Chapter Text
AUGUST, 2275
The Mojave night was inky-black, stars splattered in like paint around a pearlescent moon– the red sand turned violet in the darkness, stretching on and on unbroken.
A small pinprick of orange flickered up on a cliff north of Camp Golf, where two young snipers nested. Their first assignment on First Recon was nothing big, keeping an eye on a Feral-infested set of ruins and making sure nothing ventured out from its depths, and so they had the night largely to themselves.
A small fire provided heat in the autumn chill, their packs placed in front of it to block its light from observers down the cliff face, and sat upon two folded bedrolls, two men took in the view.
"Big leagues, now." Said the one hugging his knees in the cold, eyes to the stars. The freshly-pressed dog tags at his chest read VARGAS, MANNY. "First Recon. We've made it."
"Yeah."
The other, sitting with one leg straight out and his arm resting on his bent other knee, kept his eyes trained to the horizon. The man, his tags reading BOONE, CRAIG, wasn't much of a conversationalist, never had been.
They sat in silence for a moment, until Craig went digging through his pockets. He eventually produced one battered cigarette, and plucked a piece of burning brush from their fire, lit the smoke, and tossed it back in.
Craig took a drag of the cigarette and passed it across, and Manny took it gratefully. His straggly attempt at growing a moustache dusted his top lip, and he coughed when he passed it back.
"Boone, you know, now we're out of GI—"
An affirmative sound came from his comrade.
"—I was thinking, we could, formalise things a little."
Boone scoffed, hacking slightly on the smoke. "Formalise? NCR doesn't marry its comrades together, let alone its men."
"No, no, I know. And I wasn't talking about getting married, fuck that anyway," he laughed, taking a drag, "life's too short to tie yourself down like that."
"Alright, since you're the brains behind this scheme, what do you suggest, Vargas?"
"We could swap tags," he shrugged—
Boone choked on his cigarette.
"Hell, Manny, fetch the preacher why don't you?"
He passed it across anyway.
"I just said it wouldn't be a fuckin' marriage, man—"
"We're army men, that's about as close as it gets!"
Manny finished the cigarette in one long drag, putting it out in the sand before pocketing the stub. Leave no trace.
"You don't have to,"
When his hand returned to his knee, he was mildly surprised to find Craig's hovering above, and when he flipped his palm to accept whatever he was holding, the little metal plate dropped into his hand with a distinct clink.
Wordlessly, he fumbled to remove his own second tag, affixing Craig's to his chain as Manny passed his across.
They settled into silence again, this time Manny's gaze affixed to Craig, who stayed staring out into the inky-black.
"So, Craig, what'll it be? Vargas-Boone or Boone-Vargas?"
He received a swift punch to the shoulder.
"—Hey, if you don't like it we can swap back—"
"Nope."