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Frozen	By : Pervymonk Category: +A through F > Fallout (Series) > Fallout (Series) Views: 2868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic, or Fallout New Vegas. They are the intellectual property of Bethesda Softworks and Obsidian Entertainment. I get no monetary gain from this. It's just for funsies. :D

Chapter List
- 1-Frozen
- 1
Dreams of Carla haunt him.
                Boone walks down I-95, watching the sunlight flicker weakly across the cracked pavement. He’d lost Lola after Freeside. His last memory before waking up in the Followers safe-house was bringing Rex back from Jacobstown, so he started with the King’s School of Impersonation.
                She had left Rex there, and no clues as to where she might have gone next.
                He glances down at the cyberdog trotting happily by his side, a molerat pup in his mouth. He shakes his head, hearing the way Lola would have scolded the dog for that echo through his mind. He doesn’t know why that makes his heart sink. He’d been following stories of her told on the radio. Mr. New Vegas never mentions her by name, but Boone couldn’t think of anyone else who would be thick-headed enough to do good deeds in the Mojave for no pay. The last of her exploits led him to Camp Searchlight. She was already gone days before he had got there. But he got his first piece of concrete information since she had left; First Sergeant Astor had sent her to Camp Forlorn Hope.
                “Since she seemed so damned determined to be helpful,” he told Boone.
Boone had been starting to doubt if he was right about the radio, and if she was still in the Mojave at all. So down the I-95 he and Rex go, hoping to catch her before she disappears into the Wasteland again.
                Boone grits his teeth as Dinky the Dinosaur comes into view.

                He wonders who they got to be the new daytime sniper, and feels a little guilty at the thought of it being Manny spending all of his time up there. Rex begins barking wildly in the direction of Nelson, and Boone pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind. A group of men-Legionaries, he can see the crimson even from this distance- circle around a lone figure. He counts five or six of them. Nothing he can’t handle. He crouches down, and pulls his rifle from his shoulder. He looks through the scope, and gets a clearer view of the situation.
                The only thing he sees about the person in the middle is that she is a woman. A legionary laughs, kicking her in the gut. They’re taking turns beating her. The thought clenches in his stomach like a stone. Another knocks her off her feet, and kneels down to lay on her.
                Boone takes him out first.

                Blood spatters her face, and the heavy weight of the body suffocates her, blocking out the sun. The remaining legionaries begin scrambling, one barking orders, and forget all about her. She struggles before managing to push the body off of her. She winces at the sudden surge of light assailing her eyes. She thrashes about, trying to force herself into sitting position. Tears leak out of their own volition at the pain. Eventually, she gives up and contents herself with counting the thuds made by falling legionaries. One, two. Three, four. Whoever is shooting them has skill. That makes her feels vaguely sad for some reason. She tries moving her head only to be greeted by a searing pain.
It’s so hard to keep her eyes open. All she wants to do is sleep. But sleeping would be bad. She just can’t remember why. So she contents herself with staring at the sky until tears come to her eyes again.
“Hey,” she hears a voice in the distance. She opens her mouth to answer, but blood pours down her chin in response. “Hey. Are you all right?” Light footsteps end next to her, and a shadow blocks her view of the sky. The shadow crouches down, and slips it’s arms under her.
“Can you speak? Miss, are you-“ She hears a sharp intake of breath as her hair falls from her face. She smiles weakly.
“You found me,” she whispers weakly before losing consciousness.
Boone looks down at the unconscious woman in his arms, and a flood of emotions races through him. The first is relief at finding her, followed by anger. Found her? This isn’t a childish game of hide and seek! Did she even have any idea the hell he went through looking for her? His hand reaches up to curl in her hair, and his anger is followed by a cold dread.
Her hair is the same color of auburn Carla’s had been in his dreams.
Carla’s hair happened to be black.
He runs his hands over the contours of her face, wincing at the grime and blood covering it. His fingers linger over her lips. He stares at those lips for a tense stretch of time, and his entire being aches with a strange sense of familiarity. Rex snaps him out of it by licking Lola’s cheek, his tongue lapping over Boone’s fingers. He smiles weakly, ruffling the fur underneath the dog’s chin.
He begins examining Lola’s injuries. She’s covered in cuts and bruises, but nothing that won’t heal. He doesn’t think she’s bleeding internally, but decides to keep a close eye on her just in case. He slips his arms underneath her again, and pulls her into his arms. She hangs limply, and he adjusts her to keep from dropping her.
He carries her back to Novac, and she doesn’t stir once.
He stares at the door to his hotel room with a rigid apprehension building in his chest. He thinks back to the messy bed, the blood stained carpet, the broken mirrors, and empty whiskey bottles that litter what used to be his home. His arms ache from carrying Lola, but he shakes his head and takes her up the stairs to her room. He tells himself that he wants her to wake up comfortably, and that his choice has nothing to do with memories of carrying a beautifully pregnant Carla across the threshold of their home.
He fights with the doorknob before unlocking the door. It swings open to reveal a cold and desolate looking room. Pre-war books that Lola had left behind and never visited again cover the floor and furniture. It looks like she had begun to set up base here before suddenly moving on.
Guess he could be blamed for that.
He walks to the bed, and balances her against his chest as he pulls the blanket down. She moans softly, and nuzzles his shoulder. He freezes, waiting to see it she’ll wake up. She doesn’t. Gently laying her down on the mattress, he pulls the blanket over her, and fluffs the pillows underneath her head. She moans again, her face scrunched up in dismay. His eyes linger on her chest, watching it rise and fall with each labored breath. Every curve of her body looks dangerously familiar to him.
Boone doesn’t want to dwell on what that may mean.
He shakes his head as Rex plops down on his feet. He looks ruefully at the stove. He should probably make her something to eat for when she wakes up. He pulls his pack off of his back and sits on the couch. The light weight of it doesn’t bode well. He rummages through the near empty bag only to not find any food. He swears under his breath. He should have restocked the last time he passed by Old Lady Gibson’s place. He looks up at Lola’s sleeping form, and down at Rex, who happily rolls on his back with his tongue hanging out. He stands up.
“Stay here, mutt,” he says affectionately, leaning down to pat him on the head. He turns to go to the Dino Bite Gift Shop, but turns back to stare at her again. She shifts, and whimpers pitifully. He shakes his head, shutting the door behind him.
“Well, I’ll be! How are you doing, Mr. Boone?” Boone winces as Cliff Briscoe’s cheery voice fills his ears.
“As good as I can hope for,” he answers awkwardly. Cliff just continues to smile at him, and asks him what he’s there to buy. Boone, with a silent sigh of relief at not having to endure a conversation, grabs some Instamash, a Gecko steak, and the only fresh apple in the entire store. He pays for his purchases, and scrambles to exit the Dino Bite as quickly as he is able. He sighs once he is outside, and slumps against the door of the shop. He rummages in his pockets for his last unbroken cigarette, and lights it. The rush of nicotine caresses him like some long lost lover. He exhales deeply, looking up at the sky.
“I can feel your heartbeat.”
“Listen, Boone-“
He shuts his eyes, taking another deep drag off of his cigarette. He blows smoke, and watches it rise up to a fading sky.
When nothing is left of his cigarette but the filter, he drops it to the ground, crushing it underneath his boot. He gathers the food and heads back to the hotel room. When he opens the door, he almost expects to find it empty. He is pleasantly surprised to see her still in the bed, and a little apprehensive to see her sitting up instead of sleeping. She smiles weakly, and the click of the shutting door echoes throughout the silent room. He’s been thinking of this moment since he took off after her, imagining everything from heartfelt speeches to angry screaming matches.
“Hey,” he says awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.
“Hey,” she says just as awkwardly.
“I brought you some food,” he says, gesturing lamely to the bag in his hand.
“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows lifting up into her widow’s peak. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks. Lola’s stomach grumbles in response. Despite his nervousness, or maybe because of it, he lets out a soft chuckle. “Then I had to.” He walks over and hands her the bag. She takes it with whispered words of thanks. She pulls out the apple first, and Boone feels a little proud of himself for having picked it out for her. He sits down on the bed beside her, and her legs move instinctively to make room for him.
She bites into it with a satisfying crunch, and Boone’s eyes are drawn to the way her lips lock around the fruit. Her gaze meets his, and she lowers the apple.
“Boone-“ she starts.
“Stop calling me Boone. You’re my wife. You should call me by my first name,”
“Later,” he cuts her off, his heart pounding in his chest. “Later. We can talk when you’re rested. Please,” he adds. She holds his gaze for an intense moment before lowering her eyes back down to her fruit.
“Yeah,” she answers, speaking more to the apple than to Boone. “Whatever you want.”
After her meal, she yawns. She tries to hold it back, but Boone can see the way her eyes droop. He gently pushes her back by the shoulders, and doesn’t miss the way her eyes widen in surprise.
“Go ahead and go to sleep. We can sort everything out in the morning,” he says gently, trying not to trip over his words. He isn’t used to speaking so much. Lola nods slowly, and her eyes drift shut. Once her breathing evens out, he reaches over to brush her hair out of her face. Her cheek feels so familiar underneath his hand. Hesitantly, he presses a kiss to her forehead.
“What did I do to you?” he murmurs against her skin.
He retreats to the couch for the remainder of the evening, determined to keep awake. But as his body sinks into the soft couch cushions, his eyelids grow heavy. He leans back on the couch. Closing his eyes for a few minutes won’t hurt. He’s a light sleeper.
That fact Lola had obviously forgotten in their time apart when Boone opens his eyes to see her trying to sneak out of the room. She swears softly, fumbling with the lock. His eyes narrow, and he considers letting her go. An unreasonable surge of panic sweeps through him. No. He has to end this.
He doesn’t know if he can chase her again.
He stands up just as she gets the door open. He reaches past her head and gently pushes it shut.
“You should be resting,” he whispers softly against her ear, and tries not to notice the way she shudders.
“Boone,” she breathes. “I need to leave.” He tenderly places his hands on her shoulders, and turns her around. He leans closer to her, and hates the way her eyes widen in apprehension.
“What happened to us?” he murmurs softly. “What did I do to you that night?”
“What do you remember?” she asks, her breath hot on his cheek. When did they get so close? He swallows thickly.
“I remember Carla,” he says, and immediately regrets it by the she winces.
“Of course you do,” she murmurs. Louder, she says, “Boone, I think we should par-“
“That isn’t all,” he interrupts, unconsciously tilting closer to her. “She had your hair.” His hands slide from her shoulders to tangle in her hair. She groans softly, eyes closing, and she leans back into his hands. “She smelled like you.” His hands tighten just enough to not hurt her. “Lola, did I hurt you?” Her eyes open, and she cups his cheek.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking?” she asks softly. He nods. “All of this time. No. Jesus, Boone. No. You didn’t hurt me.”
“Then why are you running away from me?” he whispers.
Lola shifts uncomfortably, her eyes moving from his to look down at the floor.
“I’m not-Boone. This isn’t good for you. I’m not good for you.”
“And why would you think that?” That makes her look back up at him incredulously. He’s just glad to see her eyes again.
“I took advantage of you. I could have stopped it. But I, hell,“ she says, her voice trailing off underneath his heated gaze.
“You what?” he breathes, not sure if he wants to know the answer.
“I wanted it,” she sighs, her hand sliding down to his chest to gently push him away. “I wanted you.” He lets her push him away, and watches with hooded eyes as she runs a hand through her tangled hair. “Hells bells,” she swears under her breath. “I’m some kind of winner. Take advantage of a man while he’s mourning his dead wife. What kind of person am-“ She reaches for the door and he reaches for her wrist. His fingers wrap around it and he pins his hand above her head.
“I think you’re just fine for me,” he mutters gruffly before capturing her lips with his. She lets out a surprised cry, and he deepens the kiss. Her free hand moves up to tentatively wrap around the back of his neck. His hands clutch her hips like a drowning man clutching a raft. His hand cautiously skims over her ass to grab her thigh, and pulls her leg around his waist. She gasps at the feeling of his arousal pressing against her sex. Moaning, he presses himself against her. He nips at her lower lip gently. She squirms against him in all the right ways before breaking the kiss.
“Boone,” she pants shakily as his lips move to her neck. “We don’t have to do this. You don’t have anything to-anything to prove. You don’t-“
“Please,” he says in a soft voice, and she knows that word will be the death of her. “One night. Just one fucking night of not feeling miserable.” His voice begins to break. “I’m not a strong man, Lola. I’m not strong enough to handle my punishment, even though I deserve it.” Her hand cups his chin, raising his face up to look at her.
“Well, Craig,” she says gently. “It’s a good thing I’m not a strong enough woman to tell you no.”
He thinks that he should probably carry her to the bed. But he pulls her to the couch instead. Beds are for lovemaking, and he doesn’t want whatever this is to be called that out of respect to Carla. He may not be strong, but he won’t dress this up with pretty words that he only used with his wife, like love. Guilt settles in his stomach like a stone as he turns away from her, undoing the buckle of his pants. She presses a soft kiss to his shoulder, and he hears the rustling of clothes hitting the floor behind him. He pulls off his shirt before turning to look at the naked form before him silhouetted by the moonlight. She gives him a small, nervous smile, and his stomach flutters. She places her hands on his shoulders, and stands on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.
He sits down on the couch, pulling her onto his lap. In the moonlight, her hair almost looks black enough to be Carla’s, and he presses a kiss to her cheek as a silent apology. Her hand finds his erection, and pulls it free from his boxers. He hisses through clenched teeth as her hand moves leisurely up and down the length of it. Her other hand slides up his stomach, and she traces her fingers over his abs to follow the scars that line his chest. Where Lola’s hands are rough, Carla’s had been soft. He presses kisses to her lips, her face, down the side of her neck haphazardly, trying hard focus on the woman in front of him and not memories of Carla.
He calmly pulls her hand away from his length before positioning the tip against her entrance.
“You ready?” he asks softly. She smiles and kisses him deeply.
“Yes,” she whispers, and he thrusts up into her inviting warmth. She whimpers, hands clutching the back of the couch behind him. He groans, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His fingernails dig into her hips, and she moans, head falling back. He kisses the valley between her breasts, and her heartbeat pulses like a mocking reminder of the night back at the Follower’s safe-house. Her hair tickles his face, and he thrusts harder into her. She mewls, her fingers clutching and un-clutching the back of the couch. He closes his eyes, and lets out a strangled cry, thinking of Carla as he comes, trying to keep her name from his lips.
Afterwards he is content to hold her, and she seems content to let him, her head resting against his chest. He notices how rigidly she holds herself against him, and rubs circles on her lower back.
                “This isn’t good for you at all,” she murmurs against his chest, and he swears he can hear an underlying bitterness to the tone of her voice. He kisses the top of her head, relishing the simple bliss of human contact.
                “Probably not good for you either,” he says a little guiltily. She shakes her head before sitting up.
                “Well, I have told you I’d be there if you need me. After all I,” her eyes meet his, and his heart freezes with her unspoken words. “After all, you mean a lot to me.”
                She gets off of him, standing on trembling legs. Boone can make out the sheen of liquid dripping down her thighs, and he uncomfortably moves his eyes away. She turns to look over her shoulder at him.
                “There’s plenty of room on the bed for two,” she tells him. He instinctively shies away from her offer.
                “Couch is fine with me, thanks,” he says. She shrugs, stepping over Rex.
                “Suit yourself,” she says, pulling an extra blanket and pillow off of the bed to throw to him. The pillow hits him in the face, but he’s willing to blame it on bad aim. She plops down on the bed, causing Rex to lift his head up sleepily. The dog crawls into bed with her, and she smiles sadly, patting the creature’s braincase.
                “Good night, Lola,” Boone says. She looks over at him with a look of resignation.
                “Good night, Boone,” she says before rolling over to go to sleep.
                Boone lies on the couch and watches over her until day break.

                In what seemed like minutes to Boone, Lola wakes up. Her sleepy eyes lock on him in surprise.
                “You’re still here,” she says. He nods, picking his sunglasses and beret up off of the nightstand.
                “Until you want to get rid of me,” he says, and she laughs.
                “Not even then. Obviously,” she teases. A ghost of a smile cracks over his face.
                “Someone has to look out for your sorry ass. You can’t even aim.”
                “Why do I need aim if I can just get my grumpy sniper to kill everything in sight?” she asks. She sits up, and her hair cascades sloppily over her chest. She levels a serious look at him. “I think we should start over,” she says softly. He nods.
“I’m Craig Boone. Call me Boone,” he says, parroting the words he said when they first met.
"Well, Craig ‘Call me Boone’ Boone. I’m Lola Haze. How would you like to come kill legionaries with me?”
“I was thinking we could stop off by Camp Forlorn Hope first, and do miserable work for little to no pay,” he answers.
When she smiles, he finds himself smiling back.
- 1
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Frozen