February 1, 2288

The fire crackled and spit as the broken down chair was consumed.

Cold rarely enveloped the Commonwealth since the bombs dropped and when it did, it was a welcome interruption from the otherwise sweltering climate. Smoke crawled into the air, alerting anything nearby to their presence but Paladin Danse had deemed the fire acceptable. Certainly it made them vulnerable, he felt, but they had travelled far enough north that he didn't expect anything to disturb them that night and he couldn't recall the last time flames had looked inviting instead of spilling from a molotov on the battlefield.

He glanced at Nate, on his side in his sleeping bag snoring peacefully.

Danse always offered to take first watch. It wasn't that he didn't sleep; he sure as hell tried. He could usually manage short spurts of rest each night but nothing more. He'd mistakenly mentioned it to Haylen once and she'd diagnosed battle fatigue. The label meant everything to her and to Cade but nothing to him. If it wasn't Danse on the field, it would just be someone else and as far as he was concerned, he'd already allowed too much harm to come to his brothers and sisters. It was his atonement. His duty. It cost him immensely; he was regularly plagued by a dull throb in his skull and he'd suffered his share of panic attacks. He knew his mental health was in poor shape but still refused to take any time off to rectify it. The Brotherhood was his only escape: cleansing the Commonwealth, modding weapons, and tinkering with his power armor. He didn't have to dwell on what he'd lost when he was immersed in work.

The extent of his exertion had worked itself into him in the form of lines and scars that traversed the planes of his face. Every hour he spent overworked and straining carved deeper into him until he was losing whole parts of himself and becoming solely a soldier, the only thing that mattered to him. Danse was nothing if not disciplined and he'd be damned if he was going to let up now.

He pulled off his hood and ran his fingers through the thick, greasy hair underneath. They were only a few days away from the airport now and he fantasized about the opportunity to shower. The soldiers had set up near a collapsed barn, the roof having caved in enough to provide splintered planks to fuel their fire, and Danse stood in front of it now, scanning the horizon for hostiles. When he was satisfied that they were alone, he sat on the in-tact stool he'd pulled from the wreckage of the building, allowing himself to become mesmerized by the orange glow of the blaze in front of him.

His mind wandered and he was completely unaware of the passing of time. It could've been minutes or hours before she was suddenly next to him, armed and aiming.

"Don't move. Drop your weapon."

His jaw clenched at her voice, that fucking voice.

Cold. Imposing. Unexpected. Not only was ever seeing her again a possibility he'd completely written off but the likelihood of Nora surviving in the wasteland, he thought, was slim to none. Not for 10 years. He tried to imagine her soft, feminine features twisted into a threatening scowl but it wasn't intimidating in the slightest. No, it wasn't a stretch to have predicted she'd be chewed up and spit out by this world.

Only clearly he'd been wrong. From his peripheral, he could just make out her tall figure, arms stretched straight in front of her and pistol in hand. He frowned. Last time he'd seen her, it had been him behind the gun. Having the control ripped out from under him was not something he was used to and it infuriated him. She infuriated him.

He flipped his palms up in surrender and leaned to place his laser rifle gently on the ground at his feet.

She kept her pistol ready and pointed between his eyes while she slowly approached him and took it.

"Sorry," she muttered, ripping the fusion cell from the weapon and tossing both behind her. "I like to think you wouldn't shoot me but-well, last time I saw you, you nearly did."

He finally made eye contact with Nora. Her hair was messily piled onto her head, something he'd never seen on her before. The same silver hoops and the same bandana over her lower face as their last meeting and likely every day in between; a signature of hers. She was dressed entirely in black and besides her gun, a backpack was her only other visible possession.

She holstered her gun and took a few slow steps toward him. When she was sure he wasn't going to fight her approach, she sat on his armored thigh and pulled her bandana down, revealing her full face. Her features were more angular now and it gave her a fierceness, an edge that he hadn't accounted for. She examined him, eyes creasing slightly in displeasure. "You don't sleep much, do you?"

He glowered at her. He didn't like her evaluating him and even less so liked how his body warmed at her contact even through all the metal that encased him and how the fire illuminated the right half of her face. "That's none of your concern." Frustration at her audacity overwhelmed him and he tacked on, "And don't sit on my leg."

"Would you rather I sit somewhere else?" Her fingers reached up to lightly caress his jaw and he felt his cheeks redden at the suggestion. She was bold, he remembered that much, and it grated his nerves. The corner of her mouth twitched and her face softened as she registered his blush. "You'll never know how comforting it is that some things never change," she said quietly, almost to herself.

She dropped her hand and walked a few feet away from him, giving him the space he requested. She rubbed her hands over the fire and took a seat on the ground next to its warmth. He watched her, waiting for an explanation.

Her eyes wandered to the paint on his power armor, tracing each brush stroke. "Paladin, hmmm? Congratulations."

He was unnerved at how much she obviously knew about the Brotherhood. It felt like tug of war, this confrontation, and he was rapidly losing ground. He attempted a stoic expression but his eyes remained hardened and angry.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me I look good," she finally smiled up at him. "More toned now. As it turns out, running around escorting synths is an insane calorie burner."

He'd already noticed, of course. Her clothes were tight and he was always observant but he'd never admit as much, even to himself. "You have a lot of scars," he noted, eyeing the particularly large pink streak under her left eye. "You should travel with a partner."

She bristled at his words. "I do."

"Well they aren't sufficient."

Nora huffed. "It's a shitty world but I'm still alive. He protects me just fine."

It wasn't that Danse had been fishing for the gender of her partner, the person she spent most of her time with if the Railroad was anything like the Brotherhood, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious. Still, when her words confirmed it was a man, he wasn't prepared for the sharp pang that sliced through his heart. It shouldn't be so easy for her to do. Jealousy morphed into anger and he raised his voice. "Why are you here?"

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, facing away from him and into the fire. "I need a meeting with Elder Maxson."

"And why the hell would you think I'd give you that?"

She shot him an annoyed glance. "It's mutually beneficial."

He snorted. "Maxson won't want to speak with you."

"He will if you tell him I have information on the Institute."

She could be bluffing. A ploy of some kind to infiltrate their organization. After all, the Railroad was small in comparison to the Brotherhood of Steel. How would they obtain anything Maxson didn't already have? "The... and how did you get that?"

A sigh escaped her and she stood, wiping the dirt from her clothes. "Look, I could march up to the airport myself and demand a meeting. I might be shot on sight but I'll do whatever I have to do to speak with Maxson. I figured this would all go smoother if you talked to him first. I know you're close."

"How do you know that?"

She smirked. "The Railroad has a lot of intel. I wouldn't worry about it."

He shook his head, metal fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.

She moved to his side, leaning against what was left of the barn. "This is worth the trouble, Danse. I promise."

He didn't move.

"I'll find you in a week. Is that enough time for you to arrange something?"

Danse met her eyes, hesitant. "What kind of information do you have?"

Her teeth flashed in a victorious smile. "Only a lead on how to get into the Institute."

"Dammit, Nora, a lead? That's it?"

"You have something better?"

He took a deep breath, hating that she was right. "I'll... I'll talk to Maxson."

Her hand fell to his shoulder. "Thank you. See you in a week, soldier." The pistol was in her hands again and she quickly scanned her surroundings before darting away, blending into the blackness.

February 5, 2288

Arthur Maxson poured two glasses of whiskey, his drink of choice, when Danse reported to the Elder's quarters at 2200. He handed one to Danse and sat expectantly, curious as to the nature of their congregation.

Danse remained standing, staring at the amber liquid.

"Something on your mind, Paladin?"

Lowering himself into the nearest chair, he thought for a moment and swallowed the entirety of his drink in one gulp. Liquid courage. "Well, sir... this mission was unusual."

Maxson cocked an eyebrow. "Nothing in your report indicated anything out of the ordinary."

"I felt this was better discussed face to face."

"Well what is it, Danse?"

He couldn't quite arrange the words in the way he wanted, in a way that sounded favorable. "I was approached by a woman while on assignment." She'd cornered him, really, but it all sounded more innocent that way.

"I really don't need to know these types of things, Paladin. You're allowed-"

"No, it's not that," Danse said quickly, blushing. "She... claimed to have a lead on the Institute."

The Elder leaned forward, interest piqued. "Lead? What kind of lead?"

"A way to get in."

Maxson rubbed his chin. "And why didn't she come to the airport?"

"She's with the Railroad, sir. She expressed fear of her life being threatened." Precisely the thing Danse had done nearly a year ago, he noted, when he'd found her transporting that synth on his morning run.

"The Railroad," Maxson laughed as he topped Danse's glass off. "How the hell would the Railroad know anything?"

"She didn't elaborate, sir."

"Do you have reason to believe this to be credible?" he asked, intently searching Danse's face. It was clear he trusted the Paladin and guilt kneaded his stomach into knots for the lie of omisson. Nora was years behind him now, an entire decade; what would it be worth to say something? She was as good as a stranger. Anything he'd known about her character, any endorsements Danse could offer the Elder about the woman might very well be its own lie anyway. His Nora was dead, buried in Rivet City a lifetime ago and replaced with a counterfeit, a synthetic version of the real thing.

"I'm not sure but it may be wise to meet with her and investigate further," he said carefully. He did in fact believe Nora even if he didn't trust her and he certainly didn't want to miss a chance to gain the upper hand against the Institute, the entire reason they were in the Commonwealth in the first place.

Arthur nodded. "Very well. Can I assume you'll arrange the meeting then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Dismissed, Paladin."

A salute and Danse was leaving Arthur's room for the comfort of his own. He wasn't sure how Nora planned to find him but he supposed holing up in the Prydwen would make it impossible. He spent the next few nights at the airport, sleeping or trying to sleep outside on his bedroll. It earned him a handful of odd looks.

February 8, 2288

Violent hands shook Danse into awareness. He sat up and out of pure reflex, his fist snapped forward defensively.

"Fuck!"

Nora.

She clutched her cheek, eyes wide. "God, what's the matter with you?! I was just trying to wake you up. Fuck, that hurt!"

He moved her hand from her face and surveyed the damage. It was already swelling. "I'm sorry. I can get you a stimpack."

"You'd better. Why is it I always get punched around you?" she moved her jaw around to make sure it wasn't broken. When she was satisfied, she sat beside him. "So what, do we have a meeting?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"In three days. The Boston Airport at noon."

"Okay. Good."

He waited for her to leave but she just stared at him. He was squinting, trying to read her, but he could no longer decipher her expressions. She was a language he had lost all fluency in, a map without a legend. Not Nora, he confirmed. Just a replacement with all of her cunning beauty and none of her tender kindness.

"So are you gonna grab me that stimpack?" she prompted.

Of course. "Affirmative." He rose and walked into the airport, quickly returning and removing the stimpack. Danse closed his fingers tightly around her jaw but before he could insert it into Nora's bruised skin, her hand pulled the stimpack from his grasp.

She flicked the needle before injecting herself, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. The swelling quickly dissipated and she handed him the empty syringe. "Well. I'll see you in three days, soldier boy."

He frowned, uncomfortable at her use of his affectionate nickname. "Affirmative."

She sprinted away and Danse thought he could just make out someone waiting for her in the distance.