Before this point, she had always caught him watching her.
Across the vertibird stations, during his own briefings, around the Prydwen, even through the glass windows of the command deck while she walked the ground below. He made no effort to conceal his staring, and she made no effort to confront him or anyone else about it. She had been born and bred into the concept of a chain of command, and even in this new world, with this new military faction, she adhered to her place down the line.
Follow orders, accept responsibility, persevere and move on. She could operate on that pattern, and the sequence gave her a workable routine. On most days, she found it easy to disregard his silent attention. On others, when she ended up discussing assignments alone with him, the task became far more difficult.
She had come to recognize that glint in his dark eyes—commanding and rousing, daunting, yet somehow beckoning. For someone so young, he carried a world of experience in every inch of his frame, his posture staunch and intimidating beneath the thick layers of his coat. He outsized her in both physique and aura, seemed to use this to his advantage whenever he addressed her in any capacity. She wanted to tell him he never needed that particular edge with her; she carried out missions without question, and her loyalty remained intact. But she always held her tongue, and so their encounters continued on that intense level.
He never physically touched her, but he never had to. The way he hovered close during their one-on-ones, he dwarfed her, forced her to see the balance of power between them. Over and over. As if it was her sole mission in life to remember. Curiously, this behavior had intensified in the past few weeks. The closer she had grown to her sponsor, Paladin Danse, the more she felt the Elder's presence in the background.
Arthur Maxson. A young man who had gone through so much, would continue to deal with so much, and would go on to take so much. His imposing persona carried the weight of a respected leader, competent and efficient, and sometimes foolishly underestimated. The jagged scar on his face only added to his fierce appearance, and with every shift of his gaze, the inner fire burned brighter.
It seared into her now, pinning her in place as rage twisted his rugged features into a fearsome glower. How they had gotten here felt like the workings of a nightmare. Verities had surfaced, drastic actions had been carried out, and for the first time in her military life, she had failed to carry out a direct order from the Elder himself.
He took a threatening step forward, the motion prompting her to take an involuntary step back. Several yards stretched between them as they faced each other under the stifling night, but in the glow of the bunker's exterior lights, a dangerous quality infused the air.
Beside her, Danse remained steadfast—whether to defend himself, accept his fate, or both, she couldn't be sure. She marveled at his courage, found it fitting for the man he had always believed himself to be. But to the one standing off against them, his continued existence was an atrocity that needed to be corrected. Eliminated.
And she couldn't allow that to happen.
"Knight! Answer my question!" Maxson barked, causing her to jolt. "Why is it still alive?"
She chose her words carefully, but suspected nothing she said would temper the fury roaring through his veins. "Hear us out, Elder. You're wrong about him."
"Him?" Maxson spat, almost doubling in size as the very word set off a new wave of wrath. "Dance isn't a man, it's a machine… an automaton created by the Institute."
She shifted her weight as he went on a venomous rant about synths, trying to cut in as a confession perched on the tip of her tongue. "Yes, but…"
I love him.
"Flesh is flesh. Machine is machine. The two were never meant to intertwine," Maxson declared, his glare knowing and accusatory as he seemed to read the truth on her face.
She opened her mouth to argue, but Danse placed a gentle hand on her arm and spoke for himself.
"After all I've done for the Brotherhood… all the blood I've spilled in our name, how can you say that about me?" he demanded, his deep voice the perfect balance of hurt and outrage.
Her heart clenched for him. Not twenty-four hours before, he had been an illustrious paladin, the field officer everyone else had looked up to. Years of dedicated service, countless missions accomplished, and the moment they all learned he was a synth, the entire Brotherhood turned on him. As a result, her own sheep mentality of unwavering devotion had shattered. The soldier in her protested the insubordination.
The human in her told her she was doing the right thing.
"This is the bottom line, synth," Maxson declared in a low, biting tone. "You simply should not exist."
She straightened, something within her snapping at the callous denial of Danse's right as a living being. "With all due respect, Elder, you're completely wrong."
Maxson stopped, turned his outrage on her. "What was that, knight?"
She squared off against his pressing stare, coils of desperation curling around her stomach. "You can't deny everything he's done for the Brotherhood, and for you, before this. He was a synth then; he has always been a synth. The only difference is that now you know. And you can't even bring yourself to spare him?"
Danse tried to murmur something to her, but she waved him off as some of the anger left Maxson's eyes, replaced by something cold and calculating.
After several seconds, he narrowed his eyes at her. "What is this thing's life worth to you?"
"More than you could know."
The tension thickened, but a certain switch occurred in the confines of Maxson's indiscernible mind.
"You're a stubborn woman," he declared as his stance relaxed into something far more ominous. "Fine. Danse, as far as I'm concerned, you're dead. You were pursued and slain by this Brotherhood knight, and your remains were incinerated. From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you choose to ignore me, know that you will be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other?"
The amazement and relief emanated from Danse's expression as he nodded. "I do. Thank you for believing in me, Arthur."
"Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance. That goes for you, too," Maxson remarked, swinging his stony gaze back towards her. "I'm returning to the Prydwen, knight. I expect to see you there within the hour."
She exhaled and inclined her head. "I'll be there, Elder."
The look her gave her implied that she may have won the battle, but beneath the tempered surface, a full-on war raged on. "And by yourself, knight. I wish to speak to you in the command deck alone. It will cost me to spare this machine's life. By taking your stand, you have agreed to pay the price."