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Courier Six had only intended to spend one night at the Dino Dee-lite, but she couldn’t leave without helping Boone. It was late and Cliff had gone to his room by the time she returned to the crow’s nest in Dinky the Dinosaur’s mouth. She offered Boone his beret back.
“How did you know?” He asked, pulling it from her fingers.
“I found the bill of sale.”
Boone scoffs. “It’d be just like them to keep the paperwork,” he fished a bag of caps out of his pocket and pushed it into the Courier’s hands.
“This is the best I can give you,” he said. “I think we’re done here.”
The Courier pocketed the caps and they stared at one another in silence for a moment. Boone put his beret back on, almost self-consciously.
“Yeah,” the Courier said. “Thanks.”
She hesitated and then turned away to spend one more night in the Dino Dee-lite.
Jeannie May rigged the Motel’s generators to shut down at ten. It killed the electricity to everything except the Motel’s sign, the front office, and Jeannie May’s house. No one had bothered to fix it even after a trader found her headless body by Dinky’s left foot. Boone had no real explanation for why he wasn’t at his post; he said it was probably the Legion that shot Jeannie May. No one cared much whether that was the truth and Cliff took over where she left off. The Motel would keep running like it always had.
And while Jeannie May was cheap and evil, she at least ran a clean place. It had been awhile since the Courier had slept in a bed that wasn’t infested with fleas or bedbugs or both. By the light of her Pip-Boy, she peeled off her ratty leather armor. She wiped the dust and sweat off her skin as best as she could with the grey, radioactive water that trickled out of the bathroom sink, took a Radaway, and crawled between the dingy sheets.
It was too hot to sleep, even in her skivvies. The Courier tossed and turned, exhausted even as her mind and body refused to relax. She got up and tugged on her boots and tromped across the dark courtyard with her pistol in her hand. And made her way back up into Dinky’s mouth where Boone still stood watch.
He startled when he heard her come through the door.
“I told you not to sneak up on me like that,” he snapped. Then, his eyebrows shot up. “What the hell are you wearing?”
The Courier shrugged.
“It’s hot,” she complained. “And I couldn’t sleep.”
“I’m not going to be good company,” Boone said.
The Courier smirked a little, “then maybe you’ll help me sleep.”
Boone’s expression shifted. It was not exactly a smile but a reasonable enough facsimile.
“All right,” he said. He laid his rifle against the wall, and slid down to sit beside it. “Fuck this place.”
The Courier sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, laying her gun between her feet. Her hair had been half shaved off and, for the first time, Boone noticed the scars on her scalp. They were healed, but so new that they were still white against her light brown skin.
The silence between them was companionable albeit somewhat brief.
“What are you going to do, now?” She asked him, finally.
He shrugged. “I’m not staying here, I know that. I woke up Cliff just so I could give him back my room key. Maybe I’ll wander, like you.”
The Courier considered this for a moment.
“Why don’t you come with me? I could use an extra gun.”
He looked at her. A flicker of surprise darted across his face before he schooled it back into his flat sniper’s scowl.
“What for?”
“Don’t snipers work better in pairs?”
“Yeah,” he said. She had him there. “I guess that’s true. All right, we can get going in the morning.” Boone pushed himself to his feet and reached down to pull the Courier up. “I guess we should both get some sleep.”
Boone slung his rifle across his back and they walked together across the dark courtyard. They went up the stairs to her room and he followed her inside. He paused in the doorway.
“There’s only one bed,” he said.
She reached past him to push the door closed and looked at the bed, “so what?”
“I can’t- we can’t… I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s plenty of room. And you’ll need the rest.”
Boone looked at her in her dingy skivvies, lit only by the dim light from the sign outside and he swallowed. She crossed her arms and looked stubbornly back.
“Get in the goddamn bed, Boone,” she said, finally.
And Boone relented. The Courier got into bed and rolled away from the window. She made a point of not watching him as he leaned his rifle against the bedside table.
It was almost ritualistic the way he took off his beret and sunglasses and laid them on the bedside table. He stripped down to his skivvies folding what he had left of his NCR uniform and laid it on the room’s small desk. She didn’t move when the mattress shifted under his weight seeming half asleep already. She had kicked the covers off, and he could see the long shape of her legs in the dim light.
As Boone swung his legs into the bed, he realized it really was almost too hot to sleep. He finished the job of kicking the covers onto the floor and settled in and closed his eyes.
Boone didn't know how long he'd been asleep when he jerked awake to find the Courier tucked against him. His arm wrapped around her waist and her head tucked under his chin. She stirred sleepily.
“Whaswrong?” She slurred.
He started to scoot back from her.
“I’m- ”
She grabbed his arm and rolled over to face him.
“If you apologize, I swear I will punch you,” she said in a voice still a bit thick with sleep.
They stared at one another, almost sharing one pillow.
“You remind me of her,” he said, finally. “My wife. She was a stubborn bitch too.”
“And you married her.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I did. And I’d do it again a thousand times.”
The Courier smiled. Boone almost smiled back. He leaned towards her without thinking and their noses brushed.
“Is this okay?” He whispered.
She closed the gap between them and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.
“Yeah.”
He pulled her against him and kissed her with a starving ferocity that left her breathless.
“Boone,” she gasped.
“Craig,” he said, “my name is Craig.” He paused. “What’s- I can’t call you Courier.” He brushed one broad hand over the stubble on the side of her head.
“I don’t know if I ever had another name,” the Courier said quietly. She touched her bare scalp as though expecting to still find open wounds there.
“Some asshole scrambled my brains a few months back with a 9mm pistol. I remember a few things, but I don’t remember being anything other than a courier.” She thought a moment and finally:
“I’m number six,” she looked at him. “Call me Six.”
“All right. Six,” Boone said as though trying out the taste of it. He pushed his fingertips up under the hem of her undershirt. His rough, thick fingers tracing the lines of ribs that stuck out a little too much and he kissed her again. The Courier kissed him back, scrubbing the palms of her hands over the close-cropped hair on his scalp.
“It’s been a long time,” he admitted. “Not since my wife…” He trailed off, focused on trying to help the Courier wriggle out of her shirt and fling it across the room. His hands returned to her breasts, his rifle calluses scraped across her nipples.
The Courier gasped out a laugh, “I don’t even remember the last time.”
Boone didn’t respond, he bent and pulled a nipple between his lips. His fingers hooked into her shorts, trying to tug them off without moving his mouth. She reached and helped him push them off her legs and kicked them onto the floor. He dragged her towards him by her hips and pulled her leg over his thigh. As they kissed, Boone slipped one thick finger inside her. She arched towards him, rubbing herself against the heel of his hand.
“Craig,” she whispered, rubbing at his erection through the thin fabric of his shorts. “Please.”
“Can I taste you?”
Boone had never been good at demonstrating his emotions, but this? This he was good at.
She let out a soft groan and shivered.
“Yes.”
Boone rolled out of bed to strip the rest of his clothes off. He was long-limbed and wired with lean muscles. There was a bruise on his collarbone from shooting Jeannie May. In his haste and anger, he hadn't taken the time to properly brace his rifle and got tapped by the recoil. A tattoo marked his left shoulder. It was the insignia of his battalion, a bear’s skull with two crossed rifles. There were the puckered scars of bullet wounds on the opposite shoulder and one thigh. The pale line of a healed graze arced across his belly. His hard cock bobbed in front of him, moving slightly with the beat of his heart.
He looked at her for a moment, watched her watch him. She was also covered in scars. She had taken a few bullets, herself. The fine, silvery lines of old knife wounds crossed her arms and legs. There was a gnarled burn scar on one hip from what had probably been a thermic lance.
On her other hip was a tidy-looking brand, the number six. Boone recognized it for what it was. Someone had sold her to the Mojave Express when she was a child. He frowned a bit as he traced the mark with the tip of his finger. If it bothered her she gave no sign, only grabbed his arm and tried to drag him back onto the bed. He went to her and knelt between her spread knees.
He bent and kissed her, dragging his rough palm over the brand on her hip. He tried not to put his weight on her, but she pulled at his shoulders until he lay against her. He worked his way down her body. He sucked a bruise into her collarbone, a mirror image of his own, and kissed her breasts and belly. He pushed her legs apart and tugged them up to rest on his shoulders and pressed his face against her pussy.
The Courier arched against him and laid her palm on the back of his head. She ran her fingers over the bristles of his hair. Her breath hitched as he licked at her, trying to discover what she liked. He slid a finger in beside his tongue and she made a soft noise of pleasure. Boone reached back to squeeze his cock to take the edge off when she reached down and cupped his jaw to pull him off of her.
Sweat beaded on her brow, and the hair around her face curled and stuck to her skin, a flush high on her cheeks. Boone gaped at her for a moment. The Courier, Six, was beautiful.
“I want you to fuck me,” she said.
Boone laid his head on her thigh and breathed for a moment to get himself back under control. He pressed a kiss to the brand.
“Are you sure?” He murmured. “What about…”
“They take care of that,” she shifted her eyes away from him. “A pregnant courier can’t make deliveries.”
He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and crawled on top of her, running his fingers through the soft fringe of her hair.
“All right, Six,” he said.
She pulled him into a kiss and tilted her hips up, making space for him to slip inside. He hitched her thighs over his hips and pushed in. She threw her head back and groaned, her ankles locked around his waist and body rolled against him. Boone pressed his face against her neck and clutched her against him and moved with her. It wasn't frantic, though, it was almost tender. And once he had her in his arms, he found she no longer reminded him of Carla that much.
The Courier was taller than his wife. She was broader at the hip and her physical strength was different. Years of roaming the wastes and lean living had made her almost rangy. But Boone wanted her all the same. He’d never say it out loud, but he needed this. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have a connection with another human being. He pressed himself up on his elbows and pushed her sweaty hair off her face. She looked half surprised at the tenderness of the gesture, but he could see that she needed this too.
“Six,” he whispered and bent down to kiss her again, the slight change in his angle made her shiver under him. The Courier clutched at the back of his neck with one hand and laid the other over the back of his head. She cradled him like he was a breakable and tender thing. Her hips slowed to a lazy grind and Boone felt her muscles coiling beneath him as she chased her orgasm.
“Come on,” Boone whispered. “Do it.”
She didn’t make a sound. Her body flexed upwards and she tightened around him, her legs and arms crushing him against her. Her jaw dropped open in silent ecstasy.
Boone gritted his teeth to hold himself back.
“Is it okay if I-?”
She wrapped her legs tighter.
“I told you,” she whispered, eyes glassy and lazy from her orgasm. “They take care of that.”
Boone dropped his forehead to her collarbones and let go. His orgasm seemed to go on forever. He panted his way through, dimly aware of her tracing gentle patterns on his back with the tips of her fingers. He lay with his full weight on her for a minute before coming back to himself. He looked at her face, she looked sleepy but she smiled at him.
“Are you all right?” She asked.
He looked at her in confusion and she reached up and swiped a thumb across his cheek. He was crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. He hadn’t even cried over Carla. So consumed with trying to find who had ruined their life that he hadn’t allowed himself the luxury. And now, in front of this near stranger, he was falling apart. Embarrassment clawed at him and he looked away from her. He was 1st Recon, for fuck’s sake, he was supposed to be tougher than this.
The Courier grabbed his face and made him look at her.
“It’s okay, Craig,” she murmured.
He tried to pull away, “I’m sorry. I’m probably crushing you.”
She laughed softly but not unkindly and pulled him back down on top of her. She wrapped him in her arms. “It’s okay, I can take the weight.”
Boone pressed his face into the pillow beside her head and let himself cry. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it already was. For now, he would sleep. In the morning, he would follow Courier Six out of Novac. It was time to move on.
-Fin