Forge Ahead

You found yourself aimlessly staring at the ceiling for the umpteenth time that week, unable to bring yourself to do anything after coming home from work but lay on the couch. It had been a month since Boothill barged into your apartment, demanding answers to a phase in your life you thought you’d scrubbed every trace of. It wasn't exactly an era you were proud of or even put on job resumes these days. 

Even so, a part of you couldn’t help but blame yourself for keeping it from him. There was no mistake that his reaction was uncalled for, vindictive even, in the way that he channeled his hatred for the organization towards you; but you constantly wondered if bringing it to the forefront earlier on would have mitigated the fallout.

A single beep on your phone pulled you out of your endless thoughts. You blindly patted around for it on the floor, finding where you’d dropped it earlier in your eagerness to dissociate until work tomorrow. You almost forgot that you’d ordered food to be delivered, forgoing your usual pickup. As if you weren’t down enough, your luck thought it would be a great idea to kick you while you’re still lying motionless by closing your comfort food go-to early today. That meant no convenient pick-up from down the street like you usually did. Reluctant as you were, delivery was the way to go right now. 

You tapped on the cascade of notifications only to realize you’d missed several during your out of body experience. The one you heard just now was a reminder beep that your food had been delivered to the lobby 10 minutes ago. 

“Shit. Fuck!” You cursed under your breath as you rolled off the couch and stuffed your feet into your shoes as fast as you could manage. 

You were so preoccupied with checking the confirmation photo that you didn’t see the solid metal wall obstructing your path out the door. Colliding face first into it caused you to fall backwards, landing on your butt and dropping your phone. A groan of pain left you as your nose burned and your hand flew up to rub it, hoping it would help the sensation go away faster.

“Oh! Shirt, sorry ‘bout that.” 

You froze upon hearing the substitute profanity, your nose still stinging as cowboy shoes came into focus past your hand. Your eyes traveled up his black chaps, the chip in his chestplate, and his signature red scarf before finally landing on a face you hadn’t seen in 4 weeks and 3 days.

Seeing as you literally ran into him, your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you. It’s definitely Boothill occupying your doorframe right now. 

He stared down at you, seemingly at a loss of whether or not to help you up off the floor. His eyes are the complete opposite of your last encounter. The soft grey has returned, replacing that angry red he burned a hole into you with last time. Even his expression that was once a grimace towards you is now apprehensive.

Ultimately, he offers you a helping hand as he takes a step forward, but you don’t take it. Despite your late night pleading and begging to whatever Aeon you thought would listen, you’re still stunned that he’s at your door. A mix of fear and hesitancy crossed your face as you got up on your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he steps back to his side of the door, giving you space.

“Uhh…Howdy,” he greeted, his usual bravado absent. The waving motion he did was way too mechanical even for him, simply opening and closing his hand at shoulder length before slowly lowering to his hip. This was the most awkward and uncomfortable you’d ever seen him in your life. He was at a loss for words as he simply stood there, the doorframe standing as a yawning chasm between the two of you, the rift only growing wider with every second. You decided to say something, anything, for this moment to pass faster. 

“You look like shit,” you commented. Smooth.

“Hah.” It was then that he must have realized he hadn’t said anything after greeting you, despite you expecting him to have something else to say. “So do you,” he retorted. He noticed that your sunken eyes matched his. 

You let out a weak laugh. “Do you want to come in?”

“…Yeah.”

You step to the side, allowing him to pass as you close the door behind him. 

The two of you sat on opposite sides of the couch, your fingers interlocking in your lap and his hand moving to rub the back of his neck, unable to even look at you now. For a moment, you began to wonder why he was even here, as he didn't seem prepared for this conversation at all. You, however, had been thinking about this exchange for a long time now. Throwing him a bone, you began to speak. 

“I’m not going to say what you did was alright, but I should’ve mentioned it at some point. It's probably best for you to know now if we want to continue.”

Continue was a nice word to use. It was a chance. 

You take a deep breath, but not as deep as you wished it would be. The weight on your chest wouldn’t allow you to go to your full lung capacity. “The IPC’s got several orphanages they run. You know that right?”

“Right. They usually educate and funnel all those kids into their departments based on their test scores.”

“I was one of those kids.”

Boothill’s jaw tightened.

“P25, Strategic Investment Department, the whole works.” You waved your hand, none of these titles having any meaning to you anymore before you began hugging your knees up on the couch, clasped hands resting on top. “Got assigned to survey a particular planet, and it went sideways before I could even blink. The locals were not happy about potentially turning over ownership to the IPC.”

A story he was all too familiar with. It was a trip down memory lane he was not prepared for.

“They razed the place to the ground to get rid of ‘em didn’t they.”

You didn’t answer, averting your gaze as you dug your toes into the soles of your shoes, but it was the only answer Boothill needed.

“All my life, I’d been taught that the IPC was a force for good. That if I turned my back on them then I’d be biting the hand that feeds. It shook me up so bad I couldn’t even finish my 2 weeks. Under their records, I’m probably considered a deserter. I might even be considered deceased.” You scoff. “Who cares right? I’m just some orphan that was no longer providing the resources they needed, what do they care?” You looked away as your eyes began to shine with tears.

“Hey,” he placed his hand on your shoulder, his voice soft and careful.Your body shook as you willed yourself not to break down. “Don’t talk about my partner like that.Those shirtbags don’t know what they’ve lost. You’re smart and funny, everyone I've met that knows you looks up to you because of how strong you are.”

“But I’m not strong. I ran away.” you corrected him, pressing your palms to your eyes from frustration. “I can’t fight them like you do.”

He pulled you closer now, your tears beginning to stain his jacket as he rubbed your back.Your hands clung to the leather like a crying newborn, shaking and grasping until your knuckles turned white. “Listen to me. Bein’ strong doesn't just mean bein’ able to shoot a gun. It means bein’ able to pick up the pieces when you think all’s lost. Fightin’ to see another day when you think there won’t be one. That's bein strong.” He closed his eyes, his apology long overdue. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I took it way too far and shoulda talked to you first instead of bargin’ in like a mad bull.” Your tears slowly dried up as he finally voiced what you were waiting for. Even then, you weren’t ready to forgive him. You still had nightmares of him pointing his pistol at you, your life a hair’s breadth away from being snuffed out. But maybe in due time, you would. 

He pulled back from you before speaking, conviction in his voice as well as his eyes.

“I love you.” His voice is firm in his declaration as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your shoulders. You look up at him and place both your hands over your mouth, your heart practically leaping out of your chest as you sit there speechless. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that he’d asked you to marry him instead judging from your reaction. “What’s wrong?”

You averted your eyes, ashamed of your observation. “Thats the first time you’ve said it without me saying it first.”

It was him that should be ashamed. Graey would tan his grown metal ass for acting so foolish.

He sighed, displaying a guilty look as his shoulders slumped. “Guess I’ll just have to make up for that huh?” 

You look back over to him, wiping the last remnants of tears out of your eyes before agreeing.

“Well, now that we’ve made up, I’m hungry,” You stand up and place your hands on your hips, eager for your voice to return to normal. “The food I ordered should be downstairs. We can share it! I’ll be right back.” With that, you make your way over to the door and pick up your phone. The smiles you exchange before you leave are awkward but fond. 

The elevator ride is silent, save for the sound of machinery carrying you down the shaft. The weight from earlier felt as though it were reduced as you took another deep breath. Just as you go on the search to match the photo to your location, an older voice calls you over. 

“Ah! Just the person I wanted to see!” You whip your head around to turn your attention to an elderly woman, who you recognize to be Miss Marsh, the apartment building gossip. Most people made sure to avoid her in case they didn’t want their business to get out, but you considered her to be fairly harmless. She waddles over to you, her cane steadying her steps as she did so. Once she was close enough, she leaned in with her hand on one side of her face. You obliged her by meeting her halfway, despite no one else being in the lobby.

“Dear, I don’t mean to alarm you but I think you might have a stalker on your hands.” 

You knit your brows in confusion as you looked down at her. “A stalker?”

“Yes!” She continued to whisper to you, though her whispering voice sounded similar to her regular talking voice. “Every night for the past 2 weeks, there’s been a crazed looking cyborg standing at your door! I don’t think he realizes, but I can see him through my peep hole. He’s there every night for at least an hour before walking back to the elevator. Do you know him? Does he live here?” 

Your eyes go wide, taking in what she said before a breathy laugh escapes your mouth.”Yeah Miss Marsh, I know him. That's my boyfriend. He’s kinda shy.”

The old woman scoffed, likely disappointed that the story was not as juicy as she thought it would be. “Well, tell him to be shy somewhere else. He’s intimidating the other tenants!" By “other tenants”, you were sure she meant just herself, but you didn’t want to push it. 

“I will Miss Marsh. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

You watched her nod approvingly before returning to take the elevator up. With that out of the way, you turned your attention back to looking for the food delivery. 

—

You sadly made your way back up to the apartment, your dejected face not going unnoticed by Boothill. 

“Whassa matter?”

“The food I ordered is gone,” you sighed. This was why you only found it inconvenient to order delivery to your apartment. If you weren’t literally standing guard while it was in pursuit, it would end up in some passerby’s hands that deemed it as free food when you didn’t immediately come get it. 

He shrugged, the answer obvious to no one but him. “Let's just go out.”

You shook your head. “Where? Everything’s closed here.”

“Here? Maybe. A star system away? It's mid afternoon. There’s still some juice left in my warp drive.”

Your eyebrows raised at his suggestion. “I can go on your ship?” You couldn’t hide the excitement in your voice. You’d only seen it a handful of times, only when he was set to go on a mission. Even then, you’d never been inside.

“Sure. I think it's about time you get to witness my raccoon’s nest.” He seemed to already be returning to his snarky self as time went on. 

With a newfound vigor, you grab your jacket and hastily put it on, immediately ready to leave once you stuff your wallet and keys into the pocket. Boothill mentions a shop he thought you’d like that he tried recently, and you can’t help it when your chest warms from the thought of him thinking about you all this time. 

Another door down the hall opens when you close and lock yours, Miss Marsh opting to take a closer look at the cyborg that's been darkening your doorstep for the latter half of the month.

You give a cheerful wave and encourage Boothill to do the same, the cowboy tipping his hat to her with his signature grin.

She simply narrows her eyes at him, pointing to her own and then at him before closing her door.

Boothill seldom talked about his traditions and interests before becoming the silver cowboy that he is today, so when he does choose the time to do so, you listen with all the intent and concentration you can muster. 

It manifests when you’re watching a movie together, the scene of a man hunting in the snow covered woods lighting up the tv screen. The camera pans to his boots, animal tracks prevalent as he begins to follow them to wherever they lead. 

“Pretty convincin’ rabbit tracks,” he comments, his head in your lap as you sit on the couch with a blanket over you. It piques your curiosity. 

“How do you know they’re rabbit tracks?” 

You don’t know when he picked up the remote, but he rewound to the specific frame they were shown at with ease. “It’s basically four dots in the snow, kinda shaped like a T formation.”

You tilted your head. “I thought rabbit’s feet were huge.”

“They are. But they don’t put the whole o’their hind feet on the ground when they’re runnin’ round.”

You hum, and a comfortable silence envelops you both as he unpauses the movie. Another scene shows a larger set of tracks, and you guess blindly. “Bear?”

He shakes his head, the locks of his white hair following suit as it dangles off your knees. “Snow leopard.”

Soon enough, a large snarl is heard before the protagonist dodges at the last minute, barely escaping being mauled by the large cat in front of him.

“Told ya.” He adorns a smug smile while looking up at you, his legs crossing at the ankles as they rest atop the arm of the couch. 

You don’t know what prompts you to say it. Maybe it was the yearning to know more about the man you loved who tended to be so closed off when it came to discussing their past. Perhaps it was your natural curiosity for new things. Either way, you wanted to know more. 

“Can you teach me?” 

He seems to be taken aback by your question, looking up at you with slightly widened eyes. He turns skeptical awfully quick, his eyes going half lidded before answering. “Now to what use would a city dweller like yerself would that be?”

You shrug. “It’s not like this entire planet is completely covered in high tech buildings. Just most of it…,” you shyly admit. “But what if there’s an apocalypse y'know? That’s a pretty useful skill.” 

He howls so hard you can see the entire inside of his mouth, his hand wiping away imaginary tears. 

“No need t’grasp at straws sweetheart. If you want me t’teach ya I’ll teach ya.” His eyes closed, a confident smile spreading across his face. “Couldn’t track your way outuva a paper bag with yer current level.”

Your laugh came out more like several hums as you grabbed his cowboy hat resting on the opposite arm of the couch and pushed it down onto his face. He mumbled incoherent protests as your fist pounded on the crown, pushing it down further while his mechanical hands blindly searched for yours. 

—-

With streets so bustling and lights so bright the stars are blotted out of the sky, your planet is no good for practical lessons. All you can do is go over the book he gifted you again, a “random souvenir” he just so happened to pick up after a mission.  

He says he’ll take you to a planet that's perfect for a lesson once he gets the time. He describes it as one that’s freezing half year round; the white snow is blinding in the day and pitch black at night, the moon orbiting it is minuscule but the stars are plentiful, lighting up the sky like the Aeons themselves strategically placed each one. You can’t help but wonder if he’s exaggerating, making you only more eager for those thousands of stars to align for the outing you had planned. 

Opportunity strikes when you least expect it, a sudden closing of your job when the higher ups deem it too low in temperature to operate that day. You’re more than happy to call the cowboy up on the phone, knowing he’d be back from a recently finished mission soon. “Amateurs,” Boothill scoffs once he hears the news. His resistance to the cold was built up more by the early mornings he had to spend hunting in his younger years than his metal body. 

“Is now a good time?” You didn’t even have to clarify what you were talking about. You could practically see the all knowing glint in his eye accompanied by a grin through the phone.

“Now’s perfect. Timin’ couldn’t be better either.”

He tells you to meet him at the usual spot; an unofficial landing dock that had been abandoned for a much newer more convenient space a couple miles away. You recalled he still liked using this one to avoid the crowds and droves of rude gawkers that would stare at him while he waited for you (The decision to do so came to a head when you had to practically pry him off a scruffy old man. Whatever he said to him riled the cowboy up good, because he’d taken at least 1 firm metal knuckle sandwich to the face before you’d even gotten there. You could tell by the black eye that was quickly forming before you ushered Boothill away, rushing onto the ship before the authorities could arrive.).

And that’s where you find yourself waiting now. You readied your backpack and took extra precaution to bundle up properly as Boothill mentioned that the planet you two were headed to was often at freezing temperatures and only got colder at night. 

Though he said it would only be 10 more minutes, you find yourself waiting longer than that. The snow serves as a fitting distraction as you stick your tongue out, stepping around once in a while to catch snowflakes on it.

It takes you by complete surprise when a strong hand grabs you by your shoulder and turns you around, the motion startling you before catching a blur of black and white coming closer. The snowflake on your tongue practically evaporated as it was smashed between two open mouths, an all too familiar hum from a certain cowboy accompanying it. 

You’re both panting by the time he pulls away, your breaths billowing together into a thick fog. “You’re late,” you mention as a smile creeps across your face. There’s no bite in your words whatsoever. 

Boothill licks his lips while wiping away the bit of saliva that leaked from the corner of your mouth. “I’d say I’m fashionably late.”

You couldn’t really argue with that. It seemed as though he’d gotten a winter version of his regular outfit tailor made, though it definitely seemed to be more for fashion over function. His midriff was still exposed and his sleeves were still up, but with the built in revolver in his arm, you doubted he could put them down if he wanted to (you offhandedly began to wonder how he even got the jacket on, suddenly not remembering how he’d go about putting it on when he woke up next to you.). If anything, the only difference about it was that there seemed to be fur lined on the inside of it. “You’re not cold?” Your curiosity manifested into a single question.

He shook his head. “Jus thought I’d wear somethin’ different for our little excursion. Basically got a built-in heater. Evens out pretty nicely when it gets workin’.”

To demonstrate, he held out his hand to you. His metal fingers gleaming invitingly as you put out yours for him to grab…

Only for him to snatch off your glove and do just that. However, instead of the warm smothering heat you were expecting, it was a sheer cold sensation that sent a chill through your arm and down your spine.

A predatory grin split his face as he watched you gasp and recoil, only for his grip to tighten so that you couldn’t let go. The other hand that you didn’t notice was behind his back dropped a pile of snow, the likely culprit as to why he suddenly felt so frigid. 

“No fair!” you chuckle as you swatted at his hand like you would to an unruly child, prompting him to finally release you from your icy prison. 

He responded with a hearty laugh, sealing it with a couple snorts at the end. “All’s fair in love and war sweetheart. Gotta keep yer guard up!”

You scoff. Him pulling pranks was a sign that he was in a very good mood. “Alright salt ‘n pepper. Are you ready to go or what?”

His nose wrinkled as you got partial revenge with that silly nickname, but still smiled. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

His ship is already warned up and ready to go when you get on, and it encourages you to loosen your snow gear when he informs you that it’ll take about 30 minutes to warp to your destination. You take the time to go over the images and characteristics in your book again, but then turn your full attention to him when he starts speaking.

“Fresh snow’s ideal for a beginner,” he started. “If it’s still comin’ down, tracks get covered up by more snow. Best t’start just after it’s done.” he continued to give last minute advice as the two of you began to enter the orbit of the planet he’d talked so highly about. You couldn’t help but notice the look of enthusiasm on his face as he explained the finer details of tracking. A dash of nostalgia would occasionally set in his features, his eyes distant and wistful when he silently recalled a memory for himself.

Once he properly landed the ship, the two of you double checked your gear and prepared to head out.

He made his way to the door with you in tow before suddenly stopping, turning to you on his heel before crossing his arms. “You remember the rules?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You raise your hand as if you’re reciting a scout’s mission, confident in your answers. “Don’t just keep your eyes on the ground. Be aware of your surroundings.”

“And?”

“Don’t be too loud or you’ll scare off the animals.”

“Aaaand?” He adorned a smile that reached his eyes now, his body leaning towards you as he waited for the most important rule.

You smile and roll your eyes, recalling exactly how he phrased it, accent and all. “Don’t stray too far from the rootin’ tootin’ handsome cowboy guide that is yer boyfriend.”

“Atta girl.” Boothill booped your nose before turning back around and immediately opening the ship’s door, a canvas of white silhouetting him before he made his way down the steps. The cold hit your face like a soft pillow, cool but smothering as you made your way down the stairs. You immediately noticed how much thinner the air was, your breaths becoming more frequent.

Boothill hadn’t mentioned whether or not the planet was inhabited, but as far as you could tell, this area was completely untouched by industrial and urban innovation. There were trees of evergreen and regular oaks alike, the former filled with full bristles while the latter were barren; their branches like rigid hands that desperately reached for the sky. You squinted your eyes as the endless white blanket of snow was almost blinding.

“This way,” Boothill directs after giving you a moment to take in your surroundings, leading you to the opposite direction you were looking. His pace was steady but slower than his regular walking speed, and you set to match him as the snow packed and crunched under your boots. The same type of trees were this way, but it didn’t look like their numbers were as plentiful. You soon realized why when they were passed to reveal a clearing. Several patches of grass and tall plants littered the ground, a balding grass field stretching out before you. 

“Let’s start with somethin’ small. Why don’t ya take a look around?” His tone is gentle and quiet, and you find it encouraging. 

You smile and nod, finding the cold leaving you breathless when you start to exert yourself more. 

Your steps are light and methodical as you waddle your way around the field, eyes fixated on the ground before looking up once in a while in case you suddenly run into a critter. Your walking pattern is the same as if you were mowing grass, going up and down the field with no blade uncut with your eyes until you finally spot something. Flagging Boothill down, he makes his way over as you crouch down to get a closer look at the footprints. 

“So? What are they?” Boothill quizzes you. 

Your brow furrows as you study the length and spacing of the indents in the snow, your index finger pushed against your front teeth as you think. Whatever made them is an animal with 4 toes on its front and 5 toes on its back with tiny indents in front, indicating that it also has claws. The front paws are also noticeably smaller than the back paws. “Squirrel?”

“Bingo. Nice job, sweetheart.”

You smile and fist pump into the air, a silent display of triumph as you successfully identify the tracks. The gesture immediately takes him back to a different planet, a younger him making the same correct inference. He rustles what little hair is sticking out of your hood the way Nick did to him despite you being too old for that, and you protest in the same way he did. 

He’s silent for a while as the trudged up memory fades, his mind slotting in the current one next to it.

“What’s next?” You ask, giving him an opportunity to fully come back to the present. 

“Why don’t we try the reverse, hm? Think you can find me some rabbit tracks?”

You don’t find the rabbit tracks, but you do find that the cold begins to penetrate your several layers of clothing.

That’s all you manage to discover before you tell him that you’re getting chilly. The two of you head back to the ship and you plop yourself down next to the heater, an audible sigh escaping you. 

You must have looked more bummed than you realized, because he saunters over after a couple minutes to recite his signature phrase for when you were down. 

“Why so glum, sugarplum?” His southern drawl adds extra sweetness to it.

It never fails to make you give him a look, your eyes crinkling and a smile that shows all your top teeth. One that screams ‘you’re so cute when you rhyme’. He closes his eyes and gives a triumphant smile that screams back ‘I know’.

You purse your lips before deciding to voice your concern, beginning to put your gloves back on before you prepare to head out again. “I’m hoping those squirrel tracks aren’t the first and last ones I see today.”

He comes closer to you, assisting in buttoning your coat back up since your gloved hands were having trouble doing so, impressed that his smooth metallic fingers could handle it. “You gotta be patient darlin’. Sometimes you end up lookin’ for a long time, sometimes you just gotta be in the right place at the right time. Lots o different variables to consider.” He said, admiring his handiwork before moving on to tying your scarf around your neck. “When the time’s right, just be sure you’re ready to strike at the right moment!” He emphasized the word strike by pulling both ends of your scarf taut around your neck and up to your nose. “Or rather, observe. Ain’t no huntin’ today.”

Your day went on like this in a steady cycle; searching for signs of life, following said signs until the trail ran cold or you discovered the maker, and occasionally going back to the ship to warm up again and rest. The subsequent visits to the ship consisted of you straddling him with his internal temperature on high, speeding up the process of warming up again (or was it slow down? It took just as long as when you would sit by the heater, but certainly not because you were cold). You even broke for lunch at one point, sharing the leftovers of a hearty vegetable soup you’d made earlier this week. Boothill appreciated that you’d spiced it just the way he liked it; a hefty amount of cayenne pepper for a nice warm kick. Even more perfect for cold weather like this. “Right. One more outing, then we can call it a day.” he announced as you screwed the lid back onto the thermos. “Think you can sniff out some deer tracks somewhere?”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him. 

The sun is sinking into the horizon by the time you conclude scouting the deer tracks you’d found. They look as though someone pressed the side of 2 dragon claws into the snow, a gap in between the 2 sides of the prints. They lead to a towering mountain that looks as though it would take days to hike. Looks like you won’t be seeing them in the flesh today.

“S’pose it’s about time,” he muses. 

“Time for what?” 

He doesn’t speak anymore, only prompts for you to follow him with eye contact and a jerk of his head in a specific direction. 

The puffs of air you make only get thicker as night falls, the temperature dropping even more as dusk comes and goes. Though you thought he was exaggerating, the scenery wasn’t too far off from what he described. The cowboy that had been so clear in the light of day was now a burgundy silhouette in front of you as you couldn’t even see the tiny moon in the sky, likely sitting in a place you couldn’t see, especially with all the thick evergreen patching your line of sight. You expressed your degrading vision to him with a light tap on his shoulder and a wave of your hand in front of your face. He gives you an understanding smile and holds out his cape, your gloved fingers reaching out to grab it before he begins to string you along.

You take tentative steps before the cape you’re holding suddenly lowers, indicating that Boothill has crouched down in front of you. You can make out the gleaming metallic of his hand pointing to peculiar indents in the snow, prompting you to bend over and look in that direction. It's deer tracks, although you think that they’re awfully huge for deer tracks. Their depth looks to be several inches deep as well, so the weight and size of whatever made it must be phenomenal. Not only that, but there was more than one set of them. Not wanting to stray too far from Boothill, you craned your neck to see more indents in the snow over the rather large path, counting at least 5 pairs that you could see from here alone. You give him a puzzled but worried look, and he shakes his head with a smile, likely trying to reassure you. He brings his index and thumbs together while placing them at the corners of his eyes before opening his hands, his mouth widening as well. 

Alright then, whatever he was going to show you was sure to knock your socks off. 

As you follow him, you notice that the path you’re taking starts to incline and leads to a high cliff. You thought you might have been mistaken, but as you came closer, you were certain that an almost iridescent glow was emanating from the top. The silence of the tundra gradually flooded with heavy hooves and grunting. Boothill veers to the side of where the glowing was coming from and you seamlessly follow, his steps leading you to a messy row of evergreens that slightly blocked out the mysterious glow. He pokes his head out from behind the trees first before turning to you. You can make out a satisfied grin as his teeth shine in what little light there is as he motions for you to do the same. 

In front of you is a scene you thought you’d only see in a dream. The hill is occupied by what looks to be a herd of deer, though as their footprints in the snow indicated, they’re much larger than any species of deer you’ve known. They even dwarf the size of a moose as they congregate. But what causes you to stare in awe the most is the sight of their heads. 

The light that you saw illuminating the hill and now dancing across in patterns on their fur was coming from their antlers. You couldn’t even tell which ones were male or female, as it looked like all of them had antlers, none more distinct looking than the others just from the naked eye. They looked hollow, most of them housing a constantly swirling internal green. However, some of them adorned antlers that shone purple. The ones that had that color were noticeably in pairs of two, one never wandering too far away from the other.

Boothill was right all along; spotting once in a lifetime sights seemed to be all about being in the right place at the right time. You realize this when the cowboy pats your head to get your attention, motioning to two enormous deer looking creatures in particular that clearly had a different pattern of behavior. Their frequent snorting and grunting at each other dies down as they back away, only to bash heads seconds later. 

You continue to watch as the two purposely lock horns, crashing into each other with all the force they could muster before untangling themselves and going at it again. Their hooves dug into the snow as they held their own, neither giving the other leeway as their muscles rippled under thick fur. They seemed to be testing each other’s strength, repeating their jousting for a while before separating one last time, finally trotting over and bowing their heads so that their antlers connected once more. Sparks flew between their tines, as if they were exchanging information, before you saw them gain that illustrious amethyst color.

The two of you observe the mysterious creatures for a long time, admiring the impromptu light show their horns give off before they begin to disperse. “Welp, looks like they’re takin’ off. Best we do the same.” His whispered voice is right next to your ear, having stayed close this entire time. Humming in agreement, you giggle at him when he dramatically bows to you, handing out his cape for you to grab again. 

“What were those?” Your eyes were blown wide as you asked him, finally out of earshot of the creatures once his ship was in sight. In your original location, the moon you were looking for earlier loomed overhead, beaming down enough light that you found it fine if you released Boothill’s cape now. 

“Not sure if they got any other name, but I’m used to callin’ em Northern Lights. They’re a rare sight. Save for when the temp goes below zero like now.” His hat became dusted with white sprinkles as he spoke, prompting the both of you to look up. “Ready to head out? Snow’s comin down again, gonna cover up any tracks y’woulda found by now anyway.”

“Sure,” You reply, your eyes shifting to the forest before back to him. He raises a brow, immediately picking up on the hint of hesitation. Though you agreed with his declaration to leave, you made no move to board the ship. Perhaps it was the thought of this night ending so soon that made you hesitate, unsure of how to prolong it once the environment wasn’t fit to be grounds to observe anymore. Much to your delight, Boothill had an idea. 

“Tell ya what. Why don’t we make ourselves a fire? Nothin’ like gazin’ out at the night sky, even if there ain’t no stars here.” 

“Okay!” You agree almost instantly, moving closer to his side before following him in a familiar direction. 

Heading back to the field where you found the squirrel tracks, Boothill instructs you on gathering plants that are fit for kindling; the tops of cattails and fluffy heads of goldenrods, and a bundle of dry sticks. It wasn’t long before you both returned with armfuls of flammable material, setting some aside as the cowboy began to strategically place some on a patch of ground you cleared away the snow from. 

Offering to go get the lighter, you take a step towards the ship. Boothill scoffs, insisting he doesn’t need it before producing a rock that you assume to be flint and his trusty army knife. “You carry those everywhere with you huh?”

“Sure do!” His head tilts up proudly as he expertly flips the tool in his hand. “Wouldn’t be caught dead without this baby.” Since he had no nails to speak of, his sharp teeth were the perfect solution for catching onto the grooves on the side. Choosing a particular blade with a straight edge, he flared his lips to pull back on it until it clicked into place. Boothill kneels in front of the pile he made before striking the rock in his other hand, sparks flashing so bright that you squinted your eyes as steel repeatedly grated against the flint. It wasn’t long before the sparks caught onto the dry plants, the fire starting small before gradually growing. Smoke plumed into the air as he fed more tinder to keep it going. 

“Oh! I’ve got just the thing for this occasion!” You make your way inside the ship, shortly coming back holding something in each hand. By the time you do, the campfire is a medium size blaze, highlighting the edges of Boothill’s silhouette as he stood up to see you return. You presented two steaming mugs of hot coca in each hand, already chocked full of peculiar marshmallows.

“Those them bear marshmallows you been harpin’ on about?” He chuckles, watching a family of them swirl in the chocolate mixture as your cheeks puffed up. 

“Bearmallows, thank you very much! We didn’t get to see one today, so we might as well eat them.”

Boothill scoffs. “Like that’s got anythin’ to do with it. You were gonna eat em anyway.”

“Well of course!” It was your turn to proudly display the supplies you brought. “I paid for them, didn't I?”

He offers you a hand when you place the mugs next to the fire, and your eyes narrow in suspicion. “Aw c’mon darlin’, I don’t do the same joke twice! Not on the same day, at least.” You hum, still not convinced that he’s serious just yet. “How can y’not believe this handsome face?” He pushes both index fingers into the apples of his cheeks, though your suspicions rise even higher when he cracks the same toothy grin he did when he got you before. 

You cross your arms and turn away, but he can tell that your resolve is wavering when he spies a smile playing on your lips, finding his gesture to be too adorable to completely ignore. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll have better luck cuddling with the Northern Lights instead.” 

He mutters something under his breath before you hear his steps crunch in the snow. A pair of familiar metallic arms wrap tightly around your waist before you’re lifted off the ground, your feet kicking in the air as your yelp diverts into laughing. His laugh accompanies yours, like two school children horsing around as he spins and goes to sit on a flat rock in front of the fire with you in his lap. 

Much to your delight, he wasn’t lying about only playing a prank once. It didn’t even feel as if you were outside anymore as his elbows pressed against the sides of your waist, hands clasping over your navel as his chin rested atop your head. The amount of warmth he was giving off right now was just as efficient as the heater inside the ship, his body pressed so close to yours that you could feel it through your layers that had begun to be penetrated by the tundra again. Slipping off your gloves and draping them over your thigh, you felt the intricate grooves of his hands, the white joints the most prominent as your thumb ran along his knuckles. The internal heating system implemented into his body paid for itself three times over at this point. What he lacked in softness, he vowed to make up for in the amount of heat that he could generate. Though you emphasized that the firmness of his physique never bothered you one bit, and you made sure he knew you meant what you said when you wind up next to him every morning glued to his side. The deep breath and exhale hum you did sent a pleasant vibration through his circuits, your eyes closing in relaxation. You slowly open them again before the ticking of his mechanized heart inadvertently lulls you to sleep. 

“Who taught you how to track animals, Boothill?” Your first question is curious and soft, but to Boothill, it’s a gentle probing.

He’s silent for quite a while, never taking his eyes off the fire that illuminates the area around you two. The only indication he gives that he heard you is that his hand comes up from under yours to rub his middle finger back and forth along the top of your hand, a sign that he was thinking about it. You think he won’t answer after a long stretch of silence, and you’re ok with that. 

“My old man,” he replies. “Used to go huntin’ with him almost every mornin.” He recalls the sudden consciousness of the daybreak and the deep grumbles of Nick, the man’s gear already equipped as he scrambled to do the same. “Damn near froze our ashes off lookin’ for game.”

Your lips quirk as you look up at him fondly. You can’t help but imagine a younger, possibly more human looking Boothill in the same position you were earlier; his tiny body shivering, nose running, his winter gear adjusted by his father out of love and care. His focus stays on the smoldering fire in front of him, as if it were a screen playing the memory he described. “Ran into one ‘o them special deers before back on my planet. Never saw ‘em again ‘til I came here.”

That being said, it wasn’t as if the majestic creatures didn’t have their own share of pain. When the soldiers of the IPC came down, they found it in their best interest to desecrate everything his people stood to protect. That no less included the Northern Lights. They were hunted to extinction for their glowing horns, their deeds much more akin to poachers than actual hunters. Recalling one of his final memories on his home planet, he came across a dead one when he was older, the blood from its fatal head wound seeping into the earth. As blasphemous as it was to even hunt them, its attackers hadn’t even bothered to make use of any other part of its body. At least the soil had a special place for it once it decomposed long enough. 

“What exactly were they doing with their horns?” Your second question is pure curiosity, recalling their peculiar behavior. He’s constantly grateful for you pulling him out of his sometimes stressful thoughts, whether you were aware of it or not. 

“Matin’ ritual.” His other hand lifts up as his fingers intertwine in front of you, presumably to imitate their horns. “They like to go at it t’see if they make a good fit for each other. If one of them’s too strong, they move on to try someone else. When they’re in agreement with each other, their horns turn that glowin’ purple you saw.” You watch as his fingers pull apart and wiggle “Y’got to see a rare sight today.”

You cross your arms and interlock your fingers with his. The fitting feels pleasant and satisfying, like a solution to a jigsaw puzzle. “Well they’re absolutely breathtaking. I’m glad you were able to find them again.”

Your final question is one that makes his mechanical heart uptick. “Can we do this again sometime?” He looks down at you, astonished. Though he found your enthusiasm cute, he never thought you’d go so far to ask for a repeat visit. It occurs to him that you may have actually genuinely enjoyed yourself.

“Well sure! When we get another chance. Maybe you could even play hooky.” You can hear the excitement in his voice as he’s already planning the next time the two of you visit again. When you look up, a genuine grin is overtaking his face. One that gives a glimpse into the inner child still excited to explore distant lands, see new alien creatures, preferably with you. 

You hummed, wishing that you could capture his expression with a picture, but there was no way you were leaving his arms right now. There was doubt that your camera would even be able to capture the genuine joy on his face. You’d do anything to see him do that more often though, perhaps getting a chance to try and frame it another time. “Playing hooky would be worth it for this.”

He took in your content face, finding an ethereal beauty in the way you were now. Snowflakes gently falling from the sky were like sparkles in your eyelashes, melting away when you would rub at them with the base of your palm only to gather more. Your cheeks were turning a flushed red, a sign that you were still fully human and subject to the elements. You couldn’t turn it off if you tried.