..⃗. [for they shall heap dust] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ

[they shall come all for violence: their faces shall sup up as the east wind, and they shall gather the captivity as the sand. and they shall scoff at the kings, and the princes shall be a scorn unto them: they shall deride every strong hold; for they shall heap dust, and take it.]

habakkuk 1:10-11

DANIEL WAS MORE APPROACHABLE THAN JOSHUA. But it didn't stop the ick she got from the man. The way he spoke about the Sorrows, it all made her skin crawl. Not in a creepy way. More in an annoyed way. He spoke about them like innocent children. Like they couldn't make decisions for themselves. That left an itch under her skin. She stared over at Follows-Chalk, who offered her a smile. That young man was too fucking nice. She wanted to hate it. Wanted to tell him to fuck off. But when she thinks of this Waking Cloud woman taking his place, she almost wants to cry. "My family needs me right now." He'd said with a sad smile. If it made her feel better, he didn't want to leave her side either. He'd found such a deep friendship with Joan. He'd been the one to watch her finger get bitten off, he'd been the one to hold her hand as they rooted around the broken bus filled with child skeletons. He'd been the one who hadn't told anyone of the tears that silently streamed down her face as she carried the broken skeletons to a hole she'd dug ten feet away. In that moment, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and sob as loud as she could, as much as she had in that stupid cave with that stupid man.

If anyone else had any problems with Daniel, they didn't show it. Maybe because they were more mature than her. They didn't let their dislike of someone cloud their judgement, consume them whole. It was a horrid habit of hers, she knew. One of her many bad traits. Add it to the pile, she thought to herself. "You're sure you don't wanna stay? Maybe travel with Waking Cloud and I?" Her last effort to beg him to stay with her, her first friend in Zion.

He smiled warmly at her, scooted closer to her by the fire. "Ask again next time you're by camp." She would take it. It's the closest comfort she'd find in this place. Her head rested on his shoulder, her eyes falling shut. For a moment, she pictures herself with Boone. Him silently watching the hills ahead, his free hand resting on his rifle in case anything moved. Those nights on the Mojave sand were some of the best sleep she'd ever gotten. Knowing she had someone watching out for her, someone who cared for her, it made those nights go by faster, easier.

The sounds of boots crunching on the sand opened her eyes. Those fucking snakeskin boots. Lifting her head from Follows-Chalk's shoulder, she looked up at the bandaged man. "Hoi, Joshua! What are you doing all the way out here?" There was a surprised joy in Follows-Chalk's voice. His bright smile nearly lit up the whole camp. She didn't get it. What they saw in him. Why they seemed to follow him. He wasn't even that charismatic. His biblical bullshit just put her in a bad mood, it didn't inspire her, it didn't make her evaluate her life and look for where she went wrong. It just annoyed her. His holier than thou bullshit persona just rubbed her the wrong way. Who was he better than? No one. In fact, he was probably worse than anyone she'd ever met. Most people she met weren't responsible for the rise of a tyrannical dictatorship that owned slaves and crucified people. So she didn't get it, this holy halo that crowned his head when he entered camp. Why some of these people greeted him with smiles and waves and even gifts - yeah, she watched one of the Dead Horses give him a whole fish they'd just caught. She can't help the glare that forms in her eyes when he's around; it's almost second nature. Part of her feels a little guilty about it. He was never outwardly rude to her; he never even brought up what had happened a few nights ago. She preferred that, that it melted away from memory, never being brought up again. Spare her the embarrassment.

"Wanted to make sure you two arrived safely." He responded, looking down between the firepit and the woman who glared up at him. Whatever small hope that he'd had that her near breakdown in the cave had opened up any doors to some form of diplomacy was quickly dashed against the stones. A small part of him was disappointed. His hands curled into tight fists, faintly wincing at the deep ache that spurred from the action. "Courier, may I speak to you for a moment?" Her glare contorted into confusion. What could they have to speak about? He'd sent her to Daniel to do his bidding. She assumed that meant he didn't need her anymore. Maybe a part of her was glad to be of use, that he didn't think any less of her after the incident in the cave. That was her fear, that now he knew she was weak, mentally fragile. That's how she felt. Like she wasn't capable of more. Like she was ready to fall apart at a slight breeze. But nothing in his gaze told her that, and she'd like to think she could read people fairly easy.

Pushing herself up from the ground, she followed him over to a clearing, not too far from camp. No one was around, most on patrol or sleeping. Her eyes took in the area, the waterfall across the cavern. She'd never say it out loud, but she thought the Sorrows' camp was prettier than the Dead Horses'. Lots of places to hide, plenty of caves, little ravines. Much better than the open camp across the way. Her arms crossed over her chest as her eyes darted everywhere but the man now standing in front of her. This was it, she thought. They were finally going to address it. Biting her bottom lip, she pulled her gaze up to the night sky. So full of stars. The lights in New Vegas made it difficult to see them. But out in Goodsprings? It was like standing with the solar system itself. "Stars are pretty tonight." She mumbled, anything to avoid the conversation to come.

His eyebrows furrowed. Following her gaze, he looked up to see the millions of twinkling lights in the sky. More reminders of how creative his Lord was. All of this was His doing, His handiwork. He wished he could tell her about it all, show her how He had a hand in all of it. But he knew he shouldn't, knew how she'd react. So he remained quiet, stared up at the night sky with her. Tearing his gaze away from the sky, he watched her continue to look up at it. It was clear she didn't want to meet his line of sight. Was afraid he'd bring up what had happened the other night. That's not what he's here for. No point in talking about it because he understood. All of the tales of the great courier and her band of misfits, one of whom was a First Recon sniper. A part of them wondered if they were in love. If that's why she cried so heavily that day in the cave. If she missed her lover, her soulmate, her partner. A wince crossed his face. Glancing down, his hands slowly unfurled from the tight fists he held them in. He thanked his Lord above that he could no longer blush. A tinge of pain - jealousy? - cut at his heart. He tried to imagine having a soulmate, a lover. Someone to come home to at the end of a long day. Someone to confide into. His mind remained blank, that was not an option for him anymore. Part of him thought back to his childhood, that pretty brunette in their church who wore pretty blue dresses and bows in her braids. When he was a kid, he swore he'd marry her. Now she was probably a mother, maybe even a grandmother, if she'd lived that long. What would she think of him now? Would she think him a monster? Would she gasp at the sight of him, appalled by what had come of him? Would she count herself lucky that she'd never gotten involved with him?

Joan finally forced her gaze to him, watching him stare down at his bandaged hands. She could feel her own bandaged hand twitch at her side, the phantom of her lost limb still moving to tap nervously against her thigh. Despite his face being obscured, she felt she could read him like a book. Easier than a book, perhaps. After so many years in the Mojave, you have to learn how to read people. Especially if you don't want to get robbed. He almost looked sad, a bit nostalgic. Part of her wonders what his childhood was like. Something had to happen for him to turn out like this. Or was he just too fuckin' stupid? So stupid that he fell for whatever bullshit Caesar'd been spewing. "So," she started, biting the bullet, "came all this way just to check on us?" Her tone sounded skeptical. She was smarter than that, wasn't blinded by some misguided love for him. Her voice finally brought his gaze up to hers. Those cold eyes were almost piercing, almost enough to get her to back down. But she didn't. She couldn't. Her ego wouldn't allow it.

"That wasn't a lie." He responded, his eyes taking her in. Her closed off posture, how she stood a good six feet away from him, like she wouldn't be caught dead standing close to him. But her tears were fresh in his mind. The way she'd sobbed into her hands, back hunched over as his own hand gently squeezed her shoulder. Seeing anyone that vulnerable was moving. The fact it was the famed courier made it all that more heart-wrenching. A deep part of him wished he could breakdown like that, let out decades of resentment, fear, heartbreak, all of it. Be clean of it all. But to picture himself being that vulnerable, even alone, was inconceivable. It was preposterous. Throw that want out of your mind, he thought to himself. It wasn't worth bending over backwards for. "Follows-Chalk is vital to the tribe, as is every member. Though most believe him to be the soul of the Dead Horses. If anything were to happen to you two..." He trailed off, a frown forming under his bandages at the thought. He imagined breaking the news to them, that Follows-Chalk and the courier had perished on their way to the Sorrows. Back at square one, he thought. They'd have to work with less than what they had, and war was on the horizon, threatening them every morn. "But there is something else I needed to discuss with you."

There it was. Her heart nearly dropped. This was it. That fucking look in his eyes. He was always so serious, she almost couldn't stand it. At least Boone would throw her a glare or scoff at her jokes. This man just stared through her. Treated her like a sheet of paper that he had no clue what to write onto it. Useless to him, unsure what to do with her. "There's a chapter in the Bible," he started, much to her dismay, "there are verses I think that pertain to our situation." Their situation? Her eyebrows furrowed. And what, exactly, was their situation? So what, she cried in front of him. Big fuckin' deal. Who cared? Why did he care so much? Why did she care so much? "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem who said, 'Raze it, raze it, even to the foundation.' O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed. Happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones." She stared him down, letting the words sink in. She's not entirely sure she even comprehended half of what he said. Dashing little ones against stones? What the fuck did any of that mean...? 'Raze it,' she repeated in her mind. Fuck...

"You want to wipe them out..." She trailed off, a deep frown on her lips, ageing her. This wasn't what she signed up for. She specifically told him that genocide wasn't in her care package. Her frown quickly turned into a scowl. "Fucking Legion... Should've known." She scoffed, shaking her head. "Genocidal fucking maniacs, all of you. Tell me, Graham, has this psychopath bullshit been in your veins since day one or was it beat into you by Caesar? I'd love to know because I can't quite wrap my fuckin' head around any of it."

"I don't expect you to understand, Courier-"

"Obviously not because I'm not a fucking psychopath like you." She practically spit at him. In this moment, she doesn't think she can hate him any more. Her shaking hands answer her question from earlier, it really must be hate she feels for him. Something so deep and primal and natural that it must be hatred. She can't picture it being anything else. "I guess once that blood coats your hands, it's easy to have a fountain of it at your fingertips-"

Her words are cut off as Joshua grabs her arm in a vice. He shoves her back, her back hitting a boulder behind her. His face nears hers, his eyes icy and rageful. "I have never shunned away from my past, Courier. Unlike you, I face it every day of my life. At least I can live up to my mistakes."

"My mistakes aren't genocide." She spits on his bandaged face, attempting to yank her arm free from his grasp. But his grip is too strong. His hand squeezes down on her forearm, definitely forming a bruise. He's trying to intimidate her, she knows this. She's seen it countless times, all from different men. Once, it was Benny, standing over her as he pressed Maria into her forehead next to an open grave. Then, it was Caesar, glaring up at her as he pretended to execute her when she first traipsed up to his tent. Mr. House owed her big time for that one. Point is, it didn't fucking work on her anymore. After seeing the same look in so many different eyes, you got numb to it all. "Your scary eyes don't work on me, Malpais Legate."

"Neither do yours, Dog of the NCR."