Six has a habit of wandering off on their own, but this time is different. Takes place directly after Old World Blues. The title is taken from the Old World Blues OST. Please observe warnings.
It was far from uncommon for them to take off for days at a time without him, grabbing Rex and strolling confidently off into the sunset. A couple of bruises and a couple of caps were usually the result, nothing more.
Of course, there were the several months Six had gotten stranded in Utah, of all places. They'd rambled cheerfully about the size of the Geckos (big) and the state of the locals (bad), completely unfazed and unconcerned. They always found their way back to Novac, the Mojave dust swirling off their boots in the sun-drenched silhouette they created at his door. Boone knew they could handle themselves. Of course, he knew that. But he worried each and every time, without fail.
This was different, somehow. Maybe it was his instincts, honed to a razor's edge by years of hard decisions going south, or maybe it was the loss he always seemed to be fighting. Six had never told him to split so close to Legion territory. Especially a fine destination like Nipton, especially when the town itself bled black smoke into the clear blue of Nevada's skyline. Both of them made a habit of picking through the crosses, saving the Legion's victims one way or another, whether that was a removal of binds or the addition of a bullet.
No, this time was different. He was on duty, up in the nest, when he saw them. At first, he wasn't sure what he was looking at, just another smudge against the desert. They were staggering around, almost ghoul-like, trailing in circles and eventually collapsing in a heap, the sand breaking their fall. He moved on instinct, shouting for Manny to cover his post as he made a beeline for the gates. He knew Six wasn't the brightest, getting shot in the head tended to have that effect, but they were moving like something was seriously wrong. They were normally carefree, not clumsy.
His breath hitched as he came close, Six's head snapping up, eyes wild. Their hair was completely buzzed, fresh scars carved precisely into their forehead and scalp. New armor, a sleek, well designed piece of hardware, fit them so well it was almost uncanny.
"Boone?" Their voice was a rasp, barely audible over the pounding in his ears. He barely managed to catch them as their knees gave, letting them sag into his arms. They were both in the sand now, the small grains scattering and molding to cradle them.
"Six?" He moved to shake them gingerly, but he didn't manage to get that far. A disembodied voice cut through the terrifying silence.
"Oops! You took a tumble. Deploying Med-X."
"No," Six mumbled, weakly pushing at his chest. "Don't wanna…"
Their eyes rolled back, the tense edge of their body giving entirely, going totally limp. The sun suddenly felt very hot on the back of his neck, the tips of his ears.
"Six!"
"Uh-oh! Bad reaction. Have a stimpack!" The voice sounded again, cheerful and clearly feminine. "I don't want you to die!"
A flash of movement, too quick for him to have caught the first time, flickered near their forearm. He reached for it instinctively, pulling the sleeve away from their forearm. He felt himself hiss, his breath cold against his teeth, as he revealed dozens of injection sites. "What the—"
Six sat straight up, grappling for the weapon they had on their waist. He hadn't paid it much attention, but it was a strange contraption, not cobbled together or resembling any gun he'd ever seen. Definitely not the one they'd left with. It hummed against his skin when he grabbed it, wrenching it out of their grasp.
"No! Get off!" Six shrieked, lashing out. Their fingernails were jagged against his face, claws raking down his cheek. Their words dissolved into loud, terrified screaming, completely devoid of any meaning. He glanced up, gauging the distance back to Novac…close enough. He threw Six over his shoulder, doing his best to ignore their cries of protest and the pounding of their fists on his back.
They'd finally gone limp after a while of attempting to wrestle them into stillness, which was never a great sign. Six wasn't generally the type to give up. They were looking down at him with sad, wet eyes as he unclipped the armor, the shadows of his room casting them in a deathly pallor.
"I'm sorry." He murmured. "But we need to figure this out. How did this happen?"
"The suit," They said, lifting their arms robotically to let him pull the chestpiece off. "I didn't want to."
"I know." He said, brushing a hand against their cheek. They leaned into it slightly.
"Are you mad at me?"
"Of course not," He said, kneeling in front of them to remove the legs. "Why would I be?"
"I left you behind to go away again. But I didn't know. And then I woke up with a weird brain and a new spine and heart. The robots sent me to their labs and made me find things and the dogs attacked me and so did the other people."
"Wait, hang on. What do you mean 'weird brain'?"
"Oh." Six looked down, deliberately refusing to look at him. "Well…"
"Six."
"They lobotomized me and lost my brain, so they had to give me a new one…but then I got it back so it's all okay now. Don't worry. Can you take your sunglasses off? I want to see your whole face."
Deflection was normal. After they killed Benny, after they double-crossed Mr. House, hell, after they stole a star bottlecap off of a random tourist. They preferred not to explain themselves or anything that happened to them. He handed them his glasses, grasping their wrist carefully. In addition to the needle scars, there were bites and burns and what looked like Cazador stings. There were both blunt and bullet wounds. But above all this, there was a full-body tremor that they couldn't seem to shake.
"Look at me."
They did, their eyes hollow. They looked sickly, thinner and more brittle than he'd ever seen them.
