"You're taking these scavvers on a vertibird?"

The man with a boxer's face and snarling expression looked comically small next to the bushy-haired paladin encased from neck to toe in hulking power armor as if he expected to be attacked in the middle of a fortified bunker. Then again, Beatrice recalled the quick story Rob had told her of rescuing the Brotherhood soldiers from wave after wave of ferals. Perhaps his paranoia was well placed.

"Soldier, you are out of line," snapped the paladin, whom Rob had greeted earlier as Danse. "You are alive because of this... civilian."

"A filthy ghoul!" spat the other man.

Danse shot a look of utmost disgust at Rob, not denying the words. Beatrice fumed silently, but he'd asked her not to interfere.

"If I may, sir," said a soft-spoken woman wearing scribe gear from the wall. "All our lives were saved by this ghoul. Rhys would have died if he hadn't come to our aid—we probably all would have. He's not asking for caps, or weapons, or tech: just a ride, which we can very easily accommodate." She coughed delicately. "And we could log the trip as a surveying mission."

"You shouldn't have made a deal with a ghoul in the first place. Just tell him to leave, and that's the end of it," the pugnacious man—Rhys—sneered.

"Yeah," Rob drawled. "Tell your commanding officer to back out of the deal; that's the real honorable thing to do. Classic Brotherhood."

"Watch it, ghoul," snapped Danse. "And Rhys, the last thing we need is to upset locals. The Brotherhood has to show civilians we are here to do good."

"Unlike tiny over there, I ain't under your command, Paladin," Rob said easily. "My chief back in the day would have dunked you in his coffee and had you for breakfast."

Danse blinked. "Your… chief?"

Rob waved a finger in the air, indicating the building around them. "This used to be where I worked, bub. My desk is in pieces at the far end of this room."

Danse narrowed his eyes. "You were… police? Pre-war civilian military." The Brotherhood paladin looked very uncomfortable at the thought of having anything in common with a ghoul.

"Not really but close enough. Look," Rob said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of what was left of his nose. "You don't have to take me. Just take my friend here. Then we're square. You won't have to see me again."

Danse looked Beatrice up and down, seeming to find her less objectionable than a ghoul. "I can do that. As long as she obeys my orders while we're in the air."

Beatrice frowned. "Rob, no—"

"Bea," he said clasping her shoulders, "you don't need me to be with you when you find out what's going on with ol' Preston. Just… check in with me as soon as you can, okay? Leave word with Nicky if I'm not in Goodneighbor. I want to know you're okay,"

"Goodneighbor!" scoffed Rhys. "A lawless den of perverse chemheads who—"

"Thank you," Beatrice said, ignoring the other man. "Thank you for coming with me." She pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek ignoring the sounds of disgust from the Brotherhood soldiers in the room. "Go talk to Ellie."

He smiled crookedly at her. "Guess I can't tell you to go and do something I've been putting off too. Alright. Take care, Bea." He gave Dogmeat a goodbye pat, then turned and walked out the door.

"Follow me, civilian." Paladin Danse didn't wait to see if she followed but turned and stomped away into the old police station, his footfalls raising clouds of dust with each step.

She followed him up a set of stairs she was certain would collapse under his weight, but they held, creaking the whole time. The stairs ended at a roof access door. With his longer strides, Danse was already at the vertibird, talking to the pilot—or lancers, she thought they were called. He gestured her forward, and she climbed in, noticing there were only handholds to keep her from a very long fall if something went wrong. It was the kind of aircraft used to quickly drop off soldiers in a hot zone, not a luxurious airplane flight with meals and in-flight entertainment. Dogmeat leapt in beside her, and she grabbed onto his collar, glad she'd fitted him with one, though now she was wishing she'd had a leash for him as well. The lancer nodded shortly in greeting, but didn't speak, which suited her fine. Danse climbed in after her, his armor's weight shaking the aircraft.

"Hold on to this one," he said, tapping a handhold further down. "You can sit down on the trip. That will help you with the dog too." He gestured to a hinged bench along the back wall of the vertibird.

She unfolded it and sat down, Dogmeat sitting on the rest, his head in her lap. At least here she felt a little more stable than she had standing up.

The lancer began the take-off process and her stomach swooped as the vertibird dipped and lurched. To avoid looking at the rapidly retreating ground, she turned to look at her only other human companion on the flight. Paladin Danse was watching her, his dark eyes serious and thoughtful.

"You kissed that ghoul."

"Good to know your eyes work." She winced. Deacon was a bad influence sometimes.

He narrowed his eyes. "You aren't worried about disease… or his going feral?" Then he shifted, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "I apologize. Those are questions of a personal nature."

She studied him, surprised. Most Brotherhood patrols she'd encountered had been terse: minor arguments over Brotherhood patrols stomping through Minutemen settlements without regard for property. Not hostile, but for the most part a little condescending of civilians, and she knew they were not kindly disposed toward the Railroad either, because of their habit of treating synths like people who deserved to have a life of their own. She'd never thought she'd see a paladin of all things apologize for lack of tact.

"Disease is everywhere in the Commonwealth," she said with a shrug. "Ghouls don't have a monopoly on bacteria and viruses."

"True enough," he agreed cautiously, as if suspecting she was trying to wrangle him into some kind of word trap.

"Humans are just as likely to go violent and kill someone too, just like a feral," she said. "There are enough raiders out there to prove that."

He frowned, as if wanting to contradict her but didn't quite know how.

"At least with ghouls you know it's coming, sooner or later," he said at last. Then he turned to look at the passing countryside, signalling an end to the conversation.

Beatrice didn't bother to pursue it. Her need for distraction from the bumpy flight had ended and now she could only think of what was ahead of her.

Deacon. And answers, for better or for worse.

The rest of the flight was smooth, aside from the bumpy beginning, and she was surprised. In her pre-war life, she'd always heard people complaining about air travel. Her own experience was limited. She'd only flown once as a child on a family vacation when it was easier to travel for Chinese Americans. The government had set stricter and stricter limits on their travel throughout her adulthood.

"Coming in on the landing zone, sir," said the lancer, and she started, glancing ahead of them. Sure enough, the white tower of the lighthouse was visible through the glass windshields straight ahead. Paladin Danse glanced around below at the debris-strewn beach, his thick brows furrowed.

"Are you sure this is where you want to be dropped off? This doesn't look like a very safe area."

"I'll be fine. I'm meeting a…" Friend? Lover? Partner? "I'm meeting someone," she finished. She'd know exactly what Deacon was in a few minutes. Her stomach gave another swoop, this time unrelated to the air currents buffeting the vertibird.

"Very well. Take us down, Kapraski," said the paladin to the lancer.

The aircraft landed on a stretch of the road that wasn't blocked by rusted cars or fallen trees. Beatrice let go of Dogmeat's collar and he leapt out.

"Thank you for the ride, Paladin. Have a safe flight back."

His eyebrows lifted, perhaps surprised at the thank-you. "Ma'am." He nodded.

She hopped down, legs wobbling a little on solid ground, and scurried away, ducking to avoid the dust swept up by the 'bird's blades. Once she was clear, it took off, headed back the way they came. Beatrice checked her Pip-Boy and her eyes widened. Barely twenty minutes had passed since they'd left the roof of the police station. Maybe she ought to make friends with the Brotherhood. She'd never have to camp in another feral-infested ruin again.

She took a deep breath and turned toward the lighthouse. "No more stalling, boy," she said to Dogmeat. He barked happily and nudged her hand, as if to say, "go get him."

Her fear displaced into anger as she walked up the steep road to get to the Lighthouse and the keeper's house. Why had he left? Why had he made her worry so much?

She barely had the house in sight when the door opened, and Deacon stepped out with a huge smile and her heart gave an enormous flop that left her breathless. Then she steeled herself and marched toward him.

"Where. The. Hell. Have. You. Been. Hiding?"

His smile faded. He had his sunglasses on and that just made her angrier. "Hiding?"

Beatrice rolled her eyes to the sky. "Yes, you ass! Hiding! I crisscrossed half the Commonwealth tracking you down. It's a good thing you told Nick where you were going, otherwise I wouldn't have any idea of where to go so I could kick your ass!"

He seemed to wilt a little, his voice small. "You didn't come here because of my note?"

Beatrice threw up her hands. "What note? All I know is that I told you I loved you, you finally opened up to me, and then you disappear. How else am I supposed to take that, Deacon?"

"Oh… hell." He took off his sunglasses, and the stricken look on his face made her fountaining anger ebb. "Look, I didn't mean... The note. In the notebook. You didn't see it? I put it there because you were looking at it again and again and I thought you'd see it, and you'd know..."

Beatrice paused, then reached into her pack where the Covenant book of lost names was stored in a small pocket. As she opened it, loosening the pages, a scrap of paper fell out. Unfolding it, she read:

I want to give you break, like we talked about. No Railroad, no Institute. The rest is a surprise. I didn't want to interrupt your chat with Rob, so catch up with me at Kingsport Lighthouse. See you soon. -D.

"Oh," she said.

He took a hesitant step closer and then another, until they were close enough to touch. "I can see how that looked… damnit. I'm… I'm really sorry. I didn't think. I should have checked… I should have waited... I just got so excited about the idea… Look, I wanted to give you a gift; like I said, some time away from the Railroad and the Institute. Just you and me. If you still want me here after all this. But I do. Want you, that is. Oh, hell. I'm… Beatrice, don't cry."

She couldn't help it. The fear and anger and worry that had been building the whole afternoon, all because of something as silly as her not seeing a note, was too much and the release of relief poured out down her cheeks.

He hesitantly put his hands on her shoulders, drifting up to cup her face, his thumb wiping away the tears. "You told me this morning, and I didn't say it back because I'm an idiot, but I love you. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me. I… I'd give up face-changing for you."

Beatrice let out a half laugh, half sob, and crossed the distance, tucking herself into his arms, holding him tight. "I'm sorry I doubted you," she mumbled.

"No apology necessary." He kissed the top of her head. "It was a dumb plan. I should have confirmed with you first. Shit, I'd doubt me too."

She laughed again, and Dogmeat, wanting some of the attention, nosed his way in between them.

"Ah, my favorite third wheel," Deacon said, scratching behind his ears. "You're going to make this seduction a lot more challenging, aren't you boy?"

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. "Seduction?"

He grinned. "Come on inside."

When they'd last been here, the house had been a haven of the Atom cultists, filthy and full of traps. They'd gotten rid of the worst of the filth and dangerous things so they could camp there, but she'd expected to need several people to help get everything ready for safe habitation. But somehow, in a few hours, Deacon had cleaned it from top to bottom. The floor had been washed—she could still smell the Abraxo in the air—and, she laughed again: Deacon had set up a pillow and blanket fort in the living room. A few chairs and random planks of wood had been propped up, covered over with blankets and couch cushions below.

"I'm so seduced right now," Beatrice said.

"You didn't see the bait." Deacon bent and picked up a stack of faded but still readable Silver Shroud comics. "I figure I'd make you dinner while you just relax and—"

Dogmeat walked right to the softest cushion he could find and curled up, looking up at them with innocent eyes and a tooth-filled yawn.

"Well, hmph," Deacon said, glaring at the dog. "But that was only one option."

He guided her out of the house. She expected him to head for the well-preserved boat house below the cliff, but instead he opened the door to the lighthouse.

"Stairs." Beatrice peered up into the dim light above. Daylight was rapidly fading and she was suddenly glad she'd allowed Rob to give her his favor with the Brotherhood. "Stairs are the ultimate seduction technique?"

Deacon chuckled. "Oh ye of little faith."

"Did you just quote the Bible?"

"I am, as you once pointed out, very well read."

"Hmm. Just when you think you know a guy, you find unexplored depths."

"I like to keep you on your toes." He kissed her hand. "Now go on, you're holding up the line."

Despite her joking around about stairs' seductiveness, Beatrice found her heart thudding from more than just exercise as they climbed the stairs. She felt so stupid to have doubted Deacon—and he'd said he loved her. It was all she could do not to just turn and press him against the wall then and there.

Finally, breathing hard from the exertion, they reached the top. Deacon grabbed her hand and guided her out on the landing that lead to the lantern room, but she tugged him back.

"I thought you didn't like heights."

"I don't, but this one will be different. Trust me." They walked up the few steel stairs to the lantern room and Beatrice paused. Deacon had cleaned here too—Abraxo smell was present, but he'd also filled most of the empty space in the small chamber with two mattresses, covered in lots of blankets and pillows. She wondered idly if he'd stolen all the spare pillows and blankets from Taffington for this. There was also a cooler with water and some food, and a radio, playing softly in the background.

"Come here," Deacon said, suddenly sounding a little shy. Her heart ticking up a notch, Beatrice followed him in and sat down on the bed, expecting him to lean forward to kiss her, but instead he lay down, pulling her down so they lay side by side.

"You can watch the stars from here," he said quietly. "And the sunrise. I know this world disappoints you a lot, and you miss home, but I thought… up here, the stars and the sun are the same, and you can pretend for a little while…"

"I don't need to pretend anymore," she said, rolling slightly so she was curled up next to him. "You were right, you know, when you accused me of wanting to bring the pre-war world back? Of not dealing with the fact that my world is gone."

He winced. "When I yelled at you?"

"Yes, but you weren't wrong. Well, you weren't all wrong." She closed her eyes a moment as he held her close and she wrapped one arm around his waist, breathing in his scent, which surprisingly lacked cigarette smoke for once. "I think I've been scared to really commit to this world, as if it's just been a bad dream, and if I tried hard enough, I could make it the way I want it to be. But I can't, and I have to accept that. And… it's not as hard as I thought. You live here, after all, and you… you feel like home to me."

Deacon reached down with his free hand, threading his fingers through her hair, then tilting her face up to meet his. He kissed her slowly, and deeply, savoring the moment.

"I'm really glad to hear you say that… but," he cleared his throat, and she could feel his pulse thundering against her hand on his chest, "can we go back down? I think I overestimated my coping strategies for being this high."

"Oh? So my feminine wiles aren't enough to make you stay up here, hmm?"

Deacon squeezed his eyes shut. "There is literally no way for me to answer that without losing, so I'm just going to say vomit isn't very romantic, and that's the hill I'm gonna die on."

"You can't even see the ground from where we are, laying like this."

He breathed out slowly. "I know it's there. Waiting. Like... like a waiting thing."

She laughed and took pity on him, letting him hold her hand as they carefully walked out of the lantern room and inside where the spiral staircase swirled down to the bottom. He needed a moment, so she sat next to him on the stairs, lightly running her fingernails up and down his back.

"Mmm. That… actually feels really good," he said after a few minutes passed and some color returned to his cheeks.

"My mother used to do this before bedtime when I was a child. She didn't often know how to talk about her feelings, but she was physically affectionate."

"So that's where you get your hugging from."

"Mmm hmm. Are you stalling?"

He winced. "Is it that obvious?"

She grinned. "You weren't nearly this bad in Boston when we went hunting for that DIA cache at the top of that skyscraper."

He grumbled as they got to their feet and began descending the spiral stairs. "Because I was trying to impress you by not being too obviously scared. You may have also thought I was going to change disguises and really I was going to go panic in a closet."

They reached the ground, and Deacon gave an audible groan of relief, while she tried not to giggle. "Food!" he said brightly, with a brisk little jump. "Terror always makes me hungry, and I promised dinner."

He hurried back into the house and she raised an eyebrow, following him into the kitchen where he stared at the directions on a box of Blamco Mac and Cheese. A radio near the stove played a familiar tune in the background, but she was focused on him and didn't really register it.

He turned, seeing her sidle up to the counter to watch him, and paused.

"Nothing else has gone right tonight but… hell with it," he muttered, tossing the box behind him. One big stride later, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her.

"About time," she murmured against his lips.

He pressed her against the edge of a cabinet, hands sliding down her behind and lifting her onto the edge of the counter. She made a pleased noise as he came to stand between her legs, and slid her hands under the back of his shirt, as he resumed kissing her. He used the opportunity to fumble behind her for the radio's volume button. Sixty Minute Man crooned through the air, and Beatrice started to laugh in disbelief.

"That's a hell of a coincidence."

"Is it?" Deacon kissed her again, rocking his hips into hers and she groaned into his mouth, trying to pull his shirt off without separating from him.

The song ended on the radio, and Travis came back on the air.

"And that was Sixty Minute Man… FOR THE FIFTIETH TIME IN ROW. I am NEVER taking requests again. I don't care HOW many caps you give me. NEVER. AGAIN."

Beatrice stared at Deacon. "No."

"Yep." His voice was smug. "Worth every cap." He smoothed a hand over her hip, squeezing gently. "Now," he said, peppering kisses along her jaw. "Let's take this show on the road…. And by road I mean the bedroom upstairs because Dogmeat being an audience is not the night I had envisioned. And by show I mean—"

"Deacon."

"Yes?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

END

Thank you for reading! A million thanks to Quinzelade who not only beta read the first version of this fic chapter by chapter, but also insisted on reading it over again as a whole story. She has written my favorite SS/Danse fic, which you can find here and on Ao3 under "By No Constraint." Also, she has a new fic coming soon also set in the same Fallout-verse: "Making Ones Bones."