- I -

The service uniform felt tight and stifling around his entire frame, serving as a nagging reminder of his longstanding distaste for military dress codes. The slight weight he'd put on in recent years only contributed to his physical discomfort, which the harsh afternoon sun exacerbated as the minutes passed in the open desert. Even so, he gritted his teeth and bore with it, for the ceremony required his concentration, and the procession had just begun.

He snapped to attention when the honor guard commander gave the order. Although he had never formally returned to the service, he fell back into the procedures with natural ease. As the saying went: Once NCR, always NCR.

And for Craig Boone, old habits died hard.

His stomach tightened when it came time to lift the casket. In synchronized motion with the other honor guard members, he bent down and grasped the bottom, taking a second to glance at the inverted American flag draped over the surface. Its symbolism was a mere echo of what it used to be over two hundred years in the past, but in this case he understood its significance because he knew what it had meant to her.

Boone swallowed when the honor guard hoisted the casket onto their shoulders, and he registered the weight of her body inside. It all still felt like a terrible delusion, a figment of his subconscious taunting him with yet another example of the unfairness of life. Clear as day, he recalled her radiant smile, the burning blue eyes that lit up the Mojave, and the searing force of her character in matters of justice and integrity. Even as he moved in formation toward the burial site, feeling her lifeless presence through the final wooden bed, he still struggled with the reality of her passing.

After all, she had survived certain death once; who would have believed she'd ever actually kick the bucket?

"'Natural causes'? At age thirty-five? As far as bullshit goes, that takes the cake."

He heard his own words from the previous day after he had arrived at Camp McCarran and received the bare details from Colonel James Hsu. All efforts to obtain further information and/or learn the truth from the rest of the NCR yielded no variations to the story. One day she had been fine, and the next her body had shut down. Boone told them even the most simpleminded idiot wouldn't have believed that, but not one soldier in the entire camp said anything more about it.

He felt the stares of the funeral attendees as the honor guard made the solemn march down through the center of the crowd. A few sobs reached his ears, but for the most part, the onlookers remained silent. He found the lack of mourning peculiar, especially for such a prominent figure like her. But then he remembered the setting outside Nellis Air Force Base, and he realized the Boomers had never completely forgiven her for leaving them, her tribe of origin, almost two decades ago.

The honor guard came to a halt beside the six-foot-deep rectangle in the ground before lowering the casket to rest temporarily at their feet. Boone averted his eyes from the hole, his fingernails digging into his palms as General Lee Oliver spoke a few words from the makeshift podium elevated nearby. The commanding officer's speech sounded rushed and lackluster, as if he sought to breeze through the inconvenient affair of the funeral. Boone tried to keep his glower discreet. In case the insufferable old ingrate had forgotten, he owed the NCR's victory at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam to the late Sergeant Callisto Forge.

At the honor guard commander's order to commence the folding of the flag, Boone took over to lead the ritual. Ex-NCR he may have been, but his bearing remained sharp as ever, and the permanent 1st Recon beret he wore demanded respect. Oliver droned on in the background as Boone drew all attention by marching with crisp movements to the head of the detail. Taking the edges of the flag, he nodded for the opposite honor guard member to hold the other end.

The folding entailed twelve folds, and Boone took his time as he considered the significance of each. Life, honor, allegiance, tribute, eternity. When attributed to her, he agreed with their definitions. His fingers memorized the material of the flag, handling it almost reverently beneath the blazing heat. Beads of sweat rolled down his back under his thick uniform jacket, but he maintained his somber composure as he swept a quick glimpse around.

Many unfamiliar faces comprised the majority of the crowd: Boomers, NCR soldiers, other citizens. The ones he did recognize stood grouped together across the way. A mild sense of nostalgia built under his sternum at the sight of Veronica, Cass, Raul, Lily, ED-E, and Rex. All together once again. It might have stemmed from the fact that they all shared history as companions, but to him they looked like the most sincere lot in attendance.

And then, through his sunglasses, his eyes clashed with Arcade's.

The doctor's neutral expression didn't change, but he inclined his head in the same manner he had earlier that day.

"Well, I'll be damned," Arcade had exclaimed upon spotting him during the ceremony preparations. "Craig Boone, fresh out of California. And back in NCR colors, to boot."

Boone grunted and adjusted the tie squeezing his neck as he made his way over to his former comrade. "Gannon. Wasn't sure who I'd be seeing again when I decided to come back."

Arcade ran a hand through his wavy blond hair, the first tinges of gray catching the light at his temples. "All of us are here. The old crew. We didn't know if you'd show up or not, though."

Boone hesitated, his eyebrows drawing together. "Veronica sent me a message. She said Calli would have wanted me to be flag bearer at her funeral. I couldn't say no, but I didn't think NCR reservists usually had military funerals."

"You and Calli really never contacted each other over the past five years?" Arcade asked in astonishment. "She went active duty again after you left."

The knowledge took him aback. "Oh. I guess she figured her courier job turned out to be more dangerous than an army career after all."

"Well…" Arcade trailed off when several NCR officers walked by. "Anyway, I'm surprised you didn't stay in touch with her. I know she always kept her history and personal life on the down low, but it just seemed like there was something going on between you two."

"No. Not… really," Boone replied, the inflection of his voice growing harsh. "It… wouldn't have worked out."

"Hmm," the other man said dubiously. "I suppose Calli did carry around her secrets."

"Yeah. All those solo trips to Nellis and Camp Searchlight when we had a three-way war on our hands," Boone remarked, frowning at the memory of her impromptu disappearances. "I followed her once to Camp Searchlight. Hung back, wanted to make sure she was okay. It was dark, but through the haze I could make out that blonde pixie cut. Then what she did… it didn't make any sense."

Arcade blinked at him. "Dare I ask?"

"You know how that place is irradiated to hell and crawling with feral trooper ghouls? She just… watched them. Stood far enough so they didn't see her, and she spent an hour looking at them." Boone shook his head, still confused to this day. "I never brought it up. Probably should have."

The silence stretched on as Arcade seemingly mulled over the recount. He peered at the ground, the lines around his mouth deepening with some troubled emotion. And when he glanced back up at Boone, his dark gaze glinted from behind his spectacles.

"I'm sure she had her reasons," he declared, and left it at that.

For a moment, Boone wondered if Arcade knew something he didn't, but an announcement rang out over the area, informing them all that five minutes remained before the proceedings commenced. Boone looked behind him to where the honor guard had finished setting up around the casket. But before he went to join them, he turned back to Arcade.

"Listen, none of these bastards are telling me shit about what really happened to her," he remarked in a low tone. "I'm not buying that story about how she just keeled over and died from outta nowhere. I want to know how it actually happened."

Arcade watched him, his features slowly closing off. "Sorry, but I don't have another version to give you." However, leaning closer, he added, "At least, not here. All I can say is, you'll start to see a bigger picture when you present the flag."

Boone muttered a curse at the doctor's ambiguous statement. Leave it to Arcade to amp up the mystery. Still, at least now he had confirmation that something was indeed amiss about Calli's death. And he intended to find out why everyone refused to disclose the truth.

The folding process continued all the way to the twelfth and final fold. Boone studied the flag—now tucked into a triangular shape in his arms—and awaited the signal for the next part. Oliver's monotone drifted over them for several more minutes, listing off Calli's accomplishments during her alternating positions as an NCR ranger and reservist.

"Sergeant Forge served as the pivotal key that secured Hoover Dam for the NCR once and for all. She took up the mantle of duty even during her days in the reserves," Oliver proclaimed, reading straight from a page someone else had undoubtedly written for him. "There has been no finer servicemember in the New California Republic Army than this remarkable woman, who departed from this life far too soon…"

Boone endured the general's jaded recital and mentally elaborated on Calli's listed merits. For all her clandestine business, she had sported a very gung-ho and sometimes brash persona. He remembered how easy it had been to fall under her leadership, how quickly his purpose had changed from seeking revenge against the Legion to supporting her cause. She had always favored the offense, charging forward in everything she did and never looking back. He'd never met anyone else with such a zest for life. A certain light followed her wherever she went, one that had allowed him to see through his darkest days.

But behind her candor and energetic spirit, something well-guarded sat locked within her chest.

He thought again of that instance at Camp Searchlight, the way her face had reflected immense concentration as she gazed at the mindless creatures prowling the site. In that quiet hour, her demeanor had grown forlorn and almost wistful for reasons he couldn't begin to comprehend. It hadn't been his place to spy on her solitude, and so he had never initiated a confrontation. He regretted his silence, as the mystery would now remain forever unsolved.

His vision roved over her sealed casket, and he couldn't help wondering what other hidden secrets she was taking to the grave.

Finally, he received the signal for the presentation of the flag.

Boone tensed and prepared himself to come face-to-face with Calli's family. Boomers, most likely, although she had never mentioned her parents or any siblings. He pivoted in an about-face and squared his corners as he headed for the family seating area Hsu had pointed out to him that morning. A portion of the other attendees blocked his view on the way, and he made bets with himself about who would be there to receive her flag. Parents were his first guess. Perhaps grizzled old Boomers reluctantly acknowledging their daughter's deeds and service. Five years had passed since he'd last witnessed her sour relations with the tribe, and he couldn't see them reconciling completely in that span of time.

A telltale sign was the fact that they were burying her outside Nellis, her home, instead of in.

Oliver reached the closing of his obligated speech just as Boone rounded the last line of people and turned toward the family section.

He faltered, stopped dead in his tracks.

No parents. No siblings. Not even a significant other. Only one individual stood there. He possessed the same blond hair as Calli, the same crystal blue eyes. He had her nose, her mouth, and her chin, which trembled as he fought to hold in his grief. Even then, a tear escaped, and then another as he waited alone at the front of the vast, empty seating area.

A little boy—older than five, no more than ten—trying his hardest to put up a brave front.

Boone snapped out of his shock when the honor guard fired the three-volley salute. On stiff legs, he trudged rather than marched forward. This was nothing like he had expected. He found himself unable to break eye contact with the boy as a thousand thoughts swirled around his mind. From what he understood, the purpose of presenting the flag at a servicemember's funeral was to honor the fallen and give condolences to the family. Traditionally, the flag went to the next of kin, such as a spouse or a parent.

"You'll start to see a bigger picture when you present the flag."

Callisto Forge couldn't have left a more heartbreaking legacy.

This flag was going to her son.

x-x-x-x-x

A/N: As someone who has always been closely associated with the U.S. military, I wanted to write something that would reflect the more solemn aspect of service and the true meaning of Memorial Day. Applying it to the Fallout universe presented a challenge, but I think I made it work. And astoundingly, my muse behaved enough for me to get through it. The world must be ending if that figurative pain in my ass developed a heart. Thanks for checking out this first part!