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He grunts and rubs crust from the corners of his eyes, tries to focus bleary vision until he can see beyond the sting of the sunshine and figure out what’s going on and exactly where he is. He’s inside, but light beams down, blisteringly hot despite the darkness and seclusion of whatever building he’s in.
A pathetic noise sounds beside him.
Small, thin, fully black. The creature slinks beyond a shadow on four tiny legs and looks up at him with lidded green eyes that look like they’d rather be sleeping as well. It lets out a cry and steps forward, nips at his hand, and paws at him.
Not a dog. Not anything he’s personally seen. But he’s seen pictures, posters, even seen it in books he’s flipped through in the past.
“Huh. Didn’t think cats were this small.” He pulls his hand away.
The cat shakes its butt, then lunges and launches itself up onto his hand, misses, and knocks into his thigh.
He sighs. “Not really in the mood.” Boone guides them away from him with his hand, but it keeps on making its pathetic noises and looking up at him, ready. He’s had enough dogs to know that look. “I’m not playing. I gotta get back.” Speaking of back, he’s not entirely sure where he is.
Lucky 38, that’s where this started. Cass convinced him to actually drink with the group for once. Wherever he was, it was probably her fault. She had a way of getting people to make mistakes.
He stumbles out of the shack and surveys his surroundings. South of New Vegas, maybe a few hours walk. Close to Fiend territory by the looks of it.
The cat walks beside him as his boots crunch the dust down. He ignores it. It pretends to ignore him, looking away each time he looks down.
Boone smirks and keeps on without comment. He’s near the Poseidon Gas Station, but without the map his friend always carries on their arm, he’s uncertain of exactly the best route to take to avoid Fiends and make it back to the tower. A straight shot would probably take him straight through the South Vegas Ruins and he’s not about to try that. Especially considering he doesn’t have his rifle.
She probably had something to do with that too. Her face flashes in his thoughts, grinning at him and winking, saying something about how if he’s a real man he wouldn’t need such a big gun, he could get by with his wits.
He’s not sure that’s exactly what happened. He can’t remember it fully, and it might not be her voice that said it, but she was there, laughing, he remembers that. He thinks. His head hurts way too much to focus on what might have been said.
She was laughing though, and Arcade and Veronica too. Was anyone else there?
The cat beside him stops.
He stops.
It lets out a low growl as if it’s about to attack something. Even with this display though, it moves closer to him, as if asking for protection. Or, maybe, giving it. It’s not even bigger than his boot.
Boone glances where its gaze seems to go and squints beyond the headache to focus on the potential threat.
Right. Poseidon Gas Station. He knew he remembered the name. They’d all planned to go Fiend hunting sometime and get the bounty for a few heads, maybe help Rex out as well.
It growls a bit lower and the soft looking fur shifts a bit, puffs out at more extreme angles. It’s pissed. Or afraid. Why choose?
Boone’s a bit of both too. Without a gun, he’s fucked. Especially with how the mangy dogs seem to notice him.
“Lookit babies! Mama’s gonna feed you good tonight! Hahaha!” Violet launches herself from a trailer top and swings her hunting rifle up. “Mmm, look at the meat on his bones. Gonna taste real good, yeah, reaaal good! Yes yes, it is!”
Even at this distance, he can tell it’s a good gun. Shame it’s in the hands of a filthy Fiend.
The cat bares its teeth.
Hand to hand combat isn’t his strong suit. He hates running too, hates to feel like a coward.
The cat looks like it’s about to launch itself at the charging mutts.
Boone bends just long enough to catch the cat under the stomach before he charges past the campsite and heads south, away from the dogs and the cannibal Fiend. Away from the route he’d rather take to get back to base. He can hear the howls and growls behind him, catching up, but he just keeps on running like back in basic.
Pain edges into his consciousness and he feels the dip of claws into flesh, tearing at his hand, but he ignores it, keeps running. Even when his shoulder gets grazed by a bullet he persists, though it makes him stumble a bit, makes him curse.
He still has a fucking hangover too. The heat bears down on him, sucks the little energy he had in him, makes him finally collapse near a cavern entrance.
Finally, he lets the cat down when he’s certain no dogs are still chasing, certain Violet let them escape.
Cats have a reputation of being pissy, he knows that much. This one fits that reputation. It lets out a little huff of noise and looks at him as though somehow this is all his fault.
“What?”
It turns away and heads towards the cavern.
Boone doesn’t care. He pulls a stimpak from one of his pockets and hopes he doesn’t actually have a bullet in him and it just grazed. Arcade gets mad when people stimpak over bullets, said it makes it harder to remove them later if it needs to be done. Still, he can’t exactly help it right now.
The stimpak helps with the hand too, makes it little more than soft pink lines that should heal fully within a day or so, if he didn’t use more stimpaks. Not that he had more.
The cat comes running, tail a bit singed. It lets out a shrill whine.
He reaches for his rifle, only to recall a moment later that there’s no rifle here. Just him, a cat, and two fire geckos.
He’s never drinking with Cass again. Ever.
The first gecko goes for the cat, ignores him, and that suits him just fine. He lands a solid punch to the back of its head, feels a satisfying squelch of flesh going in with the force of his fist. Still, punching them to death is not going to work. It’s a distraction.
Seems to piss them off more.
Once again, he picks the cat up by the belly and tries to run.
His own back gets a bit singed with the heat, but he’s fast enough he doesn’t just catch fire.
Geckos are more stubborn that Violet’s dogs, probably because she has a space around her territory she doesn’t want them to cross, a boundary they don’t need to chase people past. Geckos don’t.
Still, they eventually stop, let out a few chittering cries, and run back towards the caverns.
Boone doesn’t look back. He runs fast and far enough in the heat that by the time he finally stops, he wants to puke. He thought he was in better shape than this, but normally running is sprints, not goddamn marathons. Normally he has the sense to keep his rifle with him and plenty of ammo.
His hand hurts worse than his shoulder. He blames his passenger and sets it down on a red rock.
It looks up at him, green eyes big and intense.
Boone grunts. “More trouble than you’re worth.”
The cat seems uninterested in him at the moment.
He looks at his bloody hand and shakes his head. “Thought cats were extinct. Might be better.” He doesn’t look at it this time. Refuses. Instead, he fumbles about in his pockets for where bandages might be. No such luck. He didn’t replenish them after the last time Arcade insisted he have them because Arcade ‘didn’t have enough pockets for all the bandages this group goes through’.
He does find his backup weapon though, a knife. Not his machete. He dimly recalls hanging that up when Cass said they were going to the casino and not allowed to have weapons anyway so might as well not let the guards take his weapon.
Damn it. He glares at the tiny cat.
It has a very pink tongue, just far enough out of the mouth to be cute and dumb looking.
“You know, if you didn’t get their attention, we could have run towards the Strip.”
A low deep rumble rolls out of its body. It steps towards him on the rock and looks up.
That’s not a growl, but he doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t seem like a threat at all, actually.
Boone rolls his eyes and keeps searching his pockets. Letter, not needed. Cap bag, not useful here. Turbo--well, he didn’t need it now, but it would have been useful a bit before. He moves it to a more easily accessible pocket.
Normally, he knows exactly where everything is on his body. Whatever was in that alcohol, Cass’ special whiskey she said, he blames for his current condition. For everything. He’s going to have words when he gets back. He normally doesn’t, but he can’t just keep silent on this.
The cat leans over the rock, steadies itself, then attempts a jump. It scrambles a bit and flips off the edge more than a graceful leap, but it lands steadily.
He smirks. “Did she give you some whiskey too?”
Arcade would tease him for talking to an animal. For talking at all, probably.
Who cares. Cats can’t talk, so they’ll never know.
The cat seems to understand though and looks a bit irritated at him.
He keeps the smirk and starts walking back, along a southern route. He’s not got a chance with just a knife, so he’s got to be careful and take the right path.
It follows along beside him, though seems like it’s content to ignore his presence.
Fine by Boone.
---
The cat has a terrible sense of self-preservation. Absolutely shit.
Still. It won, despite the mantis being bit more than double in size. There’s not even a scratch on the cat.
It licks its paws and lays down, sprawled beside the kill. Satisfied.
Smug little bastard. Boone shakes his head and keeps his face neutral. No good feeding an animals ego. He uses his knife to dismember the insect, make it ready for the campfire he started while the idiot cat was hunting.
Interested, the cat paws at the chunks of insect and nibbles at a juicy end bit of a leg. That seems to satisfy it, and it begins to eat in earnest.
Boone watches the black cat rip chunks of insect free with tiny sharp teeth. Vicious, despite its size.
He can respect that. “Shouldn’t hunt when you don’t stand a chance you know.”
It relaxes beside the campfire.
Boone eats grilled mantis and has a few sips from his canteen. He glances down to the animal that provided this bit of meat, then pours a bit of water into the cap and lowers it in front of the cat.
Moments later its all lapped up and the beast looks up to him, clearly intent on more.
Greedy bastard. “Shouldn’t. You caused most of this.” Still, Boone obliges.
That deep rumble is back, and Boone’s sure its a noise of contentment. He likes that.
Boone relaxes by the campfire as well.
---
Sometimes he almost wishes he was willing to ever take his beret off for anything more than a shower. Might make being in Great Khan territory easier. Then he remembers nothing is easy and he refuses to pretend he’s not NCR just because a bunch of violent people hate what he represents. Especially because of that, really.
“NCR man in Khan territory huh? Looks like you’re lost, friend.” A woman with short choppy hair steps closer, her boots crunching deep against the rocks with every step. “Maybe you could use some help?”
He huffs. “Just passing through.”
“Sure, sure.” Another steps closer. “Lots of NCR just pass through. Just try to check up on us.” His voice is low, deep, and threatening. “Though, don’t I know you? You NCR all look alike, but…”
Boone looks over his glasses, attempts to focus in the dim light of the moon on the face, but finds it harder to do. His close vision isn’t perfect, it’s at a distance he’s always had the best sight. “Maybe. I worked a long time.” Killed a lot of Khans.
“Yeah, I’ll just bet. What do you think we should do, take him to Papa?” She holds her machete close to Boone, aimed at him like it’s a gun.
He could probably take it, twist it from her hand, and use it to gain freedom from this situation. But then, he’s near their actual territory in the canyon nearby and he’d rather not find more Khans than he can handle without a rifle and time on his side.
He’s not good at thinking. Shooting, yes. Thinking, no. Planning, even less, but he’s doing his best.
“Yeah, Papa will wanna see this punk. Karl too, probably.”
Arcade was good at these situations. Could talk his way out of just about anything. Boone wishes he had that kind of mouth, those kinds of words.
The cat is nowhere to be found, of course. He saves it twice and it just runs off.
Good. Who knew what Khans might do to a helpless creature. Ferocious as it tried to be, it wasn’t much good at anything except being cute.
Not that he thought it was cute.
“Get up, we’re taking you to Papa. Try anything funny, and you’ll regret it.” She motions for him to get up with that same machete.
He gives a bit of a smirk. “Humor isn’t my strong suit.”
“Good, then we won’t have any issues.” The guy leads Boone along.
Marching, walking distances, that he can do with no issues. He does that constantly with his new friends. It’s the running that exhausted him, and all the drinking he can vaguely recall. Boone’s still fatigued from it. He’s slower to react to everything than he wants to be, and that frustrates him. Still, he keeps up just fine, they don’t seem to notice his struggles.
“Why’re you here anyway?” The girl asks him, tilts her head with the question in obvious sincere curiosity.
“Got drunk. Got stupid.” Didn’t remember much else.
The guy chuckles and shakes his head, “Fuck me though, can’t say it’s never happened to me. Woke up near a Fiend camp once, got so strung up fucked. Lucky me, they weren’t so high they forgot not to fuck with Khans.”
“Woke up by Violet.” Boone offers it. Watches them.
“Fuuuck. She’s harsh even by my standards.” The guy nods. “Lucky you’re not dog chow, man.” He shrugs. “Not like we care what happens to NCR fucks.”
Worth a shot. Arcade always said to try and talk with enemies if caught. He figured that was shit advice and it looked like it was. NCR never told him to try that. NCR knew it wouldn’t work.
Girl shrugs too, but keeps looking at him. “Probably didn’t even mean to come here, huh?”
“Nope.” He’s back to nothing responses. No reason to give them more info if it didn’t work.
“Sucks.”
“Yep.”
It’s not much walking before Boone sees it. He dreads the sight of the canyon looming so close, lit by moonlight and flickering shadows of fire in the distance, but there’s not a whole lot to do about it. He keeps marching with his captors. If there was a time to run, it’d be now.
He should. He can’t place why he isn’t.
Boone glances over his shoulder at the two. The lights are bright enough he can finally see them better. He remembers more about that day than he does the night before. “You know, Boulder City?”
That gets a look from both of them, exchanged wordlessly. Finally, the girl nods. “What about it?”
“I was there.”
“So fuckin’ what? Lots of NCR was there. Legion too. Everyone knows that.” The guy’s eyes roll. His thin lips sneer. He’s got a distinctive scar over one cheek.
“When some of you were there. You had NCR hostages.” Yep. He knew. He recalled the guy’s face now, the girl’s too.
“Y-yeah? So fuckin’ what?”
“My friend and I convinced the soldiers to escort you out of NCR territory. No one else had to die.”
Maybe Arcade was onto something. Maybe.
The two Khans look very uncomfortable. More looks exchange wordlessly, and the girl shrugs. “What, you want us to let you go?”
“No one knows you saw me. And I wanted to leave anyway.”
They don’t look the best at thinking, at planning either, but they seem like they’re trying. A nod from the girl, a nod from the guy.
The machete drops just low enough he can step out of reach.
“You keep this to yourself, got it? Far as I’m concerned, this makes us even. Never wanna see you out here again, got it?” Far more force, far more push than necessary. She lifts the machete in a threat, but not very high or with force to match her words.
Boone nods. “Got it.” He means it. When they back up a few steps and go around him, he turns about and heads back towards the park he’d stopped at.
It’s just to grab the bit of mantis he left out. Just to warm himself by the fire and get a bit more sleep before the night is through. And if he finds that tiny stupid cat, that’s fine too.
---
It’s morning and he still can’t find the cat. He’s walked through the entire park, killed a dozen mantises, and put their parts in his pockets for later, but still no cat.
When he finally starts to trudge along the road to Goodsprings to take the long way to New Vegas, he sees the cat ahead on the road, licking its paws near a dead cazadore.
He blinks. Lack of sleep leads to hallucinations. Or maybe his farsight isn’t as good as it used to be and he needs to get checked out by Arcade.
No. Definitely a cazadore. Dead.
Four, actually.
The cat looks up at him and lets out a soft noise, so innocent despite being covered in stickiness. None red, none that looked to be its own.
Clearly, it just found the dead cazadores, there was no way it did this carnage, even if its fur was slick with their juices.
He steps closer carefully, watching the tiny beast.
It rolls over, stretches, and lets out another soft noise.
Idly, he thumbs over the scratches it dug into his right hand. “Did you do all this?”
It calls out again and flips over onto its tiny feet.
No, that was insane.
Wasn’t it?
He can’t think about this. He just keeps walking, doesn’t stop to touch the cat, doesn’t stop to talk to it more. He’s not mental.
The cat sprints past him, then stills, glances back, and walks slowly, as though trying to be the leader despite not knowing exactly where they were headed.
It would be cute if Boone weren’t so disturbed by the fresh carnage around him.
It’s only another hour or two before he’s in Goodsprings and he can finally get a bit of rest, finally get them some real food and maybe a beer to settle his thoughts. He hates thoughts that rattle around. Sniping for years taught him to keep those quiet, but he can’t forever.
First stop, the bar, and immediately inside he remembers how dogs and cats don’t seem to mesh well.
“Stay Cheyenne,” isn’t quite enough. It doesn’t reach the cat at all, only makes Cheyenne stay still.
The cat growls low and its fur flips up again, the tail stiff and eyes intent on Cheyenne.
Boone sighs and picks it up. “You too.”
“Looks like your kitten doesn’t quite know what to do with a dog, huh?” Sunny nods to Boone’s hand and the cat in it.
“It knows. It just doesn’t care. Trudy in? Need a beer.”
“Over here, hun.” Trudy pops her head around the corner and glances down at the writhing cat. “You both look like you’re worse for wear.”
“Mmhm.” Boone goes to the bar and puts the cat down on the table. “Stay.”
He expects it to run off and try something stupid with Cheyenne. He’s ready to bolt and grab it.
Instead, it stalks over to an empty beer bottle and taps at it with one tiny pink paw. It doesn’t bother to look back at Boone. After a bit of tapping, it flips over and starts to groom the stickiness in its fur away.
That suits him as well. He motions for a beer and pulls out the caps for it before he focuses on the music, the beer, and definitely not the cat that explores the counter and examines everything from coasters to other patrons hands.
He orders a brahmin steak and isn’t surprised to see the pesky cat right there, making that rumble and rubbing against his hand that he keeps up as a shield around his plate. “No.”
This time the command does nothing. This time, Boone sighs and watches it do what it wants which happens to be the opposite.
Tiny teeth grab a corner of the slab of steak and pull. The meat’s almost bigger than this cat, but that doesn’t stop it from trying to pull it all away.
Boone thumps it on the nose.
It cries and runs back behind a beer bottle that isn’t nearly big enough to hide it.
He sighs.
He doesn’t feel guilty. He just feels generous. He cuts off a tiny piece and puts it on a coaster in front of the little one. “One piece.”
It gulps it down, as though it might starve.
One piece turns to a few. Turns to far more than he should and he orders another steak that’s just for him this time, despite the soft cries the little greedy cat makes. Despite how it smacks at his hand, trying to get more.
He doesn’t feel guilty. He just stands up and moves to a booth.
Trudy and Sunny chuckling and talking in the background he ignores, just like he ignores the awful cat yelling at him.
The yelling stops and he finally relaxes and eats his steak in peace.
Right up until he realizes he can’t see the cat in his peripheral, and he can’t hear the little ball of terror at all either. He gulps down the last two bites and takes his plate to the counter while glancing about for the hidden kitten.
“Looking for something?” Trudy leans over the counter and smiles.
“No.”
A beer bottle falls. Then a few more fall. They tink as they tip off balance, then crash and shatter when they hit the counter and the floor below. He doesn’t have to look to know the bottles had been full.
The cat looks down at them with wide eyes, as though it can’t understand what just happened.
Boone groans.
Trudy arches one brow at the kitten, points a finger, and says, “Down, Mister. Right now.”
It hops down and does a decent job of looking remorseful. Not fully convincing, but decent.
“Sorry about that,” Boone mumbles it while pulling out more caps. “He’s an ass.”
“He’s a baby. They’re just like that until they learn better.” Trudy takes the caps though and keeps one eye on the kitten on the ground. “Didn’t figure you the cat type.”
“I’m not. He’s not mine. I’m just. He keeps following me.” He goes behind the counter just long enough to grab the kitten under the belly and head out. “Sorry for the trouble, keep the change.” It’s a few dozen more caps worth of NCR bills than the steak and beer warrants.
He’s red hot embarrassed and irritated at the wriggling kitten in his hand, but he can’t be too mad. Or, rather, he isn’t.
He’s prepared himself for this sort of thing in public before, years back. Thought about how he’d deal with it. Always said he’d deal with it better than his parents did and he thinks he succeeded in that.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Trudy calls out as he slinks out the back door.
He hears it but keeps walking. Chet greets him the same as he always does, with a dim smile and a nod. “Howdy.”
He doesn’t attempt to make conversation the way his friend always does. He just asks for what he wants, pays, and gets out.
Finally, he doesn’t feel like his pockets are empty, or that his back is too light. He’s got a rifle, he’s got stimpaks, and he’s got food and water.
The kitten rides on his shoulder, right in front of the backpack.
He didn’t tell it to, he didn’t let it go there, it just climbed right up when he reached into a lower pocket, and it dug its tiny claws in deep enough he decided to just let it. At least it wasn’t the shoulder that got grazed by Violet. Small miracles.
“Anyone else would throw you to the coyotes.” He glances over at the alert kitten, watches its ears shift and move about.
He’s not used to being the one talking on these trips. He’s not saying much, but somehow he’s saying more than the other.
It’s weird.
Primm is a good place to stop and rest too, with the place cleared of those offshoot Powder Gangers and with the NCR patrols right next door. He stops for a late lunch and watches the kitten go about harassing that cowboy robot after it takes a few bites of his gecko and decides it doesn’t like it.
He grins behind bites when Primm Slimm takes a single meow as consent to tell him all about Vicki and Vance.
It’s a bit less amusing when the robot takes more cries as the same and keeps telling the tale.
Boone sighs and packs his lunch away, takes a swig of the coffee Ruby Nash sold him, and heads on over to his kitten. “Come on. That’s getting on my nerves. We’ve still got a ways to go before night hits.”
“Aww, Pardner, you don’t gotta be in a rush to head on out now. Just sit on down and let Primm Slimm here tell you all about this here--”
“No.” He reaches down and picks up his kitten.
“Y’all have a good one and don’t forget to visit Vicki Vance Casino again, pardners. Always welcome to come learn the real facts about the deadly duo!”
He rolls his eyes and keeps walking with kitten in one hand and gun in the other, ready. “Hate robots.”
Just a meow.
“Except Ed-E. I guess. That one grew on me.”
Another meow.
He nods and keeps on the path towards the Outpost.
---
Tiny feet press surprisingly hard on his mouth and right under his eyes. Foul meaty breath invades his nostrils and he coughs and turns his head to make it get off.
It scratches at him, but rolls off and hops away with clear irritation in its spiky fur.
“Idiot.” He rubs the raised painful lines across his cheek.
The kitten smacks at him with a mottled black and pink paw.
He thumps it on the nose and doesn’t feel bad when it cries out a bit.
“What did you even want?”
It meows soft, sad, and looks up at him, then slinks over and rubs against his pocket that has the jerky.
Of course. Babies needed fed all the time, right? Even though this one wasn’t really a baby. More like a kid or teen cat. That was a thing, wasn’t it? Just like with humans and dogs and other animals. All he knew was everyone seemed to think it wasn’t fully grown, and they were all probably right.
Boone pulls out a piece of brahmin jerky and hands it over.
It tears at it and does its best to gobble it down, though it being so tough makes that a bit hard.
“I need sleep. It’s not like you can defend us.” Although, those cazadore corpses come to mind and he’s uncertain. Obviously, something else did that carnage, but whatever did, it tore them up, it didn’t shoot them.
He shakes that thought loose and lets it settle away from view. “Look, eat that and go to bed.” He points, tries to have the same voice Trudy did.
His kitten ignores him and paws for more jerky.
“No.”
Ignored again, this time it tries to climb into the pocket.
Major Knight steps through the doorway with one arched brow. “Having issues?”
“No.” He picks up the kitten. “We were just going.” He’s not about to wake up the entire group of soldiers just because this idiot cat wants to mess around.
“Alright. Stay safe, the roads have been more active lately.”
“I can handle myself.”
It was handling a kitten too that was hard.
---
Darkness is near total in the Nipton Road Reststop. He hates to stop and rest here, even if it’s in the name. Nipton’s also in the name. There are a lot of images he can’t get out of his head, and that town is one of them.
His kitten finally settles down though, and it’s napping calmly beside his head this time. He listens to the calming noises until finally he wakes to daylight and almost feels refreshed.
He doesn’t look much at Nipton when going through the road towards Novac. He refuses to give it another image to imprint in his mind. He watches for any movement, but that’s all.
Luckily, there’s none but a few geckos in the distance running with that strange gait, and a radscorpion like the ones Ruby loves to use. Just in case his kitten tries anything stupid, he puts them in a side pouch of his backpack. They seem to resent it, but he’s not about to let them run off.
It’s a good thing too, because a giant scorpion pops out from behind a rock and he’s too close to snipe it and just far enough away that running is the only real option, so he does that.
He hates traveling alone. Snipers work in pairs, and a kitten slung up in his backpack doesn’t exactly make a duo. He’d wish someone else were there with him, but that’s not exactly useful to his mission. He focuses on the sounds behind him of scorpion feet tapping against the rocks and slowly losing volume as the distance was gained between them.
He’s in the clear, just as he sees Ranger Station Charlie in the distance. That’s safety, and he finds a burst of energy and intent and makes his way there.
About a hundred meters shy of the station, he feels a sickness in his stomach he can’t quite attribute to the growing cramp from running more than he’s used to. He swallows through a dry throat and finds it hard to breathe.
There’s silence at the station. Worse than that, the moment he enters the main building, there are bodies.
The kitten struggles no more but lets out a soft mew from the side pocket.
He reaches back with one hand and lightly pats through the material to try and silence the kitten. He knows there are traps here. Everything about the Legion says they’ve trapped this place.
He sets the bag by the door, steps carefully to the radio and signals it in. Just a few lines, a description, and at least the NCR knows now. At least someone trained in this can come quickly. He can’t do this. He feels his strength fading.
He’s back in Novac before too long, staring at his ceiling and trying to keep yet another image from imprinting itself into his thoughts.
The kitten shuffles around the room and looks at his things, seems content to move as much as possible now that it’s not in the side pocket. It left a wet present in there that Boone will deal with later.
He shuts his eyes. He keeps seeing bodies.
He sleeps.
---
Something rough touches his cheek, stings against cuts. He grunts and sits upright in an instant, awake and ready.
It’s just the kitten, looking up at him in the darkness. Its tongue is out again, and that idiot look is endearing and annoying in the same stroke. He sighs. “What, hungry again?”
It hops onto his lap.
He looks across from the bed and sees her wardrobe open.
A glare down at the kitten, then another glance to the wardrobe. It’s not just open, her clothes are all along the floor. Wrinkled. Not perfect like she left them.
He grunts and picks it up, sets it aside, and goes to fix the mess. “Asshole.”
The kitten hops off the bed and follows him.
He ignores it and begins to place the clothes back on their rusty metal hangers. “Leave me alone. Least you can do is wait until I’m done fixing your mistakes.” He goes a bit faster, tries to keep the kitten from interfering.
The kitten is having none of that and rolls itself all over one of her polka dotted dresses. Black fur clings to soft lavender.
He wants to shout. He wants to.
He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets it all ease out. “Please stop.” His voice does not crack.
The kitten mewls up at him, nestled deep in her soft dress.
Boone crouches down. “Please.” He does not whine. He does not.
It’s buried in her.
He kneels. “Please. She hates a dirty dress.”
The kitten crawls out and rubs against his hand, rumbling in pleasure.
Fingers crack a bit, then straighten and loosen and he strokes along soft fur. “She said that’s just how babies are. Messy.” His voice finally lowers, soft.
His kitten leans into every stroke, rubs against every pet.
“I guess you can’t really help that.”
His kitten rubs against his legs now, using its whole body to enjoy the touches. It flips over onto its back.
He goes to pet there, but it curls its claws, and he pulls back. He pets the head.
It goes back to happy rumbles. The claws go back in.
“She talked about babies a lot. Before it even. Before.” His throat feels desert dry. He’s nestled in her dresses too.
He’s not used to being the one who talks. Everyone else does that for him. That suits him just fine.
“She’d like you. She’d be able to get you to listen, like Trudy. I don’t know how.” His eyes don’t feel dry.
“What do I have to do?”
He watches his kitten look up at him. Boone doesn’t know if the kitten can understand. He wants to think so, but people are wrong about things a lot, and him even more.
“She was so good. And I don’t get to keep good things. I ruin them. My friends, they keep making the choice to keep me around, thinking they know what it means.” He shakes his head, wipes the wet away. “But they’re adults. You’re not. You deserve to be safe.”
A paw rubs against one of his knuckles. A soft meow sounds out in the quiet room.
Boone sniffs and stands up. “Come on.” He shudders out a sigh and grabs up the dresses, puts them on the bed laid out flat, then heads to the door.
The kitten stays firmly on the floor near the bathroom.
Boone pulls out a piece of jerky.
The kitten lays down and turns away from him, stretched out almost relaxed, if not for how the fur pokes out.
“It’s alright. Just come with me.”
They tilt their head back and look up and over at him.
It takes three pieces of jerky to get them to follow, but they do.
Together they walk to Ranger Andy’s bungalow. Alone Boone leaves.
He hears the paws at the underside of the door, scritching. He hears the mewling. Boone keeps walking. He stops only long enough to brush off the dresses and place them back in the wardrobe before he leaves Novac and walks along the trail back to the Lucky 38.
---
It doesn’t take long before he sees signs of life along the lonely old road. A campfire in the distance. Might be friendly, but he’s taken out gang members there before and he’s hesitant to walk closer without looking down a scope. Shame Chet didn’t have any scopes to put on his rifle; just the rifle and the ammo were for sale. He didn’t even bother Cliff since it was night when he left.
Still, he stalks closer and off the beaten path to watch them, scope or no.
Armor isn’t a telltale sign, anyone can scavenge it from anyone, but he’s certain these are Vipers. A dead prospector on the ground by the campfire confirms it to him.
He could avoid them, probably should, but he’s got emotions and they’re ready to bubble over worse than they did when it was just him and his--the kitten-- and he needs an outlet.
So he takes a shot. It’s simple. Breathe in, breathe most out, hold it, aim, shoot. Once, twice, three times.
She asked once, only once, if it was simple for him to do what he did in the NCR.
Doing it was simple. Thinking about it, that’s what made him falter. Faltering cost lives.
He hears a noise behind him and swings about, aims the gun down.
It looks up at him. Big green eyes reflect the light of the moon.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
A meow. Tiny paws bring the kitten closer and it rubs up against his dusty pants.
“How’d you even get out?” His breath control isn’t control at this point, and he feels it speeding up, getting too intense. He sucks in a shaky breath and crouches down. “You should go back to Andy. He can take care of you. I can barely take care of myself.”
Rubs against his hand, against his ankles.
He chuckles, but there’s no humor to it. It’s dry, bubbling up like everything he wants to keep down. “Idiot.” He holds his rifle over his shoulder and with the other hand picks up his kitten and pulls it close to his chest. “You just don’t know when to quit.”
He walks by the Vipers. He knew they were, but he’s relieved to see he was right. They’ve got the telltale signs of the gang, from the choice of armor, to the hairstyles, to the dead prospector splayed out as a warning to anyone who might pass by.
He gently pets with a thumb along the kitten’s head, between the ears. “We’re almost to New Vegas. Wish you didn’t make so much trouble.”
He’s fairly certain they’re sleeping. He can feel the rise and fall of their chest deepen and slow.
His own breathing follows suit, he feels his body relax even as his eyes scan the surroundings for threats.
---
Boone wants to stop and rest at the trading post, but he doesn’t for longer than it takes to buy a bit more ammo that’s cheap and make sure his kitten is fine. If he stops too long, he’ll be tempted to stay, and if he stays it’ll be that much longer before the safety of the Lucky 38. It’s not about him now, it’s about this stupid kitten.
“What’s with the animal?” She asks it once the caps are in hand, as if she waited until Boone paid in case he chose to walk at her question.
“Nothing.”
“None of my business then.”
“You’re right.” He shifts his leg a bit, lets the ammo settle down in his pocket so it’s more comfortable.
“Never figured you for a cat person though.”
“I’m not.”
“Uh huh. Well, hope that ammo works out for you. Get some Legion bastards for me.”
He smirks, finally glad for his part in the conversation, “Always.”
“Take care.” She waves him off, but there’s a hint of a smirk there.
He accepts this, nods, and heads back along the road, keeping closer to the Follower’s Outpost Arcade showed him, and further from where those fucking Fiends hide out. They were the ones that started this whole mess.
---
He thought he could make it home untouched. That he was in the clear.
Boone thought he could make it through the Freeside gates and everything would be fine.
The bullet comes faster than thoughts.
His hand, his stomach, blood all over his kitten.
Fucking gangs. Fucking fucking fucking. He can’t think. He just needs to go, and go fast. He sets kitten down, pulls turbo out, and then it all swirls even faster.
He has a machete.
Kings surround the punk who shot, they’ve got a taste for blood too.
He can only see red, on his grungy white shirt, and shining brightly in the morning sun on the dark black fur. He can only see red when he chops up the sick son of a bitch who shot towards his kitten.
He can’t breathe right, but does it matter when it’s not a gun? Yes, but he does the job anyway. He does the job even after the job is well into being done.
And then he collapses and takes up his kitten.
Wide green eyes, dark matted sticky fur, and soft strained mewls.
He feels warm wetness ease away the red, and he runs, through doors past Kings and he kick-knocks at the Mormon Fort. “Let me in! Please!” His throat is raw. He can’t get it with both hands around his kitten.
It’s a blur, a rush, he’s trying to listen as they keep trying to work on him, but he keeps saying no, not him. Him!
Arcade’s there, all tall blonde and trying to be calming. “Hey, listen, it’s alright. Just a flesh wound.”
“He’s alright?” It spills out, like the blood on his stomach before they put a stimpak in him.
“The kitten?”
“Yes!”
“Uh. Yeah. She wasn’t injured.”
“What?”
“That was your blood, Boone. Just wiped her off and there are no obvious injuries. She’s shaken, but she just keeps trying to get in here to you.” Arcade glanced down at his ankles and nodded, “It figures. Don’t know where you picked her up, but she’s been biting and clawing everyone who tries to keep her in one place.”
Boone wipes sweat and other things from his eyes and nods. “Well, she doesn’t take orders well.”
“Lovely. More animals that only listen to someone who isn’t me. I suppose we’re keeping her too?” But he’s smiling.
“She doesn’t listen to me either.” She’s already on his lap on the bed, rubbing against his stomach. He doesn’t even care it’s where he got shot, where they had to pull the bullet. “How’d it miss her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s lucky. Would be pretty ironic though, considering she’s a black cat.” Arcade steps closer. “Cass and Veronica went looking for you after you disappeared the other night. Everyone was worried.”
She’s licking his hand, right over the spot where the bullet tore through the skin between thumb and forefinger. It hurts, it’s rough, but he doesn’t much mind. He just rubs his other hand along her head.
“And, you’re not really listening. Fine, traumatic injury, compounded with fear, I get it, I understand.”
Boone glances up. “What?”
With a roll of his eyes and a sigh as dramatic as Boone would expect, Arcade turns towards the tent flap. “Don’t mind me. I’ve got another patient to tend to, for once, so you just relax. Call for me if you need anything, but you’re cleared to go back to the Lucky 38 when you feel like it. Try not to run off alone without telling anyone this time, would you?” Arcade casts a look over his shoulder, and there’s a hint of a smile even with that almost chiding tone. “Nice to see a softer side of you again.”
Wait. “Again?”
“What, you don’t remember drinking with me after that party? Ran off after spilling your guts.”
“I uh, I did?”
There’s a big smile now. Arcade winks. “We can talk about it later if you’re not too busy cradling that cat.”
“No guarantees.”
“Few things in life are. I’d say nothing but death and taxes, but even taxes aren’t a guarantee this far east. At least, not until the NCR drives the Legion off, I suppose.” Arcade exits the tent with a rush of air as the flap lowers behind him.
Boone is left alone.
No, not alone.
He’s got a rumbling kitten trying to pull jerky out of his meat pocket. He helps open the pocket, intends to pull some out, but instead, the kitten burrows into the space and starts to tug at a giant hunk of it.
Boone helps with that too. “Idiot. You scared me.” He grins and pats her on the head while she gnaws at the brahmin strip.
It’s not long before he takes her to the Lucky 38.
It’s not long after that she establishes dominance over Rex, makes everyone fall in love with her, takes over the master bedroom, and sleeps somehow in the middle of the bed, keeping anyone else from sleeping there.
She’s perfect and fierce and tiny and he loves her.
Finally, she’s in just about the safest place she could be.
His breathing is steady, his thoughts are calm. For the first time in a long time, he gets to sleep without interruption. Well, mostly. He feels her rooting around in his pocket for meat during a dream, but that doesn’t bother him really.