In Time-Meet Me At the Lucky38

I couldn't sleep.  Even a full bottle of whiskey hadn't lulled me into a coma as I'd hoped.  Above me, high in his tower, House lay dead in a sickening mockery of human longevity.  Boone had mysteriously pinpointed a riveting quote in a book I had before any of this Vegas stuff ever happened.  Arcade had left several minutes ago, not being able to sleep either.  With him were my holodiscs from Goodsprings.  He had headed down to Freeside to grab Emily, the resident computer genius, and have her assist him with the decoding process.

"If I decode it while drunk it will probably end up one of my philosophical debates, but Emily can take the wheel," Arcade said, pushing up his glasses.  Boone was pouring water from the sink into Rex's bowl as I handed over the discs.  Arcade kissed my forehead and stepped to the elevator.  He saw the lost look in my eyes as I said, "I hope this does more good than damage."

"It will."

"I just wish I could remembe--"

"You will."

I had glanced over at Boone, as he petted Rex, not even listening to us.  Boone was in his own world for the time being.  Probably still thinking about Mr. House.  Seeing my look, and melancholy expression, Arcade said with a nod, "Insum tum," before heading out.  

In time.  Had he been talking about my memory, or Boone?

I had dragged my feet back into the master bedroom.

________________________________________________________________________


I had an empty stare printed across my features.  I supposed in the spirit of productivity I could have pulled out Heidi, or went over my own notes and drawings, or put away the deed to the Tops, or ten other things, but instead, I lay on the bed in a catatonic state.  The door was open, and I heard Boone in the kitchen.  Lately, my nightmares had increased in intensity, with the strange snowy area and small shack always lighting on fire.  The man with the axe pursuing me.  Horrific images.  I could only imagine after seeing the horror that was Mr. House, that the nightmares would intensify.  

Boone passed, glancing in; he obviously saw the strangeness on my face, because he put down the glass of water on a hallway cabinet and entered.  My eyes didn't leave the ceiling of the room.  Who the hell was psycho enough to axe their way into.....wherever it was I was?  Why had Mr. House sucked all of his own soul out through the quiet mystery of time in order to "benevolently dictate" New Vegas?  What was Boone talking about when he said Carla had spoken to him?  I had just spiraled off into some twilight zone Wasteland and did nothing but lay, arms and legs spreadeagled, on the soft warm bed.

"You okay?"  So he had seen the probably crazy look.

Boone towered over me in his simple brown shirt, standing and looking down skeptically.  I was too comfortable being a vegetable to answer him immediately.  When I could speak, I ignored his question and asked another instead.  "What are we doing?"

Boone sighed, looking to the side, and then sat on the edge of the bed.  It was amazing how much more comfortable we were with one another now; comparatively to when we met, how he wouldn't even have paused to inquire about my status.

"Cleaning up, that's what," Boone replied resolutely.  "What do you think we're doing?"

"I dunno."

"Think of all the people we've helped. You've helped.  You travel fast, and wherever it is you go, you bring hope to the people around you.  You helped me, and I didn't offer you anything but a few measly caps in return."

"Yeah."

"Stop it."  The rudeness in his tone was the Boone I had first met, and the sound caused me to turn my head finally.  His expression matched the tone; he was glaring at me.  

Finally, I said something  I hadn't anticipated ever telling Boone.  Though both Boone and Arcade knew about the dreams I had, that sinister voice was one of my many secrets.  I found myself spilling out suddenly, rapidly, to the sniper.  How it echoed in my ears when I awoke, how it resonated even when I was walking by him or Arcade.  How, worst of all, I believed it every time I heard it.  

He didn't interrupt or give me any strange looks.  He didn't sit closer to me or hold my hand the way Arcade did when I had burst into tears over whatever drunken rant we were on.  Boone just sat and listened, unmoving.  I didn't cry or get emotional, speaking instead in an intensely rapid monotone, pressing my palms over my eyes or rubbing them with fatigue.  After I had finished telling my friend my secret, he sat for a moment, letting the silence settle. Then:

"I can't tell you that you'll never be alone.  I could take a knife, or anything, in a lot worse spot any day from now.  Any of us could.  I never told Carla she'd never be alone either."  He paused now, eyes moving to that Boone-area they so rarely moved to.  "In fact...I always told her if anything ever happened to me.....to move on."

Not what I was expecting.  To be honest, I figured he would do a good job reassuring me that I wasn't alone.  Boone was a strange one, though, and he was talking unlike I'd ever heard him talk. Though contemplative, he lacked a certain scale of broodiness he usually always mustered.  I let him continue.  

"Nothing's ever for sure out here.  But you were alone when you found me, and you were doing all right.  Impressed the hell out of Novac. I tracked you halfway across the desert to make sure you wouldn't be alone after that.  I don't know when I'll leave you, but it'll be because I'm dead."

This sudden sentence made me jolt, moving upwards onto my elbows.  I stared at the seriousness written on his entire face.  Boone didn't say anything else, still staring at me intensely.  Risking a possible grimace, I fell back onto the bed, laying on my back, propped up by the pillows. I held out my arms the way I always did to signal Arcade in for a hug.  

He seemed to not understand my request, for he threw me a strange glance, but then scooted farther away from the edge of the bed, and leaned forward. Not waiting for him to extend his arms, I reached up and used Boone's shoulders to pull myself in, burying my head onto his neck and hugging him tightly.  His arms braced him on the bed, but my bullet-in-the-head-sporadic affection had him in a vise, and Boone shifted so that he lay on the bed by me.

I was still leeched onto his hulking torso, and he was still propped up with an elbow, but now he put a hand onto my shoulder, the first time he'd ever really reacted physically toward any of my embraces.  But he wasn't returning the hug; instead he pulled me back by my shoulder, my grip loosening as Boone pulled me to my back, where I lay on the pillows in that same catatonic state.

My eyes were focused on him, though, and Boone, now steadying himself with both elbows, didn't move from his position of hovering mere inches away from me.  Not hugging him anymore, my hand moved forward to wrap around his neck.  As I idly traced his throat with my fingertips, Boone closed his eyes, and slowly tilted his head toward me.  Though still not embracing me, his hands rigidly supporting his own weight, he touched his forehead to mine and opened his eyes.  We stared at each other in the darkness.  

Boone didn't smile, and neither did I.