Author's Note: Hello! It is time for your yearly update to this story. Yes, I'm still working on it. No, I will likely never abandon it. Thank you to everyone still reading this monstrosity 12 years in. I could have raised a child in this time. Crazy.

Blood soaked the sand underneath her. Each rock was stained, each blade of sparse desert grass speckled. Her fingers shook. She lifted her hand, cursing as she tried to prod at the hole the bullet had left in her leg. Did it go clean through? Was there shrapnel? What did it hit? Muscle? Artery? Bone? She couldn't feel much of anything to tell, the adrenaline was already coursing through her, numbing her to specifics. And the crack of Boone's rifle told her that danger was still nearby.

They'd been so stupid, standing there like idiots out in the open. They should have moved inside and had their screaming match in the shelter of the metal shack. She should have insisted on it.

What she should have done was written another letter for him. After Nellis, after his anger in Goodsprings, she had decided against it. She'd felt foolish even considering it. Now she was going to bleed out on the desert sand without telling him everything. Anything.

She jumped as Boone knelt next to her, pausing only briefly as he took in the state of her and the stained ground beneath her. She watched his face shift, watched him fight off the abject horror and school his expression into something cooler, more neutral. Her eyes raked over him, looking for injury, for blood. But besides the dirt and sand dusting his vest, he was clean. Thank god.

He dropped his bag by her feet, brows knit. His fingers pried at hers, clenched around her leg. "Move. Let me see."

She wouldn't let him. Instead, she clenched harder, hoping the amount of blood seeping out of her would stop, somehow. "What hit me?"

"A bullet," he said gently. "Legion raiding party. They're dead. Move your hand."

Legion. It wasn't the sniper. But she knew that. If it had been a sniper, she'd be dead. She wouldn't have a hole in her leg, her shoulder. She'd have another hole in her head, her chest. He had two shots and missed vitals both times. So Boone was right, this was no sniper. But more Legion? After the attack on Bitter Springs, why would there be more Legion in the area? Was there going to be another attack? A bigger one?

"Riley." Boone's voice snapped her attention back to him. "Let go."

She did, finally. Sagging against the rock he hid her by, she watched him get to work.

"We should radio the Captain at Bitter Springs," she said, mind racing. Boone was busy unbuckling her grenade belt, and the thought hit her that the bullet could have hit one of those instead. Her voice started to shake and she struggled to force her words out. "C-could be m-more."

"Let me worry about that. Stay still."

She didn't fight. She didn't trust herself to do a damn thing right at this second anyway. Her heartbeat was too loud in her head, too damning. A thunderous roar that dulled and pulsed sharply in intermittent ebbs as she fought between apathy and panic. Boone pulled the knife from his boot and used the hole the bullet had made to rip at her jeans so he could see the wound. He shifted, manoeuvring her to lift her leg so he could feel for an exit wound. She cried out at the movement, and he hushed her with gentle tones, sweat beading at his brow.

"Still in there," he said, setting her leg back gently so he could focus on the wound in her shoulder. She forced a strained smile.

"Yay."

The wound to her shoulder had gone clean through, which was both a blessing and a curse depending on how you looked at it. She couldn't tell where she was bleeding more from anyway. But the frown on Boone's face was growing even frownier as he methodically removed his belt.

"We can get you to Gannon." He busied himself tying the belt above the wound on her leg, fashioning a crude tourniquet. "But I can't carry you and the gear."

"Then we c-can't," her words came through clenched teeth as he tightened it. "We'd be defenceless."

"You want me to dig a bullet out of your leg, just say the word."

His tone was light, teasing. Probably he was hoping to calm her, but the look in his eyes and the busy movement of his hands as he yanked medical supplies out of his bag did not fool her. Plus, she knew that getting back to Bitter Springs could take hours. Even if she survived that kind of journey without bleeding out first it meant being a liability and taking Boone's focus when he should be watching their surroundings. It meant leaving most of their gear to the mercy of the elements or any passing prospector or Legion asshole. It meant putting them both in more danger. Again.

"You might have t-to."

His eyes met hers and his mouth pulled back grimly as he sat back on his haunches, looking around them. They would lose light soon, she knew. The sun was already low in the sky, casting pinks and deep purples in a last-ditch warning of the approaching night. They had one option right now and Boone knew it.

"Not here," he said, stuffing the supplies back into his bag. He grabbed both rifles, her bag and his, and ran towards the metal shack, opening the door with a swift kick of his boot. She watched him disappear inside and it was all she could do to hope that there were no radroaches or geckos holed up inside.

She waited for the flash of gunfire, but there was nothing. Just the whisper of wind through the desert grass.

Boone reappeared seconds later, his hands empty. He ran to her, scooping her up into his arms with such ease she almost reconsidered the trek back to Arcade. Instead, she gritted her teeth as he carried her to the shack and then she was swimming in the dark with the smells of dust, metal, and Boone. She barely adjusted her eyes to the shadows before he was setting her down gently on a dirty mattress with the springs already digging into her before she fully settled. Tetanus, the Arcade voice in her head screamed. She was going to get tetanus.

"I didn't s-see them," she murmured as he knelt next to her and got to work.

"Neither did I. Riley. Stay awake."

"We're so stupid."

"I know."

Her eyes felt so heavy. It would be so easy to just drift off and not worry about this next part. Boone pulled off her Pip-Boy, setting it on a crate near them so the light cast her skin in a sickly green glow.

And then Boone lifted the needle. Riley could have cried tears of joy at the sight of the Med-X, but the relief washing through her clashed with the myriad of other emotions pumping up with the adrenaline. Her eyes met his as he brought the needle closer, worry suddenly tightening her brow.

"Ever done this before?"

"No," he said, and plunged the needle into her skin. "So you might wanna stay still."

Riley awoke violently, ripped from a nightmare where she was falling and her blood was already soaking through Boone's clothes. Where the cool metal of a gun was pressed to her temple. Where a shovel covered her with pile after pile of dirt while the men above her taunted her foolishness. Where Noah took his last breaths up on a Legion cross while she knelt helplessly in the blood-crusted dirt.

Her arms flailed, gripping sheets instead of the walls of her own grave, a scream clawing its way out of her throat while she struggled to breathe.

It was barely more than a croak, and the gulps of air she forced herself to take afterwards out of learned habit allowed her the time to clear the nightmare's hold on her. She lay still, taking in her surroundings while trying to assess if she was dead, dreaming, or something in between. The room she was in was dimly lit by a single lamp sitting on a small metal crate. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that it wasn't a room at all, but a tent. Military by the looks of it. She'd been in enough to know by now. A bunk bed on the other side of the tent, she had been given the only solitary bed. Her rifle rested on the lower bunk with her bag, and her Pip-Boy sat on the crate beside her.

This wasn't the rickety metal shack she passed out in, covered in her own blood with Boone digging into the muscle of her leg with medical scissors. This wasn't the grimy mattress that dug into her, decades of weathered abuse layering dirt and God-knew-what else into its fabric. Clean sheets shifted beneath her, which was a welcome surprise, and a plush pillow cushioned her head. An IV line ran to her arm, held in place with medical tape while fluid dripped from a saline bag hanging from a hook above her bed.

She was warm. And comfortable. And alone.

Her first instinct was to sit up. She wanted to check her leg, but found she didn't have the energy to do much other than turn her head. The thought occurred to her that maybe they had to amputate, but after some concentrated effort, she was able to wiggle her toes and flex her ankles. She watched as both feet moved under her blanket at the foot of the bed.

Thank god.

"Hello?" Her voice rang croaked out, hollow and unanswered. She needed water. How long had she been out?

She eyed the tent flap, wondering why, if they were in a military camp, was it so quiet. Forlorn Hope had always seen a bustle of activity, no matter the time of day. Bitter Springs always had the crackle of fire and the murmur of guards on watch, the chatter of refugees and children. McCarran was an entirely different beast, with the creak and groan of old-world metal and buildings, it was now the centre hub for most NCR activity. But wherever she was now had none of that. She could hear, disturbingly, nothing.

A Ranger outpost, maybe?

She wasn't sure how long she waited before she heard someone approaching. The crunch of boots outside grew closer until the tent's flap lifted and the blonde of Arcade's hair entered first, his eyes focused on the clipboard in his hands. Relief washed through her, and she must have made some noise because his head snapped up until his gaze met hers.

"Oh. Uh."

His expression was—strange. He looked as if he was both simultaneously relieved and shocked to see her awake. Like he didn't expect her to be. The thought occurred to her again: How long had she been out?

"Wait here."

He ducked back out of the tent, leaving her confused and bewildered. Wait here? She couldn't even sit up.

She didn't have much time to think about the ridiculousness of what he'd just said. He returned a moment later, his expression settled from shocked into something more like satisfied as he stood at the foot of her bed.

Riley raised a brow. "What's—"

Veronica flew into the tent, flipping the tent flap open so violently Riley was sure the whole thing would come down any second. The Scribe took a second for her eyes to adjust before she paced up to Riley, looking on the verge of rage, before she thought better of it and paced back to stand at Arcade's side. She crossed her arms, looking furious.

Her eyes flicked back to Arcade, noting his smug expression, before settling back on Veronica and her strange behaviour. When neither said anything for a long, stretched-out minute, Riley licked her lips.

"Did I die or something?"

The colour drained from Veronica's face, and she watched with horror as her friend's eyes welled with tears. She forced her gaze uncomfortably somewhere above Riley's head, throat bobbing while she struggled to keep her composure. Arcade cleared his throat.

"Yes. Twice."

She swallowed. "O-oh."

Given that Arcade was not rushing to take her vitals currently, she assumed she had stabilized and had been stable for some time. She glanced up at the bag of saline, noting the lack of a blood bag. If she'd lost that much blood, wouldn't she have a blood bag? Arcade noted her gaze.

"You had sepsis, Riley."

Sepsis. Which meant an infection. Her mind raced to the implications.

"Boone removed the bullet in your leg in the field. Do you remember that?"

She nodded slowly, wondering where he was but not willing to ask when Veronica looked so angry. Arcade continued.

"You got an infection within a day. He had no antibiotics and I wasn't able to get to you. Bitter Springs didn't have any to spare anyway. I used the last of my supply after the Legion raid." He paused. "Do you remember the Legion raid?"

She nodded again, and it occurred to her that these were odd questions to give someone who had a bullet in their leg. Why was he assuming she might have forgotten?

"You weren't getting better. Boone took you here. You're at Camp Golf."

That explained the lack of noise. Camp Golf was practically desolate since the action in the field was too far off to warrant a full military presence. Rangers used it as a base of operations but from what she remembered, they mostly stayed in the main building. The only regular army soldiers here would be sentries and those who weren't trusted to be in the thick of any action. She remembered a lot of empty tents the last time she was here.

"Your organs were shutting down," Arcade went on. "They had to place you into a medically induced coma to try and slow the damage so the stimpaks could catch up. We radioed Veronica to meet us here with antibiotics."

A coma. The memory-related questions made more sense now. She felt her breathing start to accelerate.

"How long have I been out?"

Her voice was so hoarse.

Arcade took a deep breath. "It's been almost three weeks since you've been shot."

"Three—" Her eyes widened. That was way too long to be out of commission. "The sniper we were hunting?"

"Don't worry about that," Arcade said firmly. "Don't worry about anything. Just rest."

"But—"

"We dealt with it. Everything's fine."

She stared at him, not sure she heard him right. They dealt with it? She glanced at Veronica for more information, brows drawn.

"How?"

Arcade cleared his throat. "I'm going to see about getting you some food and I want to speak to the doctor here about some logistics on how we're going to handle your recovery. Veronica can fill you in."

He left with barely a glance at either woman, taking Riley's charts with him. Veronica moved to sit on the bunk across from her, her hands shoved inside her pockets protectively. Riley eyed her.

"I'm not mad," Veronica said before she could say anything. Riley's brows lifted. "I'm just stressed to hell."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "You scared the hell out of us. I didn't know if you were gonna wake up. They said the coma was necessary but then Arcade said because of all your head injuries there were risks and ugh—" she threw her head back, blinking back tears. "Don't do that to me again."

"I didn't plan on getting shot again," she offered weakly. Veronica laughed.

"I still don't know if your luck is good or bad at this point. Shit."

"I'm not going gambling again to test it out."

"Dinner at the Ultra-Luxe?"

Riley eyed her. "I'm banned, remember?"

"But with your luck, they might just let us in."

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. Then she quieted, Arcade's last words still repeating in her head. "Boone really went after the sniper?"

"Yeah. After you died the first time he kinda uh… snapped."

Riley stared at her, trying to understand or picture this. She was also still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she'd died. As in, deceased. Not living. Kicked the bucket. In a better place.

It made her itchy.

"Did he go alone?"

"No. Raul figured you would probably be upset if he did and went after him with Rex. Everyone is fine, Riley. Nobody got hurt besides you."

She released a breath. Nobody was hurt. Boone was okay. She owed Raul the hugest bottle of liquor.

"And… they found the guy?"

Veronica nodded. "He was a Khan, leftover from Bitter Springs."

Understanding set in. "Vengeance."

"Yeah," Veronica huffed out a long breath. "Can't blame the guy, I guess."

No, she supposed. She couldn't. "He's dead?"

"Yeah. They managed to corner him in a cave, I hear, but one look at Boone and the guy attacked. They had to put him down."

Riley frowned. "He knew who Boone was?"

"He knew what his beret was."

That tracked. If he was leftover from the Bitter Springs massacre, he likely shot on sight the moment he saw a First Recon soldier. She wondered how Boone felt about that.

She was starting to fatigue even though all they'd done so far was talk for a few minutes. She could feel the exhaustion creeping up on her, and part of her worried that if she fell back asleep she'd fall back into a coma. She fought it off as best she could.

"What else?"

Veronica took a deep breath and looked down—bracing, Riley realised. "The radio is reporting you as dead."

She stopped breathing.

"We didn't correct it, we let it run. The doctor here um… kinda gives very little shits about whatever propaganda the NCR wants you to be heading. He's been working with Arcade in secret. Not even the powers-that-be up in the damn mansion on the hill know you're on base. Well, they knew you were here. Then they heard you died. Then uh… we just stopped updating them."

Riley stared at her, her mind racing. Dead twice. Revived. Coma. Dead for three weeks to the entire Mojave? Everyone thought she was dead?

Veronica grimaced at her expression. "We figured… it might be better in the short term if they weren't looking for you."

This was beyond anything she could have expected. She thought of all the people she'd met in the last few months, everyone she'd helped and built relationships with.

"Tanner thinks I'm dead? The King thinks I'm dead?"

Veronica opened her mouth and then shut it almost immediately. Riley glared at her until she answered. "Um. Probably. Yes. We haven't been back to Freeside since we got here."

She thought about Bravo, and how they were reacting to the news. If they even heard it. They could be out of the region on a mission for all she knew. Did Cliff think she was dead? Sunny Smiles? And Mr. House? Was he going to find a new Courier to do his little errands and blackmail with the crucifixion of the entire Mojave?

Owen's sister likely heard the news too. That presented issues. Bureaucratic and financial issues. Jesus, what was she going to do?

Caesar. Caesar thought she was dead. And that meant that the entire Legion was currently under the belief that she was no longer a threat and supporting the NCR. It meant she no longer had a target on her back.

Was it better this way?

Veronica stood, sensing she needed some time to process. "I'm gonna… go see what's taking Arcade so long on that food."

She barely registered Veronica leaving. Her fingers twisted in the sheets beneath her. Death was upon her. All she had to do was decide if she was going to accept it.

Riley slept. She felt the pull of it, with promises of better dreams and oblivion rather than face the situation in front of her. But the dreams were no better.

When she woke, Veronica was there with broth, clothes, and news. She helped her sit up, propping her up on pillows pillaged from empty military beds. Riley listened while she ate.

There had been an uptick in Fiend raids since they took out the bounties on Violet and Cook-Cook. Whatever raider following the two had apparently been taken over by Driver Nephi, and the deranged Fiend had taken vengeance as his new drug-fueled cross to bear.

Legion activity had been quiet, though there had been a few small attacks on Nelson in an attempt to retake it. Ranger stations reported very little contact and were instead reporting wild stories in their boredom. Boone and Arcade agreed these attacks were to try and sus out if the news of Riley's demise was true or not, and they expected the attacks to increase the more they accepted it as truth.

There were rumours that President Kimball might make a personal visit to the Mojave, as part of an attempt to boost troop morale in the Mojave. Veronica didn't think he'd actually come, but Riley knew Kimball was losing the support of some of the military leaders due to how long this war had been. A visit wouldn't surprise her at all.

Cass had returned from her trip to the Mojave Outpost two weeks ago. She returned to an empty Lucky 38, but with a success under her belt from what Veronica reported. Jackson had been livid that the caravans he'd had under his care were being slaughtered once they were allowed to cross through to the Mojave. Due to the connections he'd made there, he was certain he knew who to contact to put the right pressure on the authorities.

Cass insisted on staying in the city to see the whole thing through. News of Riley's untimely death almost put a stop to that, but Veronica had sent ED-E personally with a message letting her know that Riley was alive. She didn't trust the airwaves to send that over the radio.

Riley doubted Mr. House believed the news. Considering how he had Victor track her through the desert and neither she nor Boone were aware of it, she guessed he was well aware of her status. If he wasn't, he was moving awfully slow on continuing his plans. Three weeks was plenty of time to send someone new to Fortification Hill. Surely that would have been reported?

Eventually, her bowl empty and her throat soothed, Riley sat back against her pillows and waited for a break in Veronica's chatter.

"Ron."

"Yeah?"

"I can't be dead."

She didn't look surprised. She simply sighed and sat back in her chair with a small smile. "I know. I told them you'd never agree to it."

"I get why, though. It probably got the pressure off most of you while you guys travelled."

Veronica eyed her. "That wasn't the reason so if you're trying to blame yourself for putting us in danger—"

"I'm not. I would have before but… I'm not responsible for the Legion being murderous assholes."

"Well, look at that! Personal growth."

She spared her friend a narrowed glare and promised herself that the dress she'd been hiding in her room at the 38 was going to find a new owner much later than she originally planned on.

They talked a little more about news from Freeside before Arcade re-entered the tent. He looked at the emptied bowl, at Riley's bag of saline, and at his clipboard as he scribbled notes before he plastered a smile on his face and declared it was time to see if she could stand.

She still felt incredibly weak, much like she was in the Madre after the incident with Dog. But she figured this wasn't blood loss related, and this was being-laid-up-in-bed-for-three-weeks related. She forced herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, frowning down at her bare legs. She looked up at both of them, now standing and watching.

"Boone's shirt was the only clothing you thought I should wear?"

Veronica's eyebrows rose. "How did you know it was his?"

"Your modesty was never at risk," Arcade said dryly, his arms folded. "You've been washed, fed, and taken care of by only myself and Veronica."

Riley pushed herself closer to the edge of the bed, bracing herself. "Isn't there a doctor here? Or nurses? I hope you guys have been sleeping and eating enough."

"From what I understand nurses are only available in the medical ward at McCarran. Anyways, in our ruse to keep you declared dead to possible Legion spies," Arcade explained. "It was decided it was best if the doctor here wasn't seen repeatedly going into the tent your supposed rotting corpse was in."

Lovely.

"But you guys can be seen coming in here?"

Arcade laid a hand over his heart, the very picture of solemnity. "We're grieving a dear friend, no matter how rotten her corpse is."

Riley sighed, then pushed herself to her feet. She had almost immediate head rush and Veronica reached out to steady her as she swayed.

Arcade scribbled on his clipboard.

"I got it," she said as her dizziness cleared. Veronica stepped back and Riley shifted on her feet, testing.

She took it as an immediate victory that she did not fall over.

Arcade looked pleased. "Can you walk the length of the tent?"

Veronica moved to her side, ever vigilant, and she began walking.

It was slow. Her legs ached and her bullet wound twinged and pulled with every step. But there was no pain. She walked the length of the tent and then collapsed back onto the bed, fully winded.

"Am I on Med-X?"

Arcade didn't look up from his scribbling. "No. Why?"

"Just figured there'd be pain."

"There probably was in the first few days but you were already unconscious and medicated." He finished his notes and looked up at her. "We've been exercising your legs every day to avoid atrophy. It'll probably take a week or two to get you back up to an acceptable level to make the trek back to New Vegas."

"Where I'll be heralded as the second coming of Jesus?"

That got an amused quirk of his brow.

"Supposedly he took three days, not three weeks to come back from the dead. You're a bit tardy. I think we can safely say your return won't start a new religion. Veronica's going to take a bit of blood to see where your levels are at so we can adjust your meals better."

"She is?"

"She is," Veronica declared, snapping on some gloves. Seeing as how she had neatly slotted her friends into set roles in her mind, and Veronica's was decidely Not Medical, Riley looked up at Arcade, bewildered. He shrugged.

"She's been a very apt pupil. So has Boone, actually." At her confused look, he explained while Veronica started laying out what she needed. "I've given him some more thorough first-aid training. It felt pertinent if you're going to continue this kind of idiocy. And yes, he explained exactly what was happening when it happened."

She withered under his disapproving frown. "He started it," she muttered.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and she could just see him questioning his choice in friends. "I am not going to grace that with a response. I have spent the entire month giving lectures and lessons to everyone and their mother and I'm not going to start again with you."

"Isn't that the Follower mission?" she asked as she settled back into her mountain of pillows. "Has my death fulfilled your lifelong dream of spreading medical wisdom?"

"Yes. Don't do it again."

And with that, he left the tent in a mild huff, the tent flap slapping back with force as if the good doctor blamed it for his troubles.

Recovery was slow, only because they had limited room for Riley to move. Her friends' fear of Legion spies kept her trapped inside, and she didn't have the energy or strength to argue about it anyway. She ate what was presented to her, she stretched and did squats and lunges on command, and she walked the length of the tent and back ad nauseam. Every movement she did was weak and unsteady, interrupted by a constant need to sit and rest.

It was frustrating.

Her sleep was restless, consisting of untold hours staring at the tent canopy and wondering why Boone had yet to check in on her. Veronica seemed just as confused as Riley was when she asked about it, which didn't settle any of her anxieties. According to Veronica, he seemed perfectly fine and she was under the assumption that he was visiting at night like he normally did when she was in her medically induced coma.

But given that she spent her nights mostly awake, she had yet to see him.

On her fourth night, she was finally drifting off to sleep when the tent flap opened and Boone stepped inside. Her eyes were already adjusted to the dark and she could see the shape of him; she could hear the metal of his rifle as he lay the weapon down next to hers on the other bed. He sighed heavily, a long and weary sound that she hadn't realised she missed.

"Long day?" she asked quietly.

There was a heavy pause, as if he was debating what to say.

"I didn't know you were awake."

"Wouldn't have come in if you knew?"

The scrape of the chair against the dirt placed him nearer to the bed. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him as he sat down, and she rolled so that she was on her side facing him.

"Probably not," he admitted.

"Why?"

"Hadn't really worked out what I was going to say."

She smiled in the dark. Of all the things he could have said, that was the most 'Boone' option. The man had three weeks to figure this out.

She didn't say anything. She simply reached out until her hand found his leg. Understanding, he slipped his hand into hers. It was as if the tension rushed out of his body as he leaned forward, clutching her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

"Jesus Christ, Riley," he said, his voice hoarse against her skin. "Jesus."

Her eyes flared in the darkness at the tenderness and she swallowed hard. She had the rising urge to crack a joke, to tell him that Arcade told her Jesus rose in three days and she wasn't allowed to start any new religions. But that urge came from months of trying to alleviate awkward flirtations initiated by her. This wasn't even flirtation. This was something else entirely.

"Unkillable, remember?" she said past the lump in her throat.

"Don't," he said sternly. "Don't joke after that."

"How else am I supposed to deal with it?"

"Talk. To me. Veronica. Anyone."

"Hard to do when you're avoiding me."

"I'm sorry."

"Talking never helped much anyway," she admitted. "At least not when I was— you know. It always just felt like I was burdening someone who was paid to listen to my problems."

"You don't pay me."

She snorted. "I buy your food, your ammo, your stimpaks. But… I know. I probably should."

"I get my pension from the army. It's enough."

Was it? Hers certainly wasn't. Owen's wasn't. When he died, his went to his sister. And when Riley realised how meager her pension was—and likely how meager Owen's was—so did hers. It just felt right. She had a debt to pay him, and taking care of his sister seemed a good way to start. She had a friend in administration who combined it with Owen's so that it wasn't obvious to his sister what she was doing. She didn't want that conversation. Ever.

"What did you do with your share of the gold from the Madre?"

She could see his form shrug in the darkness. "Bullets, grenades, extra shades."

Of course he did. She waited a beat to see if he would add anything to the list. When he didn't, she sighed long and hard. "That is… quite sad."

"And I bought something for my rifle."

"What was it? I didn't notice."

"Weapon mod. It increases the fire rate."

She thought back to the Legion raid and the ambush that landed her here. The crack of Boone's rifle. She'd counted the shots as she raced back to the camp to help, trying to place where he was in the reload cycle. But the cadence. Was it faster?

"Was that before or—"

"After. I walked to the 181 after you died. The first time."

After he'd carried her here to Camp Golf. She thought about that, about how that must have felt. Probably, she reasoned, it felt like she did after they liberated Nelson. Her guilt over Cass' injury had spurred her to buy them better gear because she didn't want that on her conscience. She imagined it was something similar for Boone.

She brushed her thumb over his fingers, enjoying how natural it felt.

"Are we gonna finish our argument?"

He stilled. "Did you want to?"

"Things weren't really resolved when I got shot," she pointed out. "We can't keep leaving things unsaid or—"

"We don't have to get into it again," he said quickly. "Whatever you decide to do is fine."

Her thumb stopped its ministrations and her tone turned suspicious. "Why?"

He took a ragged breath, as if he'd gone over every option and this was the only one that made sense.

"Because wherever you're going I'm going. It's the only way to keep an eye on you."

"An eye on me," she repeated. "Like a misbehaving child."

"Not— Riley, you need protection. The entire Legion wants you dead."

"I am dead. You guys announced it to the world."

"I didn't think you wanted to stay that way."

"I don't."

Boone said nothing. He shifted in his chair, releasing her hand so he could finally turn on the lamp. She recoiled from the sudden light, sitting up so that her head wasn't right next to the bright glare. When her vision finally adjusted, she could see that Boone was looking at her with some concern.

"You're not Carla."

She stared at him. "Thank you for the reminder."

"I meant," he said, his voice strained. "That you're someone I care about," he went on. "And I know how you operate. How you think. And if it were Carla pissing off the entire damn Legion she'd be on the first caravan out of here and I'd tie her to that damn wagon if I had to. But you're not her."

He sat back in his chair, brow furrowed as he worked through his thoughts. She waited quietly.

"You're going to do what you want. Been around you long enough to know that."

She inclined her head, because yeah. That was the entire issue with her being in the army. She was never one to follow orders.

"But you should know that you dying caused everyone a lot of pain." He met her stare, his jaw set in a way that she knew meant he was holding something back. Usually one or two visceral emotions. "Doesn't matter that you came back. I'm gonna remember that feeling that you were gone. Veronica is too. And it's not something we want to live through again. So when I say I'm going to protect you, I'm going to damn well do it."

Guilt stabbed through her. She had spent an inordinate amount of time getting used to the idea of being around other people and caring about them that she completely ignored the idea that they might start to care about her. That what happened to her mattered to them.

Yes, she was hit by the fact that all of Freeside now considered her dead, but that was more of a logistical issue because how was she going to explain her sudden and inevitable revival when she walked through the front gates? Now she realised that knowing she was dead, they might actually be mourning her.

Like Veronica had mourned her.

And Boone.

She rubbed at the center of her chest, hating the pain that was surfacing in light of this information. She thought about how she disappeared for a year without a word to her entire squad. Hadn't even considered that they'd worried about her the same way she did them. Their reunion a few weeks back hit differently now. Tyler's words hit differently. Had the dumbass actually cared? Ugh.

Boone watched her.

"I didn't um—" she cleared her throat and avoided his gaze. "I'm not used to this."

"Neither am I."

She forced herself to take a deep breath. Then another. All of this needed more time to ruminate over, but right now there was only Boone in front of her. Right now, only Boone mattered.

She took one more breath for good measure.

"I'm sorry I died."

He stared at her unblinking for a few very long seconds.

And then he threw back his head and laughed.