Chapter Text
Midnight.
"Just." They leaned against the door frame of the small shack and looked out at the desert. They tilted their head back and looked to the moon. One arm lifted, and they tapped through a menu on their bulky Pip-Boy. "I need to leave for a bit. You two, try not to kill one another, yeah?" They didn't even look back, out they went, and the door shut with a whimper of rusted metal at their retreat.
Arcade stepped back into the room that could loosely be described as a bedroom. He was never one to keep things much to himself, but they'd gone so abruptly, so quickly, he didn't have much of a choice. If he couldn't let them know how he felt, he could let Boone know his displeasure. He flung himself back onto the twin bottom mattress and sighed. The bed creaked loudly under his weight.
Boone snorted. A disdainful snort, one that curled with barely contained disgust at that thin upper lip.
"You know, I think he was talking to you about that. I'm a doctor. Do no harm to my patients, and all that." He took note of the eye roll behind those grayed glasses Boone insisted on wearing even in the dark. Even inside. He inhaled his own derisive noise and kept it firmly to himself.
"Yeah. He probably was." Boone spoke so leisurely, but his words always felt tense. Terse.
It was almost as if Boone thought he might run out of air if he spoke too much. This was surely something Arcade himself disproved by existing, but Boone didn't seem smart enough to figure that out anyway.
That was perhaps a bit too unkind. It wasn't even true. Boone wasn't a fool. He was just. He just was Boone.
"What?" Boone leaned up a bit straighter, ruined the easy posture he'd held in the corner of the room. It broke the illusion he didn't give a damn about anything right then.
"What?" Arcade tilted his head, while he put a middle finger at the bridge of his glasses and adjusted them more firmly up his nose.
"You're staring. I don't like it."
"And I don't like people who go looking for trouble and then blame me when they get shot, but here we are." The words pulled out of his mouth before he could stop it. He almost regretted it, but instead, he finished it with a weak sweeping wave of his arms.
Boone pushed up from the musty flooring and took a step, just one, closer. "Excuse me?"
In, or out. Stand up, or back down. "Should I examine your ears? It's possible that blow to your cranium affected them as well." He remained sitting. He held his breath, though he did his best not to let that show.
Behind those dark lenses, he could see eyes narrow further, even in the dim light of the shack. "They're not here right now."
"How astute you are." He didn't swallow, despite the saliva that begged to go down. The lump that formed in his throat called for something to smooth it out, but he couldn't give in. Nor did he stand. He wasn't certain he could, even if he wanted to physically escalate it himself.
Boone smiled.
Arcade had read about blood pressure in a pre-War study. The research indicated that with the introduction of a frightening stimulus a subjects blood pressure would drop and that the sympathetic nervous systems general action was to mobilize the body's fight or flight response. This lead to lowered blood pressure during and immediately after such an encounter.
That was alright, Arcade's normal blood pressure was on the high side of normal, so he could stand to have it lower for a bit.
Boone took another step forward. "You really think you're smarter than everyone, don't you?"
Arcade, never at a loss for words for long, still stumbled over that one. "Pardon?" He didn't keep the incredulous tone out, he didn't think he could.
"Do you need your hearing checked now?"
"Probably. It's been a while since I've had it done. Oddly, I don't really like other doctors examining me." His own words felt a bit numb, but he held onto them. Worked his mind around them. It was easier than attempting to assess the nature of the previous question.
Boone paused his advance. He seemed to think about those words, to toss them around. A moment later, he advanced another step.
It wasn't a big shack. It only took a few paces before Boone reached him.
In men and women, there tended to be different responses to frightening stimulus. While flight and fight weren't the only responses, those tended to be the most often seen in the studies. Men tended to fight. Women tended to take flight.
Arcade always found that annoying. How running was seen as the cowardly thing. As the thing that was dishonorable.
He stood up. It wasn't running. But he didn't have to stay there and be cowed. He moved around Boone, angled his chest to take the brunt of any assaults, and attempted to leave.
Boone relaxed his shoulders back. That firm military posture eased into something else. The facade he'd held in the corner returned. "Relax."
"I'd prefer you not punch me again. That, funnily enough, wasn't pleasant."
"I won't."
"Oh, because those boot stomps on the ground ensured my safety. You're right there, when just a minute ago you were happy off against the wall."
"I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." He tilted his head back up towards the bed. Towards the top bunk.
Oh. Oh well.
Arcade laughed, though he couldn't really maintain it as something of happiness. It came out, then popped. He took a step, then fell back onto his claimed mattress. "By all means." Loosely, he motioned to the ladder to his left. "Though, you should probably make sure not to move that arm too much."
"Alright." And he went back to normal.
As normal as Boone could be, from Arcade's limited experience.
Just like that, Boone climbed up the old metallic ladder and slid onto the mattress above his. Boone adjusted his body for less than thirty seconds, then seemed to settle.
Arcade might admire that another time. It took hours for his mind to settle enough to let him sleep. Sometimes, he didn't sleep. Sometimes he just drank the sludge Julie called coffee, and kept himself awake through the day with research so boring it helped him sleep that night, so long as nothing more emotionally strenuous than looking at agave went on during the day.
Tonight was an up all night sort of night.
He couldn't blame Boone entirely for that, but it was much easier to try.
---~~~---
"Food." The words coupled with a thrust of a warm plate towards Arcade's face.
He almost smacked his front teeth right into the chipped porcelain plate. Instead, he blinked, scooted back a bit, and looked up to the blurry image that was almost definitely Boone. A hand reached down and fumbled about a bit for his glasses, then he returned them to his face and returned his gaze to Boone's. "Breakfast in bed. And they say romance is dead."
That snort returned.
There were books that said in remote places in the world before the Greatest War there were peoples that communicated entirely in clicks and grunts. Arcade was convinced that, given enough time, he'd be able to translate all of the various snorts and grunts that Boone made. But was it worth it, if it meant he had to be around them for longer than absolutely necessary?
He took the plate and nodded, "Thank you."
They turned and left. Out the door, as though they had no intent to stay near Arcade long enough to hear more than that.
Arcade stood though and moved towards the entrance with his plate. There didn't seem to be much light coming in. The still barely open door confirmed that. Starlight, moonlight, and perhaps the light of a nearby fire, that's all that entered the shack.
Arcade didn't plan to eat alone in the dark. Not here. Not in this unfamiliar place. He stepped quickly to the closing door and moved towards the fire pit to the right.
"It's a beautiful night." Arcade sat on a large mostly smooth stone beside the fire and glanced over to Boone. "Do you usually eat when the moon's still out?"
"I woke up."
"That's... an answer to a different question, but alright." He wouldn't push. Well, normally he would. But Boone wasn't an easy egg to crack he could tell, and gecko eggs tasted slimy and chewy all in one when you let them cool, so he'd focus on eating what was in front of him instead.
The yolks were the best part. In a place where seasonings tended to be only the local ones you could forage, yolks were something that held a nice flavor all on their own. Not if overcooked though, in his experience. Luckily, Boone seemed to know what he was doing, and the yolks popped nicely and were absorbed into the thick gecko steaks. It really brought out a delicate flavor Arcade rarely expected from the tense, dangerous creatures.
"This is really quite good." He pushed another bite into his mouth a moment later, then settled just a bit more fully down onto the rock. It almost wasn't uncomfortable, if he just focused on the enjoyable meaty taste of the steak that soaked up the shiny orange yolk.
"You sound surprised." Boone ate quickly, as though he couldn't stop to savor it. As though this were nothing more than a chore, him fulfilling something his body needed and nothing more.
Maybe Arcade was projecting. He slowed his own eating a bit further and looked over to them. "I am, a bit. I suppose I pictured you as a bit more one note than being a chef."
"I'm not a chef. I just made food."
There was an added note of 'do not make this weird' in those words, Arcade was almost certain. It wasn't that Boone snorted, or narrowed those eyes, or even had too much tenseness in the words. It was just, they seemed to be present, even if not said.
So Arcade ate and returned to quiet pondering.
"Why do you stare?" Boone had narrowed eyes again this time, and an apparently empty plate.
Arcade's own was still half full. He blinked and refocused on Boone. "Hmm? I'm not."
"You look like you are."
"Well, I'm not, I assure you. I have far more interesting things to do than stare at someone who so quickly tends towards hostile." Arcade popped a bit of steak back into his mouth. Just stop talking. Stop.
Boone set his own plate aside and regarded Arcade from over the flames of the low campfire. He stared.
Arcade felt his toes crack and curl inside his boots. He kept otherwise calm and still, but he couldn't help that. "Why are you staring?"
"I'm not."
Oh, so that was the game, was it?
He didn't actually like staring. He hadn't been before. He'd just been thinking, and apparently, his eyes focused in Boone's direction. But now he couldn't back down. He couldn't stop.
Arcade blinked.
Boone stood and moved towards the shack.
Damn it.
---~~~---
"I could go get a gecko for us. You really shouldn't be hunting again. That injury won't heal with magic."
"Isn't that what a Stimpak is?"
Arcade practically bruised the top of the bridge of his nose with his glasses and middle finger. But he relaxed his hand, and just arched a brow. "Really? Magic? Oh, sure, it's magic. Never mind the countless hours of boiling the broc flowers, or sterilizing the scavenged syringes. And who could mention how difficult it is to mince the xander root to the right size, and boil it down to exactly the right color? No, I'm sure it's not science, it's all just--" He stopped.
There was a smile. Not like the night before, there was nothing threatening about this one. It seemed almost loose, albeit it was still slight. It signaled the barest twitch of pleasure over thin lips.
"Was that... a joke?" Arcade stepped closer and clasped a hand over his chest. "Well, be still my heart, I never thought I'd see the day."
The smile left. It didn't snap away, but it eased down. Boone shrugged and turned back towards the door. "If you're that worried, come with me."
"Shouldn't someone stay here, in case--"
"You can stay," Boone held at the door, slunk against the frame like their friend had been the night before, "or you can come."
"I'll just. Write a note. Don't leave without me." Quick as he could, he tugged a square of paper from his front pocket and inked out a quick message. Immediately after, he pulled his plasma defender out and followed.
Boone lead. Silent, stoic as ever. He seemed to have moved on from that blip in his personality. That 'joke'.
Arcade let him lead, despite having much longer legs. He allowed it. In fact, he didn't mind it, as it meant he could keep an eye on Boone. He could make sure the moody soldier didn't do anything that classified as foolish. Or, at the very least, he could ensure that any stupid thing had minimal consequences.
"Are you sure we should go up? We saw geckos closer to that ranger station yesterday." He wasn't huffing. He wasn't having a difficult time hiking up the trail at all.
"Not there."
"We did see them there."
"We did. But I won't go by there, given a choice. If you want to go, then go."
"I'd almost think you didn't want me coming with..." He tried to steady his breathing.
"You really are smart."
Maybe he deserved that. Arcade rolled his eyes though, then focused back on the trail and keeping his footsteps quiet like Boone did. Apparently, they weren't just running on into trouble, unlike the day before.
That didn't keep trouble from hearing them.
He heard its breathing first. Puffs of air sucked in and huffed out. Each breath signaled how massive it was.
Boone must have heard it too, as he put a hand out, caught Arcade by the chest and stilled them both.
Arcade didn't need to be told to keep quiet. He held his breath, and peered past a rocky outcrop, intent to see the beast, even if he was frozen in place.
It lifted its head back and seemed to take in the surroundings. It didn't turn its head towards them but sniffed the air loudly. A long tongue, a remnant from the creature it used to be, flicked at the air for a moment.
An instant later it turned its entire body towards them. A wide maw opened, and it lifted its claws in a threatening display. Long fingers curled and swiped at the air, before it charged.
Boone pulled off the first shot.
"Do you want to die?" Arcade managed to aim a plasma beam and let it splash over the beast though.
"If I take it out first, fine." Another bullet.
In holotape movies, gunfire was loud, certainly. But it always had that Old World Hollywood lack of realism. Maybe their guns were really quieter, or maybe it was just the sound decay after ages that changed things. But guns, especially guns like Boone's, were intensely loud. Distressingly loud.
He really would have a difficult time hearing Boone for a while after this.
Arcade took a step back and leveled off another charge towards the beast. Another. "We need to go." Another, oh please let it be enough.
He could see that set in the jaw. That same determined look Boone had held when they'd charged straight on towards those assassins, with no thought to strategy and staying alive.
Arcade advanced a bit and sprayed the beast that was a foot or two from Boone with as many shots as he could get off.
One claw swiped at Boone's gun and tossed the hunting rifle aside. Then, it lifted the other and howled with a clear intent to tear into Boone.
Arcade tore off another two shots in that time. "Get back!"
It was meant for Boone, to keep him from so stupidly taking the brunt of this things attacks. To keep from being so brave it circled back around to foolish.
The deathclaw didn't look at him, so much as tilt its head, and aim its face in his direction. Glazed white eyes glistened in the afternoon sunlight. Then it charged towards him.
Blood pressure dropped. Fight, or flight, neither took place. There was that third one, the one people didn't like to talk about. The one that didn't make sense to so many. Freeze.
He could think. He thought about how those eyes were vestigial at this point, no longer necessary when it sensed the world around it so well with that tongue, those ears, and that sense of smell.
He could smell. Dust clouded up around them with all the movement, and the sun baked something long dead and rotting nearby. It tugged, putrid, at his nostrils.
Arcade couldn't breathe; his lungs grew hot and constricted. Arcade couldn't blink, unlike before with Boone when he had felt there was no other real option.
That staring match had lasted at least a minute though, and been in front of a smoky fire. This was no more than a second. He didn't have time to blink, even if he wanted to.
Would it be better to blink, if he didn't have to see his own death?
He blinked and pulled the trigger, once, twice more, aimed directly at their chest.
Time spun back into normal. The deathclaw rose over him, formidable in height, if not quite towering compared to Arcade. Claws pulled back and brought down slashing agony.
At least he hadn't frozen too long.
Boone was right. It didn't matter. He'd kill it and if he died, so be it.
Even with gashes in his chest, even with blood that stained his admittedly dirty labcoat, he held himself upright. He aimed another shot, right into that open mouth, right over that tongue that probed the air.
It screeched, low, and slumped forward. Crumpled over him. It forced him down.
He was already so focused on only the deathclaw, already so deafened with the gunfire so far, he barely registered he'd heard another round from Boone.
He blinked. A heavy dark shadow moved over him.
Boone stepped beside him after a moment and reached to heave the beast away. "Are you awake?"
"For certain variables of awake, I'm sure." It felt a bit like he was listening to his own voice in a holotape. Like it was distant, hollow. It had that same tang of sarcasm that most of everything he said had, but it just didn't lift how he wanted it to. How it normally would have.
"Stay with me."
He wanted to reply, really, he did. But he found his throat just didn't let him. His own tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. He just nodded weakly and allowed Boone to grunt and force the deathclaw off.
"Shit."
A smile pulled at his chapped lips. He couldn't help but enjoy that look of distress just a bit more than he should have in the moment. Tongue thick or not, he forced an unwanted reply, "Just use some magic."
Boone didn't smile. He reached into one pocket in his cargos and pulled out the bag and syringe. "Guess it's good I didn't use it like you said to."
Oh, what a bastard. He kept that grin, weak though it was, and looked down at the wreckage that his body had become.
It wasn't quite a disemboweling. His organs had been missed, as far as he could tell, but all of his ribs and chest had been swiped across.
Arcade lay back down over a rock and looked towards Boone's face. Searched for something he didn't find. "I guess it is. Though, if I bleed out..." It wasn't a dramatic pause. He felt weak and his vision blurred. Arcade shut his eyes and shuddered a breath out.
The stab of the syringe didn't hurt. It flooded relief through his system. It provided a jolt of life, kicked his blood into clotting, forced his cells to do their damnedest to repair.
"Should I move you?"
Arcade blinked. Once, twice, three times. The question fumbled weakly at his brain, until it finally connected and he nodded. "Yes." Stimpaks helped, sure. But there was only so much a Stimpak could do, and he'd already lost a lot of blood. He'd already been weakened.
He could probably stand, and he could probably even walk. But when Boone reached down and lifted him like he could carry Arcade all day, he didn't fight it.
Hell, he encouraged it. Arcade slumped into their arms, and just let them hike right on down the trail, until they got to the shack they'd all claimed the night before.
Boone kicked the door in and followed through the front room into the bed area on the left. He placed him, almost gingerly, on the bed. "What should I do?"
Seemed he had a volunteer nurse. Arcade could think of worse things. "There should be bandages in that medical box. I put them there last night while you were hiding the Stimpak I gave you."
"It saved you, didn't it?"
"I have half a dozen." But he had to admit, he might not have survived the trek down, carried or not, without one. He should have taken one himself, but he'd been in a rush to go after his stubborn patient. "Bring two back, along with the bandages. Grab one of the purified waters too."
Boone was already there in the other room, rummaging through the metal kit. "Anything else?"
"I don't know. I think they put a whiskey in there. They put so much everywhere though, it might be in one of the boxes too. Just, if you find it, I wouldn't mind a drink right about now. And maybe take some of the bandage squares too. Wounds don't clean themselves."
"Yeah." And that was it. Boone returned, objects held against his chest with his good arm.
Arcade felt a tinge of guilt when he looked at the blood on the other arm, that seeped through the bandages. "Did you bring two Stimpaks?"
"I did." Boone carefully placed all the items beside Arcade, then stood still and tall beside him.
Arcade couldn't quite read that expression, but given how helpful Boone had been, he wondered if it was just Boone waiting for more instructions.
"Come here, let me take care of that arm." He sat up, albeit a bit weakly.
"You're--"
"A doctor, who doesn't intend to let his patient get away from treatment a second time. Now, sit down."
Boone huffed. Like it was a second cousin to the snort, Arcade was certain it held deeper meaning than just an exhale of air. But Boone did settle down beside Arcade, though a bit clumsily. The mattress called out with a creak beneath their combined weight.
Arcade took the bandages off carefully, used a square cotton bandage soaked in purified water to wipe the blood away and clean it, then wrapped it back up.
This time, Boone didn't complain that he'd had worse and not needed a nurse. This time, Boone kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused forward.
Arcade wasn't sure which he liked better from Boone, but he'd accept silent compliance. "Do you have a phobia of needles?"
"What?"
"You didn't use the Stimpak when you insisted you would last night. So, why not?"
"I." Boone bit his lip and turned his head just a little, so Arcade couldn't see his expression as easily unless he leaned in. "No, it's fine."
"Uh huh. Well, phobia or not, I'm about to stick you. I'd prefer you not bleed out before you can be of use."
That got a heavy swallow from his patient.
Was it really a phobia? Was it guilt on how Arcade had been the more injured one? Was it just he was thirsty?
Arcade pressed the syringe in and watched their expression. Muscles clenched at the jaw, teeth ground against one another, and those lips twitched and curled.
Definitely phobia. But the injection was done. Arcade pulled the syringe away and set it on the floor. It would need to be sterilized again anyway, a bit of dirt wouldn't kill it. "Alright, it's fine now."
Boone took a shaky breath and glanced down at his right arm. "Thanks."
There didn't seem to be that normal irritation that tinged most words Boone aimed in Arcade's direction. He would take it at face value. "You're welcome. Now, if you don't mind, I would really like to be bandaged up myself. But, seeing as how it's my entire chest..."
"I can help. Just, tell me what to do."
"First. I need this coat and shirt off." He stood, though maybe he'd been wrong before when he'd thought he could have walked the trail down. He felt unsteady, like he'd already had a shot or three of whiskey, despite the bottle being unopened.
Boone caught him, quick as could be, and helped Arcade stabilize. "Easy."
"I said the same thing to you last night, look where that got me." But he flashed a white smile and looked down a bit at them. "But I guess you've got a point. Think you could help me out of these? Red's my color, but not like this."
Boone nodded and seemed to ignore the bulk rest of his words. Then again, Boone seemed to ignore so many of the things Arcade said. He had on the entire trek out of New Vegas and into the desert proper. Only their mutual friend had paid a damn bit of attention to Arcade.
It didn't matter though. Boone helped. Fingers clutched and tugged at his jacket, and carefully pulled the sleeves down until the bloody lab coat fell in a heap on the floor.
Arcade went to work at the buttons, but found he couldn't quite stand long enough to get the task done. With only a bit of tremble, he sat back down on the mattress. Springs squeaked noisily under him, and the bed groaned under his weight.
Boone perched next to him, and seemed focused on the task of assisting. Fingers worked at Arcade's bottom buttons, while Arcade moved methodically down from the top.
"You know, I've had help undressing before, but never under circumstances like these."
Boone's fingers stilled.
Damn. He just had to try and break the tension. He had to go and make it weird. He just couldn't keep his mouth--
Boone smirked. "Normally I'm the one in your position. I don't particularly care for it."
"Being undressed, or being injured and cared for?"
Boone blinked. He finished with a button and moved to tug the shirt down Arcade's arms. "Being cared for."
Arcade assisted, until it pulled down over his arms and dropped down onto the mattress behind him. He reached back, and moved it onto the floor, over his fallen coat. "I can't help but notice you didn't mention the injured part of that."
Boone seemed focused entirely on the five slashes across Arcade's chest. While the bleeding had stalled to an ooze, thanks to the 'magic' of the Stimpak from before, it had certainly not stopped.
He couldn't hold in the sigh. Fine, back to business. He didn't need his nurse freezing up. He reached for the whiskey, broke the seal, and pulled a swig down. Satisfied, he handed it over. "Just a drink. Shouldn't overdo it until we know we can."
Boone did as told, took a pull, then capped it and set it aside. "Should we... clean the wounds with it?"
"Is that how the NCR does it? Scratch that, don't answer. I don't want to know. No, whiskey in a wound might kill the germs, but it kills the tissue too. Plus, I'd rather numb the pain with it, not make the wound burn hotter than the sun." He reached for another cotton square, and poured some water over it, then began to wipe at his own injuries.
It was easier when it was someone else. Not that he got very much time working on others in a medical sense, but he'd done it a few times when there were enough patients in the Fort. But when it was just him, and it was his body, he didn't feel nearly so confident. And considering how confident he was with normal patients was about a 1 on a scale of 10, that was a problem.
"Think you could get these lower wounds washed off? Anything to get this going faster." He wasn't panicked, he was calm. He was definitely calm. Seeing his own blood and torn tissues was fine.
Arcade leaned back against the pillow. He couldn't even sit up, but he attempted to make it look like a comfort need, not an actual physical demand his body made of him.
"Like this?" They moved over him just a bit, and carefully moved another square over rended skin.
Boone took directions surprisingly well. Or maybe it shouldn't be surprising, Arcade realized. He was a soldier boy. He seemed to crave direction, now that Arcade paid a bit more attention.
"Just like that." He relaxed into the mattress further and convinced himself not to pay attention to how dirty the material beneath him was on bare and bloody skin. He couldn't think about that. "Very gently. Good."
He didn't like other doctors examining him. He didn't like them seeing him as a patient, or really as anything other than a colleague. It was weird, and Julie prodded at him about it sometimes.
This was a bit different. They were distinctly not colleagues. Boone knew not a damn thing about medicine. He'd just follow directions, and Arcade could be in charge. He could lead here.
On a scale of 1 to 10, he was about a 5 on confidence in his ability to do that, and about a 5 also on how well he'd take care of his injuries with Boone's assistance. That was a marked improvement, so he wouldn't pay attention to how that was still not very high.
It was fine. He'd be fine. Everything was fine.
Arcade reached for the whiskey when his wounds were cleaned and Boone sat so near, waiting. He poured another shot, more or less, into his mouth, then handed the bottle back over to Boone. One hand wiped away some of the beads of alcohol from his chin and neck. No need to be sloppy here, even if everything he saw started to fuzz.
Boone didn't sip this time, he just capped it and set it aside. "What next?"
He took a steady breath, then pushed himself more upright and tried to keep himself there. "I'll show you. Just grab those bandages. And I should have some needle and thread in my coat on the floor. Get that too."
---~~~---
Arcade blinked awake to the sound of a quiet laugh. "What?" He felt a bit more drunk than just that amount of alcohol normally would have done. Then again, he had lost a nice amount of blood. It only made sense he was still this woozy.
Still, Boone laughing was enough to get him to attempt to sit up.
"Easy there." Boone stood before him, nothing more than a dark form barely lit up by a candle nearby.
Arcade blinked and reached limply for his glasses.
Boone placed them right on Arcade's face. "Sorry I woke you."
An apology. A still dim mind began to turn that around. It almost made sense. Then he remembered that he'd been injured pretty badly and his everything hurt. Two Stimpaks and a few shots of whiskey meant he likely wouldn't die and he didn't feel as bad as he could, but it wasn't enjoyable.
Even if that much attention on him had been oddly enjoyable. Odd, seeing as how he had normally hated that sort of thing. Too much attention was a bad thing, if applied wrong. Just like too much alcohol could be a bad thing, though here he didn't think he'd had enough. He could still feel.
He blinked again and looked down at the bandages that held in place over his stitches. Their stitches. Halfway in, he'd been unable to continue with a steady hand, and he'd instructed Boone in it.
That had been interesting. He'd halfway expected a butchered job, but Boone seemed competent enough. Maybe he'd had practice sewing up his own clothes in the past, or that steady sniper's finger came in handy for sewing flesh as well as pulling triggers. Either way, Arcade's slightly tipsy eyes had approved of Boone's work.
Oh, right. Boone had said something, hadn't he? Arcade shook his head. "It's fine." He even offered a little dismissive wave, "I don't mind. What uh. What was funny though?"
Boone didn't have an expression that made him look sheepish.
Arcade convinced himself that was just a trick of the light. It was only because of the flicker of the candle that Boone had seemed to be so embarrassed by something. A guy like that, he didn't ever feel self-conscious, did he?
"Well?" Arcade adjusted just a bit, moved a smidgen closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to them.
"I found your note."
"My note?"
"To--"
"Oh, right, right." He grinned then. A moment slid into the next, and his chest hurt from laughing. "Oh, you did, did you? Well good. Hey, hand it over. I want to see just how naive Arcade of a few hours ago was, for being hopeful about our little hunting adventure."
There was that look again. Definitely, Boone was sheepish, even if it only lasted a half a second. Boone nodded and moved back towards the note, on the reloading bench. He handed it over, and moved aside so some of the light might reach.
Hey
Thanks for leaving me with Boone. I really enjoy his company. There's nothing quite like being punched in the face for pulling him away from a Legion assassin he so clearly wanted to be killed by. But, I think he made a joke at me today, so maybe he's not actually as stoic and boring as I thought!
Seriously though, you're an asshole for making me come along when you already had him in your little band. The Three Musketeers, we are not, and especially when the one gluing us together takes off at the first sign of trouble in our unhappy little family you insisted on forming.
Anywho, Boone's glaring at me again. If you come back and we're gone, we probably not dead, we're just out hunting for lunch.
Arcade
Well, that was certainly not the kind of note he'd expected Boone to find. Hell, he'd only planned to come back and burn it in the campfire while the meat cooked anyway, he hadn't even thought that their courier friend would see it.
Yet, here they were. He handed it up to Boone. "Well, if that made you laugh, I guess I don't have to worry you'll kill me in my sleep then?"
There was still a light in the corner of the room, coming from the candle he'd found in one of the various metal boxes scattered around the shack.
A bit of light died behind Boone's eyes. He stiffened. "No."
"Good." Idiot. You ruined it. "I worried a bit last night, with how mad you got."
"I. I wasn't mad."
"Yeah? You seemed pretty perturbed." Even breaths. Don't inhale and hold it, that wouldn't help the wounds. But still, he found it difficult to follow his own internal coaching. Social situations, that was his real flaw here. For all his clever words and enjoyment chatting with people who didn't mind a bit of caustic sarcasm here or there, he was rather at a loss with people like Boone.
"I wasn't." Boone left. It was nothing more than a turn, and then he was out through the doorway, and the shack door shut behind him.
Arcade let his breathing regulate. No held breaths, no forced breaths.
Arcade Gannon was definitely fine.
And when Boone entered the shack again half an hour or so later, he wasn't shocked he hadn't run the soldier off. No, he definitely expected that Boone would return and hadn't abandoned him for saying terrible things, like always.
"Dinner's ready."
"You spoil me. Breakfast and dinner."
Boone shifted from foot to foot, then stepped forward and handed the plate over.
"You could eat near me, you know." He didn't know where the invitation came from. He wasn't sure if he meant it. Likely, he'd just ruin things again.
"Alright." Just like that, Boone retreated again, out of the shack and towards the campfire no doubt.
Just like that, any chance to take back the invitation was gone.
That was just as well. Arcade waited until Boone returned with their plate before he started in on his own gecko steak.
Boone settled in on the rickety rusted chair before the table and went to work.
It was weird. Eating seemed to be work for Boone, and not work that he particularly enjoyed.
Arcade didn't mind that the meal was essentially the exact same one he'd started the day with. He enjoyed a little consistency. He could have done without the slashing in the middle and worrying he'd die, but hey. Nothing in life was perfect or came without work.
Slowly, he ate his own food.
Soon after, he felt the alcohol work its way through his system, and he couldn't stay awake much longer. "Well, dinner was fun, but I think I should get a bit more beauty sleep if I want to make up for how ugly I'll be with my shirt off." It was a joke, but he couldn't even manage to laugh. He was too tired. Arcade put the plate down beside the bed, and his glasses next to it.
He barely lay down before he was sleeping again.