February 28, 2288

The Prydwen felt small, downright claustrophobic on Nora's worst days. Every room was dark and hollow and she swore if she stayed too long in one spot, the cold metal would swallow her whole. She didn't belong; she knew, the walls knew, and the entire crew knew. There was no place for her there and they never let her forget it.

It was common knowledge that the Brotherhood hated synths and mutants and ferals. It was less well known how they despised the Railroad.

Looks, she could handle and at first, that's all it was. Then it spiraled: soldiers aggressively brushing past her, spitting in her direction when she walked by, the classic "Railroad slut" called after her, the occasional hand on her ass. Shows of dominance to put her in her place. She wasn't meek, not one to be pushed around, but retaliation only seemed to stoke the fire, especially when she used force. One particular groping incident had ended with her fist in the stomach of an initiate and she'd barely fled the scene in time to avoid violent repercussions. The higher ups didn't condone the behavior but it happened so frequently that it was near impossible to report so she kept her tongue sharp and stayed vigilant of her surroundings. It worked well enough.

She preferred to sleep through the afternoons, when foot traffic clogged the arteries of the Prydwen, and put off anything that needed doing for the evening when there was less risk of an altercation and that night found Nora limping through the mess into the armory. She heard snickering as she passed-at her expense, no doubt-but didn't acknowledge it.

With each step, a shooting pain radiated through her shin. She was still healing, wasn't supposed to be anywhere but the medbay but Cade had taken a few days of leave and she was going to go insane if she couldn't do something productive.

Danse turned at the sound of her boots against the floor and wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag. "Adler."

"Ingram around?"

"She's down at the airport."

She fiddled with her hands. "Ah."

The silence felt unbearably awkward so she strode over to the weapons bench and emptied the contents of the bag she carried onto the metal surface: a few parts and a .44.

"Building something?"

"Well..." she sighed. "Trying."

"I might be able to offer assistance."

She stared at the pieces before her, willing herself to see how they would fit together. Glory's note had sworn they were all she needed, that it was simple but for the life of her, she couldn't make sense of it even with instructions. "Yeah. Alright."

Nora stepped to the side as Danse approached the bench and studied her weapon. "What did you have in mind?"

"Just a hardened receiver."

He picked up the pistol and looked it over. "I'm not familiar with this gun."

She folded her arms over her stomach. "Um, I... took it from Kellogg. A mercenary working for the Institute. I believe I mentioned him."

He hummed and placed it back on the workbench, gathering a few screws in one hand and getting to work.

She watched his hands, trying to discern the intricacies of modding so she might learn something. She was completely inept, convinced it was an art she'd never master, no matter how much Shaun tried to teach her. But Danse was skilled. He worked carefully; always mindful with his movements and words. She admired him for it. He was unhurried prudence, not prone to frustration and impulsivity. He could set the world right in an instant and he didn't even know it. It was a piece of home in that empty zeppelin and something about it was stitching her up and breaking her apart.

"I didn't take you for the pistol type."

It dawned on her that he hadn't known her to use weapons at all. Once upon a time she'd been a merc but it was short-lived and her life in Rivet City was safe and civilian. He'd tried to arm her with a laser rifle, taught her some self defense should she need it but other than that, he'd never seen her in combat until the glowing sea.

"I'm not. I'm a sniper if I have the choice."

"Are you any good?"

Her mouth quirked up at the corners. "You a betting man, Paladin?"

A mile out from the airport, a ruined house crumbled away at the sides, exposing the 200-year-old remains of an apple pie American existence. The bombs had wreaked havoc on every piece of furniture and every appliance and time had destroyed the rest until the whole building and everything in it was rendered useless. For their purposes, it would work perfectly. Untarnished additions to the chaos now littered the structure-cups from the paladin's room he'd been willing to part with.

He peered through her scope at the makeshift markers in the distance. When he was satisfied with their visibility, he handed the sniper rifle back to Nora.

"When you're ready."

"If I hit them all?" she prodded.

"What is it you want?"

"I wouldn't say no to a few more Fancy Lads."

"One."

"Dammit, Danse, I know you have a stash. Three."

"Two."

She bit her lip. "Fine. Deal."

"And if you don't hit them all?"

"Then..." She knelt down and examined the targets through her scope. "I won't backsass the Brotherhood of Steel for a whole three days."

From her vantage and with the early darkness clouding her view, she could just make out two mugs and a plastic cup. She aimed at the first mug, precariously balanced on the arm of a couch, and held her breath.

Her index finger flexed and the muffled sound of ceramic splintering was a barely audible but sure confirmation of her accuracy. She couldn't help but smile.

The second and third targets were in what used to be the kitchen-one on the broken refrigerator and the other beside the sink. Two more well-placed shots and both broke apart in jagged shards.

"Your aim is... adequate," Danse grumbled.

"It's easy when your targets aren't moving. So easy, a paladin could do it."

When she looked back, he was shaking his head but his eyes were amused. "Watch yourself, Adler."

She returned to her scope to hunt for the last targets. She was about to accuse him of not having set out the last two at all, of rigging the game in his favor, but she spotted a glass balanced on uneven floorboards, teetering slightly in the breeze before completely toppling with the force of her bullet, pieces scattering. The final mug, found after another careful scan of the area, sat atop a dingy mattress, blending into the pillow behind it.

"There are things I like, you know. About the Brotherhood."

Bang.

"Oh?"

She stood, basking in her victory and smirking. "I liked Lyons."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Feigned annoyance, Nora knew, because his mouth twitched. Anyone else could've missed it but ten years wasn't nearly long enough to forget him. "Maxson's a brilliant tactician. I'd follow him anywhere, without question."

"I know you would."

The words came out more bitter than she intended and it raised his defenses, body stiffening and shoulders squaring. One step forward and two steps back. She didn't explain herself, didn't trust herself not to cut him deeper. They had just regained some sense of normalcy but she felt it slipping between her fingers. She propped her rifle against the wall closest to her just for something to do so she didn't have to meet his eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured. "We're not the bad guys. You used to believe that."

Nora swallowed, throat thick with sudden emotion. "I used to believe you."

The air between them was growing frigid and stale now and as much as Nora blamed it on herself, she couldn't stop the confrontation. It was a long time coming, ten years of frustrated tears seeping into her sheets and lonely sighs breathed into someone else's mouth. She could move on from the past, had done it countless times out of sheer necessity, but not when it had worked its way into her future. Extricating the pieces of Danse from herself had been harrowing and time-consuming. She'd been so young, impressionable, and he was the first stability she had in this world. And then he walked away and left her behind and he made it look so easy that she hated him for it.

"And now?" he demanded.

"And now?" she scoffed. "Now I know what you really do for a living. Not quite Project Purity."

"We're an army, not a charity."

She shook her head, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and chewing back the harsh words that threatened to spill out. She took a moment to breath, to calm down as he watched her and waited for a reply. "And what's the matter with charity?"

He hesitated, ran a hand through his hair. Telling.

She took a few steps toward him, sensing the conflict in him, seeing it in the way he set his jaw. "I suppose you consider the Railroad charity. Maybe we are."

Underneath all of their words, there was a single concern, that foundational disagreement that had torn them to shreds once and was now threatening to do so again. Neither wanted to speak it; it was too much like disturbing a grave. Those words were necessary, some type of closure would come with them, but they felt like rebreaking a bone healed wrong even as they sat behind her tongue.

"Synths aren't dangerous and when they escape from the Institute, they're not under their control. They just want freedom and safety," she said quietly, reluctantly.

"They're machines. They're unpredictable."

"Christ, Danse. I'm more likely to be hurt by one your own men than I am a synth!"

The accusation threw him off, stunned and confused him. "You're safe here."

"I'm not. We're allies on the most superficial level but I'm still an enemy. I always will be and that's the price for your rhetoric."

He considered her words and it turned his expression grave. "That was never our intent."

"Hard to control a weapon once you give it away," she whispered. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing her rifle and turning to leave.

Whether he was still processing her words or fed up with her altogether, he didn't follow and her hands squeezed the safety handles of the vertibird all the more tightly for the emptiness in her chest.

March 1, 2288

Nora picked at the limp vegetables in front of her and sighed.

She missed Deacon. If he were there, he'd crack some joke, probably dump his serving onto her plate, defending himself with the faux concern that she needed to eat more if she wanted to grow up strong like him.

The day had been a particularly difficult one and she craved human contact. The scribe that covered for Cade while he was gone had informed the knight-captain upon his return of how often she'd sneak away and her refusal to use crutches.

"After all we've been through?" she'd narrowed her eyes at the scribe. "After I bribed you and everything. Does no one respect an honest bribe anymore?"

And then Cade's lecture ensued, boring her to tears. He reminded her of Maxson, just how strict and military he sounded when he was angry. She'd been forced to stay in that damn medbay again-"observation", he called it. Nora was sure he meant to say retribution. She was still allowed to eat her meals in the mess and she'd take all the harassment that came with that just to escape the smell of sterilized tools and stale bedsheets for an hour.

She was still twirling a fork in the carrots she had no intention of eating when a tray clattered to the table in front of her.

"May I?"

Heads turned to eye the paladin and his questionable choice of seating. He didn't pay them any mind and Nora shrugged, feigning nonchalance but eager for company.

He lowered himself into the chair and immediately pushed two snack cakes towards her. "I believe I owe you."

She toyed with the wrapper on one of them. "Thank you."

"You should finish your dinner first."

"You should know better than to say something like that, Paladin Danse."

She picked one up and peeled the package away, biting into the chocolate. He continued to try to convince her of the importance of the nutritional value of the carrots on her tray but he gave up when she opened the second cake. The smile at his lips was one of exacerbation but it was a smile nonetheless. He shook his head and mumbled something under his breath.

It sounded like "some things never change".