Fiction: Fallout 4
Summary: Danse returns after a mission to find Ash sulking at the flight deck of the Prydwen. More of a fluff piece than a whole chapter.
Category: Chapter 11
Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to any of the following work. While the writings themselves are my own, my character is created fully by myself, the other characters and story elements I do not own. I also do not own any of the Fallout 4 elements that are in play. Full credit goes to where it is due. Thank you. Thanks to Bethesda.
Danse felt content as his boots landed on the metal walkways of the Prydwen. "Amazing job, Paladins," the pilot congratulated. Danse and Paladin Brandis had cleared out a few of the remaining structures around the Prydwen, assuring that not only their base but the people and farmlands nearby, were safe and protected. In return, many settlers were more than willing to offer supplies and goods in trade. They were at war, the BOS would accept any help that was sent their way.
His power armor groaned softly as it released him, allowing Danse to step free from the fortified frame. Elder Maxson would likely enjoy a report, desiring exact details of the recon and what equipment they had been able to salvage. Thankfully, Danse was pardoned from having to deliver such a message, that duty falling on one Paladin Brandis since he was technically a higher ranking officer based on seniority when compared to Danse. Which meant that Danse had time to spare, an odd occurrence as of late. Ever since the Brotherhood arrived in the Commonwealth, there had been an endless stream of requests, deployment opportunities, and odd jobs. He was busier than ever before, filling much of his time with emptying abandoned locations of enemies, tracking down technological marvels, or helping in repairing the Prydwen in Proctor Ingram.
Ashtyn Jones preferred the Squire Escort missions and acquiring merchandise and foodstuff from local farms. She had a way with persuasion, earning her the nickname Silver Tongue from some of the officers on deck. While Danse preferred a more upfront and personal approach, guns blazing as she would call it; she sometimes thought of clever, stealthier, charismatic approaches that he had not even paused to consider. And she was wonderful with the children.
It was likely what made them such a good team on the field. Among other things.
Though, now that he was on the subject: where was Jones?
He had paused long enough to shower and throw on a change of clothes. He wore his orange BOS suit with the top half rolled down to his waist, the arms serving as a belt of sorts. This was accompanied with a faded gray t-shirt that Jones insisted had once been white though he wasn't convinced. Regardless, she had not been present in neither the shower rooms nor the bunk room they shared.
Danse poked his head into the mess hall, the smell of something cooking hitting his senses. Jones turned her nose up at the food that was served there but he never minded it. Granted, he had grown up on partially uncooked radroach meat and Yum Yum Deviled Eggs that had gone well past their expiration date. Anything would be considered an improvement from that garbage. He snatched a bottle of Nuka Cola (Jones' favored beverage of choice) and a pack of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes for himself.
Still no Ashtyn though…
"Afternoon, Captain Kells," Danse greeted, patting the man on the back at his stool. "Have you seen Knight Jones by chance?" Kells was Jones' typical go-to for work, and he usually had a decent general idea of her location.
"Ad Victoriam, Paladin Danse. Marvelous job on clearing out the Pier. Unfortunately, Knight Jones has not been by today. If you see her, tell her I have another recruit I would like for her to tour with. Jeremy is going to take a break, the kid has been excelling rapidly but everyone needs a breather now and then."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Have a good day." Danse saluted and took his leave, headed back up top.
He exited the Prydwen, finding himself once more on the flight deck, most of the Vertibirds currently dispatched or with other Brotherhood teams patrolling the Commonwealth.
It felt good. It felt more than good to be a part of something so grand, so spectacular. They were going to help so many people, save so many lives once the Institute was taken care of. He just hoped that the information he had given the Elder was enough to start tracking them down. They had to put a stop to the madness, obliterate every abomination. The world would never be safe unless they acted.
Danse did a once over scan of the perimeter, taking in the sights. This far up, it was difficult to make out much of below. The airport was alive with action, power armored men and women traversing back and forth in the hangar bays, trying to get a good count on their stock.
The deck itself was quieter, only a few guards on duty. He moved further away from the main door to the Prydwen, the breeze strong enough to ruffle his dark brown hair.
"There you are," he breathed happily, noticing Jones' slender figure leaning off the end of the ship, hands clasping the rail for support. Her head tilted in the slightest when she heard him speak, the smirk he had come so familiar with was absent, the normal spark in her eye missing completely.
"What's wrong?" he couldn't mask the hint of alarm that crept into his voice. She was always so quick with the quips. Something had to be bothering her.
She shook her head, sighing heavily. "It's nothing. Stupid really."
Clearly, it wasn't. "Oh come on, you're usually way happier to see me. I brought you a Nuka Cola," he shook the bottle enthusiastically. A smile flitted across her full lips for the briefest of seconds before disappearing once more, her hand closing around the bottle of irradiated soda before popping the cap off with the assistance of the rail.
She took a few sips, savoring the flavor. "It's just… Tomorrow is Christmas."
He arched a brow. He had not pegged her as the type to enjoy holidays. Then again… His mind flashed back to the holotape recording he had listened to, the one with a little baby boy named Shaun and a man speaking. There was so much he didn't know about her, so much she was keeping secret.
"Christmas?" he hedged, pressing his back to the rail so he could face her. Her hair was pulled up today though loose strands were falling haphazardly around her face. Elder Maxson insisted that she keep better control over her appearance but Danse knew she would do everything in her power to go against that ideal. She wore a pair of cargo pants, the pockets filled with odds and ends she probably collected while patrolling the Prydwen and Boston airport. A blank tank hugged her toned yet still muscular torso and chest. Ink colored her back, caressing her right shoulder in geometrical designs and wording in what he assumed to be Latin, the pattern itself detailing full bloom roses of varying colors and some buds that had still yet to open. When they had first met, he had been surprised to find out that she was covered in tattoos though, now that he knew her personality a bit better, he figured they suited her.
"You know? Deck the halls? Jingle bells? Sleigh rides to grandma's house? All that shit?" She took another swing of her Cola, nose crinkling when the flavor of radiation hit her tongue.
"I know the traditions, sure," Danse agreed, beginning to open the package of Snack Cakes.
Which she promptly snatched from his open hands. "I mean, what happened to Christmas cookies and candy canes and all of that? Like, what is this crap? Don't you guys get any home baking around here?"
Danse scowled at his now empty fingers, devoid of delicious Fancy Cakes. "Not really, no. That's why we are adequately supplied with rations and goods…. Such as the sweet treat you just stole from me." He sent an accusing glance in her direction.
"But what about Christmas cookies? Like sugar cookies or chocolate chip? Or peanut butter? Any of that ring a bell?"
"Jones, I don't know how to break it to you but, whatever fancy shmancy Vault you grew up in, people above ground don't partake in baking. Hell, I don't even think there are recipes around to make what you're talking about." He didn't understand what she was talking about. Sure, he knew what cookies were but no one knew how to make them nor could they list off the ingredients if they even wanted to go about baking in the first place. Fuck, were the ingredients actually obtainable?
And what did cookies have to do with Christmas? Was he missing something? Maybe it was a strange Vault thing she was once part of. Diamond City put up lights for the holiday but, other than that, no one else really celebrated. He knew bits and pieces of older traditions – gift giving, a big meal, songs… but not much beyond the basics. The Brotherhood didn't offer time for such things.
"What if I told you I know how to make them?"
He chuckled at that, shaking his head incredulously. "Okay, sure, I'll bite. What if? You have the stuff to make them too?"
Jones dug down into her pockets with her free hand, pulling out a handful of small bags with some sort of powdered material inside. A coy smile danced across her face, that spark returning in her eyes. "I do indeed."
Danse raised his brows, shock coloring his features. "So you're going to what, bake some cookies then?"
"Well," she paused, blinking up at him innocently. Oh no, he knew that face. She was going to rope him into something. "I was thinking maybe you could bake them with me?"
"Jones, I don't know the first thing about baking. How the fuck would I be of any assistance?"
"That's what I'm for – I can teach you."
"Teach me?" She sounded so hopeful, bordering on playful.
"Oh come on. You can kill supermutants and deathclaws, no problem. But cooking? Can't do that? The big, powerful, all knowing Paladin Danse, meat head of the Brotherhood and overall protector of the Commonwealth, can't bake cookies?"
He rolled his eyes, unable to stop his own grin from forming. Maybe it was something to do with the her silver tongue, or maybe it was the way her eyes twinkled whenever only he was around, or maybe it was how her smile brightened her whole face and made the sun shine. Or maybe it was just the complete ridiculousness of the situation…
But… "Fine. Teach me how to bake your damn cookies. But in the morning we are hitting the gym for a training session."
"Deal."
-oOo-
An hour later he was scooping 'batter' out of a 'mixing' bowl and onto a baking sheet. If Danse was being one hundred percent honest, he had not the faintest idea as to what it was he was doing. But, if his assumptions were correct. Jones did.
She wore a makeshift apron that she had crafted from a torn table cloth she had found tucked away in a random cupboard. He, on the other hand, had batter caked onto the side of his face, matted into his stubble and tucked into the right eyebrow. According to Jones, he had shoved his finger into the cookie mix one too many times for her liking and, as punishment, he had been awarded with a wooden spoonful of flour, sugar, baking powder, and egg. He wasn't aware that he had been placed on a quota.
"I hope it turns out alright. I've never used mirelurk eggs before… or reaaaaally old baking powder. Whatever, we'll see." Jones tucked the tray into the oven, huffing as she slammed the door shut. She glanced up at him, flour powdered her hairline and dotted her face in white. "Thanks for your help."
"I wasn't aware I had a choice in the matter," Danse replied curtly.
"Oh, you didn't. But I should thank you all the same," she grinned up at him, bright blue eyes laughing at his expense. Oddly enough, he didn't mind.
"What do we do now?" He took a seat across from her at the counter. The mess hall was emptying out, most of the lights switched off for the evening hours. The only illumination they had was provided by a few candles coupled with a singular lamp turned on in the corner of the kitchen.
"We wait." Jones leaned over, propping her head up on her hands, elbow pressed against the top of counter.
"Alright, well, if you are supposedly the most knowledgeable on how to spend Christmas, what did you and your family do to celebrate?" Danse questioned. He was aching to learn something, anything about her. She was a mystery. Though he had spent much time with her these past few months, he knew very little. He knew her tells in combat, was able to guess when she was about to make a hasty decision… but anything personal? He was completely lost. He wanted to understand her, wanted to fathom what made her act the way she did. He wanted to know about the life she had before the Brotherhood. He wanted to know who Shaun was…
"We made gingerbread houses and decorated the house full of lights. My parents used to compete with our neighbors to see who could get the most ridiculous front porch display." She grinned, her facial features animated, recalling what it looked like. "We made snowmen and had snowball fights. We used to sled down this big hill near the edge of town…" Her eyes glazed over in the slightest, the smile fading from her lips. What was she remembering? Whatever it was, it took her to a dark place. Danse began to reach forward, intending on shaking her from it but she managed to pull herself free, focus returning to the here and now. "But, I guess… that was a long time ago. I don't do those things anymore." She shook her head, as if clearing away that bad memory. "So, how did you celebrate Christmas in the Wasteland?"
"Rivet City was always busy that time of year. Parents were rushing to find gifts in the marketplace, trading what they could so their children could have something new for the holiday." He snatched a damp towel rag from the wash basin to his left, dabbing it against his batter encased cheek. "They put lights up along the rails of the ship, even outside. A giant tree was set in the center of the market district, everyone could put ornaments on it. I remember one year, it was so full that there wasn't any room left to hang anything else. Cutler and I made sure we were part of it every holiday. Well, until we joined the Brotherhood."
"Why didn't you continue?" she tilted her head to the side, eyes changing from interest to confusion.
"The BOS doesn't really offer downtime for something like this. They consider the overall mission far too important to waste time on holidays or gatherings."
She scoffed. "That's stupid."
"Are you saying baking cookies is more important than saving lives?"
"Why act as if everything is black and white?" Jones countered, expression turning serious. "If you can't even find time for the little things, for traditions, for family and friends – what kind of world are you trying to build? Sure, getting rid of all the baddies is awesome and super, thumbs up and all that. But stuff like this is important. Okay, say you have a family-"
"But I don't."
"Not the point. Pretend. Use your imagination for one hot second. It won't kill you. Okay, you have a family – a wife, a child, maybe a dog if that's your thing." She paused, glancing down at the countertop, her hands clasped together. "It was your child's first Christmas. Would you miss it so you could go shoot up a raider camp or blow holes through synths?"
"In doing so I would better protect him," Danse argued, not understanding where she was going with this topic.
"In doing so, you would create a child who doesn't care for you, who doesn't love you, who has no memories of you. In doing so you create a father that is never there and a husband who doesn't care enough to be present for the important parts of life."
Danse's lips parted but no words came out. She… had a point. If he focused on nothing but conflict, on fighting, would the world he was trying to create be the same? Would that world have no room for nourishment or nurturing because all the people who would provide it were gone, shoveled off to war? Order and law had their place but…
Jones' back was to him, her hand reaching into the oven to retrieve the baking sheet. The warm, sweet scent of melted chocolate hit him, his mouth practically watering.
"My point is," she finished, nudging a plate with a single cookie on it towards him. "If you can't make time for the little things… then what's is it that you're fighting for?"
They then spent the better part of the next hour, making rounds with the dozens of cookies they had. One went to each squire and each guard that manned their posts, one to Ingram, and another to Kells. One went to Brandis, and one went to Haylen. Rhys accepted one though he insisted he wouldn't eat it. Teagon accepted, a big smile on his face. Quinlan took another. Even Elder Maxson agreed to take one, the final cookie.
As he sat at his bunk, watching Jones get ready for bed… it hit him.
Whatever Jones was fighting for, at least she was fighting for something. What was he fighting for? At one point, he had been fighting to make his own life better – to get away from Rivet City. Then Cutler died, and he had been fighting to avenge his death. After that, he was fighting simply because he had thought it was the right thing to do, because the Brotherhood told him to.
But she was right. If he couldn't make time for the little things, for important things, like caring for others… what did that mean for the world the Brotherhood wished to create? Perhaps their ideals were not as noble and heroic as he had originally thought.
Such a thought was treasonous.
But would it truly be so horrendous to fight for the world Jones spoke off? He glanced up at her just as she looked towards him, her lips tugging up into a smile that warmed his heart.
Perhaps not.
"I have something for you," she announced, hands tucked away behind her back.
The Paladin scowled. "What?"
"You know, a present? It is Christmas after all. You didn't think I would force you to bake all day without giving you some type of reward, did you?" He tried to lean around her, gaze reaching to grab a glimpse of the object she held. But she twisted it out of eye sight.
"You didn't have to get me anything."
She peered at the floor. "It's the least I can do. You've done so much for me, you know? Seems only fair."
What? What had he done for her? Nothing extraordinary, certainly. Nothing that warranted a gift. "Really, you don't-"
Ashtyn held out the small package before he could finish his sentence. He gingerly took it into his own hands, turning the gift from side to side. It was wrapped in a section of Public Occurrences and tied together with a bit of ribbon. "Jones-" he tried again.
"Just open the damn thing before I change my mind." He heard her bed creak as she sat down on it, the mattress sinking below her. She refused to look at him, eyes trained on the hem of her Giddyup Buttercup shirt as she idly pulled at a loose string. Was she… embarrassed? Anxious? Her face was awash with a variety of emotions.
But he complied, setting the package on his laps as he tugged at the ribbon to expose the item underneath. Books, two of them, nestled within the paper. Though the covers of both were faded from years of wear and tear, the title was still visible along the spine of each. 'Lord of the Rings, Tale of Two Tours' and 'Return of the King'.
"I… Uh, I figured, maybe you would want the others in the series?" she phrased it as if it was a question. "I mean, I bet it gets tiring reading the first one and not knowing if Frodo makes it to Mount Doom."
He peeked up at her. "Where did you find this?"
"Oh, there's a bookstore I used to- I found while scouting the Boston downtown area. It was filled with books. Most of them were shit but I found a few that survived."
"Wow… I… Don't know what to say."
Panic, panic was certainly the emotion he was seeing now. Shit, no he had to fix that.
"In a good way," he reassured. "No one has ever gotten me a gift before. I'm just surprised. Thank you."
She visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. "Good! You had me terrified there for second, making me think that I made some sort of horrible mistake."
Danse chuckled. "No, it's wonderful. But… I'm afraid I didn't get you anything."
Ashtyn waved a hand dismissively. "You baked cookies with me, don't worry about."
He paused. Was that good enough, really? "There's nothing you want in return?"
The Paladin was rewarded with the blush that rose in the Knight's cheeks. "I didn't say that. But, you don't have to do anything for me."
"Name your price. Honest."
She bit her bottom lip, a nervous habit he had noticed she used whenever she was debating whether or not she wanted to speak her mind. "Well… I guess I do have a question. You don't have to answer it though." She tucked her legs up underneath her, folding her hands in her lap.
"Shoot." How bad could it be?
"Okay…" she inhaled a soft breath, as if preparing herself mentally. "Danse… You get nightmares. Like me. But, I don't know what yours are about… You're always so tense when you sleep. It's hard to watch."
Oh… Oh, he hadn't expected that. Out of all the things she would want to know, of course, it was so like her, to dive for the one thing that he struggled the most with discussing.
His hesitation made her back pedal. "Like I said, you don't have to answer. I'm just curious."
"No, it's okay. I can tell you." Danse leaned his back against the wall, eyes trailed towards the ceiling. When he spoke, it was with little intonation, as if he was relaying nothing more than report details. It was his way of distancing himself from the events that had happened in any way he could. "Remember when I mentioned I had a friend named Cutler? We joined the Brotherhood together back at Rivet City? Well… He's not really around anymore. Uh... He, uh, he went missing once on a mission about a year after we joined. I personally spear-headed the search to find him… it took three weeks. By the time we did, however, he wasn't really Cutler anymore." He was an abomination, a creature of the Wastes, no longer the friend he once cherished. "We tracked them down to a super mutant hive… they had killed everyone, everyone but Cutler. He would have been so lucky. No, those bastards used the FEV virus on him. It was my duty… I didn't have a choice. Like I said, he wasn't Cutler anymore…. Sometimes, that memory haunts me in my dreams." He could see Cutler's face, green eyes focused on him, begging for death's sweet release. Only fragments of his friend remained once he had mutated, contorting into the fleshy monstrosity that was a supermutant. If only he had been more vigilant, if only he had placed more guards along the perimeter…
He felt the mattress sink next to him. "Danse," Ashtyn spoke, concern laced into her voice. "You aren't to blame for that."
"I am though. It's my fault."
Her head shook with such certainty, her petite hands closing around his own. "It's not! You can't keep blaming yourself for everything that happens. With Cutler, with your squad, with Rhys or Haylen, or me. Yes, those are tragic events. I'm so sorry you had to go through them. But… You can't keep carrying that."
She didn't understand. How could she? "I was the leader. It was my decisions. My calls."
"People make mistakes. No one is perfect. You're no different."
"Four men died because of me, that's over half my squad. Not to mention Cutler and the brothers and sisters that fell before him. How can anyone have confidence in me anymore? Fuck, how can I have confidence in myself?"
"I have confidence in you. The way the children played with you, the way Haylen and Rhys look up to you. Do you see the way your 'brothers and sisters' look at you? That all proves that the people around you care."
How could she say that? With such conviction? He was a monster for what he had done. He deserved punishment, not her kind words. His throat tightened, heart pounded. He had been the cause of so many deaths. He could never repent for what he had done. No one would ever-
"You're forgiven, Danse. No one is blaming you, except yourself. We all will follow your lead, no matter what. It doesn't matter who we are facing, or what. We are with you. I want you to know that."
"What?" Was she crazy? How could his crimes be forgiven? What he did, there was no way she could just say-
"You're forgiven. Does that make it better? If I say it? Does it click then? I'll repeat it over and over until you believe me."
It… did. For some strange reason it did. It was as if she had personally lifted the weight from his shoulders and threw it away, far away. Yes, some remained. It would always… but at least he could breathe for a few moments.
"Yeah…" he exhaled, finally meeting her gaze. "Yeah…"
She beamed up at him, smile reaching up to her eyes as they sparkled in the lantern light, that little twinkle that was reserved just for him. "See? It's not so awful talking about that stuff, huh?"
He scowled. "Maybe for you."
"We all have our demons."
"What are yours?" he tried. Shaun… Nate… who were they? She spoke their names often in her sleep, but still had had no answers. She held so many secrets… If he could just grasp at one.
She wagged a finger at him. "Sorry, that's not included in the gift." Ashtyn bounced off of his cot and moved to her own. He watched as she pulled the covers over herself and nestled into the mattress. "Still on for that training session in the morning?" Her words shined with a light airiness he hadn't felt for years, a glee he couldn't dream of holding... but was able to witness. Her carefree nature all but contagious.
"Affirmative. Sleep well, Knight."
"Right back at ya. No nightmares, okay?"
"I'll do my best."
Danse reached over and capped the lantern, shrouding the room in darkness. He lay there in silence, listening to her breathing calm and slow till he was certain she was fast asleep.
Before her… he had been accustomed to being alone. It was normal, comforting, ordinary. But now? Trying to picture his life without her by his side? Terrifying. She was the breath of fresh air he needed, the light at the end of the tunnel. He would sink below the sands without her.
Realization hit then, a horrifying realization. Ever since Cutler had died, he had seen other soldiers come and go. Some were brave, some were honest. Hell, some were even downright heroic. But he had never considered any of them to be a good friend, a friend like Cutler once had been. Until now. It was a good feeling but… but it also frightened him. Having a bond with someone and then losing them… it changes a person. It changed him.
He couldn't bear to go through that again.
Not with anyone… not with her.
But something told him that he wouldn't be able to stay away. No matter how hard he tried to.
And that scared him even more.