this is his fault. he shouldn’t have been drinking. THEY should not have been drinking. but there’s alcohol in his system and only the stars above them. it’s a warm mojave night – no need to worry about freezing in the summer. he’s still sweating, but there’s no sun. it’s bearable. except the warmth coming from within from the vodka – or whiskey – or moonshine – what the hell are they even drinking?
he scoffs at her statement and looks at her. he’s annoyed by it, so he just takes another swig from an unmarked bottle. “you admit it to me,” craig says, gesturing with the bottle. “the only enemy is the legion – what the HELL are you talking about? what we do to each other…” he thinks about the way he puts his hands on her, about his need to touch her. soft hands of guidance, rough grabs of detour from a group of people. a hand at the small of her back to urge her forward. he’s become addicted to her, and the way she smells, and the way she makes him FEEL – as if he’s not a monster in disguise. no. he’s craig. he’s a mess, but he’s craig boone, and he’s a person, and he’s alive – his heart is still beating, and he takes another swig of the bottle and laughs right in her face. “what? you want me to admit something? WE KNOW. you make it sound so – so easy – “ they covered up bitter springs in the papers. they made it sound heroic. only the khans knew the truth. only the khans, and the NCR soldiers who have to live with that guilt. “nothing’s easy. BREATHING ain’t even easy. you expect me to just – “ he clenches the bottle tightly. “no. no. i don’t know what you think you mean to me, but it’s not – that, it’s not –”
except, he turns to her, and his expression softens… and she’s already moving closer. craig doesn’t know who kissed first, but he enjoys it. he’ll worry about it in the morning.
