February 23, 2288

"Easy, Danse. I think it's done."

Ingram's voice was just behind him and the slight irritation in it might've been his fault. Then again, it could just be Ingram.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You've been in here every day since you got back. I couldn't have fixed it up better myself."

Danse turned the wrench over in his hands, gloved fingers caressing the steel. He knew eventually she'd kick him out and with him, his power armor, but he couldn't admit he'd run out of repairs. Nothing else offered him quit as much relief from the nagging concern in the back of his mind. Elder Maxson had already briefed him. "She's recovering remarkably well," he'd said. "Cade informed me there would be no long-term damage because of your intervention in the field. Good work, Paladin." He slept better now, ate more. The catch, of course, was that he wasn't permitted to see her and he knew it was because he'd been far too honest in his report. He didn't want to fight with Nora anymore. He didn't have it in him. He'd seen her nearly dead, nearly a ghoul. She'd never looked so weak. He would never forget again how human she was, despite the air of invincibility she gave off. All he wanted was to bury the proverbial hatchet but Cade had recommended she avoid stressors for the first week nonetheless.

"You want to talk about it?"

He rolled his eyes and tossed the wrench into the toolbox at a nearby table. "No." A loud hiss signaled the opening of his power armor and he stepped inside, effectively ending the conversation.

Ingram mumbled under her breath and trudged over to her terminal.

It was useless to drain a fusion core walking around the Prydwen in full battle armor so Danse thunked back to his quarters to drop it off. He hunted for a report that needed writing or a stray pencil he could put away but it was fruitless. His room was completely orderly and he'd already burned through every piece of paperwork required of him. On his desk, he spied the worn history book he'd already consumed innumerable times and grabbed it, retreating to the flight deck.

He was surprised to find Nate at the end of the catwalk, perched on a crate and dissolved in his own book. His companion was quiet, brooding and haunted by his past. It suited Danse just fine; he wasn't so different from Nate. He knew if he were to approach him, he might be greeted but ultimately left to himself and for once, it was the one thing he didn't want but any company was better than his thoughts.

"Paladin," Nate nodded as Danse sat beside him.

"Knight."

He was trying to think of something to say, some small talk to distract himself from memories of open wounds and muscle spasms. Thankfully, Nate seemed to sense his uncharacteristic disorder.

"You alright, Danse?"

"I'm fine, soldier."

Nate closed his finger in his book and scratched at his chin. "Is this about Knight Anderson?"

Danse raised an eyebrow.

"Oh," the younger man smiled bashfully. "Well... nevermind."

He expected some kind of lecture from his sponsor, leaning away just so to soften the rebuke, but Danse just chuckled. "Keep it within your rank and don't let it interfere with assignments."

Nate's eyes narrowed, slits of blue silently watching for the other shoe to drop. Suspicion at the unexpectedly lax boundaries was common but it was only practical; war demanded tremendous sacrifice but it also forged intense bonds.

The paladin waited for questions his knight never voiced and the pair fell into silence, studying the skyline. A sorry view, Danse thought, but he'd never known it any other way and had always found it oddly beautiful despite the widespread destruction: glistening glass in dilapidated high-rises and unwilling metal ripped from its foundations and folded back on itself, brought to its knees by the bombs. Sometimes he thought he could imagine them in all of their glory and then the vision faded but it spurred him on. Mission. Purpose.

He cracked open his book and attempted to read the familiar words. He wondered if he could recite them from memory.

Vertibirds came and went at nearly all hours from the Prydwen and Danse had learned to tune them out, to focus his attention on the decaying pages in front of him, but one docked and a child emerged. It was unusual enough to draw his eye.

Desdemona was leading the boy into the ship and his fists clenched as he threw his book down and angrily marched toward her, leaving a confused Nate in his wake. It was entirely irresponsible to bring youth to the Prydwen; he barely tolerated the presence of the squires, let alone a noncombatant. He shouldn't have been able to board the vertibird in the first place.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? He's a child. Get him out of here. We're at war."

Desdemona scoffed. "And you want to be the one to explain to Nora why her son wasn't permitted to visit her while she's injured? I'll take my chances with you, big guy. Let's go." She tugged at the boy's hand.

The blood rushed from Danse's face. "What?"

His eyes darted to the child. How old was he? Eight, maybe nine, but he was never good at guessing age. She'd never mentioned any kids. He studied his face frantically, the muddy eyes and the dark hair. Just like Nora. Or just like him.

Desdemona flinched. "Well... anyway, Nora will want to see him."

She pulled Nora's son up the flight deck and Danse's body followed while his mind swirled. Maybe he wanted to see Nora interact with the boy, to confirm Desdemona's story. Maybe he wanted to see Nora's face when she saw him and realized he knew. Maybe he wanted to demand an explanation, to ask if the boy was somehow his; if he was a father.

The word felt strange in reference to himself. He'd never imagined having kids. And then, suddenly, shock gave way to grief. Soul-crushing, heart-wrenching sorrow in his chest. If that was his son, he'd missed so many years. The kid's memories would be as empty of a father as his own. What did he know? Had anyone taught him to shoot properly? Hand-to-hand combat? Basic first aid? Had he needed any of that yet?

What did he think happened to his dad? Did Nora ever talk about him? How could she not have told him? She must not have known she was pregnant until she'd left Rivet City. She wouldn't keep it from him otherwise, would she? Even then, why didn't she seek him out when she knew? Did she really think it wouldn't change anything, that he wouldn't want his child? It would've changed everything. When his eyes closed, he saw her: Nora laboring, delivering their child alone-or worse, with someone, anyone besides him. Maybe Deacon. His blood boiled. If he'd just been given a chance-

"Mom!" the boy cried as he spied Nora lying in the sick bay. He ran to her and threw his arms around her neck. "Are you okay?"

Her hands curled tenderly around his. "I'm okay, Shaun."

"I'm sorry but Nora needs her rest," Cade interrupted.

She didn't look up at the doctor at all, fully absorbed in her son, a mother through and through and it was so obvious now. "Listen, give me a few hours and we'll hang out okay? I promise. It'll be fun, find some Nuka-Colas and snacks and we can stay up telling stories again." She looked excitedly at Shaun and he nodded.

"And you'll tell me about how the Radscorpion got you?!"

"Sure will."

"Okay," he kissed her cheek, satisfied with the trade he'd made.

Knight Captain Cade wasn't.

"Nuka-Cola is hardly appropriate. Radaway can make you dehydrated. What you need is water."

Nora rolled her eyes. "Eavesdropping, Cade?"

The man grumbled under his breath and drew the curtain around her bed closed before returning to his desk.

Desdemona led Shaun out into the hallway and turned to face Danse, motioning for him to follow. When he was close enough, she addressed him quietly. "I can't stay here. I have things to attend to at HQ. Watch the boy until Nora wakes up."

"I... I don't-"

"Thank you," she squeezed his arm in gratitude as she brushed past him, fleeing down the ladder and leaving him flustered and irate.

He rubbed the back of his neck, turning back to the boy. Shaun didn't look daunted in the slightest.

"Who are you?"

"I'm... Paladin Danse."

"Oh," he nodded, unsure what to make of him. "I'm Shaun."

Danse looked around the hallway, desperately seeking direction. Scribes and knights bustled past, giving him respectful nods and muttered "sir"s but offering no assistance as he floundered.

"You're really tall," Shaun commented, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle to make eye contact.

He cleared his throat. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, kinda."

The Paladin led them into the mess hall, gaze never fully leaving Shaun. If he could catch him in the right light or recognize some of his own mannerisms, it might be enough, some undeniable sign that they were blood. He sat across from him at a small table in the corner of the cafeteria, aware of the eyes they drew. It was strange if he made it to the mess at all; usually, a meal was left in his quarters so he could work through dinner. Even stranger was Danse in the mess with a small child. For a moment, it felt like his inner turmoil was on display. It was enough to cause him to lose his appetite.

They ate in silence at first, Danse barely picking at the meat in front of him, but as Shaun finished his food, he grew more talkative.

"Are you in charge of this place?"

"No. Elder Maxson is."

"Is he even bigger than you?"

"No."

Shaun pondered his answer. "Why not?"

"It wouldn't be advantageous for us to base leadership on size rather than ability," Danse explained.

No, that wasn't how you were supposed to talk to kids. He was no good at this.

Shaun took another mouthful of food and Danse tried again. "Elder Maxson is in charge partly because he successfully fought a deathclaw alone."

Now he got a reaction. Shaun's eyes widened at the revelation. "Wow. It's good that he's in charge then."

"He's a great leader," he agreed.

"My mom killed some deathclaws."

"Judging from what I've seen so far, I don't doubt it."

"How do you know her?" Shaun asked. His tone was suspicious, protective, as only a child in the wastes could be.

"Ah, well..." Danse felt his face growing red as he struggled to explain. "We were friends in Rivet City."

"I've never been there," he shrugged.

Danse cleared their plates and thanked the mess hall staff. He wasn't really sure how long he'd need to keep Shaun busy and his only idea to entertain him resembled initiate training, something he didn't think Nora would be fond of.

"What do you like to do?" Danse pressed.

"I really like building things," he rested his chin in his hand, slumping full and content into his seat. "Right now I'm trying to mod one of mom's rifles with Tinker Tom but he told me we have to take it apart before she sees because she doesn't like drum magazines. But it's good practice, I guess."

Weapon modding. Danse could do that.

"Have you ever added a photon exciter to a laser rifle?"

"No."

"I haven't either. I could use some help if you don't mind."

Shaun lit up at the proposition. "Really? What's a photon exciter do?"

They walked to the weapons bench as Danse animatedly explained the mechanics behind the device. It felt like he had something to offer him for the first time, something besides wide-eyed intimidation and awkward small talk. Shaun was a quick learner and by the time Captain Cade informed them that Nora was awake, the laser rifle they'd been hunched over also boasted an impressive scope.

"Alright, soldier, now you just have to name it," Danse instructed him. "It's Brotherhood tradition to name your favorite weapon."

Shaun thought for a moment. "How about Larry?"

"What? No, not... people names. Something like 'Righteous Authority'. Something that reminds you why you fight or what motivates you."

"Oh. How about 'Free the Synths'?"

The Paladin sighed and had half a mind to correct the child's ethics but to do so would only alienate Nora further. "We can name it later." He stuffed the rifle into the drawer in Ingram's desk and stopped in the cafeteria once more before heading to the sick bay, Shaun in tow.

They appeared in the doorway, Shaun's arms full of cola and food, and Nora glanced up. She smiled at Shaun but it faded when she noticed Danse at his side. He supposed he deserved that but it still twisted something in his chest. He said nothing, didn't even follow Shaun into the room. It felt intrusive, to hover while he got reacquainted with his mother, so he found himself back in his quarters trying to sleep.

It was one in the morning when Danse gave up and silently crept into the medbay. He needed to see her if nothing else, something for him to hold onto to remind himself she was still alive, that she wasn't the irradiated version of herself his nightmares produced.

He didn't expect her to be awake.

She stared unfocused at some point across the room, mindlessly stroking Shaun's head as he slept beside her on the small bed. He approached slowly, hoping it conveyed his lack of hostility.

Her eyes snapped to him and she sucked in a breath. A small twitch of her eyebrows and he could tell she was on edge.

Danse pulled a stool to the side of her bed and sat. "How are you feeling?"

She reluctantly resumed her fingers combing through her son's hair, examining the ceiling. "Better."

Danse tried to gather his thoughts but she continued.

"I don't remember much after I was stung. It gets hazy... they tell me without you intervening, I wouldn't be here. At least, not mentally. Deacon likes you well enough now so the rumors must be true. Thank you."

He cleared his throat, not prepared for this Nora: unassuming, defenses down, grateful even. She'd been thinking. Much like he had. "Of course."

Her forehead creased and she winced as she readjusted her bad leg. She was still healing, still in a lot of pain. Still drugged, Danse assumed. He hoped she would be able to remember this.

"Are you alright? Should I get Cade?"

She groaned. "That man drives me insane. I'd rather die."

He offered her an understanding smile, a treaty of sorts. The first of many.

"You're not supposed to be here."

"No."

"So why are you?"

"You have a son," he started. He felt his hands tremble slightly and he clasped them tightly together.

She didn't speak, didn't even blink.

"I... didn't know."

"Well it's personal."

He sighed. She was going to force it from him. "How old is Shaun?"

"He's 10."

He took a moment to do the math, to remember the biology.

"That's... am I..." he struggled around the truth, hoping she'd understand what he was asking and spare him.

She stared blankly for a moment and then her eyes widened. "Oh... oh, Danse..." She shook her head and sat up, carefully untangling her arm from around Shaun without disturbing him. Her legs swung over the side of the bed and she faced him with a fallen expression. "He's not yours."

Danse might've felt relieved once. He'd never planned for a family and had spent the better part of the evening feeling guilty for being an absent father. That burden was finally lifted but an emptiness replaced it. He'd really liked Shaun, even began to look forward to teaching him things, passing his knowledge on. He'd made so many more plans than he'd consciously known that it broke something inside of him to have them destroyed. And if he wasn't the father, someone else was. "Whose then?"

"He's not in the picture. Never was, really." Her fingers played idly with the edge of her dingy hospital gown.

Was that better or worse? It felt like both. "I'm sorry."

Nora nodded, avoiding his eye contact. "Is that why you're here?"

"No."

She looked up at him just in time to catch the small, translucent package he tossed into her lap.

"Fancy Lads? What did I ever do to earn this?" she cracked, half-smiling.

"It's a peace offering."

She opened the package eagerly and took a small bite, closing her eyes and moaning with pleasure. "Ugh. This is amazing. You know when you're in here, they feed you slop. Actual slop."

He laughed, nervous and quiet but light-hearted. "I'm aware. I've found myself in here more often than I'd like."

Nora sighed around another bite of snack cake. "Alright. What's the catch? I already ate the damn cake so I guess I have to do whatever you ask now."

"There are no stipulations. Although I'd... like to mend things." His voice was unsure. What he really meant was that he wanted her to trust him again, that she affected him down to his core.

A long silence punctuated his proposal and she raised an eyebrow. It made her look critical. Her dark eyes wandered down to the floor and she took a deep breath. He was ready to be cut down. She'd been very clear how she felt about him and what he stood for and even though in her youth she'd said their differences could be overlooked, she now showed no indication of willingness to compromise.

"Okay."

It was only a whisper but it was enough. A step closer to something like an armistice. "We start small," he said, fishing around in his pockets and producing two silver hoops he held out to her.

She looked at him in amazement and took them into her hands carefully, as if they might break again. "Cade said they were destroyed," she mumbled.

"They were."

Bright rings circled her irises under the fluorescent lights as she stared up at him, uncertainty fading and amusement taking its place. "I thought you hated them. 'Nora, those are an unreasonable accessory'," she put her hands on her hips sternly in her best impression of him.

"Of course they are, they're far too large to be safe for combat."

She closed her eyes, laughing, the kind that was from deep in her stomach and was almost contagious. Almost. Her hand flew to her mouth to hush herself as Shaun stirred but when she was sure he wasn't going to wake up, she turned her eyes back to Danse, all comforting warmth and soft brown for him now. "Thank you. Really."

It was genuine, the first sincere moment they'd shared in years. His fingers twitched to touch her but it would be too much. Still, he felt the magnetic pull and settled for a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Get some sleep, Adler."

"Night, Danse."