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They had stopped in Freeside early in the morning when Six realized they were out of Rad-X. They'd ducked into the Followers' fort to trade for supplies, and the head doctor had sent them back to the storage room, where they'd encountered him.
Tall and blond, too clean-cut for a local, dressed in the same long coat the other Followers wore, but there was something about him that made Boone uneasy. Something about the way he stood, like he was trying to diminish his own presence while keeping a subtle sharp-edged awareness all around. Something about him that whispered watch out to Boone's combat senses, even though he knew that if anywhere in Freeside could be considered a safe place, it would be the Followers' camp. Something that prickled the hair on his neck and made his hands itch for a weapon.
He couldn't hear the man talking to Six anymore, over the sound of his heartbeat. Something twisted in his gut, and he suddenly felt too big for his skin. He clenched a fist at his side, nails digging into his palm.
Six was obviously quite taken with him. He wasn't flashing the million-dollar smile he put on for most strangers, but a full, open and honest one. He said something, and laughed at his own joke, a little sheepishly.
The corner of the man's mouth twitched. Bastard looked like he was undressing Six with his eyes.
"Boone, you feeling alright there?" His name in Six's voice cut through the blur.
"Fine," he said curtly.
Six raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "Well, I'll let you get back to work, then," he said to the doctor. "We have to make the Dam by tomorrow night, but we're through Vegas often enough. Might see you sometime."
"Hmm. See you around."
-
Their laughter echoed in his ears for the rest of the day. The mischief in those eyes, the oblique glances from under his brow. His goddamn mouth.
The air lay heavy on the road, with no wind to cut through the midafternoon haze. The sky was clear but for a wreath of dark clouds laid across the mountains in the distance. He and Six were walking side by side, and although he was leery of looking over too long, Boone would have sworn Six still held the amused quirk in his smile as they trudged over the land. It prickled the back of his neck almost like the feeling of being watched, though it was the opposite-- Six had been half somewhere else since they'd left Freeside. Didn't see the young fire gecko that crawled out of a hole on the roadside until he almost tripped on it.
"Shit!" Six sprung backward, reaching for his rifle, but Boone had his in hand before Six could get a grip, and the gecko hit the ground while the crack of the shot was still echoing across the valley. He scanned their immediate surroundings for further movement, and when none appeared, he laughed sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Oughta be a wake-up call for me, I guess."
"Sure," Boone said, hefting the dead gecko over his shoulder.
Six knelt by the hole, nosing a stick around the inside. "Jackpot," he announced, rolling two football-sized eggs out of the opening. "Dinner and breakfast. Wouldn't do to leave a nest right up on the road anyway."
Then came a guttural hiss from behind them. Boone whipped around, dropping the carcass just in time to miss the swipe of an enormous black claw across his shoulder as the biggest mother gecko he'd ever seen reared back above his head. He swung his rifle back into position and fired once, twice, three times, clean hits to the torso, but it just seemed to make the thing mad. He emptied the rest of the clip toward it as the mother gecko spat gobs of fiery liquid toward him, singeing his arm and making him hiss with pain. Fumbling with a fresh magazine, he saw Six firing at it from the flank, but it ignored his laser shots, bearing down on Boone with a snarl.
Six tackled the gecko bodily, clinging to its back with an arm around its neck. The gecko screeched and tried to shake him off. Swearing, Boone jammed the clip into place and shoved his rifle up under the thing's jaw, firing straight up through the skull. The gecko collapsed, a bloody hole punched through its head. Six wriggled out from under it with a relieved laugh.
"Goddamn," Boone said, shaking his head in amazement. "That's gotta be one of the dumbest things you ever did."
Six was already rummaging through his pack. "I think I got some aloe in here somewhere- there you go." He tossed the little jar to Boone.
It took a good hour to butcher the big gecko as best they could, and they only made a short run further down the road before the light began to fade. They made camp in the foothills east of the city. The gecko meat roasted up good, and Six did some magic on it with ground hot pepper, sweet-sour agave, and prickly pear jam. He left a few fat pieces of steak for the meal at hand, but sliced most of it thin and strung it above the campfire to dry.
After they had eaten, Boone sat watching the low fire, propped up against a rock. Six sat across from him on a dead log. As the embers started to die down, he pulled out a near-empty flask of tequila and took a long swig, then passed it to Boone. "So, don't suppose you feel like telling me what's been eating you all day?"
Boone took a pull from the flask, but didn't answer at first. Then he looked up at Six. "I don't trust that guy you were talking to in Freeside today."
"What, Dr. Gannon? I thought he was nice enough."
"Yeah, I know you did," Boone said, more harshly than he meant to. "Spent a good long time getting to know him, didn'tcha?"
"So? I don't need your approval before I talk to someone." He frowned. "You're not just figuring out I like men. Is that what this is?"
"I know that. 'M not stupid," Boone muttered.
"What're you getting all worked up over, then? 'S my business if I want to flirt with a fine man. Don't need to be anything to do with you."
Boone opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't really argue. "Hmph." He folded his arms, looking away into the shadows. The silence hung heavy over them for a long moment. Finally he pitched his head back to drain the last slug from the flask, and set it on the ground. "He's hiding something. Got a real nasty feeling about it. He's not who he says he is."
"Well, he ain't Legion or Brotherhood, that much is for sure. So I don't know what exactly you think he's mixed up in, but I don't think it's much of a risk to us."
Boone huffed a sigh. "I don't fucking know. That's the thing. You're getting all dippy over some guy you've been to for an aspirin, but you got a reputation, Six, people know who you are, and you gotta be careful. Look, the Followers are alright, but they don't do background checks. You oughta be more careful about telling people where we're headed, 'specially since that thing with the Khans."
Six stared at him. "I'm a courier. That's my job. Folks want to run a letter down the highway, they gotta know which way I'm going." He sighed, picking up the flask "Look, Julie introduced us, she knew him in med school. He's been in Vegas long as either of us. More surprising we haven't run into each other already, to be honest, but he don't get out much."
"You can't be sure you've never met him before." This was dangerous territory, and Six's face darkened right on cue. He didn't like being reminded of the fact that he didn't know what he didn't know. Boone regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. "...Sorry. That was out of line."
Six nodded once, looking into the fire. " 'S alright."
"Just... let me keep watching your back, okay?"
Six's expression softened. "Yeah. Okay." He stretched and laid back on the dirt, then propped himself up on one arm and shot Boone a lopsided smile. "In that case, you can take first watch."
Boone gave a short laugh. "Sure."
-
They stayed put until the early hours, when Boone felt himself starting to nod off. He nudged Six awake. "Your watch," he said.
Six nodded and stretched, sitting back up against the log. "Sweet dreams," he replied with another quirked grin.
Boone sank down on the ground and shuffled around for a moment, trying to get comfortable between his pack and jacket. He shut his eyes thinking of the look on Six's face, distant and unsure. That look made him feel sick inside. He imagined Gannon there to see it, wondered if the man's meek posture would unfold into something sharper, more predatory.
Unbidden came the image of his hand closing on Six's wrist, a glimpse of something from last morning maybe, he wasn't sure. Boone saw Gannon push Six down onto a bare mattress, bearing down on him like a storm cloud, a lightning flash reflected off his glasses as he pulled them off the both of them, first Six's and then his own, and they collided like a thunderclap. Six was a strong guy, but Gannon seemed to have just as much weight to throw around, sitting heavily on Six and pinning his arms over his head before leaning down for a filthy kiss. He pulled back, and Boone saw them from far away and then suddenly from right in the middle of things, and it was him pinned down with his arms twisted back, staring Gannon in the face as the bastard smiled far, far too gently, squinting just a little through his long blond eyelashes.
Six reappeared, draping himself over Gannon's shoulders and reaching down to run his hand down Boone's face. He couldn't look away, transfixed by the spectacle of them; Six's dark hair and tanned cheeks pressed next to Gannon's golden waves, golden skin, angular jaw and slightly pursed lips. A knowing, infuriating look on his face, understanding everything and giving nothing back, counterbalanced with Six's open-book expression, his easy smile that had nothing to hide, no secrets between them that could sour the air, a promise that they would face whatever came together. The faces came forward to meet his.
Boone woke drenched in sweat despite the cool morning air. He stayed still for a moment, disoriented, then pushed himself up, rubbing his face with his arm.
Six sat across the embers of the campfire from him, poking it back to life around the can of coffee already settled into the coals. He hefted the tin skillet from his pack and cracked a gecko egg into it, then looked up at Boone and smiled. "Mornin', sunshine."
"Hey." Boone couldn't tell if the discomfort showed on his face. He shoved it down as hard as he could. He didn't ask for this. Didn't need it. They had work to do, a war to fight, he shouldn't be getting distracted. "Gonna use it," he mumbled, getting to his feet.
He strode a short way into the bush, a sliver of privacy between them to clear his head. Six was right, whatever he and Gannon had going on between them was no concern of his. He ought to put it out of his mind. Worry about the dangers coming down the road, over the ridge. That was his job.
-
When the next delivery returned them to Freeside, Six invited Gannon to meet them at the Wrangler. The Garretts had roped him into advertising for new talent, and Six had turned up a handful of interested acts here and there, including an odd little band of players telling some ancient Greek tragedy updated for a wasteland audience. And apparently Gannon had mentioned a fondness for Homer. It sounded to Boone like positively torturous nerd shit, but he didn't have anything better to do. So while Six and Gannon held down a small table by the wall, now and then breaking off gazing at the stage to excitedly whisper to each other, he sat at the bar nursing a bottle of cheap whiskey and watching them obliquely.
The show wasn't bad, honestly. It was only a bit of a gut punch when he realized what it was about. King of the dead takes the young musician's wife to the city underground, promises to treat her special but makes her a slave. Young man bushwhacks his way down to the city, falls in with a rebellion for the sake of freeing his girl. Some big talk about setting the world back in tune with a song. And he can't save her, strikes a devil's bargain that traps her down below. Because he loved her too much. Couldn't stop himself from looking back, slips up for a moment, and she's gone.
But the musicians were good, the singers on key. There was a swing in it, but it was different from the sort of thing the other casinos put on to make people dance and drink and hit the tables. It didn't make you forget, it made the world seem realer, more alive. The leading lady was singing her heart out. Her character was definitely one the average waster could relate to; a young person who grew up too fast, always looking for her next meal. Found someone to care about just in time to be ripped away from them, devastated by storms of uncaring fate.
It was the queen in the play that reminded him of Carla, though, in her city dress that was such a contrast to the plain work clothes favored by most of the Novac townsfolk. A flash of springtime on the barren ground. Carla had ached the way this lady did, for an easier life, greener grass. And it wasn't as superficial as most of their neighbors had thought; sure, she loved Vegas, loved the glitter and mystique, but what she wanted the most was to see those things with him, to give him the things he never thought he'd experience coming up on the ranch. Deep in the hills, working from before dawn to after dusk to keep the boss from tossing his mother out of their shack when she couldn't work anymore. Nothing special in his life story, at least they'd had a shack, had work that kept them fed, and a clean well in the shantytown. Guarding Novac was a damn sight easier gig than he'd thought he could have, back then; it had seemed like a good deal to begin with, room and board from the town funds, plus all the game he could bag from up in the dino. Hides and meat became a slow trickle of caps that might buy them a house, in a few more years.
He hadn't meant to settle them down in Novac forever, just thought it would be a better place for a kid to grow up than the Strip-- or more likely Freeside, the way things had been going before Manny had turned up with a job offer. But what grated on Carla had been the waiting for their lives to start, the people who judged her for daring to ask for more. People who thought it wasn't proper to enjoy things too much. And so what should have been a safe haven for their new family had turned out to be a viper's nest, laid Carla out and trussed her up for the king of the dead to come calling. And all he could give her in the end was one look back.
He wouldn't let that happen again. Six wasn't his wife, god knows, but they were partners, brothers in arms. Six could match him shot for shot on the range or at the bar. He was up for most anything no matter the risk, and clever enough to pull it off. He loved the road, loved talking to people where Boone wanted to fall silent and vanish into the wasteland. He was at home in the world in a way that Boone hadn't felt in a long time, if he ever had. There was something about him that Boone would run through fire for. And if there was anyone who could sing the world back into tune... Well.
Boone watched his face as Gannon leaned over to say something. Half-lit, eyes crinkling in amusement, Six looked like moonlight falling across the mountains. He glanced back at Boone for just a moment, caught his eye, a question on his face.
Boone raised his bottle, just a bit. Six smiled and turned back toward the stage.
After the show, they made their way toward him through the crowd. "Hell of a production, wasn't it?" Six grinned, leaning on the counter.
"Really inspired. I have to wonder how many people here were familiar with the story before now. I mean, they say in the first number it's a tragedy, but they sure make you believe it could turn out anyway. And the bit where the lights went out?" Gannon seemed to realize how much he had been chattering, and gave a slightly embarrassed laugh, running his hand through his hair.
"Yeah. Wasn't bad," was all Boone could say.
Gannon looked back at Six, "Well. I probably ought to get back to the fort. Thank you for-- inviting me." He looked like he wanted to say something else, glanced at Boone and then quickly looked away when he realized Boone was looking back.
They wouldn't be taking over the room tonight, then? Boone had mostly resigned himself to the idea; James Garret had clocked them early in the evening and discreetly mentioned that if he had to pass out on the couch in the stairwell, they wouldn't chase him off as they usually did with people who tried to sleep outside the rooms. It seemed he and Six had earned enough grace with them for this much, even if a second room would be a bit of a stretch.
But Gannon was gathering his white coat, returning their empty glasses to the bar. He gave Six a two-handed clasp. "I look forward to the next time we can do this," he said, and it was warm, sincere. He turned to Boone, and awkwardly stuck out his hand again as Six watched them, still smiling broadly, but waiting. Play nice.
Boone let him wait just a second longer, then took the handshake, looking Gannon directly in the face. It was surprisingly firm, stronger than he looked. Boone had meant to assert dominance, show him he was fully aware of the situation and would abide no bullshit, a wordless shovel talk, but Gannon's instinct was apparently to match that force-- push right back, but no further. There was a glimmer of something unreadable in his face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Boone kept staring at him after they let go, still feeling the heat of the man's palm and trying to work out what it was in his eyes.
-
He had another dream that night.
He was back at the bar, watching Gannon and Six, but this time they were dancing up on the stage, bodies pressed together, while the chorus players from the show whirled around them. Around and around they spun, the room began to turn with them, and then he was falling down an endless tunnel. It seemed like he fell for two hundred years, wind howling in his ears and tearing at his skin, until somehow he was stumbling forward instead of down, crawling on his knees through a pitch-black labyrinthine cave. He heard a voice from somewhere, soft murmurs that sounded achingly familiar, and tried to follow it-- feeling blindly, grasping at the walls around him.
The passage wound upward slowly as the voice became louder and clearer. He still wasn't sure whose it was. The words were still indistinct, and the howling wind was still behind him, pulling him back down into the dark, but he clung desperately to the sound of the voice as his muscles burned and his hands bled from the rough rock.
Finally he saw a shaft of light opening above him and he surged toward it, breaking into the open under the Mojave sun. And there was Six, facing away from him, no sign of having heard his labored struggles. He stretched out a hand to the hem of his coat, and Six turned to look at him-- but it wasn't Six, it was him. Arcade Gannon's face looked down at him from under Six's hat, and it shot him through with ice.
Why are YOU here, he tried to ask, but he had no voice. Nevertheless, Gannon reached down and pulled him upright with strong and gentle hands, wiped away the blood and dirt, wrapped him in wordless tones of reassurance. The ache melted away.
Boone awoke staring at the ceiling in the dark. There was no jolt, no sweat this time, only a knot in his stomach. It must have been early. Six laid with his back to him, breathing slow and even. Boone sighed and slid out of the big bed, lifting his pants gingerly from the floor to avoid rattling the belt buckle, then crept to the door and stepped out.
The Wrangler was dim, its wall sconces turned down low. The clock over the bar showed a little after four AM. Francine was at the bar; he handed her a few caps in exchange for a cup of coffee, but took it to the couch in the stairwell instead of sitting out in the open. He needed to think.
A few hours later, Six came down the stairs and Boone was fast asleep sitting up, next to a cold coffee mug still half-full.
-
Days later found them in the Followers camp again. Six had offered to instruct a few of the junior nurses in manufacturing a couple of chems, to alleviate the chronic strain on medical supplies. Boone leaned against a wall, arms folded, listening to the guards shooting the shit around the gate. He stared into space. What exactly was it about Gannon that had bothered him so much, so persistently?
He looked up, and the guy was standing there looking back at him.
"Morning, doc," he said warily.
"Oh, er, good morning. You know, you can just call me Arcade." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Boone gave a noncommittal grunt.
"If you've got a minute, I could use a hand unloading this supply shipment." Arcade jerked his head toward a cluster of brahmin carts pulled up to the rear wall, beside a propped-open door.
His heart thudded. The man was clearly making up a reason to get him alone. What was he planning? Surely not an ambush, in the middle of a couple dozen people. Could the Legion have infiltrated the Followers so easily, was he already surrounded by agents? Maybe he meant to take advantage of Six's distraction, incapacitate him and then deliver Six to an enemy patrol.
Or was this a chance to turn it back on him, find out what he knows and assess his intentions? Besides, even though he was hardly the only merc standing around at the moment, it was a direct request. Six would certainly lend a hand with a little thing like this, even if he wasn't obviously smitten with the guy; it would be hard for Boone to refuse without being overtly rude.
Boone tightened his jaw, then forced it to relax. "Sure. No problem." Arcade nodded and turned to walk in the other direction. As Boone made to follow him, he brushed a hand over the hilt of the knife in his belt, almost automatically.
The crates were many, but not particularly heavy. Arcade pointed each one to the proper section of the storage room, and when they were all inside, started unpacking their contents. Most of the meds went into a big steel cabinet with locking double doors, but there were plenty of supplies that went into smaller containers or directly onto the shelves-- spare clothes and linens, bandages and padding, surgical tools, syringes, and office supplies.
He didn't approach closely, but Boone still made sure never to turn his back as they worked. Finally, Arcade spoke.
"I know we haven't exactly hit it off so far, but Six speaks very highly of you."
He does?
"He's asked me to come on this run to Jacobstown with you, and I'm inclined to accept, but--" He heaved a crate onto the shelf and turned back to look at Boone. "I'd like us to get along." There wasn't a drop of irony in his tone.
"Think that depends on you, doc." Boone couldn't keep the edge out of his voice.
Arcade raised an eyebrow. When Boone didn't respond, he said, "Look, whatever I've done to offend you, I'm sorry, but if I understood why you don't like me, I think it would be a lot easier to put it behind us."
Boone stiffened, dropping the pack of rolled bandages he was holding back into its crate. His words were surprisingly direct. Okay. Two can play at that game. He strode across the floor, poking a finger into Arcade's chest. "You're right. I don't like you. And if you hurt Six one bit, let me tell you. You won't get a second chance, and you won't be able to hide."
Arcade gave a nervous laugh. "You watch him like a hawk, huh?"
Boone didn't look away. "Damn straight. Whatever it is you're after, you better not get any ideas. No Followers watching either of us out in the bush."
"Now hold on, I'm not after anything," Arcade protested. "I mean, you already know we've been seeing each other a bit. But Six said you didn't have a problem with that."
"I don't!" Boone snapped. "What I got a problem with is shady fucking rats that are gonna go squealing to the enemy first chance they get. So you tell me, doc, are we going to have a fucking problem on our hands?"
"Whoa, whoa!" He threw up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's nothing like that, I swear. I was--" He sighed heavily. "Listen. You're right, I don't like to talk about where I come from, but it was all a long time ago and I've left that life behind. You really want to know, maybe we can talk about it on the road, but quod vides, quid habes."
When Boone only narrowed his eyes suspiciously, he winced. "Sorry. What you see is what you get," he clarified. "I realize deploying Latin phrases is doing my credibility no favors here, but it's quite an incurable habit, I'm afraid."
Boone dropped his hands to his sides, and stepped back slightly. He stared for another long moment. "You better have a damn good story later."
Arcade gave a weak smile. "Can't promise it'll be all that exciting. Most of the action was before my time."
"Eh." Boone shrugged, then frowned. "Sorry for flipping out on you, I guess. If you're for real about this getting along shit, I'll give it a shot."
Arcade looked at him seriously. "Okay, but answer me something, all right?"
"What?"
"You jealous?"
Boone flushed beet red. "Shut up."
"Oh my god, you are."
"Watch it, doc, I might change my mind again."
He laughed, a little wildly. "So all the time you've been spending together, you've been pining after him yourself? Is that why you hate me?"
"It's not that." Boone gave a helpless glance around, as if hoping to spot an excuse among the crates and papers. "I-- I don't know. I think... I want," he said haltingly. "Both of you?"
He cringed, expecting ridicule. For being such a horny, greedy bastard, like Jason from basic had been, reveling in the girls falling all over each other for his attention. It didn't matter. It had come out of his mouth, there was no going back. But Arcade only looked at him, mouth open. A fuller understanding bloomed in his eyes and then, damn him, something like satisfaction. His mouth twisted into a small smile as a faint blush tinged his cheeks.
"Well."
Boone almost jumped out of his skin. He spun around, and Six was there in the doorway, watching him. He exchanged an unreadable look with Arcade, then gave a tentative smile.
"I think that can be arranged."