11. The Gaping Wound

Larimer meets Maxson and confronts her own demons. Danse does his best to pull her through.

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicidal thoughts and implied behavior. I tried not to make it too graphic, but skip to the end notes for a summary of the plot (minus the triggers) if this is a difficult subject for you.

The silence that cloaked Fort Hagen's command center weighed down on Paladin Danse as he sat halfway up the steps, his arms wrapped loosely around Larimer's trembling form. She had finally stopped crying, he realized, and the lack of her pained, devastated wails made the basement chamber feel more like a forgotten sepulchre than an old military base. The tang of ozone from laser fire permeated the air, filling the room with a stormy scent that the Paladin would have ordinarily found comforting. But after the events of the last few hours, he feared that comfort and peace were even farther from his grasp than they usually were.

Larimer's 10mm pistol lay under one of the weathered workstations, a small, black, lifeless thing abandoned in the aftermath of the young woman's showdown with the man who'd murdered her husband and stolen her child. Danse made a mental note to retrieve the weapon before they left, but decided to remain where he was for a little while longer. There was no rush. Not now. The man they'd been tracking was dead.

Conrad Kellogg was sprawled on the floor nearby, his dark eyes wide, unblinking. It had been a clean kill, Danse noted. The laser round that had pierced the old mercenary's head had cauterized most of the damage as it had passed through, leaving little in the way of mess behind. Most of the blood had come after, when Larimer had apparently removed Kellogg's cybernetic implants. These sat next to the body where she had piled them, along with everything the man had been carrying.

Larimer stirred in Danse's arms, lifting her tear-stained face from its resting place against his armored torso. She seemed smaller, somehow, more childlike as she looked up at the Paladin with bloodshot eyes. Danse had often thought of Larimer as someone he needed to protect during their missions together. He did his best to keep her from harm's way, knowing that his power armor suit would protect him more than her leather armor would shield her. But even in those times, he knew that Larimer was capable of taking care of herself, was strong and defiant in the face of danger. Here, on the filthy steps of the command center, was the first time Danse really saw her as vulnerable.

The young woman in his arms seemed so defeated, so utterly crushed that the Paladin wondered if he would ever see her smile again. He wasn't sure exactly what had transpired before he'd arrived on the scene, but he knew that it hadn't been pleasant. The last time he'd seen her, when Larimer had ordered him to stay behind in the hallway, she'd seemed nervous, but still completely the woman he'd spent the last few months with. Now, if she hadn't been wearing the same clothes, he might not have recognized her.

There were smudges of grime across Larimer's cheeks where she'd rubbed against the cold metal, making her look as though she'd spent the last few hours working on machinery instead of bawling her eyes out. Danse reached into his pack, withdrawing a carefully folded handkerchief and presenting it to her.

"Here, soldier," he said softly. "Let's get you cleaned up. We still have to find a way out of here."

The Initiate nodded, taking the square of cloth from him. "Thanks. I'm sure I look like shit," she muttered, wiping at her swollen eyes. The storm of emotions that surged through her had quieted, though it was probably exhaustion that had tempered her outburst rather than any real resolution. Well, it was something at least.

Danse hauled himself up using the railing, helping Larimer to her feet as he did so. "I'll check through Kellogg's effects," the Paladin offered. "Are you up to looking through the files on that computer over there?"

Larimer bit her lower lip, her eyes distant. "I guess I don't really have a choice. It's our best chance to get out of here."

"Very well. Let me know if you find anything." Danse was nervous about leaving her on her own, but he knew from experience that giving Larimer a task would be far more beneficial than him doing everything for her. The Initiate wasn't the sort of woman who relished being coddled, no matter what condition she was in.

Besides, he was only going to be a few feet away. If she...if she got any ideas, he'd be within range to stop her again. Danse quickly scooped up her pistol, secreting it away in his pack. He'd return the backup piece to her once they'd cleared the fort. For now,Righteous Authority , still slung across her back, would be sufficient protection.

The Paladin turned his attention to Kellogg's belongings, sorting through the pockets of the dead man's clothes. He wasn't sure what he hoped to find-a code, perhaps, or some clue to where Larimer's son was being held. She'd told Danse very little after he'd found her, but he'd gathered enough from the words she choked out between anguished sobs to know that the boy was alive.

There was nothing in Kellogg's pockets save a crumpled cigar and a few loose bullets, which Danse collected carefully. He wasn't sure how much of the mercenary's belongings Larimer would want to keep, so he erred on the side of caution and packed up all of it. If nothing else, he knew the Brotherhood would have an interest in the dead man's cybernetic enhancements.

After Danse finished packing up the gear, as well as a few interesting pieces of scrap he thought Larimer might like to have, he returned to the young woman's side. She was staring blankly at the terminal, her clammy skin taut around her clenched jaw.

"What is it, soldier?" Danse asked quietly, hoping not to startle her.

"Take a look," she replied flatly, giving him room.

Danse frowned as his eyes scanned the words on the screen, a simple journal entry. So Larimer's son, Shaun, was with the Institute. It was as he had feared since that ridiculous synth detective had suggested the possibility. Danse had told Larimer that knowing the truth, no matter how horrible, was better than not knowing. Now, he wasn't quite so sure. Whatever the Institute could want with a young boy, the answer was probably deeply disturbing.

One thing was for certain: Danse and Larimer needed to find a way to contact Maxson and the rest of the Brotherhood. The need for reinforcements was more pressing than it had ever been. Hopefully Haylen had managed to repair the squad's communications while they were away.

With a few quick commands, the Paladin canceled the facility lockdown, and the heavy metal security doors that had trapped them swung open. Danse led Larimer to the elevator at the end of the hall, hoping that it would lead them to an exit.

Larimer smiled sadly at the Paladin as they left Kellogg's tomb behind. Her fingers lingered on Danse's arm just for a moment, her touch so feather-light that he sensed rather than felt the contact through his armor. He turned to look at her, an unspoken question clinging to his tongue. She bit her lip, fighting back another wave of tears, giving him her answer. He sighed, tucking her under his arm as she clung to him silently.

As the elevator doors opened, Danse pulled away from the Initiate, perhaps a little too abruptly. They found themselves in a small chamber, completely bare save for a terminal by yet another closed door.

"Well, we haven't been here before," Larimer managed. "I guess that's progress."

"More than progress, soldier," replied Danse. "I think this is the way out." The Paladin typed a few commands into the terminal next to the corroded blue metal door. In moments, the hatch swung open, sunlight filling the small room.

Larimer stood beside him, clutching the Paladin's old, tattered handkerchief to her puffy face. Danse had done what he could to comfort her, narrowly skirting the lines between supportive commanding officer and the unthinkable. As he watched her wipe another errant tear from her bloodshot eyes, he just hoped what he'd been able to offer was enough.

As Danse held the door open for Initiate Larimer, he heard her gasp in astonishment. Following her eyes, he felt a surge of pride overwhelm him, distracting him from their circumstances.

There she was, the Prydwen, a floating wonder of steel and hydrogen, her proud bow cutting across the Commonwealth's sky like a beacon of hope. Finally, reinforcements had arrived. More than that, Maxson had arrived. With their leader on site and the immense power that the Prydwen carried with her, the Brotherhood could now begin making a real difference in the Commonwealth.

"Our intentions are peaceful, " boomed Captain Kells' voice proudly from the ship's loudspeaker. " We are the Brotherhood of Steel ."

Larimer flashed a surprised glance at her companion, her despair overwhelmed by her curiosity. "Um, Danse, is that your giant airship?" she asked, her eyes wide.

The Paladin beamed at Larimer, his concern for her mental well-being temporarily pushed aside. "Well, I claim no ownership over her, but she does belong to the Brotherhood. More specifically, she belongs to Elder Maxson. And since he'd never let thePrydwen leave the Capital Wasteland without him, we can reasonably expect to see him on board. Finally, we'll have what we need to take down the Institute and save your son. The timing couldn't be more perfect."

Larimer allowed herself a wistful smile. "The Prydwen. Arthur's ship full of knights. What spoils do they seek from this hell?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "How did you know Elder Maxson's given name was Arthur?"

"Oh my God. Is it really?" she asked, blowing her nose into the handkerchief he'd lent her. "Well, someone's full of himself."

Danse rolled his eyes. At least Larimer was feeling well enough to crack wise. That was a good sign. "Don't be crass," the Paladin reprimanded her gently. "Elder Maxson is the one in charge of this branch of the Brotherhood of Steel, and as a member of the Brotherhood, you owe him your allegiance."

"So what's this King Arthur of yours like, Danse?" she asked in reply. "I have to admit, I'm curious."

"You're to call him Elder Maxson, soldier," Danse sighed, thinking how best to describe his friend. "He's young, even younger than you, but don't let that fool you. Maxson's a brilliant strategist and a strong leader, with one of the Brotherhood's most treasured bloodlines to his name. If he's here, then I know we will be victorious."

Larimer smirked. "Does he have a cool sword, too? How does he feel about sleeping eternally in caves? Oh! Does he have an evil son, and a best friend who's a wizard? Inquiring minds want to know."

She was building walls again, but Danse wasn't about to stop her. Right now, Larimer's defensive mechanisms might be the only thing that could get her back to presentable. He couldn't very well introduce her to Maxson in her current state. The young woman beside him was paler than pale, her eyes inflamed, her face stained with streaks of tears and mucus. Her long white hair was stuck to her skin in strange patches where the moisture on her cheeks had trapped it, her normally neat bun hanging messy and loose just above the nape of her neck. The sobs that had wracked her body had ceased, but the fatigue and embarrassment of a good cry had left her hollow.

If Maxson saw her now, would he find the same defiant spark in her that Danse had seen, had fought to cultivate? Or would he see a broken, empty shell of a woman, barely able to lift a gun? Danse couldn't take that chance. He needed Arthur to see the young Initiate the way he saw her, someone worth trusting, worth investing effort in. Otherwise, there was no way she'd be allowed to stay under his command.

"I have no idea what you're babbling on about, soldier," Danse retorted, trying to calm his nervous thoughts. "You're starting to sound like that reporter."

Larimer sighed, smiling weakly up at him. "I'm sorry. I forget that not everyone was raised by a librarian. My mother used to love Arthurian mythology, so I practically grew up on it. The Prydwen was King Arthur's ship in a few of the stories."

"I see," Danse replied. "That's fascinating. I wonder if that's why Elder Maxson picked the name."

The Paladin often wished he was as cultured as Arthur was. To be fair, one of them had grown up on the streets of the Capital Wasteland, and the other had been the prized son of Brotherhood nobility. It shouldn't surprise him that their experiences as children would have been radically different. At times like this, however, he realized just how different their lives still were.

Danse had always loved learning, memorizing every manual, history book, and codex he could get his hands on, no matter how dry. But he'd never been able to enjoy fiction the same way. It just seemed like a waste of time when there was so much practical knowledge in the world to gain. Besides, it wasn't like he'd had access to tutors or the vast libraries of the Western Brotherhood of Steel growing up. When Arthur Maxson had been receiving the best classical education available, Danse was a guttersnipe whose only ambition in life had been selling enough scrap to avoid starving to death.

Danse tried not to think about his past too much. His childhood may have been difficult, but as a young man, he'd found the Brotherhood of Steel. The Brotherhood had given him purpose, a true family, a real home. The past - as Arthur had pointed out to him when Danse had first met the wide-eyed young Squire - did not matter nearly as much as what he did from then on as a member of the Brotherhood.

He nodded to himself as he exhaled slowly, letting the lesson sink in again. "We need to get moving back to the police station, on the double," Danse continued. "I have to make my report in person, and I'd like you to come with me so I can present you to Elder Maxson myself. He'll be interested in what you have to say, I have no doubt."

"Right away?" she asked quietly. "I was...I was hoping to rest when we got back."

Danse nodded. "I believe we can spare a couple hours, soldier. Let's get back to base, then you can wash up and take a nap while I debrief Rhys and Haylen. Is that acceptable?"

Larimer worried her lower lip between her teeth once more as she reflected on his words. "As long as that's ok with you, Danse," she replied. "I do want to see what that airship looks like up close, but I think I'll be...better equipped to handle it after a rest."

"Outstanding," Danse said gently, leading the way back down the scaffolding that had gotten them to the roof mere hours before. Had it really only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime.

Arthur Maxson stood on the command deck of the Prydwen , looking down at the Commonwealth below, his hands tightly clasped behind his back. He turned as Danse and Larimer entered the deck, his steely eyes studying them.

"You're late, Paladin," he chided. "You just missed today's briefing."

"My apologies, Elder," Danse replied. "Circumstances prevented us from catching the first vertibird from Cambridge. We arrived as soon as we were able."

Danse studied his friend's face. Arthur was always so difficult to read, so it was hard to tell if he was genuinely upset with them or just taunting them. The past half a year had definitely taken their toll on the young Elder. Though his gaze still commanded respect, there was a weariness about him that Danse had never seen before. Arthur Maxson had always borne the weight of the world on his shoulders, but this was the first time that Danse genuinely worried that his friend might be overburdened.

Maxson nodded curtly at him. "It's good to have you back, Paladin. I'm pleased to see that your mission was a success."

"Yes, sir," replied Danse. "Although we sustained heavy losses."

"I've read your reports. Your squadmates died with honor, Danse. The Brotherhood will remember them as heroes."

Danse nodded. "Thank you, sir. They were good men."

Maxson turned his attention to Larimer, who hastily saluted, her right fist connecting firmly with the left side of her chest as Danse had taught her. The Elder returned the salute, his eyes analyzing her carefully. Danse watched his friend, trying to glean some insight from the younger man's face. Was he impressed? Concerned? As always, it was impossible to fully tell what Arthur was thinking, his emotions as heavily guarded as a well-maintained checkpoint.

"You must be the Initiate Danse was raving about in his reports," Maxon said finally, apparently satisfied with his assessment. "The so-called General of the Minutemen. I have to say, you're not what I was expecting."

Larimer's brow furrowed. "And what were you expecting, Elder?"

"I…" Maxson thought for a moment. "I didn't think you'd be so young, I suppose. Most of the other leaders I've met have been, well, older."

"I'm sure you get that all the time, too," Larimer retorted with a slight smirk. "From what Paladin Danse tells me, that doesn't make you any less of a formidable leader, does it, Pendragon?"

Danse stared at her in trepidation as the tension in the air grew. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever seen Maxson speechless, not in a long time, at least. It filled him with a mixture of pride and apprehension. After all he had recruited Larimer. It was his neck on the line as well if Arthur didn't take kindly to her blunt attitude or inappropriate nicknames.

To his relief, the Elder's eyes softened, and he allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile. "Just so, Initiate," Maxson replied. "I apologize for any hasty judgments on my part. I trust that you will, given time, prove yourself to be quite a formidable soldier yourself, particularly given Danse's recommendation. He's actually never requested to sponsor anyone before, did you know that?"

"No, sir," Larimer said, her gaze darting to Danse's face before returning to the Elder's.

"Well," Maxson continued, "although that may not carry a great deal of weight with other senior members of my staff, it does with me. Therefore, I'm granting his request, and promoting you to the rank of Knight, effective immediately."

"Thank you, sir!" she exclaimed.

"You can thank me by proving yourself worthy of the title, Knight Larimer. Now go, introduce yourself to the others. And take Danse with you. I think he's about to pass out, he's so nervous."

The sudden snide remark his way startled the Paladin, and he took a step back, heat rising in his cheeks. "Sir, I…"

"Relax, Paladin," Arthur retorted dryly. "She's not going to embarrass you too badly, are you, Knight?"

Larimer beamed at Maxson, clearly delighted to meet someone who also enjoyed tormenting Danse. "Not unless the perfect opportunity presents itself, Elder."

"There, you see, Danse? Nothing to worry about."

Danse sighed. Maxson didn't know her the way he did. It was everything to worry about.

"Oh, and Knight?" Maxson continued, addressing Larimer.

"Yes, sir?" she replied.

The Elder's eyes narrowed, hardening once more to cold, commanding steel. "I know you may see us as equals, given your position with the Minutemen. But on this ship, my authority is absolute. You are not a General here, merely a Knight in service to the Brotherhood of Steel. I hope you won't be so informal with me again while under my command. I might not be so tolerant next time. And I know you'd hate to see what happens to anyone who loses their seat at our round table."

Larimer looked like she was about to choke with excitement, even in light of his warning. " He knows! " she mouthed to Danse before turning to face the Elder again.

"Understood, sir." she replied, saluting once more. "Ad victoriam, Elder."

"Ad victoriam, Knight," he replied, returning the salute.

As they left the meeting room, Danse could hardly contain his elation. Larimer had impressed Maxson, albeit not in the way he had hoped. And what's more, she'd been allowed to remain under the Paladin's command, a prospect which pleased him greatly.

If he had been asked to put into words at that exact moment why he was so pleased, Danse would have struggled. After all, Larimer wasn't exactly the easiest soldier he'd ever had the privilege of commanding. Yet, when he looked at her, he saw more than just another insubordinate wastelander, more even than the naive vault dweller he had met a few weeks ago.

There was the potential for real history-making greatness in Larimer, and he knew he wasn't the only one who saw it. That minuteman of hers had seen it, for sure, or he wouldn't have asked her to lead their misguided band of idealists. Maxson must have seen it, given how quickly he'd promoted her. All she needed was a firm hand and some actual discipline, and she could be an incredible soldier.

The woman standing by his side, rolling her eyes at Proctor Quinlan, was not that soldier yet, however. And, as he watched her charm and snark her way through the crew of the Prydwen , he realized that she was not even acting like the woman he'd come to know and respect. He had hoped that the change in venue would help ease her troubled mind, but something was still terribly wrong. The distraction of a new environment, of new people to meet, was not helping quiet her demons.

Larimer's distress presented itself in subtle ways, and Danse might have missed them if he wasn't so used to finding the same tics in himself. After all, she was an excellent liar, and very good at hiding her true feelings behind humor and anger. Danse was also not particularly adept at reading emotional cues, one of his faults that he was keenly aware of. If he could tell that Larimer was in trouble, her emotional state must have been truly dire.

The Paladin wasn't sure what tipped him off, exactly. It may have been the dead look in Larimer's deep green eyes that failed to reflect her cheeky grin, or the way that her hand gripped the butt of her rifle a little bit too tightly as she played with it nervously during her conversation with Proctor Teagan. It could have been the slight breathiness that permeated her voice. But she was struggling, and she had been since before they arrived on the Prydwen, before they'd even left Fort Hagen.

"That's everyone, soldier," Danse said gently, trying to gauge the full extent of the problem. "Come on, let's get you settled at your bunk, and then we can go find something to eat in the mess hall."

"I'm not hungry," she murmured.

That was definitely a bad sign. He'd seen her put away a good two pounds of brahmin on the road more than once. If she wasn't even up to eating, she was doing worse than he'd thought.

"Very well," he responded. "Then may I speak to you in private? I...I wanted to discuss something with you, off the record."

She nodded simply, following him towards the forecastle, one of the few genuinely private places on the massive airship. As they approached, however, Danse heard boisterous laughter from beyond the hatch. That damned Aspirant Reinhardt and his equally useless friends, probably daring each other to climb over the safety railings again. Well, that was a no-go.

His mind raced as he tried to come up with another place on the ship where they could find a moment of peace. There weren't a lot of private spaces on the Prydwen , as space was a luxury on such a vessel. Well, there was one place, but…

Oh, hell. What kind of choice did he have?

"I guess we're going to my quarters, then," Danse said with a sigh. "I apologize for the breach of decorum, but unless I'm reading you completely wrong, soldier, you need a quiet place to decompress after our last mission. Am I correct?"

She nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just…all this is a bit much for me right now. You understand."

"Affirmative. Come on, then."

Before he had a chance to panic, he ushered her into his quarters and eased the door shut behind them. His heart pounded nervously in his chest like a wild animal trying to break free. He'd never thought he'd let another person into his private space, particularly not a woman. Definitely not a subordinate.

Hopefully Arthur hadn't settled into his room for the night yet. Due to the way their rooms had been constructed, he knew that the Elder could hear everything that happened in Danse's quarters. This lack of privacy was useful when Danse's nightmares acted up, but in the present circumstance, it was worrying. He couldn't afford any misunderstandings.

"Make yourself at home," the Paladin offered, trying not to groan in displeasure as Larimer flopped down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Well, this is a pretty shitty mattress," she quipped. "No wonder you're so uptight."

"I meant the chair, Knight," Danse replied with a heavy sigh, "but I suppose I should have been more clear."

Larimer sat up, patting the bed next to her. "Relax, Danse, and come join me. Just pretend it's a backless couch."

He shook his head. This was a terrible idea. What had he been thinking, bringing her here?

"I said relax, Paladin," she repeated, smirking. "I promise, I'm not after your virtue. Goodness."

"I'm grateful for that, Knight," he replied gruffly, "though I'm also horrified that you felt the need to clarify such a thing. No, I'm going to stand, if it's all the same to you. I'd have to take off my power armor, and we're technically still on duty. Besides, you still haven't beaten me at chess, so I have the right to refuse to remove my armor."

Larimer shook her head. "You're such a stiff sometimes. Fine. But I'm gonna get you out of that armor one of these days, you'll see."

"I very much doubt that."

Larimer chuckled hollowly, and the sound chilled him. Did she really think her laugh right now was convincing? "Anyhow," she chirped, "what did you want to talk with me about? Or was that just an excuse to get me alone?"

Danse chose to ignore her latter question. "Actually, I did have something to discuss with you, about my early time in the Brotherhood. I think my experiences might...help you understand some things you might be feeling. I trust you'll keep this just between us."

"Well, if it's real juicy I might tell Dogmeat," she replied, "but other than that, Danse, your secrets are safe with me."

"Very well," he said. "Let me start at the beginning. I grew up alone in the Capital Wasteland…"

Larimer sat on the edge of Danse's bed, her eyes studying his face as he told her about his early teenhood in Rivet City, about joining the Brotherhood of Steel at the tender age of fourteen. His eyes teared up as he told her about losing his mentor, Paladin Krieg, the year he'd turned 21. The Knight didn't ask questions or offer any comments, just watched him. It was oddly comforting, in a way. How rarely had anyone just listened to him, had given him the same quiet reflection he gave everyone else?

But it was out of character for Larimer. Either she wasn't really listening to his story, or the olive branch of personal information she would normally fight him tooth and nail to get was simply not enough to reach her in this miasma of pain and self-doubt that threatened to swallow her.

He knew that dark cloud well. It was the same he bore under his power armor like a second skin, hidden away from the rest of the world as much as possible. And he knew, if she wasn't able to master it, that fear and pain would destroy her.

"I'm sorry about your mentor," she eventually murmured, her eyes finally darting away from his face to study his grey wool blanket, which she picked at idly. "I'm sure you miss him terribly."

"Every day," Danse replied. "They say it gets easier, but it's been almost a decade, and I keep waiting for that to happen."

"I know what you mean," she said softly. "With Nate gone...what if I...what if the pain never goes away?"

Danse smiled sadly at her. "Well, then we both keep doing what we've been doing. We keep moving forward, keep fighting, honoring the memories of the people we've lost by refusing to give up, no matter what this wretched wasteland throws at us."

Larimer stared at him blankly. "That might work for you, Danse. But I think I've already demonstrated today how easy it is for me to give up."

Danse cleared his throat awkwardly. "I was actually hoping we could talk about that. What happened in Fort Hagen was-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Paladin," she snapped, cutting him off.

"And I don't want to pressure you to disclose anything you aren't ready to tell me, Knight. If you would prefer, we could get a match in," he offered, gesturing to the chessboard that rested on the desk, a tattered green velvet bag flopped over next to it. "We finally have access to actual pieces, so you might even be able to keep them all straight. Who knows? Maybe you'll win our wager this time."

Larimer nodded simply, and he placed the board next to her on the bed, pouring the pieces from the bag. They were not all from the same set, unfortunately, but at least there were enough pieces. Only Maxson's own board had matching pieces, forged in steel and iron, a gift from some officer or another hoping to get into the young Elder's good graces. Everyone knew that Arthur would be High Elder someday. It was in his blood, after all. While Danse had long envied his friend's chess set, he certainly didn't envy the pressure that such a precious gift represented.

Besides, he had no reason to complain, given the history of his own board. The Paladin's personal chessboard was one of the few luxuries he owned, a gift from Arthur after Danse had saved his life for the first time. It had been the day they officially became friends.

The young Elder had never given him another present, so it was unlikely that giving such items to people who saved your life was a typical response. Or, perhaps, it was because he only needed one chessboard. Where would he have even put the other three he was apparently owed? Either way, Danse figured it was hardly worth the time to speculate over Maxson's motives. He turned his attention back to the board, now fully set up on his bed.

"White or black?" he asked.

"I'll take white," Larimer murmured.

"Very well," Danse replied, rotating the board so Larimer's pieces were closer to her. "That means the first move is yours, remember?"

She nodded, her hand nearly automatic as she moved her king's pawn forward two spaces.

"A classic start, Knight," he mused, mirroring her move. "I expected more ingenuity from you."

"Says the copycat," she snarked, hand already reaching for her knight.

Knight to F3.

"You began the dance," he shot back, eyeing the board before carefully selecting his own knight. "I'm merely following your lead."

Knight to C6.

"You never follow my lead, Paladin."

Bishop to B5. Interesting.

"I do have more tactical experience than you, Larimer. I had hoped you would learn from it."

Pawn to A6.

Larimer bit her lower lip, sucking the tip of it between her teeth as she concentrated. Finally, she moved.

Bishop to A4. A tactical retreat. Fair enough. Bishops were valuable pieces, not to be sacrificed lightly. At least she'd already learned that much.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Knight?" Danse asked. It was unusual for her to let criticism slide off her back.

Knight to F6.

"What do you expect me to say?" Larimer snipped. "I know you're right. I just wish you'd listen to me sometimes." She castled to the right, slamming her rook down a little harder than she needed to.

Right Castle.

"I do listen to you," he muttered, picking his bishop off the board as delicately as he could with armored hands.

Bishop to E7.

They fired off the next few moves at each other in rapid succession.

Larimer moved her rook to E1.

Danse countered with a pawn to B5.

Bishop to B3.

Pawn to D6.

After Danse's last move, Larimer paused, eyeing the board carefully.

"If you listened to me, Danse, wouldn't I be dead right now?"

She slowly slid her pawn to C3.

His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, Larimer?" He mirrored her castle, searching her face for answers. He knew full well what she was talking about, but he needed to hear it from her mouth.

Left Castle.

"I asked you to wait outside Kellogg's command center," she replied coolly, fingers hesitating over her rightmost pawn.

Pawn to H3.

"And I did as you asked, until…" Until the shooting stopped. Until all the noise in the control room had stopped. He'd raced into the room, expecting to see her face-down in a pool of her own blood. What he'd seen instead was somehow even worse.

Knight to B8.

"You should have left me there," she murmured. "It would have been easier."

Pawn to D4. Her last three moves had been pawns. Was that a subconscious message? Did she see herself that way, just a weak pawn in the hands of forces much larger than her?

"Do you mean I should have let you kill yourself, Knight?" Danse asked coolly.

Knight to D7.

"I...I don't know," she whispered. She stopped playing for a moment, her glimmering green eyes boring a hole in the board. Finally, she reached for a simple knight carved from driftwood.

Knight to D2.

"Then what do you mean?" he replied, sliding his bishop into position. "Forgive me, I'm not quite following you."

Bishop to B7.

Bishop to C2. She didn't meet his gaze.

Rook to E8. He didn't press her.

Silently, she moved her knight to F1.

Danse countered with his bishop to F8.

Larimer's fingers trembled as she reached for her knight.

Knight to G3.

"Please, Myra, answer me?" Danse prodded gently, and her eyes flashed to his in shock.

He realized with a start that he'd called her by her first name. He had always prided himself on maintaining proper decorum. What the hell was he doing, alone in his room with a subordinate, using familiar terms with her? If he wasn't so shocked, he'd have been horrified.

Quickly, he moved his pawn to G6.

"Danse…" she said softly, almost reverently as she placed her bishop at G5.

"I'm sorry." he muttered, flustered. "That was unacceptable of me. I didn't mean…"

"It's ok," she replied with a melancholy smile. "I won't rat you out to Maxson for daring to be familiar with me, or whatever it is you're so worried about, I promise. Just… I'm having trouble putting this into words, ok?"

He nodded, eyes returning to the board.

Pawn to H6. He'd be damned if her bishop would even think about stealing his knight without a fight.

She pulled her bishop back next to her other one. Predictable.

He took her central pawn with his. First blood.

She immediately retaliated, a vicious gleam in her eyes as she pulled his pawn from the board.

"Be careful, Knight," Danse warned. "Revenge is a hard fire to control."

He moved another pawn to C5. Would she fall for it?

"I know. I'm not an idiot," she muttered.

Pawn to D5.

"I never said you were," the Paladin offered. "But sometimes, when there's a fire like that raging inside of you, it can make you lose control. And a good soldier needs to stay in control. Always."

Knight to B6.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her left bishop, moving the weathered pine churchman three spaces diagonally to the upper left. "I would have done it, Danse. Lost control, I mean. If I'd been alone, if you hadn't stopped me…"

No one would have blamed her for shooting herself, he realized. Not after what she'd been through. Though Danse would have mourned her, he never would have blamed her. He would have only blamed himself for not being able to talk her out of it.

"No, you wouldn't have," he shot back. "You're stronger than that. Yes, you lost a major lead, faced down the man who murdered your husband. But you know your son's alive. You know where he is. Now we just need to go get him. And we can't do that if you're dead, so I refuse to believe that you wouldn't have had the foresight to stop yourself."

He moved his knight to D7, fingers tracing the walnut steed's elaborately carved bridle. It was one of his favorites. He hoped he'd find the rest of the set someday.

"But still," Larimer retorted, "I can't say what would have happened. Hell, maybe if I hesitated, he would have killed me instead, and you would have been stuck in the hall, unable to get there in time."

Danse nodded solemnly. In fact, it was the thought that Kellogg had killed her that made him abandon his post. If Larimer had failed, he knew he couldn't just let the man who destroyed her family escape. But seeing her there over Kellogg's body, as much of a relief as it should have been, was tainted by the look of utter loss in her eyes.

"But do you know what the worst part was?" Larimer continued, her eyes swimming with unshed tears as she moved her pawn to B3.

The Paladin shook his head.

"He smiled at me when I blew his brains out," Larimer continued. "I think he wanted me to kill him. Like, for him, that was the best possible outcome. And that's what pushed me over the edge. How did someone end up like that, Danse?"

Was Larimer going to end up like that? Her unspoken question hung in her eyes, and he sighed, pulling back from the board before placing a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. He hoped it was the right thing to do.

"You saw the evidence for yourself," Danse said softly. "All those cybernetic augmentations had left him more machine than human. Perhaps he was simply tired of being a plaything for the Institute." He smiled gently down at her as her eyes softened. "Trust me, soldier," Danse continued, "I've fought and killed my share of deeply troubled individuals. And it never gets easier if you let them play with your head. You have to just let what he said and what he did go, or it will consume you. You're better than that."

"I'm a killer now," she whispered in horror, "just like him. I mean, I've killed people before, but not like this. I shot an unarmed man, Danse. He hadn't even drawn his gun before I… the synths put up more of a fight."

His eyes widened. So that was the reason she was behaving this way. Larimer hadn't gunned down the mercenary in self-defense, as Danse had assumed. She'd murdered him. Whether or not she'd been manipulated into such a heinous act didn't matter. Larimer had crossed a line, and nothing Danse could do or say would ever make it better.

In most circumstances, Danse would have reprimanded one of his soldiers for such a dishonorable action. Slaughtering someone who had no intention of fighting back was a horrible offense, deserving of severe punishment. But there was something about this situation that gave him pause, something Larimer had said earlier. Kellogg had wanted her to kill him.

Was that true? He couldn't deny that it was possible. From his experience with the shadowy scientific organization, the Institute was not known for leaving loose ends. It was probably only a matter of time before they came for the mercenary and put him down. The man had probably known more than his share of their secrets. If Larimer had been able to track him down...anyone could have. So Kellogg had decided to kill himself, and use Larimer as the weapon. Did that make her less culpable?

A gun was not responsible for the people who used it to kill. No one called a pond to trial after someone drowned in it. The noose around the neck of a disgraced man was never clapped in irons. But these were inanimate, unfeeling things. No one bothered to think about what the gun felt as it fell from the grip of a dead hand. Had anyone ever wondered if the waters wept, or if the noose tried desperately to forget its part in the snuffing out of a life once its form had returned to mere rope?

Of course not. That would be absurd. But for Larimer, there was no comfort in being another tool of destruction. Unlike these dead, unthinking things, she was human. She was alive. And she was overwhelmed by the horror of what she'd participated in. Danse couldn't bring himself to blame her. He just had to stop her from continuing to blame herself, before what transpired in the fort happened again.

He cursed his lack of eloquence as he tried to find a way to express everything he was thinking, to offer her words of comfort and advice. Danse had always struggled with translating his thoughts to words. There seemed to almost be a disconnect in his brain that made him unable to express himself the way he wished. Every once in a great while, he was able to push through, to offer counsel. Most of the time, he was fortunate if his thoughts and feelings came across at all.

"Larimer," Danse replied finally, his warm brown eyes fixated on her face, "listen to me. You won't become like Conrad Kellogg. I… you simply won't allow that to happen."

Larimer stared at him for a moment in silence, her haunted eyes probing his, seeking certainty. "I guess I never realized you cared that much," she mused after a long moment.

How could she not realize? After everything they'd been through together over the last few weeks, all the time they'd spent talking, did she still not know him at all? Danse felt a sickening pang somewhere deep within himself, an old wound stinging under the pressure of a new hurt.

"Of course I do," he replied simply. "I'm your sponsor. I might not always react positively to your actions, soldier, but when have I ever given you the impression that I don't care about what happens to you?"

Before he could react, Larimer grabbed the handles on the front of his power armor, hauling herself up from the bed and pressing her lips to his. The chess pieces scattered as she brushed past them, the game forgotten. It was an abrupt, almost violent impact as her body swung against his, the momentum of her rushing into him causing Danse to stumble backwards. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her waist and upper legs, trying to regain his balance and avoid crashing to the ground.

Larimer's lips were unexpectedly soft and slightly cooler than he thought they would be as they met his, like the touch of dew on the world in the early morning. His startled eyes scanned her face, proximity distorting her features. His mind raced to process what was happening, to quantify it somehow. How had this happened? Why was it happening? And, most importantly of all, how did he feel about it?

He'd been kissed before, of course. It was hard to become one of the Brotherhood of Steel's top soldiers and not gain the attention of some admirers - though he knew most were more interested in using him to get to Arthur, whose jealous streak was well-known. But this kiss wasn't all hungry and desperate like most of the ones he'd received in the past. It was almost a thank you, almost a plea of consolation, almost a…

Danse suddenly realized that he was kissing Larimer back, his chapped lips parted slightly as they pressed gently back against hers. His eyes, at last, slid shut as his concerns seemed to drift away, the consequences of this moment temporarily set aside. They would have to deal with this, he knew. But for the moment, all that mattered was Larimer's warm breath against his skin, her long arms wrapped around his neck like a loose scarf. For the first time in a long time, he felt seen, no longer burdened by words or decorum. In that moment, he wasn't Paladin Danse. He was just Danse, and she was just Myra. If only things could always be this simple. If only...

However, as abruptly as the kiss had started, it was over. Larimer leapt from his embrace as though he were made of fire, her cheeks burning, emerald eyes were wide in shock and horror at what had transpired between them.

"I…um...shit," she sputtered, looking away. "I'm so sorry, Paladin. I can't believe I did that."

He coughed awkwardly, the heat rising in his own cheeks as he tried to think of the right thing to say. Part of him wanted to pull her close and kiss her again, to never let the feeling of her resting in his arms fade away. But the moment had faded, and reality hummed ominously in the sound of the Prydwen's engines. For all he might wish that it were otherwise, he was still Paladin Danse. She was still his subordinate. It would foolish for him to try and make them anything else. The whole thing was a mistake borne of grief and pain, nothing more. He released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his eyes not quite able to meet hers.

"It… it's quite alright, soldier," Danse said, his voice almost mechanical as he locked down his emotions as fast as he could. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. Just please try to contain yourself next time you have an emotional outburst. Not everyone on this ship would let such a blatant display go so easily."

Larimer snorted, trying to hide her mortification. "Well, maybe next time I'll give Elder Maxson a quick smooch out on the main deck," she teased. "I do like to embarrass myself the maximum amount possible when I'm not thinking clearly."

"That would be ill-advised," Danse replied, trying not to visualize it and failing badly. He frowned, desperately trying to think of something else. Armor maintenance, battle reports, anything.

"Obviously," Larimer muttered. "It's called a joke."

The Paladin sighed. "I don't understand why you always use humor to deflect your emotions."

"Well, sir, some of us use humor. Some of us use a stuffy adherence to decorum. It's really all the same beast, don't you think?"

Danse tried to hide his surprise. Was he suddenly so easy to read? "Perhaps. I honestly can't say I've ever thought about it before."

Silence descended over Danse's quarters, which suddenly seemed too small. No words remained to bridge the awkwardness between them, and the Paladin found himself filled with a desire to clean, to wander the deck, anything but remain so close to Larimer.

"I should go," the Knight finally said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "I still need to unpack and settle in, if we're going to be staying here for a while."

"I…" Danse started to reply before thinking better of it. "Do it in the morning, soldier. You should try to get some sleep."

As if on cue, Larimer's bleary face cracked open with a yawn so wide he thought she'd dislocated her jaw. "You've got a point," she mumbled. "I'll leave you be."

She stopped just shy of leaving his room, her hand hovering over the handle. "Oh, and Paladin Danse?"

"Yes, soldier?"

"Thank you. For everything."

He nodded awkwardly. "Any time. Just as long as you don't feel the need to kiss me every time we speak in private."

She smirked, the lovely rose of her blush returning. "No promises," she murmured, and then she was gone.

Danse eased out of his power armor with a sigh, the sensation of her gentle lips still clinging to his own. He touched a few fingertips to his lower lip idly as he puttered about his quarters, collecting the scattered pieces of his chess set and generally trying to keep himself busy to give his mind time to catch up with the events of the day.

At least Scribe Haylen had possessed the good sense to kiss him on the cheek when she'd broken down. That hadn't been so bad. Of course, he reasoned with himself, this was the same thing as what had happened with Haylen all those months ago, after he'd ordered her to euthanize Knight Worwick. She had cried in his arms, had kissed him on the cheek, and they had never spoken of it again. There was no need to.

This incident with Knight Larimer was just more of the same. It had to be. She was having a difficult day. It hadn't meant anything more than that. Nothing whatsoever had changed between them.

Still, it took him far longer to fall asleep than he was comfortable with, and once he did, his dreams were plagued by the image of Larimer… no, of Myra standing over Kellogg's body, her white hair unbound from its usual neat bun, wrath and despair fighting for purchase in her cold, green eyes as she raised her backup pistol to her own head. She bit her lower lip, her hand trembling as her finger slid to the trigger, her eyes never leaving his.

Only this time, he hadn't been able to talk her down, hadn't pulled her gun out of her loose grip as she collapsed, weeping, into his arms. This time, he'd failed.

Every time the shot rang out, he gasped awake. Every time he fell back asleep, the scene replayed.

There was no saving her.

SUMMARY: Danse comforts Myra after she kills Kellogg. The two see the Prydwen arrive, and head to the airport. Myra meets Maxson, who promotes her. She and Danse tour the airship, but he can tell she's not doing well and takes her to his quarters to talk. He tells her about his past. They play chess. Eventually, Myra admits that she murdered Kellogg rather than killing him in self-defense. Danse tries to reassure her. They kiss. It's awkward.