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Manny is in love with him.
Did some part of Boone suspect it whenever Manny told him that he was an incredible shot, piling compliments on him constantly until they almost meant nothing? Did some part of him sense it whenever they sat in silence waiting for their target, bodies so close that Boone could practically hear Manny's heart beat? And did some part of him realize it when Manny’s face fell once Boone introduced Carla, stopped smiling altogether when Boone married her?
Through his scope Boone watches a pack of coyotes chase a gecko, can hear a few howls wailing through the night’s silence. Up here at night, the air’s cold, evidence of every breath swirling then dissipating like smoke. He shifts, focusing his scope briefly by the bungalows and motel, scanning the few figures still up at this time of night.
Manny has found some handsome courier, blonde hair, easy smile. Boone never imagined he’d ever be jealous; why would he be? But he hears Manny’s laugh and realizes it’s been months since he’s heard that sound. He sees that courier smile all nice and slow and when Manny takes his arm and closes the door behind them Boone feels something deep in his chest, his lungs, something that threatens to strangle him; he wonders if this is how Manny felt around Carla.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” Manny had shouted at him once. Manny has always been steady and measured and grounded; he never yelled. “God Craig, are you really this dense?”
Maybe he had been dense. Or maybe it had been willful ignorance. At the time, Boone neither understood nor cared. And instead of talking further or trying to listen Boone had shut Manny out because he wasn’t in the army anymore, he didn’t have to make things right with his partner; they weren’t even partners anymore for god's-sake. And he had Carla. All he’d needed then was Carla.
More wailing howls. The gecko is dead now, the coyotes tearing it apart, blood on the sand.
He doesn’t want to think about Carla. Because thinking about Carla makes the rifle in his hands feel heavy and wrong and even after killing Jeannie May that pain has never really stopped. Manny’s same courier had been the one to discover Jeannie May’s secret, never said a word just handed Boone the bill of sale with a sad look in his eyes. Boone thought pulling the trigger might give him some closure, and maybe in a way it did. But the closure felt like a door slamming in his face.
He scans the roads nearby, scans the road coming down from the REPCONN facility. Manny’s courier had taken care of that too, gone in there all by himself and came back with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. And Boone saw the way Manny looked at the courier then, heard the way Manny fawned over him, thanking him in that warm, genuine way that only Manny could. Boone had recognized that it was the same way Manny had once spoken towards him and when the courier’s fingers brushed Manny’s hand he understood now what it had meant.
There are no more ghouls coming from REPCONN, so he lets his scope pan over toward Gibson scrap yard. There’s a caravan strolling down the old highway, dangerous this time of night. Boone lets his scope follow them.
The courier is golden skin and hazel eyes, a magnetic grin that’s hard not to mirror. Boone can understand what Manny sees in him; can understand why the first time the courier came into town, Manny had stopped mid-walk just to look at him. And the courier seemed just as interested; Boone could understand that too. There’s a warmth in Manny’s eyes, a warmth in his smile, a warmth in his voice, especially when he laughs. Somewhere along the way, Boone had forgotten about all those things and tonight, right now, he remembers.
The caravan eventually makes it to Novac, the two guards stretching and holstering their guns, the merchant leading their Brahmin to a trough of water. Boone focuses back on the roads.
“You do know that Manny’s in love with you, right?”
It was one of the few times the courier had spoken to him, looked Boone right in the eye without any sort of introduction. And this morning when the courier told him, Boone acted like he was wrong, like he had no idea. But some part of the words felt less like flagrant assumptions and more like puzzle pieces fitting together and snapping into place. How long had he known? Maybe he’d known since the beginning.
The faint orange and pink glow in the sky is the first evidence that the night is almost over; it’s Boone’s favorite time of the day, Mojave so quiet it’s like time stands still. Any solace he’d normally get out of the solitude is empty now though, mind still clouded and muddled. Manny was in love with him; there was a brief promise of possibility there. But then Boone remembers the look on his face when he told Manny that Carla was gone; Manny hadn’t looked sad, had looked almost happy. Now that reaction is all Boone can think about every time that he sees him.
Manny had faked sick to get out of going to Bitter Springs; he had friends there and Boone couldn’t blame him. So he’d backed up Manny’s illness because that’s what partners did for one another. And when everything went to shit out there, Boone couldn't help but see every Great Khan face in the cross-hairs as Manny’s. He never told Manny the details, no matter how often he asked. Boone realized now that it wasn’t just the guilt; he had wanted to protect him. When Manny didn’t reenlist, neither did he. When Manny went to Novac, he followed. And no matter how many times Carla begged to leave Novac, no matter how many times she’d cried and screamed at him, Boone had never once considered it.
The courier kisses Manny in the doorway, waves as he walks away. Manny watches the other man go, smile on his face.
Boone hefts his rifle over his shoulder and stands. He wants to be gone before Manny gets here, is afraid that one look at his face will tell Manny everything.