Chapter Text
Boone swallowed another gulp of whiskey straight from the bottle, eyeing the Courier and all the other members of the party conversing. They all laughed and sung to Dean Martin, Raul swinging his arm around Veronica. The Courier showed off his slick dance moves to Cass, who didn’t seem too impressed. Nights like these were fun to just sit back and watch for Boone. He wasn’t one to join in unless he got way more whiskey in his system than he had right now. After a while, the crowd died down. The pals all called it a night and surrendered to their beds in the presidential suite. Craig decided it was time to get some sleep too, but after his nightly bowl of sugar bombs.
He stepped into the kitchen, shuffling his tired, heavy feet to the fridge to grab brahmin milk. He set the pitcher on the counter and crouched to the lower cabinets where the bowls were kept. His knees cracked loudly on the way down, making him wince.
“My knees don’t even crack that bad and I’m at least five years older.”
Boone immediately scowled at the voice. That bastard Gannon, always giving him a hard time. He ignored the remark and put the sugary cereal into the bowl, pouring the milk in after.
“And I guess it’s mainly because I don’t do as much traveling, and I’m not an ex-NCR soldier.”
He continued to ignore Arcade, and chewed smugly facing away from him.
“Do you think Six dislikes me or something? He’s left me here for at least a couple months now.”
Boone finally turned to him, and finished swallowing.
“No. He doesn’t.”
Gannon set his large book of something knowledgeable on the unusually long table, and smiled at the sniper.
“Wow. Three words. That’s a new record,” the cactus scientist smirked ear to ear.
Boone ate the last of his sugar bombs, put the bowl in the sink, and trudged to his room.
-----
The Courier clapped loudly next to Craig’s face, making him shoot awake and jump to his feet. He got into a fighting position, and Six held his hands up. Craig usually calls him Six, but he insists on Isaiah. He says that name is more like a curse ever since he traveled in The Divide. Boone ran his hands over his head, trying to calm himself.
“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot,” Isaiah’s expression showed his guilt.
“It’s fine, Isaiah,” he drops his hands down to his sides, “I’m just pretty panicky in my sleep.”
“I haven’t been around you in forever. Are you up for going to the dam? Having a beer?”
Boone shimmied into his cargo pants, noticing Isaiah’s wandering eyes. He scoffed to himself. He was known for having more than just friendships with his traveling partners, he played for every team, even flirted with Raul when he was caught off guard. Veronica was the only one he couldn’t advance on the slightest. Boone was like her as well. He wanted to keep a strict “business-only” relationship with Six.
“Hm. Couldn’t hurt,” he said with a forced smirk across his face. He put his just cleaned shirt on along with his beret.
“Meet me in the dining room when you’re ready. Recommend bringing your best rifle cause I’m not on a good side with the Legionaries.”
------
Isaiah sat another beer down on the side of the dam next to his empty one. Both of their feet dangled off the edge, the wind just right. Everything looked especially small from where they were. The Lucky 38 a single speck in the distance. Boone took a deep breath, soaking in the moment of peace and quiet. He could never escape from his past, and the constant thought of death. Death was all around him. Death was right beside him. Sipping a beer, with that wide grin on his face. He wonders if the Courier ever thinks about the people he has killed. Is there any remorse?
He turned to look at Boone, the grin suddenly gone. “How have you been since um,”
“Bitter Springs? Fine.” Boone interrupted. He didn’t want to talk any further on the subject. It was like Isaiah and him were the dynamic duo before he took him to Bitter Springs, after that, he told Boone he should take a break and sit at the Lucky 38. That break has been lasting for more than a couple months. He felt practically useless. Didn’t know if he should go back with the NCR, or just disappear. He couldn’t just up and leave what he had right now. So he waited.
“I care about you,” Isaiah turned his head back to the view from the dam, “and I made you relive your memories. I want to make sure you are holding up.”
Boone decided to not add to the conversation. He’d only worry Six even more.
“Craig. The war is over. I have nothing more to care about, and the people of Vegas are on their own with the NCR.”
The Courier set down his beer, still turned to him.
“I made my own decision to go with you to Bitter Springs. If I knew I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have gone. Simple as that.”
“I admire your strength. Always have.”
Isaiah gathered his things, slinging the bag across his back.
“I need to go to Goodsprings for some stims. You alright on your own?”
Boone nodded, and started to collect his belongings as well. The Courier did his famous smirk at Craig, and walked off. He watched him fade along the horizon. Deep down, he wanted to see him again soon. Walk along those horizons with him.
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Veronica set down her power fist and crammed bag on the coffee table in front of Craig, taking a seat next to him on the cushy sofa.
She exhaled deeply, “how’s your evening, Boone?”
“Okay. You?” He scooted a bit to give her some room.
“Ah,” her legs crossed, “tiring.”
Boone examined her. She had some dirt on her face, blood was splattered across the power fist on the table, and she seemed almost out of breath. Adrenaline must be pumping.
“Well. If I tell you something about Si- Isaiah, you won’t get mad right? Everyone else is pissed.”
Boone raised an eyebrow and slowly nodded, and Veronica’s shoulders relaxed.
“Fuck, Craig. We were leaving Forlorn and he insisted on going into this bunker. I think it was Brotherhood? It had insignia all over it. All I can remember was gas being pumped out of the ceiling, and waking up to find only ED-E and I there. ED-E is kind of hard to communicate with so I don’t know if he saw who did it. I just-”
“I’m not upset,” Boone interrupted, “I just want to know if there was a reason he went there.”
Veronica’s expression grew more and more worried by the minute.
“Was he just looting?”
“No it was this signal on his pip-boy. Something about the Sierra Madre.”
Boone had heard about the Sierra Madre from plenty of his 1st Rec buddies. Just harmless stories. Whether it was real or not, he wasn’t sure. But this random disappearance was proving to be not just a coincidence.
“Believe me Craig. I did all I could to try and get them to take me too. They only wanted Izzy.”
The sniper furrowed his brow and gave her a sharp glare, “Izzy?”
“I don’t know alright, it’s a stupid nickname he’s surprisingly okay with.”
Boone shook his head and took a swig out of an old opened beer bottle sitting on the table.
“Fuck, I would do anything to see his smile right now after calling him it. It’s been a whole night. I’ve tried telling everyone and they all left to make their own brash decisions. Remember when he left to go to the Divide? Arcade had to deal with Isaiah weeks after that and we all know he’s changed since that trip.” Her legs fell out of their crossed position, thudding on the floor.
“He will be alright. Isaiah has perseverance. He always makes it.”
Veronica seemed to be insulted by his lack of interest, but the look wiped off her face when she remembered that it was nothing new in Craig’s character.
“I suppose you’ll be alone in here. As always. We’ll all be out caring about Six, if you don’t mind.” She shoved her power fist on, and marched into the elevator.
Boone heard the quiet ding of the elevator as it reached the casino, setting the almost empty beer back on the table. Loneliness. Everyone expects him to be so fond with it. It’s one of the worst feelings he hates to feel.
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Craig couldn’t drink anymore. The only sounds he could hear in the dim, old world suite was the ventilator system, and the radio playing in the other room. If only he wasn’t as wasted, he’d go turn it off. He longed to hear all the others singing to Dean Martin, he longed to be in someone’s presence. Not just his own.
A picture of him and Carla was sitting on the bedside table. Her inviting smile stretched across her lips. And Boone’s less inviting smirk as well. The swelling feeling of loss was pooling back in his throat. His stomach, his head. His hands felt like they were cased in concrete.
He can’t lose anyone else to his carelessness. He can’t lose Isaiah. That smug motherfucker that almost waltzed into Novac. The smooth, dark skin that made him. All the memories. All the time, emotions they felt together, the nights cramped up in the canyons where he would constantly poke and prod at Boone to try and get him to laugh.
He wished he laughed. He wished he could act like somebody else. Just to hear Six’s crazy and overwhelmingly happy voice. He hadn’t heard it in its genuine form since the Divide.
Both of them were damaged goods. Boone could remember the old days before the NCR, before Bitter Springs. He was himself. He would only drink to remember, not to forget. He would sing with his friends, dance, forget about everything. Act his age. But all the shitty circumstances he was put through. Was it really worth it?
------
Boone awoke to the sound of the elevator, and the pulse of alcohol and regret rang through his head. How long did he sleep? He shuffled out of the covers and sat at the edge of the bed, resting his aching head in his also aching hands. He saw the boots of Cass place in front of him.
“Drinking? Really? I mean, I’m a borderline alcoholic who am I to judge, but Jesus Christ Boone. Snap out of it.” She started gathering the multiple bottles of different kinds of alcohol placed around the room.
He continued to get out of bed, walking to his closet.
“Where are the others?” He nearly mumbled.
“Oh, hell knows. Everyone’s on edge.”
Boone collected his things, still pulling his shirt on.
“Where you going?” She stopped bottle-gathering to look at him.
“Gonna try. I don’t know, waiting for him?”
She smiled a little, and continued, Boone leaving the room.
-------
The Mojave sun feels even more ruthless when you are hungover. But Boone knew he couldn’t be complaining when Six was probably in way worse conditions. The whole walk he couldn’t stop thinking about him. What mess he got himself into this time.
He knew that he hadn’t told anyone but Gannon about the Divide and the other courier, and he felt a little offended by it. If anyone could not judge Isaiah it would be him. Isaiah knew his whole damn backstory, and no matter how fucked up it is, he tried to make things better.
He arrived at the No Man’s Land between Nelson and Forlorn Hope, and decided to set up camp. Nelson was bulldozed by Six and him anyways. Another memory in the book of plenty. The number of Legion members killed by the dynamic duo scaled up day by day when they really put their mind to it.
As Boone finished setting up his tent, he heard a loud clanging in the distance. It was almost sundown, making him feel vulnerable. He took position with his body slightly in the tent, his scope pointing out towards where he heard the noise. A body emerged from a break in the rocky walls, and Craig immediately knew who it was.
He set his gun down, and got up to walk to him. Isaiah stopped in his tracks and waited. When Boone got close enough, the courier’s arms slung around his shoulders. He could feel his jagged breath against him, like it was painful to breathe.
“Boone, I can’t breathe.” He grew heavier and heavier against him.
“I’ll get you to Forlorn, come on.” He slung Six across his back and hiked up the trail to the camp.
-----
“He’ll be alright. Just let him rest.” The medic pat Boone’s back, leaving the tent.
Craig looked to the bed where he lied, his skin was gaining color. He looked peaceful. His breath was no longer heavy, and it passed through his lips with ease. His neck. A long mark stood out, going around his whole throat. It didn’t look like it was from rope. It was easily identifiable as a collar mark. He had to know what happened, and what he could do to try and ease anything.
The seat next to the bed he sat on squeaked, making Isaiah slowly wake up.
“Hey, you holding up?”
Isaiah smiled with tired eyes, “yeah, thanks to you.”
“You really shouldn’t be thanking me. It was pure coincidence that I was out there at that perfect ti-”
“No, just let me be happy and think it’s fate,” the courier shuffled a little in his bed, “it was fate that let me stumble across the Sierra Madre, and it was fate that let me be saved by my brooding hero after my turmoil. Really, Craig, thank you.”
Boone took his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes, “Well, I’m relieved to see you’re back to your old ways.”
“Still kickin’, sorry to disappoint,” he flashed a big grin at Boone.
“Why do I think this is an act?” He crossed his arms.
“Hey, I wasn’t okay when I was stepping out of there, I’ll admit I was fucking terrified. You would be too if you had an explosive collar strapped to you for more than 12 hours. But I’m okay now. I saved people, I saved myself, and that chapter of my life is over. I’m happy right here right now. I’m safe.” His grin grew to a serious look fixed on Craig.
He shifted in his chair, his body language giving off distrust.
“I’ll tell you about it when I’m ready. Right now, I want to get back on the road to the Lucky 38.”
“We’ll get going at sunrise. Sleep.”
“Only if I know you’ll sleep too.”
“If it makes you feel better.”