Note: Okay, so I have edited to fix some missing words and changed repeated words. That one's on me. Not my best work, I apologize.
"Are you sure that you're alright, Johnson?"
Jeanne opened her eyes and stared up at Danse, fighting the almost unbearable roiling of her stomach. "I'm fine," she said, cheerfully. She'd propped herself up against the wall of the cockpit, in the middle of the boat. Her knuckles had gone white from gripping the edge of the door frame in the cockpit, and her face was probably green from nausea.
She didn't dare tell the man that she was having any problems. It just wouldn't do.
"You don't appear fine," Danse said, staring down at her. "You appear sick. Is it the motion of the ship? You've been holding onto the door for dear life, since we left the Commonwealth." He raised an eyebrow and gave her a knowing look.
"No, no!" Jeanne chattered, waving him off and feeling her fingers start to tingle from the return of blood. "I feel fine. Just have a lot on my mind, is all!"
Danse nodded, turning to watch the shoreline as it moved toward them. She had every assurance that he knew she was lying. He was willing to overlook it as he had so many times before, thank God.
Danse was a good sort. Even if she was sick as a dog, he trusted that she knew what she was doing. She chuckled, to herself. Having him around... was a blessing, really. Didn't have to explain herself, didn't have to make up complicated excuses. Didn't have to explain anything.
The truth was, she really did have a lot on her mind.
Bar Harbor. No, it was called Far Harbor, now. She hadn't been in this part of the world in over two hundred and twenty-five years. It was only luck of the draw that the Nakano girl had come to this place. But it was important that Jeanne investigate the supposed synths that'd lured her away. Important for the Brotherhood, important to...
Memory. If this trip came back to bite her on the behind, she didn't know what she'd do.
Jeanne shot a glance at Danse. After everything that had happened with him―maybe she'd felt his presence would be useful. She was looking for synths. Set a synth to catch a synth? Eh, either way. Jeanne stared at the ex-soldier, collecting her thoughts.
Danse was a much better shot than Piper or Nick. And his attitude was more tolerable. Danse didn't pry into her business like Piper had, or sass her at the same time, like Nick.
Jeanne didn't care much for Nick, in the end. His story was―too similar to her own. To much pain and too much heartache. She couldn't bear to help him with that, after everything he'd done for her, because of―because―
She rubbed her eyes and stared at a spot on the opposite wall, redirecting her thoughts again. It was getting harder and harder as time went on, for her to stay on topic. The inside of her head was a crowded and complicated place. She worried about that.
Well―she forced herself to think positively. If she lost her head around Danse, he certainly wouldn't go blabbing it all over creation like Piper, and he wouldn't get saucy like Nick. She doubted the strait-laced ex-Brotherhood... synth, would even try to console her. He didn't seem much for socialization, at any rate.
She sighed. Yes, that was why she'd brought him to B―Far Harbor. He was the only person she could rely on not to pry into her business relentlessly.
The place where she'd spent most of her childhood loomed very near to them, now. Jeanne could barely stand the pain. She didn't know that she would stand it, in the end.
Danse wouldn't care. He would focus on Brotherhood issues; on the synth refuge, on the reason why they'd come. He threw himself into his work and he did not notice when his companions were upset until things were... in dire straits.
Jeanne swallowed the bile creeping its way into her throat and closed her eyes again. Seasickness. Mal de mer, her father called it. He'd been lucky enough that he hadn't suffered from it, though her mother had the occasional bout. Whenever they'd gone out―
No, she told herself. Don't go down that road again. It hurt, thinking about the past.
Jeanne'd had absolutely no clue what to do, when she'd―she choked back more vomit, rubbing the back of her head on the wall. When she'd come out of the Vault. Nate had just been... shot, and Shaun was gone, and―she breathed out, carefully, trying to calm herself. She had known what to do. She was lying to herself, now. Had to mind herself, or the lying would get out of control.
So. She went home. Seemed stupid at the time. She'd found Codsworth, as impossible as it was. He hadn't been much help. She didn't really care for robots, at any rate. Not since that wretched Miss Nanny, her tutor that she was supposed to call Miss Nou, followed her around as a child, trying to teach her safety and math at the same time.
She laughed a little. Knowing the exact angle at which she would fall from a cliff would've never benefited her, back then. Ironic that she recalled it, now. There were tons of cliffs in Bar―Far Harbor.
Merde, she had to mind herself. Couldn't let anything show. Even that little thing...
Jeanne opened her eyes a crack and stared out at the area surrounding The Island. This place was as gloomy as she felt on the inside, even if she couldn't show it on the outside. Trees passed them in the fog, ghosts of the wastes wrapped in a cloth of fear. Somehow she felt that made it all the more important to show a smiling face.
That same face she'd given when she'd finally made her way to Cambridge. After finding out the hard way how badly the world had changed. She was halfway there by the time she'd realized she ought to have taken Codsworth's advice.
Another irony. She'd never really paid attention to Miss Nou, either. Jeanne laughed again, but the bitterness seeped out.
She straightened herself out and calmed herself by humming a short tune under her breath. No, Jeanne, please, she pleaded with herself. Please!
She couldn't afford for her mask to slip. Had to hide the emotions. It wouldn't do to show any sign of weakness in this world; it would only bring more pain. She controlled the memories.
Her heart stopped aching for a moment. All was as normal. Jeanne smiled to herself, nodding vaguely.
Danse shifted his weight and the boat moved with his motion. Her hand slapped onto the door frame again, and she mentally chastised herself for that.
"We're coming close to our destination," Danse said, glancing at her.
"Good!" she said, giving him a brilliant smile.
The boat glided over the water, through the quiet fog and trees and smaller islands surrounding the big one. Jeanne fought her stomach again, feeling the upset as the boat began to slow.
She turned her head to stare at Danse, the miserable churn in her stomach reminding her she was still on the boat. Danse stood at attention, watching the coastline going past. Never shut off, that one. Had organized patrols for the Minutemen, reasoning that if he could no longer aid the Brotherhood in a direct way, he could at least protect the settlers. She appreciated his good nature, even if he was full of himself.
The Brotherhood would always consider Danse an enemy. She didn't think it was a good idea to tempt fate by travelling with him, but Danse was a loyal man. Put up with all manner of her pretend cheer and helped Minutemen settlements, even after―
After that mess with Elder Maxson, after she'd talked him out of killing Danse. She trusted Danse. Even if he really was a synth. It was hard to find people devoted to their cause, like him.
Jeanne made a face that she wouldn't have dared to, if she'd thought anyone was watching. She clutched at her mouth when the boat finally jarred to a stop. She could hear two people talking on the pier, something about visitors. The air was so dark but for the dimly burning lanterns that, when she stood and turned to look about the pier, she almost thought it was midnight.
She exited the boat before Danse, so glad to have her feet on solid boards again that she almost forgot about the greeting party. Her legs nearly buckled under her, taking the first few steps, but she salvaged her pride and confidently strode forward to the woman and sour-looking man that waited for them.
During their brief conversation, which was interrupted by an alarm raised in the town, Jeanne flew up the steps to the overlook with Danse stomping along behind her dutifully. Whatever new creatures crawled, walked, or scuttled through this place, she was prepared. She always had been, even when she crawled out of that godforsaken Vault.
Jeanne never missed a shot. It was her sole grace in this terrible new world, that she was able to shoot so accurately. Thank God that Nate taught her that much―
She couldn't afford to miss, again.
This place stank to high heaven. Fetid air, the smell of rotten plant life clinging to everything, churned up by the ever-constant motion of the water; even the stink of fish assailed his nose. He considered it unbearable.
He'd nearly been sick when they made their arrival. The people didn't smell much better than the Harbor; particularly the one called Allen Lee, who hovered around Captain Avery as Johnson spoke to him. It was... very like socks that had not been aired, worn for far too long and soaked in fermented Mutfruit.
Danse was used to military hygiene being lacking, but this smell was just pathetic.
He didn't care for the man's bad attitude. Danse hadn't seen such hate in a man's eyes since he last spoke to Elder Maxson, when Johnson had managed to save his life.
The thoughts that came into his mind at the association were unbidden, but he let them run their course. It would serve no greater purpose to stem them and hurt himself further. Eventually he would think the matter through, discover why he still lived, or he would actually be killed.
His mind wondered which outcome was preferable.
The Harbor reminded him of something. The feeling that leached into him was familiar. Lee held much hate for the Children of Atom. The sheer darkness of the place, and the frenzied combat of fighting new monsters... the desperate measures of the people here, to secure their future with whatever means they had.
He felt as if he'd entered the Commonwealth all over again. It was disturbing, the similarity.
When Gladius had begun to scout, they'd traveled through the swampier regions south of Quincy. Far Harbor was foggy, but it was also damn near identical to the southern parts of the Commonwealth. Danse felt uneasy, thinking of the similarity.
He had survived through the continuous attacks, moved on after the near-decimation of his men, and―with Johnson's timely help―had completed their goals. He appreciated that she was amenable to helping the Brotherhood, even after...
Danse watched her face as she spoke with Captain Avery. She was promising to help people. Though he might consider her dishonest at times, he knew that this promise was no lie. Johnson enjoyed helping others as much as he himself had enjoyed joining the Brotherhood. She had proven that time and again, in the Commonwealth.
And if she had not shown herself to be altruistic, he doubted he would have accepted her decision to spare him. Or that he would continue traveling with the woman, had she asked. Johnson was... difficult for him to understand.
She was not what he would have ordinarily considered useful to a mission; her willing nature had struck him as impressive, made him offer up immediate admission to the Brotherhood. She had definitely proven that she was worth her salt, even through her suspicious―and almost blissfully unaware―methods of persuasion.
He did feel more tolerant of her questionable smiles and need to show that she was not brought down by the terrible things that had happened, than he had before. Since she'd convinced the Elder to spare him, without having any true reason to do so, her strangely sunny attitude was slowly slipping into a more or less neutral one. He felt obligated to accept what felt like a lie.
His patience was wearing, though. It was amazing, her capacity for falsity.
Johnson had spoken softly and with conviction, her words hitting hard but her face never faltering from the facade she'd kept for so long, when she dealt with Maxson. Now that smile was fading more frequently and taking longer to return, each time.
Something heavy was weighing on Johnson's mind, much as it was on his. Danse half suspected she had come north to Far Harbor in order to distance herself from the Commonwealth and Sanctuary Hills. He could not necessarily blame her, though he did wonder at the coincidence.
The call to arms was sudden, but brought up his spirits as he moved along the wall and took position near to Johnson. She aimed her hunting rifle down into the fog, an intense look on her face.
"Can't see anything," she murmured, sweeping from right to left. She was frowning. Danse thought it might be the first time he'd ever seen her frown.
"Stay vigilant," he affirmed, his own rifle aimed and ready. Had to show his willingness.
The monsters came. Through the fog, abominations as tall or taller than a man, creatures walking on two legs like no animal should. "Multiple targets approaching!" he called out, as beams of red pierced the air.
Johnson lined up a shot, taking out one of the abominations. She grumbled something under her breath as she sought another target, her hand trembling on the forestock. Danse was momentarily distracted by this, her apparent weakness.
Johnson never missed. He'd chosen her over so many other wastelanders that he'd run into, because she was spectacular at ammo conservation, because she was a hell of a shot and no ordinary wastelander. After he'd learned her story―that she was frozen for 200 years, that she'd witnessed the death of her husband, that her son was taken―he gladly supported her joining the Brotherhood. She hadn't been shaken, putting on her brave face and going to work, infiltrating the Institute and finding Dr. Li, holding her own on the trip through the Glowing Sea...
He'd seen her take down a Mirelurk Queen, tossing grenades when she'd run out of ammo. She'd attacked a Super Mutant Suicider with a baseball bat and walked away―limping―but unbowed, her face a picture of triumph. Johnson was insanely tough. Even if she put on her cheerful charade, Johnson was fearless and courageous, never backing down from anything.
But these creatures were enough to make her hand unsteady?
It didn't make sense to him.
It wasn't even that much of a threat. Between himself and Johnson, they'd removed all but one of these "gulpers". The other was put down by Allen Lee, who stood and fired into the fog with the same courage that Johnson showed on a regular basis. Danse thought, perhaps, the smell was not as terrible as he'd imagined.
When the gates had opened once more and the Captain moved down into the town proper to speak with the people stuck in the middle of the fray, Danse stopped her.
"Are you sure that you're alright, Johnson?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice free of doubt.
She jumped, surprised at his voice. Danse moved back a step, wondering at that. "I am sorry," he said, feeling somewhat chagrined.
"It's okay, Danse. But, why―" she sounded befuddled and slightly frustrated, yet covered it with the same veneer of pleasantry he'd experienced before. "Why do you keep asking? I told you, I'm fine." She walked away quickly, toward Avery and Lee.
He had not spent so much time in the wastes, not to understand that the simplest solution was often the best one. She'd been seasick the entire time on the boat, even if she'd denied it. That must be what was going on.
Johnson had reacted very much the same when she rode the Vertibird up to the Prydwen. Danse nodded to himself, satisfied. Yes, the idea was sound; it wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine she was still reeling from the ailment, upon the wall. Being nauseous was enough to bring the strongest man down; he didn't blame her at all.
He moved up behind her, listening to the end of the conversation between herself and Avery. "I'll see what I can do!" Johnson said, smiling and tilting her head at the Captain.
Danse kept pace as she decided to explore the Harbor.