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All the Roads We've Walked	By : Nevara_Alyss Category: +A through F > Fallout (Series) > Fallout (Series) Views: 2895 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout: New Vegas, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The door slowly opened, sending cascading yellow light out into the darkness. Boone looked down at the small face giving him an inquisitive look. Long black locks flowed over her shoulders, giving the effervescent hue of blue as her head tilted to give him a better look. She opened the door more and with a quick step to the side let him enter.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, closing the door behind him.
“Nothing,” he replied. He watched her walk around him, pulling the handgun from behind her back and setting it on the nightstand. “I wanted to talk to you.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. She nodded acceptingly, blowing smoke and placing it in the nearby ashtray. She picked up a bottle of scotch and poured it in to a glass. She offered it without a word and pointed to the chair near the bed. She leaned on her knees, clasping her hands together. She seemed to watch them intently as he sat adjacent from her. She lifted her eyes to the box beside him, the muscles in her jaw clenching slightly at the sight of it.
“What about?” she queried, trying to take her eyes off of it.
“Were you serious about me going with you?” Boone questioned.
“I figured you could use a change of scenery after everything that’s happened,” she replied. “But you didn’t seem interested. So, I figured that was that.”
He took a sip of scotch and pondered if it was right for him to leave with her. It seemed odd that a stranger would offer to spirit him away from his life, even if it was just a shadow of what it once was. Her words seemed full of genuine concern, but the look in her eye told him that she could relate to him on that level. He placed the glass on the table and closed his eyes. There were too many ghosts for him here and his perspective of the small town had changed irrevocably.
She stood up from the bed and picked up the box. She seemed so fixated on it that she remained silent as she returned to her spot and placed it on her lap. Her fingers swept across the lid carefully before looking at him. He peered over his sunglasses at her. Something about her posture reeked of discomfort. Without a word, she slipped it into the small pack at her feet and returned her attention to him.
“I don’t have anything holding me back anymore,” he stated coldly.
“If that’s what you want; I don’t have a problem with it,” she remarked with a sullen tone.
“You know I’ll probably get you killed,” Boone warned, the corners of his mouth sagging at the implication.
She leaned closer to him and stared him in the eye. There was an ominous fire there that he hadn’t noticed before. She smirked carelessly at it, as if to brush off the threat as trivial.
“I survived getting shot in the head. I was by myself then. I don’t think it could get much worse than that,” she replied. “Besides it would be nice to have someone to talk to…” Ed-E let out a string of chirps and squawks as it bobbed up and down. “… that was human.”
“The tin can is coming along, I guess?” Boone muttered. Ed-E buzzed, shaking its whole body at him. The woman looked down at the Pip-Boy briefly, her eyes darting to Boone in amusement. “What did it say?”
“Nothing,” she blurted out. Boone went to grab it from her and she pulled it away, nesting it behind her back. “He’s been testy lately.” She glanced up at the bot curiously. “I’ll probably have to check his personality matrix for a short somewhere.” She yawned and leaned back against the headboard. “I’ll take care of it before we leave.” She folded her arms over her stomach and glanced at him. “Did you want me to get you or were you…?”
Boone shook his head. He didn’t want to return to the personal hell that was left in the wake of Carla’s kidnapping. If his way out of it was to leave with this woman, then he would take it. He had nothing left to lose. And what he might gain: a sense of satisfaction from the murders he entitled himself to commit against the Legion, could only be dealt a deathly blow if his words rang true. He could already see it in front of him. I’m going to be the death of her. I don’t know if I can deal with someone else’s demise on my conscience.
“I’ll stay; if it’s alright,” he answered.
He didn’t get a response from her. He lifted his eyes to her and saw the gentle serenity of sleep washing over her. He didn’t find the moment awkward to behold; there was a sense of peace she emitted. He stood from the chair and approached the bed. Ed-E chirped hostilely as he neared. Boone put his finger to his lips and mouthed for it to shut up.
He reached across the bed and began to pull the blanket over her. He saw the Pip-Boy, its face glowing slightly as if in sleep-mode. He picked it up, his finger brushing the screen. If came to life in his hand. He could have done anything he wanted at that point with it. He pressed the small button on the screen and saw a small message pop up. It was an audio recording entitled, “To Winnie…”
He glanced at the small woman on the bed and placed the device on the table. She murmured softly to herself as he finished covering her up. He returned to the chair, poured another round of scotch into the glass and watched her sleep. Taking his sunglasses off, he smiled faintly. He’d done the same thing for Carla before he went on his shift. There was familiarity with the action, one he thought he’d forgotten. It was simplicity wrapped in wonder and such a curious endearment that he found himself reminiscing about.
“Damn it, breathe,” Winnie murmured dreamily.
He witnessed her hands becoming fists under the blanket. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly. They clumped together as two tears rolled down her cheeks. Boone placed his hand on top of hers and hushed her. She grew still again and he leaned back in the chair. He commiserated with her. He knew exactly what it was like to face demons in your mind. He dealt with them in his sleep – when he gave himself the chance – and during his waking hours. There was no outrunning them. Once the hooks were in, it was hard to get away from those moments.
He slouched in the chair and for the briefest of instances he felt normal in taking in the simpler pleasures he’d been offered. He could allow himself to sleep, even for a few hours. It was in his nature to be guarded around others, but if they weren’t aware of it he deemed it worthwhile for them to be oblivious to the obvious: he wasn’t as callous and disconnected as he let on. He just didn’t want people to get too close, they always ended up dead and their blood would be on his hands. Like Carla and our child. Like Bitter Springs.
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All the Roads We've Walked