Lizzy."
Boone woke suddenly and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Rubbing his neck with a wince, he regretted falling asleep sitting up on the hard couch. He hadn't meant to. The details of the dream were already starting to fade from his memory, leaving behind a vague feeling of unease.
"What time is it?" he mumbled to the clinic guard.
"A little after twenty-one hundred," the man replied, looking at him strangely, which made him wonder if he had been talking in his sleep. Carla had told him he did that sometimes.
"Thanks," he said, blinking his eyes hard. Nearly four hours has passed since they first reached the clinic and Beth had been rushed into the back, presumably to surgery. No one had come out to tell him anything and he didn't know how long he should expect to wait. He attempted to comfort himself with the thought that if it was hopeless, they would have known by now, so they must be able to try something.
Yet he couldn't shake his certainty that the bad things that he had coming to him would not only punish him, but everyone who got close to him. Benny shooting her wasn't his fault. He knew that. Still, he kept thinking about that first time he saw her, that morning in Novac. Despite what he had told her earlier, if he had to do it over again, he would have just kept walking. Maybe they both would have been better off.
Carla certainly would have been better off if she never met him. There was no denying that. He tried to recall the feeling of her hand in his as she had pulled him along in his dream, but couldn't.
"It's better to be alone than to keep having everyone ripped away."
A dark look spread over Boone's face. The guard looked over at him and spoke up again, "They're real good here, you know. Try not to worry."
Nodding in acknowledgment, the sniper did not share the optimism. While the New Vegas Clinic was the best the Mojave Wasteland had to offer and the Followers trained their doctors well, it was a far cry from a proper NCR hospital with the equipment and experience to deal with this type of thing. That option was far away, however. Even the medical facility at Camp McCarran lacked more than basic equipment. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his forehead with his hands.
A few minutes later, the outside door opened and Arcade rushed in, looking concerned. "I just heard. How is she?" he asked.
Boone shook his head. "I don't know. They haven't told me anything."
The doctor nodded and hurried into the back. The sniper leaned back against the hard cushion with a deep sigh, knowing there was nothing he could do now but wait.
It was nearly three more hours before a man's voice broke the silence. "Craig?"
His head shot up and he stood quickly, seeing the tall doctor standing in the doorway. "Yeah?" Briskly walking toward him, he asked, "How is she?" The look on the other man's face was grave and Boone's heart started beating harder in his chest, fearing the worst.
"She's been out of surgery for about 20 minutes and for now, her vitals are stable, but she's still critical." The words were slow and practiced, like he had given this type of news before.
Boone let out a long breath. "Is she...is she going to be okay?" he asked.
"We don't know for certain right now, but we both know she's a fighter, so take some comfort in that."
"She is," he thought to himself.
"She's still sedated, but if you want, you can see her. I warn you that she doesn't look well," Arcade cautioned.
Boone hesitated, then nodded.
The doctor led him to a back room where a figure lay on a bed, covered with a blanket pulled up to her chest. With her gray face, the skin under her eyes dark, and her head bandaged, he barely recognized her. Had he not been told otherwise just a moment ago, he would have thought she was dead. "I'll leave you for a few minutes," Arcade said quietly before walking out of the room.
Boone stayed in the doorway, staring at her and watching her shallow breathing, before slowly walking forward and crouching down next to the bed. Not sure what to do, he reached out and took her hand gently. It was deeply unsettling how small and frail she looked, in sharp contrast to her normally bright and powerful self.
Except for the Pip-Boy, her arms were bare and he could see numerous and varying scars all along them from slashes, bullet wounds, and what looked like plasma burns. He marveled at her resilience and continued strength, while still somehow managing to be so caring and optimistic. How was she not more hardened and cynical?
Back in that first encounter that morning in Novac, he could never have predicted that her casual friendly greeting would change so much in his life, especially so quickly. Not only had she found the person responsible for the loss of his family, she had shown him there could still be more to life than the eradication of legionaries. She helped people. When she spoke, people listened. But if you crossed her, god help you. Now here she was, taken down by a petty thug while doing an errand for a rich asshole. It wasn't right. She deserved better.
Lightly stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, he studied her face until Arcade came back in again. "Craig, the anesthetic isn't going to wear off for a while and it's probably best if you go get some rest. The closest accommodations are in Freeside either at the Atomic Wrangler, if you have the caps, or at the Old Mormon Fort."
"It's fine. I'll stay."
The look on the doctor's face was stern. "No, it's not. You're not going to be any good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion. You'll just be another patient we have to deal with."
The sniper stood up and nodded to the doctor even though he didn't feel like resting. He felt like tearing through the Mojave until he found Benny and made him wish he'd never been born, but his anger was overshadowed by his worry and fatigue. He started to ask what her chances of surviving were, but based on how she looked, he knew he didn't want to hear the answer.
Back outside, he began the long walk to the spot in the desert where he had left their bags. He hadn't forgotten about them, but he hadn't wanted to leave the clinic in case there was any news. When he found their bags, they were luckily untouched except for some food having been scavenged by animals, probably molerats. Hoisting them onto his back, he turned back and wandered slowly toward Freeside, feeling very tired and sore. His legs were wobbly and there was a heavy feeling in his chest. He hadn't felt like this since his first week of basic training.
Yet, he still somehow felt less miserable than he had back in Novac for the last year. At least he was feeling something besides emptiness and guilt. The pain in his legs and back reminded him that he was still alive. Even though he was worried that she wouldn't survive, the small amount of hope he held felt...good. It had been so long since he felt any kind of hope or care of any kind for another person, especially for himself.
Entering the North Gate, he glanced toward the Old Mormon Fort, but he didn't feel comfortable going there without Beth. Besides, he needed a drink to quiet his thoughts. He continued on through the next gate into the main part of Freeside.
"Well, howdy there, pardner!" came a familiar twangy voice on the other side of the gate.
"Victor," Boone responded, with palatable annoyance. "What do you want?" After everything Beth had told him, he didn't like or trust the robot and he really wasn't in the mood to talk to him now.
"Say there, the Big Boss was just wonderin' how the Courier was getting' along finishing up that there delivery." The cowboy image on the screen blinked a few times before settling back.
The words stirred up a fiery rage inside him. Ripping off his sunglasses so the robot could see his angry, bloodshot eyes, he stepped toward it until his face was inches from the screen. "You tell your boss that I don't give a shit about his damned 'Chip' and Beth is in the New Vegas Clinic close to death after what that piece of shit Benny did to her while you stood there and watched. If he wants his Chip, he can come down from his ivory tower and get it himself." Pulling back and replacing his sunglasses, he spat out, "Don't come near me again, robot, unless you want your circuits scattered all over the Mojave." With that, he turned and kept marching toward his destination.
He walked down the street and to the right where he was abruptly accosted by two thugs, one wielding a pipe and the other a knife. "Really?!" he yelled aggressively at them. Still pumped with adrenaline after his confrontation with Victor, he quickly grabbed the pipe from the one and clocked him in the face with an angry fist, sending him sprawling to the ground, then lunged at the other one, who promptly rethought his plan and ran away down the street. "Fucking coward!"
This world was a shitty place. What was the point of any of it?
Throwing down the pipe with a hollow clang, the sniper caught his breath and proceeded into the Atomic Wrangler.
Francine was behind the bar and looked up as Boone approached. "Evenin'." Seeing the agitated look on his face, she commented, "You're looking a little rough around the edges."
With a wave of his hand, he sat down on one of the bar stools, trying to relax his clenched jaw. "Uh, I had to take care of some thugs outside."
"You'd think they'd know better than to fuck with a First Recon guy, huh?" she said with a laugh, eyeing his beret. "What can I get ya?"
"Beer—no, whiskey. And a room."
With a nod, she pulled out a bottle of brown liquid and a rocks glass. Pouring a generous amount, she slid it over to him, along with a key. He tossed down enough caps for both. Raking them off the bar into her hand, she asked, "Hey, where's your girl tonight?" She had seen him and Beth come in together a couple of days before. The Courier seemed to make a lasting impression wherever she went. She also had a particular affinity for Freeside and its people, which he really didn't understand.
His eyes narrowed behind his aviators, stopping himself from correcting her on the 'your girl' statement. "Resting."
"Well, tell her to stop by soon."
"Yeah." Deciding he did not want to sit at the bar and risk further conversation about Beth, he picked up his drink and made his way to a table in the far back corner.
It wasn't long before one of the Wrangler's "girls" approached him, scantily clad and flirtatious. "You look lonely," she cooed in a high breathy voice, leaning against the table. "Want some company?"
"Not particularly," he replied, dryly, not looking at her. All he wanted was to be alone.
Normally, she probably would have been rebuffed, but the crowd was almost non-existent tonight, so she persisted. "Aw, come on. What's your name, soldier?" She bent a little lower to give him a better view of her cleavage as she started fingering the collar of his t-shirt.
"Uh...Johnny," he replied, prying off her fingers and pushing her hand away from his collar. He definitely didn't want the kind of "company" she was offering. Couldn't she take a hint? Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?
"Ah, nice wholesome soldier-boy name. I like it. My name's Mindy." Seductively, she bit her lip and batted her eyes, then moved to try to sit on his lap, but he redirected her gently to the chair across from him. Still persisting, she asked, "Where ya from, Johnny?"
He sighed with mild irritation. "...Oregon," he answered.
With a smile, she reached out to touch his hand, but he picked up his glass with it before she could. "I hear it's real pretty there. Maybe you could take me sometime." She tucked a loose strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear.
He squinted a bit, wondering what she thought was going on here. Or maybe she was one of those "girlfriend experience" hookers. The thought of Carla crept into his mind. What would she think of this if she were here? Would she be disgusted or would she find it hilarious to see him uncomfortable being flirted with and play along? "Listen, I'm not really interested in 'company' tonight. I just came in for a drink to take my mind off things."
Her chair scooted closer to him and she smiled sympathetically, putting her hand on his knee. "What's on your mind, hon? You can talk to me. I'm a real good listener."
"No, thanks." Standing up and finishing the last sip of his whiskey, he set down a handful of caps. "Here, have a drink on me. Good night."
Despite the whiskey on an empty stomach and his level of exhaustion, Boone barely slept that night, his thoughts centering on Beth and the fear that he would never see her again. When he would let them, his thoughts strayed back to Carla, bringing with them the deep sadness and guilt that had been his constant companion before the Courier came along. While Carla had been too confident to be the jealous type, he couldn't help but wonder what she would think about him spending so much time with another woman.
Thinking back to the dream he had back at the clinic, he questioned if there was some deeper meaning behind it. Did he...replace Carla with Beth? Was that what he was doing?
"No. She's just a friend," he reassured the uneasy thoughts.
He then wondered what he would do if she didn't recover, if he was left on his own again. Go back to Novac? The idea wasn't appealing. Go back to California? That was the last place he wanted to go now. Rejoin First Recon? There was a reason he hadn't stayed after his tour was up. No, he'd probably just continue on hunting legionaries until his debts finally caught up to him. Maybe he'd be able to find Benny and get vengeance for Beth like she had for him. She deserved that much, at least.
Through the window, he could see dawn breaking, so he got up, put his boots on, and headed downstairs. The Wrangler was a shabby place in the dark, but with the morning light streaming through the high windows, it was a downright pit. A greasy smell from whatever breakfast was being offered hung heavy in the air. The morning clientele certainly didn't do anything to class up the place. While he was glad to be out of there, he dreaded the walk back to the clinic, not sure what he was going to find when he arrived.
The clinic lobby was vacant except for the guard, who looked distressed. "Hey, man. Doc said to go in back as soon as you got here."
Boone nodded, his worry intensifying at the man's demeanor. Quickly, he headed to the back room only to find the bed empty. "Oh, god. No." He leaned against the door frame, his heart sinking into his stomach as he stared at where Beth had been the night before.
Then he felt a hand touch him on the shoulder. He whirled around, thinking for a hopeful moment that it would be her, but it was only Doctor Usanagi, also looking distressed. "They took her."
"What?! Who?!"