Hell Hath No Fury


"I'm not letting you go out there without me."

Danse's authority had made a full-force comeback against Ilya's futile attempts to deny him. He was stalwart adamant. He was that brahmin on a roof. He was Paladin Danse.

Ilya tried many tactics.

Calm common sense. "Danse, think about this, you risk exposing yourself to the Brotherhood."

"I've thought long and hard. The risk to myself will be worth it in order to keep you safe."

Militaristic duty and honour. "What about undermining Maxson's authority? You said you wouldn't do that."

"Maxson won't know of my presence. I'll make sure of that. But you're safety is more important to me than obeying his authority."

Emotional guilt tripping. "It's too dangerous for you. Please. I can't lose you..."

"And I can't lose you. Don't you see? Protecting you is my purpose now. I intend to stay alive and by your side in order to do just that. You won't lose me."

Cruel, desperate fury. "Damn it, Danse! This is insane! They'll kill you! They're not your brothers and sisters anymore! You're dead to them, and when they find out you're still alive, they won't hesitate to kill you for real this time!"

"...You think I don't know that? You think I don't lie awake at night dwelling on how they turned against me, abandoned me, hunted me down?" She had intended to crack his steel veneer, but her cruelty only strengthened it. "If I'm dead to them, then so be it. I'll be the phantom at your side, and the Brotherhood won't be any the wiser."

There was no getting him down off that roof.

She had shifted tactics from him and to herself. He would follow her to the gates of Hell, so what if she didn't go to the gates of Hell? She wielded defiance, stubbornness, and utter, crippling fear of losing him. "The Minutemen don't need me anymore. I secured the alliance, I made sure the Commonwealth stays protected from the Institute while the Brotherhood deploys out to the Blood Lands, now it's up to them. Preston and Ronnie will make sure the Minutemen reserve force is well treated. I'm not a politician or a war leader. I'm not a leader full-stop.."

"Perhaps you're not a natural leader, but you're an influencer, an inspirer, a symbol. You're the heart where Maxson is the mind."

Ilya had gritted her teeth at the mere sound of that tyrant's name spoken aloud and with such reverence upon Danse's lips, and the thought of seeing his moody mug again riled her deep to the bone.

"Not only do the Minutemen respect you, but their loyalty had grown strong throughout the weeks of the alliance. I trained the first batch of recruits myself and I heard how their opinions of you had flourished over time. They see in you what I saw from the very first day we met. They trust you implicitly. You're their symbol of freedom and hope. Like the Brotherhood would follow Maxson through the gates of Hell, so would the Minutemen follow you. You may not have the political and tactical wisdom that Maxson has, but you have the passion and vision to match his. I know you resent him, but Maxson needs your presence for the alliance to survive."

"I want to kill him," she had snarled through the fissures of her teeth, hands moulding into solid fists against her flanks. "It won't work. We'll be at each other's throats and the war effort will suffer for it."

"Ilya, you need to move past your differences with him for the greater good. Arthur—" he had grumbled upon correcting himself "—Maxson made the right decision to exile me from the Brotherhood. Killing me would have been the best course of action, but he compromised for you." He spoke over her objection. "...and perhaps, deep down, for me, also. But consider from his perspective. If he had allowed me to remain within the Brotherhood, not only would he be defying the High Elders and everything the Brotherhood stood for, but he would spark civil war all over again. Everything would destabilize. The Outcasts would be again. We couldn't afford to let that happen. Maxson and I built our friendship upon the foundations of the alliance of the Brotherhood. To collapse it all just to preserve our friendship would be... wrong. He did what he had to do. He put the Brotherhood, perhaps even the future of humanity, before everything."

Ilya had simmered with the rise of her fury, struggling to keep it contained. "You see him like he made this big noble sacrifice. I see him like a radical tyrant on a deluded power-trip."

Danse had let silence ride the air for a moment. "If he's a tyrant, then he's a tyrant with a noble cause. Perhaps what the world needs is that tyrant."

"A tyrant that refuses to accept equality and diversity? A tyrant that doesn't know what it is to be human?"

"Diversity is ultimately what brought the world to its knees."

Ilya had been shellshocked into silence after hearing that.

Brotherhood.

Fucking Brotherhood of Fucking Steel.

Danse had snatched the win while he could and taken advantage of her silence, executing a snappy exit from the bunker cave. In his head, she knew it was just another mission accomplished.

Little had Ilya known, while she had been catching Deacon up with the events of the exile and indulging in some much-missed banter, Danse had not only been packing her bags, but his own. He had purposefully neglected his rifle and armour to keep her from realising what he was doing, and when he was through with her pointless counters, he gathered them up on his escape to the elevator. He was chased by a fuming woman, with the spy, raider, and canine in hesitant tow.

The three had stood in the elevator, crammed around the arguing couple, enduring the ride to the surface in awkward silence.

Danse had stormed out first to escape Ilya's tirade, shouldering all their bags with relative ease. The envelope of fresh air hadn't even registered to Ilya for the whirlwind in her. It took every ounce of her self-control not to resort to her military roots and drop f-bombs on him in her airstrike of atomic fury.

"Stop being a barbarian and use your brain! You can't just roll up into the airport with me! You don't have your power armour, how are you going to disguise yourself!?"

"I'll improvise. Combat helmets, hoods, cowls, masks. I'm sure your spy friend will have plenty of suggestions."

Deacon had thrust up his hands in pre-emptive surrender.

Danse went on. "And I won't be going with you to the airport, that would just be asking for death. While you call in for an airlift, I'll make for the Minutemen Castle on foot. There, I'll deploy to the Rad Lands with the Minutemen auxiliary force."

"The Brotherhood selected the Minutemen reserves, they'll notice you, you won't pass the screening!"

"... Then I highly suggest you assemble your own private security detail before I arrive at the Castle. Assign someone competent as your lieutenant, as giving me that position will draw too much attention. I'll deploy as your personal bodyguard. I'll operate under the pretence of being anonymous due to facial burns or scarring... and mute due to trauma or physical debilitation... a lost tongue or damaged vocal chords..."

His pauses and blunders had proved that he hadn't clearly thought this through. It was a giant red flag to Ilya. An impulsive Danse was not a sane Danse. "Listen to yourself. There's a reason fraternization is a bad thing in the ranks. You're thinking with your emotions, not your head!"

"I'm thinking like a human, Ilya!"

As he had shot around to finally confront her, she had crashed against his chest, unable to slam on her breaks quick enough. The soft impact between them had dulled their ire and rocked free their care for each other that underscored it all.

Ilya had found herself arid, lost for words. He was right. He was acting on his emotions, willingly, knowingly. Who was she to tell him it was wrong?

With eyes somehow both holding her in a soft grasp yet penetrating deep, Danse had dropped all of their bags to the dry earth with a heavy and careless plop, and gently taken her by the shoulders.

"I can't stay here with you out there, wondering if you're safe, hoping you're still alive... I can't stay here dying with worry... alone." His hand had lifted up to graze a finger along her cheek, and she had shivered under it. "And I won't let you be alone out there. We have each other's backs..."

"No matter what," she had finished nostalgically, his finger stroking away her fury. As dangerous, as reckless as it was, she knew in her core that she wanted him with her every step of the way. She couldn't do it alone. Couldn't take an army of men and women under her hand, throw them out to the wolves, and make them dance with death. Many would die under her hand, no matter how she made them dance. She couldn't carry that burden without Danse carrying her.

Not without the chems...

Ilya had surrendered her cheek into Danse's caress and sighed. "Please promise me that you'll be safe." She had known damn well that it was a promise he wouldn't be able to make, but she had just needed to hear him promise her. To hold him to it. To give him that added incentive to stay alive instead of throwing himself into the fire for her.

"I promise," Danse had given his tender oath, forehead dashed with emotive lines to reinforce it.

That was when Ilya had kissed him, firmly, with the burst of urgent emotion she could no longer keep welled. Danse matched her firm urgency and took her in his arms, desperate and desirous, his lips warm but bittersweet on hers. She never wanted the kiss to end, and dwelled on him as they parted remorsefully, her hands clutching his jaw with aching need.

Danse had dwelled on her, too, keeping her gathered to his chest, but he proved stronger willed than she and uttered the first words that would force them apart. "I should go. So should you. Light a signal flare for an airlift. Reunite with Maxson. Join your forces. Make the alliance work. No matter what it takes. But please, be careful with Maxson. You're valuable to him, but push him too far and I fear what he's capable of now. I can't bear the thought of him harming you." He had tucked wily strands of hair behind her ear. Even the delicate skin around her ear had shivered under his touch. "I'll keep a low profile until your vertibird passes, then we'll meet again at the Castle. I'll get to you as soon as I can."

The idea of him traipsing across the Commonwealth, alone and vilified by his own people, had grated on Ilya's skull. She shook her head. "No. It's too dangerous to travel alone, especially with the Brotherhood still patrolling."

"There's no other option."

She clung onto him even harder, about to confess that she would rather he stayed in the bunker alone and wait for her to send back a Minutemen escort, when Deacon cleared his throat from behind them.

He waited until the two afforded him their attention, then shrugged casually. "Why not come back to Sanctuary with me and Clay? I was planning on leaving him here so you two could get cosy while I headed back to HQ for an intel drop," he had caught Ilya in a purposeful look, "because they might want to know about the GIANT FUCKING ROBOT just chilling at the airport." Ilya had only bit her lip. "Remind me to harass you on that later." Then, he looked back to Danse. "But, I figure you and Clay are too volatile a duo to be left unsupervised together. Either you'll just leave him tied up somewhere, or he'll end up blowing the both of you up. I can drop into HQ on the way to the Castle. The crew were planning on packing up shop and taking the big walk there to follow you all out to the Rad Lands, and we'd be glad to have you aboard on the journey, Danse." He managed Ilya's shocked reaction with a halting hand. "You were dreaming if you thought you were going out there without us, Missy. We're coming with you, so suck it up. We've been working on some tricks to hide up our sleeves while you two were away, and I think you'll be impressed."

Danse hadn't looked impressed as he mulled over his options. "Doubling back to Sanctuary will just waste time."

"But it'll be safer to travel in a small army," Deacon countered effectively. "Besides, you could probably do with a resupply, and judging by that scrap metal you dumped there, a decent set of new armour, too."

Danse had pained to glance down at what was left of his Brotherhood-issue armour, heavily damaged from his AWOL run and scantily repaired in raider-style with rusty metal plating and wrapped padding.

"Please," Ilya had chipped in, "for me."

The grumble brewing in him had been heard a mile off. Clearly he hadn't relished the idea of travelling with her band of companions, but to turn down the offer would be foolish, and he knew it. He had no choice but to fold.

"Fine."

Now, Ilya was aboard the vertibird bound for the Prydwen, feeling as though she were being dragged back in chains. She could still feel the ghost of Danse's bittersweet kiss on her lips, their rushed passion in pain as the signal flare had poured red smoke to beckon her departure. The anguish in his eyes as their hands had slipped apart for the final time had etched a permanent image in her brain.

The cool wind lashed her face with sea salt as the harbour neared below. She squinted through the needling light of the sun and tasted the salt on her lips, cursing it for tarnishing the ghost of Danse's kiss. Her melancholy was trading in for cold fury the closer the vertibird drew to the colossal warship, piece by piece, drip by drop. It seethed patiently, like a demented creature that was only drawn out by its mistress in her summon for reckoning.

Oh, such reckoning.

"Should we touchdown on the pad first, or dock straight with the Prydwen?" the pilot asked, a male voice that Ilya didn't recognise.

"Dock," she answered bluntly over the com. She wanted the element of surprise on her side. No time for someone to warn him.

I'm coming for you, Maxson.