March 7, 2288

Danse slept alone. Always, in fact, with the exception of the nights in the wastes in the company of his team or a partner. Desolation and dust would fill the gaps between his bedroll and the next and nothing but Righteous Authority and a purified water was ever close enough to reach for in those moments. At first, it had pained him; when Nora had left and he knew it didn't matter if he was in the field or Rivet City because there was no warm body to curl into anymore. Not for him. He was lulled to sleep by the roaring in his ears, waves of panic that ebbed and flowed and tossed him about haphazardly until he'd swallowed too much water and unconsciousness enveloped him. And then he'd adapted, learned to swim and grown accustomed to the lapping of the water.

The loneliness of it all had faded into oblivion until the day he woke up and threw his arm into the emptiness next to him.

It took a moment for him to realize why, that his body had acted on impulse and amnesia because no one was there, hadn't been for years and even then, never on the Prydwen.

He ran a hand down his face and groaned. He needed a strategy for Nora because her near constant presence had been tearing him in two, a clean split down the middle and he was useless to anyone like that. Maxson would be furious with him and for good reason. Duty was sacrifice, he knew it well, had felt those words as they'd spilled over his own lips countless times. But sacrificing something-someone, Nora-on the altar of brotherhood twice would inevitably take him with her. One way or the other, he was going to end up in pieces.

He burned the conflict away, pushed his body farther than his usual morning exercises but his effort was undone when he walked into the mess.

Nora was there, lounging at a table with her feet propped up on the chair across from her, nonchalantly thumbing through stacks of papers and humming to herself. He didn't sit by her for appearances, for the boundaries he needed to maintain, but the only empty table was beside her.

She didn't look up when he lowered himself into his seat but he saw the corner of her lips pull up and he knew she'd noticed him. It was a moment before she addressed him and even then, her eyes stayed buried in the documents before her.

"Paladin."

He cleared his throat. "Adler."

She brought her mug to her lips. "Sleep well?"

"Hardly."

"I'd say not. It's too early for that, isn't it?"

"PT in 15," he muttered.

"Mmm," she nodded, flipping a paper over and feigning interest in the scribbled words there. "Maxson would be so sadistic."

She was taunting him, sharp-witted as they come. Her words were meant to rile him up but they weren't as scathing as they used to be because now they had an understanding. It was made of the little things: of holotapes and earrings and closed-mouth kisses. Reserved, watered-down and diluted. Muffled echoes of Rivet City. So little affection escaped through the cracks of the walls between them and when it did, it was cloaked in so many layers of ambiguity that he spent his nights wondering if he'd somehow invented the tenderness in her eyes.

But he wasn't imagining her now, fighting back a smile. He was sure of it because she opened a folder and held it in front of her face, blocking her expression from his view and from the others around them.

"I doubt the Railroad offers such rigorous training. You're welcome to join if you feel you could keep up."

"More than one way to train physically, isn't there, Paladin?"

He choked on his coffee, drawing the eyes of those nearby. Scribe Grayson asked if he was alright and he nodded in response, the red on his face as much from coughing as it was from Nora's comment.

The folder fully concealed her face by the time he recovered but he recognized the amusement in her words. "Still a prude, I see."

"Some would call it decency."

She shrugged and when she dropped the file back down to the table, she had completely collected herself. "Never heard of it."

"I don't suppose you have."

"I should be going," she mused, packing the papers into her backpack. "I'm supposed to be on standby at the airport already. Something about invading the Institute."

The reminder tensed the muscles in his shoulders, chased his pulse into a sprint, just as nervous as when he'd first heard her say it. But he couldn't convince her to stay, to let someone else-anyone else, dammit-go in her place. It would be wasted breath and they both knew it.

"...take care, Nora."

It made her flinch and her hand paused on the zipper of her bag. "I promise."

A heartbeat passed and then she was gone, her footsteps fading down the hallway behind him. He waited, tapped his foot and counted because there was nothing else to keep him from following her and soaking up every small interaction before she left. When he'd counted to 300, he stood and placed his mug with the other dishes. He made for the flight deck, climbing into a vertibird just before it pulled away from the Prydwen.

The firm cement of the airport under his boots was reassuring. Solid even if he wasn't. Just outside of the barricades, initiates and knights milled about, talking and yawning and straightening up when he passed by.

"I trust you've already stretched."

The response was immediate, in perfect unison the way they'd been trained. "Yes, sir."

His eyes scanned the group as he counted those present. "Then warm-up. Five laps."

A few of the newer recruits groaned but the soldiers obeyed, breaking into a jog around the perimeter of the airport.

Rays of sun were just breaking over the horizon, landing on the water and igniting it. Something sacred, spiritual even, a serene backdrop to the ugliness of the Commonwealth. The kind of view that kept Danse volunteering for the morning shift. He kept track of the soldiers that filed back onto the beach, added the numbers in his head. When the last initiate returned, he was still one short. All he needed was a cursory glance to know who it was.

"Where's Andrews?"

A few knights exchanged amused glances.

"He's healing from his... injury," Knight Hammond snickered.

"Injury?"

Their gaze followed movement behind him and when Danse turned, he saw Andrews walking slowly toward the rest of the group, hands balled into fists.

"Is there a problem, Andrews?"

He shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with the paladin. "No, sir."

"Are you injured?"

Laughter erupted from the group and the initiate shot them a venomous glare. "I'm fine, sir. Just took a knee to the groin."

Hazing, then. Danse squared his shoulders. "From who?"

"The Railroad leader, sir."

More laughter broke out and Danse crossed his arms over his chest to silence them. "Unprovoked?"

"He called her a cunt," someone shouted.

He turned to the initiate. "Soldier?"

"I did, sir," he said, grinding his teeth against the humility.

Danse frowned. He knew Andrews and he knew Nora and it was a wonder this was the first incident he'd been made aware of. The initiate had a mouth, untamed and critical and reports to prove it. But even towering over Nora as he did, she wasn't one to be intimidated.

"Did you finish your laps?"

"No, sir."

"Then you'd better get the hell out of here until you do."

He scoffed in disbelief but Danse's gaze was hard against him.

"Fall in line, Andrews, and report to Elder Maxson when you're done," he barked.

The initiate shook his head and mumbled under his breath as he broke into a pained sprint around the airport.

Danse turned to the others. "The rest of you, I want fifty pushups. Now."

They immediately dropped to the ground in obedience. Danse walked between them as they completed the set, hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm sure you're already aware," he boomed. "But any antagonism of members of the Railroad will not be tolerated. The Elder expects you to treat them with the same respect you offer any Brotherhood officer. Anything less and you can expect to be disciplined."

Their breathing was answer enough, measured from the seasoned knights and effortful panting from the recent recruits.

Few were as rebellious and openly insubordinate as Andrews. He would make an example of him and it wouldn't happen again.

"Paladin!"

The word was catapulted across the expanse of the airport, bouncing from the concrete to his ears, its source a scribe, breathless and sprinting towards him.

Then it was urgent.

Then the relay was finished.

His chest tightened, barely containing the implications of that statement. They thrashed against his ribcage and pummeled his lungs so that by the time the scribe reached him, their breath came at the same sharp staccato.

"Paladin," he wheezed. "Elder Maxson and Proctor Ingram requested you in the ruins."

The confirmation of what he'd known was brutal but to show it was to raise suspicion so he swallowed his fear, like broken glass as it went, scraping him raw to the point of choking. He didn't open his mouth to thank the man as he usually did, just patted his shoulder and walked toward the transporter. Scrap metal and gadgets that he was supposed to entrust everything to. It was visible from anywhere, too proud to held by the centuries old walls that crumbled around it.

She looked just as proud at its side.

Nora always held herself that way, the swagger of a man twice her size and the fortitude of one with a nuclear payload at her disposal. Foolhardy, he thought. Reckless, irresponsible, beautiful.

Elder Maxson spoke to her quietly and she nodded her understanding. He wasn't close enough to hear but it was no doubt a briefing on Dr. Li, instructions to persuade her to return to the Brotherhood. He handed her a holotape and she stared down at it as he talked.

Desdemona placed a hand on Nora's shoulder and when the elder finally stepped aside, she pulled her into an embrace. It went on far too long, like she really didn't expect Nora to return and he couldn't imagine that possibility, couldn't hold it because it was far too heavy and he'd already been handed a substantial burden over the course of his life. If he thought losing her to radiation would be grueling, losing her to the Institute would be debilitating. There wouldn't be anything left. Nothing to bury, no pictures to remind him what the exact shade of her skin had been. Just memories, corruptible and muddied by time, decaying as easily as the natural world around shockwaves of nukes. They weren't enough to keep the dead alive. He knew it like he knew his own body, tried too many times and been unsuccessful just as often.

He waited, stayed back against the wall. Any closer and he might forget that he wasn't allowed a farewell because he wasn't supposed to know her like he did and wasn't supposed to care outside of professionalism.

He did.

Nora pulled out of Desdemona's arms. Her cheeks were wet but her eyes weren't puffy because they weren't her tears. She turned to look at Ingram, only managing to glance at the proctor before she noticed him a few feet behind her.

He stepped forward, brow furrowed, and gave her a salute. "Ad victoriam, Adler."

The battle cry sounded strained, steeped in layers of anxious expectation and she saw it. She didn't say anything, just dropped her backpack to the floor and pulled the zipper open enough that he could see the stock of Righteous Authority as she slipped the Network Scanner holotape into an inside pocket. She looked up at him, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

He felt the eyes on him like cold steel against his throat and just as chilling because the gaze was Maxson's. Danse swallowed under it, realized too late that he'd seen. But a look on its own wasn't incriminating; Arthur could only have a hunch and he wouldn't confront him with only vague evidence.

"Okay," Nora breathed. "I'm ready."

Maxson nodded at Ingram and she walked to the console as Nora stepped onto the reflector platform.

The machine hummed to life and energy sizzled from it in menacing blue bolts. He didn't think he could watch but it was impossible to look anywhere else.

When it happened, when pieces of Nora ripped from their biological seams and reformed where he couldn't see and where he couldn't protect her, it was instantaneous, less sight than sound. Like the hiss of flame extinguished and it wrung his heart out. Dry as the Mojave, he thought, the way it cracked in her absence.

No one moved for a long moment, shock and worry congealing in the silence.

Maxson turned to Ingram. "Did it work?"

She studied the blinking lights on the console. "From what I can tell... yes."

"Then we wait," he nodded.

"Five days," Desdemona said, "and then I'm going in myself."

Ingram scoffed. "The Institute won't make the same mistake twice. You can't just kill another courser-"

"I'll find a way," she growled, stuffing a cigarette between her lips and stalking off.

From his peripheral, he saw Maxson gesture for Ingram and himself to follow the elder out of the ruins but Danse faltered, couldn't look away from Nora had been only moments before because that may well have been his last glimpse of her.

Arthur put a hand on Danse's shoulder. It was meant as an order to return to his duties but when he met his eyes, they narrowed and flitted over his face suspiciously.

"Everything alright, Danse?"

It wasn't the genuine concern of his friend. It was the test of his superior, probing for gaps in his defenses, for a divided loyalty that he already suspected.

Danse nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

The elder stepped around him, Ingram in tow, and Danse steeled himself before he pivoted to join them.