Fallout 1. Prologue: I Forgot To Remember To Forget

_**STOP! Are you up to date on the 18 Karat Run series? If not, mosey on over to my profile and get yourself caught up! **_

_Alright - the prologue is in written in my usual style, but starting in chapter 1, I'm going to be switching over to first person. After all, it's Boone who's telling the story. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint._

_We're going to tackle a few things with Boone's story. This piece is going to be significantly shorter than the others - a total of seven chapters including the prologue and epilogue. Of course, that's subject to change should I decide to add new material or combine the topics of a chapter or two. But as it's planned out right now, seven chapters is what I'm working with._

_For those of you interested, you can see the cover for this piece on my deviantart account. Link is on my profile._

_Anyway, enjoy._

* * *

As they neared the Dam, two things stood out to the former recon sniper: foremost, the President's Vertibird was still nestled contently on top of the Dam's visitor center. Second, the entire Dam was quiet and empty – save a few patrols that paced back and forth along the wall in the dim moonlight. Atop the Dam's towers he could see lone snipers standing guard.

"Craig Boone?"

Boone slowed his pace. They were just outside the visitor center when the door had opened. A stern looking man with an eyepatch greeted them.

"Which one of you is Craig Boone?"

Boone stepped forward. "I am."

The gruff man studied him for a second then gave him a light hearted grin. "Name's Grant. Graham Grant, with the California Rangers…" He extended his hand. "I've heard of you, a lot of good things. Dhatri spoke highly of you. You're former First Recon, right?"

"Yeah," Boon answered him – _but that was a lifetime ago._

"Well, I'm glad you're here to help us out. This is a delicate matter, and to be honest we need all the help we can get. From people we can trust." He turned his attention to the group at Boone's heels. "You brought company?"

"Yeah," Boone cast a sidelong glance to the group. "First Recon, and some close personal friends of mine."

"First Recon, eh? …we should definitely count our blessings then." Grant gave them a quick onceover, pausing briefly on Veronica. "Sierra Power Armor? Friend of mine placed an order a while back for a set, but it never showed."

Veronica's face flushed. "Huh? Really?" She curled her lip into a frown. "Couldn't imagine why…"

"Well, in any event, it's good to have you all aboard. We've got a helluva lot to do and too little time to do it in. The President's due to give his speech tomorrow afternoon…"

"About that…" Boone tilted his head to one side. "The speech was scheduled for today, why's the president still here?"

"It was scheduled for today," Grant nodded, immediately agreeing. "But your boss radioed in…whatever he said…" Grant chuckled lightheartedly. "He put a frown on Moore's face, that's for sure."

Boone felt one corner of his mouth creep up – _Six, you son of a bitch_.

"What I do know is I'm to integrate you and your team into President Kimball's security. You're to be debriefed and given full access to the facilities; supervised, of course. We'll cover everything in detail tomorrow morning. It's late…head down to the barracks. Get some rest, and I'll debrief you in the morning. See you bright and early, at oh-six-hundred hours."

* * *

Most nights he couldn't sleep. When he dreamed, he always dreamed of her. Of Carla. Even when he was awake, he could almost see her honey locks sweeping from her shoulders. Her smooth golden bronze skin and sea green eyes.

Tonight was no different. He tossed, turned, twisted, and writhed uncomfortably in the little military cot. Finally, he made his way to his feet.

Christine was the same; though the nightmares that plagued her were of a different sort. When her eyes closed, she could hear the drills; that terrible grinding sound in her head – the sound of buzz saws ripping through flesh and bone.

She lay still, feeling the warmth of Veronica's arms around her and watched him leave – or a dark silhouette anyway. He gently made his way out of the room, careful not to disturb anyone. He was unnaturally quiet. Had she been asleep, she'd never have known that he had left.

Minutes passed – they turned into hours. Still, sleep escaped her. So, quietly, she resolved to join him. He was perched at the edge of the Presidential stage when she found him. Staring intently at the mountain ridge, his arms crossed – a way of signaling to the world that his mind was one that had shut it out long ago.

"Can't sleep?" She asked him, making her way to his side.

He grunted, but didn't answer.

It reminded her of her first conversation with Six – though the roles had been reversed. "Me neither," she said. "Nightmares…"

_What does she know about nightmares?_

She traced the scars across her face. "Did I ever tell you how I got these scars?"

Boone shook his head and leaned back against a crudely erected wooden frame sporting lighting for the stage.

"I had tracked Elijah to a military facility in the Sierra Mountains. I had been tasked to put an end to his…"

Boone listened to her words – or at the very least the sound of them. All the while his mind was racing – bouncing around thoughts that lacked consistency or rationality. At one moment, he'd be thinking of Carla – then about how to protect the President. He'd even caught himself thinking back to the girl in Zion – about Kurisu. He wandered what she was doing now. How on that night when he left she had gently pressed her lips to his cheek. How he had told her that his heart belonged to another and that she waited for him back home. How he'd left her standing beneath the stars without so much as saying goodbye.

At least as far as he was concerned, he had not lied to her. He believed with all of his heart and soul that Carla and his unborn child were waiting for him on the other side. And wherever _they_ were _was_ home. Perhaps that's why death didn't scare him – it would finally reunite him with the ones he held dearest.

And, perhaps, that's why death had eluded him for so long. Why he had been able to take up arms against the Legion time and time again. Why he had been able to infiltrate so deep into White Leg territory and lived to tell the tale.

Life was his punishment – for the heinous crimes he had committed against the Great Khans. Against innocent women and children…his punishment was living on in this cruel world absent those he loved.

In that, he supposed, he wasn't too different than Graham – who lived his own hell every waking moment of every day.

"…I woke up in a medical facility, my face horribly scared…" Christine continued.

Of course, Boone didn't hear her.

"You're not even listening, are you?" Christine laughed to herself. "Seems we're all fighting our own personal little wars…not only with those inner demons, but with the ghosts of our past."

Another grunt from the man of stone. Christine reached up and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Hey," she opined, "What's on your mind?"

How could he answer that? Could he tell her of the millions of thoughts that reverberated across the chasm of his mind?

No. His problems were his own – and they are not hers to bear.

He pointed to the ridgeline. "If I were going to attempt to assassinate the president, that's where I'd position myself…unless I wasn't worried about getting away. Then I'd situate myself atop that tower."

Christine felt her throat twist into a knot – he was deflecting, and she could tell. She admired him, she enjoyed his company despite how distant he seemed to be, and she genuinely cared about him. He was a good friend – and not just to her, but to Veronica, Cass, and to Six. But more than that admiration, she pitied him. She didn't know his story – no one seemed to know it. But she was familiar with those demons and ghosts that betrayed every thought and smile. What was it that he had said at the Sierra Madre?

He knew what it was like to lose someone he loved. Someone he never talked about. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders – and he never voiced a complaint.

"The anti-aircraft gun," She said, finally conceding to his silence. She pointed towards it. "It could be reprogrammed pretty easily…it might be a good idea to shut it down. And speaking of sabotage, it we should have someone look into the vertibird's flight systems…they're pretty easy to program too."

"Just as easy to plant explosives on them," Boone pointed out, nodding lightly. "Or the stage. We'll need to sweep it for explosives too."

"Is the speech open to the public?"

Boone shrugged. "Even if it isn't, there are techs here…it's easy enough to find a uniform."

"So we should tell them to frisk the crowd…"

"Or, at the very least, have dogs sniffing them out."

Christine nodded. "Everything will be fine," she said, removing her hand from his arm. "You'll see."

* * *

Grant nodded approvingly. "Seems you've got most of the bases covered…do you have anyone with the know-how to check the systems of the gun and the flight  
control on the vertibird?"

"Yeah," Boone nodded. "Christine here," he motioned towards her, "is a real whiz with all things technical. If there's a problem with any of the systems, she'll find it."

"Good," Grant took a breath. "That's good. We have our own techs, but a second set of eyes never hurt anything."

"I want Veronica in the crowd…hand to hand, she's the toughest person I've ever met. If anyone sneaks into the crowd, she'll disarm and defuse the situation with haste and efficiency."

"We'll have a K9 unit in the crowd as well…" Grant ensured.

"I want Manny stationed atop the nearest tower with one of your men," Boone continued, as if Grant hadn't even spoken. "And I want Sterling and Bitter-Root on the adjacent tower. The trapdoors for each tower are to be secured from the outside. Betsy and Ten of Spades will take the ridge…and you and I will sweep the vertibird's landing pad."

"Right…" Grant turned to the crowd of NCR rangers that had gathered round. "You heard the man…I want you all stationed all over the Dam – watch the perimeter, watch the crowd. I want my sharpshooters in the key locations that you've already been assigned. The crowds are already gathering outside – we have a busy day ahead of us. Our plan is to get through the day without shit hitting the fan…you will answer to myself or Craig Boone. If he tells you to kiss his ass you damn well better pucker up. We do whatever it takes to get the President through this visit in one piece, am I understood?"

Uniformly, the rangers spoke – "Sir, yes sir."

* * *

"Is he here yet?"

Moore shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. President. House's ambassador has yet to grace us with his appearance."

"You told him I'd hold off until this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir."

Kimball – a tall, stern looking man with salt and pepper hair – checked the faded gold watch on his left wrist – it was nearly three. "House or no House, we're going on as planned. I'm not sticking around here long enough to be shot." He studied himself in the mirror – adjusted his blue and yellow striped tie and the collar of his white button-down shirt. "You know the Legion is planning something – I can smell it in the air."

"I understand, sir."

He fastened a pin decorated with the NCR's two-headed mascot to his worn out navy blue jacket and turned to Moore, gesturing his arms wide as if to inquire how he looked.

"Excellent, sir."

* * *

The sky was overcast – _looks like rain_ – Boone thought to himself. They were definitely not going to wait any longer.

Boone had positioned himself above the visitor center, on the helipad. He could see Veronica in the crowd below – she had elected not to wear her power armor. She wanted to blend in – so she elected to _borrow_ an old jumpsuit from the utility closet. Then she had tied her hood into a neat little head wrap. She never seemed to take that hood off…but he could relate.

Across the way, Manny gave him a wave. Boone threw up his right arm, and with his left he lifted an old walkie-talkie. "Clear. Bring him out."

Music filled the air – a fierce booming noise that rallied the crowd into cheers. Boone could see the President emerge from the doors below him; following a woman he recognized well: Colonel Moore. He was surrounded by men clad in Ranger Combat Armor. Their dusters billowing with every step – rifles swaying with their movements.

Colonel Moore took to the stage. She stood behind the microphone and tapped it once or twice. The sound reverberated across the Dam. She cleared her throat:

"Ladies and Gentlemen – citizens of the New California Republic. Four years ago we were tasked with the most vicious battle that the NCR has ever seen. When Caesar sent his Legate to take Hoover Dam, he counted on numbers and brute force to be the deciding factor in the battle. And that's exactly what they did. The Legion fell on to this Dam with numbers we had never before seen. Through their strength and sheer willpower alone, they nearly succeeded. But what they weren't counting on was the tactical resolve of the New California Republic. Chief Hanlon fell back into Boulder City, the Legion's infamous Legate gave chase. This would prove to be the decisive moment in the battle – soldiers like yourself secured the Dam and drove the Legion back over the Colorado. Today, we face their threat again – and so we must call upon you again to carry our great nation's flag. But you're not alone – the Republic is a family; the proud sons and daughters of California. Today, we have been given the greatest honor of receiving our President – who has come to rally behind you to show you that what you do does matter. That every person here has the potential and the ability to make a difference," she swung her arm wide gesturing to the man standing at her side. "The President of the New California Republic: Aaron Kimball."

Kimball graciously extended his hand, taking Moore's into his own. He shook it lightheartedly, a wide smile across his otherwise gruff face.

"Thank you Colonel Moore. And thank you, my fellow Californians, who have come so far to answer the call to service put forth by the republic. It is for you that I have come here, and it is because of you that I am able to do so. We enjoy our privileges because you take the greatest of risks and are prepared to make the most noble of sacrifices. It is because of men and women like Private First Class Jeremy Watson that Nevada and the New California Republic remain free and secure…"

Boone let the man's words fade out. He needed to concentrate. He scanned the crowd, the ridge, then the Dam.

Everything was quiet. There seemed to be no sign of the Legion. Of course, Boone knew that you didn't have to see the enemy for the enemy to be there. So often he had heard that old saying, 'What you don't know won't hurt you." A misguided proverb, to say the least.

Countless foes had fallen from his hands – the kick of his rifle the only thing he ever felt. They didn't even feel that.

That's what he told himself, anyway. That the deaths he had been responsible for were painless. Not because he cared for the souls of his enemies. Or for the fact that they felt pain. Contrary, he wanted to make the entire Legion feel the pain he felt every night.

But for her sake. For Carla.

For his child.

He hoped they felt nothing.

Across the Dam, something wasn't right. He could see Manny looking out over the crowd…but the ranger that was stationed with him was staring hard at Manny. Boone raised his rifle and peered through the scope – the man was slowly maneuvering towards Manny, his knife at the ready.

"Born in a tin shack on the outskirts of One Pine, Jeremy Watson never had it easy. His father worked as a caravan guard on the Short Loop, and his mother, like many Californians, braved the ruins of the Old World as a prospector. They suffered through water shortages, raider attacks, and the Brotherhood War." The speech continued, unimpeded.

Boone poised to fire but was struck from behind – his rifle tumbled over the edge of the building. He wheeled around to face his assailant. It was a civilian; an engineer – with dark hair and harsh eyes. The man struck again, his fist catching Boone's ribs. Boone stumbled backwards, but held his footing. He charged the man, lifting him up by his waist and slamming him to the ground. They struggled for what felt like an eternity before Boone was finally able to get around behind him. He wedged his knee between the man's shoulder blades and gripped his neck in the crook of his arm. He squeezed hard, blood trickling from his nose – spilling onto the man's white jumpsuit. He reached around with his free arm, looping his arms together, grasping his left bicep with his right hand and his opponent's head with his left. Then he snapped the man's neck backwards – he heard a vicious crack and the man's body went limp.

"When the republic called on the men and women of California to carry that fire across the Mojave, Jeremy Watson answered. You answered. Together, you carried the weight. And when PFC Watson's platoon came under attack at Forlorn Hope…"

Instantly Boone was on his feet scanning for his rifle – it was nowhere to be seen. The radio! He grasped it and felt the plastic give way beneath his fingertips. _Fuck!_

"…he took the greatest risk, not only for his fellow Californians, but for California itself. He was prepared to make the most noble of sacrifices, to defend the principles of our republic, even here, on Nevada soil."

Instinctively he reached for his sidearm. He took aim – he could see Manny struggling across the way, dangling from the edge of the building - the Legion man standing above him.

"His actions are a beacon to all of us who stand here today in tribute to his valor. Private First Class Jeremy Watson, on behalf of the senate and people of the New California Republic, it is my honor to present Private First Class Watson with the Star of Sierra Madre."

Boone took a breath – held it a beat. Before he fired, he saw the imposter stumble – the distinct sound of muffled rifle fire filled his ears. The Legion man toppled off the edge. Manny struggled to regain his bearings. Boone turned to the source of the sound – Christine. She lowered her rifle and gave him a nod.

"The vertibird's flight controls were scrambled. I told you it'd be a good idea to look into it." She checked the corpse of the engineer – wiring, the shell of an egg timer, a few bricks of C4. "Looks like he was going to plant a bomb on the vertibird."

"Private Watson, if you would just join me on stage."

Boone rested his arms against the concrete railing of the building. He took a breath and watched Private Watson make his way to the stage. The boy was next to the President now. The President reached into his blazer pocket and withdrew a small badge of valor. He pinned it to the boy's uniform, a smile on his face.

"That doesn't make sense…why wouldn't he just use a detonator?" Christine wondered aloud, holding the shell of the timer.

"Nervous?" The President asked. "I understand…no need to be though."

Boone felt the fibers in his body grow tense. The boy _was_ nervous…_visibly_ _fidgeting with his helmet_.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President…" The boy whimpered. The sound of his voice carrying out over the President's microphone.

Because the bomb _wasn't_ for the vertibird.

"What's that?" The President asked, his voice instilled with confusion.

"_Get him off the stage now!_" Boone yelled down to Grant.

But by then it was too late – fire consumed the stage. Fragments of wood, fabric, and flesh littered the crowd.

* * *

He tapped the table and the bartender of the Big Horn Saloon brought him his seventh shot of the night. His red beret lay on the bar top beside of him. He lifted the shot glass, filled to the brim with two-hundred proof moonshine and studied it; mulling thoughts over in his mind as he twisted the glass between his fingers.

Underneath the shades he always had glued to his face were bloodshot eyes that struggled to keep focus on the world around him.

The door behind him swung open.

"Welcome to the Big Horn Saloon," The bartender bellowed jovially. "I'm Ike, I'll be serving you this evening. Have a seat anywhere you like, I'll be right with you."

"Well God Damn me, I just can't seem to get away from you, can I?"

Boone scowled. He recognized the thick accent that filled his ears. He cast a glance over his shoulder…Melissa was shaking her head.

"Every fucking where I go, there you are."

Boone didn't respond. He simply turned back to his now empty glass and tapped the table again.

"Didn't make it in time, did you?" Melissa asked. She walked the length of the bar and sat next to him. "Kimball bit the bullet, huh?" She asked the question with entirely too much glee.

"Can't you go somewhere else?" Boone asked dryly. He motioned around to all the empty stools and stalls. "You literally have your pick of the entire place."

She smiled. "And I picked…this seat, right here."

Boone grimaced. He stood – slowly – and grasped the bar for balance. He reached for his beret, but his senses and reaction time had long sense dulled. Melissa snatched it right out from under him.

"Nuh-uh," She waved her finger. "You have the balls to shoot unarmed civilians, you can at least buy a girl a drink."

Boone stared at her – his grip weakening on the bar. He blinked a few times then hauled himself back up onto the stool.

"Good boy," Melissa chirped.

"Why are you even here?"

"I'm meeting someone…not that it's any concern of yours."

"No. I mean…why are you talking to me?"

"Because you clearly don't want me to," She laughed.

Boone's scowl deepened.

Ike returned, bottle of clear liquid in his hand. He refilled Boone's glass and turned to the Khan woman. "What'll it be?"

"Nothing too strong," She replied. "I want to remember this face in the morning. Rum and Nuka."

Ike gave her a nod. As he turned to walk back down the bar, Boone grabbed his wrist. "Leave the bottle."

She looked back at Boone, absorbing his misery. "Now this…this a girl can get used to."

Boone didn't respond. He downed his shot and sloppily poured another.

"So what happened?" She asked him – her voice seemed somehow more sincere.

He looked up at her, still scowling, and shrugged. "President's dead."

"Legion?"

"Legion."

Ike once again returned and plopped a glass on the bar in front of her.

"Want to talk about it?" She asked, taking a sip of her drink.

"Nothing to talk about."

"Right!" She laughed hard. "Clearly…you're just the picture of mental health. Look, I'm not going anywhere…so the way I see it, you can either talk about what's on your mind or I can talk about what's on mine."

Boone waved his hand. "Talk away."

Her lips twisted to one side. She really didn't have anything to talk about. "Bitter Springs…tell me about it."

"Why?"

"Because I wasn't there…there are so many conflicting stories. Papa tells us one thing, Oscar another…the Mojave gives us yet a different version. But you…" She took a long drink from her bottle. "You were there. I'm a Khan...you owe it to us to give your side of the story."

"I don't owe you a damn thing," Boone snapped back.

"Maybe you don't," she shrugged, taking another sip of her rum. "But, I'll make you a deal…"

Boone looked up at her.

"You tell me what happened at Bitter Springs, and I'll leave you alone."

* * *

_Alright. So that's it for the prologue. I'll try to have another chapter out for you all next week. Feedback is always appreciated._

_Until next time._


	2. Chapter 1: Boulder City Showdown

_Alright, I want to start out by apologizing for the delay. I'm gunning for a promotion at work, so I've been really, really busy these last couple of weeks. On top of that, I had to check and double check and recheck to make sure I was staying in course with the canon in the game while simultaneously trying to expand on Boone's character without contradicting or conflicting any of the information given in the game._

_I'm pretty sure, though I'm not certain, that I've succeeded in developing his character a little bit - giving him a little more backstory. Also, first person isn't a style of writing that I'm exactly keen on - I much prefer third person. But I felt that in order to delve into Boone's character, and to be able to explain that character to you, I needed the reader to feel as if he was telling the story. So I needed to become him...that's proven to be a daunting task, but hopefully I manage to pull it off pretty well._

_Anyway, here's what everyone came to see._

* * *

"Look…" Boone took a breath. "I appreciate you helping us with Cass. But I don't know you. I don't much feel like swapping war stories at the moment."

"You're damn right I helped you with Cass," Melissa agreed. "And after the hell your precious NCR has given the Khans, we deserve an explanation at the very least."

Boone shrugged. "Maybe," he emptied his shot glass and poured himself another. "But that's a discussion for Oliver and your Papa."

Melissa laughed. "Yeah, because that's going to happen," she took a sip of her own drink. "You owe…"

"I don't owe you a damn thing," Boone's harsh tone cut her off.

She looked at him a moment. She _hated_ the NCR…she _hated_ NCR soldiers. But there was something about him. The look on his face, the way he held himself. Maybe the glimmer in his eyes.

He was bleeding.

Not physically…well, he had some scrapes. She could tell he'd recently been in an altercation. Likely due to whatever it was that Six had dragged her to that NCR camp. Whatever the reason, his presence here told her things didn't bode over well.

She felt bad for him.

God damn, she _felt bad for him_.

"Fine," she raised her hands in submission. "I just thought maybe it'd do some good to talk about it. Not just for you…maybe for me too. I mean, don't you ever think about what happened?"

He swirled his glass, staring despondently at its contents.

"You don't want to talk, don't. I've got things to do anyway." And she stood. She hadn't taken three steps when Boone spoke again.

He didn't know why he spoke. He didn't even really think about it. He could've done a lot of things – he could have sought out Six, or Christine, Raul, or Veronica. People he trusted.

Or he could have talked to his former brother in arms…Manny Vargas was always a good friend. Even though he knew Manny had nothing to do with his wife's disappearance, he felt that he'd burned that bridge a long time ago.

Maybe he needed a stranger. That's why he'd opened up to Six…what little he had.

And she was a stranger.

But mostly, he didn't want to be alone. Not now. Not with everything that was going on.

"Always," he told her. "Even when I sleep. I still feel the kick of the rifle on my shoulder. I can hear screams and cries cut down by intermittent gunfire." He looked up from his drink and ran his hand over his rough scalp. He mumbled under his breath.

Melissa sat back next to him, "What?"

"I don't even know where to begin…" He confessed.

"You _could_ try the beginning."

* * *

I don't much care to talk about where I come from. I grew up in California – lived and worked on a ranch with my dad. He taught me a lot of things. How to wrangle. How to shoot. I owned my first rifle by the time I was nine. Killed my first man when I was eleven. I learned young…had to, you know? Protecting our crops and the brahmin was a daily routine – but none of that's really important.

I guess you could say that my life really started when I signed up with the NCR. I was seventeen; right at that age where I thought that I knew the way everything was – thought I knew better than my father.

I excelled with long range combat…so it didn't take long for Captain Dhatri to recruit me. A year into my service I joined First Recon, a sniper battalion. I was told that it was an honor to serve with them…that only the most elite were asked to join. We saw more action than most and they moved us around a lot; but what interested me was the pay raise.

We were deployed a few months after I joined. Hanlon…you know Hanlon? Of course…he's a war hero now…but I guess he's more infamous than famous to your people. He was well known then too, just not quite what he is today…had the ear of the President himself, though. It was his request that First Recon be stationed at Camp Golf.

Now, Camp Golf isn't what it used to be. At one point, it was the front line…and not just because of the Legion. It's the only resort in New Vegas no one wanted to be sent to. Doesn't have that kind of importance anymore; though the Rangers have opted to adopt the base as their Mojave headquarters.

See, Hanlon had been sending scouting parties east shortly after the NCR had taken hold in the Mojave in seventy-four. Only the parties weren't coming back. A lot of people chalked it up to the wasteland swallowing them up. You know how people are with their superstitions and ghost stories…just look at what they say about the Divide these days. Hanlon knew better. He has this unnatural instinct…he can smell conflict a mile away. So he pulls some strings with Kimball, and just like that we found ourselves in the Mojave.

We arrived just shortly after the NCR took HELIOS One from the Brotherhood's Mojave Chapter. Took it using sheer numbers…

I'm losing myself though.

Old Hanlon; he knew something was going on east of the Colorado. Something big. So he brings in the best marksmen the NCR has. Figures we're trained to keep a low profile…so he sends us out to scout the enemy. He figured right. We saw the Legion long before they set up their camp on Fortification Hill.

We were stationed at Camp Golf…in the center of all the heat. We had the Legion to the east, but they hadn't engaged us yet. Not directly anyway. The Brotherhood had gone into hiding in the south. Fiends to the west…and the Khans…

Your people to the north.

Golf was the perfect position – though not as easily defensible as McCarran, it was close enough to each threat that, should we be needed, we could be on any front within hours.

For the most part, we were never in any real danger. Once in a while they'd send us out to take out a group of particularly troublesome fiends. Of course, they'd never see us coming.

No one ever did.

Two years we were stationed at Golf before the Legion finally drew blood.

I was twenty-two when I had my first real taste of death. Of war. Sure, I had killed before...by the time I'd joined I had a decent count under my belt. But I'd never seen anything like this.

Legion swarmed the Dam in the middle of the night. Caught everyone by surprise…save Hanlon. We could hear the gunfire from the Dam at the camp. Hanlon didn't even wait for orders. He had everyone on the move within fifteen minutes of hearing the first shot.

I remember one day out on the ranch – there had been a pretty bad dust storm. One of the herd got separated from the others. Our ranch was on the Transverse Range – close to the fault. That brahmin found the fault. I know the ants here are vicious…but you haven't seen anything like the Argentine ants that prowl that range. They're not as big as the ants here in the Mojave…about the size of a bloatfly. When I found the brahmin…or what was left of it…they had stripped it clean. If it hadn't been for the skulls, I wouldn't have recognized it. They were all over it…a living mound of carapaces and antennae. Moving together uniformly to dismantle and transport the remains of the brahmin into their nest.

We positioned ourselves on the ridge just north-west of the Dam. The Legion were like those ants. Flooding over the Dam, a carcass in its own right, in waves of impossible numbers. They prefer hand to hand tactics…to be honest, if they didn't, we wouldn't have control of the Dam right now.

So we're up on that ridge, and it's dark. A darkness like I've never seen. The most unnatural, all consuming darkness. All of first recon laying flat, taking shots at the Legion men scurrying to and fro. Hell, most of the time we were just firing blind. But as thick as Legion numbers were, I can guarantee you we were hitting our marks.

In the military, they train you to make each bullet count. You start to subconsciously count your shots…that way when it's time to reload it doesn't surprise you. You control your breathing – breath in, find your target – exhale and fire. It becomes second nature. Your rifle isn't a just a weapon – it's an extension of your being. You control the bullet – if the rifle is your arm, the bullet is your finger. You know where it's going to go. You don't even have to think about it…you feel it.

The problem was they were doing to us what we did to those poor sons of bitches at Helios one. For every Legion man we killed, two more sprouted. A god damned chimera. All the while, there are scouts and higher ranking centurions behind the main force…and they're not above firearms. It's not their preference, but that doesn't stop them. Our men couldn't fire back, they had to prioritize their defenses – take out the immediate threat. When you have a man charging you with a chainsaw, you kind of lose focus of the guy two hundred yards away with a fucking .45 Winchester. Only he's the real threat. Especially if he doesn't care to shoot his own man to get at you. And they didn't care…hell, they probably put down as many of their men as we did.

But they had men to spare.

Dhatri had us spread out over the ridge while Hanlon took the fight straight to the Dam. The Veteran Rangers aren't anything to fuck with, I'll tell you that now. But even they couldn't hold the Legion back. Dhatri splits us up – half of us picking off the bastards charging our people. The other half taking shots at their centurions and scouts. Then he disappears.

Before long, we see the civilian engineers being evacuated. Then the soldiers were pulled out. Rangers held the Dam on their own. Scores of men falling on both sides.

I'm not sure how long he was gone, but Dhatri comes back and tells us to start falling back. But we're not retreating, though that's what I assumed at the time.

"Keep firing!" he shouts. "Make those sons of bitches come to us!"

So that's what we do – the rangers too. We're bait, falling back just fast enough to stay ahead of them.

Dhatri had a boy. A kid named Robert…he was in First Recon. Smart kid. Crack shot too. You've heard tales of the Legate? Well, he was there that night. Kid caught a glimpse of him barking orders to his men. Now, Caesar's no pushover. But Joshua Graham…the man is sinister, and he's smart. I remember thinking that if he fell that night, the Legion wouldn't be far behind.

Or, at the very least, it could turn the tide of this fight. The Captain doesn't agree though. He tells us to stick with the plan – to pull the Legion into Boulder City. We don't know what for. We weren't informed.

So Robert and I split off from the group. We head back up onto that ridge. I'm scanning the Dam, Robert doing the same.

It didn't take me long to find him. He stood out amongst his men – he didn't wear their ridiculous armor. He was wearing a black single-sleeved trench coat with the mark of the Legion on it. Wore it over top of some reinforced leather armor…some type of prewar vest over that. I took my time aiming up the shot. We'd had so many of our men report taking him out…I wanted to make sure that I put an end to this son of a bitch once and for all.

I waited for the wind to die down and I exhaled…took the shot. I know I hit him, I saw him recoil from the impact. Joshua Graham was dead. He had to be.

So I tell Robert to call in to confirm the kill – and we're happy, you know?

So Robert gets on the radio and calls in.

He tells his dad that we did it. We killed the Malpais Legate...that we took a risk and it paid off. For the briefest of moments he's got this smile on his face. Kid wanted nothing more than to make his daddy proud…and now, with a little bit of help, he'd done it.

That's what we thought anyway. Robert was on the radio when he got hit…

One shot. You think that after taking out their Legate – if they knew our location they'd pepper the mountainside with gunfire.

I look back towards the Dam and I can see Graham, pistol raised. Son of a bitch shot the kid…one in a hundred. On a clear, bright day with no duress…you'd never pull that shot off. I'd never pull that shot off, not with a pistol.

Chalk it up to luck…good luck on Graham's part, bad luck on the kid's. Chalk it up to fate or karma or what have you.

One shot – and Robert was hit. Laying on the ground, holding his throat…he's in a bad way.

So I put pressure on his neck, looking back now I should have known I couldn't have saved him. I guess I just did it on impulse…cover the wound.

I can hear Captain Dhatri on the radio…he sounds panicked. Scared. I mean, who wouldn't be? Could you imagine that? Talking to your boy one moment and he's dying the next. You can hear it, but you can't be there.

The radio is crackling and coughing, but I've heard the disjointed transmissions enough to be able to understand what Dhatri's yelling.

"Robert! Robert!...my boy! My boy! You sons of bitches! I'll kill you!"

He's just yelling over and over.

The Legion aren't stupid…they knew that ridge was a prime sniping location. I could hear them climbing up the pass, making their way towards us.

So I improvise – leave a bouquet of grenades in our location, wrapped around Robert's rifle. Assholes won't be able to resist taking it as a trophy. I pull him across the way and lie down. Eight of them come over the bend…and sure as hell to high water one of them takes the bait. The force of the blast was enough to knock most of them off their feet. Poor bastard that picked it up is all over them. Couple of them topple back over the ridge.

Still, it's five to one and they're close. I use my sidearm, I'm firing and back peddling. Trying to lead them away from Robert. I know I'm dead.

Then I hear the roar of a .308. One of the Legionnaires is on the ground. Another shot and another falls. Across the way, on top of the visitor center, I see the glint of a scope. Legionnaires are taking cover, blind firing at my rescuer. I make my way back to Robert…he wasn't moving, but he was breathing.

Barely.

I couldn't leave him…so I carry him. You ever try to tote a bag across the Mojave? Imagine carrying another person. I was along the ridge just north of here when I heard it. It was like thunder, but louder. I'm on the ground in an instant, it takes me a minute to realize that I'm not being attacked. So I follow the sound to its source – I could see flashes of light coming from the direction of the city. Buildings caving in on themselves. Laying flat on my chest, I look through the scope of my rifle…I can see the Legion retreating from the city. NCR falling on them hard from all sides. Rangers and soldiers alike driving them back to the dam – and it dawns on me, see? Hanlon set out a trap. He let the Legion think they had it…he let everyone think they had it. I guess when your own men think they're retreating, it's far more convincing.

Suddenly our numbers deficit isn't a factor. And we're giving them hell. I make Robert my priority…dragging his unconscious body towards Boulder City. To his daddy.

By the time I reach the city, it's too late; and I'm dragging around a corpse.

The look his father gave me…I don't think I've ever seen a man hold so much contempt and malice in his eyes since then…save the look in Six's eye when I told him the Legion had Cass.

Dhatri's rocking his boy back and forth…I'd never seen the Captain cry. It was terrifying. I'm not afraid to admit that being in a battle is scary…any man that tells you it's not is either crazy or lying his ass off. But this…seeing the Captain like this. It was a whole different level of terror.

Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and I'm being lead back into the direction of the Dam by a Hispanic man with a green beret.

"Legion's retreating," he tells me. "Hanlon wants us to take back the Dam. We have to secure the towers."

I don't have time to comment – were already in combat. I take cover near the visitor center. Then I remember my rescuer.

"Hey! There's someone on top of the center I need to check on!"

"There's no one up there!"

We had to yell over the sound of gunfire. The Legion is in full retreat, but they're still vicious. And they're still trying to put as many of us as possible into an early grave.

"I have to check!"

"No," He says, "I'm telling you, there's no one up there!"

"How do you know?"

"Cause that was me up there."

I look at him…I'm not sure what expression was on my face, but the man laughed.

"Name's Manny. Manny Vargas!" He yells.

"Boone!" I yell back. "Craig Boone!"

"Well Craig…let's take back this fucking dam! You can buy me a drink for saving your ass later!"

* * *

"Vargas?" Melissa smiled. "Manny? I know of him. He was a Khan; you know that, right?"

Boone shrugged. "I don't mind Khans…Legion is the only group I have a beef with."

"So that's how you met Manny…"

"Yeah. He wasn't in First Recon during the First Battle of Hoover Dam. Dhatri recruited him at my request…with Robert passing, I needed a spotter. I felt I could trust Manny. He did save my ass, after all."

"Dhatri ever forgive you for his boy's death?"

"He never blamed me. Or if he did, he never said anything. He held the Legion responsible…I don't blame him. He was there for Bitter Springs…after that, he left First Recon. Received a promotion from Hanlon himself."

"Manny was a member of First Recon during the Massacre?"

"Yeah…" Boone trailed off, he looked back down into his glass. Once more he twirled its contents and found himself lost in thought.

"What happened that night?" Melissa asked.

Somehow her tone had changed. When they had started talking, she had approached him like he had seen Six approach people during his hunt for Benny. Asking questions just to get to the information.

But now her voice was softer…more than curious. He couldn't really describe it. He had heard the tone before…where had he heard it before?

His thoughts were drowned out by that night…the sound of gunfire and the screaming.

Good Lord, the screaming.

He was back there – on Coyote Tail Ridge.

And he could see their silhouettes – elderly, wounded, women…children.

He didn't feel the shot glass slip from his hands, and he didn't hear the sharp crack of shattered glass echo throughout the bar.

* * *

_With any luck, I'll have the next chapter out to you sometime next week. But that really depends on work. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. If you find that I've contradicted the Fallout canon or New Vegas story (or my own story for that matter), let me know. I'll see what I can do to work around or fix any errors._

_Also, while I'm thinking about it, someone left a review about Six relying on others...they said the "Lone Wanderer" in my Fallout 3 story shouldn't do the same. While I can understand the sentiment - writing about one person traveling the wastes with no one to converse with will bore the shit out of me. And, just as importantly, I try to keep my story mostly realistic. So one person isn't really going to be able to take on the entirety of the Enclave. So, to put it blatantly, my "Lone" Wanderer will be utilizing companions to the fullest. Sorry if that disappoints anyone, but that's the route I've elected to take. I've already gotten the outline for my Fallout 3 fiction mostly finished._

_I've also decided not to name the Lone Wanderer. Like "Six", the Lone Wanderer will be using a nickname. What that nickname is has yet to be determined._

_I actually just got in from work, so I'm going to crash. Leave me some reviews to wake up to._

_Cheers._


	3. Chapter 2: With These Hands

_Alright, I've taken some creative liberties here...I know most of the characters in New Vegas don't have an extensive background, so I've developed on a few ideas I had floating around in my head. Particularly with Ranger Ghost, Corporal Sterling, Layla (the former NCR solder-turned-mercenary that you encounter at the Vikki and Vance Casino), and a few others._

_Despite the fact that I've made some minor changes (or rather, expanded on histories that otherwise have no mention), I really like the way this chapter turned out. It's quite a bit shorter than my usual chapters - but that's mostly because this is mostly about combat. Action sequences are a pain to write. As you all well know by now, I like my dialogue. So, bear with me while I continue to delve into Boone's psyche and explore his thoughts and feelings surrounding his troubled past._

* * *

"Can I get you anything?" Ike asked the couple, sweeping up the broken glass.

Boone lazily dismissed him with a hand wave. Melissa smiled at the bartender – "Trail mix, please. And a new glass."

Ike gave her a nod and trekked down the bar.

Melissa turned back to Boone and rested her chin on one palm. "Well?"

"Talking about it isn't going to change anything…and it's a memory I don't really want refreshed."

"You'll never know until you try."

An echo from the past…words he had spoken himself. To her…to Carla. About Novac…why had he taken her there?

"Hey," Melissa leaned forward, giving him a gentle slap on the arm. Something about him…about her…had changed. She wasn't sympathizing for him anymore. She was sympathizing _with _him. She could feel his pain. Suddenly years of aggression and contempt had melted away…maybe not for the NCR, but at least for one soldier. "I'm not going to judge you," she assured.

Boone swallowed – he believed her – she wasn't going to judge him. For some reason, that mattered to him. Maybe he wanted forgiveness from one of the people that he had helped to torment. Of course…Manny and Bitter-Root had long since "forgiven" him.

But that didn't feel real. It was their duty…and they were, at least in part, as guilty as he was.

Ike returned and sat a glass in front of Boone, then dropped a plate of trail mix in front of Melissa. She picked through it casually.

Boone reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small roll of coyote chewing tobacco. He took a chew and packed it into his jaw.

"Nasty habit," Melissa told him.

"Stick around a while…I've got a few."

* * *

Sometimes I try to tell myself that I was only following orders. That I wasn't in control of my actions…that when you're out on the field you don't second guess what you're told. I learned that with Robert. If we hadn't gone back after Graham, that kid would still be alive today. That's on him. On me. Disobeying your commanding officer is the kind of thing that gets you or someone you care about killed. They teach that from day one. But its war that really makes things settle in. You learn from your mistakes, so you don't repeat them.

And God knows I've made mistakes.

I ask myself where I would be right now if I hadn't joined the NCR. If I'd be back on that ranch with my father. Maybe I'd be running it by now, married to one of the local girls with a kid or two hanging off my waist.

Or maybe the NCR decided not to push east. Maybe I joined and landed a nice little job with border patrol. I could go back and see my folks any time I wanted.

But those types of thoughts never last…I don't see how they help. Thinking about what could have been, those are the type of thoughts that you lose yourself in. They take you down a hard road – and that road doesn't lead anywhere good. I know that much.

So I try to focus on the present. On how things are. It's the only way to keep going, you know? The fact of the matter is I did join, and I don't regret it. That's not to say that I have no regrets.

But if I hadn't joined I wouldn't have met some amazing people. I wouldn't have met Dhatri or Manny. I wouldn't have met Hsu. I shook his hand once…doubt he'd remember me now, though. The man deserves to be general…and he likely would be if Oliver didn't know the president.

And I wouldn't have met Six. The guy has his quirks…but you have to respect him. He's ambitious and he cares a lot. Not just about his friends, but for most anyone he comes across…as long as their interests don't conflict with his own. Sometimes he lets that blind him to the bigger picture, but he's a good friend.

Even to people who don't really deserve it.

Most importantly, I wouldn't have met Carla. But you're not interested in that story, are you? No…you want to know about Bitter Springs.

Coming east was all about securing the land and resources. Not just for our country, but for its citizens. So that people could live without fear or hunger. We needed to be able to sustain a growing nation. That takes more than land and crops. It takes power…more than wind turbines and solar panels can provide. Hoover Dam was going to give us that. It's not always that simple though… still, I think our cause is right.

It had been almost a year since the Dam. Manny had settled in nicely with First Recon.

Dhatri was a broken man…no one could blame him. But he stood strong, stronger than most would under the same circumstances…

People complain about the NCR a lot…but they forget what it was like before us. I don't mean to sound like I'm disrespecting your people…I'm really not. The Khans aren't perfect, but neither is the NCR. Besides, if we hadn't been at the Dam when the Legion poured over it, this land would belong to Caesar now anyway. And let me tell you…the NCR may be unpopular, but we have nothing on the Legion.

The Khans weren't the only ones here. There were also the Vipers, Jackals, and Scorpions to contend with too. From what I hear they're not nearly as bad as the Omertas, White Glove Society, or Chairmen…what were they called then? Boot Riders? I suppose House deserves the credit for cultivating those animals though. But the rest of this land…its NCR land. We tamed it and now we're settling it. A lot of the tribes didn't like that…but the Khans were particularly scorned with us. Sure, the others resisted, but they didn't pack the numbers or the punch that the Khans had.

They started raiding scouting parties, patrols, and shipments of supplies. I can't say I blame them…it was war. I'd defend my home from invaders too. Had to do so a couple of times. The problem was they took it further than they should have…the raids started out small. But before long, they were harassing NCR citizens. One of those citizens must've had some serious connections…cause we got sent up from Camp Golf to take care of it. Not just First Recon, but a whole goddamn battalion.

First recon split off from the main force. We set up at a little ridge on the south side called Coyote Tail, overlooking a canyon to the north. Canyon Thirty-Seven. That's what the NCR calls it. It was the only route the Khans could use to escape. Orders come down from Major Gilles that we were to prevent the Khans from using the pass to escape the main force.

It was supposed to be straight forward – eliminate the resistance. But something went wrong, main force got spotted too soon. We heard shooting…you were in the quarry that day we fought the deathclaws. You know how sound carries in an enclosed rocky area. Sounds of gunshots were bouncing off the canyon walls around us. We don't know who started shooting first.

So we dug down and we dug deep. There were five of us there that day; Gorobets, Ghost, Sterling, Layla, and myself. Six including Captain Dhatri.

Reconnaissance units are split into teams – it's a precautionary measure. And it increases efficiency.

Gorobets is a tough son of a bitch…smart, level headed.

He was paired with Ghost...we started calling her that because of her complexion. The palest woman I've ever seen. It turned out that the nickname suit her for more than just the way she looked. There were times that she'd up and vanish in the dead of heat. First Recon specialize in ranged combat. But she kept a combat knife handy. She had just as many close quarter kills under her belt as she had ranged. And, true to the First Recon motto, they'd never know she was there. Her eyes were like fire, and she had a tongue to match them. When she looked at you, you knew it. You could feel her burning holes through your skin. One hell of a shot…better than me.

Sterling and Gorobets were buddies before joining First Recon. Sterling is a great guy, sharp. He joined first recon after sustaining injuries at the hands of the Legion…Gorobets recommended him to Dhatri, and Dhatri picked him up. His time as a Ranger served him well…most of first recon use hunting rifles, he uses a repeater. Custom scope attachment…it's a nice weapon. He was paired with a girl named Layla…now, people seemed to think that Ghost was a bitch. But I took a particular disliking to Layla. She was loud. Obnoxious…a gambling addict with no place in the military. She tried to be friendly, but you could tell it was a show. Her only interest – if she took an interest in you – was what you could do for her.

Now, Manny wasn't there that night. He pulled some strings with Hanlon…got out of it. He claims he was ill…but we were attacking his people. And even if he is NCR now, he'll always be a Khan too. It was a hard time for him. For all of us.

But because he wasn't there, I was paired with Dhatri. It's not typical for the commanding officer of a unit to root himself into the battle, but…like I said…Dhatri isn't a typical guy. He's a damn good soldier. Strong despite all he's been through.

It didn't take long for the Khans to start coming through Canyon 37 in bunches…it was all wrong though. There were more than just the soldiers…there were women, kids, elderly.

I remember looking through my scope at these people. Kids clinging to their mothers. Others helping to carry wounded. It was like something out of a fucking nightmare.

I look around at the rest of First Recon. Nobody's firing, were all just kind of looking back and forth at each other with this stupefied gaze. The radio crackled, breaking the awkward silence. It was Gilles…the transmission was broken and garbled, but we could hear it well enough. "Khans inbound…confirm contact…come…back."

Dhatri rolls over onto his side, fumbling with the radio. "Mother, we have contact – there are civilians out there. Over."

"…you…cleared to engage…shoot on sight."

"Mother…I repeat, there are civilians – women and children out there!"

"…orders stand….fire when ready!"

Dhatri looked up at us…he was just as dumbfounded as we were. "Mother…"

"Alpha! …engage the enemy! Fire until…ammunition or…numbers…exhausted!"

It was a…miscommunication. It had to be. They couldn't have known what we were seeing. If our replies were half as jumbled as theirs…

"Wilco, Mother." Dhatri looked at us with this pitiful gaze. He nearly choked on his next words. "Fire at will."

Gorobets took the first shot. We all kind of followed through with him. I tried to choose my targets…I'm sure we all did. But it was just so congested…paired with the rifle's penetration…even if we hit our target one-hundred percent of the time, it would be so simple to nab a kid that happened to be behind them. The sounds of their screams still haunt me…echoing off those canyon walls as loud as any gunshot could ever hope to be.

There were over a hundred refugees escaping through that pass. People say that we massacred the Khans. I want to paint a picture for you.

We were ordered to fire until we cleared the enemies or run out of ammunition. First Recon – a sniping unit – six well trained soldiers with fifty rounds a piece. Soldiers that can shoot a man through the eye at eight hundred yards. And there were near thirty casualties – mind you, I'm not taking into account the Khan raiders. Not exactly impressive statistics.

I'm not justifying what we did. I don't think any of us would try to justify it. We were following orders…that seemed like reason enough at the time. But I'm not a soldier anymore, and those rules don't seem like much of an excuse.

When the dust had settled a sound carried out along the wind. The Khans that were able had fled. But we could hear crying coming from the direction of the corpses. I don't know why he did it – maybe guilt over what he had just done, or maybe because he had lost his own boy – but Dhatri drops his rifle and runs into the pass. Some NCR soldiers were coming through, got there at about the same time. I can't tell you what was said that day, but Dhatri found a boy in the mess. One of the soldiers had taken aim at the kid when Dhatri got there. He leveled him out with a single punch – then stepped between the kid and the soldiers. He never drew his weapon or anything…even though they kept theirs pointed at him. Whatever was said, they eventually made their way past him. Executing the wounded that had been left behind.

I don't know why it happened, to be honest with you. I don't know if there was some higher power that orchestrated it all…but I honestly believe there is something out there. Something that watches you. It waits to take everything away and it never loses. If there it was part of some higher plan…there's not a lot of comfort in knowing it. And I still can't quite figure out what I'm supposed to do about it all.

What I do know is that life has a way of making you pay for the mistakes that you make. Big enough mistake can take a long time to repay…I don't think I've finished atoning for my sins. Still feels like I'm living on borrowed time. Like my punishment isn't over.

* * *

Melissa chewed her lower lip. She hadn't refreshed her drink in some time – but her hand was firmly clasped around the empty bottle. "What makes you say that?"

Boone looked up from the table. His eyes red and wet. "What?"

"That your punishment isn't over?"

Boone forced a laugh; a hollow, guttural sound. "Because I'm still alive."

"Life isn't like that," Melissa shook her head. "It's just a series of random events and results of choices we make."

"That's what they tell you in the casinos too…because it's the only way to get people to buy back in. It's not the truth, though. It's all a big lie. Something's out there watching…waiting for you to buy back in. Just so it can take everything away from you. That's all it's doing now…waiting for me to buy back in."

"Maybe your punishment is over."

"I don't think so. The things these hands have done…too much to atone for."

"Maybe living with the knowledge of what you've done is your punishment."

Boone grunted, mulling the thought over in his mind.

"What happened to the boy? The one your Captain found?"

"He's in First Recon now. Dhatri adopted him, and he wanted to follow in his _father's_ footsteps…you can tell that the Massacre took its toll on him. But despite that, he's good at what he does and he tries to treat people well. Still comes off a little cold…but I can relate. Dhatri got promoted not long after. He's a Major now. Appointed Gorobets as his successor…so he's currently First Recon's C.O."

"C.O.?"

"Commanding Officer."

"And the rest of First Recon?"

Boone grunted again. "Layla took a leave not long after Bitter Springs. I think it took a bigger toll on her than it did the rest of us. She ended up in New Vegas for a while. Blew all the money she had earned and disappeared. She always talked about New Canaan. I don't know if she ever got there…but if she did, she's likely dead by now."

"What makes you say that?"

"Joshua Graham? The Legate? After the First Battle of Hoover Dam, Caesar attempted to have him killed. He fled to New Canaan. Caesar sent a group of tribals after him. New Canaan's gone."

"Oh…" Melissa cracked open a peanut and chewed it thoughtfully. "How do you know?"

"Cause the Legate's still alive, and he's in New Vegas…Like I said. Six likes to make friends."

"Even with people who don't deserve it."

"He's not the only one that doesn't deserve Six's friendship," Boone admitted.

"And the others?"

"Ghost left too. But she decided not to go AWOL. She had Sterling reach out to a few of his friends in the Rangers, joined them. She's on the fast track to becoming a veteran, last I heard. Sterling is still with them though."

"And you?"

"I was with them a while longer…I left shortly after I met a woman."

"Carla."

"Yeah."

Melissa reached for her third beer of the night. She twisted the cap off and pocketed it. Then took a long swig then lowered the bottle – slowly spinning it between her fingers. "What was she like?" She asked finally.

Boone took a breath – long and deep, through his nose. He let his gaze fall away from her, away from the table and towards the ground.

His hard face soften and wrinkled – his scowl faded and was replaced by a weary broken smile. His lower lip quivered and his eyebrows raised.

"She was…everything."

* * *

_Alright. That's it for this chapter...like I said. If you pay attention to the information I'm passing along, you'll start to notice some tie ins to the main story - and you'll see some hints at things to come._

_I apologize for this chapter's short length - but I knew coming in to this story that it would be brief. Four chapters left and we'll be headed back to the main story._

_Until next time._


	4. Chapter 3: Please Adore Me

_So, this has been too long in the making. I'm kind of regretting switching to first person for it, I feel like it limits me too much. And telling the story *as* Boone is far more difficult than I thought it would be. This chapter has lots of goodies in it - references to the main story, things that I think some of you might miss...so I'm going to put a cheat sheet at the end for you so you can see just how much I've tried to tie things together._

_In other news; I start classes this week! Today actually! So today marks the beginning of my journey to achieve my Masters Degree. I'm pretty excited about it. A little nervous too._

_I apologize that this has taken so long to get out...not only has it been difficult to write (It took me forever to edit it to my liking, I did a great deal of revisions), but I've also just moved into a fantastic new house. My internet was actually just hooked up today - I've been without it since the tenth! So I'm suffering from withdraw. Tonight, after class - of course - I shall settle down and play some Saints Row 4. Just picked up my copy today._

_I have some great ideas for the next chapter - so long as I don't forget them between now and when I start writing on it. I think everyone will enjoy it. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter too - I tried to capture some sentimentality with Boone's recollection of his first meeting with Carla while also preserving his no-nonsensical dialect. It wasn't easy, but I'm fairly confident that I managed to pull it off._

_Enjoy._

* * *

Everything.

Twice she'd received that answer in just as many days.

That's what this Carla was to him…his words had echoed Six's own when she had inquired about Cass. It was something she couldn't truly understand. She couldn't understand because she'd never felt that way about anyone.

And, as far as she knew, no one had ever felt that way about her.

Was it even possible to love that deeply? History…a slew of bad relationships – and calling some of them relationships was a stretch – told her it wasn't. Unconditional love existed only in storybooks and fairy tales. The kind of tales her father told her when she was a little girl…before the harshness of the world set in.

Her father had done what he could to shield her from her mother's life. And she loved him for that…but in time, she realized it was all bullshit – if love is what made the world go round, why the hell hadn't she ever met her mother? Why did her father steal her away and never look back? To protect her? She was happy with her life…she was happy with the Khans. They were her family. And they could do far more to protect her than her father ever could.

Not to say anything bad about the old man, but the wasteland is an unforgiving place.

She began asking questions…about her past. About the woman she had never met; which, in turn, brought her to the Khans. But, by then, it was too late. Her mother had since passed. She lay somewhere in the Mojave Desert in an unmarked grave along with the rest of the Khans that the NCR had slaughtered that night.

Fuck, it could have been the man sitting next to her that pulled the trigger and she'd be none the wiser.

Her stomach was convulsing, she had to fight back the raw emotion choked in her neck at the very thought. She was angry…_so unbelievably fucking angry_.

Angry that she never got to meet the woman who brought her into this world. Angry that despite the fact she was born to a Khan, she had to undergo their vicious initiation rituals – had to prove herself to earn a spot amongst them. And, _make no mistake_, she had _earned_ that spot – Papa trusted in her, perhaps more than any of the others; save Regis. And what would they think now? If they saw her sitting next to this man? Next to the enemy…and what would he say if he knew that what made her angriest of all was the way this NCR soldier felt about his betrothed.

Scratch that. What made her angriest…what made her burn inside with such fury like she had never before experienced was the fact that she had never felt that way. And it burned her inside that, at this very moment, the person she wanted to feel that way with was sitting next to her reminiscing over a love long gone.

Maybe it was that look on his face…maybe it was the alcohol. Fuck! _It had to be the alcohol_. She felt her stomach twist in a wretched knot – one that made it difficult for her to speak.

"Tell me about her," She managed to force out.

Boone looked up from his glass. He was quiet for a long moment – then he plopped the glass down on the table and rested his forehead in the palm of his left hand.

Yeah, she was angry at a lot of things, and reasonably so.

But not at him.

At the NCR, yeah…_but Goddamn. Not at him._

* * *

There are two types of people in this world; those that leave an impact in your life and those that flicker away without ever having really impacted anything.

How they impact you and to what degree is another matter. Some leave footprints in the sand. Some build castles.

Some build empires and some burn them down.

Others…well, they bring life to the desert. Change the very world beneath their fingertips. Some do it without ever even knowing it.

I've only met two people with that power – the power to change the world around them.

Carla was the type of person that shined so bright that she eclipsed those around her. She had these ambitions…these dreams that seemed too big to be real. To her, we weren't living in a ravaged world. Like she believed the world could be like it once was.

I've heard people say they were born in the wrong time…my grandfather used to talk about the old west, like in the history books. He used to say that he was a cowboy at heart…talk about living in California before the war. Before the United States. A simpler time. Panning for gold and living off the land. He'd get so lost in it…a silly grin spread across his weathered face.

Carla was like that. She didn't belong here…she belonged in another time. A better time.

She had this gift…she drowned out the past and all the horrors of the world. When I was with her, I could forget. I'd get lost in moment, you know? Like nothing else in the world existed.

I met her shortly after the incident at Bitter Springs. We were on leave…Christ, we were spent; all of us. Killing a man isn't the same as killing an animal. Killing someone who means you harm is one thing…but Bitter Springs was a different beast all together. You don't know what it's like…at least, I hope you don't. And I hope you never have to find out. Feeling the kick of a rifle and watching a boy, little more than a child, slump to the ground.

It changes you.

So when we put in for a leave request…well, save Gorobets and Ghost…Dhatri pushed it through.

See, Hanlon came to Dhatri – offered to promote him to Major. In recognition of valor and excellent leadership, he says. I think it had more to do with the fact that Dhatri had lost damn near everything. Something good had to come his way…he's a good man. It was his due. In turn, Dhatri knew we needed space. We needed to get away. It took a couple weeks, but he got us our leave.

Gorobets was on the fast track to a promotion…so he hung back at McCarran. Dhatri began briefing him on his new duties…since he was being given helm over First Recon.

Ghost transferred out almost immediately after _the incident_. Started training with the New California Republic Rangers. Sterling made that happen. Reached out to a man named Jackson…didn't take him long to convince him that Ghost was worthy. Not that he needed much convincing – her record spoke for itself.

Anyway, we put in a leave request…Layla, myself, and Manny. Sure, Manny wasn't there…but no one was about to deny him his request. We'd just gunned down members of his tribe…his family. That kind of shit takes a toll on a person. Manny tried to brush it off…and for the most part, he did. But you could tell it took something out of him.

It was Layla's idea that we go to the Strip. Not that the idea was revolutionary or even out of the ordinary. Manny and I had talked about headed to up a little shack up by Lake Mead for a bit of fishing. But she wasn't exactly comfortable going into Vegas on her own. So we reluctantly agreed…and it's a good thing we did…

Otherwise…

I've never been big on mingling. When we got to Vegas, Layla made straight for Gomorrah. She was eager to drown her sorrows…more than that really. She wanted to forget having ever joined First Recon. It didn't take her long to do it either. We started off in the casino's bar…Brimstone, I think it's called. Something like that. Layla sat around with Manny and I for a while…she's an attractive woman though. So it didn't take long for some poor schmuck to make a pass at her. An officer as a matter of fact. She was quick to slip the beret off his head…replacing her crimson with an officer's green. Left her first recon beret on the table and took off with him.

Last time I saw her…kept her beret though. I intended to give it back to her if I ever saw her, but that never happened. I ended up giving the beret to someone else.

Manny and I sat there watching the women dance for who knows how long…then he suggests we just get a room for the night. I had the cash, so I didn't much care. It was getting late, and I was tired. So that's what we decided to do.

We were halfway across the bar when I saw her. She was sitting with two other women…a brunette, kept her hair in a neat little bun…and a blonde. The blonde was with an NCR soldier. Corporal White…I'd seen him around Westside a few times. He was good friends with Ghost…aspired to join the Rangers himself, but never quite made the cut.

Carla stood out…like I said, she always did. I'd never seen anyone like that…her hair swept around her, not strand out of place, the color of golden honey. And her eyes lit up the room – a kind of seafoam green that reminded me the pacific. Of home.

She had on this pink dress…I'd seen other women wearing them around the Strip before, but hers was somehow brighter. Cleaner. I don't know.

I read somewhere once that the way you look at the one you love is different from the way you see the rest of the world; hormones in the brain or something. Your guess is as good as mine. It changes the way you see them. I'm not sure if any of that's true. I don't know if love at first sight exists…but part of me believes it does. I'll tell you now that when I saw her, she's all I could see. Tunnel vision, I suppose. And I could feel every heartbeat, every breath I took. Felt like my heart had crawled up into my throat and settled in for a good night's sleep. My stomach twisted up and folded in on itself.

I guess she sensed it…or could see it. She looked at me from across the room, coy little smile on her face. She took a sip of her drink and kind of rested her chin on her palm.

Maybe it was the liquor or the way she looked at me, but I had trouble keeping balance.

There was another man there…a heavyset balding man with a scratchy voice. He was trying to convince them to work for the Casino…promised them money beyond their wildest dreams.

From the look of it, her friends were buying into it…but not Carla. As Manny and I passed the table, she scooped up my hand.

"Darling, did you get lost?"

She was on her feet almost instantly. Leaned in close, and we shared our first kiss. Then she turned to the bald man. "Sorry honey, I'm taken."

And she pulled me to her table…I didn't resist. Partially because her eyes begged me not to. But mostly because I just didn't want to. She pulled me to her chair, practically sat me down, and climbed into my lap.

When I sat down, the bald man, Omerta thug named Cachino, just kind of looked at me with his mouth agape. He stood there for a minute, then finally told them that they didn't know what they were missing out on.

"We'll take our chances, honey." Her voice was soft. A kind of elegance that had long been forgotten by the rest of the world.

When he left she thanked me…told me she owed me a drink and asked me my name. She wasn't interested in my rank. Wasn't interested in my preference either. When I told her my name was Boone, she laughed at me.

"What'd your mama call you, handsome?" She asked me.

So I told her.

"Craig." She repeated it softly. I liked the way it rolled off her tongue. It felt right. "Well, Craig. I'm Carla."

We talked for a long time…or rather she talked for a long time. It suited me fine, I never really knew what to say.

She was a local girl. She talked about growing up in Vault 21 – about meeting her best friend, Jo, while she was touring the vault. How Jo talked her into pursuing a career on the Strip. She hoped to find work in the Aces…they all did. They just hadn't caught a break yet…so for the mean time, they were dancers in Zaora. Cachino wanted them to leave Zaora and come work for him…in the courtyard.

Carla wasn't interested. She said that the type of work that he was asking was for someone with no future or a chem addiction.

Manny took an instant disliking to her…never really gave her a chance. Not sure why. She was kind to him…bought him drinks, tried to set him up with her friend, Jo. He wasn't interested…he only seemed to want to get out of there. So I told him to go.

I sat there with her a long time…through the night and into the morning. Long after her friends had turned in and the employees changed shifts.

She told me about her dreams and asked me about mine. She wanted to raise a family…wanted two kids; boy and a girl. Wanted to settle down somewhere nice and grow old with the man she loved.

They were good dreams.

She asked me to dance…I didn't know how. She said that it didn't matter. Blue Moon…our first dance was to that song.

I made a fool of myself that night. Dancing with two left feet. But for the first time in a long time, I forgot about everything. I forgot about leaving home. I forgot about not being there when my father passed. Forgot about hauling Dhatri's boy's corpse away from the dam that night.

I forgot about Bitter Springs.

I slept soundly for the first time since I had joined the NCR. Slept with her curled up next to me, arm around my waist and head on my shoulder.

A week later I asked her to marry me. A week with her was all I needed to know that I didn't want to spend a single day of my life without her. We were at the Tops…in the Aces Theater. I requested a performance…an old man, he sang Blue Moon. I didn't have a ring…I gave her my dogtags.

Eighteen days. That was the duration of my leave. I met her on my first day on the Strip. We married on the tenth. A little ceremony out behind the Tops. By Crocker no less...our marriage was recognized by the Republic.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't gone into that casino that night. If she would have grabbed Manny's arm instead of mine. Some nights I wake up and I feel like it was all a bad dream…I feel like she's still got her arm wrapped around me and her head on my shoulder. And every so often, I wake up because I can feel tiny kicks against my side…those small feet pushing against her belly. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. To figure out what happened.

When reality sets back in, it's always so cold. Like the world turned its back on me. I remember she's gone and I remember she'll never come back. And that's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. Until whatever's out there pulling the strings decides that I've served my time and comes to take me away.

* * *

"Tiny kicks?"

"Yeah," Boone poured himself another shot. With a quick gulp, he pulled it back and slammed the glass down. "She was pregnant."

"Carla? When you met her?"

"No. The baby was mine."

"I don't understand? She left you?"

Boone grunted. "Left?" He took a breath. "I guess you could say that."

"Maybe she'll come back one day?"

"No…" Boone shook his head – the corners of his mouth curling downwards. "Legion took her…right out from under my nose. Came into town in the dead of night…"

"Then we go after her," Melissa said, sitting upright. "We get her back."

"No. We can't."

"Why not? We got Cass back, we can get her back too."

"She's dead."

"You don't know that. Some slaves live a long time."

"She's not a slave. She was never sold."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know, all right?"

Melissa swallowed. She looked at the broken man sitting across from her at the bar. His back slouched and his shoulders hunched. Suddenly she remembered sitting on that mountainside. How he had turned pale and buried his face into the palm of his right hand.

How he'd been so determined to save Cass when he'd discovered she had been captured.

What was it she had asked him?

Was the Legion too good for his bullets?

And then it hit her. Like being charged by a Bighorner.

Atonement. Everything he did…he did because he was trying to find absolution for his past sins.

It was so obvious to her now. Bitter Springs was not the only massacre he had been a part of.

It was her turn to feel her heart beat. She felt each breath she took and her face flushed. A lump settled in her throat.

The Brotherhood woman was right…she had no idea what this man had been through. But she was beginning to see. Clearer than she could have possibly imagined.

As Boone prepared to pour himself another shot, she reached across the bar. She sat her hand on the bottle and pushed it towards the countertop. Then she grasped Boone's hand with her own.

"I'm so sorry."

He didn't look up. He didn't speak.

For a moment she wasn't sure he had even heard her.

Then he closed his hand around hers.

* * *

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I put a lot of hard work into it...I think this one has been the most difficult to write yet. Again, I'm sorry it took so long to get to you all. Life happens sometimes though, and I don't have the time to write that I'd like._

I've had some great reviews these past couple weeks. I really appreciate all of the encouragement you all have left. This is officially the longest I've ever worked on a fiction. The total length

_of the 18 Karat Run series has exceeded 175,000 words (and that's not counting my pre and post story ranting). And we're only about halfway through the series!_

_Now, the cheat sheet (and don't worry, this has no spoilers for the story):  
- Layla is the woman Six met (and had relations with) in Primm.  
- Her Red Beret is the one Boone gave to Six.  
- In game she has a green beret - which is alluded to when she meets the officer.  
- Jo, Carla's best friend, is the prostitute Joanna.  
- The blonde at the table with them is the prostitute Dazzle.  
- White, the NCR soldier with Dazzle, actually has a history with her in game.  
- The Old Man who sings at Boone's wedding is the same one in the Fallout: New Vegas prequel comic All Roads.  
- The shack Manny and Boone were going to visit is in game: Fisherman's Pride Shack.  
- Sterling reached out to Ranger Jackson, the man in charge at the Mojave Outpost - where Ghost is stationed.  
_

_Hang in there, people. I've got some good stuff in store for you._


	5. Chapter 4: Stranger In Paradise

_I finally had a little down time tonight to write...school and work are really kicking my ass. I had four papers due this past week, two more due next week and three the week after. Just took a test Wednesday, have another test next Wednesday and a project the following Tuesday. It's 7am, I have to be up in a few hours, but I wanted to get this chapter to you all so I've been working on it all night._

_Before I get into the story, I want to tell you all about something that happened this past week. I was at a red light, waiting to turn when the lanes next to me started moving. I was messing with the radio, see the cars moving, and so I take my foot off the brake. Car rolls forward a bit and I rear-ended a woman in front of me. She was great about it though...we got everything taken care of. I had to spend a pretty penny paying for the repairs for her bumper, but decided that it'd be better to take it out of pocket than to have my insurance premium go up. Anyway...that's not very funny. But what was funny is that her last name was Fortune. So I literally ran into Miss Fortune. Not even remotely kidding...it seriously happened. When she told me and I started laughing, she looked pretty confused. Good times._

_I'm not sure when I'll get around to posting the next chapter. I know a few people are getting impatient with me...but there's really not much I can do about it. I really am sorry. But my degree isn't going to earn itself...and I have to have my priorities straight. Right now, I can only work on my fiction when I have some downtime._

_Anyway, hopefully everyone enjoys this chapter._

_Cheers._

* * *

He was back there. In Novac…in that damn room, on that bed. And she was curled up next to him; staring up at that motel ceiling. He could feel her warmth. He could feel those little feet…the occasional bump against his side.

His eyes were heavy. He was so tired…he was always so tired. Still, he fought sleep. He knew what waited on him on the other side of closed eyelids.

But they were so heavy.

He'd shut them for a while. For just a little while.

Gunfire. Screams. His heart was racing, his body trembled. His breathing became erratic.

Those screams…unnatural, terrifying. He could see them now. Folding over, collapsing to the ground. Women…children. Piling up. The world enveloped in crimson. Then darkness. He was falling.

Shaking. Violently…hands holding him down. He thrashed and fought to get to his feet.

Then he was awake…sitting up, cold sweat, heavy breaths. His stomach twisted into a knot, he felt sick. Nauseated. The world was spinning.

Those hands were still on him. Her hands. Wrapped around his waist, head on his shoulder.

"Shhh," she kissed his shoulder. "It was just a dream."

A dream. Of course.

He turned to her, looking up at him with those big green eyes. So beautiful…Carla.

She grasped his hand, pulled it to her stomach.

"Do you feel that?"

He did. His child…their child. The only good thing he had ever done.

She smiled at him…that smile that she only gave to him. He stopped trembling. His stomach found comfort.

"What happened that night?" She asked.

It wasn't the first time she had asked him that question. But that was not her burden to bear.

How could he expect her to accept what he had done? When he couldn't accept it himself.

"It's nothing."

He looked at her, his eyes bloodshot and weary.

She knew he was lying. He talked in his sleep. About that place; Bitter Springs.

He forced a smile.

She returned it.

He pulled her to him, close. She didn't resist.

He founder her lips, took them into his own. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, then reclined back into bed.

She didn't press him, she knew better – he wouldn't talk about it even if she did. So she just lay next to him.

And he felt her warmth…he felt those tiny feet. His heart was calm…his eyes were heavy, and he was so tired.

* * *

Melissa felt his hand around hers. It was strong; calloused and rough. It enveloped hers almost entirely.

He stared down into his empty glass. He was quiet – for a long time. She wanted him to speak; to break the silence that had consumed them…but, hell, she couldn't find the words to say either.

She had seen some fucked up things in this world. She had seen Khans torture and kill captured NCR soldiers. They did it without remorse. Without hesitation or prejudice. Men and women alike.

Worse, she had seen what the fiends were capable of. She had once stumbled upon a couple of men from Westside selling slaves to Cook-Cook – one of the most psychotic fiends she'd ever had the pleasure of dealing with.

A woman and a couple of girls…and a boy.

She had been running _product_. The fiends paid top dollar for the shit that Jack and Diane cooked up.

Cook-Cook was her last stop that day.

He was talking with an old man when she arrived. His silver hair was a stark contrast to his dark skin. He wore dirty, tattered blue jumpsuit and an old world officer's hat. Some kind of twisted joke…the man didn't have a decent bone is his body.

She wasn't sure how much Cook-Cook had given for the group, but no matter how much it was…it couldn't have been enough.

She didn't like the way he was eyeing the girls.

Those poor girls…she wanted to put a bullet in his head. Fuck…she wanted to shoot every damn one of them. But she knew better…even if she could do it and get out alive, Papa wouldn't be pleased with losing one of his top customers.

The fiends were troublesome for the NCR. Not only that, but they were profitable. Papa didn't care where they got their caps…just as long as they kept coming. And if the shit they were on made them more trouble for the NCR, well, all the better.

And this Cook-Cook, he was the worst of the worst. She'd heard tales that he had gotten a hold of a couple soldiers once before…raped the woman and made the other watch. But only after beating him senseless.

The sad fact of the matter was Cook-Cook was good for business…and bad for the NCR. Those two qualities, they made him untouchable.

She hated it…and the way he looked at them. Fuck. It made her skin crawl. And that wasn't even the scariest part.

After he had paid for his…merchandise…he set the boy on fire. Torched him in front of the girls. And he made them watch too – she figured he must have liked having an audience.

That was something she'd never forget. Those screams. _That smell_. It would be with her for the rest of her days.

But even that didn't compare to this. This was something she couldn't even begin to fathom…sure, what Cook-Cook did was fucked up, but so was he. He felt no remorse. Last she heard he was dead…and she hoped to god that when he passed, it wasn't easy for him. Hell, even what the girls went through wasn't really the same…sure they suffered. They suffered when they watched the boy die…other ways too.

But they didn't kill that boy.

Watching someone you love die and killing someone you love. Those are two different monsters all together.

This soldier…this man sitting next to her. He wasn't a psychopath. He had feelings; regrets. And he had taken the life – not only of the woman he loved – but of his unborn child.

No wonder he was the way he was.

She lost herself in thought. Thinking about the way the world was. Thinking about how every fiber of her being wished that she could hand wave it all away. Conjure up the sort of magic she'd read about in those prewar books her dad used to bring back from the Strip.

She was so lost, in fact, that when next Boone spoke, it startled her.

"I don't see what any of this helps…she's dead. Ain't nothing going to change that."

He took a deep, exasperated breath.

"It might not. I don't know…but we're here. I'm listening…and you've got things on your mind. What else are we going to do?" She smiled – a forced smile – trying to lighten the mood.

Boone grunted.

She was so bad at this…they both knew it.

Still, he appreciated it.

* * *

There are times I have these nightmares. I'm back on Coyote Tail – rifle in my hand. I don't know if any of the others are there…everything is blurred out. I can see their silhouettes. Those people running for their lives. I can hear their screams all over again.

We had been married almost a week …even Carla wasn't enough to keep the dreams away forever. They were fewer…further in between…but still there. Still in the back of my mind, waiting to bubble to the surface first chance they got.

Any chance they got.

We were staying in the VIP lounge at the Tops…courtesy of a man named Swank. He said it was a wedding gift from "the big guy". I don't know if he meant House, or Oliver, or Benny. But I didn't complain. The suite was nice, everything we needed was delivered to us. Best of all, I got to spend all my time with Carla.

We hardly left the room. We never left the suite.

I had slept peacefully for that entire week. Then I was back there, it was all so vivid. I woke up with sweating, my heart was racing and I couldn't seem to catch my breath…must've startled her. She was pulled back a little – this look on her face. When she realized what was going on, her face softened. She just looked at me…those green eyes sparking in the darkness.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

She loved pet names.

A nightmare…that's what I chalked it up to. 'Course she didn't buy it. Everyone knew about Bitter Springs. And everyone knew that First Recon had been a part of it.

That was the first time in a long line of nights that I'd wake like that…she'd hold me until I quit shaking. Sometimes she wouldn't say a thing, sometimes she'd try to get me to open up…other times, she knew just the right things to say.

The time flew. Before I knew it, my leave was up. On the bright side, after Bitter Springs, they stationed First Recon at McCarran. We had new blood…since Gorobets had been promoted, Ghost had left, and Layla had disappeared. Betsy…you met her. I'm not sure where he found her, but she's a pistol. Gorobets decided that a fireteam of four was more appropriate for first recon. He ran things a little differently than Dhatri…he liked to have six of us on the team.

Anyway, every weekend I'd come back to her. Carla and I had a nice little room in that old Vault up on the Strip. That was routine for a while. She didn't like it…I didn't like it. But the military pays well. I had to provide for her. And if anything happened to me, my pension would take care of her for a long time.

One weekend, Dhatri visited the strip. Came to congratulate me on my marriage, and to apologize for not being there. First time I had seen him since he received his promotion.

To be honest, I didn't really expect him to be there. He had far more important things than my wedding on his plate.

He introduced himself to Carla…who charmed a smile on his face. She had that power…like I said. She could make you forget.

But that wasn't the only reason he was there. He'd come with news. Of the unpleasant sort. Four soldiers had been abducted outside Red Rock Canyon. A scouting party sent to keep tabs on the Great Khans.

The soldiers had been beaten to death. Dumped outside the canyon near a broken down hovel of a ranch just outside Spring Mountain.

Something had to be done.

That's what he told me. He wanted Manny and I to report back to McCarran the next morning. And we were going to take it home…show the Khans not to fuck with the NCR once in for all.

And the Major was right. Something had to be done.

Carla agreed with me on that. "Something has to be done," she was crying. "But not by you, Craig. Not by you."

That was the first time we had ever really had an argument…the argument ended when she told me she was pregnant. We had talked about having kids. We talked about names and getting a place of our own. But I wasn't expecting it so soon.

That night I couldn't sleep…it wasn't the nightmares. I wanted to be awake…I wanted to spend every moment I could with her. I knew that going back in meant that I might never see her again. I didn't want to leave her…I wanted to stay in that moment forever.

I wrote her a letter that night. Left her in that vault hotel the next morning…god damn, she knew the buttons to press. I felt like I was guilty of every sin I had ever committed all over again.

I hadn't seen Manny much since the wedding. I'd see him during training or if we were sent out anywhere. But he tended to avoid me. He didn't like Carla.

I found him in at the Old Mormon Fort there on Freeside. Don't know why he was there…he was talking with one of the doctors. I don't know why, I didn't ask. He wasn't too thrilled about the orders. I told him it didn't matter…duty came first. They made that clear when we signed up.

That doctor disagreed…he wasn't fond of the NCR, if I recollect right. Called us a "pretentious legalized crime syndicate". I didn't much care what he had to say…my mind was preoccupied. Manny wanted no part of the attack on Red Rock Canyon. I don't blame him. But we were locked in.

That's when the doctor tells me I'm wrong. He says we can get out…that the combat we've endured causes acute psychiatric problems. That we could be honorably discharged. He tells us to go see a doctor just east of Vegas. A Doctor Usanagi. To have a psychiatric evaluation.

All the way back to Vegas I was on the fence. I didn't want to abandon my unit…especially not in a time like this. But Manny was so sure it was the right thing to do…he talked about a little town he knew of south of Vegas. Said he'd talk with a semi-retired ranger that was stationed there. That we could get a nice cushiony position in town security.

And I just kept coming back to Carla and the baby. I imagined telling her that I was out…that we could have a life together. A normal life, where I wouldn't be shipped halfway across the Mojave at a moment's notice. Where she wouldn't have to worry seeing an officer at the doorstep one day.

For the first time in my life I felt like I was making the right choice…I was doing something for her. For the baby.

So we go talk to this doctor. And she sends word to HQ that I'm not fit for duty. DD-NOS, peritraumatic dissociation was her official diagnosis. Gorobets brought me my discharge papers personally…signed by General "Wait-and-see" himself.

Carla was thrilled…I was out. We could really start our life together. But I didn't want to raise my child in a vault. And I definitely didn't want to raise one on the Strip. Carla didn't want to leave.

I wish I'd have listened to her.

When I told her about Novac, she got this exasperated look on her face.

"Never heard of it." She sounded annoyed…more than that. She sounded like I'd betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.

It's a little place south of the 188, I tell her.

She curled her lips. She wouldn't look at me.

It'll be good to get away. It's a cozy place. Manny says we'll only be in the hotel room until we get one of the houses cleared out and fixed up. I'll even build a little white picket fence.

She smiled at the notion. "I'm just not sure if that's the life for me."

She said it quietly, almost timidly.

She was a city girl through and through. I smiled at her…a genuine smile. She's the only one that could ever get that out of me.

You'll never know 'til you try.

And that was that. We packed up the hotel room that night. A week later we were in Novac.

* * *

"General Wait-and-see?"

"Oliver."

"Why do they call him that?"

"Because our standing orders for the last four years have been to hold position. He thinks numbers will be what wins the war against the Legion. He was at the Dam for the first battle…so he claims. Didn't see him there. But if he was there, he'd know that numbers don't mean jack to the Legion. He thinks that because it worked against the Brotherhood, that it'll work against Caesar. He doesn't understand that Caesar doesn't care if he loses men…he's got plenty to replace them. Caesar has captured tribes all across the Colorado…New Mexico, Arizona. Don't get me wrong…the NCR has numbers. But it's like comparing a bee hive to an ants nest. The Legion has more, plain and simple."

"So what's going to win the war against the Legion?"

Boone shrugged. "Don't know. Graham seems to think that if we strike the head, the body will die. Killing Caesar will cause enough turmoil to break the Legion down within. From what I've gathered from Six, House thinks it's going to be won by his securitrons."

"And you? What do you think?"

"To be honest, I haven't the faintest. All I know is I want to take as many of those sons of bitches down as I can before my time on this Earth is through."

Melissa chewed her lower lip. "You said something about a letter?"

"Yeah…" Boone rifled through his duster. He withdrew an old piece of paper, stained with age, coffee, and blood. He laid it on the counter.

Melissa looked, but didn't reach for it. "You keep it on you?"

"It's the only thing I have left of her…memories. I feel…" He took a breath. "It feels like if I let that go, that's it. She's gone and it's over."

"May I?"

Boone shrugged.

Melissa lifted the paper and let her eyes fall across it. She read quietly, her lips forming the words as she read them. Boone watched the expression on her face. Her face started out with a curious gaze, but it was quickly consumed by grief.

"She didn't want to name the baby after herself?"

"No. We had talked about starting a family…she insisted that if we had a boy, that he be a junior. But she hated her name."

Melissa felt her heart settle in her chest. It was heavy. Uncomfortable.

"Those four soldiers…did you know them?"

"No, I didn't."

Melissa frowned. She pulled Boone's glass across the table and filled it with moonshine. She knocked it back and took a breath.

"Something on your mind?"

"No…no…"

Boone raised a brow. "I've been spilling my guts out to you all night. If something's bothering you, say it."

She took a breath. "I was born a Khan, but I didn't stay with them. My daddy took me away…he wanted to give me a better life. He was always honest with me…so I knew my mother was part of the Khans. But he told me that her life was a sham. Dangerous. That being part of the Khans was foolishness. So much bullshit…" she laughed, a sound broken by intermittent sobs. "I had just turned seventeen when I heard about Bitter Springs. Papa tells me my mom was there, but there's no way to really know."

Boone grimaced. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that he could have been the one to end her mother's life.

"When I told my father I wanted to join the Khans, he was disappointed…but he supported me. I sought them out. Told them who my mother was. They agreed to let me join…but…" she wiped her eyes. "The Great Khans have rituals. They're harsh…we take a beating…then we have to put a beating someone else. An enemy of the Khans. I was with a few other initiates...A couple guys. Kid named Jessup, big guy, Chance… and a few others. When we found them, a patrol near the ranch. We knew what we were getting into. We were supposed to leave them alive…but Chance. He was there for the massacre. He's a quiet one…worse than you ever thought to be. We steal into their camp and we lay it on them. Only Chance…he goes berserk. Takes a combat knife to them," She frowned. "They were dead before any of us could react."

Boone gazed at her coldly for a moment. His instincts told him to shoot her. His head told him to walk away.

But he did neither.

That night, there was a third party speaking to him. One that had, for years, been silent. Something that, for a brief moment, had fluttered to life that night when Kurisu had let her lips find his cheek.

She waited for him to condemn her…he was a soldier of the NCR after all. Somehow…for some reason she couldn't explain…it didn't matter that he had killed people at Bitter Springs. She felt like she had betrayed him. She couldn't look at him, she just stared into that empty glass.

It felt like an eternity. For both of them.

"Manny reached out to that Ranger I was telling you about," Boone continued, finally – breaking the silence.

Melissa looked up from her glass.

"Fella named Andy. The woman in charge of the hotel – a woman named Jeannie May."

She smiled to herself.

"Jeannie set us up with a little room…"

* * *

_I'm trying to keep this timeline in check...it's kind of ambiguous in game when a lot of stuff happens, so I'm doing what I can to keep from contradicting myself. One thing I noticed is that I refer to Bitter-Root as a "kid" when the massacre happened...but it happened in 2278, and he's in First Recon by 2281. So he couldn't have been that young. Then again, Boone strikes me as the type that would call a 14-16 year old boy "kid", and it's not too far fetched that a boy that old would still cry after something like the Bitter Springs Massacre. So maybe it works out better than I think.  
_

_I decided to include a bit about Chance in here...that was last minute. I wanted to tie Melissa into this whole situation that was playing out - give her and Boone a connection they weren't exactly aware of._

_And I wanted to emphasize that Boone is starting to let go of his guilt - he sees that she's forgiven him despite her connection with the Khans. He goes against his instincts and rational mind. She committed sin against the NCR, she can tell how much the NCR means to Boone. It's his family...but Boone pushes that off. After all, she did the same for him._

_I'll start working on the next chapter sometime after my test Wednesday...I'll post it when it's finished. Again, I apologize for how long it's taking me to update...but my class work has to come first. I have to go to work in a few hours, picked up a sixteen hour shift._

_Hope everyone has a fantastic weekend._


End file.

Fallout, Romance, Tragedy