Survivor: Chapter Ten
Disclaimer: Bethesda and Obsidian have made something awesome. I just like to play in it.
Notes: Sometimes I make changes for better storytelling effect, and sometimes it's because I believe the in-game source may be considered unreliable and the "truth" may be somewhat different. Please enjoy, and leave feedback.
There is an explicit lesbian scene at the beginning cut out to meet 's rules but can be found on Archive of Our Own.
The next morning, Delaney says nothing to him. Her hair is scraped back into a bun, giving her a more Brotherhood-friendly look. There are dark circles under her eyes, like bruises, and the burn on her forehead and scar over her eye stand out angrily. Her skin is paler than usual from lack of sleep and the bruise from the courser is a dark smear on her milky throat.
Her eyes are like steel.
She says nothing to Danse about what she said the night before; indeed, she says very little to him at all. When he catches up to her in the mess, she's picking at an almost green Salisbury Steak. Delaney sets her fork down when he approaches and she flicks her eyes up at him. Without the soft curls framing her face, he can see how angular she's become.
"Maxson wants to see us," he says to her quietly. Something flickers across her face, something he can't read. She doesn't respond, but after a moment stands and marches out to the command deck. He follows.
Although he's never seen one in person, obviously, Danse once saw an exhibit in some museum in the Capital featuring a jungle cat, stuffed and posed in a crouch, tail held high and mouth in a permanent snarl. Maxson somehow always reminds him of this, despite the disparate memory Danse carries of him as a little boy.
Maxson paces the command deck now, brows furrowed, looking for all the world like that cat. His burly shoulders are tense under his massive coat and he frowns at them both when he gives the order.
She's to go back to the Institute. She's to recruit Madison Li.
Danse has a dim memory of Dr. Li. He'd barely met her when she took off for the Commonwealth, for the exciting scientific community of the Institute. He has a dim memory of small woman, Asian, with fine bones and a snotty tone to her voice.
Although nothing changes in Delaney's posture or demeanor, Danse can see she doesn't want to go. Or maybe it's just what they discussed last night.
"You did say you're free to come and go at our debriefing," Maxson answers the statement neither of them made. "We need her for a project we're working on."
Liberty Prime, Danse realizes. They brought it.
They really are going to war.
Finally, quietly, when Maxson is done speaking, Delaney speaks. He'd thought she would argue, that she might say something about her son or being unable to go back, but all she says is a quiet, "Yes, sir. May I be excused?"
"You're dismissed," Maxson waves a hand at her, every inch the general. She turns on her heel and walks out. "Now as for you -" And the younger man turns to Danse, meets his eyes.
What Danse sees there is terrifying. The black look Maxson gave him the day before is nothing compared to this.
"What is going on between the two of you?" This again.
"There's nothing happening there, sir," Danse begins, honestly. "I am her commanding officer and she is an excellent soldier and friend."
The glower on Maxson's face recedes a little. "See to it that it remains that way. We're too close to our goal for you to ruin it by sleeping with a recruit, especially one so valuable to our mission." He turns and stalks to the window, arms laced behind his back.
Danse is offended, and tries not to show it. "Sir?"
Maxson turns around and looks at him again. "Yes, Paladin?"
"Have I done something to make you question my loyalty to the Brotherhood or our mission?"
At this, Maxson finally softens. "No, Paladin." A deep sigh. He unlaces his arms, and for a moment, Danse sees how young Maxson really is. How big a toll leadership is taking on him. He wonders briefly is perhaps it's all just too much for such a young man, even one raised up to it like Arthur. "No, you have always been steadfast."
"Thank you sir."
"You're dismissed." Maxson turns back to the large window, back straight.
The Third Rail looks shabbily glamorous as always. Ham was hesitant to let them both in, citing some past trouble with MacCready, but waves Piper and Dogmeat through without issue. After a few minutes of wheeling and dealing, she was able to do absolutely nothing and instead MacCready headed off to the Rexford to secure a room for them for the night.
It's not usual for Piper to be unable to convince someone to do what she wants. She must be losing her touch, she thinks as she takes a long swallow of something clear and astringent at the bar. For all Charlie's talk about drinking beer and only beer, there's always something else to be had, if you're willing to deal with whatever it is.
The way she's feeling tonight, with the questions swirling in her mind, there's no doubt that she needs something more than beer. A lobotomy wouldn't be out of the question -
Her thoughts are interrupted by the swish of fabric as someone settles onto the seat next to her. Magnolia. When did the music stop?
The older woman greets her with a smile. "If it isn't my favorite reporter," she purrs.
Despite their history, Piper finds herself tongue-tied. She really must be losing it, she ponders dimly, taking her eyes from Magnolia's face and staring into her glass.
"Hey Mags," she starts, then stops. What is there to say? She has so many things she's trying to understand she's not sure Magnolia is the one to help her pars them.
But why is she here, if not to talk?
"I ask myself what a little bird like you is doing down here," Magnolia starts again. "But I think I know." There's something predatory and welcome about the hand she places casually over Piper's.
Oh. Yeah. That's why.
Best to just get on with it, then. Forgetting isn't always easy.
Piper forces a grin. "I know we said it was over, Mags, but any chance for um, an...encore?" Her smile is flirty, and though she knows she sounds awkward, they both know she knows exactly what she's doing. She runs her eyes carefully from Magnolia's soft ruby lips down her narrow throat and bites her lip as she reaches those firm breasts so many have dreamed about.
Magnolia's laugh is a precious thing; it's clear as a bell, tinkling in the pit that is the Third Rail.
"I'll get my coat," she says, rising.
The walk back to the Rexford is fast, and cold. A light snow is beginning to come down. Piper read that once there were thick snows that blanketed the Commonwealth, but now they only occasionally get a sprinkle. She wonders what a heavy snow would be like.
Inside the hotel room, things are easy and familiar enough. Magnolia never wears anything under her gowns, so it's a simple matter of lifting the flimsy straps of her shoulders and watching the dress fall to her feet. When she steps out of it, there's a whisper of fabric and then Magnolia stands there in all her glory, wearing nothing but impractically shiny black heels.
"Now you," she murmurs. The woman never speaks above a purr. It's one of the things that excites and annoys Piper in equal turns.
Dogmeat lets out a whine and they both turn. The dog sits by the door, looking for all the world like this is bugging him, one ear turned to the side. Piper crosses and lets him out, nudging him out with one gentle boot.
When she becomes aware of herself again, Magnolia is sitting, fully-clothed, in a chair across the room, a knowing smirk on her face. Somehow, her hair and make-up are perfect. Piper must have been out longer than she thought. The singer holds a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. The smoke curls around her, making her look like a sexy dragon.
Sexy dragon? Boy, she must be more tired and burned out than she thought, Piper muses.
"Have you forgotten whatever it is your little brain has been stumbling over?" There's no malice in the question; Magnolia looks pretty self-satisfied.
Slowly, it dawns on Piper that she's still naked. She should get up. She should get dressed, and try to start her day. There's a lot of things she should do, but instead she flops back on the bed and stares at a crack in the ceiling.
Magnolia's laugh comes again. "Guess not."
"Mags," Piper starts, no longer nervous. "If they don't know they're a synth and think they're the real deal, who is it hurting?"
"I'm afraid I don't get your question," there's still a hint of a laugh in Magnolia's voice.
Piper tries again. "If a synth isn't replacing someone, and they don't know they're a synth, and they're just living their life and trying to be like everyone else...does that make it okay?"
She can hear Magnolia take a sip of her drink. "You're asking if they become real if it doesn't hurt anyone?"
That sounds about right. For a moment, Piper thinks of a book she found once: The Velveteen Rabbit, about a toy that becomes a real rabbit, and not the kind she knows, but one without vicious fangs. A pre-war rabbit. They must have been nice.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"I'm sure I'm not the one to answer these questions," another laugh. "Why don't you ask your young man?" Then, before Piper knows what's happened, the door clicks shut and she realizes she's alone; Magnolia's gone back to the bar and her questions remain.
The next few weeks pass in a blur of activity. Delaney returns to the Institute and then back to the airport. They're immediately dispatched to find something or other for Liberty Prime, a magnet or something from a hospital. Danse isn't in the habit of asking too many questions and after his talk with Maxson, less so. Despite the way things were left, he still isn't sure what his footing is in the Brotherhood and he feels - for the first time since he joined up - nervous.
Delaney, on the other hand, seems to dawdling. She wants to go into every building, scavenging junk as she goes. She stops shying away from fights and instead jumps into them in a way that almost scares Danse and, on more than one occasion, infuriates him.
In the meantime, she doesn't speak to him. She's not silent, but speaks the minimum required to accomplish their tasks. She's competent, but no more.
He wonders sometimes if she got a similar talk from Maxson, and that's why things are so uncomfortable, but then he thinks of the weight of her head on his shoulder and the tears soaking through his sleeve and remembers what she carries in her heart.
Today, as they're getting ready to head out to the Glowing Sea again - looking for nukes this time - he finds her sitting on the end of a pier not far from the airport as the sun starts to drop. Her boots sit beside her, and she's rolled up the legs of her uniform to dangle her feet in the water. The wind blows her hair back from her face and he finds something about the piece of beachgrass stuck in one of her curls strangely endearing. She doesn't turn as he navigates the broken parts of the pier to sit beside her. He takes off his boots and rolls the socks inside them, and drops his feet into the icy water, stifling a gasp.
"I took him to the beach once," Delaney says when Danse settles next to her. She doesn't take her eyes off the horizon, turning black as the sun sets behind them. The waves lap gently at the sand beneath them. He wonders idly if this is how it was, before the war.
"Your son?"
She nods, still not looking at him. "We spent the day there, just a few weeks before the bombs dropped." Her voice catches but her eyes are clear; no tears to be seen. "I kept building him sandcastles and sticking seashells in the sand. And he kept coming along behind me, knocking everything down."
When Danse looks down, away from the horizon, he sees her twisting something in her lap, her fingers turning around and around. After a minute, he realizes it's a scrap of white fabric with a pattern of sailboats on it.
"What's his name?"
She's quiet and he thinks maybe she won't answer, but then: "Shaun. It was my father's name." She swallows visibly and before he can think about what he's doing, Danse lifts his hand and places it on her back. For a moment he wonders what the others might think if they see, but she's looking down at the fabric and fighting the tears and so instead he moves it in a slow circle, trying to soothe her.
"I kept telling myself," she swallows again, and lifts her head to look out at the water. It expands beyond them, goes on and on. "I kept telling myself," she starts again, "that knocking things down like that was just normal baby behavior. But now I wonder if he was just always broken…"
"I'm sure that's not it." Danse's voice is quiet but it seems to take her by surprise. When she looks at him, he gains strength, and continues. "You're a good mother. This isn't because of you. At least you fought to find him. It's not your fault that you came too late."
Delaney lets out a shaky laugh. "He's the one who thawed me out. If he hadn't done it when he did, I may have stayed frozen forever."
Danse isn't sure how to handle this information. Who does something like that?
But then, none of her story makes much sense. It's not her fault that it's all so crazy; this is just the way things have happened to her.
Around them, the ocean laps softly; the tide is coming in. A breeze blows gently and the smell of the salt tickles inside his nose. His feet are cold in the water, as he's sure hers are, but he's not going back to the Prydwen until she does. She leans gently into the hand he's placed on her back, and he stiffens slightly, giving her the support to stay upright. Somehow, this turns into her leaning into his shoulder and his arm around her.
"My husband would have liked you," she says softly, so softly he almost doesn't hear her over the breeze. Overhead, the sky is getting darker, the orange retreating behind them.
He feels a sudden and not entirely unwelcome urge to kiss the top of her head but settles for taking a stealthy sniff of her hair. "Why's that?"
"Well, he was in the military. He had just come back from the war not too long before…you know. He would've known how to handle all this better." She reaches across his lap and gently takes his opposite hand in both of hers, inspecting it. "His hands were like yours: strong, scarred." Danse looks down at his own hand in interest, trying to see what she sees there, but it's just his hand. Still, at the feel of her smaller fingers - cold, like ice - lacing between his own, he feels a small thrill.
A beach in winter. Who would have thought?
The story about Covenant went over well enough, but MacCready was surprised by the change in tone towards the synths potentially being held in cages in that bunker. Not long after publication - just two days, in fact - he comes back to Publick Occurrences from Power Noodles full to bursting and dreaming of putting his feet up and sleeping off all the starch only to find Piper packed up and ready to go.
Something seems different about her; she looks happy where just a couple hours before she'd had that look she'd worn for days: sour, sullen, and depressed.
"Where're we headed this time?"
She grins up at him. "I want to follow the Freedom Trail. I think it's time we help out."
"Freedom Trail?" He sputters, all thought of how full he was and ideas of a nap gone. "That means...going through the Commons."
"What're you, chicken?" And then she winks at him.
She winks at him.
Well, after that, he would follow her anywhere.