It's a Sin to Tell a Lie


The familiar features veiled behind those damned sunglasses were replaced with a look of sudden fear as Ilya rushed Deacon and pounced a mighty hug on him. He had little hope of escape.

"Oh, no. Don't do it. No no no no. Oh fu!—" he let out as she barrelled at him, before his words were clipped in half by her thrown weight. He almost lost his footing, but managed to catch Ilya and stay upright. "Geez, woman," he wheezed while she just laughed in glee and crushed him in her arms.

"Shut up, you love it! I missed you like crazy, D! How did you find us?"

Deacon gave an atypically embarrassed chuckle when Ilya released him, his cheeks flushed a smidgen. Another one of hers that wasn't used to physical intimacy, she reminded herself with a guiltless grin while he recovered. "Just a little tenacity and luck... but mostly just dumb luck," he confessed with a shrug, then gestured to Clay-Crawler, who was standing offside with one of his creepy-ass grins aimed at her, showing the full range of his broken and decayed teeth. "Not that your pet raider here made it easy for me."

Ilya regarded the young raider with a warm smile, putting aside the question of his escape from the Brotherhood for now. Seeing him again filled her with more relief for his safety than she realised she would feel. The little shit was growing on her. "Hey, Clay."

"Hi, Whisper!" He revved to life at her acknowledgement, as if given permission to interact with her, and came at her only to bow at her feet. "Please? Hug, too?"

She had to snap down on a chuckle. "You don't need to bow or ask permission to hug me, Clay. You're not my slave, and I don't bite." He peered up at her from his stooped bow when she crouched down on her haunches to his level. "You're no one's slave now, remember?"

"So... can hug you?"

This time, Ilya did chuckle. "Yes."

Her chuckle was severed into a stunned gasp when Clay-Crawler engulfed her in his wiry grip and bowled her over into the grass. "Boss-Man not eat you! Not eat Dancer! Was so scared Boss-Man eat you!"

Ilya's chuckle returned while Deacon helped pry the ecstatic raider off her. She was also aware that Danse had taken a defensive step in from behind, despite his hesitance to get involved in the reunion. He really thought Clay-Crawler would hurt her?

"Somehow he got it into his head that Maxson is a cannibal and ate you two," Deacon explained with a peculiar look of innocence. "Not that I did anything at all to encourage it..." He held Clay-Crawler back like some over-excitable dog while Ilya climbed back to her feet, then he aimed his shades at Danse. "By the way, hi Danse. Good to see you weren't indeed on Maxson's menu."

Ilya glanced back over her shoulder, seeing Danse only reciprocate Deacon's greeting with a grim glare.

"Good chat," Deacon nodded in acceptance of the snub and went on. "Honestly, from watching Maxson stalk around the airport while I was in sneak-mode, I wouldn't have put the cannibal thing past him. I know you liked to play with him, Ili, but you've got some ovaries to get him that pissed off. What the hell happened between you three? This bullshit about Danse being a synth and you killing him on Maxson's order? Talk about power-play gone wrong. I thought you guys were in a happy threesome and set to save the world together."

Ilya's glee was sapped away at the reminder of how traumatically the alliance had fallen apart, and specifically, why. She felt Danse's presence shift uncomfortably behind her, and wanted to reach back and take his hand. But that would likely embarrass him in front of Deacon and Clay-Crawler. Feeling like it wasn't her place to reveal the truth, Ilya cast her eyes back to Danse, part questioning, part supportive.

He stood immobile for a moment, glare still fixed on Deacon, laser rifle grasped in tense arms. Then, he said with a dark edge, "It's true."

Tongues were held. Ilya lowered her gaze to the ground at Danse's feet as a way of giving him some shred of privacy to handle whatever emotions this was rekindling in him. She knew from countless personal experiences that when others offered comfort, it tended to break the walls of emotional resilience to an uncontrollable tide; receiving comfort was like receiving permission to be human. She knew Danse would reject that permission in front of anyone but her.

"I'm a synth," Danse announced to the silence in harsh monotone. Ilya lifted her eyes back to read him. He was still holding Deacon in his dark glare, as if challenging him. He suspected Deacon and the Railroad had known... Had they? A fleeting gnarl of betrayal entangled her that they might have kept her in the dark about her most trusted companion, that Deacon might have kept her in the dark. It was then that she noticed how firmly Danse's fingers were wound on his rifle's grip. Her sense of betrayal would be nothing in comparison to his.

Suddenly realising how menacing this situation had become, and the tension she was standing between, Ilya struggled against her own panic and sought to take control. "Let's just talk this out," she said with an allaying tone, then rolled her focus back to Deacon, trying to stay neutral. "Did the Railroad know about him, Deacon?"

Deacon shifted Clay-Crawler behind his shoulder protectively, then kept his hands splayed out where they could clearly be seen to pacify Danse. "If they did, they didn't let me in on it. For what it's worth, you have my word."

Sincere creases sliced across his forehead, but Ilya knew how good a liar he was. She trusted him with her life, knew the past that haunted him, knew he was a good man fighting for a good cause, but he was a spy. It was his profession to shapeshift, psychoanalyse, twist angles, illude and delude, slink and spy until no one knew who or what he was. Hell, the only reason she was so good at shielding her secrets and emotions while plucking both Danse's and Maxson's secrets and emotions—two of the most poker-faced yet perceptive men she had ever met—was because of Deacon's tips and tricks. He was her shadow, her secret weapon of wit in both its definitions, but at the end of the day, Ilya had always known that she may never know the real Deacon. Had his story about his dead synth wife, Barbara, even been true? He could be an Institute spy for all she knew. Maybe even an Enclave remnant.

Her heart was screaming at her that she could trust her friend, but her head was screaming never to trust a spy.

Deacon eavesdropped on her thoughts. "Ilya, I get it. I'm not gonna stand here and be mad that even after everything we've been through together, you still don't 100% trust me. I'm a spy. I get it." His shades rippled with their change in reflection as he angled his gaze over to Danse behind her. "I might be many things, but I'm not a backstabber, Danse. Not when it comes to friends."

"We're not friends," Danse growled.

"Acquaintances, then."

Ilya felt her head churn with emotions and doubts as she stood between her two best allies, maybe the only thing stopping them from opening up a duel in the name of Wasteland justice. Any moment now she was expecting one of them to demand she move and allow it to spark, man to man. But she wasn't going to let this be another Maxson versus Danse.

Not today, boys.

"Come on, this is bullshit," she snapped, serving them both a sample of fury with her eyes. "Put your dicks away. There's a way to settle this without violence."

"Hey now, he started it," Deacon whined, emphasising his surrendered hands. "He's the one with his dick out, not me."

Danse ignored him. "Settle it how?"

"Railroad client records," Ilya provided, giving Deacon a pointed look. "Do you have full clearance?"

There was a pause as Deacon considered her request. "Yeah, but we don't keep records for the clients that want the mind wipes. We cover our tracks and eliminate all traces. So even if Danse was a Railroad synth, he won't be on the records."

Ilya absorbed that, then slumped in dejection and passed Danse an apologetic glance. He remained staunch and suspicious.

"I'm sorry, Danse," Deacon offered solemnly, his demeanour now absent of his trademark comedy. It was eerie on him. It was easy to forget how old he actually was, and the wisdom he hid behind layers of humour and goof. "I wish I had the answers for you. I really do. Desdemona might have been sitting on this, but I doubt it. She would have mentioned something to me when you came to HQ with Ilya to get that courser chip decrypted. She was worried because you were Brotherhood and might report our location, even requested Glory and I assassinate you, but I managed to talk her around out of the risk of alienating Ilya. Des would have mentioned you were a synth then."

Either Deacon was doing what Deacon did best and was lying through his teeth to them, or he really hadn't known that Danse was a synth. Ilya doubted they would ever know the truth. How to get Danse to accept that, she had no idea.

"I know this is gonna be pretty controversial to say, but you're just gonna have to trust me." Both Ilya and Danse hovered with unease, exchanging another glance between them. Deacon went on with cautious persistence after seeing that. "I came here to help you two get out of this mess you've made for yourselves, and here I am. The Railroad want me on-hand because of all the tension the Brotherhood are brewing up right now with this news of an exile and their mobilization out of the Commonwealth, but I'm here, not at HQ. Doesn't that say enough?"

Maybe it was naive, or false hope, or just wishful thinking, but it was enough for Ilya. He was her Deacon. Maybe he was a compulsive liar and an all-around slippery shithead, but she still trusted him with her life, even if it was based only on instinct and fondness. Danse was another story, though. She vividly remembered his words to her one time, down in the quarry.

"Trust is a commodity I don't give out lightly."

Danse wasn't an instinctive man by nature, he was rational to a fault. But Ilya was intuitive to a fault.

"Okay, Deacon. I trust you." Ilya gave Deacon her confirming nod before fully turning to face Danse, and his straining temper. Every lethal plane of his features, both in face and body, spoke of his outright defiance to trust. She knew that the only way to get him to cool off and heel was to embarrass him in front of other males. So she stepped forward and took his hand.

"I know you don't like it," she said under her breath, watching his face fall into unsteady lines of conflict, "but I trust Deacon. Even if he's lying, I know he would never put us in danger on purpose." She waited while Danse shot Deacon a threatening glimpse. "If you want, we can go to the Railroad HQ and confront Desdemona, then check out what's left of the Switchboard. See if there's something in the database that the Railroad didn't purge or the Institute missed."

"There's no time for a detour. You need to get back to the Prydwen."

"When there is time, then," she proffered. "But for now, if you can't trust Deacon, then I just need you to trust me. Deacon's our friend."

It took him a prolonged—and brooding—time of thought, but Danse relented with a taut nod, shouldering his rifle. Ilya breathed in relief.

"No hard feelings, eh?" Deacon chirped as he moved to outstretch a hand toward Danse and shake on their truce.

Danse simply regarded the hand, turned up a sour look at Deacon, then trudged back down the hill toward the bunker.


Ilya quietly watched from a safe distance as Danse stalked around the bunker gathering travel essentials for her pack and duffel bag, apparently deciding for her that she was leaving for the Prydwen today. She knew that her 'one more day with him' was a lost cause.

He was in a mood.

Clay-Crawler, however, hovered around Danse with a sheepish air, seeking that greeting he still hadn't received. If it was a hug he was going for, then he was shit outta luck. It was clear that Danse was well aware of the young raider on his step at nearly every turn, but was actively ignoring him, donning a dangerous glower. Deacon was smart and was keeping his distance, hovering instead on Ilya, the two of them slouching against the wall near the elevator to the bunker surface.

Deacon folded his arms leisurely and leaned into Ilya, speaking with a quiet, theatrical Australian accent, "...And we watch from a distance as the Danse moves eloquently about his territory, assuming a threatening demeanour to drive off nearby competition and assert his dominance."

"Not funny."

"...We wait in suspense as a young Clay-Crawler grazes nearby, failing to pick up on the signals that the Danse is displaying, oblivious to the danger he's in."

"Deacon... Shut. Up."

Deacon did as he was told, albeit with a self-satisfied grin. After a few moments of petting Dogmeat and watching Danse grump around the bunker, he adopted a more sombre tone—his serious-Deacon one. "How is he doing?"

Ilya sighed. "Not the best... He's doing better now, but I think he's putting on a brave face for the most part." She shook her head to animate her distress. "He's gone through hell, Deacon. Dealing with some things that I don't have the right to tell you about, but it got bad. Nightmares and anxiety attacks, that's all I'll tell you. I've never seen anything like it, not as severe as his. Not even in the pre-war military, and we all saw and dealt with horrors back then."

Deacon only gave an understanding nod, then he stirred her with a gentle nudge with his elbow. "And you?"

She felt her foundations slip a little, and scrambled tirelessly to erect them, swallowing a knot in her throat and glancing off to feign nonchalance. "I'm fine."

"...And the chems?" he inquired gently under his breath.

The mention fired off defensive reflexes in her, but she managed to pin them down. No use getting angry that he was prying, he was doing it because he cared. "Gone. Clean. In the past." I hope. A glimmer of that dark silhouette she had seen again outside the bunker haunted her memory for an instant, then the creeping feel of the radiation that seemed to haunt her with it. What the hell was it? A ghost? A demon? Hallucination? She still worried that it was something worse than chem withdrawal, since she wasn't having withdrawals since being flushed with Addictol. She worried it was something so deeply imbedded in her brain that a simple flush with miracle anti-addiction chems wouldn't cure. Most of all, she worried that whatever it was, it would hurt Danse. She had to keep it together.

Ilya kept her mouth moving to cover her wavering dread. "You don't need to worry about me anymore. Cade flushed me, and Maxson scolded me... You might not believe it, but then he covered for me..."

"From Danse?"

She gave a single nod, staring down at her jeans as she pondered. "I never found out why. When I confronted him, he fed me some bullshit about it being his way of apologising for being an ass, but Maxson doesn't apologise easily, and actually mean it. Maybe it was really just for leverage. Or to earn my trust." She frowned distantly, embittered. "That damned man is still a mystery to me. Something in me keeps nagging that there's more to him, some little light in the dark. That boy that Danse once knew and thinks he still knows. But then I feel like whatever was left of that little boy died when Danse became dead to him."

"The big three for predicting people: caps, beliefs, and ego. Get a handle on what's driving someone, and you'll know where you stand." Wise-Deacon was at it again. Ilya had never taken Maxson for a cap-hungry man, but that could be substituted for power-hungry, she realised. Deacon then shifted his weight against the bunker wall, seemingly in anticipation. "I can't wait to meet him one day. You know, officially."

"I have a feeling he wouldn't like you..."

"With my charm? Nawh. He'll warm up to me."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Deal." The growth of Deacon's mischievous grin suddenly frightening Ilya as to what she had just encouraged. "Together, with your seductive persuasion and my witty charm, we'll uncover all his dirty little secrets, exonerate Danse, and then we'll take over the Brotherhood!"

"Shh!" Ilya hissed, chiding him with her glare. "Danse would kill us for even joking about that."

"Wait, Danse is still on team-Maxson?" When Ilya gave no denial, his brows peeked up above the frames of his sunglasses. "Even after he went Mad Max on him?"

To that, Ilya just slanted him her unbroken glare.

"...Oh hell. Brotherhood..." he mused with a small tsk in disappointment. "In Capital Wasteland they really weren't bad, but now..." He heaved a sigh to further stress his disappointment. "That bastard really screwed them up. The Brotherhood used to be the good guys. Well, goodish. To have that level of influence over his soldiers, even someone as headstrong as Danse. Blind loyalty to the bone."

"It's a long story," Ilya returned her glower down at her jeans. "It goes beyond their Brotherhood beliefs. They have a history together. Brotherly bond and all that bro-code shit."

"Ah, yes, that bromance," Deacon nodded with a comic knowing. "Well it can't have been that strong. Maxson broke the bromance off, so..."

"Danse is more human than Maxson."

Her answer drew a wondering stare from Deacon, and he let it stay in place a while as he continued to wonder at her. "Hey," he then coerced her eye, manner gentle and serious-Deacon again. When Ilya looked back up to him, he was peering at her over the top of his glasses, the rarity of his periwinkle blue eyes like a sneak-peek into his soul. "Thank you."

"...For what?"

"For having his back. For choosing him over Maxson. Choosing synths over Brotherhood. For fighting the good fight for the little guys, even when the odds were stacked high against you. Sometimes it can feel like the entire Wasteland is against synths, whether it's Brotherhood, Institute, or just the common folk that are scared of what they don't understand. But you gave them a chance. There's a reason you're the Railroad's secret weapon. From the moment I laid my peepers on you and spied on you across the whole damn 'Wealth, I knew you would be our tip-of-the-spear. The Railroad might actually have a chance to win freedom for synths now with you on our side." He shrugged his lips in a half-smile, almost timid. "And in return, since we couldn't save your son from the Institute as payment, I get to help you win freedom for humans from these raiders. Win win... Even if Des has a stick up her ass about me diverting."

He still thought Shaun was dead, Ilya realised in sharp guilt. She hadn't yet found the time, or ovaries, to tell him that her son was the Director of the Institute, and that she still very much planned to somehow save him from himself.

Could she trust Deacon with this? Again, her gut instinct yelled yes, but her rational mind yelled no.

Still, his sincerity struck her deep, so deep that she couldn't hold his rare, unfiltered eye contact. It was peculiar coming from Deacon. So peculiar that it emphasised the weight his words on a grand scale. It took her a moment to swallow it. "I didn't just do it for synths..."

"You did it for Danse, I know." He dropped a hand on her shoulder. "But the thank-you still stands." When she only accepted his offering with a modest nod and smile, he said, "You've been through hell too, don't forget. Even before all this with Danse. And now you gotta go back to playing empress with Maxson. Not that I condone it, but I get why chems looked so good... Now, tell me the truth, 'cause you know I can spot a liar a mile off. How are you doing?"

This time, Ilya didn't bother to guard her weakness, not from Deacon. It spilled freely from her foundations. "I'm tired, Deacon. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm slowly losing my mind. I'm worried about Danse. I want to kill Maxson. I miss my husband. I want my son back. I want to save the world but I want to set it on fire at the same time..." She scowled into her words and scrunched her fists into her hoodie as she hugged at her own waist. "I want to save everyone that I can, but kill every last fucker in the world with just as much passion. I want to be in it and do my part, but I also just want to run away from it all and be selfish." Then, she let the antagonism recede just as quickly as it frothed up, relaxing her grasp on herself. "But I'm also happy..."

Deacon cocked his head at her quizzically, then waited for her to go on, hand still on her shoulder.

Ilya allowed a smile to tug on her lips as she gazed over at Danse, still brooding as he packed her shit, somehow finding herself fond even of his current temper. "And I know he's happy too..." She bit her lip as her next confession threatened to flow with tears. "I love him, Deacon. I'm not ready to tell him that yet, and I don't think he's ready to hear it yet, but we're together. And we're happy." She let that sink in for Deacon before saying more. Amazingly, he didn't take the opportunity to comment right away.

This wasn't right. Deacon was taking too long to comment. Was he judging her for moving on from Nate? For falling for a Brotherhood soldier? Maybe worried about her continued allegiance to the Railroad, even though Danse was no longer tied to the Brotherhood? Surely he knew she would never betray him and the Railroad, no matter what personal ties she had to the Brotherhood, no matter how much homage she had or potential she saw in the Brotherhood. She would die a martyr of loyalty before betraying him. Fretting, Ilya checked Deacon with a sidelong gaze. He was just staring at her behind his glasses, expression blank of detail.

Finally, a smirk sneaked up on his face. "Well, it took you two blockheads long enough."

Ilya scoffed and jabbed him with her elbow, pushing out a small chortle from him.

"Seriously, though," Deacon recovered, nursing his arm where she jabbed him, "I'm over the moon for you. You guys are good for each other. Perfect, even."

"You're not gonna tell me off for getting emotionally entangled in the field?"

He gave a blasé shrug. "Shit happens. Love happens. Besides, he isn't wound up in any chains of command anymore, so it's not like you have to worry about the morals of hooking up in a military society. Whether or not that barbarian is actually capable of love, well..." that little snipe earned him another jab from Ilya's elbow, and he chortled again. "Just sayin'. But no, really, if anyone can break through that steel heart, it's you. Love trumps even the strongest, right? Just, don't forget about me over here... yeah?"

"Never." Ilya looped an arm around his neck and tugged him in to plant a generous smooch on his cheek, to which he grimaced and whined like a child protesting cooties.

"Ick. Yeah, yeah, get off."

"Missed you," she slipped out before releasing him.

"I... might have missed you too."

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they continued to watch the wildlife documentary going on between Danse and Clay-Crawler—the raider had just offered the paladin a stockpiled carton of Dandy Boy Apples to pack into Ilya's duffel bag, obviously thinking Danse was going with her. The paladin just lifted the raider a salty expression before pushing past him with his shoulder.

"They're so cute together," Deacon cooed.

"The Brotherhood had Clay locked up tight at the airport. How the hell did you manage to break him out? Do I even want to know?"

At Ilya's question, Deacon darted her a confused look. "He was gone by the time I got to the airport. I heard through the great vine that Maxson set him loose, same way I heard about you and Danse. Brotherhood scuttlebutt can be a real popcorn fest... mmh, why haven't we tried to make popcorn from our corn crops yet?"

Ilya bypassed his random musing. "So how did you find him?"

"Ah. Now there's a tale." So Deacon recounted how he tracked the young raider down in hopes he would lead him to her and Danse, instead finding the raider during the night when he had set fire to the shack at Finch Farm, highlighting his location in perfect anarchy. At Ilya's concerned face, Deacon assured her that the settlers escaped unharmed, and that he had radioed in on the Minutemen channel for a scavver team to help in the rebuilding. He then went on about how he found Clay-Crawler hunting a small herd of radstags, and epically failing at it. Ilya found herself having a small giggle at the tragic story of Horny and his great escape, and then Deacon's flamboyant radstag disguise as a way of reuniting with Clay-Crawler.

His voice was dripping with barely contained mirth. "He totally fell for it. I think we have a class-A doofus on our hands, here. You think I should try out my legendary Mr. Handy disguise on him?"

"If those muties didn't fall for your Super Mutant disguise, then I think even Clay would see through your robot disguise," Ilya teased.

"You never know..." The shady spy lapsed into a thoughtful silence, then revved up into his next bout. "I had an idea while Clay and I were on the road..."

"Uh oh."

"Now just hear me out... what do you reckon we try to talk Danse into training Clay up in some good old-fashioned Brotherhood of Bigots combat badassery? I know it might seem like a bad idea with the potential to kill everyone involved in an atomic explosion, but..." he let that but grow very long-winded, "it could also be the best idea ever."

"Great minds think alike. I thought of that too." But then Ilya squashed his hopes with a disgruntled shake of her head. "I tried, down in the quarry, but Danse was dead against it. And when he sets his mind against something he's like a brahmin stuck on a roof in Sanctuary; impossible to move."

"You ever find out how they got stuck up there?"

"Nope."

"Maybe Hancock took one too many chems and stole Danse's power armour in the night."

She snorted into her hoodie sleeve at the image of that. "If Danse knew a Ghoul had been inside his suit, heads would roll."

"Be vaporised, more like."

Ilya gestured the arch of her brow as way of agreeing.

"Time to hatch out a game plan?" the spy suggested in the leeway.

But as they both switched back to the wildlife doco to ponder that concept, they realised that there was a very steep mountain to climb ahead. Danse was now sorting through various cases of ammunition while Clay-Crawler sat upon folded legs on the bunker floor, watching the man in rapt focus, like a child or a dog. It was painfully obvious that he was itching to shower the man with questions on what each item was and its purpose, but was too afraid to disturb the quiet rage rolling off Danse with each motion he made.

"Let's make a rain check on that game plan for now," Ilya decided, "I'm gonna go try to see where his head's at." She pushed off the wall and cautiously worked her way into the documentary, adding a new element that she hoped wouldn't ruffle feathers and rattle spines even more. She prayed that Deacon had enough sense to stick to observing and not participating.

"Good luck."

Fuck you.

Clay-Crawler's awareness was piqued on her approach almost instantly, and he aimed his trademark creepy-as-fuck smile at her. She wobbled a perturbed smile back at him, before checking Danse with a peek.

He acknowledged her with a break in his gathering of provisions, then continued right on again.

"Clay, could you give us some space for a moment, please?"

"Yes." The raider nodded devotedly, then shuffled back about a metre. He sat staring up at her, that same smile still plastered over his scarred and tattooed face.

"No, I mean—" she gave up in exasperation before scratching her scalp. "Could you go sit by Deacon, please?"

"Ah. Yes. D-Con." He was up in a flash, but halted with a sheepish look that was common on him. Licking his lips, he slanted himself toward Ilya, concealed his mouth from Deacon's sight, and whispered, "D-Con is wizard." His eyes bulged at her in a mixture of wonder and fear.

Before Ilya could even tilt her head in bemusement, Danse cut in, with a razor tone.

"There is no such thing as a wizard. Whatever that man tells you, is a lie."

Deacon bristled off the wall. "What are you, the fun police? You should wear a bumper plate on your armour that says 'no fun allowed.'"

Ilya cringed in readiness for Danse's counter-strike, but the gap of silence in his stead took her by surprise. When she looked from Deacon back to him, he was boring his gaze into the spy with sizzling hostility, but no whip snapped the air from his tongue. Somehow, his silence was even fiercer a whip than his verbal rap.

And then Danse just placed down his current box of ammo with a careful, eerie calm, avoided Ilya's eye, turned, and strode away into the seclusion of the cave behind the bunker.

Ilya knew what had struck his nerve. "He had to ditch his armour when he went AWOL from the Brotherhood," she explained dully to Deacon's and Clay-Crawler's silent confusion.

Silence responded to her. Hopefully it was an understanding silence. It wasn't the loss of his armour that Danse was mourning, but what the armour represented.

She followed in his wake, glancing back over her shoulder at Clay-Crawler darting back to Deacon like a slave trained to move unnoticed through throngs of nobles and dignitaries. When she reached Danse, he was leaning both palms against the craggy earth wall, head slung, obviously trying to compose himself.

"You okay?"

His head gave a small jerk in her direction as he acknowledged her, but he said nothing.

Ilya felt adrift from him, unsure where she stood. It felt too soon to feel so far from him. "... Are you angry with me?"

The forward question roused him, and he relinquished his palms from the wall to turn a piercing look on her. It hit deeper than she was prepared for. "How can you trust him?" His voice was tempered with restraint, but it was a flickering restraint. "He's a spy and a phony, it's his profession to deceive others, and it's very plausible he knew I was a synth all along, and chose to keep it to himself."

Her answer was swift, as if handed to her by some instinctual chamber of her brain. "Same way I trusted you hadn't betrayed me when I found out you were a synth." Danse stared at her. Just stared. "I knew Maxson was wrong, and I knew everything we shared together had been real. I can't explain why. I just knew."

His stare held firm, but gradually he wound down and let tension evaporate, compressing his lips into a stern line and wearing a heavily burdened frown over eyes that dropped to the ground. "I'm not angry at you," he assured, suddenly weary and bleak. "I'm just... angry at the world, I suppose."

Ilya took the chance to approach him with tentative steps. "Me too." She flashed him an experimental smile, one of shared grief. "So the world can fuck itself. We have each other." When she reached him, he allowed her to place a soft touch on his chest. She would need that touch to help keep him grounded for her next words. "Let's just go back to Sanctuary and forget about it all. We've done our part. It's not our fight anymore."

The selfish part of her had mounted without warning, but it felt liberating to play with the thought of letting everything go. Despite the selfishness that had her wanting to run from the world, it was more for his sake. To get him out of this bunker.

Danse needed the courage to break free from his sanctum of isolation down here—the courage to risk the pursuit of happiness despite the looming threat of losing it. Ilya hoped her offer would give him that courage, and she nurtured a glimmer of hope when Danse didn't immediately rebuff her proposal.

But it was inevitable, as a valorous crease tugged his brow. "No. While the thought is tempting, we both have a role to play in these coming wars. You need to return to the Prydwen and prepare the Minutemen to stand with the Brotherhood against the Dark Bloods."

Ilya smothered the urge to click her tongue in disappointment, the dread of responsibility filling her veins, the remorse of leaving him behind in this bunker gnawing her. Then she fully comprehended what he had said. That they both had roles to play. "But what about you?"

To that, his crease of valour intensified. "I'm going with you."


A/N: The ultimate mystery: did Deacon know about Danse all along? DUN DUN DUN. I guess we'll never know, and I guess that's the point. I wanted to leave it a mystery, just because I think it's a charming mystery that should stay a mysteriously mysterious mystery.

-There's just a few more loose ends to tie up in the Commonwealth, then the story will finally, FINALLY, be shifting to the Blood Lands. I'm looking forward to the change in pace again and going back to some more story-driven plotlines, as well as having Ilya and Maxson shamelessly butting heads once more :P Also, expect some new elements ahead, like throwing in a plethora of new characters, factions, creatures, and emotional/psychological developments and dynamics in general.