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Knew you'd come.

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Red, wild and untamed, like fire. She tears through the blockade, a curse on her lips, crimson dripping down her face like war paint. Men rush to meet her, and promptly fall at her feet. She’s fire and fury, cutting through legionaries with ease and a snarl, and despite the damp that seeps through his armor, he grins.

She came. He knew she’d come, and he knew she’d be mad. A hurricane of death and destruction, and the prettiest damn thing he’s seen in a long time.

“Why are you so hellbent on protecting me?”

“Jesus Christ, Boone, is it so fucking hard to believe that someone might actually care about you? That someone might actually be afraid to lose you?"

He’s grinning despite the agony in his limbs. She came. He knew she’d come, and he knew she would cut through every fucking Legionary to get to him.

“Luck? Luck? That death claw nearly took your fucking head off, Six. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about making sure it didn’t take off yours!”

His vision’s blurred, but he knows her, knows her well, and knows she’s jamming her thumbs into some poor bastards eye sockets with that wicked grin that makes his blood boil in his veins.

He’s chuckling through the blinding pain. She came. He knew she’d come, knew she’d paint the desert red when she did, and knew it’d be a fucking masterpiece.

“I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“I’d never leave you, Boone. I’m with you until the Mojave swallows us both.”

His eyes can’t focus, but he feels the slack in his shoulders as she cuts him down from the cross, pain and relief flooding through him and making his head spin. Her hands are on his face, shaking and desperate.

“Knew you’d come.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible, but he hasn’t stopped smiling.

“I’d never leave you, Boone.”

He knew she’d come, and he knew she’d have some sentimental one-liner for him that’d fill him with pride and make his chest tight.

“I know.” He slurs, and still, he’s smiling.


 

There’s a beeping in his ears, faint, but still annoying. He’s stiff, and shifting sends agony coursing through him. There’s a weight beside him, under his outstretched arm. Red spills over the blanket in a ring around her head, like blood pooling around the slavers she cut down.

He knew she’d be there, curled up beside him, waiting for him to wake- knew she wouldn’t be content to wait anywhere else.

Though every nerve in his body is on fire, he’s smiling, and though every movement feels like teeth are ripping through his flesh, he brushes red strands away from her face.

“Knew you’d be here.” he whispers as she stirs.

“I’d never leave you, Boone."