The Hardest Choice

The whir of the elevator stayed his hand.

They were here.

Who had come for him, Danse wondered? Knight-Sergeant Marguerie, perhaps? She was as ruthless as she was loyal, and if he could depend on anyone to put him down, it was her. He smiled, his heart settling somewhat. Yes, he hoped it was Marguerie. She would do the right thing. Danse knew she would.

Out of the elevator stepped Quinn.

As the security defences opened fire, Danse leapt to his feet, terror streaking through him. The defences he'd turned on had slipped his mind completely, and she was without her power armour.

Why did she leave her armour?

But as Danse made to help her, it became apparent that his fears were unfounded. Within seconds, the sparking remains lay scattered around Quinn. How could he have forgotten her talent for destruction so quickly? Danse watched her step over the scrap, and managed a small smile as she kicked the singed metal aside, before cursing and clutching at her foot.

An old, familiar warmth spread through his chest as he studied her. Now that she was here, he had maybe half an hour at best. Minutes at worst. He let his eyes roam, drinking in every precious detail, from her sharp, blue eyes, to the fresh, jagged scar that ran down her face.

The way she held her rifle, close to her chest as if she was constantly afraid of dropping it. The string which looped through her wedding ring, just poking out from the collar of her uniform. Her blonde hair, which she kept short and yet it still managed to be a mess. "Because I can't be bothered with it now the world has ended," she had said when he had told her she needed to look tidier when not on the field. Then she had pointed to his beard.

"You can't complain, paladin."

He felt like laughing again. Every single meaningless detail, so mundane. So goddamn important.

Finally, their eyes met.

"Danse!" she yelled, running over and banging on the glass.

He studied her frantic face for a moment longer, and then turned away, moving out of sight. Now that she was here, it was obvious that Quinn had to be chosen for this. Her loyalty needed to be tested, for the good of the Brotherhood.

Danse understood. He accepted it. He wanted to keep her safe, and if dying helped achieve that, then so be it. Duty aside, he suspected it would bring her closure; destroy the lying machine once she had all the explanations she desired.

No, he couldn't take that away from her.

Danse glanced up to see that Quinn had disappeared from view; seconds later she came racing around the corner, her eyes fixed on the pistol in his hand. She seemed lost for words, the silence between them becoming unnerving.

He realised he was so tired of it all. His time in the Brotherhood had felt like a constant battle between his obligations and his opinions as of late. Even with Cutler, Danse had taken those final steps, not because he had believed they were right, but because they were what he had been taught.

Time and time again, he had put aside personal feelings for the organisation he held so dear. Elder Maxson had always benefitted from the presence of an older, highly-trained paladin at his side.

And like a good soldier, Danse obeyed.

Now Maxson was using Quinn to kill him. Quinn, who regardless of how she felt towards him, regardless of what loyalties she had to prove, was being given a heavy burden to bear.

In his core, Danse felt a glimmer of doubt.

"I'm not surprised Maxson sent you," he said, bitterness surging through him, amplifying his confusion. His thoughts were muddled, flicking between relief at her presence and wishing he could have died alone. "He never liked to do the dirty work himself."

The conflict was making his head hurt. Danse knew he had to be destroyed, and yet he couldn't keep the resignation from his voice. Why the uncertainty? He was a monster. He was everything wrong with the Commonwealth, everything that had caused humanity to fall. He was no longer the man that had stood at Maxson's side for all these years, the man who did whatever it took to uphold the name of the Brotherhood. Whatever happened now, whether he lived or not, he would never be those things again.

He wasn't even a man. He was nothing.

So why does this feel so wrong?

Programming. That's what it came down to. Programming. The Institute had made him this way, that was all.

But the Brotherhood has, too.

Danse groaned, pressing the cold pistol against his forehead. It hurt so damn much.

"Put the gun down, Danse," Quinn said, a note of panic mingled with her words.

He frowned at her, lowering his hand. "You see me as a threat?"

Something flickered across her features, an emotion he couldn't quite place. Then it was gone, replaced with a strange, almost forced blankness.

"Yeah," she said quickly. "Just put it down and slide it towards me."

It was a fair enough request. After all, he was an unknown entity. Danse placed the pistol on the floor, the safety on, and knocked it over to her with his foot. Quinn picked it up, emptied the cartridges out, and tucked it away in a pocket of her uniform. When she turned back, she had that same strange expression again, only this time it lingered.

"Anything else on you?"

"No."

She nodded and then sighed. "I wish you'd told me the truth."

"I might have, if I'd known what I was," he said, shaking his head as he looked her in the eye. She needed to understand this. The fact she thought he had lied to her bothered him more than anything else.

"You didn't know?" Quinn whispered.

Now there was an emotion he recognised. The relief was as plain as day, and in an instant Danse realised why. Her plans against the Institute. Her son. She had told him all of it, and if he had willingly been under the control of Shaun…

"No," he said quickly, horror welling up in him at the implications of his identity. "No, I didn't know, I promise. Until Quinlan got that list decoded, I—"

He never finished his sentence. Quinn dropped her rifle without ceremony as she ran towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and dragging him down into a tight embrace.

"Thank God you're okay," she whispered into his ear, her grip almost painful. "Thank God I got here first."

She broke away from him, her usual tanned skin now as pale as the wasteland sky, her fingers digging into his arms.

"What are you—?" Danse began, but Quinn cut across him.

"Maxson's ordered me to kill you, so we need to work fast. I don't know how much of a head start we're going to have to get away from him, but for now, he thinks I'm loyal."

No. No, no no. She still cares about me.

"Quinn, don't be ridiculous," he snapped. In that moment, it was all so clear to him: what he was; what he had done to Quinn, to Maxson, and everyone else he had ever been close to. It had to end now. And if she was ever to be free from suspicion—even if he despised the very thought of it—she had to do it. He pulled her hands from his arms and firmly forced her away, holding her back as she tried to move towards him. "I'm not blind to the fact that we're...that we're close, and this must be very difficult for you. I wish Maxson had sent someone else."

God, I wish he had sent someone else.

"But that doesn't change a thing. I'm a synth, which means I need to be destroyed. If you disobey your orders, you're not only betraying Maxson, you're betraying the Brotherhood of Steel."

"Are you fucking insane?" Quinn said, her eyes wide as she gaped at him. She tried to wriggle free, but Danse held on.

"Synths can't be trusted." If there was ever a time that she had to understand this point, it was now. "Machines were never meant to make their own decisions—"

"Danse, no—"

"They need to be controlled," he said loudly, speaking over her. "Technology that's run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees, and humanity to the brink of extinction. I need to be the example, not the exception."

She stared at him for a moment, looking like she was about to cry. Then she scowled.

"That's such bullshit!" Quinn hissed, her eyes dancing with fire as she finally wrenched herself free. "I've been around you long enough to know you're not just a machine! You feel towards other people. You have human emotions! Empathy! Sympathy! Grief!"

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I've made my decision—"

"Yeah, well your decision is full of shit! You're making it because you're scared and you feel trapped and you see it as the only dignified way out!"

Danse flinched for a moment, unable to reply. Her words had hit far too close to home for his liking.

The long silence added to his discomfort. He cleared his throat, glaring. "You know how I feel about synths."

"And I know how you feel about me," she shot back. "And I know that you aren't the kind of man to make me put you down unless you were beyond saving. And you're not, Danse, because you don't need saving. This isn't like Cutler; you're still the same person."

"We both know it's the right thing to do," Danse replied. Even to himself, it sounded weak, but his belief in its message remained the same.

"No, it isn't!"

"For God's sake!" His temper had reached its breaking point. This was hard enough already without her adding to it. "If you refuse to follow Maxson's orders, you're undermining everything the Brotherhood stands for! I can't allow that to happen on my account!"

"I won't do it."

"Why are you being so difficult?"

"Refusing to murder you is being difficult?"

"I'm a synth." Couldn't she see this was the only way forward? "And you'd be risking your life just to keep me alive. Why would you do that?"

"Do you want a fucking list?" She folded her arms, fury and determination etched into every line on her face. Her eyes blazed with the kind of conviction he'd only ever seen when she'd refused to fight her son, and he knew at once it was a wrath that could not be tamed. "You're proof that Maxson is full of shit."

Danse blinked. "How? I've betrayed—"

"You haven't betrayed anyone," Quinn interrupted. "Everything you've done, you've done for the good of other people. Not just for the Brotherhood, but for humanity, or whatever else you want to call it."

He shook his head. "I allowed far too many people to die under my command."

"But you've saved just as many. You saved Carson and Kapraski—they would have died without you. And how many people have lived longer, better lives thanks to the purifier you helped bring to D.C.? People have died under your command, yes, but you made sure they were put out of their misery instead of suffering through agony until the end. You've always done the right thing for everyone but yourself."

"But...but the Institute…"

"What about them?" She stepped closer now, hesitating before reaching out and placing her hands on his shoulders. "You led Maxson to the Institute after you scouted ahead in the Commonwealth. You helped me get into the Institute, providing the Brotherhood with near limitless access to their facility. You got the actuators and the nukes for Liberty Prime, and not once has the Institute got wind of any of this. You are not on their side, Danse. You're Brotherhood, through and through."

"Brotherhood, through and through..." he repeated, his body going numb. Whether Quinn knew it or not, she was echoing Marguerie. He wanted to reach up to her hands and touch her, but something stopped him. She believed in him, and that was enough. But he was still a machine and there were now places with her he could no longer go.

Danse thought of Cutler and the way he had fought with everything he'd had to find him, to save him. Krieg, and how much the old paladin had thought of him. Would they have been on his side now?

And then there was Dawes. Worwick. Brach. God, he had tried so hard to keep them safe.

And Haylen, who had risked it all just to give him a chance at survival.

He swallowed, his throat feeling painfully tight. Then there were people who would never forgive him, Maxson and Marguerie at the forefront of his mind. The Coopers, too. And the other officers whom he had occasionally conversed with. To them, he was the enemy, a figure of deceit and betrayal, a cautionary tale for all the squires to hear.

Paladin Danse, the traitor.

The easy solution was right in front of him. No matter how Quinn tried to dress up his worth, the route with the least amount of pain ended with the barrel of a gun. And yet Danse had never settled for something because it was easy; he always pushed on because it was hard.

Fighting on would be the most difficult decision of his life. But to fight meant to accept that he wasn't disloyal, and in his heart, Danse knew this was true. He had done everything, given everything for the Brotherhood. He had worked his damndest to do good in the world. With that, he could not argue.

"You're...you're right." Even saying the words felt like glass in his mouth, but he forced himself to continue. "I'm not technology that's gone out of control. I've been a benefit to mankind, not its downfall."

Quinn nodded, her fingers squeezing on his shoulders as relief filled her face. "So what are we going to do?"

"We?"

"If you think I'm going to just abandon you, then you can think again."

He felt a mix of exasperation and gratitude flood through him. Even now, when his life lay in ruins and he had nothing to offer her but danger, she was standing by his side.

The idea of turning his back on it all terrified Danse. Starting again, moving on, leaving everything he had ever loved behind.

His eyes met Quinn's and some of the tension slipped away.

Well, not everything.

Biting back the urge to pull her close, Danse rubbed his forehead. "My next move…"

"We still have the Brotherhood to deal with."

"I know." His hand dropped back to his side. "I might have a solution. The only clear choice is for me to leave the Commonwealth. The sooner I make for the border, the sooner I put this behind me."

Danse paused. He hated the idea of running again, but what else could he do? Quinn was at risk if Maxson found out she'd let him live. He pulled at the chain around his neck, tugging it free from his uniform with a surprisingly steady hand and looping it over his head. "Take my holotags. Use them to prove to Maxson that your mission was a success or he'll just send someone else to hunt me down."

Quinn took them, letting the tags flow through her fingers for a moment before clenching them in her fist. She nodded and pocketed them, looking worried.

"I'll deliver them to Maxson," Quinn said, "but wait for me at Sanctuary. We'll leave the Commonwealth together. And if you don't wait for me, you can be damn sure I won't stop until I find you again."

He blinked at her. "Why would you—?"

"Remember what I said at the Sentinel Site? Whatever happens, I'll be with you every step of the way." She shrugged. "This is a little bit bigger than a conversation with Cade, but the sentiment hasn't changed. You're stuck with me."

Danse hesitated before asking his next question. "The Institute...your son. I thought you wanted to stop them...stop him."

"I do," Quinn replied, "but Ingram's got her damn robot working. They can get the rest of the pieces themselves to get it at full capacity. They don't need me anymore to break into the Institute. But you need friends more than ever. So I'm staying by your side."

For a brief moment, Danse dared to hope that she still felt the same way as before. Then he quashed the feeling. He was a machine. She was human. Quinn may still care for him the way she cared for the detective, but that was as far as it would go. Trying to pretend otherwise was stupid, and Quinn deserved better.

Danse forced a smile. "Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."

He should have known it was too easy. Too good to be true, some might have said. There was nothing good about Danse's situation, with the exception of the woman at his side, determined to keep him living, even if every piece of his being was tired of the whole sordid affair.

The elevator ride back up to the surface seemed to go on for hours, when in reality it would have been a minute at best. Danse's thoughts were chaotic, swinging from wanting to try to wishing Quinn would just let him go.

And yet even though he felt run into the ground, battered and defeated, there was a sliver of hope that had not been there before. Quinn didn't think he was a liar. She still wanted him around, and that meant more than he could ever say.

But as the elevator doors opened and Danse walked through the bunker and out into the cool, fresh air, he saw a figure silhouetted in the late afternoon sunlight. And when he spoke, Danse knew it was all over.

Maxson was waiting for them.

"How dare you betray the Brotherhood!"

The Elder's voice was a whip cracking down on Danse; he flinched, fear streaking through him. Why was Maxson here? Danse cast a glance at Quinn as she joined his side. Whatever the case, he could not let her be blamed for this.

"It's not her fault," he said quickly. "It's mine."

"I'll deal with you in a moment," Maxson snapped before rounding on Quinn. "Knight! Why has this...this thing not been destroyed?"

"He's not a thing, you colossal pr—" Quinn snarled, but Danse cut across her.

"Knight!"

She turned to him, eyes wide in disbelief, and Danse glared back at her. Regardless of his current situation, he would still not allow such blatant disrespect towards the Elder in his presence.

Maxson held a similar shocked expression, apparently lost for words at Danse's reprimand. The Elder stared at him for a moment, before remembering himself. His scowl deepened.

"'He?'" The disgust in Maxson's tone was clear, and he talked as if Danse wasn't there at all. "Danse isn't a man. It's a machine...an automaton created by the Institute. It wasn't born from the womb of a loving mother. It was grown within the cold confines of a laboratory."

"Can't you hear yourself?" Quinn took a step forward, and Danse grabbed her arm as she pointed at Maxson with her free hand. He could feel her trembling with rage, her arm taut as she pulled against him. "Born from a loving mother? How many wastelanders are born out here and discarded by their parents? How many are sold into slavery or turned over to raiders? How many of your own 'human' soldiers share a story of a thankless upbringing? Because if I remember my lessons on the Prydwen correctly, you were sent to the Citadel, thousands of miles away from home, to be raised as a child soldier—"

"How dare y—"

"I wouldn't have done that to my son," she said over the Elder's outrage. "My parents wouldn't have done that either. Does that make you less human than me?"

With a grunt of effort, Danse dragged Quinn back. He couldn't tell her off again, not when he agreed with every word she had said. He hadn't liked it when Lyons had made Maxson into a soldier, and he hadn't liked it when Maxson had done the same to the squires aboard the Prydwen.

Still, there was a time and a place for such an accusation, and Maxson looked as if he was about to explode. Danse tensed, waiting for an attack.

It never came. The Elder stood on the spot, his mouth thin with rage as his eyes flicked between Quinn and Danse. But there was hurt in them too. Danse had known the man long enough to sense when a nerve had been struck. Instead, Maxson took a deep breath and the pain disappeared, a coldness taking its place.

"Flesh is flesh," he said from between gritted teeth. "Machine is machine. The two were never meant to intertwine. By attempting to play God, the Institute has taken the sanctity of human life and corrupted it beyond measure."

There was a small part of Danse that concurred. His existence was a pollution of humanity—the very knowledge of what he was made his skin crawl. And yet Quinn's words echoed in his head.

"Brotherhood, through and through."

Something new rose up within Danse, anger like he had never felt before—deep and indignant. He let go of Quinn.

"All I've done for the Brotherhood, all the blood I've spilt in our name...how can you say that about me?"

To anyone else, Maxson might have seemed indifferent to his outburst, but Danse could tell he was surprised. Had he ever challenged the Elder so openly?

"You're the physical embodiment of what we hate most," Maxson said, his features twisting into an ugly grimace. "Technology that's gone too far." He gestured wildly to the barren landscape behind him. "Look around you, Danse! Look at the scorched earth and the bones that litter the wasteland! Millions—perhaps even billions—died because science outpaced man's restraint. They called it a new frontier and pushing the envelope, completely disregarding the repercussions. Can't you see the same thing is happening again?"

Quinn opened her mouth, but Danse held up his hand and stopped her. Whatever Maxson was clinging to, he needed to hear it. Each passing moment, each utterance of Brotherhood ideology that they both knew so well was enough to confirm it to Danse: Maxson despised him, but he also wanted him to understand.

He's trapped by his position. He believes what he is saying, but he wants me to believe it too. He wants me to know why this is happening.

"You're a single bomb in an arsenal of thousands preparing to lay waste to what's left of mankind," Maxson continued.

Quinn finally lost her patience. "And yet you're the one building a giant robot with enough of a payload to wipe the Commonwealth off the map. You keep saying humanity didn't keep itself in check. Well how can we trust that you won't take technology too far?"

"What—?"

"Danse wants to save mankind, not destroy it. The same as you."

The Elder gave her an incredulous look. "You're as delusional as you are insubordinate. How can you trust the word of a machine that thinks it's alive?"

"Because I've lived through the damn apocalypse that destroyed the world. I saw what technology could do first hand. I walked amongst people that allowed things to spiral out of control, and let me tell you, Danse is the opposite of that." Quinn shook her head. "I didn't trust the Brotherhood until I worked with him. He showed me what the best of the Brotherhood can be. And whether you like it or not, he is your best."

"It's a machine," Maxson tried again. "A machine that's had its mind erased, its very thoughts programmed. Those ethics that it's striving to champion aren't even its own! They were artificially inserted in an attempt to have it blend into society!"

"And yet you've benefitted from those ethics all the same!" Quinn spat back. "His honesty. His professionalism. His dedication to the Brotherhood. His brothers and sisters look up to him! I look up to him, and with damn good reason!"

Danse placed a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. He had listened, watching as she had fought his corner with all the fire he had come to love and expect from her. Whatever happened now, it was enough that she would defend him to such an extent. That she thought so highly of him, even after she had learnt what he was.

He knew, though, that if Quinn carried on, she was at great risk of facing Maxson's wrath. How the Elder had not simply turned on them both by now was beyond Danse's understanding, but he wasn't going to let Quinn push him any further.

"It's true." With a firm, but gentle, hand, Danse moved Quinn aside and stepped forward. "I was built within the confines of a laboratory, and some of my memories aren't my own. But when I saw my brothers dying at my feet, I felt sorrow."

He paused, the old faces drifting to the forefront of his mind. But instead of filling Danse with dread, they gave him a bitter strength to carry on.

"When I defeated an enemy of the Brotherhood, I felt pride. And when I heard your speech about saving the Commonwealth...I felt hope." Danse scowled. "Don't you understand? I thought I was human, Arthur."

Maxson flinched at the sound of his own name, and all at once, the last decade seemed to melt away.

"You look sad...why are you sad?"

There was no Elder anymore, only the boy from those lonely corridors, staring at him with wounded eyes.

"From the moment I was taken in by the Brotherhood, I've done absolutely nothing to betray your trust, and I never will."

And then without warning, Danse saw the reluctant realisation dawn on his old friend's face. Arthur believed him.

But he hadn't changed his mind.

"It's too late for that now," Maxson snapped, though his voice sounded strained. "The Institute has foolishly chosen to grant you life. You simply should not exist. I don't intend to debate this any longer. My orders stand."

Danse sighed as the suffocating calm returned. Once again, the easy option was being forced upon him, and once again, he was tempted to let it happen. He turned to Quinn, tired and empty, and smiled at her. "It's alright. We did our best."

"It's not alright!" she said, looking horrified. "You can't—"

"You convinced me that I was wrong to be ashamed of my true identity, and I thank you for it." He was lying through his teeth and they both knew it, but if it helped her through the next painful steps, then this was one lie he was content in telling. "Whatever you decide, know that I'm going to my grave with no anger and no regrets."

"Touching," sneered Maxson.

Quinn turned sharply to him, and from the side, Danse saw the ugly look on her face. She made an odd, jerky movement with her arm, as if she was about to raise her hand, before hesitating, the fury rolling off her in waves.

The Elder frowned, his eyes flicking to her arm, the certainty he had held in his expression faltering. When he spoke, though, his voice was still steady. "Either you execute Danse, or I will, Knight. The choice is yours."

Her arm twitched again, her hand tightening into a fist, and for a moment, Danse thought she was going to hit him. Then she relaxed and shook her head.

"I delivered you a path into the Institute. I helped reactivate your war machine. Without me, you'd be no closer to stopping the Institute than when you first arrived in the Commonwealth. After everything I've done for you and for the Brotherhood, you need to listen to me. You owe me that much."

Maxson seemed to fight with himself for a second, before eventually forcing out, "Very well. I'm listening."

"Whatever circumstances have caused this situation to arise, Danse has stayed loyal to you." She gestured to him with a wave of her hand. "Look at him! He still here. He believes in the Brotherhood, even if it means his death. How many people would allow themselves to be executed for a set of ideals that goes against their very nature?"

She took a step closer, shrugging away Danse as he tried to pull her back.

"He had no idea what he was, and if he had, he would have told you. And I think you know this. You can keep trying to save face by claiming he betrayed you, but you know that he gave everything to your cause. And you know he's willing to give his life at your request. Those aren't the actions of a traitor."

Maxson was frozen in place, his eyes locked on Quinn.

"I believe in him," she went on, turning to Danse and giving him a soft smile, before glancing back at Maxson. "I believe in him. And so should you. Because you were friends, and because right now, this revelation is still raw. You could kill him and consider it a job well done. But in a few years, when you're older and wiser and you've had the time to truly learn how the world works, you'll realise the enormity of your actions, and they will haunt you for the rest of your life."

There was a long, terrible silence. Danse could see Maxson's mind working to process the situation, to sift through the conflict of duty and feeling. He had been bred for war, to put the Brotherhood first, the same as him. The way they had all been taught.

Danse flicked his attention between the two of them. The woman, pleading for his life. The man, teetering on the brink of a monumental decision: the decision to rebel.

His eyes met Danse's, and finally, there was sorrow. Then it was gone, and Maxson shifted his icy gaze back to Quinn.

"You're a stubborn woman," he said, shaking his head as he glared at her.

Tell me about it, thought Danse. But as he watched the Elder, he saw a glint of respect under all the frustration.

"So." Maxson folded his arms, still scowling. "It appears we've arrived at an impasse. Allowing Danse to live undermines everything the Brotherhood stands for, yet you insist that he remains alive. Which leaves me with only a single alternative."

Quinn drew in a sharp breath.

"Danse."

Danse felt his body snap to attention.

Maxson paused. "As far as I'm concerned, you're dead. You were pursued and slain by this Brotherhood Knight and your remains were incinerated."

His voice sounded...odd. The anger was clear, but also forced, as if Maxson was trying to convince himself that he should be furious with the corner he had found himself in. Danse waited to see what other judgement would befall him.

"From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen, or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you choose to ignore me, know that you'll be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other?"

Danse nodded, his body numb. Was this really happening? "I do." Then, feeling as though he should at least try to sound grateful, he twisted his lips into a smile and added, "Thank you for believing in me, Arthur."

"Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance," Maxson replied sharply. "The only reason you're still alive is because of her." He nodded towards Quinn, his expression relaxing considerably.

For the briefest of moments, Danse thought he saw relief in the Elder's face. But then it was gone, and he was almost certain he had imagined it.

When Maxson spoke again, his tone was hard and laboured.

"I'm returning to the Prydwen, Knight. Take some time, say your goodbyes…" He hesitated, his eyes flicking towards Danse, before hastily looking away back to Quinn. "And then I expect to see you there. We still have the Institute to deal with."

Maxson turned on his heel and left, storming off towards a stationary vertibird that Danse had not noticed before. Maxson climbed into the pilot's seat without so much as a backward glance.

Danse watched him go, the numbness spreading within him, knowing he would never see his friend again. Never see the Prydwen again. He was alone.

Only when the aircraft had disappeared over the trees and the sound of its rotary blades had died away, did Danse direct his attention to Quinn. She was looking at him, a mixture of relief and something else—something deeper that he couldn't place—written all over her expression.

Why do you care so much about me?

Confused thoughts raced around his head. Disapproval that Maxson had gone against the teachings of the Brotherhood, but also understanding that it would have been wrong to kill him. He was a synth, but he was loyal. And yet…

Danse stopped the conflict in its tracks. What good would be gained from wallowing? He was alive, whether he wanted to be or not. Quinn had fought hard for this outcome, risking herself for him. He had no right question whether he deserved the chance he had been given.

"It took a hell of a lot of guts to stand up to Maxson like that," Danse said, studying her face instead. The familiarity of every line and scar he had come to know so well calmed him, and he found himself wishing things could have turned out differently between them.

"Did you expect anything less?" Quinn said, grinning.

Danse laughed, the noise sounding strange in the midst of all his troubles. "No, not really."

"So what happens now?"

"I'm going to stay." He glanced at the bunker and sighed. It was a depressing sight. "I didn't plan on spending the rest of my days in this old listening post, but it will have to do."

Quinn frowned. "We can still leave."

He shook his head. "No. I think there's a place for you in the Brotherhood, and a lot good you can achieve in my stead." He swallowed, his throat tight.

Banished.

Quinn was not about to let the subject drop. "But why stay here? Come back with me to Sanctuary. We can make a home for you there."

The very thought of it filled Danse with dread. To march into that settlement in front of all her friends, all the Minutemen he had worked with...it wouldn't take long for the news of his exile to spread. The disgraced paladin, sent away in shame for being the very thing he hated so much.

Synth.

"No," Danse replied, working to keep the tremor out of his voice. "No, not right now. I need to...I need to collect my thoughts. Besides, it's a trek to Sanctuary. I should keep my head down for a few days at least until the news gets out that I'm dead."

Quinn nodded, though she looked unconvinced.

"Now, you better get back to the Prydwen. In the meantime, I'll start making this bunker more liveable." He smiled at her. "If you ever need me, I'll be right here."

"Excuse me?"

Danse frowned. "Is there a problem?"

"Is there a problem?" Quinn shook her head in disbelief. "After everything you've just been through, you want me to just waltz back to the Prydwen and leave you in this crappy little bunker to deal with all this shit by yourself?"

"I...well…" He hadn't considered it like that. He was used to shouldering his burdens alone. "Quinn, Elder Maxson said—"

"I don't give a damn what he said." She put her hands on her hips, her mouth a thin line of agitation. "Here's what I'm saying: you need someone right now. And that someone is gonna be me. I'm not going anywhere. So you get your ass in that bunker while I scout around and make sure Maxson hasn't left someone behind to finish the job."

"And then what?"

Quinn shrugged. "We talk about what's happened. Or we sit in silence, if that's what you want. Or you sleep. You look like shit. Whatever you need. Just let me help you. Please."

Danse knew there was no point arguing with her. Though Maxson was a man of his word, he still felt on edge at what other dangers could be lurking in the wasteland. "Don't stay out too long. I don't think I could...I...stay safe."

She nodded, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "I will. I promise."

Revulsion coursed through Danse at her touch, and he pulled away, heading back inside the bunker, walking past her empty power armour. He still had feelings for her. A machine had feelings for a human.

Sickened at himself, he averted his eyes from his last glimpse of her as the elevator door closed. He had Quinn's friendship, though even that was barely deserved.

Anything more was asking too much.

Quinn watched Danse stalk back inside, anxiety spiking through her chest like a knife. She waited until he had stepped in the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a resounding clunk, before whirring away as it whisked him below the earth.

Her eyes scanned the dead vegetation that surrounded her, and she smiled, despite herself. Her contingency plan was nowhere in sight.

Damn, you're good at this.

Putting her fingers into her mouth, she gave a loud, shrill whistle. There was a distant rustling noise and MacCready's head popped out from a bush. She waved to him, and he stood up fully, strolling over to her, sniper rifle in hand.

"That's two hand signals you almost gave me, boss." He grinned, showing his blackened teeth. "Lose your nerve?"

Quinn glanced back at the spot where Maxson's vertibird had been. The young Elder had no idea how close to death he had been.

She sighed. "Something like that."

A/N: Apologies for the lateness. Real life for my beta caused interference.

Thanks to my amazing beta, waiting4morning, for her wonderful work!

I was tempted to stick close to the canon scene of Blind Betrayal, but y'know what? Fuck that noise. Bethesda completely dropped the ball with it. One speech check for Danse to convince him to go from self-loathing to 'well I guess I should live because reasons' and that's that?

No. Nononono.

This was one of the main reasons why I started this fic. And also the conclusion (or total lack of) to Danse's story.

So if you like BNC, be thankful that Bethesda fucked up, because otherwise I might not have been mad enough to start this story at all.

That aside, I'm glad the response has been good for chapter 37, especially over the grief/suicide aspects of it all. A lot of it is heavily based in my own personal experiences with depression and suicide, so it's 'nice' to see that carried over well into the text.

Finally, there seems to be a misconception with the suicide note from last chapter. It is completely canon. If you fail to reach Danse in time or leave the bunker at any point without convincing him to live, when you next go back, Danse is dead and that exact holotape-word for word- is next to his body.