*kicks down ur front door a year and a half later with an update that i wasnt ever planning on publishing*

of course the only bloody time i want to publish is when the site goes down for two days.

Mess is Mine - Vance Joy

Framing her face with an awkwardly stretched arm, the courier wriggled her toes beneath the blankets as she waited for the murmurs to die out in the entryway. Boone and Veronica had returned home after five days of absence, coming second to Cass, Raul and Annie's arrival the previous night. After a lovely sleep filled with the joyous idea of imminent failure and her inevitable death, the dark-haired woman was working on the reasons as to why she could not get out of bed that morning.

She could hear Cass chatting happily to Veronica, joined by the stretching yawns of Raul, who was taken quite the spill on the bitumen up at Nellis a few days prior. There was no sign of Boone, but it did not take her long to realise that he most likely had slipped gently into the shared room to unpack and rejuvenate. Annie spread out in the bed luxuriously, unable to take up the entire mattress with her unfolding limbs that reached for absolutely nothing but the motivation that would not find her.

The deadline had been reached for the soul-searching journey Annie was to take with her partner, and her gut was rattling with sharpened nerves. That was, however, if he chose to join her – and even though her ultimatum had been written rather biased, the courier still had no real idea as to which way her partner would turn.

Having thought more than she had talked for the last few days, the courier was coming to conclusions about her own ideals and memories. She could not grasp Bitter Springs – nor could she understand the unfortunate chain of events that had lead to it. Every part of her screamed for a subtle revenge, but the stained faces of every NCR soldier she had ever met doused those flames with a heavy splash of obvious intent.

It was if she was being pulled in all different directions.

Annie couldn't fight the sick feeling that had coiled around her brain; reminding her of the times her 'family' had killed and maimed more women and children than the NCR had ever planned.

Was it even a plan? If they wished to stop the Khans, they would have set out to wipe out the raiders – not the soft-skinned innocents that hid away in their delicate cove. She could not imagine a man like Boone waking up to realise his lust for the murder of innocents. She could not fathom the concept of Manny openly agreeing to the culling of the truest virtues.

But she could remember the terrifying fire that burnt in her father's eyes – and she could recall the drag marks through the thickening sand that lead away from smouldering caravans, left by the dull heels of standard issue NCR boots. There was no way to fight it – she knew this by now. There was no way to fight the overwhelming sense of justice that came from mentally-scarred soldiers – and there was certainly no escaping the horrible conclusion she deftly fell upon when she realised that her childhood environment was a toxic brawl of teeth and fists.

Rolling onto her side, the courier let a wisp of morning breath sink into the pillow beneath her cheek. Nope, she thought to herself, her blank stares burning into the wallpaper across from her, no more of that talk.

Her body would not allow her to get out of bed, warmed by the comfort of a soft mattress and fresh sheets. But she knew if she lay around like a sad slug all day that her mind would not stop whirring. She had to busy herself with something important – something that would dull the whispers of self-consciousness… but the only meal on her plate for that day was the departure of her journey with Boone.

It still really hurt to think about him, her chest aching every time she came upon the idea that he could not tell her. She could understand that he was a pensive man at the best of times, but she trusted him. Was he ever going to tell her? And how could he stand to look at her, to promise his whole heart, if he couldn't love her enough to tell her the truth?

Her stomach dropped. Nope, she reminded herself, no more of that talk.

There was a knock on the bedroom entrance. "Annie?" The sweet voice of Veronica spilled through the cracks in her doorway. "Are you awake?"

"Come in." The courier drawled - closing her eyes in attempt to steady her head before they shot back open, her miserable form rising from the dead to greet being vertical with an acute annoyance. The doorknob turned slowly; dim light filtering in from the foyer of their little suite. Silhouetting quite beautifully in the half-light, the scribe leant in through the doorway before catching Annie's sleepy eyes. "How did you go?"

"Very well, actually." She reported, flicking on the light with a reckless abandon that left the courier temporarily blinded. Blinking through the sudden pain of an intense brightness, Annie grimaced at the woman from behind the fists that rubbed her sore eye sockets. "Rex is all nice and new – and you can really tell. I've never seen anybody chew through a molerat with as much bravado as he did this morning."

Annie brightened, straightening out with a yawn before huffing back down into the tired baby she felt she was. "Sounds really good." She mumbled, contemplating the concept of her feet flat on the carpet. "Run into any problems?"

"The smoothest trip I have ever made, boss." Veronica teased, leaning back against the doorframe to rest her weary back. "We did meet a lovely lady I think you'd enjoy. She wore a cute straw hat and was the most dashing shade of blue." Finding delight Annie's grimace, the brunette took a few more steps into the room. "She also called Boone 'Jimmy' for the entirety of our trip, which really added to the sentimental value."

A short burst of laughter erupted from Annie, giving her the strength to pull herself free from the mattress. "I can just imagine his face." Her grin waxed into a look of displeasure; jaw tensed and summoning the perfect sheen of Boone's personal brand of annoyance. Veronica brightened, nodding eagerly.

"That's the one." She agreed; taking note of the way Annie's soon face fell at the thought of he-who-must-not-regularly-be-named. "He's fine, by the way."

"And how are you?"

"I'm good." She did a quick turn. "Not a scratch."

The courier smiled, heading towards the wardrobe to tug out some clothes for the day. "I'm glad." The dark-haired woman grinned into the darkness of the stuffy cupboard, rustling through the layers of fabric for the filthiest outfit in the pile. "Thank you for doing that for me. Really."

"No, I had fun!" Veronica chimed. "I got to hold the old brain after he had finished with it. I had an excellent time!"

Returning with her armour, she pitched it onto the unmade bed. "Did you bring some back for me?" She asked.

"I wish!" The scribe breathed, setting herself straight. "It went on his shelf of 'Mojave Oddities' filed under 'cyber-dog brain'. I really can't blame him for not wanting to part with it." She pulled back from the doorframe. "But I'll let you get ready."

"Bath time," Annie agreed. "Unless you would like to go first?"

"Please," Veronica started, closing the door. "I savour this grimy feeling. Have your bath." The slip clicked into place and Annie smiled at that, mussing her hair into a grubby ponytail before scooping up her towel. A bath would be a good way to start the morning, and would quite possibly be the last bath she would take in a while. If things were going to strenuously go to plan, she and Boone would be gone for a week at the very least.

Speaking of the devil and having him appear with a sickening summon, she caught Boone on her way towards the bathroom as she bid Cass and Raul a good morning. Nodding towards the stony-faced sniper, she led him towards the curtained room with the twitch of her wary fingers. She had barely realised what she had done by the time she found the cold, tiled floor with her softened feet – glancing over a bare shoulder to catch him hovering by the door.

He turned and waited without instruction, her sad fingers twisting the tap a release the hot water that burst out in a torrent. She pulled her pyjamas off, slinging them to the floor where they pooled lazily across the tiles – second hand finding the cold tap to even out the temperature. "Come in," she told him, and he turned into the room, dragging his usual chair to face the head of the bath – giving him a view of what would turn out to be the back of her head. Surely she wouldn't want him watching her, even if she had invited him into her private space.

"So everything's alright?" Annie asked him as she stepped over the rim of the tub – sticking a delicate foot into the steaming water. "Rex is gonna live?"

The courier already knew the answer, but there was something niggling in the back of her head. All was well when Veronica gave her account, but Annie would not settle completely until she knew that he was okay, confirmed by his own words. It made her hurt to think that, knowing that she wouldn't level out until he established his safety, but she couldn't look at him long enough to prove it for herself.

"He'll be fine." He stated, a striking sense of professionalism burning all remaining softness in his voice. "We left him with the King before we came home."

He sat down after his words. "Thank you." She repeated.

Silence froze whatever had begun to swirl in the air and Boone found it hard to stay. But he knew that she had not just invited him in for a debriefing – no, she was waiting for his answer. Even if she was not ready to admit it, he felt that she had been gagging over it just as much as he had. He'd had his head wrapped in the wet blanket of delusion for the past few days, and after much deliberation (followed by the inability to sleep and the screeching white noise that rolled in the back of his mind) he had figured out what he had to do.

There was no other way around it, really. He was for Annie. He was whole-heartedly and heart-wrenchingly for Annie and there was no other option. In fact, the thought of leaving her to find his old roots was almost embarrassing. He had no need to return to a life of uniforms and good intent, and found he much rather enjoyed following around his precious martyr who had given him much more than he deserved.

And even if his chosen destiny was weighted with the sinkers of guilt and shame, he'd reached a point where he knew he had to make it right. He had to do right by her, the woman who held out such a generous hand

"You." He said, watching the way her shoulders tensed at his words. She pushed a handful of water down her back, rubbing the faded freckles of forgotten skin with a gentle palm.

"What?" She inhaled softly, knowing exactly what he meant.

He sat completely still, glancing up at the dusted white ceiling as he counted his words.

"I'm with you."

Her hands found her face and she hid behind digits that shook slightly with an overwhelming wash of pain. He heard the gasp of hurt seep between the gaps of her fingers, feeling only a fraction of the unease that was washing throughout her.

"You promise?" She squeaked after a moment of emptiness, her small voice drenched, muffled and scared. She had been awaiting his answer for what felt like an eternity, and the release of the unknown had stung as it sunk in. Of course he would choose me, her brain moaned as the weight of a thousand hours melted from her shoulders, of course he would.

Words choked themselves in his throat and he counted himself down, licking his lips to grease their journey.

"Swear it." He told her, fist tightening with the fear of an unknown rejection. Annie let out another shallow breath.

His unlimited devotion frightened her.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to throw themselves into the thick of it. There was too much tension jarred between them, awkward with the common thought of bad decisions split amongst them. Maybe it was all too fast, Annie thought to herself as her knuckles grew white against the straps of her bag.

They made camp in silence after two days of pushing themselves to make good time, painted with a warm sunset palette. There was no point in arriving at the Springs in the middle of the night, as they needed the mutual realisation to be stark against daylight. They sat in quiet, shadowed underneath a stooped cliff – the fading light dredging shadows from their frowns. Boone took the first shift; Annie curled on her bedroll with her back facing the soldier. She woke up on her own accord three or so hours later, feeling as if she hadn't slept at all.

He couldn't sleep much either, bright stars burning through his eyelids in a sick reminder that it was all still real. The desert breathed with nightlife – wildlife wailing in the distance as he drifted in and out of reality. Perhaps that was how Annie felt when she had tried to find sleep – her soft mouth slipping small yawns that swept across the background noise.

Dusty and sore, the two spent the evening in the Bitter Springs recreational park in silence. Boone was chastising himself for wanting to leave his comfort zone – he was an idiot for thinking that coming back was going to soothe the hurt. It had just turned Annie into a bumbling zombie, the courier slumping around the familiar settings with sad eyes and curious palms – short fingernails striping the dirt and grime on every surface as it if were evidence of a better time.

She cooked them both dinner regardless of her mental incapacity; a sloppily charred slab of gecko that Boone had killed on their way there, 'garnished' with tangy chunks of succulent that she had found nestled under a drooping rock face.

The recreational park used to be the perfect place for the younger Khans to hang around. The baby Khans, no older than thirteen, would often try and join in – thumping on the rusting metal walls of the trailers with strips of scrap metal, begging for some time with the older, cooler kids. The next generation of raiders would peek out from the shattered windows and shoo them off, usually too fried to really care about the pending innocence but still knew better than to let them into a world of chemical fuckery.

Between the rough-housing of the older folk and the secretive dilly-dallying of the teenagers, the children were left to wander the outskirts. They had always been rather sweet, even through the missing teeth and ability to curse louder and harder than most adults around – and the thought of them marching to their deaths, rushed through the hideaway canyon with an overwhelming fear in their hearts, was shrieking in Annie's head. The utter rawness of the situation was aching amid the two companions, fusing their pain and feeding off the sorrow that seemed to throb between them. The courier wanted to take the man by his shoulders and squeeze tightly, perhaps to crush him into nothing. Maybe if she held him tight enough, he would vanish completely.

In fact, the agony of being unable to escape the horror that lurked so closely brought Annie back to the tart taste of chems that leaked between her teeth. She could understand why the tribe had collapsed so easily, shutting out all the bullshit that had piled up just seemed so necessary, to say the least. It would be so easy to go dig around for one of the buried caches that hid beneath the hubcaps of the multiple trailers, to pull out a well-aged chem of sorts to soften the steady throb that thrummed in the back of her mind.

But that was not the right way to go about it, collapsed on the rusted floor of one of the many motor homes that littered the campsite. Dinner wasn't appetising, but the walk had taken it out of them; chewed tightly and with annoyance at her apparent need for sustenance. They would spend the night there, curled up with their own thoughts and drowned by their expected silence.

It seemed hard to separate though; as one in the right mind would put as much space as possible between them and the person they could barely look at. But it felt better to sulk together, to soak up the mutual grief that lurked behind each exhale. The distance echoed with the calls of coyotes and the crackles of the dying fire in front of their camper – ringing in reminder that things were totally uncomfortable.

Annie had spread out on the floor, missing the rotting mattress and preferring the cold surface beneath her back. With a foot propped on the wall, the courier was bouncing her sight between the rust spots on the ceiling – her outstretched arms welcoming the cool night breeze that swept in through the windows. Boone had set himself up on the steps of the caravan, elbows resting on his bent knees as he watched the distance with less attention than was really necessary. With a cigarette that was quickly turning to unbroken ash, his fingers twitched with unfinished business.

"It really hurts." Annie burst out during a brief moment of insufferable silence.

Boone felt he should have said something—anything—but the moment went raw. He wanted to tell her that it would numb over time, that it would heal how a deep wound should, but nothing came. He took a draw of his cigarette. Why on earth should he offer advice that he himself could not take?

"It feels like I've opened a scar." She continued, not put off by his silence.

Shit, it hurt to hear her like that, breathy and scared. Her head turned and she glanced his way, her stare meeting the side of his face – barely illuminated by the warmth blooming from the fire pit. Dirty fingers reached to trace the hole in her head, pressing the fleshy parts that felt collapsed and strange, and the courier let out a strange noise.

"You didn't enjoy it, did you?" She asked.

That got his attention, his neck creaking to turn. Catching her eye, the mutual look burnt and he grit his teeth – thoroughly offended that she could even think such a thing. "No." He said bluntly, watching her flinch at his voice. They sat in quiet for a minute, not daring to respire. "How could I ever—?"

Breathing through the lumps of heartache that siphoned into her lungs, Annie kept his stare and held it close – her brows gathering and lips parting before turning to find stars behind the gaps in the roof.

"Why did you stay with me?" She asked, voice harder than she figured she could muster. "You knew who I was from the beginning. Why did you stay?"

He didn't say anything, so she let out a grieving hum – his shoulders rising rigid as the muscles in his back grew tense, fingers tightening on his knees before finding home on the bridge of his nose. Glasses abandoned and boots far too tight, Boone leant a shoulder against the sharpened doorway and sighed.

He flicked his dying cigarette into the fire. "You know why."

"No," she shot back immediately. "I don't."

Boone sighed again, letting the fading flames burn a hole into his vision – staring so deeply that the corners of his eyes began to singe. Cringing them shut, he turned to her and forced himself to look. The technicolour shapes helped only a little, wrapping her in yellow and orange wisps which fizzed and blurred the longer he fought for words.

"Figured you'd get me killed."

She blurted out a stark laugh, chest heaving with a humour that sank through to her lungs. "Makes sense." Refreshing her eyes with the knuckles of her thumbs, Annie drew her dirty hands down her cheeks. "And how's that going for you?"

"Didn't work out the way I thought." The waning wisps crawled up the caravan wall, shuddering with each swipe of his vision. "It's different now."

She bathed in his followed silence before breaking it gently, voice churning with a heavy weakness.

"Is it?" She asked.

The Mojave would have frozen over by the time he had figured out exactly what to say without it coming off tactless – and by the sky above, there was no hope for that for his lifetime. His mind ticked into overtime, and it became apparent that he might not deserve it all; the feelings, the aches, and the jarring thoughts that scraped out new parts of him. Perhaps the only reason he allowed Carla to love him was because she never caught glimpse of the parts he was ashamed of.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Annie had every right to be angry, and she had every right to push him away – to disregard every nice thing she had ever said. Shit, there was some relief in her resentment because at least he could be certain of his punishment. The marred edge was bared for her viewing pleasure, forever sewn into their stories as a suture pulled too tight. It stung like a bitch, but the fresh air also seemed to soothe it - her open gaze cool like aloe vera but barbed like its leaves.

"We work together." He added softly, trying to figure out how she was always able to pour so much of herself into her words.

"Work together?" Annie grunted. "I said that you could leave."

"Not like that." Searching for the words until he found something he deemed poetic enough. "You're my feet."

Annie froze in a moment of stupor before scrabbling onto her elbows, looking over at him with a face drenched with offended jest. "What?"

He sniffed quietly despite himself. "You know what I mean."

"I—" She frowned at him, the tension in the air defusing for a short second. "Boone—" He caught her eye and she swallowed tightly, running a quick hand through her knotted hair – her gaze wide and flustered. "It—… It hurts." Her eyes grew round and wet and she gave up; flopping herself back onto the floor, the rusted tin popping with her weight.

"I know."

She screwed her eyes shut, guiding the overflow down the sides of her face. "Can we fix it?" She asked; her small voice rolling discordant through the fingers that rubbed away fat, warm tears.

Boone swallowed any sickness that threatened to spill from him, trying to blink through the remaining fear that gripped tight – fighting through the bite of guilt that nipped at his heels only to fall victim to the sight of her tangled fingers and hair and the misshapen sadness that coiled between them.

"I don't know."