I meant to finish this last night...but after I watched American Horror Story, I went to sleep. So I finished it up this morning, and here it is.

I like the way it turned out...or, at least, part of me does. But at the same time...I'm kind of worried that I didn't quite pull it off. Hopefully I'm wrong, and everyone enjoys the conclusion to THAS.

If not...tell me what you didn't like. But if you do like it...leave me some good reviews. Ease my weary mind.

Daniel stood over Six. He lifted his head and emptied the contents of the vial into his mouth. Six choked a bit, but swallowed it. Then Daniel retrieved another vial from a bag at his side – the same type of vial that Graham had given to Six just days before – and emptied its contents into his mouth as well.

He placed two fingers to Six's throat – feeling his pulse. "Only thing to do now is wait…"

"Get the hell off me!" Six yelled.

Daniel leapt back, clearly startled. He waited for a moment, but Six didn't move.

They sat mostly in silence. A half hour passed…maybe longer. Then Six began to groan in his sleep. Daniel made his way to his side. "Temperature's gone down. Heart rate stabilized." He shook him gently. "Six? Six are you with me?"

Nothing.

Daniel cast a glance over his shoulder, then turned back to the comatose man. He raised his hand and brought it down hard across Six's face. Six grunted and his eyes began to stir.

"He's coming to," Daniel said, a smile on his face.

Six's eyes were narrow, adjusting to the light.

"What the fuck happened?"

Daniel sat back onto the ground. "You gave us quite a scare," he said, his voice relieved.

Six tried to sit up, but immediately the room began to spin. An intense pain settled in the middle of his forehead. The small fire across the room was shining impossibly bright. "Christ, it's bright in here," Six said, shielding his eyes.

Daniel stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Photosensitivity is a common side-effect of datura ingestion. Shouldn't last more than a couple of days."

Six squinted, still shielding his eyes. "Fuck that. Give me some Med-X."

Daniel laughed, "Would that I could, but Med-X isn't exactly abundant in these parts."

Six Scanned the chamber for his bag. "In my pouch…"

Boone scooped the bag off of Graham's table and rummaged through it. When he had found it, he handed it to Daniel.

"I'm not exactly comfortable giving you…"

Six cut him off. "Just give me the damn syringe."

With a sigh, Daniel removed the syringe's protective cap. He jammed it – probably a little too forcefully – into Six's arm.

Six grunted in pain, but after a moment he felt its warmth creep over him. His head quit pounding and the aching in his eyes subsided.

"Try to use it sparingly," Daniel said.

"I don't typically use pain killers, Doc," Six confessed, smiling now. "I probably only have a couple more anyway."

"Three," Boone confirmed.

Six pressed his palms to his eyes. "So what the hell happened?"

"You participated in a Sorrow rite of passage…good news is, you've become an honorary member of their tribe," Daniel replied. "A courtesy that, thus far, has only been extended to the New Canaanites. And a select few at that. The bad news is…the tea you drank had a stronger affect on you than most. As far as we can tell…that was because of the cazador sting you received a few days back."

Six blinked a few times and forced himself to sit up. Despite the effects of the Med-X, his stomach still lurched at the sudden movement. For a moment, he thought he may vomit – but he swallowed and regained composure.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Daniel asked.

Six took a deep breath and thought on it for a moment. "I was…with," He paused. He couldn't have been with who he thought he was with. "Waking Cloud," he guessed, "On the overpass above the camp."

Daniel nodded, clearly pleased: "Looks like there was no memory loss."

"Don't have much memory to lose," Six jibed.

Daniel chuckled. "Well, you need to rest."

With a nod, Six reclined. He was out before the others left the chamber.

He awoke to Waking Cloud sitting at his side. She smiled tenderly at him. "Welcome back."

Six squinted his eyes – his head was pounding again. "Hey," he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Boone said you may need this," She held out a syringe of Med-X.

Six examined it for a moment then shook his head. "No, it's not that bad. I can handle it."

She flashed a sympathetic smile, then sat it at his side. "In case you change your mind…" She stroked his arm gently. "Forgive me."

Six's face twisted in confusion. "For?"

"I should not have asked you to participate in our rituals. Had I'd known…" Her gaze fell groundward.

Six immediately tucked his index finger under her chin – raising her eyes to meet his own. "Hey…You listen to me, now. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Waking Cloud swallowed – her eyes wet with tears. She leaned in close, her lips mere centimeters from his own. Six found his hands acting on their own again – for reasons he couldn't explain, he grasped either side of her face, tilting her head down, and kissed her forehead. Then he reclined against the cave wall with a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes.

The tribal woman looked puzzled for the briefest of moments, her lips trembling. "It is this Cass?"

Brow furrowed, his eyes shot open and he stared at her – though he found he could not focus. His eyes would wander to and fro – from her, to the ground or cave ceiling, and back again. Days before the desire was there…and even now, he thought Waking Cloud was a vision of beauty. He liked the way her soft skin felt against his own.

But that burning passion – that overwhelming desire to have her…it was gone. He remained silent.

She bit her lower – still trembling – lip. Forcing the movement to subside. "She is a lucky woman…" she said, grasping Six's hand in her own.

Movement at the chamber entrance caught their interest, breaking the tension. It was the Sorrow's shaman – White Bird. His head held high, he made his way across the span at a leisure stroll. His left hand fiddled with the gauntlet on his right.

"Ghosts lay dead in grave?" He asked in his droll voice. Before Six could answer, he turned his attention to Waking Cloud. "Daniel wishes to speak with you."

Waking Cloud stood, letting their interlocked fingers slowly slide apart – Six's arm fell back to the bedding with a light thud. She began towards the cave exit – casting a final glance at Six just before she disappeared from sight.

Six turned his attention back to the shaman.

"Ghosts haunt you still?"

"No…" Six shook his head, exhaling a quick puff of air

The shaman smiled widely. "Then visions of truth are at an end. Will you learn from truth?" He curled his lower lip and shrugged softly. "Maybe yes. Maybe no. For you to decide."

"Your people believe that inside of us…there's two creatures. Strife and Peace…but, when we spoke…you mentioned the bear and the bull."

"Inside us…live many creatures. The wise owl. The hungry bear. The playful cub. Different for each person…the creature that survives, shapes us into their form – it is the creature we feed."

"But how did you know…"

The shaman shook his head. "Maybe know. Maybe plant image in your mind." He shrugged, echoing moments passed. "For you to decide." He dropped his yao guai gauntlet onto Six's chest. "Use well. Or sell to curio trader. Learn from life…or ignore its teachings. Either way, says much about you."

Six shielded his eyes from the mid-day sun. Near the cave entrance – gathered around a recently extinguished campfire – he found them, huddled in a circle. As he approached, Raul made room for him. "Saved you a plate, Boss." He pushed the plate in Six's direction – "Smoked gecko topped with agave sauce and diced jalapeño, sliced banana yucca, and pinto beans."

"He's quite the chef," Graham said, nodding to Raul. "You won't be disappointed." He turned to a tribal, "Fetch our guest some fresh water."

Six took the plate and sat next to Raul.

"I trust you're feeling better?" Daniel studied Six carefully.

Six pressed his lips. "Well, I'm not feeling any worse."

"That's good to hear," Graham nodded approvingly. "Well enough to travel?"

"Yeah, I think so."

The tribal returned with a sarsaparilla bottle filled with fresh water – Six politely accepted it.

"Good," Graham spoke softly. "We'll break camp in the morning."

"We?"

Graham took a long breath and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I tried so hard to separate myself from the legends of the Legate. The legends of the Burned Man. To remove myself from the Mojave and all of its problems…you have shown me something, courier. Something I needed to see. The Mojave suffers for many reasons…for the actions I have taken against it, and for the actions I haven't taken for it. If it is within my power to help the people of the Mojave…then I have an obligation to do so. An obligation to them, to God…even to myself. When we met I told you that no other man could have commanded the Legion. That only Caesar possessed the required skills to lead those masses. I was wrong. There is one other."

Six raised a brow. "I'm not sure I'm following you…"

"You, courier. There is a war coming. A battle for the Mojave…and there are two sides. I fought on one side…for Caesar. Now I'm going to fight for the other. The NCR isn't perfect…too much love of money and ownership, not enough love of God and giving. Any society that derives its power and authority from the will of man alone lives apart from God and will crumble in the end," Graham clasped his hands together, bringing them to his face. He rested his chin on his thumbs and his nose across his knuckles. "I am aware of my crimes. Against the Republic. And I am aware that they would not actively accept me among their ranks…but I can fight alongside you. And given the chance, that's what I'll do."

Six was quiet at this notion. He had hoped – hell, he'd even expected – Graham to return with him when the time come…but not for this reasoning. But for vengeance. The driving force behind his own actions…and behind Graham's actions, up until this point. Six bit his lower lip.

"I just hope," Graham continued, "that when all is said and done, the tribes he has thus conquered do not suffer at his defeat."

Six nodded, understandingly. "We'll see…"

Graham smiled, under his bandaging. "The Lord reveals all things in good time."

The moon had settled high in the night sky. Six found himself perched atop the pass where he and Waking Cloud had spent those brief moments together.

But it was not Waking Cloud on his mind.

He thought of that desert rose – of their times together in the Mojave. He thought back to the first night he held her. He owed her an apology for that night…and he owed her thanks. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his duster – withdrawing the fine silver necklace he'd found those days before. He held it up, examining it…remembering the night Cass had saved his life. And her pendent…falling from within her shirt, swinging hypnotically mere inches from his face.

She had stayed with him before he'd found the riches of the Sierra Madre.

Before the glamour of the strip.

Before he could walk into any Casino and order anything he wanted…telling them to "put it on his tab". "His" being House, of course.

But more importantly…she had waited on him when he left. She had forgiven him for his sins. All the things that the New Canaanites had preached about their God…he had already found in Cass.

And he had abandoned her. Driven her away.

He moved his eyes from the silver chain – turning them to the sky. These, he thought…these are the same stars she's looking up at now. And across a vast distance, settled into a little room in Novac. He was right.

"Why'd you help me?"

His voice was shaking. It never shook.

Kurisu looked up at him, a gentle smile across her face.

"You don't know me. You didn't owe me anything. Why'd you help me?"

Kurisu was quiet – she seemed to be lost in thought. "Why?"

Boone gave her a nod, "Yes. Why?"

She tilted her head, "Why you save Kurisu?"

"Because…because I felt indebted. I had to…"

"You would not…if Kurisu not saved you?"

Boone was quiet at this notion…the answer seemed obvious. "What? No. Of course I would."

"Why?"

His face twisted at this question…he didn't have a reason. Hell…he didn't even know if it was true. He wanted to believe it was, somewhere deep inside of himself. He wanted to believe that he wouldn't let another woman die at the hands of the Legion. Not if it was within his power…but, of course, she was Legion too. Or, at the very least, potentially Legion.

"I…don't know." He answered finally.

Kurisu smiled at him. "Not always have to be 'why', yes?"

He stared at her for a long moment. She was right.

That morning, they began making preparations to leave. By noon, they had said their goodbyes. Now, they were following the road – back towards the camp where they had been ambushed. As they neared the camp – Six thought of Stella. He thought of the other caravaners.

"We have to bury them," he said, when the camp was within eyeshot.

"Your caravan?" Graham asked, scouting the camp.

Six nodded. "We can't leave them out like this, exposed. We have to bury them."

Graham turned to Boone and Raul. "Do you think you two can handle this?"

Boone raised a brow.

"I'd like to show Six something."

"Sure thing, Jefe." Raul placed a hand on Boone's shoulder. "We'll take care of this. Do what you need to."

Graham turned to Six. "Let's take a walk."

They began to backtrack – following the trail towards the Dead Horses camp. But before long, they began to deviate from the trail. Graham took Six east – across the Virgin River, and towards the former White Leg camp at Red Gate.

"Where are we going?"

Graham didn't answer. He paused briefly, examining the rock structure, then began to climb. Six followed suit. When they had reached the top, Graham withdrew his rifle.

The rifle was worn – the wood scratched and the steel faded. The word "Arret!" carved into the stock.

"It's French," Graham explained. "It means, 'stop'." Graham sat next to the ancient remains of someone long dead. "You're probably wondering why I brought you here."

"Remote place…if I had to guess, I'd say you're going to kill me."

Graham laughed. "No. No, I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Six raised a brow.

"This," he looked towards the skeletal remains, "is Randall Clark."

Six cocked his head to the side. "The survivalist?"

"The Father in the Cave. This rifle belonged to him."

Six grinned. "You're shitting me right?"

"No. Before the White Legs, I used to scout this valley regularly. I wanted to understand the Sorrows – their beliefs. Traditions. When I found the first terminal with entries from Randall Clark, I realized that the Sorrows' God…their Father…had an origin. It was based in reality…although the belief had been twisted over the centuries, turning a man into myth."

"Why show me this?"

"I know you do not share my faith. But you seem troubled…especially these last few days. I wanted you to see that just because our Father has not shown himself to you…it doesn't mean that he isn't there. The Sorrows have never found this man…to be honest, I pray they never will. But, still, they believe. They believe in a Father they've never seen. And that's what faith is about."

"So…you want me to find God up here on this mountain?"

Graham chuckled softly. "No. I want you to see two things. First…faith can be derived from reality. The Father the Sorrows believe in did in fact exist. But more than that, I wanted you to see what physical evidence does to faith. What do you think would happen if the Sorrows had found the body of this man?"

"Now? They'd chalk it up to some dead guy."

"What about then? Back when they were first settling this valley?"

Six was quiet. He understood.

"The faith that they had would have diminished. They wouldn't have become the peaceful tribe they are today…although, I fear, those days may have come to an end. But that's neither here, nor there."

"I still don't understand why you brought me here."

"You're lost, Six. I can see it in your eyes…you don't know what to believe in. I aim to correct that."

"I'm sorry…I'm never going to believe in your God."

"And that's okay. But you told me once that you did believe in something. You believed in me. In Boone. In people…" Graham scooped up a handful of dirt. "And in this," he let it trickle from his hands. "But you have to believe in something else." He pushed a finger into Six's chest. "You have to believe in yourself. These demons that haunt you…believe me when I say no good will ever come from them. That fire consumed me…it burns in me still. I fear it will always be a part of me. But you are young…there is still time."

Six swallowed. Knees shaking, he sat upon the earth.

"We cannot escape the sins of our past…and simply asking for forgiveness isn't enough. Your loyalty to your people…their loyalty to you…it has shown me that. They believe in you. You and I…we're not so different from the Sorrows, the Dead Horses, or even the White Legs. We fancy ourselves civilized…but the truth is, we are tribes. We wear more clothing than they do…we understand more about technology. We gather in places like the Boneyard, Pheonix, and New Vegas. But those are just that – places. Metal and stone. New Canaan died…but the tribe lived on. When the walls come tumbling down, when you lose everything around you, you always have family. And your family believes in you…even when you don't believe in yourself."

Graham made his way to a large duffle bag near the remains of Randall Clark. He rummaged through it – withdrawing a holotape. "Daniel was unsure that we acted righteously…he still is. And perhaps that concern has fallen upon you." He handed the holotape to Six.

Six examined it in silence – then inserted it into the slot on his pipboy. As he read, Graham began to speak.

"I hope they do well…I hope no harm comes to them, from within or without. I did my best to prepare them…told them what makes them special. I told them to be kind to each other. To be modest. To never hurt each other…but if someone comes along and tries to hurt them, to strike back with righteous anger. …I Told them 'the Father' was pleased by their kind natures and that it would be up to them to handle things on their own from now on. That I'd be silent, but always watching. Always caring.

Lies. Of Course. Like I told you, Char. Like I told Alex and Sylvie. But I wouldn't go back and unsay any of it…even if I could. But I never forgot your faces…

So what's the point of it all? So many failures?

The only point of living that I can think of is to keep those pictures in my head as long as I could. It's not a choice…I chose to die again and again. I just never did…my body had its own drive.

I hope…I hope they have it. The little ones. The species will need it, if it's to continue. To revive itself.

That blind drive onward."

Six swallowed. He felt his eyes welling up. Graham had turned his attention to the horizon – studying it in silence. Six made his way to the body of Randall Clark. He rummaged through his bag – withdrawing a small black folding spade. He drove it into the ground…scooping up a bit of earth. Graham turned towards him, inquisitively.

"Digging a grave," Six explained, without Graham having to ask. "Burying the past…to preserve the future."

So...for those unaware, a folding spade is a shovel that collapses, sort of like a pocket knife. Albeit considerably larger. I thought it'd make more sense to have one of those, than for him to be toting around a shovel.

And, this ends 18 Karat Run: Through Hardships And Sorrows. I hope everyone enjoyed it. This weekend, we'll get back into A Courier's Tale. I've got most of the next chapter written already...so, yeah. Hopefully my retelling of Honest Hearts has lived up to everyone's expectations...or at least most of everyone. Can't please everybody I suppose.

See you in the Mojave.