The Courier's small ensemble – made up of only three today – isn't in a hurry for once. They don't have to be somewhere as soon as physically possible, they aren't trying desperately to flee from raiders or cazadores or whatever the hell else the Mojave could possibly throw at them, they aren't rushing to save someone's life.

No, every once in a blue moon, they get to enjoy a walking trip in peace; something that, with the local tension rising as the war seems to draw closer and closer with each passing day, is becoming an even rarer luxury than usual.

For once, they have no time constraints.

They aren't going very far, either, which they are all-too grateful for. So much of their time is spent walking and wandering (and running, fearfully) around the Mojave that a short, harmless water and food run to the Grub n' Gulp is like a breath of fresh air. It's like a small vacation from the lights and sounds and surprising amount of worries of the Strip, and while it doesn't mean much to Boone and Arcade, they know that the Courier needs some down time. The war is not easy on anyone involved, but it's especially hard for the young woman, who has spent the better part of the past few weeks working and negotiating and smoothing out problem areas not just within the borders of Vegas, but as far out into the Mojave itself as she can reach.

The stress is wearing her down, slowly but surely. None of them have missed it, and they all whisper their worry to each other when she isn't around to hear it, because there is something changing in the Courier that they think bodes well for no one. But, when the time comes that she's back with them, they say nothing, do nothing, because she is more unapproachable about it now more than she ever has been. They don't want to bring that stress into their casual companionship with her, so they simply act as they always have with her, by offering laughs and lightheartedness and an exuberant amount of support.

Still, they worry for the future – theirs and hers alike, because at this point, they're intertwined.

But that's not the point of this little trip. This trip is about freedom from the pressing issues that have consumed the Courier's everyday life. It's harmless, and that is something she is more than glad to do, because it's something that is so easy and straightforward compared to the flurry of absolute shit she's been putting up with. It's almost like paradise after the time she'd recently spent in the hellish dust-storms of the Divide, she jokes.

Arcade didn't even bother to bring along his duffle bag of medical supplies – as he normally would, with how accident and injury-prone the Courier is, now more than ever – because their destination is just close enough to the Strip and just far enough from Fiend territory that the NCR is always dutifully policing the area. What little dangers that could possibly show up – like the occasional crazed mole rat, angry radscorpion, or doped-up, wayward Fiend – would be taken care of quickly and without much of a struggle on their part.

In short, there isn't much for the doctor to worry about, or at least not enough for him to feel that it's necessary to bring all of his gear.

He also figures that, should something happen along the way(unlikely, he thinks for the umpteenth time), it'd undoubtedly be small enough that it could be handled by simply buying the needed supplies off of the merchants and traders that are always set up nearby.

It's about as much of an easygoing, relaxing day as they'll ever get when outside of the great, metal, protective walls of Vegas.

Arcade listens back as the Courier talks animatedly about anything and everything she can think of. It's just him and Boone accompanying her today, which basically means that it's the three least likely people to talk; Arcade had decided early on in their acquaintanceship, though, that the young woman is by far the most talkative of the three of them. He's glad to hear her chattering on, though. Sometimes, lately, she's taken to being mute for days, sometimes weeks on end, and while he knows she can often get lost inside of her own head, he knows her silence is different now compared to how it used to be.

But his worries are for another time. At the moment, she's reflecting on their recent visit (as curious tourists, for once) to the REPCONN Headquarters.

"-and I've seen, like, diagrams and books about it, but that room was by far the coolest thing I've seen so far on the solar system. It really felt like you were just floating around in space if you didn't think about it, and it was a little freaky, y'know, but still an amazing display. I once saw something kind of similar to that, not really, but it had a projector and holograms and stuff. I think it was called a planetarium? The only problem was that it was broken when I found it, and I really wasn't in the position to try to fix it, so I didn't get to see mu – oh, fuck!"

There's a catching noise behind Arcade, along with a crunch of dirt and small rocks, and then a final telling thump of solid impact as what he can only assume is the Courier's entire body hitting the dirt. He halts immediately, sucks in breath, and turns around to assess the damage.

The Courier is carefully pushing herself up from the ground, where she'd evidently fallen to her hands and knees. One hand is on a sharp rock that she must have used to catch herself, and the other swatting at Boone, who attempts to help her up.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she assures the two, grunting as she gets herself back on two feet. Her face is just a little more flushed than usual. She clears her throat and flashes them a wide, embarrassed grin. "That rock, it just – it jumped out at me."

"Yeah," both men say knowingly, wholly unconvinced. For all of the finesse the Courier has during a fight, she is apparently terrible at simple day-to-day activities like walking. She just doesn't pay attention, as Arcade points out time and time again, and while literally everyone else agrees, the Courier simply smiles and turns her nose to them in faux arrogance almost every time they call her out on it.

"Great, now I have dirt all over me," the woman grumbles with a small pout. She sighs and absently begins wiping herself down while moving to continue onward, unfazed.

"Anyway, like I was saying –"

"Hold on," Arcade calls with a heavy sigh, grabbing her by the arm. She stops, turns, and gives him a questioning look, but he's busy examining her clothes with a critical eye. They're now covered in streaks of deep red where she'd just wiped her hands on them. He closes his eyes tight and prepares himself to not be too pissed as he gently takes the hand that had landed on the rock when she fell. He turns it over in his grip and looks down to assess the damage.

Despite his expectations, he still can't control the loud groan that slips out.

The Courier's eyes widen and she gives a small, "Oh."

There's a deep gash running along the width of her palm, which is now steadily gushing blood. In fact, her whole hand is already covered in it, glistening and slippery and coppery with the rich red of it.

When shifts his gaze back up to her face with the blankest of stares, she gives him a sheepish grin and shrugs, but doesn't bother to say anything to defend herself or her actions. She knows, by now, what's about to come next.

Of all the things she could possibly do to get herself hurt. Out of every single other option in the Mojave…

She tripped.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

A/N: Thank you for reading! I might end up coming up with more ideas for this, but for now it's done!