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Boone hated how much he noticed sometimes.
He was getting fairly certain that Six did some things just to see how he would react. Dragging him into the Ultra-Luxe to 'look around', for example. Deciding it would be good for both of their health to investigate a bunch of cannibals. Suggesting to one of the cannibals that he, the man who faithfully shot all her enemies between the eyes, would make a good main course. (She'd revealed to him later that the old man had said that he would be 'gamey'. She was amused. He was not.)
And that's why they were meeting shady contacts in a steam room, of all places. Because of cannibals. And because Six had found a note and Six was incurably curious. Boone would've chosen a more direct approach - rich cannibals are still cannibals. But Six wanted to know everything about everyone, which admittedly was why he'd ended up following her around the Mojave like a lost puppy. Didn't stop it being as annoying as hell.
Six had happily parked herself on the bench, stretching her legs out and leaned the small of her back against the tiled wall. She stole a glance over at Boone. "Aren't you kind of warm over there?"
He was in full combat gear in a steam room. "Yes."
"You know you don't have to wear all of that."
Which returned him to his original point. Six, in her infinite wisdom, had stripped down to her underwear. She said it would help her 'blend in' in the near-naked environment of the pool, as if Six ever blended in anywhere.
"We were attacked." Boone was keeping his trained eyes firmly fixed on the doorway. But the same instincts that made him notice the glint of a scope or the movement of the bushes against the breeze also forced him to notice the glistening of Six's skin, and the way droplets of sweat ran down her neck to disappear between her breasts.
"We were attacked with dress canes, Boone," Six replied with a sigh, and wriggled herself into a slightly different and probably equally uncomfortable position. "I really don't think we have to worry."
Boone didn't believe it. Six might have. She was unarmed, or at least she looked it. She might have stashed some knuckledusters in her bra, and given the surprising amount of weaponry she'd managed to sneak into the casino he'd marked that as 'probable'. Boone's fingers had barely left the silenced pistol Six had handed him as soon as they were somewhere quiet.
The door of the steam room slowly creaked open. A man quietly shuffled inside - their informant, Boone guessed. He was, thankfully, fully dressed in the swanky attire of the White Glove Society. Perhaps not all of them were complete bastards. The man - what had he said his name was before? Chauncey? - made a small noise in the back of his throat when he saw Six sprawled out waiting for him. Boone couldn't tell exactly why. Fear? Attraction? The fact she wasn't the agent he'd agreed to meet? He was even halfway towards convincing himself he didn't care.
Six wasn't conventionally beautiful. Her years as a courier and more recent combat in the Mojave had left a map of scars, burns, and bruises across her body, not the mention the way her skull had been slapped back together like a jigsaw with a few of the pieces missing. She was a muscled and lean as a nightstalker, and he knew she was just as deadly. Like any femme fatale, that was part of her allure. Sure, she was shapely enough, something only the most sensible armour could hide. But that wasn't it at all. She had that wicked smile, that glint in her eyes that said I can show you the world if you can only keep up. It was infuriating and intoxicating, and all sorts of words that Boone wasn't meant to feel anymore.
Chauncey didn't have much to say that they didn't already know. There was some aside about some sick fuck of a chef trying to recreate the taste of human meat. Six was taking it all in like a child at christmas, eyes gleaming. Perhaps she even had a plan. She didn't always tell Boone what she was up to, claiming it was more exciting that way. He suspected she made stuff up as she went along and claimed it was all planed from the start.
There was a small scraping noise from outside the door. Enough for someone with Boone's ears to be able to tell there was someone sneaking around out there. He tuned out the conversation between Six and Chauncey and listened. That was their only way out - if there were a group of them then getting out could be messy. Six could grab a gun from the first one he shot. The white glove dude didn't look like he'd handled anything more dangerous than a steak knife.
The door slammed open. Boone saw Chauncey's body snap back in his peripheral vision, right at the moment he put a bullet between the gunman's eyes. Six was on her feet, and he grabbed her with his left arm and pulled her against his chest, covering her with his body. His pistol was trained on the door. There was no more noise save the drip-drip of water, not even any screaming from the pool. Either the place was very soundproof, or people cared as much as Boone thought they did. No more gunmen. Threat eliminated.
The same instincts that had alerted him to danger also registered the small noise of satisfaction in Six's throat. It was then that he very suddenly and very distinctly realised that a mostly naked Six was snuggled into his chest. And there he was thinking the steam room couldn't get any warmer.
"You don't think we have anything to worry about?" Boone echoed, tilting his head to look down at Six. His treacherous arm didn't let go of her.
"Do we?" Six didn't back away either. She just rested there, hands on his chest, head on his shoulder. Despite her mode of dress, it didn't feel sordid at all. It was more comforting. Wrongly comforting. Boone didn't allow himself comfort.
"He's dead," Boone said. "Your informant is too."
"Yeah," Six said. "I do feel kind of bad about that."
Boone didn't know what made him squeeze her a little tighter, he did it almost instinctively. His gun was still trained on the door in the pretence of defence, but they surely both knew by now that the gunman was alone. Six giggled.
"You shouldn't have been unarmed," Boone said.
"I wasn't," Six replied, and flashed the knuckledusters that had somehow appeared on her hand. "You never give me a chance to use 'em."
Boone raised his eyebrows. He'd been right. "Where did you pull them from?"
"You don't want to know." Six had the audacity to wink at him. "And besides, I had you didn't I? I was never in any danger."
It was a measure of misplaced faith, but Boone sucked it up like a starving man. Six was looking up at him like she truly meant it, eyes gleaming, her breath on his chin. All he had to do was tilt his neck down a little more and he'd be in the situation that plagued his dreams at night (well - the only situation that wasn't a nightmare). There weren't usually two dead bodies in the room, but he reckoned that he and Six were use to bodies by now. They were adaptable.
Still. He shoved down the glimmer of happiness he felt, loosened his arm and took a step back. (He loved his wife. He wasn't allowed happiness. He was suppose to avenge her until he was dead.)
"Let's move," he said, as if that said it all.
"Yep," Six replied, and wrinkled her nose. She didn't seem disappointed. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd misread a situation - he was far better at reading combat than reading emotions, even his own.
Six tucked the knuckledusters back into her bra and wandered over to the gunman's body, hips swinging. Boone couldn't help but let his eyes trace down the curve of her spine as she bent over to shove the body clear of the door. She shut it behind them when they exited.
"That place is really going to smell in a bit," Six said casually as they walked away. "I don't envy whoever has to clean that up."
Boone nodded. He figured Six didn't expect conversation at this point. Just headshots.
She retrieved her armour from a poolside bench and dressed herself. Boone's eyes stayed mostly on the entrance doors, aware of everyone who walked though them. Most of them had nowhere to hide a weapon, unless they were as sneaky as Six. That helped.
"Alright," Six said, straightening her clothes. "To the kitchen."
"Good," Boone grunted. "I've been itching to sort this out the old fashioned way all day."
"Wait and see," Six said, waggling her eyebrows. "It's a pity I didn't bring anyone who can cook with me."
"I can stop you from being shot," Boone protested. But he followed behind her anyway, noticing every sway of her hips.
He hated how much he noticed sometimes.