Hori!

“You’re listening to Radio New Vegas, your little jukebox in the Mojave Wasteland. I’m Mr. New Vegas, and I’m here for you. Ladies and gentlemen, this next song goes out from me to you.”

The honey-smooth voice poured from her Pip-Boy as the next song began to play. Despite the same few songs being on loop, Bombita hummed along, not even realizing she was doing it as she continued down the road.

The Mojave sun was setting, and a cooling trickle of sweat coated Bombita’s skin, slightly melting her face paint as she walked the cracked roads leading into Novac. The spurs on her boots jangled with each heavy step as she crossed the railroad tracks and carried her into town. A slight warm breeze blew through her hair and the wool of her dusty, dirt-stained chaps. She glanced around at the scattered homes lining the road. One yard held Brahmin grazing lazily, and further down stood a rundown gas station painted blue, the color faded and rusted, and in the distance, the very noticeable large T-Rex loomed beside what she assumed was a motel.

Getting herself acquainted with the area, she continued down by the gas station sign with the new supplies she’d bought from a merchant. She began sorting them, stuffing items into her side bag and pockets, then pulled off her cream-colored cowboy hat to drop a chem or two inside along with whatever knick-knacks had already collected there.

Though something caught her eye. Near the Novac sign, just beside the motel entrance, stood a blocky figure, static, faintly flickering, heavy springs and metal shifting as it adjusted itself. The screen seemed familiar, the dark shapes of what she assumed were a bandana and hair, along with the white of a large hat. Her vision was still a little blurry. She wasn’t sure if it was the shot or a dire need for glasses, but recognition slowly clicked into place as she knew only one person, well robot, that fit that description.

“Is that you, Victor?” she called, her hat dangling loosely from her hand as she squinted at the shape. Her voice caught his attention, and the securitron rolled slightly in her direction, the heavy wheel crunching the dirt beneath it.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” the cowboy securitron exclaimed happily, “if it ain’t my old friend from Goodsprings!”

Victor’s screen flickered as the cartoon cowboy flashed a warm grin. Bombita couldn’t help but laugh. It was silly, charming, and she loved both. She lifted her hat to wave, then immediately forgot what she’d stuffed inside it. Caps and a few loose odds and ends spilled onto the ground.

“Ah, shoot!” she laughed, crouching to hurriedly scoop everything back into her hat before plopping it onto her head again. Still smiling, she walked over to the securitron, red lips stretched wide, cheeks warm from the Mojave heat, squinting from the smile and the sun.

“What are you doing out here, buddy?” she asked. “I thought you went back to Goodsprings after helpin’ me with those geckos that jumped me on the road!”

The memory came back of the geckos swarming her while her head was still foggy, Victor rolling in, practically out of nowhere, to deal with them. She probably should’ve found it a bit odd or something, especially after he’d said he felt responsible for what happened to her as a reply when she asked if he was following her instead of an outright yes or no. Still, she’d thanked him and watched him roll back toward Goodsprings…part of her wishing he’d stayed a bit longer as she headed back into the Mojave.

“Well now,” Victor replied, amused from the recalling of their last encounter, “I headed back alright. But not long after, I got the sudden notion to roll on over to New Vegas.” Victor added. “I sure hope you ain’t gotten yourself into too much trouble without ol’ Vic around to shoot down any critter thinkin’ of jumpin’ ya.” He chuckled softly.

She shook her head, chuckling as she was going to reply, though New Vegas was exactly where she was headed to face the man who’d nearly killed her. leaving her with two bullets aching in her skull and buried 6 feet under alive. Victor, heading the same way, seemingly out of nowhere, left her puzzled since she couldn't remember if she told him if she was leaving that way or not.

“Oh? What for?” she asked, trying not to pry. She wasn’t suspicious just genuinely curious, caught off guard, a few possibilities quietly running through her mind from when she’d checked his system back in Goodsprings. But she decided not to dwell on them too much, choosing instead to enjoy this unexpected reunion.

The cowboy tilted his hat, the cigarette in his mouth shifting sides as he thought, then shook his head.

“I don’t rightly know,” he said casually looking back at the rodeo clown before him. “Figure I’ll find out when I get there.”

“I guess you will,” Bombita said, glancing around. “But why stop in Novac? I mean…” She looked back at the gas station, then at him. “I’m not really familiar with your build. Nothin' like the mechanical bull I’ve tinkered with. If it’s fuel, I don’t think this place has any. Actually, if you need power, I could—”

She trailed off, without realizing she was rambling. Her thoughts jumped from suspicion to concern to half-baked ideas about power and who knows what else, but she couldn’t help talking. She was just happy...relieved to see a familiar face after getting hit with so much in the Mojave. It was kind of amusing to him. She’d been like this from the start. Back in Goodsprings, once she’d fully recovered, she’d talked to Victor the same way, filling silence with thoughts, silly jokes, and questions about Goodsprings, the events, and especially about him. Full of that same bright, colorful energy, even after taking bullets. Victor wasn’t sure if it came from the wound or if she’d always been that lively, but either way, he enjoyed the attention and her.

“Now, now,” Victor said with a chuckle, lifting his hands...well something like hands, claws opening in a gentle, easy-there motion. “I ain’t here for fuel or anythin' else like that, and I don’t need none of that truly. I ain’t no car, darlin’, and I sure ain’t no mechanical bull that you be tinkern’ on.” He chuckled, voice warm as he continued. “Truth is, we’re both headin’ the same way. I’d be a sight more surprised if we didn’t run into each other from time to time. Though, Can’t say I don't mind seein’ you again now, though.”

The way he said it in that charming friendly tone made Bombita’s brain pause for a sec. She tugged at the side brims of her hat, trying to hide her head if she could as she could a bit of blush that was growing behind her painted red cheeks. She felt the same way but didn’t want to sound foolish despite how foolish she paraded herself looking.

“R-right—yeah!” she said quickly. “Um, me too!” She pretended to fix her gloves while fidgeting with her shirt’s knot just to keep her hands busy from the growing nerves. “It’s just… nice seeing a familiar face out here. Makes everything feel less tense. And believe me, I know tense—I’m a rodeo clown! Been stuffed in a barrel one too many times.”

She laughed, though there was truth in it. Running into Victor now made things feel easier.

“Likewise, friend, likewise,” Victor said kindly as the cowboy on the screen nodded his head. “Now that we’re talkin’, is there anything ol’ Vic can do ya for?”

Bombita tapped her finger to her bottom lip, then the tip of her red nose, glancing at the motel and back at Victor.

The moment stretched in laughter and conversation that mingled in the light Mojave breeze of the ever growing evening, until a yawn slipped out before she could stop it in between her words. At first, she was standing in front of him, but the weight of her supplies and the long walk made her shoulders slump. Victor subtly shifted, offering his arm without a word as he noticed the rodeo clown slowly calm down. Her hand brushed against the bumpy texture of the build of his arm, then almost unconsciously she leaned her shoulder against him, practically weightless against his massive frame. Her cream-colored hat tilted as she settled closer, sighing hesitantly before speaking.

“Hey—uh… how about we stick together?” she blurted, glancing up at his screen. “I was gonna ask back then, but you rolled off before it even hit me. Feels like a better time now, since I’m not being jumped by more geckos.” She laughed as she crossed her arms a bit over her chest leaning on him as her foot lightly kicks the dirty and ruble underneath it. “I really enjoy our little conversations. Wouldn’t mind keeping it that way instead of leavin’ it up to chance. I mean, next time you see me, I might be bald and a mime!”

Victor’s face softened into a quiet smile. The kind, unsure, sincere way she asked stirred something in his system.

“Well,” he said gently, “I do appreciate the offer. But I oughta conserve my strength if I’m gonna make it to Vegas. And I reckon a little firecracker like you would do just fine without ol’ Vic slowin’ you down.”

Bombita’s small smile dipped. She fumbled with her sleeves a bit as she looked closed her eyes before looking back up at him.

“Yeah… I get it,” she admitted as she nodded her head, “Though… it wouldn’t hurt to try traveling together for a bit…” She stretched out the words, her brown eyes flicking up at him, searching for any sign of change, then shrugged. “But if you gotta go, you gotta go… gone with the wind,” she murmured dramatically, hiding the small smile that twitched on her lips when she noticed his slight eye roll at her over-the-top humor.

She stayed leaning against his arm, her tiny frame pressed briefly to his dusty metal. Victor chuckled softly, warm even in the mechanical hum, and nudged her gently.

“Now don’t you go gettin’ upset,” he said. “Somethin’ tells me we’ll be bumpin’ into each other again sooner than you think, sugar.”

Bombita nodded, another yawn slipping out as she scratched the back of her head, her gloves tangling in her curls. She leaned in briefly, murmuring sofly,

“…are you sure?”

Her brown eyes flicked up at his screen once more. She didn’t want to be alone now knowing he was traveling the same roads she was. Despite her detours, she wasn’t sure if she’d find anyone else like him to travel with. Someone she felt comfortable with and at least knew. Her tired body leaned against his bumpy texture arm, and her eyes searched for something, anything, that could reassure her of the bond they’d been quietly building.

Victor’s screen flickered, the cowboy’s grin widening.

“Pretty sure,” he said gently, almost flattered by the way she leaned into him and kept asking for his company. If he could have said yes, he would’ve, but he was locked-in on his choice. His only concern now was making sure she got the rest she needed. “Now you better get your clowny self inside and hook yourself up with a room before you fall asleep in this rusty arm of mine.” He nudged her lightly, guiding her forward on her feet proper like.

“Fine, fine… wouldn’t be that bad... We’d have to really travel together then,” she teased as she straightened up, glancing at him with tired fondness.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around then?” she asked.

Victor nodded softly as he adjusted her hat perched on her head, his voice lowering slightly. “Though before you go…" His hand that was on her hat gently rested on her arm as he slightly leaned closer.

"Novac’s seems like a fine town, but when I rolled in, my skin started to itch. Watch yourself, darlin’. Don’t want you in any trouble out here.”

Bombita’s eyes widened slightly at the change in tone, the closeness, and the concern in his voice as he rested that large claw on her arm, alerting yet gentle. She just nodded, taking in his warning, her hand coming up to rest atop his, feeling the hard, rectangular edge beneath her palm as the sound of his staticky and flickering screen was louder along with his system between them.

“Well… watch yourself too, Vic,” Bombita murmured, patting his hand before their touch ended as she readied herself to move. She slung her side bag over her shoulder. The setting Mojave sun leaving a warm glow over the sky that was soon cooling as the roads were quiet despite just them in this moment.

“Better catch you on the road, by whatever chance… unless…?” she called over her shoulder as she walked toward the fenced area. A silent “are you sure?” seemed to linger in her gaze. Hoping that his choice might've changed. Victor just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Until our paths cross again, partner. Now git!" He playfully shooed her off, watching that little rodeo clown scurry off to hopefully sleep soundly.

“Fine Fine! I’ll be hoping it’s soon, then,” she replied, sending him a small smile before finally heading toward the main office of the motel. Her hands gripped the strap of her side bag for support, but in her mind, they still rested on his hand, the fleeting, silent moment that was still ringing in her mind, it was almost too hard for her at this moment to ignore it.

“You’re listening to Radio New Vegas, your little jukebox in the Mojave Wasteland. I’m Mr. New Vegas, and I’m here for you. Ladies and gentlemen, this next song goes out from me to you.”

The honey-smooth voice poured from her Pip-Boy as the next song began to play. Despite the same few songs being on loop, Bombita hummed along, not even realizing she was doing it as she continued down the road.

The Mojave sun was setting, and a cooling trickle of sweat coated Bombita’s skin, slightly melting her face paint as she walked the cracked roads leading into Novac. The spurs on her boots jangled with each heavy step as she crossed the railroad tracks and carried her into town. A slight warm breeze blew through her hair and the wool of her dusty, dirt-stained chaps. She glanced around at the scattered homes lining the road. One yard held Brahmin grazing lazily, and further down stood a rundown gas station painted blue, the color faded and rusted, and in the distance, the very noticeable large T-Rex loomed beside what she assumed was a motel.

Getting herself acquainted with the area, she continued down by the gas station sign with the new supplies she’d bought from a merchant. She began sorting them, stuffing items into her side bag and pockets, then pulled off her cream-colored cowboy hat to drop a chem or two inside along with whatever knick-knacks had already collected there.

Though something caught her eye. Near the Novac sign, just beside the motel entrance, stood a blocky figure, static, faintly flickering, heavy springs and metal shifting as it adjusted itself. The screen seemed familiar, the dark shapes of what she assumed were a bandana and hair, along with the white of a large hat. Her vision was still a little blurry. She wasn’t sure if it was the shot or a dire need for glasses, but recognition slowly clicked into place as she knew only one person, well robot, that fit that description.

“Is that you, Victor?” she called, her hat dangling loosely from her hand as she squinted at the shape. Her voice caught his attention, and the securitron rolled slightly in her direction, the heavy wheel crunching the dirt beneath it.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” the cowboy securitron exclaimed happily, “if it ain’t my old friend from Goodsprings!”

Victor’s screen flickered as the cartoon cowboy flashed a warm grin. Bombita couldn’t help but laugh. It was silly, charming, and she loved both. She lifted her hat to wave, then immediately forgot what she’d stuffed inside it. Caps and a few loose odds and ends spilled onto the ground.

“Ah, shoot!” she laughed, crouching to hurriedly scoop everything back into her hat before plopping it onto her head again. Still smiling, she walked over to the securitron, red lips stretched wide, cheeks warm from the Mojave heat, squinting from the smile and the sun.

“What are you doing out here, buddy?” she asked. “I thought you went back to Goodsprings after helpin’ me with those geckos that jumped me on the road!”

The memory came back of the geckos swarming her while her head was still foggy, Victor rolling in, practically out of nowhere, to deal with them. She probably should’ve found it a bit odd or something, especially after he’d said he felt responsible for what happened to her as a reply when she asked if he was following her instead of an outright yes or no. Still, she’d thanked him and watched him roll back toward Goodsprings…part of her wishing he’d stayed a bit longer as she headed back into the Mojave.

“Well now,” Victor replied, amused from the recalling of their last encounter, “I headed back alright. But not long after, I got the sudden notion to roll on over to New Vegas.” Victor added. “I sure hope you ain’t gotten yourself into too much trouble without ol’ Vic around to shoot down any critter thinkin’ of jumpin’ ya.” He chuckled softly.

She shook her head, chuckling as she was going to reply, though New Vegas was exactly where she was headed to face the man who’d nearly killed her. leaving her with two bullets aching in her skull and buried 6 feet under alive. Victor, heading the same way, seemingly out of nowhere, left her puzzled since she couldn't remember if she told him if she was leaving that way or not.

“Oh? What for?” she asked, trying not to pry. She wasn’t suspicious just genuinely curious, caught off guard, a few possibilities quietly running through her mind from when she’d checked his system back in Goodsprings. But she decided not to dwell on them too much, choosing instead to enjoy this unexpected reunion.

The cowboy tilted his hat, the cigarette in his mouth shifting sides as he thought, then shook his head.

“I don’t rightly know,” he said casually looking back at the rodeo clown before him. “Figure I’ll find out when I get there.”

“I guess you will,” Bombita said, glancing around. “But why stop in Novac? I mean…” She looked back at the gas station, then at him. “I’m not really familiar with your build. Nothin' like the mechanical bull I’ve tinkered with. If it’s fuel, I don’t think this place has any. Actually, if you need power, I could—”

She trailed off, without realizing she was rambling. Her thoughts jumped from suspicion to concern to half-baked ideas about power and who knows what else, but she couldn’t help talking. She was just happy...relieved to see a familiar face after getting hit with so much in the Mojave. It was kind of amusing to him. She’d been like this from the start. Back in Goodsprings, once she’d fully recovered, she’d talked to Victor the same way, filling silence with thoughts, silly jokes, and questions about Goodsprings, the events, and especially about him. Full of that same bright, colorful energy, even after taking bullets. Victor wasn’t sure if it came from the wound or if she’d always been that lively, but either way, he enjoyed the attention and her.

“Now, now,” Victor said with a chuckle, lifting his hands...well something like hands, claws opening in a gentle, easy-there motion. “I ain’t here for fuel or anythin' else like that, and I don’t need none of that truly. I ain’t no car, darlin’, and I sure ain’t no mechanical bull that you be tinkern’ on.” He chuckled, voice warm as he continued. “Truth is, we’re both headin’ the same way. I’d be a sight more surprised if we didn’t run into each other from time to time. Though, Can’t say I don't mind seein’ you again now, though.”

The way he said it in that charming friendly tone made Bombita’s brain pause for a sec. She tugged at the side brims of her hat, trying to hide her head if she could as she could a bit of blush that was growing behind her painted red cheeks. She felt the same way but didn’t want to sound foolish despite how foolish she paraded herself looking.

“R-right—yeah!” she said quickly. “Um, me too!” She pretended to fix her gloves while fidgeting with her shirt’s knot just to keep her hands busy from the growing nerves. “It’s just… nice seeing a familiar face out here. Makes everything feel less tense. And believe me, I know tense—I’m a rodeo clown! Been stuffed in a barrel one too many times.”

She laughed, though there was truth in it. Running into Victor now made things feel easier.

“Likewise, friend, likewise,” Victor said kindly as the cowboy on the screen nodded his head. “Now that we’re talkin’, is there anything ol’ Vic can do ya for?”

Bombita tapped her finger to her bottom lip, then the tip of her red nose, glancing at the motel and back at Victor.

The moment stretched in laughter and conversation that mingled in the light Mojave breeze of the ever growing evening, until a yawn slipped out before she could stop it in between her words. At first, she was standing in front of him, but the weight of her supplies and the long walk made her shoulders slump. Victor subtly shifted, offering his arm without a word as he noticed the rodeo clown slowly calm down. Her hand brushed against the bumpy texture of the build of his arm, then almost unconsciously she leaned her shoulder against him, practically weightless against his massive frame. Her cream-colored hat tilted as she settled closer, sighing hesitantly before speaking.

“Hey—uh… how about we stick together?” she blurted, glancing up at his screen. “I was gonna ask back then, but you rolled off before it even hit me. Feels like a better time now, since I’m not being jumped by more geckos.” She laughed as she crossed her arms a bit over her chest leaning on him as her foot lightly kicks the dirty and ruble underneath it. “I really enjoy our little conversations. Wouldn’t mind keeping it that way instead of leavin’ it up to chance. I mean, next time you see me, I might be bald and a mime!”

Victor’s face softened into a quiet smile. The kind, unsure, sincere way she asked stirred something in his system.

“Well,” he said gently, “I do appreciate the offer. But I oughta conserve my strength if I’m gonna make it to Vegas. And I reckon a little firecracker like you would do just fine without ol’ Vic slowin’ you down.”

Bombita’s small smile dipped. She fumbled with her sleeves a bit as she looked closed her eyes before looking back up at him.

“Yeah… I get it,” she admitted as she nodded her head, “Though… it wouldn’t hurt to try traveling together for a bit…” She stretched out the words, her brown eyes flicking up at him, searching for any sign of change, then shrugged. “But if you gotta go, you gotta go… gone with the wind,” she murmured dramatically, hiding the small smile that twitched on her lips when she noticed his slight eye roll at her over-the-top humor.

She stayed leaning against his arm, her tiny frame pressed briefly to his dusty metal. Victor chuckled softly, warm even in the mechanical hum, and nudged her gently.

“Now don’t you go gettin’ upset,” he said. “Somethin’ tells me we’ll be bumpin’ into each other again sooner than you think, sugar.”

Bombita nodded, another yawn slipping out as she scratched the back of her head, her gloves tangling in her curls. She leaned in briefly, murmuring sofly,

“…are you sure?”

Her brown eyes flicked up at his screen once more. She didn’t want to be alone now knowing he was traveling the same roads she was. Despite her detours, she wasn’t sure if she’d find anyone else like him to travel with. Someone she felt comfortable with and at least knew. Her tired body leaned against his bumpy texture arm, and her eyes searched for something, anything, that could reassure her of the bond they’d been quietly building.

Victor’s screen flickered, the cowboy’s grin widening.

“Pretty sure,” he said gently, almost flattered by the way she leaned into him and kept asking for his company. If he could have said yes, he would’ve, but he was locked-in on his choice. His only concern now was making sure she got the rest she needed. “Now you better get your clowny self inside and hook yourself up with a room before you fall asleep in this rusty arm of mine.” He nudged her lightly, guiding her forward on her feet proper like.

“Fine, fine… wouldn’t be that bad... We’d have to really travel together then,” she teased as she straightened up, glancing at him with tired fondness.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around then?” she asked.

Victor nodded softly as he adjusted her hat perched on her head, his voice lowering slightly. “Though before you go…" His hand that was on her hat gently rested on her arm as he slightly leaned closer.

"Novac’s seems like a fine town, but when I rolled in, my skin started to itch. Watch yourself, darlin’. Don’t want you in any trouble out here.”

Bombita’s eyes widened slightly at the change in tone, the closeness, and the concern in his voice as he rested that large claw on her arm, alerting yet gentle. She just nodded, taking in his warning, her hand coming up to rest atop his, feeling the hard, rectangular edge beneath her palm as the sound of his staticky and flickering screen was louder along with his system between them.

“Well… watch yourself too, Vic,” Bombita murmured, patting his hand before their touch ended as she readied herself to move. She slung her side bag over her shoulder. The setting Mojave sun leaving a warm glow over the sky that was soon cooling as the roads were quiet despite just them in this moment.

“Better catch you on the road, by whatever chance… unless…?” she called over her shoulder as she walked toward the fenced area. A silent “are you sure?” seemed to linger in her gaze. Hoping that his choice might've changed. Victor just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Until our paths cross again, partner. Now git!" He playfully shooed her off, watching that little rodeo clown scurry off to hopefully sleep soundly.

“Fine Fine! I’ll be hoping it’s soon, then,” she replied, sending him a small smile before finally heading toward the main office of the motel. Her hands gripped the strap of her side bag for support, but in her mind, they still rested on his hand, the fleeting, silent moment that was still ringing in her mind, it was almost too hard for her at this moment to ignore it.

He wasn’t crazy. Probably.

Miles had never liked talking about his work. Sure, he’d explain things when necessary — to editors, to sources, to some poor bastard dumb enough to interrupt him mid-thought — but beyond that? No. People didn’t get it. They either didn’t care, or worse, couldn’t keep up. They’d stare at him like he’d forgotten his meds, like he was just another nutjob with a corkboard full of red yarn.

And speaking of medication — maybe he should start taking it.

Carl from the office had said it with all the subtlety of a Fitbit recommendation: “My cousin had apophenia. They gave him clozapine.”

Maybe. Who knows. Maybe that would help him stop driving six hours through frozen hell just to see Galina. Maybe then he could convince himself it was really about the case — the corruption in the mining town, the story clawing at the back of his skull like a dog with a mouthful of glass.

But that was bullshit.

Because when he wasn’t with her, he was thinking about her.

Not about them. He wasn’t that stupid. He knew better than to romanticize what this was — sharp edges, sex, and sleepless nights. But her? The way her brain cut through bullshit like a scalpel through cartilage? That haunted him.

He’d spend days connecting threads no one else saw, tying together lawsuits, corporate mergers, military contracts, and the cold rot of a town bleeding uranium and lies — and she’d just get it. Instantly. No hand-holding. No polite nodding. Just that flash in her eyes like she’d caught the scent of blood.

Fucking sexy.

She didn’t listen — she understood. Every niche, obscure and fucked up reference, every half-muttered conspiracy — she caught it midair, dissected it, reassembled it cleaner. And worse: she made his mind feel like the slower one.

“True, true,” she murmured that night, frowning slightly as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Her voice was husky and ran down through his spine.

Miles watched her, of course. Her lips were still swollen, and her red hair, instead of being a mess, had only gotten fuller, as if logic didn't apply to her, as if even after he’d dug his fingers into it, pulled at it, and rubbed it against the pillow, it still refused to budge. Her skin still burned with the memory of his hands and teeth working on her like a dog licking a bone. She was a mess in the way ruins were — beautiful, intricate, dangerous.

“Basically,” she continued, almost absentmindedly, “they’re trying to pass a modern Enclosure Act, but with uranium instead of farmland.”

Miles smiled. A slow, hot bloom in his chest. “Exactly.”

And then she was gone again, lost in his report like everything else had ceased to exist. “Fucking parasites,” she muttered. “They should all rot.”

He leaned back, heart buzzing, caught somewhere between triumph and exhaustion. She got it. She always got it.

“I tell you this shit because everyone else just blinks at me. ‘Get some rest, Miles. You’re obsessed, Miles.’ But you…” He trailed off, eyes locked on her. “You see it.”

Galina exhaled smoke, that amused little smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just historical recycling. Same con, new century. We’re monkeys. We never learn. But you’re gonna get yourself killed, though”

He didn’t even argue. Just closed his eyes, sinking into the mattress, drunk on some unfamiliar kind of comfort. He might’ve dozed off, if not for the telltale creak — her weight shifting — and the sudden gust of smoke blown in his face in perfect rings.

He opened one eye. “Really?”

He caught her wrist — not hard, just enough to say stop. She didn’t resist. Just smirked like he was a monkey who’d learned to juggle. With his free hand, he took the cigarette and stubbed it against the wall.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t yell. Didn’t so much as blink.

Just turned back to her page.

He would’ve preferred her to scream. Throw him out. Make a scene. But no — she just flipped to the next paragraph like it was a Wednesday.

A few seconds passed.

Then she tensed.

He saw it — a flicker of something sharp in her expression as she read.

“Is that the official explanation?” she scoffed, scanning the page. “Idiots.”

Miles propped himself up on his elbow, heart still beating too fast from the cigarette stunt. “You got a better theory? It’s not finished yet. I’m still anchoring threads, there’s a gap—”

She tossed the pages onto the nightstand.

“You’re thinking too small,” she said flatly. “It’s not just uranium. The land has history.”

And that was it. Click.

The final gear. Rusted, old, but there it was. The point hadn’t been the extraction — it was what came next. The land wasn’t dead. It was changing hands. They wanted to build. An oil plant? Cover one crime with another.

Bastards.

Miles felt it settle — that awful, inevitable truth in his chest.

It had never been about romance. He didn’t believe in that shit. That was for people who needed it — people with free weekends and common issues that weren’t worth reporting.

He wasn’t that guy.

He’d done the whole dance before — flowers, chocolates, all the dumb things people said when they didn’t know how to mean anything else. But this?

But this — damn it — something in him curled toward her like a stray.

He didn’t care if she felt the same. That wasn’t what mattered. She let him near. She let him stay. She didn’t ask for his feelings, didn’t try to shape them, didn’t even look at them too closely.

And somehow, that was everything.

She let him keep them. Like she knew they were his alone — like she understood that loving her didn’t mean he wanted to be possessed, only that he wanted to orbit close, quietly, dangerously, on his own terms.

He’d poured himself into stories for years. Chased down truths no one wanted to hear. Been beaten, locked up, called insane. And maybe he was. Only crazy people say they’re not crazy. But what the hell else could you call a world like this?

Still, lying half-naked in the bed of a woman who could out-argue, out-think, and out-burn him on any given day — maybe the meds wouldn’t help.

Because if he was sane, he wouldn’t feel like this every time she opened her mouth. Wouldn’t want to kiss her just to shut her up. Wouldn’t feel this twisted sense of awe at every bitter word she threw at the world.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. (She was, unfortunately.) It wasn’t even about sex. (Though, Jesus.) It was her.

Her reactions.

Her rage.

Her brutal intellect.

He’d describe some horror — Some cover-up rotting under NDAs, some human rights atrocity no one had the stomach to print— and she’d snarl. She’d hiss curses, as if she were ready to drag the guilty out of their graves and put them on trial herself.

And sometimes, God, sometimes he imagined writing just for her. Handing her his notes, letting her flip through them with that tight-lipped expression, hearing her mutter, “Burn in hell, you bastards,” under her breath.

He’d never been a romantic.

But if he was?

While considering things i thought of this. the adventure line being used like a highlighter on a page of notes to help keep things on track.

to organize thoughts and keep things in "control."

idk if this has been mentioned before. it was just a thought that popped into my head while i considered why there might not be an arrow on the tip of the line.

food for thought. if you will:

imagine the narrator has been at work all night trying to meet a deadline for the project and he keeps getting distracted. desperate to keep in the right state of mind he pulls out his highlighter and his trusty man stan and takes to making a fun game to keep him on track. but due to his exhaustion he becomes caught up in his own activity and ends up utterly lost.