008:

»«○»VIII«○»«

NOREPINEPHRINE

"Moraye, why 'ickings?" With chubby arms held out at right angles to his body, the boy tries to keep himself balanced as he walks on the painted line that runs down the centre of the road.

Bishop Malcolm Mordecai however has no idea what he's talking about, and is not entirely sure how to respond to the two-year-old. He thinks the boy might be asking why they make the noises that they do, considering how he was imitating them earlier, but he's not certain. Perhaps the boy is asking the deeper philosophical question: Why does a man who has such an important position in God's service also spend his time keeping those little horrid beasts out of all possible animal options? Mordecai grumbles under his breath, fighting off the winter cold as he gives the boy an answer that makes any sense in either instance.

"Because they're chickens, Daniel." Really, either way, that is all Mordecai can really say; the question did not exactly present that many options. Still, he promised himself when Daniel started asking questions that he'd never be the one who lies to him, indirectly or otherwise.

Mordecai has deceived his family enough for several hundred lifetimes.

Usually, a question like this begins a string of "Whys," but the bishop avoids that by grabbing the boy by the arm to steer him clear of a couple of young Missionaries making their way down from the opposite direction. Behind him, the boy trots on his dimpled, little legs, but he starts to lag behind as he looks up and sees the .45s — pegging them instantly for 'Missionaries' (Or, as Daniel often refers to them as, "Rees" for the lack of any developed pronunciation skills) and, without any warning, shouts out his own toddler variation of the common "So be it so", the Canaanite slang version of the standard 'Amen'. Surprised, and perhaps a little amused, the two missionaries both respond in turn, humouring him.

Mordecai himself isn't all that impressed, and he turns too, grabbing the boy by the arm again, but this time picking him up properly; he doesn't like the idea of this boy in particular picking up missionary slang, but then, he's not that surprised either.

"Moreye."

"Yes, Daniel?"

"Why momma go do sadsleep?" Mordecai looks down to try to understand what the heck the boy is talking about, and realises that, if you really think about it, what he's saying actually makes quite a bit of sense.

His mother is holed up in her room again with her yearly case of relentlessly creeping misery. It's been worse this year; hence why Mordecai decided to take the boy away for a few days instead of just for the afternoon, like he usually does. For awhile now his mother has been locking herself away, and this winter has been a pretty bad one considering the regular circumstances. Still, despite that, Mordecai doesn't have much hopes for it getting any better. He's spoken to the doctor, and the doctor in turn agrees it's still Postnatal depression, even after two years, and now she's pregnant again. If she wasn't the mother of his Godson, he'd be more inclined to just tell her go get on with it...but...

Ellen has always been delicate. Mordecai has to put the community before everything, yes, but in this case he's willing to stretch a little further.

It's not obvious for most people to take notice of, however; he wasn't expecting Daniel to pick up on it for at least another year or so at the least. It's already pretty obvious that while he's no genius, he's observant, and tends to just pick up on the subtle, annoying little details most people just ignore. Private details too. Indeed, this is defiantly something Mordecai wishes he'd have missed. He doesn't want to lie, but he's not certain how he can get get himself out of this one without revealing something he doesn't have the right to talk about, or generally just upsetting the boy.

"She's just tired, Daniel."

He looks down to see that Daniel is gazing up at him, a very thoughtful look on his face.

"Why?"

Here they go...

"Because she needs to sleep a little more today." He begins, hoping that just this once, it'll be enough.

"Why?"

Mordecai inhales sharply, and takes more time with his answer, trying to sound final. Occasionally, that tone manages to convince the boy to knock it off. Even at this age, the children tend to learn that questioning a man of God is not wise. Personal or no, Daniel must have figured that out by now.

"Because she gets tired very fast."

"Why?"

The boy doesn't give a whit about the Bishop's irritation, and his his eyes are still wide with curiosity.

"He just did, son." A soft voice behind them both says with authority. "Ya'll know better to pester the Bishop."

The Bishop turns, and, sure enough, Daniel Ryker, Sr. is stood off to one side of the road, having apparently walked out of one of the nearby houses as they passed. Mordecai smirks and without due warning, holds the younger out with both hands. Sure enough the change of hands is enough to shut the boy up, and he looses interest in his obsessive questioning as Senior takes him with only a small amount of hesitation. Daniel meanwhile isn't too confident with the idea of being passed around, however, and if his expression was any indication, appeared to suggest that the pair of them keep ought to keep a better hold of him. It's here, then, with that disgruntled, chubby expression, Mordecai notes with no shortage of discomfort that neither father or son look much alike.

Adjusting the boy so he wasn't actually resting on his handgun, Senior peers up at Mordecai. "My wife?"

"Resting at home."

"So she gave you my boy, did she?" Senior does not sound too confident.

"Of course, you were attending my missionaries, where you not?" Mordecai counters, and when Senior makes to say something else, he shrugs idly. "The slothful man roasteth not that which he took in hunting, but the substance of a diligent man is precious, you know. I made you a senior missionary for the sake of New Canaan."

"I never said I was bunking off. I got out over an hour ago."

"And here you are."

Senior squirms, and jerks his head. "I'm used to these sorts of questions," he says distantly, reaching out with his other hand to pull the boy's chubby little grip off of his left ear. "When they're this little, you don't have to tell them anything, really. I mean, he's not asking because he really wants to know. He doesn't. He's only asking because it's fun to ask, and why gets a reaction out of you."

Message sent: He's my son, not yours.

But then, an added thought. "At least he isn't saying 'no'."

Mordecai however just shuts his mouth. There's something about this man that gets him saying the things that are in his head, and at the moment, that is the last thing either of them needs.

»«○»VIII«○»«

Joshua Graham knows events are about to change when he awakes to find his usual spot occupied.

With coils of hair pulled back to reveal a round, tense face, Johanna Ryker turns around sharply to face him, narrow blue eyes set delicately within their sockets. For a moment there is something of a stand-off, with neither her nor Joshua moving an inch or say anything, but then her gaze redirects to rest impatiently over the pistols on the table.

"And here I wondered what the heck happened to our supply caches." She gripes, shifting again to look at him. From this distance Joshua can make out the faded shrapnel mark stretching from the right side of the forehead, first running towards thin lips and ending on her right cheek. It leaves a compelling memory of her fortunate survival. And, presents one of the biggest problems Joshua Graham has ever had to deal with.

Because it was him, long ago, who caused that mark.

She stands tiny among others, despite her bulky frame and she makes her way out of the upper exit of Angel Cave, indicating with a side-eye glance for him to follow her. He does, to see that there are more of them. Missionaries, that is.

"And before you assume that they're here to join your little war effort, they're actually to help Daniel in the defense of the Sorrow's camp, and then to travel down the tunnel to ensure that there's nothing nasty waiting for us on the other side." Johanna hands him a scrap of paper, and Joshua takes it to find it written in poorly executed pig Latin. "Had a bit of trouble summing that up I did, but it doesn't paint a very rosy picture when one learns how to speak illiteracy. We've got, I say, five days at the very most."

"Yamada."

"Eeh. So that's the lunatic's name." She murmurs, gently. Joshua glances her way, tossing the paper into the nearby fire. "At any rate. He's a comin' and he's a comin' quickly. Oh, and my dear brother has been doing some digging; that Yamada of yours, he's not under the Legate; the Legion itself is falling apart faster then an old-world warship. He's disgraced and following some twit wearing braids. Or, was. Hence why he's here now. That Courier you speak so highly of has been both making and killing some serious enemies."

"Braids?" Joshua frowns from under is bandages.

Johanna shrugs. "Whoever he is is gone, though. Gone or dead. Either way, methinks that's the guy who you were worried about offing you. So, congratulations, Legate-O, you've outlived yet another one of your assassins."

That remark gets her a look, but his glare does not last. There's something fascinating about her, perhaps it's her sensitivity to information or perhaps it's simply her disposition. But nonetheless, Joshua knows where she gets it from, and it prompts him to ask. "And have you told your brother?"

For a moment, he's worried about getting on the wrong side of her, but before she can snap, she reconsiders and huffs. "Not now."

"A prudent man concealeth knowledge: but the heart of fools proclaimeth foolishness."

"And deceit is in the heart of them that imagine evil: but to the counsellors of peace is joy." Johanna grumbles. "Don't argue scripture with me, Legate-O, I'll quote your ass to the other side of the Canyon and back, so help me so." But then she breathes in and shakes her head. "I'm sick of this, you know? If you had told me two years ago that I was going to wind up commanding in one of the biggest conflicts since Hoover Dam, I'd tell you to think again; I supervise shifts for a living, not soldiers. When this war is over, I swear down, it better stay over, because none of us are built for this. Well. Aside from you."

Joshua nods. "And these men here?"

"Half of the militia we have left." Johanna doesn't seem to comfortable in elaborating, but a prompting look ensures that she continues. "It's been decided. What's left of the New Canaanites... or, well, whatever we are now, they're backing Daniel — and before you go look at me like that Legate-O, it's not because they don't want to fight the White Legs. They're backing him because—... well, they've... Cripe, Joshua, they've elected him for Bishophood. They're following him for the sake of following him."

"Bishophood? Daniel?"

"I told them he wouldn't like it, but he's the closest thing to Mordecai any of us really have left, so..."

"And he does not know of this?" Joshua asks, gently. Partly because he can't himself speak much louder.

They knew that this would happen, sooner rather then later; even Daniel, but the boy is known for being far more private, reserved and self-conscious then that of his predecessor. He won't take the news happily. Regardless of being aware of the possibilities or not.

He left for the Narrows to get away from it in the first place.

But, of course, no true son can ever run from God. Not for long.

"Nope. As newly instated Head Missionary, I get the honour of that." She spits. "Yet another sibling is going to ruin Daniel's morning. Poor thing. You'd think he'd be getting tired of all the news. Mordecai must be peeling in laughter up there." A shake of the head, and she slides her hands into her pockets. "Anyway, I better get off. Adam's stuck down there surrounded by people he doesn't really know and I don't want to get on his wrong side again."

Speaking of. "And the... other matter that was entrusted in your knowledge?"

Grimacing, Johanna turned back when she started to walk away. "I will."

"When?"

"When it's appropriate."

"There will never be an 'appropriate', Johanna. Things like this never are."

She had nothing to say to that. She turned to look over her shoulder and threw her hands up a little, as if to say, 'Well what can I do?'. Joshua clenched and unclenched his hands.

"You're heading up to the Narrows. I'll join you."

A dark look crosses over her features.

"If you dare start with Daniel again, so help me so, Joshua, I'll cap you in the knees faster than you can... well, argue. I imagine."

"Dully noted."

»«○»VIII«○»«

Stood over the supplies necessary for evacuation, Daniel folded his arms and grumbled under his breath. Quietly enough for the sentiment to go missed, but obviously enough for the Courier to turn around and demand, all with just a single expression no less, what it is he is grumbling about.

So he shifts, uncomfortable with being looked at like that, and regards the supplies with a shrug. "You're... a quick worker."

"And here I thought something was wrong." She sighs.

"No— nothing was wrong. I was just... starting to lose hope we'd be able to get any of this, much less all of it. Tribals are smart but... well, they're ignorant."

"Yeah?"

"Letting go of a taboo is difficult for them, so I knew it would have to be one of us. Turns out all it took was a Gentile." Oh damn him and his mouth. Biting on his lower lip, Daniel instantly diverts his gaze and scuffs his foot, burning with the embarrassment of letting that slip. "Or, uh... no offense."

She pauses for a moment, and then frowns. "What is that? Joshua said it too."

"Something that us New Canaanites should really start training out of our vocabulary." He groans. "These supplies are a godsend, truly, but if we're going to evacuate Zion without drawing more White Leg attention, I need you to go back into the valley. Specifically, I need you to scout out some locations for White Legs and try to recover a map of Grand Staircase, a wilderness area to the east. I can help you with the latter, there. I've got a good idea of where to go. There's also the matter of the roads. We're going to be heading out of the east side of the park, but I'm not sure the way is clear."

Jessica nods, and he looks down at the surgical tools again, shaking his head. The movement catches her eye and she stares at him a little more. "Okay." She deadpans. "What is it?"

"Norepinephrine." He shrugs. "I... Well, I just haven't seen it in about... what, ten years?"

The look on her face proves it. He really needs to get a darn life.

But she doesn't get to ask anything else because the sound of Daniel's name is shouted from one side of the cave and he turns around, an unsymmetrical grin playing along his mouth. "Well I'll be," he laughs and Jessica soon understands why.

The boy, stout and blonde, is already half across the space when they both look properly and then he — he doesn't run up to them or anyone, just climbs onto one of the vacated chairs and straightens his back, playing with something that looks suspiciously like a pip-boy. It's a bit surprising, but Jessica keeps the thought to herself.

"Ah. Adam." Daniel nods, and Jessica nods. She knew, at least to some degree, that he's got brothers. This must be one of them. "Yeah, that's a pip-boy. Doesn't work all that much, but he's got it working enough for it to switch on and off. Not that it really matters. He just loves green."

"Green." Jessica notes.

Daniel shrugs. "Adam is unique. And, if I say he loves green, it means he loves green." He sighs then, waving one hand and folding his arms again soon afterwards. "Adam is autistic — gah, I hate that sentence. But it's true enough. So you know. He likes green, green is routine. Makes him feel safe," Daniel offers casually. Jessica tears her eyes away from the child and turns slowly to look at Daniel with a frown.

"You are bringing up an autistic child?" she repeats, feeling silly for parroting Daniel's words again. "Alone?"

"Technically I've brought him up from the beginning, but from when he was ten..." Daniel shifts, his jaw working around something, but then he lets out a short laugh. "And no, are you kidding me? You know I can't take proper care of myself sometimes, and I've got way too much work and all the stuff to do a good job by myself. He — there is Johanna, mostly. Peter was one of the others, but, eh..."

He inhales and nods.

"It has been difficult. At the beginning, too, but mostly... I mean, a... uh, 'normal' child might find it hard but for him in particular? Yeah, it's hard. Very hard. You know how I am — well, everyone knows how I am, but that's not the point; a long time ago I could be responsible and act like an adult, I just chose not to, and when he came along I just had to... I said okay, let's do it." He shakes his head. "After I came back from my term as a missionary, it was a really tough couple of months, getting used to each other again. I was chaos. I talked too quickly and too loud, I used metaphors and comparisons and slang all the time, and back then I was, well, I was a mess. I had to learn to... calm down, I guess? To speak clearly, the way that wouldn't confuse him. To be patient and open. To not rely on everyone to tell me his routine hours. It was all totally upside down, we couldn't understand each other, I was stupid and made Adam cry a lot more than I'd like to admit and he made me want to run away from the problems and responsibility — but we worked it out. We're good now. Me and him, even after all of… this."

Jessica stays silent for a few moments, contemplating Daniel's words. But then she admits it. "Honestly. Most kids like him never last long." Jessica murmurs, and Daniel nods.

"Yeah. I know. Part of me... Good God. If he wasn't born a New Canaanite... I mean, there is no cure."

"There is nothing that needs to be cured," Jessica shoots back, making Daniel look at her sharply.

"I know, I know. But — I still wish things were different, sometimes," Daniel murmurs almost inaudibly. "And I'm ashamed of that. It's just the frustration when things are not all right, when we struggle, when it's difficult, I wish we didn't have those problems and... well, also having raised a number of others who don't have such problems..." Inhaling, he shakes his head. "And I don't even have the right to complain, I've got a lot of supportive people and all the resources I might need, and I don't struggle as much anymore. Not like I used too. There are people who are in this on their own and they can't even get any help because they're stuck in the Wasteland and on their last legs, trying to make the day — we are lucky. I love him and I miss him when he is not here, I just don't miss his behaviours. I don't miss his problems. And they are integral part of who he is, and I wish they weren't –"

"You know what, Daniel," Jessica interrupts with a snicker. "Are you sure you're talking about your brother and not about me?"

Daniel blinks and lets out a short laugh, but it takes him a long moment to actually reply.

"Yeah. You're right," he smiles. "No more whining. Gonna say hello? He's probably adjusted by now."

"Why wouldn't I?" Jessica asks automatically, frowning.

"Lots of people get — scared, I guess. Think the kids are dumb," Daniel explains with a sigh. "Sure, it's — difficult. So often. But it's... it's incredible. It's even more rewarding than bringing up a healthy child and I hate that I have to... had to put my brothers in that account too, but it's the truth."

Jessica nods in agreement. It's something her mother kept telling her, whenever she was sick again and unable to do anything again and she had to spend all her caps on her medicine again, Jessica always said he was sorry that he is like that, and she would say that seeing her get up from the bed on wobbly legs, determined to get better, every single time was more gratifying than seeing a vigorous kid run around happily. In the Wasteland, some parents can only expect so much.

»«○»VIII«○»«

Daniel is aware that there was always going to be a bit of a problem regarding his father when it came to Adam. The boy knows, of course, that there must have been a fellow out there whose DNA he shares, but this is how the world goes, but he could never really call that person a father, or think that way, when there is nothing there. Daniel can show him photographs all he want, but in Adam's mind, it's not that simple. It's been his older brother and his ma, and, now it's just his older brothers and sisters. Daniel meanwhile has a vague idea what a father should be — but he's never had time enough to spare for pointless musings. He's too busy playing one.

Playing, because heck, he has no idea if he's doing a good job or not. Never has.

So, some thing still come as a surprise. Despite having been dragged into matters such as organising and discipline, now, when Daniel is twenty-something-ish, barely over twenty eight mind you, now he has somehow been dragged further into the strangeness.

Because, as it turns out, there someone who thinks it's a good idea to turn to Daniel for help. Only he doesn't phrase it as such. He doesn't really phrase it at all. He just comes over to where Daniel is sitting and reading, and sits in front of Daniel with this face.

The thing with Adam is, you just have to know him to understand, and Daniel knows that Adam is still too young to know some things, lacking experience and comprehension of his own mind, and hoping to hear an explanation of what's wrong is very idealistic. But still. It's Adam. Daniel just looks up from his book, considering, and then brings it away from his face completely.

"Is there a problem, Adam?" He asks.

"No."

"Are you upset?" Naturally, this is the fist thing to crop up. Sure, the kids in this town might all be Canaanites, but that doesn't mean they're entirely respectful to anyone their own age. Or any of the adults, for that matter.

"No." Adam says again, clearly and decisively, and stares at his brother in anticipation. There's a lot of trust between then and sometimes Daniel wonders how that happened, if he is the right person for this. He doesn't have a choice though: Adam in a stubborn creature, and they get on like a house on fire — ah. Get along really well. Be literal.

So Daniel knows what is the question he should ask now.

"Do you need help?"

"Yes," Adam replies, voice loud, staring at Daniel intently. "Yes."

"Okay. What do you need help with?"

"What you can help me with, Daniel. Miss Janet was speaking in Languages Class today. I was thinking. You help me. Okay?"

"Okay, but I need to know what it is you want helping with, Adam."

"A question."

Adam shakes his head, holds up his hands, and then balls them into fists. Uh-oh. Daniel wonders if he was supposed to know. He might be nice and personable around New Canaan, but it's only for the benefit of Mordecai who's getting to old to do his usual routines. Honestly, if someone was to ask him what Adam was doing in languages, he'd have no idea. He'd have to guess.

"And what is this question, then?"

"If God made us all the same, why do we all start out different?" Judging by the look on Adam's face, he has little to no idea what this means. Daniel does, to a degree; he's a missionary after all. He deals with similar questions, but know Adam, he's none to sure where to start, or what Adam expects. He's about to open his mouth, but Adam beats him too it. "Why am I here living in this house, and why is Lacy Jones living in her house with her Mother and Father and why do all the other NCR kids live where they do and everyone else in this world living where they live? Why not here, if we are all the same?"

Daniel lets out a low breath and considers that statement. Jeez. No breaking around the bush with this lad.

But he does have an idea.

He better have an idea; Adam is looking at him with such expectation he'd be cruel to just break it off. "You know the Bible," he says neutrally, and when Adam sits down, he knows he must be going on the right track. "It's testament that all all men who have ever lived in the world are descendants of Adam and, therefore, are of essentially the same race — the human race. Furthermore, all men in the present world are also descendants of Noah, after the great Flood. Before the Flood, God had said: The end of all flesh is come before me; ..."

"But I look different from you, Daniel."

"Course you do, because you're also little. I was blonde too when I was your age, you know; you've seen me in photographs. Now, we know that strictly speaking man's physical body is not patterned after the physical appearance of God. That'd be... silly. We'd all look identical some way. Nah, we're are taught that God is Spirit and does not reside in a physical body, right? However, this does not preclude the physical body being some part of the image of God. We exist currently as body and soul together. It is meaningless to talk of us a just a soul or just a body when we are alive on earth. Both are intricately intertwined to make you the person you are."

"John Four."

"Yup. God by His nature is a rational being. He operates by the laws of logic. He is not constrained by them because they are some kind of "higher force", but they are the natural outflow of His will; they are His nature. He is as much a rational being as He is a loving being."

"We're all different. Lacy's father hit her yesterday. You never hit me. I do not have a father."

"That's because he died, Adam. And I'd never hit you. Ever." Daniel grimaces. "You don't hit children. God renders to each one according to his deeds. Nationality will not matter. God is impartial toward nations. Earthly wealth makes no impact on God's judgement. Nor will position in the world make a difference. It really doesn't matter who you are because God shows personal favouritism to no man. We all start out equal, in that we are all born without sin, but we do not all remain equal. God does not derive any satisfaction in the destruction of the wicked. He demands the same obedience from everyone. And sometimes, to achieve that, everyone is born different. Just like you and me, and Joshua and the Bishop."

Adam is looking at him strangely, and Daniel just shrugs.

"It doesn't how you were born or where, Adam. Only what you do with the circumstances you were given." He pauses then, and frowns. "Can I ask you a question now?"

Adam blinks, but nods his head. Yes. Okay. Daniel leans his elbows against his knees.

"What was Miss Janet talking about the bible in languages for?"

»«○»VIII«○»«

It all goes well, as far as Jessica is concerned.

Adam, when introduced— "I brought someone to meet you, Adam. Say hello?" —does not look anywhere near her face, but rather just looks back at her, cocking his head, and examines her whole silhouette for a few moments, saying hello and walking away.

Johanna at least is more animated, but also sedate with the circumstances they have all found themselves in. Shorter then Daniel, she takes the form of a stocky young woman with a nasty looking scar and an apparent air of mischief. Jessica decides, then and there, that she's introducing her to Cass at the most appropriate time. She has a feeling they'll both hit it off with style.

"Yeah, I've heard about you." She says in response to Jessica's introduction, watching Daniel and Adam interact in the background, far enough away to not be overheard. "Big Bad Courier, right? Might as well as get it out of the way, but thanks for the help so far." Jessica, surprised, makes to ask how she knows so much, but Jessica just shrugs. "My brother, Anthony. The stout little prig with the terrible beard? He's what back in New Canaan we all called a Runner. Tears up more miles then a donkey on Jet, my brother does."

Jessica shakes her head. "A donkey?"

"Y'know, often missing a tale for the sake of party games? Carried Mary and our then-foetus Savour to Bethlehem? No? Well, Eeh. Doesn't really matter. Figure of speech. Regardless, the sentiment is still there. I guess I just wanted to say thank you."

"Oh? For what?"

Johanna looks over her shoulder at her brothers. "For putting up with him, quite frankly. Don't get me wrong, he's a swell guy. A real good man. But, eh, I guess when you go through what you go through and come out the other side, you feel like less of a good person and more of a right twit. I don't blame him, but I also know how he gets, with his idealism and altruism, sulking around in his bouts of depressive pacing. So, I guess I just wanted to say thanks for sticking with him for as long as you have." She sighs, shaking her head. "No skirting around it, he's one to beat himself up over things, and he's also the kind of guy to come last in times like this. Men like Daniel often get pushed to the sidelines in war. It's always easier to just plug a man full of bullet holes than find a peaceful solution, after all."

Jessica pauses, and thinks. She looks across at Daniel again when she finally figures out what she wants to say.

"I never realised how much of stake I had here."

Much to her surprise, Johanna laughs. "Yeah, you and me both, Mojave."

But it nags at her for far longer then what would normally be considered necessary. Enough that Daniel himself realises that something is wrong by the time the day is creeping onwards. Jessica has to think about things only absently, and when Daniel is conversing with Joshua a few hours later— with Anthony and Johanna both looking concerned at the same time —he glances back at Jessica in the middle of a sentence, and then stops talking altogether, looking as concerned as his siblings, if only for a moment.

She shakes her head at him and tries to smile, really hoping that he doesn't come over and try to talk to her about this.

Three hours after that, and she can't sleep. Daniel sleeps as he always does at this time of night; not quite on his side and not quite on his back, though due to the constraints of the bag, pressed up against Jessica tightly enough for her to feel the rise and fall of his chest and the disturbance of air against the side of her neck, but for her, no sleep will come.

And it's a good thing too, she thinks, when he starts fretting.

Though this time it's worse then she remembers. It's when he starts thrashing, physically, like he can't wake up no matter what he does, that she starts shaking him before someone else wakes up.

"Daniel... Daniel, it's only a dream. Wake up Daniel, everything is okay."

The look in his eyes when he finally wakes is so full of terror that Jessica wraps him in her arms without even thinking about it. He's shaking, and his heart is hammering away, but aside from that he's practically silent.

But then; "I can't stop seeing them. They won't stop, they just won't ever stop." His tone his dead, that for a single moment, she actually wonders if he's even awake. But he is.

"Yeah, I know. I get them too." She murmurs, scrambling out gently and pulling him up with her. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Let's go for a walk." It's a testament to how shaken he is that he doesn't even question, just walks next to her.

They do a slow series of laps thought the Sorrow's encampment, slow enough and long enough that by the time Jessica is about to suggest that they stop, the sun is very nearly up. Daniel stops after that. Just sits against the canyon wall, unmoving, even when Jessica tries to get him up.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks after they've been sat there for some time. She doesn't know what she expects, honestly. Daniel never really talks. Or he talks, just never about himself.

He laughs a small, bitter laugh, "I've seen too many people die. Some of them I killed, and now I dream about them every night. It doesn't even matter what they're doing in the dreams anymore. It's always horrible."

Jessica doesn't think its possible to pull him any closer, but she tries.

"I was wondering if something had happened today. You don't have to talk about it, though."

"Nothing happened, really. I just felt pain, and it wouldn't stop, so I thought maybe if I slept it would go away. I don't know why I thought that. I never sleep for very long."

She recognises a diversion when she hears one, now, so she prods him harder then necessary. "You're the man in charge now. If something's troubling you, it could affect all of us."

For a split moment, she wonders if he's going break down, or just plain throw up.

She's overheard Joshua. Whatever it is they've made him, his family, Daniel is in no way happy about it. Though with his unhappiness there was a forbidding sense of acknowledgement.

"I never thought I'd be in charge of anything." Daniel murmurs, slowly, as if he's just coming to terms with it himself. "Don't know why. Bishop Mordecai was old. He had been sick for... for years. He couldn't walk anymore. It wasn't a problem for the rest of us." He laughs a little, genuinely. "He made it out to be more trouble than it really was. Just his way, I guess. My Godfather; one of the biggest complainers in New Canaan, but he held us together. It's probably why I was so adamant that I wouldn't be following him. He just seemed, I don't know, invincible? He's the man who survived two town attacks and survived when my own father didn't, the man who nearly watched his community split apart and worked from the bottom to build itself up again. I guess the childhood disillusion was enough... When the White Legs came..." He sighs, and he's silent for a very long time. Long enough for a grey, foreboding looking cloud to come creeping along above them. "He was upstairs. We couldn't get him out in time. The house caught fire at the base and worked its way up. Fast. He didn't die of smoke. I wish he had."

Looking across the expanse of the camp, he shakes his head.

It starts with a spittle, but then slowly, it builds up. Quickly enough that by the time that either of them realise, it's picking up.

But when Daniel makes to stand, to get out of it, she pulls him back down.

"A little rain won't kill us."

"Yeah? You ever been rained on before?"

"Not really, but we're not stopping now."

There is an intense anxiety to the rain, as if between the tumbling cloud and the earth it is fearful of never reaching its destination. The sound of this rain, so soothing to some, is enough to drown out every other noise. Well, all those noises except from the man sitting beside her.

Jessica grips his hand a little harder; it prompts him to continue.

"That's what that is. Y'know. All of this. Sometimes I wake up for a minute or two, and I think all of it was a dream. But it's not. It wasn't. Mordecai, Sam, Peter. I wish all of this were some fevered vision of what could have been. Instead of what is, what we let happen."

"There was this man. Ulysses." Jessica speaks up when Daniel drifts off, and his head snaps towards her, alert. "Once Legion, he says, but... He found something, the Divide. "A nation taking it's fist breath", he said, surrounded and shaped by the symbols of the Old World, with the potential to become a real homeland, beyond the lies and everything else, and a second chance, a new way of thinking outside of the rigid discipline of the Legion. That's what he wanted. But he never got that; the NCR Annexed it first, and then... I was hired. Didn't know what had happened at the time, but I brought a package from Navarro that just..." She shivers, leaning heavily against his forearm. "Activated several of the nuclear warheads still underground. He said that it showed him how a single individual could change history, or erase it, and as a survivor of the Divide, he held me responsible for the destruction of the place that could have been his true home; of something "larger than the Bear, greater than the Bull". Some speech he gave. Didn't stop me from..." Jessica shakes her head.

"You killed him?"

"It was him for the Mojave. But that doesn't mean I don't... regret. He just wanted to find somewhere to call his own, and I ruined that for him." She shrugs. "When Mister House had found out what had happened, he was horrified." Then she laughs. "As horrified as a talking screen can be, but, well, I'm not being exactly fair there. Ulysses, though. He rallied the White Legs against New Canaan and watched over them, cutting off the NCR supply lines running through Utah to destroy New Canaan, killing the still living Joshua Graham along with it. Died before he could see that through, truly, but by that point he was disheartened. After I found out... I came here, to see what survived."

Daniel clenches his hands so tightly that they're physically shaking. "So he's the one... who..."

"Caesar ordered it. But then, he's dead too."

Jessica leans against the canyon wall and frowns.

"He was right, when he said how much an effect one person can have on the world, living or dead."

"Much like you now." Daniel murmurs, but then he looks down, and for a horrible moment, he looks ashamed. "The reason why I... If you don't move forward, then they all win. Every single one of them. Killing them isn't enough. You gotta just keep living. You gotta take back what they took. That wasn't just a belief, that's what Mordecai told me, when I was little. He was remembering New Jerusalem." He runs a hand through his hair. "But what he never actually told me was that, despite his intentions to move forwards, his need for vengeance never really sated itself. By the time I was twenty-four, he was well into plans to... breed an army of missionaries. If I hadn't have realised... what happened to New Canaan might have happened a lot sooner; but I never really did anything. I couldn't. You just... you never questioned, in that town. You just put your faith in the Lord and hoped you came out the other side."

He moves his head to her shoulder and wraps his arms around her, gently caressing her back. "You must have done something," She murmurs, messing with that odd little cowlick at the base of his neck. "If you hadn't, well, it would have happened sooner, like you said."

"It's not just that. I learned from Mordecai. I respected his world wholeheartedly, followed without restraint, and he planned to, though without meaning it, effectively turn our community into a copy of the Legion, though with different idealism." Daniel replies. "If he can do that, and honestly believe in what he is doing, then what the heck and I capable of? I love him, I really do, but I... I can't be like him... I don't want to do that. To have to make that choice. When Joshua told me... I don't know, It made me miss him. Like really miss him, for the first time. There's just some things that I can't always... I know I have a lot of friends, but just because I can talk about things doesn't mean I trust them with things about... I just... I miss my brothers, and Mordecai. They would have been able to listen to what I have to say, even if I described a situation that made us all look..."

"Stand-offish? Cold and closed off? Antagonistic?" Jessica smirks.

"Less than ideal," he corrects diplomatically. "Even if I said something that made us all seem less than ideal, I know that in the end they'd always assume the best." He laughs, then. "Honestly, I was too caught up in everything to think that anyone else might understand."

She chuckles, "Daniel, haven't you figured out yet that I am an endless fountain of empathy and understanding?"

"I thought that was me?"

"Right. Stand-offish. Cold and closed off. Antagonistic."

He shakes his head. "No, not at all. Not you."

They're thoroughly soaked by this point, but she guesses that they both knew it was coming. When their lips finally find each other, Jessica doesn't know where the talking ends and the kisses begin. As cheesy as it sounds, it's just like the books. For that single moment time stops. She doesn't care about the world around them. There's no war, no death, no suffering, just them. For the time their lips were locked together the world itself ceased to exist, blurred and indistinct as a wet painting left out in the torrent that fell from the dark cloud above. It feels like the cave, like the river, like the feverish dreams that have been increasing in intensity ever since the day he stopped her from spending the night in the cold. But somehow it's exponentially more than that. She have no experience to compare it to. It's entirely new and, for the first time in what might be her entire life, newness is not mingled with the thought of fresh horrors dancing just around the corner.

A few seconds ago, they were only talking.

And then, suddenly, they weren't.

His lips feel so different. But that feels like a different world compared to the fling she had with Boone. And he was, in many ways, a different person than the man who looked from her to the NCR and chose the latter out of the need of survival.

Daniel knows who she is. He knows what she has done, sees the scar-ridden woman drenched in blood. No haze of idle infatuation, or desperate affection borne of trauma clouds his vision anymore. He saw everything.

And somehow, despite that, they've managed to gradually grow together so closely that he's the first person she wants to see when she wakes up. She doesn't even know how it happened. Up until now, he was still a threat. Someone to work with because she didn't have a choice. She owed him.

But somehow, through all that, he just... crept up on her.

Now at least, she's pinned on the ground and clutching him so forcefully that the beds of her nails ache as they press against the rough linen of his shirt. The back of her head is numb and tingling, maybe because the blood is rushing through her veins so quickly. But she also feels strangely hollow, aching with something she's never experienced on this level before in her life.

If what she felt that night was hunger, then this is starvation.

His broad hands are resting against the small of her back, and she can feel the tremor that runs through them. For a fraction of a second, Jessica actually wonders if he's on the verge of hypothermia. Then, his fingers gently dig into the fabric of her, well, his shirt, and she knows.

He pulls away quickly, releasing a rattling breath as their mouths separate, but she leans into him and kiss him once more, not giving him a moment to stop, to clarify what's happened, to speak about this thing that, though it's taken long in the growing, has finally happened.

Talking is his domain, anyway, even if it's about everything but himself, and they've spoken enough for one night. She's sure there is nothing in this world that can stand against her now that she's now certain of it.

Except maybe Daniel himself. He's obviously torn between kissing Jessica back and pulling away. She feels his fingers tug at her wrists, trying to draw my hands out from around his neck. But then she realises why he want's to stop, and, well, yes that makes sense.

As much as it feels appealing, the last thing either of them really wants is something to regret.

"Jess…" he gasps out softly, winning the struggle to pull away. "Not to ruin the moment, but, eh. I'm actually freezing."

Good point, she thinks. So she leads him back, her small hand in his, pulling and coaxing him to follow her quickly, quickly. She's gentle, but unrelenting. It's okay, though, she thinks. He's following her like a man in a daze. Is this real? She feels the callouses on his fingers, the one developed from firing a handgun, the one from a scalpel, then the burns from tending fires, rubbing against hers as she tugs him up the hill, and it grounds her, though her legs apparently see the urgency in movement. This is real, her mind repeats incredulously. It's not the usual cave devoted to his work that she takes him back to, however; but White Birds, currently empty. There, they sit alone in the dark in front of a roaring fire.

He's supposed to be saying something, making promises. At least, that's what she thinks is supposed to happen, though she's never paid too much attention before. But he's not. He's not saying anything, just gazing at her like she might disappear.

"Just saying, I'd go through that again if I have to. Though, I hope I don't have to, honestly," he adds conspiratorially. "You'd think I'd be used to the cold by now, living in a cave and all, but I'm actually really cold." She laughs, but the tears running down her face betray her. "Is it okay if I just love you every single second of every day for the rest of our lives?" he asks softly.

"Sure," Jessica agrees. "I guess sitting around in the rain is less then ideal."

"Mhnn. How are we even here?" He says into hair, his voice an awed whisper.

It's on the tip of her tongue, the three simple words, but they won't come out. "We were always going to end up here; it's closer." slips out instead.

His gasp of laughter sounds more like crying than anything. She decides that she's tired of dancing around it, but she's also exhausted for purely natural reasons as well.

"No more nightmares, you hear?" She whispers hoarsely.

And then, she falls asleep.

»«○»VIII«○»«

Oh my GOD this chapter.

So yes, we've gotten this far. This chapter was supposed to come out straight after the last one, but Fallout: Shelter and Cornwall got in the way of that, so apologies for the lack of replies and updates since then.

Fun fact: The little segment involving Mordecai and Daniel is very, very important.

Again, thank you all for the reviews ^^