Boone grinned behind his glass, taking her ribbing in stride. The good mood suited him, she thought. He seemed like a whole new person without that black cloud hanging over his head.
"Hold 'em up for size," he said, pushing the clothes towards her. "Dresses and shirts. Maybe they'll be useful."
There were a few items in the bundle he'd given her, NCR dress uniform shirts with the collars rubbed thin, simple yardwork shirts cut for a man with strong shoulders, and dresses that billowed in great shapeless waves of cotton. He reached over and rubbed his thumb along the collar of a particular dress, and she resisted the impulse to pat his hand. Instead she took the dress and rubbed the fabric between her fingers, holding it to her neck and letting it drop over the curve of her belly.
The fabric was marked with yellow stains from years left folded and forgotten in his wardrobe. Boone had given it a good scrubbing and airing though, the cotton still damp to the touch and scented with Abraxo. It was cut in a style that hadn't been popular for the well-to-do expecting women in NCR City for the past decade, the front embroidered with flowers and cursed with a collar that buttoned high on the neck. It was hideous in every way, large as a tent and about as fetching, and from the look on his face Boone knew it as well.
"She never much liked it," he said by way of conversation. "Said it itched her neck."
"I bet you bought this," Six said, smoothing the fabric and smiling at him. "Bet you got dazzled by one of the rag traders and their ritzy city fashion and picked it out yourself."
"Yeah," said Boone, and he almost smiled back. "Not much out there for a woman as broad as a barn."
"You've got some cheek." She folded it and set it back on the pile, avoiding the urge to grab him by the chin and inspect him like a recalcitrant child. Hell, as if he needed Courier herself to double-check his motives and make sure he wasn't making a mistake. She never gave him enough credit back then, and old habits died hard. "I can fix you up with some caps tomorrow."
"Don't bother. They're old rags, but better all of her clothes get some wear."
"Mhmm." Six silently debated over how best to articulate her thoughts, that you might need these some day. "I'll look after them."
"Hell, cut 'em into spare cloth for all I care. They're yours now." His voice was soft despite the veneer of bluster and bravado.
"Rubbish. I'll wear 'em until I pop, then there's a handful of ladies who'll all be showing by the time I'm done with Carla's clothes." Six grinned at him and decided to pat his hand anyway. "By my reckoning you've just clothed half the women of Novac. Think any of them will name their babies in your honour?"
"Now you're dribbling brahminshit," he said, and tipped his glass up to chase the last dregs of rum. "Change the subject."
"Fine," she said, and put her feet up on Isaiah's chair. Her ankles ached after a day standing behind that motel counter, swollen and sore and aching. Only a month to go, then she figured she'd be too busy keeping a squalling baby happy to worry about her feet. She pointed her toes and took her mug of cold tea in her hands, and gave Craig Boone a warm smile. "So tell me what you've been up to all these years, Craig. I want to know how you've been."
Boone + F!Courier, 'Old Rags' 3/?
"Hold 'em up for size," he said, pushing the clothes towards her. "Dresses and shirts. Maybe they'll be useful."
There were a few items in the bundle he'd given her, NCR dress uniform shirts with the collars rubbed thin, simple yardwork shirts cut for a man with strong shoulders, and dresses that billowed in great shapeless waves of cotton. He reached over and rubbed his thumb along the collar of a particular dress, and she resisted the impulse to pat his hand. Instead she took the dress and rubbed the fabric between her fingers, holding it to her neck and letting it drop over the curve of her belly.
The fabric was marked with yellow stains from years left folded and forgotten in his wardrobe. Boone had given it a good scrubbing and airing though, the cotton still damp to the touch and scented with Abraxo. It was cut in a style that hadn't been popular for the well-to-do expecting women in NCR City for the past decade, the front embroidered with flowers and cursed with a collar that buttoned high on the neck. It was hideous in every way, large as a tent and about as fetching, and from the look on his face Boone knew it as well.
"She never much liked it," he said by way of conversation. "Said it itched her neck."
"I bet you bought this," Six said, smoothing the fabric and smiling at him. "Bet you got dazzled by one of the rag traders and their ritzy city fashion and picked it out yourself."
"Yeah," said Boone, and he almost smiled back. "Not much out there for a woman as broad as a barn."
"You've got some cheek." She folded it and set it back on the pile, avoiding the urge to grab him by the chin and inspect him like a recalcitrant child. Hell, as if he needed Courier herself to double-check his motives and make sure he wasn't making a mistake. She never gave him enough credit back then, and old habits died hard. "I can fix you up with some caps tomorrow."
"Don't bother. They're old rags, but better all of her clothes get some wear."
"Mhmm." Six silently debated over how best to articulate her thoughts, that you might need these some day. "I'll look after them."
"Hell, cut 'em into spare cloth for all I care. They're yours now." His voice was soft despite the veneer of bluster and bravado.
"Rubbish. I'll wear 'em until I pop, then there's a handful of ladies who'll all be showing by the time I'm done with Carla's clothes." Six grinned at him and decided to pat his hand anyway. "By my reckoning you've just clothed half the women of Novac. Think any of them will name their babies in your honour?"
"Now you're dribbling brahminshit," he said, and tipped his glass up to chase the last dregs of rum. "Change the subject."
"Fine," she said, and put her feet up on Isaiah's chair. Her ankles ached after a day standing behind that motel counter, swollen and sore and aching. Only a month to go, then she figured she'd be too busy keeping a squalling baby happy to worry about her feet. She pointed her toes and took her mug of cold tea in her hands, and gave Craig Boone a warm smile. "So tell me what you've been up to all these years, Craig. I want to know how you've been."
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