A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad to hear you're both enjoying it. :)


When the sun rose, it brought with it light that shimmered on the golden sand, a chorus of birds from the jungle, and a very anxious Jason. As soon as she dared to creep back into the tent last night, Callie fell like a thunderstruck tree, probably asleep before she hit the ground. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed sleep, but God had it felt nice. Of course, when Jason silently rose from his own spot, she'd woken up immediately. For a second, she thought he was Grant.

As much as Callie loved Daisy, she definitely regretted renting a place together. She always used to wake up when Grant snuck out of Daisy's room late at night. He seemed to hit every creaky floorboard like notes on a keyboard; at first, Callie thought he was just noisy. Then she started hating Daisy's easy friendliness, hated seeing the two together. Callie found herself staying rooted in bed for half the day to avoid a singsong g'morning, and when Grant eventually stopped sneaking out and just stayed the night, Callie didn't sleep at all. That was the night she realized she had a problem.

She played sick the next day – and why not? Her body ached like it was crushed in a compactor, and she felt like overall shit anyway. Around noon, Grant and Daisy brought her what they called a "homemade cold survival kit". She'd laughed to hide the shame blaring in her skull. The next night, Callie decided to crumple this new problem into a ball and toss it into the cracks of her mind. She waited it out until a better plan was clearly necessary, one involving a practiced smile and keeping very, very busy. She had to admit that, of all the distractions she'd tried, this turf war was the most effective.

Callie blinked, fully awake now. Dennis and the two soldiers were still fast asleep. She peered out of the tent. Jason was still pacing along the shore, his eyes sweeping the horizon like a lighthouse. Guess I should say hi, huh? She pushed off the ground, and then stopped, crouching awkwardly at the edge of the tent as her stomach dropped like an anchor. While she doubted anyone was lining up to gawk at her boyish legs, Callie remembered how red they'd looked last night. Dropping back down, she peeled back her capris. Surprisingly, her legs weren't so bad. The skin was a little pink in some places, but nothing you'd notice unless you went looking for it. Maybe it was because she'd taken Vaas' advice and washed them. She made a mental note to thank him next time they met – or she would have, had there been room for courtesy between them. Plus, there isn't going to be a next time. Right, Callie, ol' buddy?

Her churning guts didn't seem so sure. She could hear them now, twisting and scraping against one another, scratching her skin and sighing softly. Those were actually the sounds of the man tossing beside her, but they were accurate enough; Callie could practically see her vital organs, all red and knotted. She grimaced. Ugh. Definitely enough daydreaming. Straightening out her clothes – and tugging her capris down – Callie crawled out onto the beach.

She didn't see Jason at first. Maybe that was because she expected to find him still jittering around and swearing under his breath, acting as their very own passive-aggressive alarm clock. Instead, Jason was plopped down on the sand, his glassy eyes fixed on the jungle, and a little pile of fruits keeping company beside him. Footprints spiraled and swerved out from around him, spinning abstract patterns in the sand. He looked like a sacrifice on a pentagram, waiting for some greater power to strike him down. 'Listen as your own blood cries out to me from the ground. It will no longer yield its crops for you, as you are a restless wanderer of this earth.' Is that how it goes? She used to try and memorize passages from the bible, but nothing really stuck. Except for now, it seemed, when the Scripture couldn't possibly be any more useless. Funny.

Callie kicked up the sand as she walked so as not to spook him; if the Rook Islands taught her anything, it was not to sneak up on a guy with a weapon, not unless you wanted a couple avant-garde piercings. Her stomach still wrenched. Nothing happened last night. Nothing avoidable, and nothing he needs to know about. Nothing. She had to laugh when Jason didn't turn around, as if pretending not to hear her. The tension on her shoulders seemed to evaporate.

"Nervous?" she asked, tugging at her capris.

He finally turned to her, his eyes glazed as if he'd only just woken up. "Not exactly. Why?"

"Really? It looks like an army's been through here." She motioned to the marked-up ground around him, raising her eyebrows.

Jason looked down at his handiwork. "Whoa. I didn't realize I was walking so much." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I got us some breakfast."

"So I saw! Always the gentleman, aren't you?"

With a smile and a polite nod, he flipped her off. Then his eyes found the tent behind her, and the smile faded into a thoughtful look. "Guess we should wake up the guys soon."

Callie followed his gaze. "Yeah," she said, "they've slept long enough. Besides, we've got a Jedi to find."

"What?"

"Nothin'." She shrugged, "Where's Badtown again?"

Jason just huffed. There was a sharp glint in his eyes, though, a bit of hope left caked on the surface. If they were lucky, they'd be seeing Ollie before sunset.


They didn't bother stopping by the Neck on their way to Badtown. Callie and Jason were equally antsy at that point, and Dennis thought better than to raise the question. Instead, he radioed over and brought the guards up to speed with where they were headed. Callie told Dennis to give a shout-out to Omid, saying he'd know what it meant. He probably wouldn't, but that was fine. He'd just laugh and shake his head.

On the ride there, Callie couldn't help but imagine Badtown as some flamboyant gathering place for a bunch of classic cartoon baddies – Pete from those old Mickey Mouse cartoons, maybe some of the lamer Batman villains like Calendar Man, Tom, and– Er, wait, which one is the villain? Tom or Jerry? I guess Jerry's the instigator, but that just makes him a shit-disturber. Doesn't make him evil. Although Callie and Jason were quiet for the ride, she doubted he was also trying to assign moral compasses to a cat and a mouse.

As it turned out, neither Tom nor Jerry was there, anyway Instead there were a few beggars claiming to tell fortunes, a quaint little bar, and enough prostitutes to keep the Count from Sesame Street busy for at least a day.

"So," Callie said, hopping out of the truck, "you want backup on this?"

Jason grunted, following her lead. "I think I'm good. Besides, a sniper's not much use when I'm gonna be indoors." He smirked.

"Good point." As much as she'd rather not, Callie needed to learn her way around using a knife. Even if she could blow a man's face clean off from a quarter of a mile away, the distance from her target and her effectiveness as a fighter had an inverse relationship.

As Jason trudged towards the bar, Callie leaned against a shady house, sharing the spot with one of the quieter Rakyat men. Although she couldn't remember his name, she'd started referring to him as the toy soldier – in her head, at least.

A rail-thin girl called out from a balcony above them. "Hey, little birds! What are you into, huh? Se mío!" Callie and the soldier both gave the girl the same polite but awkward smile before turning away.

Callie realized she hadn't spoken to the boy much. That was partially because the way he moved creeped her out, like he was a husk just following the directions of his bones. Plus, he didn't seem to get jokes, and Callie rarely meant half the things she said. That made talking a bit harder.

"So," she tried, "what do you do for fun?"

He turned to see who she was talking to, his eyes widening a fraction when they met hers. We've got some emotion, folks! Hallelujah! "Oh, I don't do much. I just like to hunt." He frowned. "I don't know if that's the right word."

She nodded. "Well, what do you hunt?"

He thought for a second, before shrugging. "I hunt what people want me to find. Omid draws pictures of the flowers he wants a lot, so I like to use those."

"That's right, Omid's told me about you before! You're the scav with a photographic memory, right?" She grinned. "He said you'd probably get along better with cameras than with people. Uh, no offence."

The toy soldier just frowned. "Scav?"

"Like, a scavenger." The boy hummed in response. Callie's eyes were drawn to the bar, where she saw a flash of white.

A man in a pristine suit walked the streets, shadowed by Jason's casual stroll a block behind. When she caught Jason's eye, she raised her eyebrows. He just shook his head and raised a hand. Stay. Callie's knack for conversation dropped as she watched Jason follow the man into a little shack on the edge of town. Stay she would.

She watched the jungle sway in the easy breeze. Leaves from ferns and trees jutted out indiscriminately, bursting out in all directions. It was sharp enough to look like stumbling into the jungle meant getting skewered in the foliage; quick and easy dinner prep for one of the leopards. As absurd as it was, the jungle was clearly poised and ready for whatever might come. It was…unearthly. Too human, but still too foreign to belong here. That, or Callie didn't belong – also very possible. She became incresingly aware of the silence that had grown between her and the boy, but he didn't look bothered by it. He probably preferred it.

…What the hell was Jason doing in there anyway? Sitting down for tea? Or, y'know, the guy noticed him enter his fucking house and stuck Jason knee-deep in his own blood. She should check on him.

She turned to the boy. "Hey, I'm gonna…" He made no sign of hearing her. Shrugging, Callie pushed off of the wall.

Standing outside the door, one hand hovering above the knob, Callie stopped. What could she do? When it came to sneaking, Callie trusted herself best in city streets and factories – pretty much anywhere noisy enough to cover her incompetence. Otherwise she was like a damn parade, hitting every sweet spot of noise. Waltzing in there would be a clumsy move. But if he's in trouble, that doesn't matter now, does it? No. She supposed it didn't. Lightly, Callie's hand landed on the doorknob.

The door flew open, smacking her in the face.

"Fuck!" Her hand flew to her nose. "Oh – oh, fuck, Jason! Jesus."

"Shit. You okay?"

"Ugh. Yeah." She scowled at him.

"I didn't think there'd be anyone there. What were you doing?"

Callie sighed, still rubbing her face. "I thought you drowned in your fucking tea. Never mind." She realized he was clutching some scrap of metal to his chest. It was a gun, a damned big one. "What the hell's that?"

Jason's eyes lit up, and his grin stretched wide enough to crack his skull open. He opened his arms, just a little. "Flamethrower."

"What?"

"Come on! We've got a trail to blaze." His hand shackled onto her wrist, and they were off.