After all, he's abandoned his post in Goodsprings, he may as well alert his fellow Rangers to his movement. The NCR radio he carries is an emergency one, for absolute necessary assistance, not for casual location and status updates. They stroll in off the train tracks and Elliott casts a glance at Ghost, one that says ‘let me do the talking’, but that doesn't last very long once they're inside the small circle of trailers that makes up the Ranger Station. At some point, it'd been Shady Pines Trailer Park, but clearly in the blistering sunshine, it was no longer any such thing.

“And who might you be travelin’ with, Bates?” Ranger Beaumont cracks a smile as he extends a hand to Ghost for a shake and Elliott nearly trips over himself in an attempt to explain why he's escorting a Ghoul around before his brother-in-arms can ask, or notice. He and Beaumont, ‘Monty if we’re talkin’ up broads’ he would say, had been in training together back at Camp Golf. Ba and Be were awfully close in the alphabet, and Beaumont was something of the older brother figure that Elliot never had. Nazareth was younger and meaner. Ghost shakes his hand, glowing tea-green fingers sticking out from underneath fingerless gloves as their palms collide. 

“A courier. This is Ghost, he's —”

“Mojave Express’ finest.” Ghost finishes, winking at Beaumont, who registers just what he's speaking to. “Ranger Bates has been a great help.”

“What exactly have you been, uh…helping with?” Beaumont raises a brow, his attention shifted to Elliott. If the sun didn't already leave his cheeks kissed red, he'd be flustered in the same shade. 

“Ghost here got shot in the head. We’re trackin’ the bastard down and getting back what he stole.” Elliott nods, swallowing his anxiety about the entire situation. Watching for a negative reaction on Beaumont’s face with eagle eyed scrutiny. Mutants and ghouls aren't exactly welcome everywhere and Elliott is already pushing it these days by being the vague source of radiation he always has been. 

“You're fuckin’ with me, Bates. Ain't no way he's been shot.” 

“Ghouls are a little extra spongy, in regards to bullets, it turns out.” Elliott sort of shrugs and  Beaumont goes to retort a comment but chokes it back. He instead crosses his arms and looks the ghoul up and down, with more curiosity than scrutiny in his eyes this time. Elliott being the man he is, he’d never question anyone else the same way most humans do, but…Beaumont at least needed to understand why a ghoul, let alone a glowing one, wasn't feral and ripping their faces off at the moment. 

“Understood. So, how long will you be off post? Gotta tell Hanlon something, replace you if need be.” 

“Right — a week, maybe?” Elliott hums, rocking back slightly on his heels. “Two?”

“I can have one of my boys cover your ass for the week. That's it.” Beaumont murmurs, as if someone were listening, and Elliott’s eye lights up in response. 

“Thank you. Thank you, seriously. You're the fuckin’ man.” Elliott smiles, ear to ear, sharp teeth on display. Nearly canine in nature, but not quite that jagged. “I’ll stop in again on my way back to Goodsprings, yeah?” 

“You got it, Ell.” Ranger Bates cringes. “Be safe. The both of you.”

It's not far to the next town.

Novac.

No-Vacancy.

The sign outside blinks, bulbs flickering and illuminating the giant statue of a goddamn dinosaur that overlooks the surrounding landscape of the settlement. Green and intrusive against the sunset sky, big stupid head in the way of properly viewing the mountains, at least for Elliott. Ghost finds it amusing, at the very least.

“How the fuck did this survive the nukes?” He laughs, patting his hand on the dinosaur’s massive tail, making Elliott roll his eyes. 

“Fuck if I know.” He states, looking up the small set of wooden stairs that enter the dinosaur’s side. “C'mon, I think they've got souvenirs in there. We can get a room, too.” 

His memory was correct. A man behind the counter deals in Dinky (the dinosaur, of course), as well as in ammunition on the side. Elliott gratefully purchases a fair helping of ammunition where Ghost buys himself a Dinky the Dinosaur toy. The little arms and legs are articulated, its mouth wide open, glassy, beady little eyes staring up at the ghoul with an unmatched intensity. Elliott can't deny, it's…kind of cute. Its head sticks out of Ghost’s Mojave Express bag menacingly. 

His attention is briefly on Dinky, ripped away in an instant by a familiar face.

One that he didn't think he’d ever see again.

“Boone?” Elliott says in pure disbelief as he stops the First Recon Sniper in his tracks. His hand lingers on the door handle to the entry going up the dinosaur to the mouth, and his back remains turned towards Elliott. “It's been ages, man, how the hell are you?”

“You’re mistaking me for someone else.” The man replies, glancing over his shoulder.  “And I have a night watch shift.”

“I’ll come with.” Elliott beams, but the man doesn't share the reaction. He sighs, leaning his head against the door in defeat at the Ranger’s insistence. “Three eyes are better than two. Five if you count Ghost, here.” 

“Persistent as always, huh?” Boone turns entirely now to look at Elliott. “C’mon. Need to let Manny off his shift.”

Despite the initial desire to be anywhere but in a conversation with Elliott Bates, the ex-First Recon Sniper gives in. He's not hard to convince, especially when he's seen his fair share of service time with the young ranger. They're the same age, having grown up near and around each other for some time, and it's more than easy to slip back into some sort of rhythm with him. Friendly, at the very least. The three of them, a misfit duo and the somewhat standoffish sniper, fall into comfortable conversation with little effort. It's mostly Elliott and Boone catching up, after all they hadn't seen each other since the Battle of the Hoover Dam.

Elliott had made that choice, not Boone.

Then, it quickly became that Boone was no longer interested in serving in the military.

They lost contact quickly thereafter, but…those kinds of bonds, they never truly go away, even after years spent apart.

Morning comes without sleep, but Elliott (not Ghost) doesn't seem to mind. Not when it means an evening with a friend, albeit in the mouth of a giant tyrannosaur.

“You should come with us.” Elliott murmurs, sipping on a bottle of purified water. Crunching the plastic between his fingers, listening to it crinkle. “Headed to The Strip.”

“Not gonna happen, pal.” Boone replies, stern. 

“Come on — I’m not emitting that much radiation.” Ghost teases as he leans against the mouth of the dinosaur, arm hanging out between two of the massive teeth. The subtle glow he lets off is more apparent in the night, a light green cast over everything, acting like a chem-light to illuminate the surrounding areas as they chat. Boone chuckles at Ghost’s musing, but he shakes his head still. The velvet of the red beret on his head catches the light, as does the symbol emblazoned on the front in shimmery embroidery floss. It reads ‘The Last Thing You Never See' in black, surrounding the skull of a bear. Elliott knows it well, recognizes it as the First Recon logo, but it leaves him wondering why Boone still wears it. He’s clearly not still working with his team, so why the beret? A badge of honor for a life he once lived? Elliott watches his response carefully, the way the sniper’s body language stiffens up as he replies.

“I can't. I’m retired, you don't need me dragging you down. Won't be much help, I'm afraid.” Boone shrugs slightly, evading the Ranger’s eye contact intentionally. (That’s how Elliott sees it, anyways.) “You’d have better luck with Manny.”

“Who? Listen -- we can use the help. I’m going after someone, Craig, and --”

“Elliott. No.”

“Why? Really? Because you’re the best damn shot the NCR has.” 

“I was. You don’t know what happened in between the dam and now. You scurried off before the rubble stopped smouldering at Boulder City.”

Suddenly it’s tense.

Elliott clears his throat and stands up, hands shaking slightly as he picks his rifle up from where it was leaned. 

“Well I’m gonna kill the motherfucker who dragged me to the Strip in the first place. Are you coming or not?” He gets up in Boone’s face, chest puffed, metaphorical hackles raised. Elliott doesn’t have a height advantage, but he does have an unimaginable bravado. It doesn’t rattle Boone, at least in appearance, for the sniper stands tall and proud with his arms crossed over his stained white t-shirt. Looking down through aviators even at night, a brow cocked up curiously at the Ranger’s persistence. Afterall, he’d commented on it before. Elliott’s inability to let things go. “We can work things out. Make amends.”

“...I have a lot more penance to pay than just for not coming to find you, Elliott.”

“Then we’ll figure it out. C’mon. You, me and Ghost. We put a bullet in Benny’s forehead and burn the Tops down when we’re done?”

Boone sighs.

“You got a deal, Ranger.”

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