Boone and the Courier staggered up the slope from Vault 34.

"Fuck," said the Courier. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

She stumbled towards the truck.

"Not that way," Boone said. "The truck-" he broke into a coughing fit. "The truck's leaking nuclear waste."

She tripped and fell in her attempt to change directions, then, on hands and knees, threw up. She clambered over the pile of vomit, finally taking shelter under an overhanging rock.

"You okay?" she asked.

Boone sat down heavily next to her. He looked at his hands.

"I feel... prickly. My arms. My face."

"Shit, that's bad. Sorry for dragging you down there for so long."

She reached into her pack, digging out RadAway, a handful of surgical tubes, and needles. She grasped Boone's arm, tying one tube around his upper arm, then sliding a needle into the vein. She hooked up the RadAway, and placed it carefully on a rock above them.

She did the same for herself, albeit clumsily and one handed. She sat back against the cool stone, exhausted.

"I didn't know it was going to be so fucking..." she trailed off.

"You don't need to apologise. I said I'd follow you, I'm following you."

"Yeah, that's why I fucking feel responsible."

"My life is my responsibility, not yours."

The Courier didn't know what to say to that, so she closed her eyes, welcoming the familiar burn of RadAway through her veins.

"What the fuck is your first name?" She found it hard to stay silent for long.

"Why?"

She ignored the question.

"Why the fuck don't I know your first name yet?"

"I don't know your last name," Boone said, mildly.

"You and me both, buddy. I keep thinking Shepard, but that doesn't feel quite right. Maybe it's what my parents did. Or my tribe." She laughed. "I got no fucking clue."

There was silence.

"It's Craig. Don't use it."

"Why not?"

More silence. The Courier noticed that Boone's bag of RadAway had run out, so she ripped the tube out and attached another bag.

"It's what Carla called me. It's not-" he paused. "It's not that she was and always will be the only one to say it, but... I can remember the way she said it. I don't want anyone else's voice to... Replace that."

The Courier bit her lip. The way Boone talked about his wife made her feel a bit sick at the thought of his pain. It was too great for her to comprehend.

She nodded, instead, and turned her attention to her new prize. The sniper rifle she'd found in the Vault's armory was huge and black and heavy. She touched it reverently.

"You know how to use that?" She couldn't see Boone's eyes behind his sunglasses.

"Uh. I'm not sure. Maybe."

She held the scope up to her eye. It was so far away! She could see a Gecko down on the plains. She tightened her finger on the trigger. The shot was loud in her ear, and she dropped the rifle in surprise. It fired again, the bullet hitting the ground in front of them.

"You need me to show you some things?" Boone asked patiently.

"Fuck off," she snarled, then looked away. "Yes. Damn it."

"Right." He plucked the needle out of his arm, the second bag finished. "Stand up."

She stood, holding the rifle expectantly.

"Now, lift the gun to your eye. Keep your finger off the trigger for now. Elbow out a bit more." He adjusted her arms. "It's easier if you're crouching or kneeling, or even lying down."

The barrel was beginning to waver.

"You gotta keep that as straight as possible. Lean it on something if you have to."

"Now, pick a target. A plant or something, not an animal."

The Courier's arms were aching. "This is-" she began, but Boone shushed her.

"Concentrate. You need to be patient. Take a breath, hold it, and when you're ready to let it out, squeeze the trigger. Gently"

She was more prepared for the noise this time, but the shot was wide.

"Did you get it? I can't see what you're aiming at from here."

"Yep!"

"Really?"

"No."

"It's okay," he said. "No one's an expert the first time they pick up a rifle."

The Courier had the feeling he'd explained this to others before.

"You ever let Carla shoot anything?"

She got a rare laugh out of him.

"Nope. Not interested."

"Smart girl," said the Courier, putting down the rifle. "I'll practice later. Let's just fucking get back to the hotel. I want a fucking bath, wash the radioactive dust off."

"No problem," replied Boone, falling into step behind her.