Irritation in magnitudes of waves running through me. I sigh at the nausea it's causing and run a hand through my hair. What am I to do? This isn't what I was hoping for when things started. This placid, rancid life style. I pick at my teeth with a finger nail bored. Why am I even here?

Looking over to my partner in crime (well I suppose it would be more of an abolishment of crime partner but who wants to split hairs?) and watch him. Just about the only thing worth watching in this wasteland.

I don't think anyone else feels the same though, fear or disgust seems to be their first thought when they see him walking behind me (even though I'm always fighting to get him to walk beside me). They can go fuck themselves with their attitudes anyway, I'm not here to please them, just to take their caps.

I take a swig of beer. Stupid waste-landers. So damn judgmental. My partner busies himself cleaning his gun, hands running smoothly and deliberate. He's my opposite. I act like a Jet addict. Constantly jumping and jerking, twitching at the lightest sound. I've never touched the stuff though. I don't like drugs, I don't like being addicted. Suppose I should stop drinking then… It's not like I do it all the time though. Only during these times of 'peace' where there's nothing else to do. Hell, not even Moira has anything for us to do. We've already finished her stupid ass book. I really can't see anyone buying that, but it's not my problem.

My stoic partner pauses in his actions then looks up at me. Well, my legs. I realize I've been bouncing my leg again. Nervous habit I suppose, Dad used to go crazy about it. I force myself to stop, grimacing at the stillness and utter a sorry. He goes back to cleaning and I watch him before the urge to start bouncing my leg starts again. I swear someone's sneaking Jet into my food.

Standing up I stretch out my stiff limbs, annoyed by the subtle sounds of Charon working with his gun and Wadsworth hovering around busying himself, or itself? What ever. My beer is empty, I'm out and I don't want to buy anymore.

"Hey, Wads," I call out to the bot who turns towards me seemingly annoyed and toss the bottle at him. He plucks it out of the air with an indignant sound and hovers away to throw it in the trash. Charon doesn't stop working or even pause and I watch him for a moment longer.

This is one of those rare chances I get to see him without armor. He sits in the floor wearing a dirty white tee and torn jeans and I can't help but think how fitting those clothes are for him. Mostly because I can see his muscles through the thin fabric as he works. It's like poetry in motion.

I shake my head and walk to the door, maybe I'm just crazy. I can hear him pause again as I head to the door. What am I doing? I stop and turn around looking at him with my hands in my pockets.

"Hey, you wanna head out tomorrow? I can't stand sitting still any longer."

We look at each other for a moment and I'm wondering if he's feeling as pent up and reckless as I am. Well, maybe not reckless. Him, not me, I'm feeling totally reckless.

He looks back down to his gun and starts working again and I think I might have seen a grin but probably not, "Yes."

It's short and simple but it's and answer. More from him than I've heard in a while. It's hard not to smile, I'm excited to get some earth under my feet again and some steel in my hands. Or whatever guns are made out of…