007:

»«○»«○»«

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE DESTRUCTION.

Daniel Ryker has only been back for an hour and a quarter, and in that time alone not only has he so far managed to fix three broken ribs, but also a sprained wrist, and nine separate cuts. What he couldn't fix himself by conventional means he had tended too with some medicated pain relief cream originating before the war (Which, quite frankly, he was more then happy to rid himself of) and hey presto, he's just about done all he can with Mr. Miller and his trigger happy maniac of a younger brother.

And, honestly? Good. Daniel want's nothing more to do with either of them.

As a former physician and all around medical semi-professional, Daniel has had to deal with a fair amount of grumpy patients. He's been socked a fair few times before; once, by his own sister. He's even been held at knifepoint. The thing is though, he can deal with that; he's generally big enough to handle most people, and when they do snap, big enough to deal with it in a relatively capable fashion that usually has him coming out on top. Literally. For his main method of subduing an angry or otherwise manic patient is just to pin them down and hope for the best.

But never before has he ever been bitten by another man. Never in hostile company, never in a full out fight. Never.

Well, not until now anyway.

And as he sits near the firepit, safe and well away from anything evolving around that manic little cannibal, Daniel can defiantly say that it's not an experience he wants to repeat any time soon, or at all again, if he can help it. It hurts. Actually, it hurts quite a lot. It takes him another thirty minutes to disinfect his wrist, and then another ten at least to stop floundering around in a bout of panic and dress it with some of the bandages he usually reserves for Joshua's use. Now, at least, he's not sulking... per say. Joshua sulks. Daniel just... storms around over and over again until he's calm enough to function properly, and he'd be doing that now, if it wasn't for the fact that it had been raining steadily ever since he got back. It leaves him stuck inside the same cave with the rest of the Non-Sorrow population, sans Joshua and Anthony, staring— or perhaps, scowling —at the nearby half-finished chess piece that he'd carved out of a big chunk of wood in one of his lesser capable moments.

Daniel would actually like to go back to that little project; it's half finished state is annoying him, but he doesn't have his knife. He has a razor, but that won't be much use; and he'll blunt it in the process, leaving him with nothing to shave with in the future.

Jessica must notice that too, or rather, the fact that he's taken a razor to himself recently, because when she walks across the expanse of the cave to speak with him, she recoils. Physically, recoils, as if Daniel had just strode up to her and slapped her across the face.

"Don't say it." He gripes, unnecessarily, and looks back to the fire. "I know what you are going to say, and I'm telling you; do not say those words, in that order, at all."

"What happened to your face?" She spits it out, grinning.

"I told you not to say it." Daniel replies, weakly, and then deflates, throwing his hands upwards in frustration as he shoves himself further along the log to accommodate her. "I shaved. Everyone is reacting as if I've murdered someone. Is it that much of a difference?"

Jessica shrugs as she sits herself down, half leaning against his forearm as she too considers the fire. "Honestly? I've never seen your jawline before. If it wasn't for your dramatic face, I probably wouldn't have recognised you at first."

"Then I will apologize for ruining the experience for you." But then he considers her latter statement and turns. "And what are you talking about? What dramatic face?"

"You had your dramatic face on." She glances at him coolly, but looses her composure and smirks, if only a little. "That's what I've nicknamed that dark, semi-pissy look you wear when you want to be angry at someone but can't find either the guts or the heart to do so. Your dramatic face."

"It's not dramatic." Daniel grumbles. "Though I do have a good reason to be, all things considered."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry about Miller."

"How long as he had the stammer?" Daniel figures he might as well just ask; he knew when he properly... 'came into contact' with the man. All things considered, knowing Adam and all, he's surprised he actually hadn't pieced it together sooner.

"I dunno." Jessica shrugs and props her chin up with her left palm. "He's certainly defensive about it. I've only ever heard him speak properly twice, and I've known him for years. He came to the Mojave with me. Good thing too, actually — Cass got him tamed."

The look on Daniel's face must prompt her, because she suddenly looks defensive and bursts into an explanation.

"Okay, right I get it; he chewed on you and all. But he's not usually that bad. Honest. I guess everything, the war and all, has just... I really don't know. He keeps on waiting for me to just fire him or something, and waiting in turn, I think, is making him... less personable."

"Fire him?"

She sighs. "There was a couple of others before the Battle of Hoover Dam; Arcade, Veronica, Boone and three more. Most of them all left as soon as it was over. Only Cass and Miller actually stayed. Despite our history, Miller is in the same boat as Boone, though." She bites her bottom lip. "He's a soldier, at the end of the day; and the Mojave is changing. It needs less soldiers and more diplomats at this point. Traders, builders, and all that. He doesn't need to say it; but I know he doesn't know. Why I keep him around, that is."

"Wouldn't think he was a Ranger."

"No, no you wouldn't." Jessica murmurs. "Oh, that reminds me. When Joshua said that we couldn't go back the way we came, did he mean because of my leg? Or because it was physically impossible?"

Daniel idly wonders what brought this on, but he doesn't ask; it's not his place, really.

He leans forwards and tries to find some way of putting this into words. It's not complicated, but in their situation...

"Technically, it's not impossible." He says. "From what I can remember without looking at a map, you probably took routes that you cannot safely ascend again. At least, not you anyway, and not without climbing equipment. That and the area beyond here, if you do not want to take that route and take a different one, is nothing but wilderness. Why?"

"Miller isn't happy. I get it, but... We heard the explosion, and he's starting to think that we were followed."

"By who?"

She gives him a flat look. "I think you can guess, but more specifically? There was this group of Legion spies in the Mojave, and to cut a long story short, we ran into their leader. Had a fight. I guess I can say that me and Miller won. One of his men, this... honest to God lunatic of a man, has been dying to get his hands on us ever since."

"You know why?"

"Aside from killing his leader? Cass thinks they might have been from the same tribe, before they were taken into the Legion, and all." Jessica straights up again and fold her arms over her abdomen. "Goes by the name of Yamada, now. But Joshua says he knows him from before. Knew him, rather."

"And let me guess, he really is as nutty as you claim." She nods, and Daniel sighs. "As if I needed more of a reason to get them out of here."

Daniel looks up at the cave ceiling for a few seconds, working around a thought.

"As for your... friend, I think... well, if he's capable of climbing to that extent I could probably get him a map, but you, though? You wouldn't last. No offence."

"None taken. I wouldn't leave anyway. He wants to go back to Mister House and buck up support, though and there is a chance that Yamada might confuse Cass for me and go and follow. I don't know if he'll bite, but if he does, and Mister House joins in, the smallest group he can send is enough to push the Legion to the extent of giving us some breathing room."

"That's it." Daniel grumbles. "That's what I've been missing. Breathing room."

Jessica nods.

"Even back in New Canaan it was... not exactly comfortable." He says, lamely. "Don't get me wrong, home is home and if you can't let your guard down there, you can't anywhere, but what people like to forget is that, half the time we were surrounded on three sides by bandits, tribals and the Legion." He laughs then, but it isn't one of amusement. "We pretended that everything was okay and all that time... Ah, no wonder I never properly stayed."

"You where there when... The White Legs...?"

"Yeah." Daniel sighs, but when he speaks again, it's choked. "Yeah, I was. Our community, everything. Gone. But the past is too. We have to look forward."

"D'wanna talk about it?"

"No. Not at all."

And he really, really doesn't. None of them do. Anthony, Joshua, Daniel. None of them. But then she slams her hand into his forearm, pushing him firmly, and he has the sneaking suspicion that such is not going to cut it with a woman like her. "If you don't acknowledge your past now, it'll come back to you later." She warns, and God, for a moment, Daniel wonders how the heck he managed to get into this situation in the first place. How they all did.

"Yeah." He grumbles, uncomfortable. "Yeah you're right." She is, and that is the truth, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. Or make it any easier. "True enough. We can't escape it no matter how hard we try. Best we can do is own up, trust in the Lord to forgive." He leans forwards against his knees and sits there for a moment, exhaling hard through his fingers. It takes a while for him to actually respond, but she doesn't give up, and in the end he just spits it out to put them both out of their misery.

If he talks about it now, perhaps he doesn't have to again.

"Joshua was gone, so were a lot of the other New Canaanites; the Bishop had been calling for a push in Missionaries, had a lot of the younger population sent off. The White Legs must have been watching for a long while, counting who remained, because we were at least half-strength in regards to manpower when they..."

Daniel shakes his head.

"We didn't think the White Legs were a real threat. Maybe it was overconfidence. Maybe sloth. Either way, we didn't see them coming. Not at all. They attacked at night. They killed without regard to age or infirmity. Armed or unarmed. They beat children to—" He chokes off suddenly at that. Good Lord, he actually can't finish of the thought in his head. Some part of him responds to the way Jessica wraps her hand around his inner elbow, just under where his shirt sleeve is rolled up, but he's too distressed to make anything of it. He spits it out. "Beat them to death in their beds while they were sleeping." Then he breathes in, hard. Hard enough to make his chest ache. "And now we're all that's left. Maybe thirty of us, if you only count the people back at Dead Horse Point; then there's my lot, and—... Whoever else scattered."

Daniel laughs, and with another shake of his head, he shrugs. Lesson learned.

"Pride goeth before destruction. That's what my people were taught growing up, yet we never..." He shrugs. "I told Mordecai. I told him, face to face, that if he sent off all of our younger generation to rush through their years as a missionary, that we'd be left defenseless. I knew that, he knew that, but neither of us actually understood what that meant in reality. No one did. But, he was desperate to get anyone of age prepared. You couldn't argue with that, so I never did. I gave up."

"For what?" Jessica asks, and Daniel startles.

And frowns. "Honestly I can't... really remember. Mordecai was paranoid in his later years, though."

»«○»VII«○»«

When Anthony finds him, it's when the rain has stopped and he can finally catch a breather. He feels bad for it, telling him now when its probably going to be the most solid he'll be for awhile, but Anthony doesn't have the time, or the patience anymore to keep up with the stepping around. Sometimes you just have to take the bullet, because somewhere, out there, there are more of them with your name on it.

The look on his face says it all, though. Anthony feels like Hell walking up to him like this.

"What?" Daniel asks, tone dropping. "Anthony. What is it?"

Anthony closes his eyes for a second, breathes out and grits through his teeth. "Her husband, three others."

Daniel half turns on his heels, but Anthony speaks up again.

"And Peter."

That does it. He can feel it from here; see it in the way Daniel doesn't just stop but so much as just... sort of collapses on his feet, still upright, and staring at his hands as if he was the one who did it. At the time of great loss, your world gives way to sights and sounds of horror. It is as if you were walking in the street and a supermutent ran you down — emotionally, that is. The loved one is gone, but you are still here. And you ask, "How can that be?"

Except Daniel doesn't ask those kind of questions, because he knows how. They both know how.

"Oh, please God no, not another one. Not another one." Anthony can barely hear the sentiment, but he knows, inwardly, perhaps because he knows how Daniel reacts, and they've already gone through all of this once. Twice, thinking back.

He wants to say it, of course 'It wasn't your fault'; like heck it was. Of course it wasn't — he did what any other man in his position would do, and for that, a lot of the most vulnerable are safe. But war has it's consequences. War always has it's darn consequences, and there's only so much coletteral damage and sacrifices one man can take before pitiful words of support start to look more like accusations then comfort. Anthony knows there is little point.

The worst thing is, though? For Anthony, he doesn't know where to go from here. He can't just fight it out, not here, and the usual terms no longer apply.

Back home, when a Missionary died, you gave his or her handgun to his or her next of kin. That's the way it works. If they haven't come of age yet, you keep it aside, waiting, for when they do. Anthony, currently, has their father's handgun. Johanna has Michael's — the brother she and he never knew, and Daniel barely remembers. Adam inherited Sam's. Daniel, Anthony is pretty sure that Daniel has his old handgun, but he's been using Mordecai's ever since... Cripe. What they heck are they supposed to do here? Anthony has no idea; Daniel probably doesn't either, so he goes to Joshua instead.

"Just keep hold it of it. Just until." Until what, he doesn't say, because he doesn't know. Joshua accepts it all the same, however. He looks at the 'Joseph Peter Benjamin Ryker' engraved on the side and lowers it against his table, breathing out hard through his bandages.

"You know what needs to be done, Anthony." Joshua says in his slow way, like he always does, but Anthony shakes his head.

"Yeah, well try telling that to the guy who's buried two brothers, a father, a mother and a half of his extended family all under one year."

That's the worst part; he could be talking about any one of them.

»«○»VII«○»«

"Daniel," Waking Cloud looks both concerned and horrified in one go, but she's smiling. "Is there something upsetting you?"

He just stares at her.

Daniel never realised how much of a coward he was up until that moment.

»«○»VII«○»«

It's when Adam starts crying because his socks don't match that Daniel finally starts to hit the roof.

"Oh for crying out— literally, we cannot go through this— Adam, please, pal. We're really running late here."

And it just about gets worse from then on.

Actually, it gets a heck of a lot worse from then on.

"Anthony! Help your brother out!"

"Peter, I don't care! Get your shirt on before I force you into it—"

"Adam, look, there's not a lot I can do so if you'd just cut me asoddingbreakhere—"

"—I swear down, Sam, if you're not down these stairs in five seconds—"

"Adam! Don't hit me, if you hit me again, you'll know about it. You don't hit people."

"Tony!"

"Pee-taar! I told you to put the clean shirt on. The clean one."

"A— Adam—? Wher'd... Adam! Get back here!"

"Anthony. Anthony! Oh, for the love of— ANTHONY!"

"No, that shirt is not clean, and I don't care if you prefer it, because I set a clean one up for you, and you're wearing that one!"

"Sam, please don't start with me now. I don't have the time."

"Anthony... Where is your tie? Go and put on your tie."

"What-?! I— It's on the bed! I put it on the bed! Go back up there and find it!"

"Right, m'gonna count to five! Eh... Again..."

"I seriously starting to wish I just left without you all."

"Sam. Sam. No-n-no no NO! Samuel. Samu— No, SAMUEL!"

"Adam, hold still. Adam— I... Adam. I can't tie it for you if you don't stand still."

"What the heck happened to you?! I leave you alone for five darn minutes and—"

"Tony, please, not now."

"Peter, what, in the name of our good Lord ARE you wearing?"

"Aaaand Adam's gone. Okay. Fine. That's just great. ADAM!"

"ANTHONY THOMAS SIMON!"

"Peter. I don't care. I put that shirt out for you, and you're wearing it. If you come down those stairs again not wearing it, I'll burn the one you're currently wearing and you can go shirtless."

"Mordecai is going to kill me. He's actually going to kill me."

"Anthony— Oh, you're actually— Good, get the heck out of here. Now. Just— just go. Leave."

"ADAM!"

"Samuel Phillip James if you dare speak to me like that again so help me God, I'll toss you out the nearest window!"

Daniel comes storming into the room, and collapses heavily onto the sofa without a word. Nineteen-year-old Johanna doesn't move from where she was stood, but regards her brother with a frown instead.

"I think," she murmers gently. "We should have all been name named a mixture of 'Oi', and 'Hey'. It'd be a lot less effort."

Her brother groans.

"Oh, and by the way, the Bishop says you are late and that you have five minutes before he strings you from the nearest washing line by your own belt."

"Thank you?"

"You are very welcome."

»«○»VII«○»«

The first time Daniel wakes up that night, he doesn't go straight back to sleep. He would, if he hadn't have heard it; he was too exhausted and too worn out to not fall back asleep, but his better instincts kept him up.

"Are you cold?" He asks, quietly but in the still dark, his voice sounds far too loud.

Jessica shifts again and sighs, heavily. "Yes."

"You're keeping me up."

"It's not my fault I'm cold."

Daniel groans. Of course it isn't. "Sorry, I understand. I'm just—"

"It's fine."

He sighed, hard and scrambled out from his sleeping bag, moving across to where she was on all fours and, suddenly and acutely aware that he was in nothing but a pair of boxers and a thin undershirt, located her in the darkness. How on Earth could she be cold? Daniel doesn't know, but he can't handle it anymore. Every time she shifts, the sound of her rustling about jerks him awake, and by this point, he's starting to feel sick from the lack of sleep.

"Shove over." He grunted, and gave her a little push in the small of her back. She squirmed.

"What are you doing?"

"Just move over. It's not my idea of a good idea but I'm, well, I'm all out of good ideas." He wiggled in next to her and grimaced. "I'm not going to make a pass at you. Come on. Lie still." She finally stopped thrashing, and Daniel could feel her arms, smooth and cold as the rocks outside. He wrapped his own arms around her back and held her close and slung his leg over both of Jessica's. The inert chill of his her body poured over him like a fluid. "There. Now, um, try to relax."

"Try to relax?"

"If you do, I might just follow your lead."

"Great. Okay. Imagine how this looks," Jessica said, and he snorted.

"There's no need to be sarcastic."

"You could just propose to me now, you know, get it over with."

"Hilarious" Daniel grumbled. "Get back to sleep."

"What was that, just then?"

"Nothing. I'm good," Daniel said. "Nightmare. It's okay now. Go to sleep."

"Great. I'm an asshole. When I said that to you..."

"People say things, but I'd rather you didn't say fourth one in particular. Go to sleep."

Funnily enough, she did.

And he must had slept solidly too, because when he next awoke he felt warm, as if he'd somehow slept all the way into midday.

This was strange. Usually, he barely managed to get past half six. If not then, the Courier's Pip-Boy alarm usually did so half an hour later. He detested that thing. Detested it. Partly because it's alarm practically gives him a heart attack every time it goes off, and partly because it once smashed him in the face when he was trying to change her bandages one time.

Regardless, he did not actually fully awaken himself. The Sorrows were known for late rising; their hunters were usually the ones who got up the earliest, and that was at mid-morning at most. Knowing that, he's about to take advantage of it when he has the sinking, unsure feeling that something was actually wrong.

It starts, at first, when he goes to roll onto his stomach and he realises that he can't; there's something beneath his left hand side when he tries, and his face rubs against something that feels strangely like his old shirt, the plaid flannel one that he actually hated and therefore donated without a second thought. Then he reasons that Jessica was the wearing it the last time he saw her, so, no, that can't be it. It has to be something else.

But it isn't. He knows for a fact that it's his shirt.

Daniel frowns, blinks, and looks up.

Jessica pretty much does exactly the same thing; but downwards instead.

And then her alarm goes off, right at that moment, and everything explodes. That Pip-Boy one, the which alarm rotated between about six different annoying noises of varying pitch and volume. The one that sounded like a song for the anti-Christ; it made them both jump in varying levels of surprise and panic. In a sleeping bag however; that's quite hard. Neither of them get anywhere, and most of their movements are restricted to the point of just squirming around awkwardly.

In between the time it takes for Jessica to slide upwards and push her arm out, she also, quite unconventionally, knees Daniel straight in the crotch.

And that he could have really done without.

Thankfully he muffled the agonized shout by slamming his mouth up against the pillow, but in his muted pain he somehow screamed with his whole body. Jessica realised what she had done instantly at that point, and instead of turning her alarm of she panicked too and just wrapped her arms around his head, holding him awkwardly in the shock of what had just happened.

"Oh my God I am so, so sorry—" With more comments along similar lines, Daniel just squirms around and barks, into the pillow again, that he can't hear her over the alarm.

She takes the hint and turns it off, freeing him of her clutch and somehow, without harming him further, managed to get out of the sleeping bag. She kneeled next to him for a few moments, her hand flat against the base of his spine.

"Are you... uh, well. I don't think you are. Oh, Daniel. I am so sorry."

Daniel actually wants to tell her at this point, in his varying degrees of intense pain, squirming around on his front with his hands clutching himself as he tried to somehow pull himself together, that getting kicked there of all places activates reactions in many areas, especially the abdomen, causing nausea and vomiting, a rise in blood pressure, headaches, dizziness, and crying. But he doesn't. He just sort of lies there, whimpering and rolling around a little. It takes him a minute or two, but he then manages to lie himself down flat on his back, so he can reestablish proper blood flow to the brain, relieving the nausea and deactivating the sympathetic ganglia.

"It's fine." He chokes. "It's fine."

Fortunately or unfortunately, Miller and Cass chose that one moment to run over towards them, Cass looking like she had been dragged from the deepest slumber, fuming while Miller just looked straight up concerned.

Cass' angry mood did not last for much longer, however. As soon as she caught wind of what happened, she laughed her head off. With the look that Jessica is giving her, Daniel thinks that she might be trying to burn a hole into her soul with her eyes. But then, Daniel mustn't look much better; he feels as if going to burst a blood vessel from humiliation, or maybe just fear of Joshua's reaction. This combination of expressions only made Cass laugh harder. In fact, she laughed up to the point of nearly crying.

"Smooth, Jessie." She barked as she pulled the sympathetic looking Miller away. "That was real smooth."