A bright red hole suddenly punched out of the side of the deathclaw's skull. A cloud of blood erupted out of the leathery skin on the side of his head, popping like a gigantic reptilian zit, stringy chunks of flesh splitting down the side of his face and hanging down, mere seconds before blood oozed out of the fresh, hot wound, dribbling down to his jawline. The whole structure of his face shook, the thick hide and flesh beneath bouncing like an old bed-frame beneath the crooked, rigid horns.

The deathclaw blinked like it had felt a flea tickling his face. The dark, pitted eyes beneath his raised, bony brow became bright as they looked up towards the direction where the shot had come from, coming into the light as his head turned. With milky, pure white eyes, he observed silently like he could see everything, head poised and still as he searched the area ahead. The pair of nostrils at the end of his long horse mouth had raised to the air took in one long breath in, giving the chance to catch the scent of blood on one of the wounded humans on the ridge. Though he couldn't see where his attacker was, the deathclaw knew immediately where it was in his surroundings.

The deathclaw turned, lifting the arms he had held out in front while stalking the rocky floor of the valley. The quiet sound of thick, rocky bones came beneath the skin of his hands locking into place while it splayed all ten, sharpened foot-long claws on the ends of its fingers, putting them into slashing position came almost as soon as the dull, dusty thump of sand beneath its feet accompanied another footstep that launched it running forward. It ran towards the open entrance of the valley, dragging its arms through the air like his claws would catch the surrounding air.

The Courier watched the deathclaw running toward the entrance—and the second deathclaw that had been wandering closer to the silo quickly picking up and running behind him—and for a second it fooled him into thinking they were fleeing Quarry Junction. It was a second he could have spent shooting, as he realized they were heading towards where the ridge met the ground near the entrance, taking the path up towards where the Courier and Veronica stood on the ridge above their valley. He fired off several shots, trying to catch the broadside of the one he had wounded—and succeeding, landing several shots on its backside, but failing to make any marks through the thick hide. The HUD beneath the glowing red lenses of his helmet showed the health meter of the deathclaw he had shot barely dropping a point after firing three shots from the hunting revolver. He had barely put the deathclaw down a quarter of his original health, and he knew the second deathclaw running behind was completely untouched, completely healthy. Perhaps, the Courier thought to himself, it would be worth his time to fire with his actual good hand.

As he switched hands, he popped the barrel out of the side, dumping shells into the sand beneath. He squatted down, reaching inside of his jacket for a round—exactly at the time Veronica stepped in front of him.

"Hey," said Veronica, quickly and curtly. "Just because you ended the conversation doesn't mean we're done."

The shadow that had dropped in front of the Courier's face made the lenses of his helmet glow even brighter as his head turned up to face her. For as much as he could see with the sun overshadowing Veronica's hooded head, the faint details through the leaking light of her burlap hood showed enough to know Veronica was now really, truly upset—if any of the 'conversation' and her anger had been faked.

Could they even call what they were having before a conversation?

"I-I was honestly just vamping! Saying the silliest thing I could think of! I-It would be ridiculous to think that you of all people would take me straight into the gates of deathclaw hell without telling me it was for some girl… right?"

The Courier didn't reply—even if he didn't believe it, even if he didn't buy that Veronica hadn't somehow gathered all her thoughts on the subject on accident and told it like she was telling a joke, his best instincts were telling him it wouldn't be a good idea to reply or even say anything. At any rate he was still facing the worst outcome he had imagined of not telling Veronica his true intentions, and at the same time still couldn't fit the last round into the chamber of his weapon. He certainly hadn't forgotten about the advancing deathclaws, and as he got to his feet he returned his attention to his weapon, returning his limited line-of-sight to the barrel and where the last empty slot on the barrel of the hunting revolver was.

That was enough to totally, completely flabbergast Veronica—she couldn't believe it herself, hardly coming up with anything to say in the split-second after her jaw dropped. Her eyes followed the Courier as he stood up and then looked away, out of things to say for the first time in a very long time.

"What?"

There were way bigger things going on right then. It hadn't happened just then, it's been happening the entire time they had been in Quarry Junction, ever since they had entered. The Courier hadn't ended the conversation, he had just put it back on where they thought it should be.

"That doesn't—look, if I'm going to go hand-to-hand with a deathclaw, I—I fucking want to know why! It's not that big of a request, honestly!"

The Courier had narrowly swept the barrel back into the body of the gun, locking it in—or at least had tried to. It wouldn't lock or even fit back into its position inside the gun, it was jammed. He had readied his hand to fire it but was just as soon sidetracked, trying to pop the barrel back out of the side by reaching around the other end but not wanting to compromise his grip on the gun.

As much as Veronica wanted the Courier's attention he couldn't give it to her. He was very quickly trying to pull the side of the weapon back out and pop it back in to where he could use it again, even with seconds to spare to get it right he knew time was suddenly drawing short. He looked up, raising his head to look back over Veronica's shoulder. The deathclaws had disappeared but he still knew they were coming—he didn't need the 'danger' marker in the top center of his HUD to tell him as much.

Veronica had noticed it too, through what little peripheral she had with her hood drawn over her head, turning her head just slightly to peek out from the glare of the reddish Nevada sun. Instead of replying she walked ahead, walking along the edge of the ridge and down toward where it sloped down like a path. Ahead was where it sloped down like a long path, going down toward the mouth of the quarry entrance, the very entrance both the Courier and her had come through. It was their last exit out, their last means of escape. Beyond where an abandoned crane they had passed behind was parked near the entrance—the one with the glyph of the deathclaw painted on the side of it that had been their pointer into the quarry—Veronica could see the figures of the deathclaws disappearing behind it when she squinted, only to see their shadows appear on the far side of the crane as they came around and returned to head up the ridge and their path.

Ballistic Fist resting carefully against her hip as she watched the deathclaws make the turn and pass up onto the long path leading up to them, Veronica sighed. The conversation had officially been shelved, and she was now faced with the prospect of a long fight out of their circumstances.

"We're really about to do this, huh?"

What else had she expected?

No, the Courier knew that wasn't the question she wanted out of him. It wasn't like she was suddenly about to change her mind and realize this is what she had signed up for all along. The Courier had made a cardinal sin—a serious error on his part. It had really set Veronica off, and that alone was enough to jeopardize not only the whole mission but their very lives.

What had he done wrong?

"You lied to me."

That was easy. No, simple. These kinds of conversations were never that simple. Maybe it was the Courier's experience with women, but things were always complicated. Maybe that's why he liked Veronica, things weren't ever really that complicated. Then again he knew that wasn't true.

The Courier stood there, his eyes searching beneath the red viewports of his mask—the dimming sunlight had made them pure red shapes, no longer glassy, dusty views into his true eyes. He searched for some kind of meaning out of all of this, listening to Veronica as she made her way through her thoughts.

What had he lied to her about?

"Listen, I really don't care if you fall for some floozy like Red Lucy…"

The Courier had never heard that word, floozy, used with such malice or viciousness. It was unsettling to hear in any serious setting at all. Not only was it so… pre-war… but it had such a connotation. Like many words the Courier didn't understand, it carried as much weight as the Courier's imagination had to give him, and the vastness made him sick.

"…I really, honestly don't care what you do in your sex life. That's your business, I understand you keeping that private, and I'm definitely not asking to hear any more about any of that."

Veronica was dragging her words. She was processing something, thinking it over, mulling over every word like it was a distilled version of her anger. From the thin vista of what her hood allowed the Courier to see from the side, he could see she was looking down at the ground thoughtfully.

"But… What I really want? What I want is for you to stop treating me so much like a child. I'd hope that enough time traveling with me would have proven to you by now that I'm perfectly capable of handling things on my own, and that that would be enough for you to start telling me the truth—especially when it matters. If it hasn't, well... I don't know why you'd take me along with you any more. I'd probably think dragging me into this pit would be your version of a death sentence then. I guess it's my mistake for thinking better of you..."

That wasn't the Courier's intention, ever.

"I—I know... Look, I know we won't die—or, at least I really, really don't think we will this time around. Something tells me this'll be crazy, but maybe not as crazy as some of the other adventures you've dragged me into before. There's always a slim little chance that I keep in mind that I'll die doing something like this, and it would really help knowing what exactly I might be dying for. No... I take that back... I really, really need to know. Or at least know that you've made up your mind what it is exactly you're going to be putting your—our—lives on the line for… It's really much easier if you just tell me. At least if you want to keep me around much longer."

That was fair.

The Courier, who had kept his weapon in-hand at his side as the best protective measures he had against incoming deathclaw attacks, slowly brought it to holster. He had held his weapon by the barrel in crossed arms, and yet brought it down to the holster down by his side, slotting it carefully in the hilt of the leather pouch across his belt. As he did, he tentatively brought his hands around to the front of where his belt-buckle clasped his combat pants together, holstering his gloved thumbs through the front of it like a real NCR ranger. He was staring ahead—the glowing viewports of his helmet implying as much that he was staring at Veronica, but his eyes were staring down at the ground ahead, past the drawn-out shadows of himself and Veronica standing on the rock beneath.

Veronica look spent, emotionally exhausted from everything she had said up until then. That didn't change what she was feeling at all—she was still just as convinced of what she had been saying up until then. Now she was somber, thinking to herself of what she really, truly wanted to say.

But for the first time, she seemed to be smiling, at least in the small and shy way she did when she was really, genuinely pleased. She turned her head up just a little, bringing her face out of the shade of her hood and into the sunlight.

"Look, we'll make it through this. Just... start telling the truth from now on, okay?"