Mild mannered lab tech by day, savior (or not) of the Wasteland by night. I fully embrace my dorkiness and embrace the RP elements of games far too much. And thus, a FONV fanfic. I can't promise how often I'll update or length of chapters (my work schedule and thus free-time varies week to week), but here you go. My Courier is, of course, female, and her name is Sparrow. When Boone became her companion, I instantly fell in love- instead of the noncommunicative Charon or irritating Butch, here was a character that evolved throughout the game… and was a better at distant head shots than me. Fantastic! I hope you enjoy… and yes, I'll take liberties with some of the speech, especially since I'm still on my first play through!
Note: Constructive criticism is fantastic.
Note 2: I can't abide grammatical errors (accidental ones anyway), so there may be resubmitted chapters every now and then as I catch something on a read-through.
The first time Boone saw her, it was through the scope of his rifle. It wasn't that he was taking aim, but it was late at night, and he was startled out of his inward reverie by the light sound of crunching asphalt. It wasn't so much that there was a sound, as it was purposefully directional, and it was coming from the other side of his perch, on the road from Nipton. He couldn't see the walker yet, but he could tell it was someone light, and from the hesitation in the footfalls, cautious. He swung his rifle around to the furthest left sight he had, and the walker came into view. It was a woman and she was indeed light, with tanned skin and short hair that appeared silver in the moonlight, but was probably just mousy brown under the truth of the sun.
He watched her stop and look around, towards the houses and then back towards the motel. When she looked up at the dinosaur, her eyes unknowingly met his straight on. He never blinked, just watched her, and in a few moments she moved back out of his line of sight, and he heard the motel lobby door open and close. He returned his attention to the eastern Wasteland and didn't think anymore about her.
The next night he was on duty, he saw her again. This time she was headed towards the old McBride place. He was about to look away again when he saw her pull her rifle out and sneak towards the brahmin pen. He wondered what was going on, when he heard the muffled sound of a minigun; a late night occurrence that bemused him but didn't worry him since it never killed anything but the brahmin. There was a sudden crack in the air from her rifle, and he watched as she stood up, unholstered a pistol, and started running out of his line of sight like a bat out of hell. There were several more loud cracks, and he saw her back pedaling. What followed her was something he'd never seen before but had heard about- a big blue mutie. He took aim, ready to destroy the creature, when the girl leaped forward and fired her pistol at the creature's head at point-blank range. The creature fell backwards and landed with a thud. She stood there for a few seconds- he guessed she was catching her breath- and then, pistol still aimed at its head, kicked the body a few times. He heard her vivid cursing, muted by her distance from him, and chuckled softly, watching her as she nudged the creature softly and then glared and kicked it as hard she could; she looked like a little child throwing a temper tantrum. Then the moment was gone, and reality came back along with all the hateful memories, and he resolutely returned to his task, unaccountably angry at the childish girl who had distracted him from so many things. He heard her moving, but refused to look back or even think about her.
Perhaps it was because he was so focused on ignoring her that he didn't hear the soft thud of the gift shop opening. Or footsteps on the stairs behind him. When the door behind him opened, he swung around with his rifle, pulse jumping, and realized he wasn't aiming at a raider, but instead the girl, whose eyes widened at the long barrel pointed straight at her. Her shock lasted only a moment, and then her gaze went past the gun and to his face, and the only sign of her discomfort and shock were slightly parted lips. He evaluated her unemotionally: fairly tall with tan skin, brown hair like he'd thought, pale eyes with long eyelashes, full and vulnerable lips, pert nose, and a slight but attractively curvy build. She was also young, younger than he'd thought, and he put her age at nothing over 23. Her looks and age seemed incongruous with the leather armor she wore like it was a part of herself, and if he hadn't seen her nerve in fighting the brahmin creature, he would have underestimated her skill with the 10mm holstered at her hip.
A second passed in silence before he inwardly shook himself and spoke to her in a gruff voice.
"You shouldn't sneak up on me. I could kill you."
She blinked, then unexpectedly laughed, a rough bark that sounded like it didn't happen often, surprising him.
"Sorry. Usually it's the other way around; if I sneak, I don't get killed."
He grunted, unsure of how to respond, or even if wanted to respond. She acknowledged his silence, but continued.
"You are Boone, correct? Manny said you worked here nights."
He almost growled, but controlled himself, and nodded tersely. "What do you want?"
Instead of answering, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "What were you looking for?"
"It doesn't concern you," he replied tensely. "You should leave now."
"Just making friendly conversation."
"I don't have friends here."
"Good thing I'm not from here then."
Boone paused, wanting to insult her simplistic logic, but just maybe… "Maybe you shouldn't go just yet."
"I need someone to trust. You're a stranger, so that's a start."
"Interesting idea, only trusting strangers. Why?"
"I want you to find something for me. I don't know if there is anything to find, but I need someone to try. Someone who isn't connected to this town."
"My wife disappeared one night while I was on watch." Boone stopped himself from showing any emotion. Emotions wouldn't help; grief wouldn't help. Only vengeance.
"Do you know what happened? Where she could have gone?" the girl asked, sounding a little bemused.
"She did not go anywhere. She was taken."
"What do you mean?"
"Legion slavers came and captured her."
"Oh." The girl's expression changed minutely, just enough for him to catch a thinning of her lips, clenching of her jaw. Her voice, however, didn't belie her change in expression and boone wondered a little at it. "I'm sorry. Have you tried to rescue her?"
"She's dead now."
The girl paused, looking at him, and he wondered why she cared. Or even why he was telling her. He expected her to ask him how he knew, or if he was sure, but instead she surprised him by merely nodding. And he hadn't really planned to ask her, but she was new in town, and as she look out over the Wasteland next to him, he made the sudden decision to involve her.
"They took Carla, but no one else. They knew what routes to take and what time to come. That means someone in town invited them in. And I want to know who."
She looked at him, expressionless, and just nodded again. He found himself waiting for her reply, maybe even hoping-
"What do you want me to do?"
He wondered at her ready volunteering, but didn't want to ask. Every man, or woman in this case, has their own agenda. And right now, this odd girl's was in line with his. And so he told her his plan, and when she left with his beret, he felt more alive than he had in a while.
The fourth night, he looked out for her. He couldn't sleep much earlier in the day; he couldn't explain his faith in the girl, but he felt a deep anticipation. He simply knew she would find the person who had destroyed his wife, the same way he just knew when a gust of wind was going to come and change a bullet's trajectory and how to compensate for it. And so he wasn't surprised when he saw her leading a one Jeannie May Crawford to a rock outcropping, straight into his line of sight. After the girl put his beret on, standing a respectable 10 feet or so away from the Crawford woman, he savoured the moment for a few seconds. This is for you, Carla.
The girl was just out of the splash range, and he didn't turn around when he heard her come up into the dinosaur a few minutes later. When she handed him the trade receipt as evidence of Crawford's crimes, he read it and then balled it up, staring out across the Wastes.
"What will you do now?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know. I can't stay here anymore. "
"You could come with me."
He turned to look at her then, to evaluate her seriousness. She was looking at him, no emotions on her face to show what she was thinking. And without knowing why, he decided to test her resolve.
"I find Legion soldiers, I kill them. Doesn't matter where or when. They wear crimson: they're dead."
He glared at her for a few moments, then nodded.
"Okay indeed. I've got a room in the motel- you can take the sofa- and we'll wait till morning, then go run some ghouls off. Once that's done… well. We'll see what our next move is then."
She turned to leave, hand on the door, and he realized he didn't know a lot of things. Like how she had the nerve to fire a pistol at a creature three times bigger than her, why she would kick said blue nasty like a child, why she didn't care about shooting Legion soldiers, why she wanted him traveling with her, or even why she was traveling the Mojave Wasteland. Most of those would be found in time, and others, like killing the Legion, he didn't care about reasons. But he found one question to ask her.
"You know who I am. Who are you?"
She looked over her shoulder, and then for the first time he'd seen yet, she smiled. It lit up her face, showing her youth, and he decided that maybe she wasn't long out of being a teenager after all.
"Sparrow. My name is Sparrow. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Boone."
And then she was out the door, and he had to follow her, since he realized she hadn't told him exactly which room was theirs.