He had not been far when he heard the familiar patter of paws behind him. He'd been waiting near the precipice of the tallest mountain in the range, and for once he felt at peace rather than the chaos of the past weeks. Reverie's absence, however, was noted; and unappreciated.
But at the same time, a frustrated bitterness had been brewing. What were they doing? Why were they such a fucking mess? And he still wasn't over—
Hey, you, he greets her with the same, lazy smile; tired, worn. I see you finally got yourself outta them tumbleweeds down south, huh?
She looks concerned, glassy-eyed, and he notices immediately. Why're you cryin', sweetheart? What's the matter? instantly does he sweep her into his arms, as if he hadn't just been cross with her mere moments before. He's frantic, almost; cautious. You don't gotta cry.

His anger melts away into something fiercely apologetic. I thought you were gonna leave me, you tried to.
He lets the silence hang for a moment, arms erupting with an onslaught of trembles. Do you want this? he then asks, voice soft, yet heavy; A life. With me. A place to call our own. You, you keep-- leading me these places, and runnin' off to talk to these people, and I'm-- by all means, I'm glad you got friends, but where does that leave me? I mean, fuck, what are we? his eyebrows twitch, ears now bent to his skull. I felt alone out there, Rev. In that valley. In that desert. And it made you so, sad, to be there, and-- I'onno. I'onno what I'm sayin'. I just,
He pulls back if only to look at her eyes. I'm afraid one day you'll wake up and decide you don't want me no more.

It was in her words that Boone found himself.
She speaks and it sounds as if it must be coming from him; the gripping, soul-eviscerating fear that one day one will lose the other. And he understood, oh, how he understood, possibly much more than she could ever imagine.
His heart thrums in his chest and beats into his ears, and before he's even aware of it, his own tears begin to form at the corners of oakwood eyes. I'm not gonna get sick a' you, babydoll, he reaches forward to kiss the tears that roll down honey-gold cheeks. as long as you don't get sick a' me. I mean, c'mon, I-- I followed you all the way here, didn't I? I wouldn't'a done that if I was plannin' on gettin' outta dodge the first second I could. I just-- his breath catches in his throat before he shatters into a sullen laugh. man, God almighty, the desert ain't for me.
And it was in that lapse of silence that he hears that word; love; she's falling in love with him. And part of him, some disgustingly logical part of him said that it was far too soon for either of them to know what forever would look like with the other, that this giddiness and feathersoft air between them would last. That the passion would fade and resentment would grow and boil into something heartless;
But he looks at her, at those soft golden eyes and that dainty nose, the little platinum hairs that line her cheeks; he smells her, that saltpine clutch and the way she feels beneath him and beside him.
If they both meant forever, to build a home, to be a family — why did formalities matter?
Fuck it.
Reverie, sincerity tugs at his vocal chords, threads every muscle and every cell within him, and like a gentleman he extends himself into some sort of awkward, haphazard bow. Only briefly does he look to see where they are, and they may as well be on top of the world. will you be my wife? Right here, right now.

It was stupid, oh-so stupid, and he knew this somewhere in him. He knew not even her surname or where she had come from, if he could truly trust her with himself, his love; and yet here he was, and he found himself delighted to hand himself away.
They both wanted this. What did it matter otherwise?
He sweeps her in a tight embrace, cold nose pressed into the ruff at her neck. What made a marriage official? He didn't exactly have anything to give her, anything to seal it into place. Okay, he mutters. you're my wife. You're my wife and I love you, the stupid toothy grin tugs at his lips. I love you.

His wife. His wife!
Sweet, sensitive Reverie; his Reverie; You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world, and the tears that well in her eyes bring tears of his own, shiny and gleaming. Jesus, I-- his words devolve into a stream of hearty laughs as her face presses into his jaw, his neck. holy shit, I have a wife.
A fucking wife!
Euphoria at the sudden realization swells warm in his gut, a tingle all through his limbs; a high like no other. A wife! A wife! A wife!
His wife. His. Only his.
His own lips part to pepper giddy little kisses across her face, a nip to her ear, a grind of his body against hers. C'mere. they were married — married! — and what better way to celebrate than to consummate right in the center of your venue?