"Jen?" Boone's voice is gruff, and harsher than he intended. He clears his throat as if to somehow soften it. "Jen."

There is no response from the courier. The brunette is currently sitting with her back to the wall, curled up like one of the hedgehogs in that book Gannon showed him.

Another whimper escapes her lips as yet another crash resonates through the tiny shack.

He lowers himself to her side, grimacing as the joins in his knees crack.

Carla never liked thunderstorms. It didn't often rain in Novac, but when it stormed, it seemed like it would never stop. Occasionally it would be so bad that he'd be forced to abandon his post in the T-Rex's mouth. It was at times like that, when it seemed like the door to their little motel room might just rattle itself off its hinges, that she'd snuggle right up to him, burrowing into his chest until she fell asleep.

Outside, the raindrops sound like bullets against the broken tarmac. He wraps an arm around the Courier's shoulders. She's younger than him; barely an adult. She leans into his embrace, looking up at him with those sad blue eyes that remind him so much of Carla's.

He hums into her hair and tries to ignore the ache in his chest.