This one is long, because I love you all and I honestly couldn't stop typing!
Skin - Grimes
"This heat will be the death of me, Boone." Courier six was kicking hunks of dirt and sand like footballs, the air exploding with dusty red fireworks. The sniper was too busy picking off geckos to respond, enjoying the open range through the eye of his scope. "When we get to the lake can I go for a swim?"
"If you're a fan of lakelurks, sure." He muttered back as he lowered his rifle to reload.
"Only the biggest fan of lakelurks in the Mojave." She drawled sarcastically, pulling her pack free from her shoulders and groaning loudly. "Can we stop for some water?"
"You can see the lake from here." He shook his head, returning to his game. "Twenty minutes and we'll be there."
"People can die from dehydration in twenty minutes, Boone."
"You won't." He told her blankly, watching the distance as she dug around for her canteen. Taking a slight sip, she held it out to him. The crack of the rifle sounded and he took it off of her, slinging the gun onto his back silently. She had grown accustomed to his little routine; he would check the scene out first before she was allowed to follow through.
At first it was irritating, because Annie was terrible at ranged shooting - and Boone would get all the good kills before she even had a chance to try anything new. But after a while she found it comforting, much preferring to go in after he had cleared the area for her. This meant less chance of getting shot, stabbed or bitten - a perfect combination in the eyes of the Mojave.
Annie's pipboy was burning red when they reached the docks, the girl glancing over at the direction of the rolling hills. "There's something over there." She told Boone quietly. "In fact, whatever it is, they're everywhere. Lots of them."
"Cazadors, probably. They've always got nests in this area." The man stopped awkwardly, slipping his eyes in her direction. "Do we have any anti-venom?"
"What do you think?"
He grumbled unhappily about 'preparation', taking his scope from his belt to figure out the situation. Annie shifted through her memories to summon the idea of a Cazador, paling marginally when she remembered the story of half of her old travelling team dying painfully in the warm sands of the afternoon. The thought made her sick.
"Taking them on would be a terrible idea." She took his arm, forcing his gaze from the distance to her own. "We get this damn plane up then we leave."
"Good idea."
They tucked their packs under the docks on the cleanest, driest patch of sand they could find. Annie retrieved the ballasts and rebreathers, tossing half to Boone before unzipping her armor. She kicked it under the dock hurriedly, heart racing at the thought of a cazador sneaking up behind them – not likely while Boone was around but still a terrifying idea.
The last thing they needed was to writhe to death in their underwear face down in the sand.
"Come on, Mr Handy – no one's going to be unimpressed with you if they find your clothes unfolded." Annie cocked her hip to her hand, staring painfully at her companion who was squaring his pants over his forearm. He took of his sunglasses terribly slow, folding them into his beret so he could stand importantly in front of her.
It was the first time Annie had ever seen beneath Boone's clothes, and the shock caused her to snicker at him – not a bright idea if you take a man's ego into account. His brows evened and he frowned, folding his arms across his chest with a huff.
He had his machete tucked into his underwear, finally heaving the heavy ballast onto his shoulder after pulling the breathing apparatus over his head. Although he looked like a heaving dork with a facemask, Annie felt the sudden urge to touch him again, even if it meant another swift punch to the arm – his skin like a foreign delicacy that was only imported every so often.
The sniper stood semi-proud in front of her, waiting for the go-ahead but not receiving it due to the courier's obvious peeking. He felt scrutinized, almost self-conscious under her sticky gaze but he stood all the while, spirits lifting when her eyes finally dragged themselves to his face. Her mouth broke into a happy grin.
"Why we don't do this more often is completely beyond me." She told him, adjusting the straps of her travel bra with lithe fingers. They stared at each other for a moment more, dwelling and reveling in the welcome invasion of privacy. Their actions could be compared to two predators sizing each other up, running their gaze along their limbs with interest. Boone had seen all of Annie before, but enjoyed the idea of seeing her in that state for the first time in a while – having spent the week with a cabin full of friendly men and not the sheer-clothed courier. He felt no guilt in looking at her like he did, because she was doing the same.
The moment fizzled with tension before Annie snapped, clearing her throat quietly before she could take advantage of him in the sand.
Once their stuff was secured and the sniper was happy with the situation, they waded waist deep into the lake. The water was cold around their thighs, goose-bumping their unbathed skin and cooling their central cores. Annie's pipboy read clear, the final go-ahead to bend their knees and submerge themselves in the lake. Annie let out a groan of happiness when she re-appeared from the shallow water, pushing her wet hair off of her face and over her shoulders to grin at Boone.
"It's like a gigantic bathtub." She moaned, rubbing the water from her eyes. Boone floated morbidly beside her; trying to remember the last time he had taken a dip in Lake Mead. The courier was using her ballast as a semi-floatie, bobbing up and down and turning in the water like a sea beast. "There's no greater feeling than weightlessness. I wonder if this is what flying feels like."
"You'll have to ask the Boomers when they get this thing working." He spoke louder than usual, his muscles relaxing for the first time in a while. The lake was liquid therapy, his brain grasping Annie's weightlessness theory with two hands – giving up his tension for a moment of relaxation to soak up the beaming sun above them.
Drifting above the beeping marker on her pipboy, she gave her companion a thumbs-up. They pushed the ballasts under water, the hiss of the last remaining hints of air bubbling and bursting the surface with sputters and coughs. Annie pulled her rebreather over her nose, giving her partner a final punch before ducking under the waves.
Annie was done within a few minutes, clicking the hunk of plastic into place and tightening the straps. The plane seemed like it went for miles, a dark, looming figure at the bottom of the green-tinged lake. She swam around the nose of it for a moment, awed by the giant metal creature that apparently once flew across the skies. She was joined by Boone a moment later, the man accidentally sneaking up behind her with a burst of bubbles.
The courier pointed to the surface before shrugging plainly, swirling her finger in a circle to point at the muddy floor. There was so much to explore down there, the girl enthralled by the rusty shopping cart that almost seemed to float past them like time had slowed.
Even underwater Boone still managed to look fervently unimpressed, pointing tiredly to the surface. She reached out and patted his arm, aiming her finger back to him before turning her finger back to the surface – pressing her own chest and swirling her hand once again as if to say 'I will be more than happy to stay in this underwater wonderland'. He sighed to the best of his ability and kicked away.
She ran her body through the slimy weeds, running her fingers through the wet sand like it was her own personal art board. The world would be better if it was underwater, she thought to herself while tipping a shopping cart upright before pushing it along the lake's floor. If only Boone shared her enthusiasm, she thought miserably, then they could have played Pre-War grocery shopping together. It was a thought in vain, however, the girl knowing full well that even if the man had the tolerance of a priest he would not humour her strange fetishes.
Once she had exhausted all of her playthings, Annie decided to return to the surface to tell Boone of all her discoveries. She had even managed to find a crate of Sunset Sarsaparilla, unopened and probably fresh and cool – only snagging two in fear of angering a hoarding lakelurk.
Kicking closer to the surface, she could hear the telltale sounds of Boone's rifle, the loud crack reverberating through her ears that were smothered by water. Heart in her throat, she pushed harder, breaking the surface in a burst of spray. Shaking the drops from her eyes, she focused in on the man taking on what could be considered a hive of Cazadors.
Her blood ran cold, forcing her legs to propel her at double her speed, her lungs aching in exertion before she finally noticed and threw the rebreather off. The plastic chunk disappeared somewhere into the depths, swallowed by the once peaceful new world below. Once her feet hit the bottom, she sprinted as fast as she could to their packs.
"What is going on here?" She called to her partner who whipped around suddenly to finally catch her arrival.
"No time." His machete decapitated one of the larger bugs, the body bouncing into the sand while it's wings still fluttered faintly. Annie cocked her newly acquired shotgun, trying to aim as well as she possibly could before blowing one of them away. Their numbers were dwindling, but this fact made the remaining insects more furious – frenzying around them with the sickening sounds of beating wings.
She fired her second shell, ripping the wings off of one cazador and gutting the other – leaving Boone to take one large swing to hack the last bug to death. They stopped battle, breathing heavily as Annie lurched over to catch her breath.
And then he sat in the sand, letting out a loud sigh before simply laying down.
"Boone?" Annie reeled back, anxiously shifting towards his lifeless body. "Are you alright?" She crept to him quietly, bending her skinny knees to crouch over his torso.
"One got me." He mumbled at her.
"Of course it did." Her mouth went dry at the thought. "Where?"
"Left leg, below the knee." He pointed at it lazily, hands returning to rub his face in annoyance. "Fucking hurts like hell."
"How the fuck did it get you there?" She muttered, not really caring for an answer. She was racking her brain for any remedy she could remember, falling short with the memory of a Great Khan's heavy boots skidding in the desert's dust as he slowly convulsed to death. She tried to shake the thought, her heart racing like a deathclaw after a gecko.
She got up and walked away, only to return with their packs a moment later. She took a spare pair of her underwear and ripped them in half, bending his knee painfully to knot it tightly around his lower thigh.
"Sorry buddy, this is the best I can do for now." She told him quietly, resting her palm softly on his torso. She fought for a glimpse of his blue eyes, but they were already closed in pain. Although her face stayed plain, her hands were shaking as if she were holding a pistol. "Where'd they come from?"
"That boat house and the hills." His breath came through his teeth. "This is your fault, by the way."
"Don't blame me for this shit." She hissed at him, sending him a look of hatred. He never openly blamed her for anything, the feeling of him being disappointed in her one of the stronger things she had felt. "… What did I do?"
"You need to put the grenades in a case where they won't get caught on anything." He told her sternly, throwing his head back into the sand harshly. "I went to take out your canteen and the fucking clip pulled on a frag."
"Holy shit." She paled. "I'm… God, Boone, I'm so sorry." He didn't respond, turning his head to face the other way. Although the pain he felt was almost unbearable, he couldn't bare see her take the blame for something as unlucky as their situation.
"You're lucky it didn't blow up all our supplies."
"Or you." She sighed, staring over at the old boathouse. She couldn't see any movement, checking her pipboy and finding no threats. "I'm going to take you to that shed, okay? We'll get you out of the sun and then I'll figure out what to do."
She adjusted herself under his shoulders, leaning back to use all of her weight to drag him along. His legs wouldn't move, seizing up like useless logs. Although he tried his hardest, Boone couldn't stop the grunts of pain crawling up his throat – sending Annie into guilt overdrive as she lugged his deadweight into the coolness of the abandoned boathouse.
"Do you think you could make it to Bitter Springs? It's a refugee camp – I'm sure they have a medical tent." She asked him quietly as she pondered, the man almost falling into cardiac arrest at the thought.
"No."
"Boone-" She started.
"No."
He laid lifeless in the shade, staring up at the roof with pained blue eyes that seemed to suck in everything around them. Time went double for him, Annie seemingly moving in fast-motion as she buzzed around, tending to his wound as best she could.
"It's only a small sting." She told him between his visions. "If you sleep it off you will be fine. It's going to really fucking hurt when I pull the stinger out though, so brace yourself."
He reached out and grabbed her fleshy thigh in a moment of desperation, her brown eyes flicking to his for a minute of hesitation. She wasn't going to let him die like this – it was no way for a man hell-bent on revenge to go out. He deserved to die under a pile of sweaty men in leather if that was his dream – and by god she would not let him fail.
"Ready?" She asked and he nodded, grasping her skin with his rough fingers. "One… two… three!"
"Oh-" He gripped her thigh so hard that she thought he was going to take a chunk for himself, his legs finally regaining feeling long enough to twitch and dig their heels into the dirty concrete.
"You're alright, you're okay." She soothed his fingers on her thigh, releasing herself from his death grip to take his hand. She kissed his knuckles, resting them on her cheek as his body settled to hurried breathing. "The worst part's over now."
He grunted something in reply but she didn't catch it, busily tucking through their packs to gingerly place their grenades back in their rightful pockets. Another mistake on her part that had almost gotten them killed – she could have started carving notches into the walls the way she was going.
Her eyes resting on the abandoned agave leaves – meant for lunch but proving a memory trigger of way back when she was still learning desert medicine. An elderly Khan named Nanna used to tell all the young ones about the healing properties of the plants around the Mojave, the agave leaf (when crushed) being a perfect sponge for any type of poison. Most didn't listen, but apparently Annie did.
"Water?" He asked her quietly, breaking her concentration. She perked and looked down at him, kissing his fingers for the second time that day.
"No, sweetheart. Water will thin the blood and that's the last thing we need. I can water down some scotch for you though – keep it level." She rested his hand on his own chest.
"I want water."
"Well get up and get it then." She snapped at him, turning back to the fruit. She crushed the plant between her palms, grinding the green pus into a thick paste that coated her fingers stickily. "I'll get you water after I deal with this, okay? The last thing I want right now is the poison getting fast-tracked straight to your heart."
"Since when are you a doctor?" He asked, his voice pitching with a slight delirium. Even though she had stemmed the flow, the cazador liquid was now pumping softly through his body.
"I'm not." She told him, reaching over to dab a finger-full of paste onto the sting. His legs flipped out, knees arching up inches from her face. "Christ, Boone. Can you control that?"
"Obviously."
"No sarcasm, asshole." She huffed at him, the man rolling his eyes at her in a fit of childishness. The hallucinogen had taken his sense of maturity hostage.
She forced his legs down, feeling the vibrations of his muscles as they twitched and ached beneath her hands. "Do you think you can control that?"
"I don't think so." He grit his teeth, heels now bleeding from the tear of the rough ground. She leant over and grasped his ankles, struggling to keep them together in one hand, touching the sting to the cream for the second time.
His torso twisted in pain and he kicked himself free, lying in a pool of his own sweat with his tense back facing her. She rubbed the curve of his waist with her forearm comfortingly, forcing him onto his back with a soft tug. "Come on now, you big baby, lay still for me."
She threw her leg over his body, sitting on the top of his thighs to hold him down. His eyes were finally able to trace every scar on her back, racing the droplets of water down the curve of her spine with a steady gaze. The activity took the matter at hand off of his mind, allowing Annie to finally pin his ankles down so she could cup the paste around the swelling sting. The pain was sudden and rough, like his blood was on fire and coursing through every single inch of him. He grabbed the sides of her underwear in desperation for something to hold, grasping the thin cotton in his thick hands while his mouth spurred little grunts and groans of agony.
"Don't you rip my only pair of underwear…" She warned him jokingly as she bent her torso to put pressure on the wound. He twisted his hands in the fabric, tying his hands into her clothes like a slave as his breath escaped harshly through his tight jaw. The longer she held the paste to his leg, the less pain he felt. His muscles soon stopped shivering, allowing his whole body to relax in a slump.
His head fell to the concrete, thoroughly exhausted as the girl leant back, wiping the sweat off of her forehead.
"I'm taking the relaxing as the fact that it feels better, right? You didn't die on me, did you?" She turned her head to look down at him and he gave her the faintest smile known to man. Her heart rejoiced. "So I'll give you a stim in a while when that paste dries, and then I'll bandage it for you, alright?" She pulled herself off of him, wiping the green paste on her ribcage to lean on her knees beside him.
The grey cotton of her undergarments had begun to dry, hiding the patches of skin that had soaked through the sopping fabric. He could see each and every bit of her from the darkness of her nipples to the brush of hair between her thighs, her chest heaving with simmering breaths that stretched the material across and around the body that he had grown so used to.
Annie wasn't a girl like he had always thought – she was a woman, a beautifully pieced woman who seemed to have been sewn together like a patchwork quilt. Her scars blended in perfectly with her lightly Hispanic skin, like a shimmering coat of stripes and stars.
In the light of the afternoon, she looked like some sort of ethereal being – the halo of light from the dirty windows shining behind her and lighting her skin into a soft glow. The way she was staring at him, her face soft and relieved as she checked over the rest of his body, let him know that he was not alone in his thoughts.