She stood deathly still in the belly of her workshop, sweat visibly dripping off her body as she bends over a workbench, wearing nothing except her go...gles, gloves, and apron. On the work bench is her lever action rifle, it was one of a kind and easily fit in her boot holster on the road. There's a bright flash as finishes sealing another bullet, putting it aside in a pile of them as she can hear a knock on the heavy metal door. She moves her goggles up on her forehead. "Come in!" she shouts as. Maybe she thought I was going to take out my anger on her right there. When she realized I was trying to hug her, she plastered herself to me and kept sobbing, throwing in “I’m so sorry!” every minute or so. I just stood there and held her; 110 pounds of sobbing, quivering flesh. I was going over in my mind all the things that had happened and where I really wanted this to go. End it? Continue it? I was so conflicted, but I could not see myself without her. The fabric of our lives were so. More

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