"So these taboos go all the way back to you, Randall," Alix murmured, her gaze resting on the weathered skeleton before her. A solemn smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the bittersweet holotapes she had collected from his camps. She crouched down beside the skeleton, her fingers brushed the brittle bones. A wave of sorrow tightened her chest, imagining the weight of his grief carving away at him, year after year. At the same time, she felt relieved that he could finally find peace.

She considered moving his skeleton to the Narrows, where he had buried Sylvie and their child, but the thought of disturbing his resting place didn't sit right with her. Randall had chosen this place and he would stay here.

Then, an idea came up. She walked back to the Dead Horses' camp and along the way gathered some wild flowers. When she reached the camp, she found him sitting by the campfire, doing what he always did: reading The Scripture.

"Graham," she called and asked if he could speak with him alone. They moved to a quieter area of the camp, where she told him about Randall Clark—who he was, his griefs, the people he had encountered, and how he'd shaped and created The Sorrows, even becoming their deity-like figure.

"So, I'm asking for your help, to send him off properly." She hesitated. "I know he's been gone a long time, but..." She trailed off, realizing her request might sound silly to him.

"You want me to give a eulogy for him?"

"...Yeah, if you don't mind. You told me that your tribe and religion have existed since way before the war, and Randall's from pre-war era. I read his journals, he wasn't the religious kind and he was brutal when he needed to, but... he was a good man. I just..." She raised her shoulders. "I guess I just wanna give him something, because he'd been so alone most of his life and he didn't wanna let anybody know the good things he'd done."

Although he nodded, his eyes remained unreadable. She rubbed her thumb across her knuckles, waiting. She almost gave up the idea when he began closing the distance.

"Why didn't you ask Daniel about this?"

His question caught her off guard. She also didn't know why she didn't ask Daniel instead—he was just as devoted to their god, more well-suited in terms of physical condition, and without a doubt as capable of delivering eulogies. But that wasn't what she wanted. She shook her head, trying to form the right words.

"Do you want me to ask him instead? Are you busy?" she asked reluctantly, thinking it might be weird not to ask him that, pleading inwardly he would say no.

"No, actually," he spoke with the faintest trace of amusement in his tone. "But I asked you a question."

She sensed playfulness in his tone, but the conversation halted as her heart thudded. She wasn't sure of how she should tell him that she completely forgot about Daniel and that she wanted to get closer to him. She hoped that staying quiet would make him relent, but he wasn't letting this go.

She swallowed hard and finally forced herself to meet his eyes. "Okay, I'll be honest. I want to hear you speak," she admitted, her voice wavering. "About anything that doesn't involve work or passages from The Scripture or The Lord. I don't mean to look down on your faith, I um... I only want to know more about you, and I thought maybe asking for your help can lead to that." Her words tumbled out and she flinched at its ineloquence, "S-since, you know, we're gonna work together until we'll have this all sorted out."

He didn't say anything for a short while and only looked at her. Beneath his steady gaze, she felt her resolve falter—not from fear, but from the quiet warmth radiating from him. "Alright. I don't see why I shouldn't. But we should move now or else it's going to be too late to travel."

She felt a pang of guilt when she heard him suppress hisses of pain while they crossed the river. He had told her that water seeped beneath his bandages, loosening them. His knuckles white against the rock as he forced one foot in front of the other. For the first time, she saw his face contort visibly.

During the hike to the Red Gate, his pace slowed considerably, and she wondered if it was due to the tightening of his burned skin or if the scars had restricted his movements. She didn't dare ask.

Alix hesitated, unsure whether to match his pace or press on like everything was normal. Every step he took made her wince, the strain etched on his face like a map of her poor decision. She wanted to help him, to carry some of his burden, but she didn't know what to do—how to undo this. Regret gnawed at her as she thought of the selfish reason she had dragged him along.

"I'm really sorry," she said, guilt thick in her voice. "I shouldn't have asked you to do this silly favour."

"Don't be." He spoke between gasps. His breath laboured but steady. "The journey to Angel Cave from New Canaan was much more challenging than this. I'll manage."

To take his mind off the hike, she began to tell him that the dangerous spitting plants and humanoid, green creatures in some corners of Zion came from vault 22 in the Mojave, adding how the original vault dwellers had been rotten to the core.

He listened intently, nodding. "I've heard of the vault, but it wasn't relevant enough for us to send any Legion soldiers at the time."

Almost revealing that she knew where the plants and experiments really came from, she disguised it as a rumour she had heard from NCR soldiers. As the conversation turned, he revealed that Caesar sent some legionaries and frumentarii to the Big MT—or Empty as he said—and nobody had ever returned. A shiver ran through her as she thought about the lobotomites she'd encountered in Big MT, wondering how many of them had once been members of the Legion or NCR. They all wore patient's gowns and jumpsuits, not armours like in the Divide.

"He's there." She pointed towards the nook where Randall's skeleton rested.

Joshua nodded but didn't approach immediately. Instead, he leaned against a tall rock, catching his breath. Alix pulled out her canteen and offered it to him. He hesitated. Sensing his reluctance, she quickly added, "I'll look away. Just call me when you're done."

Undoing the bandages around his lips, he fixed her with a sharp gaze. "If you think I'm that weak, you're mistaken."

"Oh, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she stammered, startled by his tone.

He waved her apology away, his expression softening. The air hung heavy as she walked toward Randall's skeleton. A moment later, she felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder—Joshua handing back the canteen.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"What should I do?" She stuffed her canteen into her bag.

He opened his partially damp Scripture. "Nothing. Just be respectful."

As Joshua began his eulogy, she hadn't expected her emotions to break so suddenly. Memories of the Divide came flooding back: the loneliness, the constant danger, the ache of losing ED-E. Randall's story mirrored hers in too many ways. He had been alone, again and again, despite finding people he cared about.

Tears welled up as Joshua's carefully chosen words struck chords she hadn't touched in years. His voice, measured and steady, wrapped around her like a comforting hymn, though it only made her feel the weight of Randall's isolation more deeply.

He ended the eulogy with a passage from the Scripture and closed it with a soft thud. She stepped forward and scattered the flowers she had collected over Randall's skeleton, still wiping away tears as she sprinkled the last of them

A gentle hand rested her back. "Are you alright?"

"I'd... like to make a memorial for him," she murmured, pulling new type of rifle from beneath Randall's bag. "I thought about using this—his companion—but I'm worried White Legs will find and take it."

"Yes, it's wise not to do that. Why don't we make a cairn instead?"

They searched the area but found few large stones. Together, they stacked small pebbles into a modest cairn.

"Requiescat in pace, Randall Clark," she whispered under her breath.

The bandaged man tilted his head. "...Do you speak Latin?"

"Oh." She looked down sheepishly, not expecting he would hear her whisper. "No, I only know a few words. My friend Arcade taught me some."

He looked as if he wanted to ask her a question, but stopped himself, looking away.

The sun had set by the time they finished. Darkness crept over the canyon, and Alix hesitated to suggest moving again.

"Okay, we have two options." She unrolled her hand-drawn map. "One: we hike some more to Ranger Substation Eagle. It's a pretty tough hike, but doable. Two: we cross the river once again and head to Two Skies Cave, one of Randall's old camps. Those are the safest places I could think of nearby."

Joshua studied the map. "Two Skies Cave. The substation is too close to a White Legs camp, we'll walk into a fatal danger. Even with my skill, we'd be outnumbered."

She nodded and led the way, keeping a cautious pace.

By the time they reached the cave, Joshua no longer hid his pain. He grunted as he sat heavily on a log, his breaths uneven. Promptly, she made fire and tried to boil a pot of water with stones in it. She went out to reset the traps and lock the doors as he took off his clothes.

When she returned, he laid his vest, shirt, jeans and shoes by the fire. He was all wrapped in gauze, except for his toes and fingers. There were some uncovered areas around his buttocks. It might be due to a lot of movements earlier, and she honestly thought that wrapping those areas was not an easy thing to do. The courier caught a glimpse of his exposed skin. Scars ran deep, mapping the toll of his past across his body. Catching herself staring long enough, she moved towards the platform, pretending not to notice. The image, however, lingered in her mind.

She threw her bag near the bed, placed her guns beside it, picked up a pillow from the fur-lined bed and tossed it onto the hay one. She decided that he should sleep on the former, since it might feel more comfortable on his burns. Before releasing herself from her clothes, she came back to her bag and checked if there were any wet items—nothing important.

"Could you please check this rifle? Can I use it?" She froze when she saw him peeling the bandages on his arm but dared not look away, keeping her eyes on his.

"I need to change my bandage first. Put them somewhere around here, I'll check it as soon as I finish."

She waited for him in the shack, hearing hisses and laboured breaths that echoed through the chamber. The thought of asking him if he needed help crossed her mind several times, but she never acted on it, knowing he would refuse anyway, and she didn't want to come across as patronising.

"Everything seems to be fine with this rifle." His voice pulled her back from her absent-minded bag reorganising.

"So I can use it?" She asked from the shack.

"Yes. Come here, I've finished changing."

She wrung her wet clothes and placed them neatly by the fire. "Everything seemed to not be fine with you, though. Earlier." She rubbed her neck, feeling guilty for bringing him along. "Look, I'm really sorry for causing you much trouble. Really should've asked Daniel."

"You just didn't know this part of me. Just as you mentioned, we haven't had the chance to know each other well. You don't need to apologize."

Wet gauze scattered near his feet—she remembered a few of Randall's alcohol collection. "Shall I soak these in alcohol?"

"That's not necessary. I always bring spares. I just need to dry this out."

Sitting down on the other log, she brought her knee onto her chest and put her arms near the fire. The crackle of the fire filling the space between them.

"Does your skin still hurt?" she asked hesitantly.

"It never stops burning," he replied, his voice even. "Every night, I have to unwind the bandages and replace them with fresh ones."

"Does it hurt when your skin touch anything?"

"It's just uncomfortable. But when the bandages are open..." He paused and winced. "Exposing my body to the air or water... It's like living through it again. But it's better to be clean than comfortable."

Guilt washing over her once more, but she tried not dwelling on it. "Arcade also told me cleaning wounds is always a priority, no matter how hurt it feels." Her hand moved to her healing wound from the hatchet. "Is there anything I can do to help? I have a few Med-x left."

"You're kind to offer." His eyes soft. "But there's nothing you can do. Here, we don't use chems. But I learned long ago that I'm immune to their effects nonetheless. What only works for me are stimpaks and some traditional medicines."

It occurred to her that she could bring him to Big MT. For now, however, such a thing was too far fetched and he would think she was crazy if told him that.

"Your friend Arcade," he spoke again. "Did he escape from the Legion? Was he a slave? A frumentarius?"

A chuckle escaped her lips. "No, he's just a really smart guy. He doesn't like the Legion, actually. He's just learning Latin to... I dunno, make him smarter? And impress some men, I guess."

"Oh, I... see." He let out a sigh that sounded like a relief. She didn't know why.

"Fun fact, he's a Follower of the Apocalypse."

"Hm. He's similar to Caesar."

"Yeah. Probably read the same books Caesar did. Funny how things can turn out differently for two people who did the same thing."

A quietness made its way. The blackened hands of his used sticks to take out some boiled rocks and inserted them to his damp clothes.

"You know, I'm sorry about how Caesar treats you after knowing you're still alive. I... I heard your tribe was wiped out because of that."

"Yes." He made a fist and quickly released it. "What I wouldn't give to reverse my wrongdoings and the repercussions." He paused. "I sometimes hear people of my tribe when the Dead Horses gather by the fire, or when we pray together. The language they speak may not be the same, but I see my people in them. I hear them."

"You miss them."

"Yes. If the Lord allows me, I'll make them pay. Each and every one who's responsible."

She swallowed all words she wanted to say and looked down. He went on to tell stories about his own tribesmen. The whole time, she fumbled her fingers. Ulysses might've been brainwashed and broken by Caesar and she pitied him for that. She saw that there was still a good, pure soul inside his brokenness and that was one of the main reasons why she spared him.

But knowing the consequence of what he'd done to the ones affected by her own eyes, she began regretting her softness. She wished she could've had at least shot his leg or arm, disabling him as a form of punishment. Joshua, his people, and the tribesmen had suffered because of Ulysses, and she let him walk unharmed.

She sneaked a glance at him as he no longer spoke, surprised that his eyes were steady at her. "May I ask about the stories of your scars?"

Some of the new major scars she got were her injuries from the Divide, but she couldn't tell him about that—not unless she wanted to die. Telling about Big MT wasn't a good choice, either. "They're plain to see aren't they?" she asked, smiling, stalling. To avoid further questioning, she told him about Benny and The Great Khans, how she woke up in Goodsprings, and a truth about herself that she could use as a cover up: she didn't remember anything before being ambushed and shot in the head, and only remember some snippets of her much younger years. "For all I know, Doc Mitch might've seen some stray bullets or some muscle tears that healed wrong and fixed them all. But the trade off is that I lost my memory."

"I'm sorry you went through all that." He didn't leave his gaze on her. "Have you found this Benny?"

"Yeah, I... managed to choke him in his sleep after we had our way." She fixed her eyes at his, trying to sense judgment. All she saw, however, was a still and unreadable pair of eyes. "It was the only way I could think of to kill him without alerting his many bodyguards. And I got him drunk first."

"You're a formidable woman," he said, his gaze steady. "I knew it the first time I saw you."

Warmth spread through her chest at his words. She smiled, placing another pot of water on the fire and threw in some chunks of meat and shredded cave fungus she had taken from her bag. The water started to bubble when the now mummy-like figure near her asked for a ladle.

"Say," she ventured. "If I knew how to heal you, would you be willing to try it?" she asked as he stirred the stew.

He shifted his weight and stared at the swirl he had just made. "I wouldn't say no. But this pain is a... reminder of what I'm capable of. Falling."

"During your time here... have you ever fallen?"

"Of course. Some days are... harder than the others." He clenched the ladle.

She didn't know what it meant, but she didn't want to pry too much. Although, she had a hunch that falling harder meant he had done something he deemed wrong. "You're not alone in that sense, Graham. Please know that."

"He that hath a bountiful eye shall be blessed; for he giveth of his bread to the poor," he said, after a brief quietness. He smiled a little and his eyes kind. "You're a good person, Courier Six. I heard that, other than doing what I've asked of you, you've also been helping the tribes, Waking Cloud too, personally."

"Well, I said I'd help, didn't I?" She returned the smile. "You were also willing to help me, even though you knew we were going to cross rivers and walk and hike a lot." She chuckled. "I know you regret it now, I mean you were frustrated and got all irritated earlier because of the pain, but you did it anyway." She fully faced him. "You're also a good person. And thank you, really, for agreeing to do this and putting up with me today."

He hummed, a faint curve lifting the corners of his lips. "When I did the eulogy before, it felt like I was doing it to a newly widowed Mrs. Clark."

Her jaw hung open, not expecting a tease from him. "Aw come on, you just don't sympathize with him the way I do!" She tussled her hair and let out a soft laugh. "Reading his journals was like watching or listening to a story of an old friend. I've been mostly alone, so finding out his stories and knowing how everything unfolded became something I really looked forward to."

His expression softened. "Have you been lonely?"

"Well," She gave him a half smile. "In a way. You know I let Follows-Chalk stay with the Dead Horses to help you and his own people. I did that to Waking Cloud and the Sorrows, too. You guys need more manpower than me. Plus, I can't really speak the tribes' languages and we're always busy... It's not that bad, but sometimes, yeah. It gets lonely."

"I see." His gaze stayed on her, gentleness in his voice. "I'm sorry the current situation demands a lot from you, and I appreciate that you understand it." He moved closer, lowering himself in front of her. Gently, he took her hands on his and drew them close to his chest.

"I want to pray for you."

Her breath caught, but she nodded. As his warm hands wrapped around hers, she hoped he couldn't feel her pulse racing. His voice fell into a soft murmur, the words of his prayer flowing like the river they'd just crossed. Alix closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his voice calm her.

When he finished, she opened her eyes to find his gaze fixed on hers, steady and unreadable through the bandages. He didn't let go of her hands.

"God is always with you, so you needn't feel lonely. But if you ever need someone to talk to, you can come to me. I can't join your travels, and I'll be busy at times, but I'll always be around."

A pang of loneliness struck her the moment he released her hands. She told herself it was just the sudden coolness after the warmth of his touch. "I'll hold you to that," she said softly. "And you can also have me when you need to talk about something."

His lips quirked upward. "Well, if you weren't available when I needed you, I'd just ask everyone to track you down for me."

A laugh bubbled up from her chest. "Oh really? You'd do that? As if everyone's free around here."

"Oh, I have my ways." He shrugged, his tone light. "If I want you around, I will have you around. You're the one who said I could." His voice firm but laced with mirth.

Her pulse quickened at the certainty in his tone. To hide it, she rolled her eyes and threw her arms up in mock exasperation. "Is it too late to take my words back?"

"Yes it is," he replied, his smile widening as he leaned closer. "Far too late," he teased, his voice low but warm.

His eyes glinted with delight—eyes she had never seen before—which stayed just long enough o make her wonder if he meant more than the joke. Feeling a lot warmer, she clasped her hands together to prevent herself from flustering. "Now, I think we should eat and rest. Graham, you should sleep on the fur-lined bed later. I think it's easier on your skin."

He nodded and moved to get bowls on the shelf. "Joshua is fine."

She grinned. "Only if you call me Alix,"

"Very well. Alix." His cheekbones rose, lingering as he handed her a bowl. For a moment, neither of them looked away. Her cheeks warmed, but she didn't dare break the silence.

When she stirred in the middle of the night, she faintly saw him watching her, his expression unreadable. Maybe the pain woke him up, she thought hazily. Her voice was soft, almost slurred with sleep. "Breathe slowly if it's too painful."

He didn't reply, but the way his head tilted slightly made her think he had heard her. She drifted back into sleep before she could say more.

By the time they arrived at Angel Cave the next day, the sun hung high in the sky. The Dead Horses flocked to them, with Follows-Chalk leading the charge.

"Where have you been?" The capped tribesman asked, eyes wide with curiosity. "We scouted everywhere, but we didn't see you!"

"Not everywhere." She tapped her nose with a sly grin. "We needed to go somewhere hidden."

Her mind was already racing through the day's tasks—delivering more healing powder to Daniel, helping The Sorrows with the gecko farm and laundry—but Joshua's voice pulled her back.

"Alix," he called.

She turned, still a few steps away.

"I have to go to the Sorrows camp," she explained, her voice light. "Gotta help with things."

His lips curved into a small smile. "Okay. Take care. I'll see you later, Alix. And don't forget what we agreed on."

The way he said her name sent warmth rushing to her cheeks. She scoffed playfully, turning quickly on her heel to hide her face. Sliding on her sunglasses, she said, "As if I could forget."

Behind her, she could feel the eyes of the Dead Horses still on them.

"Joshua?" Follows-Chalk whispered, loud enough for her to hear. "'Take care and see you later, Alix'? Not 'Go with God, sister?'"

Alix shot him a mock glare over her shoulder, but the young tribal only stuck his tongue out at her.

As soon as she was out of sight, she muffled a squeal, her excitement bubbling over as she dashed into the open.