February 12, 2288

For once, Danse did not rise with his first alarm. If he were anyone else, it might have been to give his weary limbs the reprieve they deserved but as it was, he was exhaling the remnants of the dream she'd conjured without his permission. The rise and fall of his chest was quickening with his pulse and he knew what was coming. A natural reaction, under the circumstances.

Pre-war. Maybe 2077 but he couldn't be sure. A military banquet and he was in attendance, seated with Cutler and Amy and drinking a smooth whiskey. It burned differently. No rads, just alcohol. A man stood and approached a podium but if he started talking, he didn't hear because there was a sudden emptiness beside him. He turned to discover Cutler was gone. Only Amy sat, eyes red-rimmed and spilling over silently. Enough of a hint that he knew what happened because it had happened before. How many times, he didn't know. He didn't search for his body or anything tangible to hold and remember. Would be an exercise in futility if his memory served him. Nothing was left of his friend except a grieving redhead and the panic that stirred in Danse's chest. It was expected, but still agonizing, when he slipped from his chair and his knees cracked against the floor. It felt everything like collapsing in Rivet City Bank when he'd returned to deliver the impossible news, exactly like that, because hands caressed his skin and they weren't Amy's. He never looked up and he was grateful now because it might have made it all worse.

It passed slowly and felt like dying, he thought. Every time, he couldn't breathe and it didn't matter that he'd survived it before. When the tightness in his muscles began subsiding, he pulled his head up from between his knees and looked at the clock. Four minutes, it had lasted. Only four.

He pulled himself out of his bed and stretched the remaining stiffness away before he grabbed a towel and headed to the showers. It would be the last he'd have for a while and so he lingered, water weakly rolling over him and eyes focused on some point far away. For the next few days, Nora would be inescapable, as cutting as she was alluring. Trapped, and he couldn't be sure it wouldn't induce another panic attack. He'd be damned if he let her see him that way. Unease sparked in his gut, withholding his peace from him. A rare feeling for the Paladin. He was tempted to Med-X it away.

All vulnerability was forgotten when he stepped up into his power armor and again felt his rank. Large and strong and completely controlled. Warm rays of sun washed over his face as he stepped onto the flight deck alert, ready, but not quite prepared. That was a strong word to use, he knew, and he wasn't sure it fit. Knight Cole greeted him with a salute and he returned it. He clunked down the stairs to the already humming vertibird where Desdemona stood, cigarette in hand.

He frowned. "Where's Nora?"

"She and Deacon were learning their way around the suits last I saw," she replied through puffs of smoke.

"I expect they'll report soon then."

"Hell if I know."

Unprofessional. A commanding officer without any command at all. A stark contrast to his Brotherhood: regimented, orderly, disciplined. In a word, superior.

The door to the Prydwen opened and two armored individuals-Nora and Deacon, he presumed-stepped through awkwardly.

"I feel silly," Deacon groaned.

"You look pretty damn silly, too."

"You know we're dressed in the same thing, right?"

Desdemona chuckled. "Careful. Don't want to get gunned down by the Brotherhood of Steel. You look like Protectrons and I hear they don't take kindly to robots."

"If you're done," Danse spat through clenched teeth.

The redhead stubbed her cigarette out on the railing and her voice turned stern. "I'll see you two back on the Prydwen. Keep each other in one piece."

"Course, boss," Deacon replied. He hopped into the awaiting vertibird and turned to offer Nora a hand, evidently still wary of the aircraft. Danse took his place at the minigun and gave Lancer Hall the all-clear to depart.

He'd hoped it would be a quiet ride to the drop off point and mercifully, it was. No hostiles on the ground even; the calm before the storm. Only the spin of rotors and the occasional radio transmission disturbed him.

When they descended, he dropped out first and Nora and Deacon followed, clumsy and uncoordinated.

From the cockpit, a fervent "Ad victorium, Paladin" reached his ears and he responded in kind. The vertibird lifted, its whirring fading until it disappeared on the horizon. Before them was nothing but bleak yellow and it sizzled in the air around them, their suits all that stood between their susceptible human flesh and a chemical death.

The first steps into the glowing sea were miserable as their throats adjusted to the radiation in the air. Each breath was accompanied by sharp stinging and the frantic clicks of their geiger counters. It was hours before they had grown used to the pain. Their pace was slow through the thick fog but their paths rarely crossed with mutated creatures, a blessing he hadn't counted on. They'd put down a few ghouls between the three of them but by the time darkness began to creep in, their power armor was still pristine.

The same could not be said for Danse's ego. Years as a Paladin taught him to assume the burden of responsibility on assignments. He rarely received pushback and even then, nothing he couldn't resolve with forceful warnings or the occasional report but his rank meant nothing to the Railroad agents. He'd suggested climbing a jagged mountain directly in their path to avoid hostiles but Nora was quick to offer a rebuttal.

"That'll use too much of our fusion cores. We're better off risking ammo."

"A fusion core is worthless if we don't survive."

She sighed sharply. "There's three of us. We'll watch each other's backs, it'll be fine."

"I'm well aware of the capacity of a core, soldier. It's not wise-"

"Hardly a soldier," she shot, stalking past him and around the mountain.

Every order was a challenge she took, goading him into seething resignation by the day's end. Not a soldier indeed. He'd only used the term at all to avoid her name and any more nightmares it might invoke.

Shelter was few and far between in the sea but they located a shallow cave that was suitable enough. Danse insisted they leave their armor on regardless to prevent radiation poisoning and he was met with a groan of protest.

"It's so hotin here," Deacon whined.

"Discomfort is preferable to death."

Nora chimed in, on his side for a change. "He's right, Deeks. We just have to deal for now. But we still have to eat. You can take your helmet off for that." She pulled her backpack from her chest plate and rummaged around until she found three cans of cram. She held one out to Danse.

When he accepted it, his hands were slow and skeptical. He thanked her and peeled off the lid. It was like a switch being flipped. One moment Nora was his opposition and the next taking care of him and he hardly knew what to do with it. There was no precedent for their arrangement, no how-to guide to consult. He wasn't under the illusion that he'd earned any warmth from her but it was the pendulum shift, the hot and cold, that caught him unaware and startled him.

The air assaulted his lungs once again as he disengaged his helmet. He pulled his hood off and brushed quickly through his matted hair, feeling the day's sweat at his scalp, dried and itching. In minutes, Danse had finished his meal but Deacon and Nora ate slower, small talk and jokes punctuating spoonfuls of Cram. He pulled apart Righteous Authority and downed a carton of purified water before he began to clean his rifle.

"Maybe I should bring Shaun a Radscorpion stinger or something as a souvenir."

"Don't you dare," Nora threatened. "He'll hurt himself."

"Well obviously I'd drain it first."

"No way. It's way too potent. He's not-"

"Okay, okay... how about a deathclaw horn?"

"You really think that's better? Is that honestly what you're going with?"

"Sheesh. Alright. Just the hide then."

"Maybe."

"I'll make a leather jacket out of it."

"So he can look like you?"

"So he can look cool. Are you saying you think I'm cool?"

"I would never admit that."

"I'll take what I can get."

Their conversation stopped and Danse could hear their helmets locking back onto their suits.

"I'll take first watch," Nora's voice crackled through her speaker.

"That's not necessary. You should rest. I'll wake Deacon up in a few hours and you can take the last shift," he ordered, not looking up from his rifle.

"That's ridiculous. It's not any trouble for me to go first."

It was mercy that persuaded him to offer her the first long stretch of uninterrupted sleep-the best shift, he thought-but it was irritation that caused him to insist. "That's hardly what I based my decision on."

"Then what is it? Chivalry? You're tired, I can see it. Would you just-"

"That's the end of the discussion, Nora," he roared, tone steeped in finality.

The eyes of her helmet stared angrily at him-not, he knew, a far cry from the expression on her face. "You always think you know best, don't you?" She stomped as far away from his as she could in their small cave and laid back on the ground.

He sighed forcefully through his nose. Removing their armor was a death sentence but it was uncomfortable to sleep in and could only increase their agitation. A long journey made longer.

Deacon cleared his throat, awkward in the tension they'd created. "Well I'm gonna turn in too," he feigned a yawn. "I hate it when mom and dad fight."

Danse grunted. "Goodnight."

Despite the note on which the night had ended, Deacon and Nora quickly succumbed to their exhaustion and Danse fully exhaled for the first time all day.

He wasn't sure what to make of Deacon. Rarely serious, always making light of their dire situation, and even without his helmet shielding his face from view, his eyes remained blocked by dark sunglasses. He was guarded, certainly, and Danse wondered if the barrier was always up or if the Brotherhood alone inspired his trepidation.

Nora, he was finding, had grown insufferable. She was everything wrong with new recruits: insubordinate, demonstrative, stubborn as hell. He could hardly reconcile her with the warm, clever woman he'd bared his soul to all those years ago. He shouldn't be surprised; the Railroad twisted everything.

His mood effectively soured, Danse turned his attention back to his dismembered weapon and wiped its pieces down thoroughly until it was immaculate. Not a single creature dared disturb him and when he examined the clock in his helmet's display, he was surprised to find that he had already burned through his shift.

He stood and walked over to Deacon.

A careful nudge was all it took to wake him, not having been able to attain deep sleep in the time allotted. "Huh, what?"

"It's your watch."

Deacon yawned and sat up. "I never get my beauty sleep."

Danse smiled in spite of himself, grateful for the metal masking his expression. He didn't want to find Deacon amusing, didn't want to get along with him but something about his blasé persona was winning him over, a light balance to Danse's heaviness.

He grabbed his rifle and checked the clip. "Listen, I know you're still upset with Nora but she means well."

The paladin stiffened.

"She's the reason the Railroad has been as successful as it has. She's always 0 or 100, no in between."

"I would use the term 'domineering'," Danse snapped. The men switched places, Deacon at the mouth of the cave and Danse next to Nora. He studied her warily as if she might lurch at him at any moment but she remained still, curled in on herself and snoring lightly, harmless in sleep. "What's her rank?"

"She's in charge of the whole damn operation. The technical term is leader but she never corrects you if you call her 'Supreme Overlord'."

"Since when?"

"I dunno, few years at least."

It didn't seem possible for her to so quickly achieve such a rank but somehow it made sense. Zero or 100. All in or entirely opposed.

"All I'm saying is... she grows on you."

February 13, 2288

The morning was indicated only by Nora's wake up call. Sunlight never broke through the radiation and no birds chirped, a reminder of their predicament. No place was less hospitable than the glowing sea.

That is, except Nora's bad side.

She hadn't forgiven Danse. Every remark his direction was short and terse and pure necessity. He offered strategic advice that was usually ignored and when a wrong call brought them feet from a deathclaw, it was near impossible to bite back "I told you so". The creature slammed Deacon into a crater but it was enough of a distraction for Danse to dispatch it with rapid laser bombardment concentrated between its horns, eating away at the bone until gray matter broke through.

He shot Nora a disapproving glare behind the steel of his helmet but she dismissed it with a shake of her head. "Don't."

It might've made him furious if it hadn't brought him so nearly to his knees.

Something akin to sympathy crawled under Danse's skin, struck nerves, and he immediately regretted his actions. Recon Squad Gladius all over again and this time she was the paladin. The mission had wrecked him thoroughly and if he couldn't offer her a sliver of understanding, it had truly been a failure. The Commonwealth devoured. It wasn't her fault.

He mulled over apologies in his head until they settled near an abandoned shack for the night. Swallowing his pride or a Molotov, it didn't matter; it all burned the same.

"I'm first this time," Nora announced, more for him than Deacon.

"Of course."

It disarmed her, both literally and figuratively, because she nearly dropped the bullets she was loading into her clip. Without looking up, she shoved the magazine back in place and sat back into the chair closest to the gaping hole in the wood that served as a door.

Danse tossed and turned as he had many nights before but this time, he could pinpoint the source. Still staring out of the patchy roof, he cleared his throat. "I want to apologize."

Movement and then stillness. A sign, at least, that she was listening.

"While I often disagree with you, I believe that you're competent and qualified. If my actions suggest otherwise, it's only because your methods are foreign."

She was quiet for so long that he was slipping into unconsciousness, satisfied with having made amends as much as he could, but she finally mumbled a reply.

"...thank you, Danse."

February 15, 2288

Days passed with little in the way of physical battle. Enemies were spotted and avoided more often than not in the interest of saving ammo and medical supplies. Other times, the monsters of the glowing sea were quickly eliminated, taken out easily by the aggression stored from the altercations between Nora and Danse. Whatever tenderness passed between them in the shack had dissipated as the radiation thickened around them and their restlessness mounted. They butted heads nearly every opportunity they had, sometimes over how to use their limited supplies and others about the most efficient way to reach their target and stay on course. Deacon had the sense to limit his sarcastic comments, aware of the thin tempers that surrounded him. By the time they reached the Children of Atom, it had been hours since they'd spoken but Danse was still indignant, still fiery.

Nora started toward their camp. "I'll speak to them. Maybe they know something about Virgil."

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. "Absolutely not. They're bound to have radiation poisoning. They can't be trusted."

"This can shorten our trip. Don't be so damn prideful."

Nora marched confidently to the rickety wooden shacks and with a shrug, Deacon took off after her. Danse grudgingly followed and drew his rifle in the event the interaction went south.

Only it didn't. Nora charmed them and elicited the information they needed quickly and easily, both impressing and annoying Danse. She took point as they trekked up to the cave that allegedly housed the scientist.

Turrets stood guard just inside, rumbling and ready but not firing on the intruders. Nora stepped past them slowly into the main room before she stopped, silhouette blocking her companions from seeing beyond her. "Virgil?"

"Where's Kellogg?" a throaty voice growled.

"Kellogg is dead. I killed him."

"Hmmm? You're... who are you?"

She removed her helmet. "I'm with the Railroad. These are my friends. We need information... information you might have."

When Nora stepped further inside, Danse could finally see who, or rather what, was speaking.

"A mutant?"

She turned around and shot him a venomous glare. "Don't do that here. He's not hostile."

"He's a monster, an a-"

"He's the only one who can tell us what we need to know," she stepped closer to him and pressed a finger into his chest plate menacingly. "So unless you'd rather explain to Arthur that we need to start back at square one because you couldn't control yourself, I suggest you let me handle this."

He tore his eyes away from hers to the mutant, finger on the trigger of Righteous Authority. It was disgusting, really, how he clung desperately to the remnants of his humanity, even going so far as to dress himself with modest clothes a pair of makeshift glasses. Like it could somehow reverse the effects of the FEV. Danse knew better. There was no going back, only acceptance and justice. But Nora was right, this was their only shot. A mutant's life for all the synths in the Commonwealth, the only trade worth burying his every instinct. "Fine."

Nora spent a few moments explaining their mission to Virgil and putting him at ease. She was remarkably adept socially, he noticed, and he wondered if she'd developed that skill by working so closely with her synths, no doubt distressed as they fled those who'd see them killed-those like himself. He'd always known she was emotionally intelligent but it seems it had matured into expertise with age; a weapon, in the wrong hands. She must know how she pushed him, must be doing it purposefully. His eyebrows creased under the weight of his irritation and his fists clenched.

The mutant warned them against the Institute but was forthcoming nonetheless. He scribbled some schematics down for a molecular relay device but it would all be worthless without a courser chip. Nora assured him they'd acquire one. Before they headed back into the sea, Virgil took her aside and the two spoke quietly. With a nod, she placed her helmet back on and gestured for Deacon and Danse to follow her out of the cave.

"What did he say to you?" Danse demanded after a moment, suspicious of the secrecy.

She paused, deciding how much to reveal to him. When she replied, it was slow and deliberate. "He... wanted something from his lab in the Institute, something he had been working on. I told him we'd look for it."

He couldn't tell if it was the truth but it satisfied him for the moment and he grunted in acknowledgement.

February 19, 2288

The group set out at 0800, morale significantly better than it had been in days. If all went to plan, they'd be sleeping in beds tonight-no harsh metal clenched around them, suffocating their skin, only the luxury of a lumpy mattress to cradle their exhausted bodies. Putting down the stray ghouls that found them on the outskirts of the sea was more entertaining than anything and Nora said nothing when Danse took point. For the first time, they settled into relative peace and Danse wondered if it was only the shock of their situation that had had them lashing out and unsure of how to behave in the other's presence anymore. Zero or 100, lovers or enemies and they had only just begun to navigate the messy in-between.

He was jolted from his thoughts as Nora's body flipped and her back connected with the irradiated dirt, knocking her rifle from her hands. A mass of black barreled toward Deacon, striking against his suit persistently. A radscorpion.

"I won't make this easy for you," Danse warned as laser fire pierced its torso.

It turned toward its attacker but settled for Nora, who was sitting up now, in between Danse and the mutated creature. She reached for her weapon while Danse and Deacon emptied their magazines into its skull. Another radscorpion suddenly erupted from the earth at Danse's elbow and he turned in time to catch a claw across his torso. Suddenly there were four and Danse stumbled back, trying to maintain a meager distance between the stingers and his dented armor. One round nuzzled into an eye and the radscorpion ceased its pursuit. Three to go. A cursory scan of his surroundings and Danse could see Deacon fending off his own attacker and Nora struggling underneath hers. Their gunfire seemed to hardly do any damage so he changed tactics, bashing the radscorpion repeatedly with the butt of his rifle. Its limbs flailed and he faintly heard the clatter of metal to the ground as some of his armor fell from its frame but after five hits, it was dead.

When he looked up, only one remained and Deacon made quick work of it, taking a cue from Danse and beating the life from it. All three suits had sustained heavy damage from the assault and he noticed Nora, too, had only the frame on her right leg and arm. He walked over to her and helped her up. "I suggest taking a dose of Rad-X to compensate for your missing armor."

She nodded and examined his own armor, out of breath. "You too?"

Deacon was already handing them both the pills and they removed their helmets long enough to swallow them. Nearly out of this hell, he reminded himself. Nearly home.

He checked his HUD. Five hours, assuming minimal interruptions.

Deacon sighed as they walked. "I can't wait to change my clothes."

"And shower. And drink," Nora added.

They resumed their silence, Danse on point. It felt comfortable, taking command. It was what he knew but as soon as he regained the control, he walked just a little slower as responsibility seeped into his skin and settled in his soul. A heavy weight, steel and lead and unadulterated duty in his bones. Every individual under him bet their life on his ability to successfully navigate each situation. He'd done it many times before, was good at what he did, but it never failed to strike him just how much a single slip up could cost. It was a wonder Maxson didn't crumple under the pressure of his burden as Elder, a load far more cumbersome than Danse's.

His concern kept him checking in on his team frequently so he was the first to notice when Nora stopped cold, breathing heavily through her speaker. "Is something amiss?"

She bent slightly and ran her metal fingers over her right shin. "I c-c-can't feel m-my leg," she stuttered.

Deacon bent down, gingerly pushing the torn denim behind the power armor frame aside to examine her. "Jesus, Nor! When the hell did this happen? You said you were fine."

She hadn't. She hadn't said anything. They hadn't asked.

"Hmmm?" she breathed weakly. "I-I d-d-don't... I... can't move it."

Her breathing was growing more and more shallow. Danse stepped forward and wrestled her helmet off, hoping to give her access to more air. A striking pale had replaced her olive skin, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes that had developed. He was familiar with the effects of a radscorpion sting but had never seen one progress this far. He should have been more thorough, should have checked her for damage beneath the areas where her armor was compromised. If he was right, if it was the radscorpion venom, it had already been in her system for hours and it was impossible to know how much polluted her veins without proper medical equipment. "Deacon. Administer Radaway immediately. I'm going to get her out of this suit."

"Are you insane? She'll-"

"That was an order, civilian," he barked, engaging the release on her power armor.

Nora exited slowly leaving Danse to lift her injured leg out himself. The maneuver threw off her balance and she stumbled back into his chest.

A needle pressed into the crook of her arm and she whimpered as thick red-brown leaked into her bloodstream. "What are y-y-you-"

"I'll take her. Run ahead and throw this grenade as soon as the rads fade. We'll be right behind you," Danse pressed the grenade urgently into Deacon's palm.

He nodded, evidently having decided to allow the Paladin to take charge. Deacon sprinted away and Danse followed as quickly as he could manage with Nora in his arms.

He should have checked her.

No pace was fast enough. Danse didn't look down, didn't want to see her turning into something other. When his eyes disobeyed him and he took in the frail body slumped against his chest, he saw Keane. Dawes... Cutler. Blood on his hands, one way or another. And then a blink and she was Nora. Everything between them strained, vexingly complicated, unnatural. But now she didn't move, didn't speak and she'd never been this quiet at any other point in his memory because she was rapidly fading, losing all of her strength, her will, her passion. Everything that made her Nora. It drove him faster until he caught up with Deacon, red smoke billowing up into a pillar above them.

Time slowed for Danse and he did his best to busy himself as they waited. By the time the vertibird reached them, he'd replaced the empty Radaway bag embedded in Nora's arm with a full one, cleaned and dressed her wound, and administered as high a dose of Med-X as he safely could.

Scribe Haylen greeted him as they boarded and quickly assessed Nora's condition. He informed her of the situation and the measures he'd already taken. "I don't think I can do much else right now," she shouted, voice competing with the steady churning of the aircraft. She took Nora's blood pressure and recorded it, radioing the details to the Prydwen. It didn't calm Danse's nerves, even when he heard Cade's professional monotone respond, practiced enough to keep his cool regardless of the circumstances.

Five minutes out from the airport, Nora started spasming. His power armor kept him from feeling her muscles contract and relax, kept his rising panic attack at bay. He watched her for a few seconds before he forced his eyes forward to the looming Prydwen.

"She's seizing." Haylen pulled her belt from her waist and shoved it between Nora's teeth. "Rush her to Cade immediately."

The moment the vertibird docked, Danse was already out, making his way to the sick bay. Cade directed him to lay Nora's body on a bed already prepared for her and immediately got to work ordering Scribes to retrieve equipment and pumping her full of liquid chems. Dazed, he took a seat out of the way of the bustling medical personnel and removed his helmet and hood. He was raw, on the edge of a breakdown. If she died, he'd be forced beyond his limits, past his breaking point. He must've looked that way, too. A scribe approached and ushered him to a table and out of his armor. He barely registered it as she looked him over and patched up any minor injuries.

She was asking him questions but he didn't respond because his eyes focused intently on silver glinting from a surgical tray across the room: Nora's earrings, misshapen and crushed.