Welcome back, and thank you all for the lovely comments. They make me so excited to keep sharing this story with you! And for once I'm actually even slightly on the early side with posting, but don't get used to it haha...

Warning, more violence ahead.

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She heard them before she saw them.

They made no attempt to conceal their approach, the excited shouts and thundering of hooves all but shattering the tense silence that had reigned in the few minutes since Weller had moved into the open. He clearly heard them too, his tall frame darting quickly behind a jagged boulder as the first rider raced into view around a rocky hillside several hundred yards off.

Another rider followed, then another, and she stared intently through the rifle's scope, counting bodies and weapons. Twelve horses, eleven men, eight rifles, multiple blades. No obvious handguns.

All headed straight for Weller.

They were still a hundred yards from being in her rifle's 550 yard range when Weller made his move, dashing from his cover at the very extremity of her range to a pile of rocks that he'd only recently passed, his timing as perfect as if he'd been raised with the very same training she had.

All the while that she'd been keeping lookout for their enemies, she'd watched from the corner of her eye as he'd planned his route, moving through the terrain with the measured swiftness of a hunter.

Now, he'd sprung his trap, the triumphant whoops and increased speed of the oncoming riders proving they had no idea that their 'easy prey' was in fact drawing them ever closer to the true predator, their danger rendered invisible by Weller's distraction and the rocky camouflage she'd carefully arranged around herself.

But even as the first shots started to rain down around Weller, each sounding like thunder in her ears, she waited.

Shooting from horseback, with inferior rifles and likely little to no training, their chances of hitting anyone— let alone an elite Orion soldier— were, at this distance, next to nothing. In any other circumstances, and with anyone else out there, she'd currently be feeling nothing but a cold, detached focus— and, much deeper down, the tiny, primal fire that was the thrill of the hunt.

Only it wasn't just anyone out there.

It was Weller.

Weller, who trusted her without question, who put his life in her hands like it was the safest place it could ever be.

Now, it was up to her to prove him right.

Steadying her heartbeat, she continued to wait, watching the gap closing between Weller and his pursuers as he raced to the next patch of cover. Even at their closer distance, not a single shot found its target— and for a half-second she allowed herself to feel the faint ripple of relief that went through her, then immediately shut it out once more, every inch of her filling with a fierce, deadly satisfaction as the riders at last crossed the invisible line she had drawn in her head.

They were hers now, and she was going to tear them to pieces.

Her first shot tore through the heart of one of the riflemen, throwing his comrades into complete chaos, his horse rearing as he fell from the saddle. He hadn't even hit the ground yet when the second died, his gun spraying bullets as his body seized, taking a brother down with him and injuring the closest horse, which dropped instantly, trapping it's owner's leg. He had no gun so she let him live for now, fixing her sights instead on the least frenzied of the group, an older rifleman who had his gun up and was searching, searching— he found her just as her bullet found his brain, his eyes narrowing hatefully a split second before they widened in death.

She had already moved on, picking her next target and pulling the trigger— but his horse moved at that exact moment, causing her bullet to tear through his shoulder instead of his chest, and she bit back a violent curse, making a split second judgment call as she turned her gun instead on one of the other riflemen, trusting that he would be too injured to provide an immediate threat.

Her new target died with a swiftness that almost made up for her mistake, his horse bolting with his corpse atop it.

A tally of her remaining bullets didn't please her; she'd started the day with a full round of thirty, and was now down by six, with six hostiles remaining, four of whom had guns. The three uninjured riflemen were now firing randomly at every bit of cover which might conceal her location, while the one whom she'd shot through the shoulder was attempting to escape along with one of the machete-wielding hostiles. She shot one of the fleeing pair through the spine, then ignored a lucky shot that threw up a small explosion of stone a matter of inches from her face as she put a bullet right between the shoulder blades of the other, catching him only a matter of yards before he exceeded her rifle's range.

The last three riflemen had figured out her rough position now, and dust and rock fragments showered her as they opened fire on the boulders around her. Gritting her teeth, she focused through it, dropping one target just as Weller leapt out from his cover, hurling his stolen machete at the remaining pair with all his strength. It skittered harmlessly to a stop by the hooves of one of their horses, but it was enough to distract their attention for a moment— and a moment was all she needed. Both were dead in seconds, the echo of gunfire drowned out by the staccato of racing hooves as their horses bolted.

Only there was one horse racing in the opposite direction from the rest, and now she saw through eyes half-blind with sweat and grit that one of the gunless men had dragged the trapped man free of his dead mount, and now both were astride the same horse, riding hard.

Straight at Weller.

One had taken a rifle from one of her early kills, and she put him down first, scarcely a handful of wildly-shot bullets leaving his gun before he hit the ground.

But in the time it had taken her to dispatch him, the rider was almost atop Weller, his long blade outstretched— and she swiftly loosed a shot that caught him in the gut, his body pitching off the horse's back and into the dirt only a few feet from where Weller had landed after the desperate, last-second dive which had saved him from being either trampled or decapitated. Watching through her scope, she saw him drag himself to his feet, chest heaving and covered in dirt and blood, his steps a fraction unsteady as he stumbled over to the wounded man, finishing him cleanly with a single thrust of his K-Bar into his heart.

Her own heart was racing now as she swiftly assessed the battlefield, searching for any overlooked threats. But she saw nothing other than a dozen corpses and one terrified horse, snorting and kicking as it tried to free itself from the tangled reins which tethered it to the body of the horse killed by friendly fire.

Shaking off the rocks and dust that covered her, she swiftly rose, slinging the medkit and rifle across her back as she clambered her way back down to the ground, her ankles jarring painfully as she came in contact with the hard-packed dirt. She kept her gun up and eyes wide open as she covered the few hundred yards of ground between her and the scattered collection of bodies, reaching them just as Weller had freed the horse, stroking its neck and speaking to it in a low, soothing tone.

Though she'd never admit it, the sound of his voice had a similar effect on her, the tension in her muscles easing just slightly as she looked him over.

"You okay?" she asked, hanging back a little so as to not spook the horse. Or maybe it was because she wanted to move closer, to assure herself that he truly was fine, and that was a weakness she couldn't allow.

"Yeah," he said quietly, shifting his hand to the horse's bridle as he cautiously hooked the reins back over its neck. "You?"

"Fine," she replied, and he looked up from the horse with a small, crooked smile that almost started to have some kind of effect on her, but it faded before it could take hold, his expression turning grim.

"Your cheek," he murmured, and she instinctively raised a hand to her left cheekbone, where a sliver of rock kicked up by a bullet had nicked her.

"It's nothing," she answered curtly, dropping her hand. "I'm good, Weller."

Either believing her or understanding that any sign of concern from him was unwelcome to her, he changed the subject.

"I'd say better than good," he said, gently encouraging the horse to step over the bodies and weapons to approach her. At her puzzled look, he went on, "I knew you were the best shot in the squad, but jesus, Briggs. Eleven mounted, moving targets, from over 300 yards with an M4 while under return fire? Most elite snipers couldn't do that."

"I missed two kill shots," was her only reply, because that was the only fact that mattered. If this had been one of Shepherd's exercises, she would have been punished for a week for that kind of mistake. And in this situation it was an even greater crime, because her failure could have— and nearly had— cost Weller his life.

He seemed not to know what to say to that, looking at her oddly for a moment before saying eventually, "What's our status with ammo now?"

"Thirteen down, seventeen remaining," she reported immediately. "I'll collect one of the enemy rifles and a supply of ammo before we move on. And I'll find whatever of their clothing is least damaged, too. Your fatigues are barely more than scraps."

"Alright, how about you take those over there and I'll take these," he suggested, gesturing towards the fallen militants. "Collect all ammo into a pile by that squareish rock. I'm sure most provisions were in saddlebags, but any food or water can go in another pile here."

With a nod, she moved towards the bodies he'd indicated, searching them with a practiced ease, accomplishing the task much faster than Weller, who was hampered by the still-nervous horse that he was gently leading along. Depositing her finds into their respective piles, she went over to join him, careful to approach the horse from a very visible angle, not trusting it not to kick out at either of them.

Weller was still crouched by one of the corpses, and as she drew near, she realized he was speaking, the words leaving his mouth in a soft, lilting murmur. Curious, she leaned in slightly to listen, but straightened immediately as he looked up at her.

"I've already checked Ed's saddlebags, in case you were wondering. There's just a roll of canvas that I think is for a tent, and a little bedding," he said, rising to his feet with a couple of spare mags in his hands.

"Ed?"

"It was the first horse-related name I thought of," he answered with a shrug. "Well, second, but Black Beauty seemed a bit long. Plus, he's brown."

She frowned at him. "How is Ed a horse name?"

"You know, like Mr Ed? The talking—" seeing her deepening confusion, he cut himself off. "Nope, you don't know. Jeez, Briggs. I thought I had a crappy childhood, but everything I learn about yours just makes me sad."

Anger flared, sudden and sharp. "Keep your fucking pity, Weller," she snapped. "I don't need it."

"Hey," he said, holding up the hand that was free of the reins in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry. I just meant— never mind. I'm going to bring Ed over, can you share the supplies between his saddlebags and the medkit?"

Turning away without a word, she ignored the faint sigh she heard behind her, then collected the ammo and other supplies, distributing them as logically as she could. Weller stood quietly while she worked, murmuring to the horse now and then and getting it used to his touch. When she was finished, he silently accepted the rifle from her while she slung one of the scavenged rifles over her shoulder. An unfamiliar, lower grade gun would be no disadvantage to her, but it would to Weller, and she wasn't going to risk either of their safety by taking the chance.

Apparently having decided it was safe to speak again, he cleared his throat. "So, I'm assuming you can ride."

She shot him a look. "Why would you assume that?"

"Because you can do everything else," he said simply. "Are you saying you can't ride?"

"I can ride," she grumbled. "Can you?"

"Barely," he answered. "I like horses, but my riding is definitely only at beginner level. So I guess you'll be steering."

That halted her. "What?"

"Come on, Briggs," he said, clearly surprised. "Our progress will be much quicker and easier on the horse. A camel would have been better able to carry both of us long distance, but I'll take what I can get."

Taking no notice of her reaction, he held out a hand for the medkit. "Here, give me the kit. If you need a restroom stop, now's the time, because once we're on the horse we're not stopping for a long time."

Unable to argue with his logic, she handed over the medkit and stalked off behind a boulder. When she emerged a minute later, he was facing away from her, seemingly keeping a sharp eye on every bit of their surroundings except the one that would intrude on her privacy. Rolling her eyes, she joined him, and he held out the reins to her.

"Give me a second to change," he said, and she told herself she wasn't disappointed to find out that 'changing' merely entailed picking up the long, pale, tunic-like garment she'd stripped from one of the bodies and pulling it over the top of his tattered fatigues. Then he looked around for a moment before stooping and grabbing a head covering for each of them, providing some much-welcomed protection from the sun.

With that done, she expected them to get moving, but he paused before her, giving her a strange look.

"I know we don't have much time, Briggs, but I just need another minute. I'll be right back."

Then, leaving her there holding the horse, he quickly moved to crouch beside the nearest body, one of the ones she had already searched. She was about to remind him of that when she heard him start to speak softly, a brief, melodic string of sounds that she recognized as a local prayer, spoken in Pashto. Moving from body to body, he looked at each man's face as he repeated the words, and she realized she'd already witnessed him doing the same for those he'd searched earlier.

She expected to feel annoyance or disdain for the wasted time or the risk of prolonging their presence in the open, but she found only a reluctantly growing feeling of respect, and something else even more unfamiliar— a deep, insidious feeling of shame, creeping through her veins like a bitter poison. She'd killed these men without a second thought, had seen them only as threats to be eliminated, but clearly Weller felt differently, his compassion not constrained by something as apparently superficial as what side someone fought for.

What came so naturally to him had always been a challenge for her, the concrete correlation of kindness with weakness being one of the very foundations of the upbringing she'd been given. She'd never been one for deliberate cruelty— not like Shepherd— but she was cold, so outwardly unfeeling as to appear completely heartless to most. Only Roman had ever seen deeper, had known the truth of what lay beneath.

Though as Weller rose and walked back to join her, eyes meeting and holding hers, it occurred to her that maybe Roman wasn't the only one.

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Honestly, she kept surprising him.

He'd expected some kind of reaction to his makeshift last rites, maybe not an outright reprimand or insult, but at least some vaguely disapproving comment about keeping them out in the open for nothing— but instead she'd simply handed the reins back to him without a word, then mounted the horse with an ease and grace that should have been impossible for someone with her injuries.

He was still staring when she held out her hand, and he automatically put the reins in it, even more surprised to see the faintest twitch of her lips as she switched the reins to her other hand and reached out again, more insistently this time.

"Your hand, Weller. If you're still planning on getting on this horse, you're going to have to give me your hand."

"Right, right," he said hastily, shooting a quick glance at Ed, who was now standing placidly, having calmed under his touch. Or maybe, under her touch— he'd caught a glimpse of her softly stroking his nose while she'd waited for him to finish his prayers. Either way, he didn't seem bothered, and was certainly large and broad enough to accommodate two.

Which was why Weller had suggested it in the first place. Right.

Realizing he still hadn't given her his hand, he reached up and closed his fingers around hers, moving close to Ed's side and wishing futilely for a western saddle with stirrups and firm leather to grip onto. His eyes fell on a decent sized rock nearby, and he looked up at her.

"Bring him over here, it'll be easier."

Unthinkingly, he tugged on her hand, and she nudged the horse in response, Ed meekly following him to the chosen rock. It wasn't until they reached it that he realized he'd never let go of her hand, and that she'd simply allowed it, steering the horse with her knees rather than pulling away to take the reins.

Having no idea what to do with that information, he simply stepped up onto the rock and then swung a leg carefully over Ed's back, settling his weight down slowly in case he were to panic and bolt. But he just stood there, clearly well under Briggs' control, so Weller relaxed, finally letting go of her hand and shifting a little to find a comfortable position. The movement brought his thighs to rest against hers, her shoulderblades almost brushing his chest, and he froze awkwardly for a moment before reluctantly accepting that there was literally no way to keep them from sliding together.

Briggs herself didn't even seem to notice, but of course she didn't; she'd spooned him last night without a second thought, as if physical intimacy didn't even register with her. As if confirming his thoughts, she spoke without looking back.

"You're going to need to hold on, Weller. Arms around the waist is fine, just watch the rifle."

Feeling like an incredibly stupid, painfully shy teenage boy, he curled one arm around her waist, taking care not to knock the rifle that she had slung across her front. His other hand he put on his own thigh, allowing him to reach quickly for his weapon or their provisions. He started to let out a sigh at the image of how the next several hours were going to pass, then immediately stopped himself, realizing he was breathing directly onto her neck.

"You ready?" she asked, interrupting his discomfort.

"Yeah. Let's move."

With a faint clicking sound and a subtle shift of her knees, she directed Ed to the southwest, and at last they were on their way again. Their skirmish with the scouting party had cost them some time, but Ed would easily make up for it. And not only would he save them time, but he would save Briggs the pain he'd seen her suffering the day before, when the toll of so many hours of walking had really started to show.

Her leg was bad enough, but he knew she had to have a couple of broken ribs too, even if she hadn't told him as much. She'd hidden it well, but he knew the signs, which was part of the reason that he would be exceedingly careful with the placement of his arm around her waist.

She'd clearly experienced a lot of pain in her life, of every imaginable kind it seemed, but he'd do his best to ensure that none of it ever came from him.

As time passed and he got used to the movement, the glare of the sun, the additional heat of his extra layer and the proximity of their bodies, the ride actually started to become almost…. nice. Which was definitely a weird sensation to be experiencing in the middle of a blistering desert in hostile territory, only hours after taking part in the deaths of a dozen men and barely a day after losing almost his entire squad, and all while undertaking a long and difficult journey to reach a place from which there may not actually be any chance of safe evac.

And yet despite all that, he was feeling pretty damn good right now.

He felt even better when the sun began to lower and the temperature slowly went with it, finally giving some relief from the baking heat. But as nice as it was, he was well aware that the temperature would drop below freezing before too long, and unlike last night, the terrain around them showed no sign of providing any natural shelter beyond a few scattered rocks here and there. As the moon started to rise, he started to think about bringing the topic up with Briggs, but decided to wait, certain that she would already have a plan.

And she did; before too long, she turned them off course, aiming for a fairly narrow valley-like gap formed between two sandy hills. It wasn't much in terms of cover, but it would shield them from view in at least two directions, which was better than their current position out in the open.

When they reached it, she halted the tiring Ed, then looked back at him for the first time in hours.

"Get down and stay here. I'll go a little further and ensure it's clear."

Knowing better than to argue, he slipped from Ed's back, imagining a sigh of relief escaping the poor creature's mouth. For a second Briggs paused, glancing down at him, but seemed to change her mind about speaking, and a moment later she and Ed were moving away at a gentle trot, leaving him alone.

For a moment he just stood in the opening of the valley, gazing out at the expanse of desert before him and the multitudes of stars that were winking into existence above his head, then he let out a breath and moved a few paces around the curve of the hill, making use of the rare moment of solitude to relieve himself. Then, he filled in his makeshift latrine with sand and returned to the shelter of the valley, and was just inspecting the sloped sides of the hills when he heard faint hoofbeats approaching.

Squinting in the evening dimness, he saw Briggs and Ed returning, and when she was only a few yards away she halted and slipped gracefully off the horse, turning to him without a hint of the bowleggedness he'd felt after their journey.

"Come on," she said without preamble, "There's a slight hollow in the hill just up ahead that we should be able to use for shelter."

Then, she turned and started leading the way, clearly aware that he would be right behind. It was only another minute before they reached the spot she meant, still much more exposed than their cave had been, but certainly better than anything else around. The hollow she'd found was barely more than a shallow indent in the side of the hill, but he could work with it.

Pulling out the roll of canvas from Ed's saddlebag, he unfurled it, then looked again at the hollow before nodding in approval.

"Briggs, I need your knives, and any rocks of five to ten pounds that you can gather."

To his mild surprise, she asked no questions, only pulled out her K-Bar and three smaller, well-concealed knives and put them on the ground before turning away in search of rocks. As for himself, he found a rock nearby that looked like it probably weighed about 50 pounds, and drew Ed over to it, untying one end of the rope that served as his reins and then lifting the rock long enough to place the other end under it. It wasn't much, but it was better than letting him roam free, and it seemed likely that if nothing spooked him, he'd still be right there in the morning.

Reminding himself to get some water for Ed as soon as he was done with their shelter, Weller grabbed a flat rock and started carefully digging into the hollow, lengthening it as well as deepening it, until he could lie down in it at almost full stretch. Then, he gathered Briggs' knives and the canvas, impaling the long edge of the canvas into the hillside just above the hollow, ensuring to leave enough space that he wouldn't collapse the dirt underneath. He had it arranged over the hollow in a crude roof/wall when Briggs returned with an armful of rocks, and he placed those atop the edges of the canvas, further weighing it down and keeping it in place.

Crouching, Briggs carefully lifted the lower corner of the canvas, seeing the now enclosed space he'd created.

"Not bad, Weller," she said, the words feeling like high praise. Which, from her, they pretty much were.

Putting canvas flap back down, she moved over to Ed, presumably getting the few meager bits of bedding from the saddlebags, and he tinkered a little bit more with the securements on their shelter before deciding he was satisfied. Standing, he looked around for her, immediately finding her still over with Ed, his saddleblankets on the ground and her fingers combing firmly over his sweaty hide, and at once Weller remembered all he'd ever learned about horse grooming, which wasn't much beyond what she was doing right now.

Walking over to join her, he said, "Currying, right? Want me to take the other side?"

"No, I've got it," she answered, and for a moment he felt a trace of rejection before she added, "Could you get the foil blanket and make a kind of bowl out of it? It should work for a water trough."

"On it," he said, fetching it out of the medkit and fashioning it into a shape that should vaguely hold water. Putting it before Ed and weighing it down with a couple of small rocks, he poured some of the water from one of the canteens they'd scavenged into it, then waited while Ed lowered his head and sniffed at it, pulling back a couple of times in alarm as the foil crinkled or moved in the light breeze. He was just considering covering it in a thin layer of sand to disguise it when Ed apparently got over his initial misgivings, lowering his head and drinking deeply.

Pleased, Weller petted his neck, then moved to face Briggs over his back.

"He's a good horse, don't you think?" he said, aware that it was a terrible opener and not caring, just wanting to hear her voice, to listen to her talk about anything, to learn just a little more about who she was and how she thought.

Her fingers paused in their work for a second, her eyes fixing on his like she wasn't sure what to make of him. For a moment he was disappointed, thinking that he had somehow reverted her back to her natural tendency towards suspicion— which, incredibly, had almost entirely disappeared towards him in the last 24 hours or so— but then she gave a reply that was almost as unexpected as the tiny spark of amusement in her eyes.

"You know she's a mare, right?"

For a moment he was too surprised to do anything but stare at her, and then he felt the laughter rising up, his shoulders shaking and chest wounds burning with pain as he fought to keep it contained, to keep it from bursting out of his mouth and into the silent stillness of the desert.

It was the best that he had felt since the crash— hell, since long before that. But better yet was the small, involuntary smile that curved Briggs' lips, one she quickly hid, her mouth immediately pressing into a flat, emotionless line. But not fast enough; he'd seen it. Even in the dark, he'd seen it, and now he knew that it could exist, he wanted to see it again and again and again. Putting a bracing hand on Ed's back, he turned his grinning face to the sky and blew out a long breath, slowly regaining control of himself.

When he looked back at her, her face wore a carefully neutral expression, her fingers still combing steadily.

"I guess Edwina's not a bad name," he said simply, and was rewarded by the faintest twitch of her lips, the studious way she focused on her task rather than looking at his face. Deciding to go out on top, he pulled out the couple of small blankets from the saddlebags on the ground, then stepped back.

"I'm going to set up the bedding. Let me know if you need anything."

Her nod was her only reply, so he turned to his task, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face once more as he went.

Reaching the shelter, he unfolded the paltry blankets, laying one on the floor of the shelter to combat the hard dirt and small spiky stones that he hadn't been able to brush away. Then he grabbed the medkit and pulled out a canteen and a protein bar before stashing the bag in the far corner of the shelter, where it would be out of the way.

The guns posed another problem, but they could hardly leave them outside the shelter, where they would be useless at best and a danger at worst. Mentally measuring the hollow again, he figured that it would be just large enough to accommodate both of them plus weapons, but it was going to be very cozy.

Honestly, he wasn't sure whether that fact filled him with more dread or delight.

With everything as comfortable as he could make it, he sat and leaned back against the hillside, gazing up at the stars.

Orion glowed brightest of all.

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That's pretty much all of the violence out of the way now, though there's still plenty of danger to come...

Also, I'm so happy that you guys have finally met Ed. I love Ed.

As always, thanks for reading, and I would love to hear your thoughts!