003:

»«○»«○»«

FALSE TRUTHS AND UNCERTAINTIES

With a pent up sigh, Daniel leans against the table's edge and closes his eyes. The last few hours had been far busier than what he was used to and coupled with the random periods of… nothingness such as this, and he has found that his sleep schedule is getting more absurd than it was originally. If he sits back down, he's pretty sure he'll fall asleep again.

Which is precisely why he doesn't. Instead, Daniel had found himself pacing up and down the narrow's walkways for the better part of the morning, only stopping once and awhile to converse with the Sorrow's he came across. The day seems to have been long, too long, almost, but early mornings have started to have a sense of purpose now. Even with his somewhat narrow set of skills, Daniel can't stand around and mope when there is work to be done. As is his nature. This trait had not gone unnoticed by everyone else. His late father did not lovingly determine that he was 'More stubborn than a temperamental bighorner' for nothing. Daniel had defiantly earned it; as Ryker, he'd be surprised not to. Much to his mother's everlasting exasperation, he's reached adulthood and yet he still shows no signs of outgrowing it. At least he's putting his energy into being productive instead of brooding.

It's easy to be passive when it doesn't feel quite real yet.

Daniel puts all that aside as he shuffles through the few physical maps he possesses. He's surprised to say the least, that Joshua himself hasn't yet made an appearance. Though if Daniel was being completely honest with himself, he doesn't really expect it to last. They are long overdue for another shouting match. That thought in particular makes him groan and he rubs the bridge of his nose. It's not working. He needs something else to do before he goes mad. Something more occupying then pushing papers around.

So he finds himself systematically moving through his work space. Organising his tools, cleaning the general area, re-ordering supplies. Keeping busy is better than being idle and alone with troublesome thoughts and painful memories. He scrubs down one of his scalpels, shirt rolled up at the elbows and he mentally plans on tackling the scissors and every other instrument he can find next. He's in the middle of fixing a loose set of dressing forceps when he hears it; a definite shuffling of bare feet that cuts through the faint sound of rushing water and his occasional grumps of frustration.

Daniel goes quiet and strains to listen, but the noise stops. His handgun is still in his holster, so he doesn't bother, just goes back to his fiddly little task. The cave systems here are filled with Sorrows, even if they do tend to leave his particular area free for his use, so he's not too surprised to hear bare feet at all, but he finds himself unnerved and in a hurry to finish. The second time he hears it, he's drying his hands on a nearby towel. It sounds less like the carefree but practiced footwork of the Sorrows and more like someone with uneven footfalls.

At once, the back of his neck prickles with alarm, but he doesn't move from his spot. Another step and whoever it is pauses again. Positions are suddenly reversed and he rips his handgun free without thinking about it, turning and raising it, jaw tensed.

He immediately zeroes in on the figure on the other side of the room. Like always, his finger is wrapped around the trigger on frenzied instinct.

The woman is half-leaning against one of the crates shoved over to one side; her pale eyes lit with a haunting clarity, but she's not some monster of any improbably proportions, nor is she a White Leg, so he lowers it, painfully slowly, because he can't seem to extinguish the slight undercurrent of distress.

She doesn't look any better than he does; stooped over and greatly rumpled. Her expression is blank, considering, but he notices the darkly circled eyes travelling between his face and the gun he's still half pointing at her. It's hardly the warmest of welcomes, he assumes with an idle grunt and he lowers it completely before sliding it back into his holster.

"You shouldn't be up." he tells her, grateful for the fact that his voice is even and calm. His heart-rate, however, is taking a little longer to adjust and he grimaces harder.

What the heck has he got himself into this time?

For a moment, he thinks she might speak, but instead she moves to straighten up. She must have must miscalculated the strength in her legs, or her grip on the crate because she sways unsteadily before lurching forwards. Without thinking, he rushes over, hand slipping against the tray on the table, sending it and around a dozen or so instruments onto the floor and she sags into him, hard. He doesn't buckle under her weight, because heck, if he's built for anything its heavy lifting and she hardly amounts to a cumbersome amount of weight, but she's about the same height as he and has caught herself in a crumpled position which looks more than a little painful. A low moan vibrates against the side of his neck and he remembers idly, that if she pulls her stitches out, she's in a lot of trouble.

It's plenty awkward, but he doesn't do anything but stand there like an absolute idiot. He doesn't want to jump back in fear that she might fall, so they stay that way for a lingering moment; pressed against each other so close he can feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest. When he'd been a kid, he'd gone to a dance with one of his cousins, totally innocent, but Mordecai had been adamant that they had to, and he quotes, 'leave room for Jesus' between them. They were nine, but regardless. Now, however, Daniel is pretty sure there was no room for Jesus between this woman and him. He could feel the buttons of the shirt she was dressed in digging into his chest.

Mordecai would be horrified.

Well, he'd be furious, first. Then he'd be horrified. Priorities and all.

Inhaling suddenly, he tilts his head ever so slightly and manoeuvres her into a far better position, sliding one arm around her and acting like a crunch. "I'll help you get back to bed." He grumbles without meaning too, and he's suddenly far too warm. And uncomfortable. He doesn't know if he would be more embarrassed for accosting her with a firearm or throwing himself at her. Perhaps both. Yes, both would be reasonable.

She winces as he lowers her down enough in order to move onto his sleeping bag. Without thinking, he just moves into a professional sense of duty and fixes the pillow, before giving her an idle glance. "Do you need anything? Painkillers?" She shakes her head, then pauses for a few moments, eyeing him.

"Who are you?" she asks in a gravelly voice and he pauses, as if he doesn't know the question.

"You don't remember then?" she shakes her head again so he just sighs. "In that case." he gestures towards himself apathetically. "Hi, I'm Daniel. The one who stitched up with the feminine elegance of a thirteenth century farmer."

She opens her eyes and looks at him. He doesn't feel a stab of fear like he had anticipated, perhaps the warm light reflecting on her irises, or the way the shadows play on her face, but there's no trace of her former threatening self to be found. "Another doctor?" she asks, and then smirks as if this is some kind of private joke.

"You make a habit of getting shot at?"

He just manages to stop himself from glancing at the two scars above her left eyebrow.

"Of getting shot... yeah, you could say that..." she trails off, then blinks suddenly, as if remembering something."I'm Jess." she says and he just nods. It's better than 'The Woman' at least. Her eyes shut tightly as she shifts around in an attempt to get comfortable without magnifying the pain. He frowns.

"Are you sure you don't need anything for the pain?" she shakes her head.

For a small, minuscule yet utterly hopeful moment, he thinks that the subject will never come up and the two of them will be mutually submitted into a happy ignorance as strangers with no potential underlying problem. Just a beaten, weather worn doctor and an inevitable patient. But, then she asks in a gravelly voice, "Why are you doing this?"

Daniel falters. Perhaps not obviously, but inwardly, he falters. The answer he tries to formulate pretty much evaporates before he can even open his mouth. It wouldn't have sounded terribly convincing. Not at all.

The truth is, he's spent a good few hours of his spare time asking that very same question. There aren't a lot of people in the wasteland with kindness to spare for anyone who isn't kin and, really, Daniel isn't one of them. He really isn't. At least, he's not an enthusiastic participant.

Each answer he's come up with just never seems to be satisfactory. In fact, there's only one thing he's certain of and that is there is too much he wants to ask her. A bunch of questions that, if answered, would really give him a greater peace of mind.

Who knows? He could have just spent countless supplies on a threat. At least if he knows, he'll have a better idea of what to... do. So he ticks his head to the right ever to slightly, folding his arms. "Why'd you come to Zion?" it seems like a perfectly good place to start.

She gives him a curious look.

"I guess we'll never know why we do the things we do." She murmurs in the way of reply.

He doesn't know how to respond to that. So he just storms over towards his spot on the ledge and paces for the better part of the afternoon.

»«○»III«○»«

It's 2257, and after a twelve hour guarding shift, Daniel's father drops him and his little brother off at Monday morning services.

Daniel doesn't let go of his father's hand, but instead, tips his head back to stare at the man straight. The senior Ryker doesn't hold his gaze. He never often does. "You really ought to go." he tells his oldest son instead, rolling his shoulders. It makes his .45 clank inside it's holster, shining dully in the morning light. Three-year-old Anthony laughs. He's always laughing.

Daniel's six, too young and too timid to ask the obvious question in his mind; "Why should I go and you shouldn't?". Instead, because does try to do as he's told as often as possible, he grabs Anthony's pudgy little wrist enters the building with heavy reluctance, walking down a long corridor and towards the back room where the children's services are held. It's summer. It's warm. Daniel regrets wearing a shirt, necktie and jumper. So he rolls up both his sleeves up to his elbows and struggles to undo his top button. Anthony gets away with just wearing a t-shirt. Pulling open the door, he peers into the space. Toddlers are on the floor, the boys his age are yawning and the older girls sit at the back in cotton leotards, slouching and whispering.

Grabbing a scripture for both of them, Daniel gives the seats a glance. The back ones are taken, so he chooses one up the front. It's a bad idea. He thinks. It's a really bad idea. He watches as Anthony struggles to clamber onto the seat beside him.

"Little kids go on the floor, Tony." He tells his younger brother with a faint frown.

"I'm not!"

"A little kid? Yeah, you are."

"I'm not!"

Daniel just takes his seat, ignoring the way Anthony grins victorious. "Don't blame me when Mordecai starts yellin'."

"I'm nooooot!"

The door swings open and the whole room goes into a tentative silence. Daniel swallows. Perhaps, just perhaps, this week will be better.

The Man of God steps in with an energized flair, he doesn't look like he's in a bad mood and Daniel hopes that such is the case. He picks on people when he gets angry. Asks for answers you won't know nor understand and then use it to make an example of you. At first, Daniel thinks that this won't be the case today, but when Bishop Malcolm Mordecai spots Anthony's chubby little body sat next to him, he spins around. Then he's looking right at them, and Daniel knows that it's a bad day. He slides down the back of his chair so he's smaller and avoids the Bishop's gaze.

"Aha! Another overachiever in the Ryker Family!" he barks, pointing towards Anthony. The three-year-old's face blanks, as if thinking this through, before he bursts out laughing again. Daniel grimaces. The rest of the children are looking at him.

The Bishop stalks around like a giant, hair thick and dark and stuck up in odd ways. He wears a long robe and when he speaks, he starts flailing his arms as he talks. He tells them a Bible story, he asks them questions and he strides across one side of the room to the other. The Bishop is, by all accounts, a bit of an oddball. He continued to wave his arms around as he lectured and raised his voice to tone-cracking volume and pitch the further he delved into a subject. Usually, he elaborates further on whatever subject was brought up in main service, but today Mordecai decided he'd completely neglect whatever Jeremiah Rigdon had to say for one of his own. Of course however, Mordecai being Mordecai, his little discussion did not stray all that far from the Living Prophet.

Today, Mordecai's lecture was about, above all things, deception and dishonesty. And he kept on mentioning Hell - but again, Daniel was very familiar with Mordecai and knew this to be a... permanent interest of the Bishop's.

Mordecai believed that the Living Prophet actually wasn't the Living Prophet, but rather, an imposter and a bigot and other words Daniel knows better than to repeat.

"Dishonesty!" the Bishop shrieked. "I suppose you all know what that word means. Hm? Corruption, malfeasance and exploitation!" he hissed the word, eyes shifting across the room, as if he was trying to frighten his young charges. Daniel is not afraid of the Bishop, but he's not all that comfortable around him either. "Ex-ploit-ation! Do any of you know the true meaning of these words? The truest of all forms?"

Daniel opened his mouth, but then he shut it again before the madman could spot him. He only knows this because he's been on the receiving end of this lecture before. Mordecai likes to ensure that Daniel, being his primary Godson, is well educated on such matters. Daniel just finds it tedious.

The Bishop flailed as he roared anew; "Deceit! Who can tell me what this most heinous of vile acts is? Anybody! Daniel! You tell us, boy - what is deceit?"

Daniel swallowed and half shrugged, looking helpless when being singled out. Mordecai stares at him for a few seconds and the boy decides that if he's going to deface the Living Prophet, he's better off doing it in Mordecai's general vicinity. "Misleadin' people on purpose, sir."

Some of the older kids, the ones who know of the unspoken defiance that splits the community of New Canaan, cast glances in his direction. They know what Mordecai is getting at.

Keep digging that hole of yours, Daniel.

Mordecai offered him a cruel little smile, before nodding furiously. "Precisely! Any act of intentional deception - Deceit! And let me tell you, all of you! There is nothing more shameful than the deception of your brothers and sisters, there is nothing - absolutely nothing, more shameful than the deception of our dear Lord. It's the most insulting of sins, to trick your fellow brothers and sisters, it'll send you straight to Hell!"

The Bishop suddenly calmed himself, breathing deeply and smoothing his hair down. "Now, not only is it wrong, but no lie can be told forever, it will come undone. Can anyone suggest the consequences of deceit?"

Looks were exchanged around the room.

"You'll get pulled up in front of the church, sir?"

"The Sheriff's office?"

"Your mother will find out and box your ears in, sir?"

"No, no, no!" Mordecai shook his head and his hands. "Honestly, boys and girls, it's the most punishable of crimes. Banishment! One who commits treachery will be cast away from the flock! Look at all those NCR squatters outside our walls, they commit sins and they pay the price! Anybody who deliberately leads their brothers astray will be punished above all, for it's the most untrue of crimes. Deliberate. Treacherous." Mordecai strides across the front of the room, drawing close to where Daniel is sitting. He feels a flush of heat. He asks then, silently, he asks God to somehow make him invisible. Please, God, please.

Really, it's his most fervent prayer of the day.

»«○»III«○»«

She never said anything after that and he had left shortly after, neither of them seemingly satisfied with what the other had to say. Jess frowns at the cave roof above her, idly considering the gaping space. It was to be expected, she guesses. Clearly both of them had been caught off guard and left on edge with a lot on their minds. At least now she has a sense of why she was here. He was a doctor, well, perhaps not an actual by the book doctor. He wasn't like Doc Mitchell or Arcade or Julie. That much was certain. Regardless, she had found herself in a... Society advanced enough to provide medical aid. Though by the way Daniel regarded her with pointed apprehension, she's almost certain that this isn't of his own violation.

Jess wonders how much he knows about her.

But she can't help remember his own wayward little introduction. It couldn't be helped; she had to open her eyes at that remark, to look at his face. Surely, it had been a joke. It was too sarcastic and generally untrue not to be, but it felt like such a long time since she last witnessed any form of humour. In fact, the last joke she had heard had come from a light-hearted caravan guard, a bitter jester, poking harmless jibes at the world around him with a carefree air. With this man, however. Daniel. It was different. Forcibly drawn out, almost.

He didn't look like the man to joke - that, Jess can plainly see. His entire demeanour screams of lingering terrors. He's world weary. Tired. Dealing with undefeated demons. Something bad is happening here, that much she knows. The evidence of healing gun wounds is enough. It's interesting - and perhaps a little frustrating - how she often finds herself in places and meeting people that are in need of fixing. Zion is seemingly one of those places and because she, at a push, understands, she sighs and relaxes her muscles.

It wasn't long ago that she was in the very same position, metaphorically speaking.

She must be on her guard; careful not to disturb the tenuous equilibrium here. Every link to her previous life must be cautiously dealt with and obscured. In this condition, she is completely powerless in this new territory, but there is nowhere to go, no other option available. Surviving the attack and then, the wilderness of the canyon was a small victory compared to what will come next.

Jess bites her lip. Jed. Stella. Cass.

Perhaps they got out. Perhaps. As she lies there in the semi-darkness, Jess clenches and unclenches her fingers. Perhaps.

»«○»III«○»«

Nearly twenty minutes passes before someone approaches her. A woman wearing little more than dark blue loincloths slips through the archway towards her. She's balancing a plate on her left hand and Jess realises, after a few moments, that she knows her face. It had floated above hers in a rare, unobscured moment of consciousness. She was the one who had spoken soothing words and smiled reassuringly. As opposed to the oth- Daniel, she corrects, who just rambled medical terminology to himself and seemed in a general hurry to get everything over and done with.

She gives a little start when she catches Jess staring at her. "You're awake!" she exclaims, looking pleased.

"Ey, sweetheart?" a voice faintly calls from the other side of the cave. Footsteps. Heavy and firm. A younger man appears and Jess frowns. For a split moment, she thought Daniel had returned; they had the same dark hair, blue eyes and a subtle... something. But then she dismisses the thought because this male was slightly shorter, if broader in the shoulders and where Daniel was clean and generally groomed, this man was nothing of the sort. They were similar, yet at the same time, they were completely different. He stops dead, the tails of his pre-war military coat flapping around his lower legs when he spots Jess, eyebrows shooting upwards in evident surprise.

Then, just like that, he turns towards the tribal woman and competently ignores her, as if she didn't bother him in the slightest. "You seen the Vicodin?" he asks. "Can't find the sodding bag." The tribal woman regards him with subtle suspicion and suddenly, it's like Jess isn't in the general area at all. Her brow lowers and she places both hands on her hips.

"Surely he moved his herbs for a good reason, no?"

"DJ said s'fine." he replies.

It seems like the appropriate response, because the tribal flicks her hand over behind her shoulder and his gaze follows it, then he tramps off in that general direction, face screwed up in evident pain. Jess is surprised how... Unaffected he is with all of this, then, she might be holding him to a high standard. The tribal woman looks at her again. "Holadu, Na'ne. It's nice to see you awake." She says and Jess shifts to a higher sitting position, disregarding the white-hot pain crackling in her leg. The woman speaks with heavily stressed broken English and it surprises her, for some reason.

"Jess." trying to hide the way she grimaces in pain, she looks towards the tribal with a small strained smile. "Please, call me Jess."

She ignores her with a wave of the hand and strides towards the sleeping bag. "Try to remain still. You should avoid any sudden movements." slowly, the tribal woman re-arranges the pillows behind her. Then, after a second of what looks like hesitation, she does a rudimentary once-over; checking her pupils, peering at her bandages, taking her pulse. "How are you feeling today?"

Jess nods. "I feel fine. Better than I could hope." She pauses for a moment, struggling to find the right kind of words and then, clears her throat. "So... what's your deal?"

"Waking Cloud is my name. I am midwife to the Sorrows." the tribal, Waking Cloud, and then pauses as she thinks that over. She smiles then. "It sounds ill-omened, no? 'Midwife to sorrows'."

"Midwife?" Jess is just about to ask, but at the last second, the male returns with a small bright orange bottle. He's busy shaking the contents into an open palm.

"My brother, Daniel, has other obligations - wow, that's lame... uh, lemme see. There are other things important- no..." he clicks his tongue, looking at Jess for a few seconds with a searching look. "It's far too banal, you wouldn't really understand. Too teenage angst." Waking Cloud must be looking at him scathingly, because he backtracks. "What?" he asks with a crooked grin, before tilting his head towards the tribal and glancing at Jess. "Waking Cloud 'ere is one of Daniel's first converts, she's learning medicine. When he's... occupied, she tends to whatever needs tending in his place."

Jess nods. Of course; they're related. "And you are...?"

The male looks winded for a few seconds, pulling an exaggerated face of pain. "Ah, where are my manners? The name's Anthony, darlin'. Begrudging translator and wildboy extraordinaire." tipping his head back, he swallows the contents of his palm dry. Then he turns towards Waking Cloud and his manner becomes more business-like; his posture straightens, shoulders squaring. "Daniel says to give her dinner and a small dose of painkiller if she feels any discomfort - the usual, he says it's in the same box. If she needs anything more, brew some willow bark tea. You're in charge while he's..." he gives a glance towards Jess. "Well, you're in charge."

"You are not staying?" Waking Cloud asks, a frown threatening to form upon her features. Anthony shakes his head.

"Gotta get back to the rest of the pack, y'know?"

The tribal's face lightens up at the mention of 'pack'. "Give them my regards."

Anthony manages a grim smile. "Course," he hesitates. "Look after him, yeah?" Waking Cloud smiles, then nods. He tilts his head as he turns back towards Jess. "Ma'am." and with that curt farewell, he's gone again. Jess watches the silenced marksman carbine slung over his shoulder with mute interest.

Waking Cloud too watches him go, but with a strange sort of smile. Soon afterwards she rips her gaze away, shaking her head and wandering over somewhere behind Jess' head. She can't turn around to see what she's getting, but when the tribal comes back, she sets a tray down on her lap. There's a set of faded silverware on one side, just beside the plate she had seen Waking Cloud carry in. To the left is a bottle of water and on the plate, a selection of cut up foods; chopped things that are easy to swallow. Jess spoons a bit of the food, chewing and swallowing it without tasting it. She glances up, expecting the tribal to leave once satisfied but she takes a seat in the chair by the sleeping bag, observing quietly with her hands folded on her knees. "Do you like it?"

"Yes. It's very good." Jess takes another spoonful for show.

Waking Cloud smiles, then nods. "Anthony is not often here. I wish he was. Daniel misses him greatly." she sighs, fiddling with a loose bit of thread hanging off her clothes and shakes her head ever so slightly. "After New Canaan, I feel he is not the same man I knew before."

Jess raises her eyebrows. "How long have you known him?"

"Six years. He attended the birth of my third child." she smiles with fond reminiscence. "It was a hard birth. The River nearly carried my water to the Father, and my child's with it. Daniel knew the ways of New Canaan's medicine. He stepped in and saved both of our lives." Jess blinks, lowering her fork slowly. "After the birth, I asked Daniel if he would teach me what he knew about childbirth. He agreed, and so here I am."

"That was good of him." Jess mummers, looking down at her own dressings peeking out from under the shirt she's dressed in.

Waking Cloud nods. "Daniel is a good man. Wise, and a great friend to the Sorrows. He taught me to speak the language of New Canaan - the... English from the holy books." the slight mispronunciation of the word 'English' makes Jess smirk, but she wipes it off her face before the tribal can notice. It's hardly fair. "Though now, I wonder if I shall be one of the last to learn it."

"Why?" She doesn't mean to be intrusive; the stimulus of the conversation is actually helping her keep awake. She's still weak, but she doesn't feel as inclined to lie back down again.

"New Canaan..." Waking Cloud looks surprised. "Don't you know?"

Something akin to cold fear runs through Jess' chest and she frowns, shaking her head ever so slightly. That's why she's here, New Canaan. She thinks back to what Jed had said. About them not having any contact. She swallows.

"The White Legs came down from Great Salt Lake, an army of them. They fell on New Canaan before their..." she struggles around the word, as if speaking it for the first time. "Their, militia, could mount a defence." Waking Cloud shakes her head ever so slightly then. "I do not know much. Daniel does not like to talk about it; none of them do. It is a painful tragedy."

Painful is a bit of an understatement. Jess stirs the soup, the metal clinking against the bottom of the porcelain bowl. She doesn't have much will to lift it to her lips. Especially not now. Waking Cloud watches her and she forces a smile. "You really don't want to eat?"

Jess shakes her head. "I don't have much of an appetite."

"That's all right. Your stomach's shrunk from not eating very much. Tell me when you get hungry again. There's a whole pot left." She takes the tray, putting the glass of water on the ground beside Jess, and leaves momentarily. She's out of sight when she greets in surprise, "Daniel! I thought-"

There is a muffled response, words Jess can't make out and then Daniel returns. He's not wearing his hat anymore and his collar of his white shirt is snapped up around his neck. He gives her a glance, then pauses as he smooth's it back down again, looking disgruntled. "How are you feeling?" he eventually asks, guardedly. It's an attempt to be polite, Jess guesses, so she extends the same back.

"Much better. Thank you."

He grunts. "Don't mention it. Really. It's nothing."

Jess raises an eyebrow. "Nothing, eh? I'd be dead otherwise. You saved my life."

"Follows Chalk was the one who found you." he shrugs. The mention of this makes him grimace and pushes his hands into his pockets. "The Dead Horses told me details about the attack on your caravan..." Jess nods, tentatively. She can't look at his face. "A stranger's sympathy might not count for much, but," he shrugs as if to say 'well here I am'. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." he looks back over his shoulder, then back at Jess. "The Sorrows will mourn your friends, too. They mourn everyone, even the White Legs. They have sensitive souls. Innocent, if there is such a thing." a strange sort of smile threatens to form, but then he huffs, before shaking his head. Banishing the expression before it can show. "In spite of what happened, once you're up on your feet, I hope that Joshua and I can help you out of here."

It's a while until Jess feels like she can speak again. "I sense a 'but' here."

Daniel considers her for a few moments, jaw shifting to the left ever so slightly. Then he nods, confirming her suspicions and walks further in. "To be frank, we need your help, too. But... Not till your better." he seems pretty adamant about this, expression hardening as if he was daring her to challenge his statement. "The last thing you need is to get hurt again."

She has to nod at that. It makes sense. "Did..." She hesitates, then, but he's still staring at her, waiting patiently. He gives her the time she needs and, inwardly, she's pretty damn thankful. "Did anyone else make it?"

He pauses, seemingly thinking back. "Anthony mentioned two people making their way to the Eastern Virgin. I have a colleague there - a friend. If they made it, then they'll be well looked after."

She can't help but show the relief. "You ought to get yourself cleaned up," he announces briskly, striding up to the other side of the sleeping bag. "There's an area the Sorrow's use, clean, so don't worry. I don't think we'll have anything that fits you so I suppose that'll have to do for now," he waves at the region of her torso for emphasis and she realises then, first with alarm, then amusement, that it's his.

"Don't you want this back?" she asks and he snorts, perhaps not with the same amusement, but it's hardly disregarding either.

"I have enough. For now." She takes that as a maybe. "It's close, I'll take you there."

Getting out of bed to stretch her legs sounds like a good idea, but she's not too thrilled about having an escort. "There's no need to trouble yourself, really." She hedges, conveniently disregarding her fantastic near-collapse a few... whenever ago that little embarrassing moment was. "I'm sure I can handle it on my own."

The look Daniel gives her was incredibly unconvinced, and he folds his arms. "And risk you falling over the side of a crevice? Drowning in the river? I'd never forgive myself. Or you, for that matter."

Jess sighs. There's no point in fighting him about it - he's talking a lot of sense, so she eases upwards with help from him. Perhaps it's because she's shaken off the disorientation, or just because she's eaten, but she's a lot steadier. Her balance is there. "After you," she says politely.

Tilting his head, Daniel makes a slight chuffing noise in either annoyance or amusement. He shakes his head then, moving forwards. Instead of propping himself against her like he had to do last time, he resorts to just guiding her in sync with her dragging steps. His fingers rest lightly on her elbow just in case she stumbles. She glares. He ignores it. Jess isn't going to lie, she feels a little embarrassed being accompanied like some kind of prisoner or invalid. "Wouldn't think a big guy like you would be afraid of a little old thing like me." she says idly and he snaps his head around, startled. She smirks. A little manoeuvring might get her out of this... whatever fix she's in here. If she doesn't know what she did to disturb him so greatly, then the least she can do is apologize for the misconduct she's aware of. Mainly, scaring the living daylights out of him.

"It's hardly on purpose." he says. "I'd have likely done the same place, if I'd have woken up in a strange place." he huffs, grimacing slightly. Then he gives her a sheepish smile. "Perhaps I overreacted."

"Overreacted?" she parrots back and he clenches his jaw.

"Threatening you with a firearm was a bit reckless, I guess." he turns towards her and gauges her expression, then he raises his eyebrows and stops walking. Regarding her again, he tilts his head backwards. "It wasn't on purpose. I've already made up my mind, you know - as long as you're here, you're safe. Even from me." he looks immensely peeved, but his voice is levelled. "Whoever you are, whatever you are. You're not here for me to punish."

After feeling like she's held in her breath all day, she exhales. "I understand."

"Fantastic." he deadpans. He's just about to start walking again when he turns to look over his shoulder. The peeved look doesn't quite let up. "And please, stop looking at me like I'm going to push you off the side of the canyon at any moment. It's not going to happen."

"Oh?" she can't help but grin and, with a surprising amount of effort, he mirrors it.

"Not even if you get on your knees and beg."