It was five days later that Bonnie managed to get out of the bed and walk around. Blisters had risen and gone from the boiling water and her arm was setting decently, according to Dr. Usanagi. She'd been forced to undergo therapy, though. Not that she didn't need it, she knew she did. But it made it all too real for her.
The worst of it was when she discovered the branded bull on her stomach. There were never so many curse words in the world when she saw what had been burned into her. She'd almost destroyed the room, throwing things, pitching a fit and unable to control herself.
Boone visited fairly often. She wondered what he was doing with his time in the world. He never stayed more than half an hour, long enough to avoid saying hello and give her a Stimpak. He both amused and baffled her. She kept blaming herself and getting stuck inside her own head for hours on end.
I promise I will make this up, she told herself. I will not leave his side. Every time I have, it's ended so very badly.
And when she did finally get released, when Usanagi was confident she would be able to handle herself enough to make it back to the Lucky 38, she didn't look back.
At the Lucky 38, Bonnie went to the games room and sat down, having a long think. Boone was off in the kitchen, doing something loud. He was making the most noise she'd ever heard him make.
"Come eat," he finally said, poking his head into the room.
There was a feast laid out. Well, mostly meat, a few potatoes, some cactus fruit. It was more food than she'd seen in a long time, though. "Did―" she chuckled. "You didn't cook this, did you?"
He looked offended. "You learn," he said.
"Well!" She sat and eyeballed the plate in front of her. "Can't say I expected that from you," she said.
He shot her a look that was made of fire, as much as her cheeks burned. Even with sunglasses on, she laughed at herself. She started eating, and the laughter died.
She put on a game face, trying to will herself not to lose a happy thought. I survived death, twice. I have been assaulted, bitten, choked, bound, gagged, beaten, boiled, branded and violated. But I am not broken, I do not need to be fixed. I just... need to get the hell out of the Mojave.
Boone said something, she didn't hear. "What?"
"Eat," he said.
She realized she'd been staring into the air and holding her fork over the plate. "Oh."
It came again, before she was finished, that fog over her brain. She was jerked out of it, roughly, when something hit her in the chest. She looked down to see that Boone had thrown a First Recon beret at her, identical to his own.
"Don't ever touch mine again," he said, forcibly.
"I'm sorry," she said, and turned her head away, pushing back tears.
She found a safe place in her memories, and used it to focus herself back on the meal. For once, she was talking less than even he did.
The silence lasted more than a few days. She would sit and will herself not to think about bad things, by dredging up memories of her past. She wrote a letter to her mother, but put it away without finishing. She didn't need Mamie McCrae down her throat about her running away on top of everything else.
"Boone," she asked, then corrected herself, "Craig, how old are you?"
"Twenty-six."
And she laughed at herself. "I'm so old."
A week passed and she tried very hard to make conversation, but failed at it. There was a definite change in the air between them. She felt like it was easier to talk to him, wondered if he was more amicable about talking to her because she'd been through hell. Wondered if he was glad she'd lived through it.
A sobering thought, that. She put on her brass knuckles and punched the walls a few times. Victor's computerized voice came clearly through the gloom to ask her not to destroy casino property.
"Okay, I have to get out of this place," she said to him one day. She was pretty sure it was day; her Pip-Boy was the only she could tell time.
"Doctor's orders," he said. "House says so."
"I'm going mad, stuck in this stupid tower!" she groaned.
Boone said nothing. Bonnie played with the beret he'd given her, and then put it on. She didn't know if she liked the way it fit. She sighed in frustration, then changed out of her leather armor into a simple shirt. She'd been hoping he would cave to pressure.
She laid on the master bed and traced the brand on her stomach for a while, thinking about sunlight and fresh air, until she fell asleep.
She woke to the sound of glass breaking, and shot out of bed towards the source of the sound. A curse sounded in the kitchen, and her heart was pounding.
Boone had dropped a pitcher and was cleaning it up when she came into the kitchen. She relaxed a little bit. "Here, I'll help," she said, kneeling down to pick up the pieces.
He glanced up at her, then away, then stopped and stared. "What―" he started to say, then looked away again and went back to cleaning up the floor.
She was reminded that she was not wearing much clothing. Embarrassed, she dashed out of the kitchen and back to the master bedroom, burying herself in the bedclothes. She held back tears; trying to keep the monsters in her her at bay was hard enough without a hefty dose of mortification. Boone had seen the scars and the bull, and she was still conscious of the shame of having been branded. She sobbed quietly, rocking herself.
The door opened and she went still under the covers. A moment later, he was sitting beside her, touching her on the back through the bedsheet. She took a breath and started crying harder, letting it all out.
He put an arm around her, then, and she felt better. "Got to be tougher," he said.
"I'm trying," she sniffled, her voice muffled.
And, because he was still Boone, he left the room abruptly. She laughed through the tears.
Bonnie kept herself fed and concentrated on healing, but she was more than antsy to get out of the Lucky 38. Boone would not let her leave without having full use of her arm. He told her some story about a man who'd not let his heal and lost his life to an infection. She rolled her eyes.
She amused herself one day by going to the cocktail lounge and staring out over the Vegas ruins, imagining what she would do if she were in control of the Strip. Her daydream involved Securitrons and wiping out the Fiends. She smiled, and it was a smile of unrepentant joy.
Come to think of it, she hadn't heard much news about anything in the wasteland. She went back up to the suite and sought out Boone.
"Craig," she said, leaning on a door frame. "Have you heard anything about the Fiends, lately?"
"No," he answered.
"You haven't been out of the Lucky 38 for almost a week," she pointed out.
"Yeah," he said. "But no one's leaving today."
"Ugh, you can't keep me here forever!" she yelled in frustration, and went back to the master bedroom.
Since when did I let him have power over me? she asked herself.
Technically, it's House that won't let you out, her mind came back.
Well, Boone shouldn't treat me like a child, she thought.
You are acting like a child. It's only fair you are treated like one. Can you really blame him?
"Egggghhhh!" she groaned, punching her pillow. I can no more help my feelings than he can. I'm tired of being stuck here, thinking up solutions to problems that will kill me.
And what do you think his feelings are? Why does he stay, if he doesn't want to put up with you?
She clutched a pillow to her chest, staring at the floor. She hadn't thought about that. Why was he still here?
On that thought, he entered the room and opened the gun chest at the floor of the bed, pulling out the guns she hadn't sold. "We'll go through the weaponry tonight," he said, quietly. "Tomorrow, we'll leave."
She watched in silence as he pulled out a battered cowboy repeater, a broken service rifle, and laid out an assortment of pistols that she was so fond of using. The silence was painted in the room, forever brushing out onto the air.
"Bonnie," he finally said, "I know you're upset."
She snorted. If it was that obvious...
"I don't intend for anyone to get the jump on us again."
"I don't either," she said. "I just feel trapped in here." There, now you're acting an adult, talking about a problem.
Boone said nothing, but put away the service rifle and repeater. He looked over her pistols momentarily. Then he balled up his fists and said, "I don't want you to end up like I am."
She looked at him, a question in her eyes. "What, seeking revenge? Or killing every Legionary you see?"
"Looking for death," he clarified.
"I haven't noticed that," she murmured.
He stood in silence. "I'm helping you with your delivery," he said, slowly. "Been keeping you out of trouble, or saving you when you found it. Haven't done a real good job of that." He paused.
"And?" she asked, wondering when he would get to the point.
"I don't expect the same from you," he said.
She was floored. She realized now she hadn't given him much opportunity to want to stay with her; her behavior had been selfish and pointless. He came with her because she asked, and he had nothing better to do. She'd never even bothered to ask him what he would rather do, just dragged him along into her own problems.
I hardly bothered to get his opinion, either.
"Why do you stay?" she asked.
"You asked me to come with you," he answered.
"Yeah, but..." She rubbed her eyes. "You could have walked away at any point, if you wanted. Why not?"
"Haven't got anyone else to travel with." He stared into the air.
She wanted to laugh, it was so ridiculous. That wouldn't be fair, though. It was a relief to know that there was still a person inside the cold machine that Boone could be. More warming to know that he had come to depend on her company, as shitty as it had been lately.
"We're a hell of a pair," she said, smiling a little.
The room became quiet. Bonnie stood and stretched her legs, then her arms. He stood silent as a stone, working his jaw like he meant to say something.
"I will never be able to thank you enough," she said. "For saving my ass repeatedly, putting up with my born-in stupidity when it comes to combat. Before I was in the Mojave, I sneaked around and kept to the shadows, rather than tackling problems head-on. Didn't see much use in shooting at things, since I ain't good at it. I usually ran away, avoided the dangers."
"And Benny?" he asked.
"Can't avoid an explosion if it's right under your feet," she said. "And it was my life or his, at that point. To deliver the chip."
"The Fiends, then."
She felt a stab of pain in her heart. "I wasn't myself then. And there are... alternate ways of escaping a problem you've created. I didn't know you very well then, either, so how was I know what could happen?"
"You know me better now?" he asked.
She was very still. I don't, really, she thought. I don't know him at all. But he's saved my ass on occasion, and he stuck with me, which is loyalty you can't buy.
She wondered if he was better for her company, or is she'd been mistaking his camaraderie for his normal behavior. After all, she'd never known him before Carla was gone. He could be acting like himself, for all she knew.
"...I trust you," she said. "I haven't had much chance to get to know you better, but I think that is our own fault."
"Tomorrow," he said, and left the room.
Sleep didn't come easily to Bonnie, but when she finally managed to, she resolved to do something for him. To prove to him that she was not a selfish prick. And maybe to prove to herself that she was not the easy come, easy go person that she had been in the past.