Minor spoiler alert: If you haven't visited the Swan Pond in Boston Commons, I suggest you do so before reading this chapter. This chapter contains no plot specific spoilers, however.

No Man's Land

The water was coming in too fast. The smell of it was disgusting; a fetid, rotting stench that saturated him until he wanted to vomit. The foul liquid was rising, almost touching his skin, and Danse struggled as he tried to free himself from his prison. There was a loud crack as the metal buckled, the glass shattered, and water flooded in, giving him seconds to take a quick breath before he was engulfed. Danse forced open his eyes, greeted with swirling silt that stung until he closed them again.

The pressure was increasing, pushing him further down into the mud, distant roars and gunfire mere background noise to his mounting panic. The cool collective approach of a leader was slipping between his fingers as his lungs screamed for air, begging him to open his mouth, demanding that he breathe. Dizziness was sweeping over him as the urge grew, clawing at his chest, tearing through his ribs. A sudden movement jolted his head, and what little breath he had was knocked free from his lips as he swallowed a large amount of the sickening water. It took every inch of control Danse had to stop himself from inhaling. He had nothing left, but he had to stay in control. He had to hang on.

The fight lasted for a few more seconds before instinct won. Danse's mouth opened of its own accord, his lungs preparing to breathe their last.

"Do you ever get that sudden feeling of impending doom?"

"...what?" Danse stopped and stared at Quinn; she couldn't see his face behind his helmet, but she could feel the confusion rolling off him.

They had been walking mostly in silence as they made their way along the riverbank adjacent to Boston Ruins, which meant Quinn's mind had been given the opportunity to wander. She gave a little shrug. "Well, look at it from where I'm standing: I spent my entire life in the relative safety of the pre-war world, where I could go to the Super Duper Mart for a pack of Sugar Bombs without ending up impaled and strung up as a raider home decoration. The Commonwealth is just a constant battle, and sometimes I wonder whether I'm actually going to survive the day." Quinn stopped and looked out over the river, nodding to the distant gunfire and explosions deep within the ruins. "But you've always been a part of the Commonwealth. So tell me, does the feeling that any day could be my last ever go away?"

Danse didn't reply straight away. He seemed to be having some sort of internal battle from the way he was rocking on his heels. Eventually, he said, "It was that easy to obtain Sugar Bombs in your time?"

"I...that's not the…" Quinn spluttered, flabbergasted. "Why do you…oh, you ass." She had heard him snickering from behind his helmet.

"I thought it was time you were on the receiving end of a strange question." He strolled off, a cocky bounce in his step. "But to answer yours, the feeling of dancing with death is ever-present. If it isn't, you're letting yourself get soft."

"But doesn't that get tiresome after a while?" Quinn asked, catching up with him.

"Not at all. It keeps me on my toes."

A fire hydrant flew over their heads, crashing into the side of a nearby building with a mighty bang. Glass panels shook loose and rained down on their heads, shattering against their armour and the road at their feet. There was a loud creaking noise as a billboard on the roof swayed dangerously before the rusted supports snapped, sending it plummeting to the ground. They dived out of the way, Quinn falling back and narrowly missing a lamppost, and Danse landing into a collection of trash cans. He emerged, grumbling, as Quinn got to her feet and swore, ducking around the corner. A second later, Danse joined her, squinting down the street.

In the distance, two huge behemoths lumbered into view, apparently having some sort of disagreement - if a disagreement meant beating the shit out of each other with makeshift clubs. One of them had a fire hydrant on the end of theirs, while the other was simply using a metal pole as its weapon. Quinn glanced at the recently relocated billboard, strongly suspecting that, at one point, the former flying fire hydrant now lying dented on the sidewalk had once been part of a larger weapon. Not that the behemoth seemed to mind; it was doing spectacularly well with just the pole.

"Still on your toes?" Quinn murmured. Danse sighed, slinking away from the battle. She trailed after him; it was clear that following the riverbank was now out of the question.

"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men," he muttered, checking over his rifle as they crept further down the road, the roars of the mutants growing fainter.

Quinn momentarily forgot that the super mutant equivalent of a domestic was happening a mere thirty feet away from her, and gawped at him. "You know Steinbeck?"

"Yes," Danse replied without looking at her. "But it was Burns' first."

"Burns?"

"Robert Burns. He wrote the original poem." Danse glanced back at the fighting mutants. "Do we really need to have this conversation now?"

"No, I just didn't expect..."

Danse waved for her to be quiet, edging forward towards a small bridge that led over the river. Over the water lay a raider compound, high scrap walls emblazoned with colourful warnings and crude accompanying diagrams. It seemed the raiders had a real artist in their ranks. Quinn chuckled to herself just as Danse aimed his weapon and fired; the head of the nearby sentry snapped back, their body following in a sharp arc as they toppled off the barricade.

The hive erupted in a flurry of furious activity, raiders swarming out from every nook and crevice, a dozen barrels pointed at them. With almost lazy indifference, Danse primed a grenade and tossed it. It tumbled gracefully through the air, dropping in the centre of the largest cluster of enemies. The explosion sent the raiders flying; Quinn shot a nervous look at the warring behemoths behind them, but they paid no notice to Danse's casual destruction.

The paladin moved forward as panic rippled through the ranks, firing perfect headshots with ease. It took Quinn a few seconds to remember that she was supposed to be helping; she raised her combat rifle and took aim, firing at a much faster, more reckless pace than the paladin. The bullets went wild, some hitting their marks, others razing down raiders several feet away from her actual targets.

"Short, controlled bursts," Danse yelled, "and keep obs on those behemoths!"

"Obs?" Quinn bellowed back over the gunfire.

"Observation!"

"Well why didn't you just say that?!" A bullet pinged off Quinn's helmet and she swore loudly, adjusting her fire as directed. To her surprise, the back of the raider's head blasted out in a gory pattern; she'd never hit someone between the eyes at such a distance before. "Yes!"

A roar in the distance cut short Quinn's elation. The fire hydrant-less behemoth had pulverised the other, and now held its pipe aloft as it turned its ugly, boulder-shaped head towards them. It considered them for a moment and then lumbered towards them, stooping down every few steps or so to scoop up debris and hurl it at them.

"Time to go." Danse dodged a piece of rubble, which soared past and smashed through the raiders' barricade. The two of them barrelled through, barging raiders out of the way, the mutant at their heels. Ignoring the terrified screams of their assailants, they sprinted through the shanty town, kicking down walls to create a new exit. The behemoth began wreaking havoc on the raiders as the pair ducked into a side street, panting, before creeping deeper into the city. The behemoth, apparently preferring its new playthings, did not follow.

"So, new plan then?" Quinn said eventually as they reached a quiet section of the ruins. "Goodneighbor and then west and north to the bridge near Diamond City?"

"We don't need to go to Good-" Danse began, but Quinn cut him off.

"Yes, we do. What was it you said earlier?" Quinn lowered her voice and imitated the paladin, "We're dangerously low on medical supplies." She cleared her throat and grinned at him, even though she knew he wouldn't be able to see it behind her helmet. "Goodneighbor has what we need, and if we're going through the ruins, then we have to stock up as soon as possible."

"I don't sound like that," Danse muttered under his breath, but he nodded. "Fine. But I want a secondary supply run at Diamond City. I don't trust them not to slip us subpar equipment."

"I know the mayor; helped him out some. With any luck, everyone else will recognise that and at least try to cut us a fair deal."

"I think you're placing far too much faith in these kinds of people." Danse's tone was clear, riddled with mistrust and resignation, but Quinn didn't care.

"Noted." She nodded her head in the direction of the main street, and the two of them set off, picking their way through the rubble. The difference from her memory was striking; gone were the clean streets, the road buzzing with cars while pedestrians tried their luck in crossing to the other side, traffic lights blaring out their commanding colours.

Piles of debris now choked the streets, forming rolling hills and valleys of scrap. The twisted, rusted remains of cars poked from the ground like sunkern tombstones. The cracked tarmac was barely visible under all the crap; Quinn nudged aside an old hubcap with her foot, her nose wrinkling with distaste as the distress grew. It was scenes like this, where the backdrop of her old life looked so alien to her it was near unrecognisable, that threatened the gravity of her situation to consume her. It was easy enough to block it all out when she was in unfamiliar territory, or when she concentrated on Shaun - but in the long, lonely walks through the graveyards of her memories, she was at the mercy of the past.

Did my dad die alone?

"So, Danse," Quinn said, fighting back her anxiety, "Robert Burns: how do you know about him? Because I certainly didn't; I didn't think the wasteland had much left in the way of literature."

If Danse noticed the unusually high pitch to her voice, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "It doesn't. I have the Brotherhood to thank for my education."

"They taught you to read and write?"

"No, they…" Danse paused. "I don't remember how I learnt to read and write. It's just a skill I've always had, right from when I was a child. My parents - or someone - must have taught me, but I can never recall who or when."

"Do you remember your parents at all?"

"No." There was an awkward silence, which Danse quickly filled. "But the Brotherhood tries to teach all its soldiers basic reading and writing; it's no good having someone on the field who can't identify useful technology due to illiteracy. Only those who become proficient at it can move up in the ranks; every team leader and officer is well-educated."

Quinn wondered if the Brotherhood's idea of 'well-educated' came close to the pre-war standard; judging by Danse's own knowledge, there was a possibility that was the case. "You like books then?"

Danse shrugged. "They pass the time. I read more during training and my early days as a knight. Once I became Paladin, my duties became my priority...but I confess, sometimes I miss it."

"I should take you to Boston library sometime. I'm sure we can…" Quinn's voice trailed off, the feeling of disorientation crashing into her. The last time she had been this way, it had been dark, the night hiding the echoes. Now, in the light of day, the sun streaming through the skeletal skyscrapers, highlighting the destruction, Quinn saw. The left fork led to Goodneighbor; the right, towards an old, precious memory. Lowering her weapon, she wandered off as if in a dream.

"Soldier?" Danse asked. His voice seemed distant to her, unimportant. She ignored him and carried on, almost strolling down the street.

"Where are we going?" Quinn asked Nate, slipping her fingers through his.

"Wait and see," he replied, giving her hand a little squeeze.

She could almost see it now, the ghosts of cars and people bustling past them in the crowded street, Nate leading her by one hand, his height allowing him to push the chaos aside with ease. The rumble of cars was now replaced with far-off gunfire, the smell of food vendors and city life now drowned by the stench of damp and decay. The street opened into a town square, dead trees lining barren flowerbeds and warped railings. Quinn walked through, past rusted little lampposts dotted on old stone walls, past the beautiful water fountain, now marred with scorch marks and bullet holes, and headed towards the swan pond.

The water, which had once been so clear you could see the chipped, white enamel at the bottom of the pond, was now a thick, murky black. At the back, near the old boathouse, Quinn could see one of the intact boats, red paint peeling as the wood beneath it rotted. Not far from it lay the other, its swan missing, the wood almost completely falling apart. In the centre of the pond lay the missing swan, choked and tangled by what looked like thick, slimy weeds and rubbish. It didn't deserve to lie there, slowly sinking into the polluted water. Better to free it and reunite it with the other. Behind her, she heard the thumps of Danse as he caught up to her, a question of confusion on his lips.

Quinn stepped into the water.

The swan erupted out from the depths, vile liquid pouring down from its cracked and butchered body, gaping wounds where its wings had once been. It turned a beady eye to Quinn, and she knew it was her it wanted; the old world had come to claim her back.

"Quinn!" Danse bellowed, opening fire at the monstrosity that towered over them. It raised a grey, meaty fist, clutching what looked like an anchor in its hand, and swung it down at Quinn. She snapped back to her senses at the last second, dodging out of the way, stumbling as the weapon slammed down into the ground where she had been standing moments earlier.

"SWAAAAAAN!" the behemoth screamed, throwing its head back and raising its arms into the air. Aside from the anchor, the creature had an entire boat on its arm as a shield. The plastic swan strapped to its shoulder glared down at them, as if choosing the next target. Quinn scooted back, the water pushing against her, and saw Danse behind the mutant, circling around for a flanking attack. The mutant's dark, glittering eyes settled on her, and Quinn had the distinct impression that they held more malice and intelligence than the behemoths from earlier. Its thick lips spread in a broken, nasty smile as it took a slight step towards her, and then whirled around with a deafening roar; the anchor hit Danse square in the chest, sending him flying. He landed face down, but before he could get up, the behemoth planted a large foot onto his upper back and head, crushing him down into the water.

Even from where she was standing, Quinn heard the loud crack of metal buckling, and saw Danse's arms and legs begin to flail in uncontrollable panic. She had minutes to act. The behemoth stayed where it was, anchor raised, its foot firm on Danse, daring her to come closer.

Nate flickered briefly through her mind, clutching onto Shaun as a bullet silenced him forever, while Quinn beat her fists helplessly against frosted glass.

No! God, no! Don't let me lose him too! I can't go through this again!

"Let him go!" Quinn shrieked. She darted forward, dodging the fall of the anchor as it rushed past her and crashed into the pond, spraying water as the enamel bottom audibly cracked. In that second, its face was inches from hers, and rage directed her to her target. With a yell, she thrust her gun upwards; the barrel went straight into its eye with a sickening squelch.

The roars turned to howls as the behemoth recoiled, staggering away. Blood was running down its face, and it swung blindly with the anchor, before tripping on the edge of the pond and landing on one of the boats with a bang that shook the ground. Quinn paid little attention; she was sprinting to Danse's side. As soon as the behemoth had released him, Danse had pulled himself free of the water. It was pouring out of the cracks in the metal and glass of his helmet, but his hands scrabbled frantically for the catches, fumbling the mechanisms.

Quinn reached him and batted his hands away, pulling at the catches with all her might. There was a clunk, and Danse tore the helmet from his head, water crashing down his shoulders like a waterfall. The gasp he made hurt Quinn's chest; he seemed to be retching, suffocating on the air he was trying to breathe. Then suddenly he was on all fours, vomiting up thick, black liquid, making horrible heaving and choking noises between each wave.

Quinn tore herself away from him; the behemoth was staggering to its feet, splintering the old boat as it went. She raised her gun, took a calming breath, and fired. The bullets cut into its head, and it roared in pain, stumbling back. But it wasn't dying. Could she drag Danse away in time? Could they outrun the thing, even if Danse was fit to move? Frustration exploded within her and she screamed, "Just fucking die, you piece of shit!"

"Grenades!" Danse rasped. He was getting to his feet, grenade in hand, about to pull the pin. "Grenades!"

Oh shit, I forgot about them.

Following the paladin's lead, she reached for her fragmentation grenades and started throwing them like she was in a pre-war snowball fight. The explosions rocked the behemoth from side to side, drowning out its howls of pain, until eventually it collapsed and fell still. Quinn approached it, rifle at the ready, peering through the smoke and flames for any sign of movement.

"Careful," Danse warned, his voice hoarse.

Quinn fired once into the mutant's head. It didn't move. "It's dead."

Danse didn't answer, but Quinn heard the retching and gagging again, followed by deep, hacking coughs. She waited until he had quietened down before returning. Better not to make him feel uncomfortable while he threw his guts up. Danse pulled himself to his feet as she walked towards him, took a few steps in her direction, and then toppled back down into the water, coughing. With a noise of concern, Quinn ran over to him, pulling out a small bottle of purified water from the medical kit on her armour, and sat down in the pond next to him.

"Drink," she said, as he tried to refuse it. "If anything, it'll get the taste out of your mouth."

Danse threw her a look of exasperation mixed with gratitude as he took the bottle and swigged deeply from it. Another coughing fit started, but thankfully he didn't vomit again. Passing the water back to Quinn, Danse picked up his helmet, his lip curled in disgust. It had been completely bent out of shape, the front face plate caved in, and cracks in the metal so deep Quinn could already see it was a lost cause. He glared at it for what seemed like an age, and then hurled it away with such fierceness, Quinn jumped. The helmet hit the dirt with a thud and rolled away into the bushes. Danse said nothing, staring down at the water, a deep scowl on his face.

Suddenly, he spoke. "Was this where you came with your husband?"

"Yes." Quinn sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just saw the street, remembered where it led, and I had to come here. I didn't think. I could have-"

"It would have been a beautiful park once," Danse said, looking around the area before settling his eyes on her. "But it seems the roles have been reversed." He smiled.

Quinn's chest felt tight again, but at the same time, relief coursed through her. He wasn't angry at her stupidity. She looked down at them both sat in the water, the bottle in her hand, and chuckled. "Come on. We need to get you to Goodneighbor to be checked over." She got to her feet and helped Danse to his.

"I'm fine," he protested, but Quinn shook her head as she fished around for his weapon.

"Even if you didn't inhale that stuff, you certainly swallowed some of it. We're going to Goodneighbor and you are going to see a doctor." Quinn straightened up and put her hands on her hips. "And where the fuck is your gun?"

Danse glanced around at the black water and sighed. "It would take too long to find it, and with the noise we've made, I doubt we're going to be alone here for much longer. I'm sure we can locate something in Goodneighbor."

"Excellent idea, paladin." Quinn shot him her most dazzling smile. "You're learning."

"So, what do two tin cans want with my town, hmm?"

The rough voice of John Hancock drifted through the chemical haze that filled the room, its owner sat on an old, stained sofa, black-booted feet propped up on the coffee table. In one hand there was a jet inhaler; in the other, a knife. Hancock twirled the blade between his fingers while he wore a lazy smile, but his eyes were hard and sharp, never leaving the Brotherhood soldiers. He stopped twirling the knife as Quinn removed her helmet, eyes widening.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, lifting his feet off the table and back onto the floor as he sat up straight, "I leave you alone for five minutes and you join the Brotherhood of Bigots?"

Quinn gave a half-hearted shrug. "I think they have what it takes to do some good for the Commonwealth."

"Sure, but at what cost?" Hancock said, shooting Danse a withering look. Quinn prayed the paladin would keep his mouth shut, and mercifully, he did. Hancock went on, "Last I heard, the Brotherhood is more than happy to step on the little guy to get what they want. Killed any ghouls lately?"

"Hancock-"

"Saved them, actually," Danse said. His tone was neutral, but his voice sounded like sandpaper.

"Well lucky us, we got the Brotherhood on a generous day. By saving them, did you just mean you didn't shoot them on sight?" Hancock locked his fingers together over his chest and put his boots back on the table. "Or did you 'save' them from becoming ferals?"

There was a long, awkward silence; Quinn waited with bated breath for Danse to make some sort of comment, but the paladin held his tongue. Maybe he did know when to keep quiet after all.

Hancock tilted his head to the side, and then looked from Danse to Quinn. "He doesn't say much, does he?"

Quinn glanced at him and was alarmed to see Danse had gone a pale, almost grey colour. "Look," she said, turning back to Hancock. "You know the Swan Pond? The place where no one ever comes back from?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, we came back from it."

"Oh." Hancock's eyes widened. "Oh."

"I want to take him to see Doctor Amari to check everything's fine. Once that's sorted, I'm all yours and we can have a good, long catch-up."

Hancock considered Danse for a moment and then lit a cigarette, puffing on it so that thin tendrils of smoke curled slowly around his hat. "Go on," he said with a nod. "Make sure he's alright."

"The Memory Den?" Danse glanced around as he limped inside, features tinged pink by the lighting and decor. "I thought you were taking me to a doctor."

"I am. She's in the back room," Quinn said. She gave the Memory Den's blonde, sultry hostess a little wave as they stomped up to her. "Hi, Irma."

"Evening, honey." Irma's eyes flicked up and down Danse, a coy smile on her lips. "Who's your friend?"

"My boss," Quinn replied abruptly with a frown.

"Your boss? Interesting." Irma stretched out on the lounger like a cat, fixing her gaze firmly on Danse. "I imagine this isn't a social call from the look of your...boss. So head on through. Amari will sort you out."

"Thanks." The two of them walked past, Danse throwing a small glance back at Irma as they went; the hostess winked at him. Quinn rapped on the back of Danse's armour with her knuckles. "Come on, paladin. Eyes up front."

Danse flushed and looked ahead again, walking quickly into the next room. Quinn could feel annoyance in the pit of her stomach, which only increased as she heard Irma muffling a laugh from behind her.

What's gotten into you? she thought to herself. Let them flirt. None of your business. But her face still felt hot and her temper thin as Amari came over to greet them. Quinn explained what happened, noticing the colour drain out of Amari's face as she looked at Danse.

"Is everything alright?" Quinn asked. "You look a little…" Scared? Worried? Anxious? "...shocked."

Amari shook her head. "I'm fine. I just wasn't expecting anyone to come back from the Swan Pond. It's a first." She went to her cupboards and began rooting through. "Step out of that armour for me, please, paladin. I need to run a few test to make sure there's no fluid trapped in your lungs."

"Am I alright to leave him with you for a while, doctor?" Quinn asked as Danse complied with Amari's request. "Hancock wants a word with me."

"Of course," Amari turned to face her, holding a long, nasty looking needle. She caught the look on Danse's face and smiled. "Don't worry. This is just in case of fluid, but hopefully we won't have to use it." Amari glanced back to Quinn. "If the mayor wants you, then you're better off speaking to him as soon as possible. I imagine a Brotherhood presence in Goodneighbor will have him on edge. I'll be done here in about half an hour or so."

"Alright, spill it, Quinn. Why are you really working with the Brotherhood?" Hancock was splayed out on the sofa, the empty jet inhaler on his lap. He gave her a lopsided grin as she climbed out of her power armour and dropped in the chair opposite him, before continuing. "I thought you were smarter than that."

"I want my son back," Quinn said, putting her own feet on the coffee table and accepting the beer one of Hancock's men offered her. "You knew that from the moment you met me. I thought they could help me. It turns out they can't - not as quickly as I need, anyway."

"Alright, so the kid angle. I get that. But why your friend? Why is he with you?"

"He...he offered to help me, and I thought I could use it. He persuaded Elder Maxson to let me go off and do my own thing, while covering for me at the same time. He's been invaluable so far, he-"

Hancock gave a low laugh, which turned into a cough as he produced some more jet from his pocket. He offered it to Quinn, who declined. With a shrug, Hancock fired up the chem and inhaled, eyelids drooping as it hit him. "You like him, don't you?"

"Well, yes. He's been a good friend." Quinn's heart rate quickened.

Hancock rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that. You know what I mean. You like him, don't you?" The ghoul laughed to himself again. "Poor Magnolia...she'll be heartbroken."

"Don't." Quinn's tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. Hancock glanced up at her, wearing a sheepish expression.

"Too far?" he asked.

Quinn nodded. "Too far."

"Sorry." Hancock took another puff and caught her eye. "Really, I am."

"It's...it's fine." Quinn laid back against her chair and sipped her beer. "I was in a bad place that night. Grieving. Confused. Far too drunk for my own good. Magnolia...I shouldn't have done it. Nate would despise me for it."

"All you did was hit on the girl." He shook his head. "No need to beat yourself up about it, and to be honest, I think she was hankering for more before you bottled it." When Quinn didn't reply, he looked over at her. "You were in a vulnerable place. We've all done it." Hancock stared at his jet with a small smile. "Some more than others."

There was a comfortable silence while each indulged in their selected vice. Eventually, Hancock spoke. "When I first realised it was you, I was a little bit pissed. I thought you'd gone full ghoul-hater. But then I remembered, even though we only travelled together a short while, we did a lot of good. Helped a lot of people. I miss it. And if anyone could be a good influence on those Brotherhood sons-of-bitches, it's you."

Quinn blinked, taken aback by this, and then smiled. "An official commendation from the mayor? I'll remember that one, Hancock." With a nod, she raised the last of her beer to him. "Thank you."

A/N: Thank you to synthbutts (oolala) for general beta work, and mayorjohnhardcock (OOLALA) for help with characterising Hancock. I've never written Hancock before, and I don't know him as well as the other companions. I hope I did a good job on him. These two were super helpful to me, and you can find them both on tumblr.

Also, thank you to everyone for your reviews and love! It makes my day when I see it. :)