Work Text:
Boone knew all the ins and outs of having a partner, knew how to watch someone's six and still expect them to do their part. He'd spent years covering someone's back and having them cover his, so it was second nature by now.
Why the hell was that so hard with her? Boone knew damn well that Six was capable. She held steady staring down deathclaws running at her, putting round after round between the monsters' eyes. In the one instance beside her that Boone thought they may very well die, Legion hit squad pinning them both, she'd been dragged up to her knees. The decanus leading the squad had grasped her jaw to keep her mouth open—aiming to slice her through the back of the throat with his machete—and Six had closed her teeth on the bastard's thigh, rending the femoral artery.
The distraction had proved sufficient for Boone to break free, and the three remaining Legionnaires were slain.
And even as their would-be killers lay dead on the ground, Boone wished to have torn them apart himself for their having dared touch her. The rage prickled beneath his skin, and he found the Legion decanus who Six had bitten. He was bleeding out from his thigh, hands shaking. Boone looked on impassively, calmly bringing his rifle down and shooting the decanus in the head until the clip was empty.
Bloodied and bruised, the pair plodded three miles to an abandoned ranch they'd marked as a safe house. The well was slightly irradiated, but the house itself was as secure a shelter as they were going to find.
Six pulled bottles of water and some fruit from her pack, cracking open a bottle of sarsaparilla and pocketing the cap. It took some work, but Boone managed to get a fire going on the ancient stove.
She took a metal pot from the shelves, heading out the door. “I'm going to clean up.” She said simply. “Eat.”
Boone sat on the edge of the bed, nibbling on some of the dried fruit. They were starting to run low, but he'd thought he saw some planter boxes by the well.
Six returned, crimson light of sunset bracketing her as she came in. She put the pot up on the stove, grabbing her own dinner. They ate in companionable silence.
She still had blood on her face, Boone realized. Like some demon of the wastes, lifeblood of her enemies dripping from her jaws. He likely looked no better, and he thought he might have fractured a rib. Fed and satisfied, Boone turned his attention to their gear. He stripped down to his underwear and cleaned his rifle, and Six did the same to her own weapons.
When her water grew hot, she removed it from heat and dipped in the remains of what had once been a sundress, torn now to cleaning rags. She cleaned his face first, tilting his chin this way and that, never failing to make him feel like he was a child. He resisted with the force his pride demanded, but let her work.
She turned on the tap for the bathtub, water pouring from the rusted spigot.
Her attention was turned back to him, to the cuts on his arms and face. The attack squad had favored blunt weapon over blades, fortunately leaving them both without serious external injury. Med-X and stimpaks would suffice for now, until Arcade could give them each a proper once-over. Even if he insisted he was fine, she would still mother over him until a doctor had had their way with him. Her skills as a medic were superior to his by far, and she could possess the same tenacity in such matters as Arcade.
They stripped in silence, and Six added a sprinkle of detergent to the bath, testing the temperature.
Six got into the tub first, evidently finding the temperature adequate. Her arms were crossed over her chest, as was her custom. Boone didn't know her to have an aversion to nakedness and instead marked it as an instinctive protective gesture. Perhaps even a mere habit of functionality.
She shifted forward as he followed her in. With some difficulty in the tight space, his legs bracketed hers, and she leaned back. Her back rested on his chest, her eyes closed and no words passing between them. He heard and felt her breathing, the house otherwise still. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding them together in the warm water.
Six was the first to speak.
“I don’t need you to defend me.”
“I know.” Boone answered.
“But you’re going to.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah.”
“Because you want to.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” The question came as a surprise to Boone.
“You matter.”
“Lots of people matter, Boone.” She said softly.
“You matter to me.”
Six didn’t answer but to turn around, crookedly pressing their dry lips together.
The NCR had been a cause. Revenge had been a drive. Six was a purpose. A reason to wake up in the morning, to drag himself to his feet and to put bullets in heads beside his own. Never had Boone felt such complete trust or dedication for another living person.
His hand on her stomach spread and descended, pushing through hair to get to her core, idly teasing. Her backside ground against his stirring cock, coaxing him to full hardness.
It was her hand that positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, sinking slowly down until their hips were flush together. They both hissed out breath.
Six lifted her hips shallowly, languidly. Boone’s other hand came to her breast, cupping and pinching lightly as he rocked into her.
Boone wrapped his arm around her waist, bending his legs and putting his thighs beneath her. She moaned softly at the change in angle, laying back until her head rested on his shoulder. He brought his mouth to her neck, sucking and nipping at her soft skin.
After Carla had died, Boone did not have the luxury to grieve. Breaking Manny’s nose wasn’t exactly therapeutic either. Only the moments he spent watching the horizon were his own, nearly desperate to see crimson at the end of his scope. That fantasy he’d gone into depth on. Cripple the legs, then the arms. Then he’d watch, and he’d wait. He’d wait for the nightstalkers or the bloatflies to come collect. Boone imagined he’d hear those screams all the way back to Novac. But that wouldn’t bring Carla back. Grief festered only in his own mind, tethered by vigilance and hatred. But Six… Six was not Carla. He’d have to be stupid to think that he could replace his wife. But Six wasn’t a replacement or substitute for his dead wife. She was something else. The first person since that night that Boone had trusted and cared for and wanted to protect beyond some lingering obligation. He owed her his revenge, life, and sanity. She wasn’t bothered that he still wore his wedding ring on the chain with his dog tags, the dull tapping of metal reminding them of its presence.
Her hips rolled slowly, his arms around her and his name whispered from her lips. She shook with orgasm as his fingers circled her clit, his seed spilling into her and converging with the bath water. Sweat on their shoulders and breathing shallow, Boone knew himself too much of a broken coward to tell her that he loved her.
If he held her closely enough in their cooling bath, he might pass the message on.