Chapter Text
When they finally returned to Angel Cave, she was beyond exhausted. They had spent a long night dealing with the bodies of both the White Legs and their friends alike. She had personally burned the corpse of Salt-Upon-Wounds—she didn't want Joshua anywhere near his body. The smell still lingered on her things and in her hair. After washing in the shallow river, she put down her bedroll and tried to sleep. It wasn't much use.
She wandered into the caves where she first met Graham, where he had been inspecting a pile of .45s. It hadn't been that long ago, only a matter of weeks, but time in Zion seemed to move at a much slower pace. Or maybe she wasn't ready to return to Nevada.
The fire on the cliff was lit and the camp's only current occupant sat with his back to the cave's mouth. His white shirt was off, folded neatly next to him, along with a pile of rolled, clean bandages. Those still on his torso were stained red and yellow. He was in the process of changing his left arm, a cumbersome task but one he had clearly gotten good at with plenty of practice.
"You can't sleep," he said, not bothering to look behind him.
"Just antsy," she said. "Need any help?"
"I prefer to do this alone."
She sat next to him and took the scissors from his hand. He sighed, having already learned how stubborn she was. You didn't say no to her. You couldn't. Either she wouldn't hear it or you didn't want to in the first place.
"Let me at least help you with your arms," she said. "I've done quite a lot of medic duty in my past. Besides, it'll go faster this way."
"So be it."
She gingerly pulled off his old bandages on his left arm and examined the angry burns underneath. The fact that he felt pain when the air hit his skin was a good sign—it meant the burns hadn't destroyed the nerves deeper down. What he needed was bed rest, months' worth of it. What he was doing in Zion was the opposite of that.
She rewrapped his arm with speed that impressed him. When she moved to his other arm, he tested the first, also surprised at her bandaging skill. He begrudgingly let her do his hands and fingers as well. She finished so quickly that the night air hardly had much time to wreak havoc on his flesh.
"There you go," she said as she finished.
"I admit, you are quite a proficient medic," he said.
"I'd gladly do more," she said as she stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Consider it. For now, I'll leave you alone. I think I'm finally tired enough to sleep."
"Then sleep well," he said.
"You too, Joshua."
She paused at the cave's mouth to glance back at him before heading to her bedroll. When she lay down and stared up at the clear night sky, listening to the nearby sound of the Virgin River, for the first time in a long while, she felt still. She wondered if she had a purpose here.
The next day came and went without her leaving Zion. She spent most of it with Follows-Chalk, sharing stories with him about her life as a courier as they continued to clean the previous night's mess. He had endeared himself to her completely and at this rate, when she walked out of Zion, she wouldn't be surprised if he came along with her.
She wouldn't refuse his company; he certainly was handsome enough. Although, she didn't exactly need any lectures from the rest of the Dead Horses. She didn't necessarily expect one from Graham—he was much different from Daniel, after all.
Graham may have been righteously violent, but at least he didn't infantilize the canyon's residents. She wasn't sure how well she'd sleep if she were in his place, but the ghosts that haunted him were his own. However, this time, the fight was not his doing. The blood was on the hands of White Legs and the Legion. At the end of the day, the Dead Horses weren't unhappy with their decision or with Graham, and that was what mattered most.
She was tired by the time she returned to Angel Cave, having spent the day in borrowed clothing. Her usual gear was right for the desert, but she was tired of being waterlogged all the damn time, so she finally put on something more suited to sloshing around in the river all day, cheerfully provided by the young scout when she asked.
Graham followed them after an hour or so, still in his jeans and snakeskin boots, soaked up to his thighs. She watched him pass as she sat by the fire out front, then stood and excused herself to follow him in. He barely looked over his shoulder, realizing immediately she was behind him.
"What is it?" he asked once they reached the back of the cave where he kept all of his things.
"The reason your burns don't heal is because you refuse to take care of them," she said. "Give me some fresh bandages and let me help you."
"Your aid is unnecessary."
"Unnecessary or improper?"
"I see no reason to choose," he said.
"Just think of me as a medic, nothing else," she said.
"Why are you worrying about something so trivial? Go back to Follows-Chalk," he said.
"The way you describe your pain, I wouldn't consider it trivial," she said, reaching out for his bulletproof vest.
He grasped her hands, squeezing her fingers tightly as he stared at her. She wouldn't give up, he knew that. He had watched how she dealt with the White Legs, the way she took on problems that weren't her own for no reason other than she was capable and thought it was the right thing to do. They were not so different, although she had forgone throwing away thirty years of her life following a cruel dictator.
"I get the distinct feeling you're not going to relent," he said.
"I get the distinct feeling you're never going to stop to properly take care of yourself," she replied.
"There is too much to do."
"The fight is over, Joshua. Besides, I'm curious what your scriptures say about treating your body with such little regard," she said, lifting her brow. "Salt-Upon-Wounds is dead. The man who sent him is in hell with him."
His eyes narrowed at her use of his religious texts against him. Nevertheless, he loosened his grasp on her hands until he released them all together. Turning his back to her, he pulled his vest off and set it aside, then located a supply of clean bandages, rolled neatly in a basket. They were far from new but had been washed and dried with care.
"Give me a bit, please. You can do the rest," he said.
No further explanation was necessary, so she took her leave. She gave him ten minutes as she waited by the fire at the upper camp outside and when she returned, she called ahead before barging in. He gave her a begrudging response.
She found him sitting at his table, his back to the pile of .45s he always seemed to be in the process of maintaining. A blanket was draped across his shoulders, but his head was newly wrapped. She stepped onto the raised part of the cavern, seeing the basket of bandages at his bare feet. To her relief, he had also covered his groin.
For the first time, she could really appreciate the magnitude of his burns. His skin hadn't started to properly scar or contracture since he aggravated his wounds every day. But the fact that he managed to escape being burned alive with a mixture of mostly severe second-degree burns and a smattering of third-degree burns was providence.
"Your diagnosis?" he asked as she knelt in front of him to begin bandaging his legs.
"Honestly? It should have been worse," she said. "You were either fortunate or someone is watching out for you."
He would have laughed if he weren't so miserable, but as she wound the cloth around his foot and then up his leg, the relief was immediate. He couldn't lie—she did a better job than he did on his own. While she was fast, he observed her as she took note of specific areas, pressing on them gently or testing the skin with her finger.
"Has anyone done anything for your burns at all?" she asked.
"What can be done?" he asked as if her question had no answer.
She shook her head as she switched legs, not surprised by his response.
"Quite a bit, if you'd commit to... two months of bed rest," she said.
"Do you have that much time?" he asked.
When she didn't answer immediately, he nodded in satisfaction.
"I didn't think so. Nobody does."
"My life is my own," she said with a bit of indignation as she stood. "Stand up."
He did as she instructed and rested his hands on the top of his head as she began on his chest. As she worked, she idly wondered what he must have looked like before the Legion decided to sear the hell out of him. His skin would forever be scarred, but his figure was in good condition. How he didn't break every bone in his body being thrown into the Grand Canyon, again, seemed impossible. He should be dead.
"You truly are practiced in medicine," he said. "You didn't even flinch when faced with my wounds."
She snorted, giving him a smile.
"You're kidding, right?" she asked. "Your burns aren't pretty, but all of your bones are inside your skin, all of your limbs are attached to your body, and there are no gaping holes to sew up."
She sat him down and started on his arms.
"You ever spent a lot of time with ghouls?" she asked.
"Obviously, the answer is no," he said. "Have you seen a ghoul in the Legion?"
"Well, you look amazing, or would if I could debride these burns properly," she said.
"Are you going to lecture me every day about this?" he asked, half-pretending to be weary of her chiding.
"Yes," she said.
"There's nothing in New Vegas that needs your attention?"
"It can wait," she said.
They were both quiet for a while as she switched arms and neared the end of her task. When she was done, he looked like an old mummy she'd once seen a photo of in a pre-war encyclopedia, except for his blue eyes staring up at her.
"I will not be bedridden. Other than that, I welcome you to take me into your care," he said.
"It's a start," she said. "I'll stop bothering you now. But I'll be back tomorrow to do this all over again. And the day after that."
He grabbed his white dress shirt from the table.
"Continue in patience until ye are perfected," he said under his breath.
Over the next two weeks, she spent the day exploring Zion with the aid of Follows-Chalk for local flora that would help with Graham's wounds. She picked plenty of prickly pear and could scrape together enough Mesquite sap, but it took several days of searching to find any creosote. When she described the plant to her friend, he remembered that it existed somewhere in the canyon, but pinpointing it took time.
In the meantime, she continued to bandage her reluctant patient each new day. He couldn't deny she did a better job than he did alone. Still, he disliked the new routine she introduced in the second week of bringing soap and water to wash and gently clean the worst of his burns before she rewrapped them. She always left him more comfortable than before, so he tolerated all of the ways her care made him uncomfortable.
Sometime in the third week, she brought all of the things she had gathered and set them on his table along with a pestle and mortar. He eyed her with suspicion from his chair, his blanket over his bare shoulders, but said nothing as she prepared her ingredients and added them to her mortar.
He knew so little about her past, but what he did know spoke volumes. She had no interest in religion or sermons, but she seemed to do fine without them. In her wake, she left sinners dead and good people better for having met her. Her life was also about redemption, but not for herself. She was worth admiring.
"I've tried every remedy," he said. "Including these. They have no effect."
"Of course you have," she said.
Her polite implications were apparent. He didn't push her. After all, her determined nature had worked out well for him so far. He had the impression it generally worked out well for people around her.
"Nothing works when you don't take time to heal, Joshua," she said.
She slid over to him and he felt her smear the substance on his shoulder's skin, which screamed in pain at first with her touch, but when she withdrew her hand, the sensation was replaced by a cool relief. The feeling persisted for several seconds, then several more before he realized it wouldn’t immediately dissipate.
"I hope you have more of that," he said.
"I can whip up as many batches as you need."
She smiled smugly.
"Just how long are you planning on staying with us?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I've got a lot of things in New Vegas to do."
The pain flared up as she pasted the poultice on his back and arms. His head dipped forward, his fists clenching as she worked. He focused on the promise of relief once she was done. After several minutes, he felt her hand on the top of his head as the pain subsided, the cool air of the cave crashing against his back. He hadn't felt anything so physically extraordinary in a long time.
"Joshua," she said, her voice soft. "At the fight with the White Legs, I saw a man who was capable of building a new Legion. I saw it in his eyes. And I killed for him, so he wouldn't need to, so he could walk a different path. If I leave him, will I always be looking toward Utah, wondering who he's actually become?"
"Why leave at all?" he asked. "What if your place is here with us? I could use you at my side."
He turned to face her, his eyes searching for her answer. She seemed conflicted and she wore it plainly. She hadn't recoiled from him the first time she fully rebandaged him, laughing off his concerns. And while she hadn't indicated she was leaving any time soon, he realized he disliked the idea of her leaving at all.
"Stay and I'll commit to your medical recommendations," he said.
"I've spent time with Mormons. If I stay, at this rate, you’ll ask me to marry you," she said as she leaned in and began coating his thigh with the salve.
When he remained quiet, she glanced up at him, her hands pausing.
"Joshua. I was joking," she said, resuming her work. "Besides, I'm a gentile."
"Then simply stay as my capable medic."
"You, ah… You considered it, didn't you?" she asked.
"It would certainly make this less strange."
"I don't know about that," she said. "Now, let me finish before I make any more awkward jokes."
Once she had finished, she asked him to sit patiently to let the salve do its work, brought him everything he might need or want, and then left him alone for fear of sticking her foot in her mouth again. As she sat outside, staring at the river, she continued to feel the sting of embarrassment. The more she stewed on it, she realized she had grown more attached to Zion than she realized.
He hadn't moved when she returned, but he had pulled his blanket over his head, which hung low. She had expected to find him reading, but instead, he appeared to be asleep sitting on his bed made of bighorner pelts. She crouched and touched her hand to his. After several minutes, he lifted his head, peeking out at her from beneath his makeshift cowl.
"Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?" he asked.
She smiled, squeezing his hand.
"Beautiful words, but I'm not sure about the army with banners," she said.
"You killed Caesar, I think it applies."
"What's it from?" she asked.
"Doctrines and Covenants by Joseph Smith, but before that, the Song of Solomon," he said. "As a religious text, the Song of Solomon has little value, but it is a beautiful poem. Let me read it to you."
"Since you sat so still for me, I will repay you a favor," she said.
She took her time wrapping him in bandages, not wanting to undo any of her work. For the first time in weeks, the process didn't seem to cause him excruciating pain—the application of the poultice had been the painful part this time around. Once finished, she set his clothes by him.
"I'll meet you outside," she said, then left him.
After getting dressed, he found her by a small fire she had made for herself, away from the others. The evening air had a chill to it, so she had her own blanket drawn across her shoulders. He sat next to her, his scripture in hand. She offered him half of her blanket, which he regarded for a moment. She didn't wait for him and draped it around him, her shoulder against his.
He flipped the book open and hummed softly. Something about him had changed, she could feel it. Maybe it was because her balm had actually worked. Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, he seemed in an excellent mood for the first time since she had met him.
"The song of songs, which is Solomon's. Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine."
She put her hand on the page.
"This is a religious text?" she asked.
"A very old one," he said. "May I continue?"
She nodded, withdrawing her hand.
"Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee."
She snorted softly but didn't stop him.
He read on for a bit as she periodically stoked the fire and readjusted the blanket around their shoulders. After finishing a handful of chapters, he closed the book and tucked it away.
"There's more, but why finish in one evening?"
"Joshua, may I ask why you are reading me romantic poetry?" she asked.
"May I ask why you have shared your warmth with me so readily?"
"For some reason beyond good sense, I believe I've grown fond of you. I didn't know the old Joshua Graham, I only know this one. This one is a good man who wants to protect people, even if he seems a little... intense."
He sighed and slipped his bandaged hand into hers, resting them both on his knee.
"This broken body has nothing to offer you."
"That's a little dramatic but expected."
"There is no way this body can provide a family... or provide certain pleasures."
Her laughter was sudden and loud, punctuating the otherwise quiet evening. She wrapped the entire blanket around his shoulders and clasped it shut at his chest with her hands. Her eyes glimmered in a way he knew meant trouble.
"Question for you," she said.
"Go ahead."
"In this poem of yours, how many lines are dedicated to family planning?" she asked.
"None."
"Follow-up question: do you have hands and a mouth?"
"Perhaps we should call it an evening," he said.
"You brought it up. I assume when you said, 'provide certain pleasures,' that was an innuendo for vaginal sex. Right? You're not saying no, just giving me this terrible look which must mean I'm right," she said. "You don't need your dick to get a woman off, and good news, she doesn't need it to get you off, either."
"This was not a conversation I expected to be having."
"Oh Joshua," she said. "You're too old for this. What a dull sex life you must have had for thirty years."
She grinned, her clasped hands sliding up the edges of the blanket until they bumped his chin.
"We should probably stop talking about this lest I instill inappropriate thoughts in your righteous mind. That is, unless you want to get into that sham marriage so I can do unspeakable things to you."
He gave her a sharp glare.
"We have no bishop," he said.
She tutted her tongue and stood, unsure if he joked in return or if he was serious.
"Lord help us all," she said, then left him alone with a harried mind full of improper thoughts.
The days went on and every morning, she still felt no reason to go. She treated his burns and sat with him as he let her poultices do their work. Her hands were still tender, her touch delicate. He read to her, reread to her, and then when there was nothing left to do at night, quietly cleaned their guns. She didn't tease him, it seemed unfair. He had plenty of struggles, even if he had brought them upon himself. She wasn't heartless—if more people changed for the better, the Wasteland would be different.
"Joshua, I've been trying to not give you a hard time, but you've been so quiet lately," she said one morning as she ran her hand along his chest, spreading the now-familiar substance across his skin. He was sitting up, his legs stretched out in front of him and already bandaged.
He hummed in thought, his deep voice reverberating through his chest into her hand. It was a sound to which she'd grown accustomed, one she found particularly pleasing.
"I set out on my mission decades ago and I thought then I'd come home, get married, have plenty of children, and live a happy, normal life," he said. "I have ruined that. I have ruined many things, many people's lives. You should be careful."
"What are you talk—"
He pulled the bandages wrapped across his lower face past his chin and kissed her, his lips rough from scars that had managed to heal unevenly. She froze for a moment, then gripped his side as she let him continue. He was starving for her affection, his arms sliding around her, dragging her into his chest. Her eyes drifted shut as she let him devour her. In his eagerness, he lacked any finesse. She hardly minded.
When he let up, she waited a moment before opening her eyes. He hadn't adjusted his bandages, letting her see the fraction of his face he had revealed. The scarring was heavy, marring his jaw and lower cheeks. She reached up and touched his skin, relieved to see some of his wounds had mended, no matter how imperfectly.
"If we are so lax with the sixth commandment, then perhaps a little indiscretion with the seventh won't do me much more harm."
"I don't want to fuck up what kingdom you get sorted into," she said.
"That's my problem, not yours."
He pressed his face into the side of her head and held her against his frame, feeling the sharp complaint from his burns. He pulled his knees up around her, folding her into him. They sat like this for quite a while, his kiss meandering across her features. He leaned back at last, his entire body wound tight. She could feel it where they touched.
"Let me finish bandaging you," she said quietly.
He nodded and let her go so she could complete her work. He ached to touch her as she wrapped the clean bandages around his torso, then each arm. When she finished, he took his face bandages in his hands, but instead of fixing them, he worked at them until they fell away completely.
He wasn't sure what he expected, but she didn't react in any way other than reaching out to touch him again, this time at his temple. He had been good looking once, but the flames had seen to that. His dark hair was all gone and it'd never grow back the same, if at all.
"There's still time to run away, back to New Vegas, away from a vengeful, aging burned man," he said, his voice sad in a way she hadn't heard before.
"Back to what?" she asked with a small laugh. "Do you have some insight on my love life I don't?"
"You must have men in your life."
"My closest male colleagues are a prewar ghoul, a widower with the emotional intelligence of a brick, and a handsome but gay man," she said.
"You could take Follows-Chalk out of Zion and resume your life."
"Stop sabotaging yourself, Joshua," she said as she gingerly spread some of the herbal dressing on several spots of his bare head. "Also, let me enjoy myself. I'm in no rush to resume my life."
"Enjoy yourself?" he asked in disbelief.
"Ask me what I've been doing for the last four weeks?"
His clear, blue eyes narrowed.
"Nothing," she said. "Harassing my patient a bit, but mostly nothing. Do you know how refreshing it's been? Nobody's tried to kill me, bury me in a grave, or remove my brain in the last month. I'm happy, Joshua."
"I do not deny your life has been bizarre," he said. "But do you honestly think you'd stay in Utah with me? Truthfully?"
"Is that something you need?" she asked, winding his bandages slowly around his head. "For me to stay, permanently?"
They both stared at the other as she wrapped him, leaving his mouth and chin free for the time being. Neither would commit to an answer, watching and waiting for a sign from the other. Unable to stand the showdown any longer, she leaned in and kissed him. He snapped her up immediately, pushing her to the ground under him.
"Joshua," she said, her hands out at her sides.
"Yes?" he asked, leaning his weight into her frame.
"I'm covered in mesquite," she said.
Her entire front was covered in poultice from their first round of kisses before she had finished bandaging him. With a soft grunt, he stood and dug through his limited things. After a few moments, he brought a spare piece of cloth from which he had apparently been cutting patches and sat, using it to wipe the excess concoction from her chest and arms. When he was satisfied, he tossed the cloth aside and hovered over her.
He desperately wanted to push himself into her again, but the pressure would only bring more pain. Instead, he placed his hand on her bare stomach and his eyes darted across her features, eager to touch her more. He hesitated, though. His fingertips gripped her skin and he held his breath for long moments before noticeably exhaling.
"Should I go?" she asked.
"No. Yes. I have an idea," he said.
He stood and started pulling his things on. With a furrowed brow, she slowly got to her feet and brushed herself off. Once he finished buttoning his shirt and fastening his bulletproof vest, he made his way down the cave, turning after ten or so feet to see if she was following him. She obliged and the two of them headed out together. With no regard to her earlier efforts, he waded through the river, heading toward the rest of the park.
"Joshua," she said as she hurried after him. "Do you mind explaining?"
"You said that you're happy," he said after several minutes of walking.
"Yes."
"When New Canaan welcomed me back into the fold, I was happy," he said. "It was a relief to be accepted again. Before that, I do not remember the last time I felt a shred of happiness."
His eyes grew distant and his gaze shifted down the river.
"When my family was slaughtered, that happiness became a dark pit," he continued. "Then God put you in my path and you lit my way out of that pit, but not before smiting my enemies. You have mended more than my body. You have brought joy back to my life."
"Joshua," she whispered.
He turned to her, snatching her wrist. She stopped and they stood in the middle of a shallow portion of the river, the slow current flowing past their calves.
"Marry me," he said without hesitation.
"Marry you?" she asked, not sure if she heard him correctly. "We've known each other for two months."
He stepped in closer, his hand slipping into hers.
"Who else should I marry, if not you? If not the woman who killed Caesar, the woman who protected me from my wrath, the woman who reminded me the body is a temple. I've never known a woman more suited for me."
"To be fair, you probably haven't really known a lot of women," she said.
"And I doubt I'll know many more," he said. "But I don't need to."
"You understand how sudden this is, right?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"I'm flattered, Joshua," she said, then fell silent.
They continued their trip up the canyon, heading toward the Sorrows' camp, her mind completely blank. Her mind wasn't racing, nor was she feeling anxious about his suggestion. Instead, she simply watched the birds high in the sky as they followed the banks of the river. His proposal was so surreal, it was difficult to process. At the same time, it didn't trouble her.
Upon entering The Narrows, they were greeted by several Sorrows who seemed equally happy to see the both of them. She spoke nearly none of the creole, but he was fluent, his voice always deep and warm, yet firm. It was something a person could genuinely believe.
Before long, they came across Daniel, who looked more exhausted than ever. When he saw the two of them, she could practically feel him age. Part of her felt bad for him. Life opposite Joshua Graham must have seemed like a constant test.
"How can I help the two of you?" Daniel asked as he approached them.
"As the only other New Canaanite in the canyon, and one who was especially close to Mordecai, I have a favor to ask," Graham said.
"I'll do what I can," Daniel said, though his voice sounded less sure.
"Wed us."
Daniel tipped his hat up, staring long and hard at Joshua. He knew better than to ask if he had misheard him.
"I'm not a bishop, Joshua. Besides, she's a gentile," Daniel said.
"New Canaan has no bishop and no temple. Until we solve that dilemma, do we do nothing as a people? Simply wait, frozen in time?" Graham asked.
Daniel held his hands out at his side, not especially wanting to argue with Graham. He never won when he tried, anyway. As much as the man angered him, he couldn't match Graham's righteous fury. No one could.
"Do the two of you actually want to be married?" Daniel asked. "It won't be a celestial marriage, you understand that, right Joshua?"
"What the hell is a celestial marriage?" she asked.
Daniel leveled a doubtful look at his fellow New Canaanite. Joshua, in turn, looked at her. The moment his pale blue eyes focused on her, she felt the world become unimportant, as if it were vignetted somewhere behind him. Taking her hand in his, he lowered his head toward her face, his lips near her ear.
"There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number. My dove, my undefiled is but one," he said, his voice soft.
"I don't know about the 'undefiled' part, but the rest is quite convincing," she said with a guilty smile. "Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe upon the mountains of spices."
"Are you two... quoting the Song of Solomon to each other?" Daniel asked, the expression on his face strained.
"We have a lot of free time," she said without diverting her attention from Joshua.
"Clearly," Daniel said. "Well, I can do this and then when you get to Dead Horse Point, you should discuss the marriage with the rest of the community. You can worry about sealings and the rest later."
He sighed and motioned for them to follow him. Once he was far enough in front of them, she turned to Joshua, walking backward after Daniel slowly. He tilted his head as he watched her. She said nothing, but the sly glimmer reappeared in her eyes. They said plenty all on their own.
He put his hand on her hip and gently spun her around, guiding her along after their reluctant officiant.
Joshua didn't say much as they trekked along the river, but he turned to her often, watching her as she stared at the folded piece of paper Daniel had given them, which documented the relatively informal ceremony. He didn't ask her what she thought, though. Maybe it was better to not know.
Daniel had read a few passages of scripture, asked them each a few standard questions, then asked them both to sign the paper he had hastily drafted. To be formal, he had two Sorrows sign in Xes as witnesses.
She didn't feel any different. There were many other decisions in her life she immediately regretted, however necessary they seemed at the time. This wasn't one of them.
When they returned to Angel Cave, she handed him the paper and he put it among his things. They then stood and stared at each other for a good minute, the kisses from earlier that morning seeming like a lifetime ago. He finally stepped in and took her chin in his hand, lifting her face as he pressed his lips to hers.
She undid his vest, letting it fall to the cavern floor, but before she could do any more, he caught her wrist in his hand. He molded his body to hers, his kiss deep. His first kiss earlier in the day was like a wildfire, as if he meant to burn her up in his path. She could tell he was trying to contain himself this time, his arm curling around her waist.
As the kiss went on, she could feel his self-control crumble moment by moment, the smoldering heat flaring up again into something brighter. His grasp on her wrist tightened and his finesse deteriorated. She quickly found herself under him once again on his pelt bed. He was fast, pulling her clothes from her body before the thought even crossed her mind. She didn't stop him, but she did let out several surprised noises as he handled her.
"You asked me," he said, his voice low and heady, "if I had two hands and a mouth. Do you remember?"
"Of course," she said, not hiding her grin.
"Your words have plagued me with visions of all of the ways I'd like to use my mouth on you, the ways I wanted to touch you," he said as he undid the bandages on his hands, staring at her beneath him.
He wound the loose ends around his arms and then swept his palms along her stomach. His hands circled the outsides of her breasts before he cupped them, then traced smaller circles around her nipples until he took them between his index fingers and thumbs. When he squeezed them, she wriggled under his grasp, cooing.
His mouth replaced his fingers and his hands drifted down her sides to her hips, which he pushed into the pelts as he teased her nipple with his tongue. He wanted to grind himself against her so badly, he was driving himself mad. He sat up and unbuckled his belt, then undid his jeans and yanked them down several inches. They seemed far too tight.
He paused to admire her, her chest rising and falling with each excited breath, her skin flushed. The fact that she chose to be here, to do this with him, made him feel so alive he nearly vibrated. Her hands on his white shirt brought him back to reality. He unbuttoned and discarded it, as if he were nude underneath.
He pushed her legs wide and slid his hand across the top of her pussy before his fingers caressed her labia. He traced each edge and curve until he rested his fingertips on her clit. She moaned, her body rising against his hand. He pressed against her bud and rubbed it in a circle, his eyes eating her up as she reacted.
"How are you more beautiful than before?" he asked.
She didn't have an answer as he increased the speed of his fingers, only mewls.
After several minutes, he had her close. Her eyes were clenched tight, her hands gripped the pelt beneath her, as all of her muscles tensed. He pulled his hand away and again replaced it with his mouth, his tongue on her clit. The sound she made was primal, deep and urgent as she pushed herself against his mouth. He didn't slow down, his fingers now driving inside of her.
She didn't moan his name, she wailed it as the orgasm flooded through her body, locking her in place temporarily, her voice crashing through the caves. Her cries turned into whimpers as she melted under his touch, all of her muscles going slack. Only then did he let up.
He watched his work as she writhed on his pelts, her abdomen occasionally catching as the waves of spasms still coursed through her. Her eyes reopened, a satisfied smile finally spreading across her face. She was floating in a different world, but her eyes focused on him. She looked at him not with fear or disgust, not in mere tolerance or pitiful submission. She looked at him like she truly wanted him and it was intoxicating.
"Finish undressing, Joshua," she said once the feeling returned to her body, her voice rich and melodious.
She slid out from under him and stood, a bit slow and unsteady at first. As he pulled his boots off, he tried to figure out what she searched for as she poked around his cavern. She went through his shelves as he tugged his worn, black jeans off and she finally turned, holding an unlabeled bottle in her hand. He knew it was jojoba oil—he used it for his guns.
"A Wasteland staple," she said as she brought it to him.
She sat on the pelts and pawed at his hips until she found the bandages that covered his groin. He had no idea what she planned, but he had learned to trust her with his broken body, so he let her unwind them all until he was completely bare.
She had yet to see his genitals and for good reason. He had been trying to ignore them as much as possible, other than general care. It was too depressing emotionally to deal with them and they hurt too much to handle at any length. But to his surprise, when she pulled the bandages away, he had managed a partial erection. It was barely anything, but he was relieved he wasn't completely ruined.
"I warned you," he said. "You're not going to get anything out of this body."
"And I already told you there's more to the body than your dick, Joshua. Lie on your side," she said, pointing at the pelts next to her.
"And just what are you going to do?" he asked, squinting at her long and hard.
"I'm going to use my hands on you," she said. "It's easier if I show you. Will you lie down?"
He obliged and she bent his upper leg toward his chest, pushing it up until his knee fell to the pelts. She then walked on her knees until she was behind him, her hand resting on his top hip. He turned his head to look at her, ideas beginning to form in his mind.
"Don't worry," she said. "I promise not to surprise you."
Her fingers found his perineum, which made him clear his throat immediately. To her delight, his skin under her fingers was completely healthy. She pressed on it for a bit toward the back and watched what she could see of his face. At first, he seemed entirely unsure about what she was doing, but the more she prodded, the more his expression shifted away from confusion.
"How does that feel?" she asked.
"Strangely urgent," he muttered.
With the help of a little jojoba oil, she glided her fingers back and forth on the spot she had isolated, pulsing it as she went. He took several deep breaths and as the minutes went by, his body relaxed. She reached down with her other hand and found his erection. She couldn't give him a proper hand job, but she was able to rub her finger over the tip, finding a bit of his head's sensitive skin.
He groaned at the sensation.
She wasn't sure whether or not she'd be able to make him come the first time she touched him this way, but as strange as it must have been, she could tell he had been long overdue for some form of release. She pulsed his perineum at different intervals, holding it in longer or pushing on it rapidly. In her other hand, her fingers were growing slick as she toyed with his head.
He swore incoherently as his chin tucked in toward his chest. She could feel the muscles in his lower body begin to contract. When his entire body started to shudder, she sat on her heels to watch him. The waves coursed through him, his blue eyes wide as he rolled onto his back. He stretched his arms wide and after several long moments, he exhaled deeply, his hands clenching and releasing as his face softened.
"You are the most beautiful creature ever put on this earth," he said with a tired expression that was nearly a smile. "I am undeserving."
"Your dove isn't done with you yet," she said, leaning over him to brush her lips against his.
He pulled her next to him and ran his hands along her body as if she might disappear if he stopped touching her. He laid kiss upon kiss on her, bestowing adoration on her figure throughout the rest of the night. She repaid his attention, doing things to him no woman had ever done, leaving him feeling newly fulfilled.
When the sun rose, neither of them stirred. As noon approached, they slept on. And as the days went by, she still found herself in Utah... at least until she was satisfied with how his burns were healing.
Graham never expected the Courier to remain diligently by his side. He knew from the beginning that it was impossible to ask. She came and went from Utah over the years. Graham himself eventually returned to Dead Horse Point, but much like the woman he adored, he could never stay in one place. His legend as the Burned Man continued to grow and for years to come, people told tale that at times he could be seen fighting the enemies of New Canaan with Courier Six by his side.