He waits for her.
All night, he waits like it's his job and damn if he isn't good at it by now. He watches the door swing open and closed and every time, it's someone else. Her husband is here so she should be here. The logic is airtight but she's nowhere to be found. He doesn't like parties without Nate, never has, but he realizes alarmingly he's grown more dependent on Nora to put his mind at rest.
Too dependent. It's an oversight on his part that he can't allow.
But he waits an hour, fidgets and shifts and puts it off as long as he can. And finally, he caves.
There's a lull in the conversation and he turns to Nate. "Will Nora be coming?"
It sounds too clunky. He should've said it differently. That way sounds too rehearsed, like he's practiced it a thousand times and even if he has, he should sound more like he's asking about something as unimportant to him as the weather.
"Nah, she doesn't celebrate Christmas," he says, popping a bottle cap onto the floor.
Marc nods. "Yeah. She's Jewish, right?"
"Mhmm."
"What's that, Hanukkah?"
"That's the one." Nate grins and punches his arm. "You know something about Judaism. Good for you, Marc."
"Oh, I'm culturally sensitive," Marc lays a hand over his heart. "That's the one with all the candles and shit."
"It's called a menorah, you half-wit."
Danse can hear them talk but the words stop making sense. Red-hot shame is burning down his throat because Marc shouldn't know more about her than him and he shouldn't care if he does.
Worse, he is slapped with the reminder that, of all of them, it's Nate that knows her best.
Sickness and health, for richer or poorer. It's easier to pretend he has any real connection to her when Nate isn't talking about her, revealing the intimate knowledge he has that Danse isn't privy to and her belief system is only the tip of that iceberg. He will hate himself it he steps any further between Nate and his wife, the woman he spends more and more time thinking about with increasing affection.
Falling in love, he thinks.
Once he says those words to himself, he's sure.
He's halfway in love with another man's wife. A glaring oversight, an unforgivable sin.
Danse can't think with words like that in his head. He feels perspiration gathering across his forehead and breaking out on his chest and suddenly his shirt is oppressive and stifling. He excuses himself and escapes to the back porch and he will throw himself into the snow if he must to clear out his mind.
Even there, memories lie in wait. Cigarettes and lipstick marks won't leave him alone. It's the same porch, the same view from where he stands on the concrete, and now, the same feelings all over again. He drops into a chair and cradles his head in his hands, the last refuge of a tormented man.
From his position curled in on himself, he hears the creak of the door. He looks up to Nate and the man takes the chair beside him as he bites down on a cigarette, fishing for his lighter.
"You alright?"
His instinct is honesty. It's knee jerk and he has to clench his teeth to staunch it.
Instead, he says, "I suppose I'm... overwhelmed."
Nate leans into the cushions, a thin layer of ice crumbling away against his back. "What's going on?"
The truth sits on his tongue. Part of Danse believes that confession can still save him. At the very least, it can act as a safeguard. Admit his sins, cleanse his soul. He's fought every thought and emotion she evokes and maybe he isn't the particular brand of contemptible he's come to believe.
For all of the merits of that idea, when he looks at Nate, fully intent on coming clean, he can't say those words, can't hurt him that way. He's damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. It's a betrayal either way but Danse isn't plotting. He'd sooner die than infringe on Nate's marriage.
He smiles, dimples indenting his cheeks. "Does this have anything to do with Camila?"
Danse flushes and feels the depth of his mistake. There are so few outlets for his longings but he's embarrassed of his moment of weakness. If he'd been less drunk, if he hadn't been struggling as much as he had not to think about Nora, then he wouldn't have called her, wouldn't have kissed her, wouldn't have slept with her at all.
He's left muddled, at a loss for words. Vague truth will have to suffice. "I'm not decided as to what to do about Camila."
"Been a while since I've seen you with anyone. I was surprised you called her."
No one is as surprised as Danse. But there's no one to blame but himself. Late night whiskey has never done him any favors. His fingers toy with the box of cigarettes in his pocket before he finally pulls one out.
"You like her?"
He buys time with a mouthful of smoke. Toxic air stews in his lungs and disgusted, he pushes it out forcefully. "She's attractive."
"Hmmm." Nate props his feet up on the dusty table. "That's it?"
He shakes his head and his breath comes out like fog in the bitter cold of the night. "I enjoy her company but I don't intend to string her along."
"I thought she was a good match for you myself."
Chirping can be heard from insects in the bushes, deafening while he decides what to make of that. It's honest, if not mildly dicomfiting. Nate isn't one for empty words and Danse holds them with a weight he gives to no other's but one as he considers them.
He's tired of his vices. He stamps out his cigarette, resolved in that moment never to smoke another one of the damn things again. They nauseate him or else he's nauseated by the turn in the conversation but it doesn't matter. He mumbles something about the timing being wrong. It's a pathetic excuse but Nate drops it dutifully.
They talk about other things. The new bar a block from Danse's apartment, engaged and pregnant friends, recent developments US-Chinese relations. In the monotony of such idle discussion, he falls back into how they used to be. He's missed him this way. Nate, his friend, his drinking buddy, the only one to ask him what it had been like in foster care and the only one he'd answer. Nate, who'd enlisted a selfish and immature man he'd wanted nothing to do with but who had become someone he deeply admired. Really, it's because of Nate that he's friends with anyone else at all. It isn't like him to go out of his way to meet people but Nate is the charismatic glue of the group.
And, whether he's grateful or not, it's only through Nate that he has any interaction with Nora.
Nora, who can't hold her alcohol if her life depended on it, who's the oldest of four, who struggles quietly and gracefully in everything, slow to admit when she needs help and the first to offer it. Who he's learned today is Jewish. A woman of such a high caliber and so uniquely compelling that he's flailing to replace her.
When they rise to go back inside, Danse stops to stare up at the cloudless night. He could scream if he thought it would do anything at all. He has questions, pressing and incessant, and a discouraging lack of answers.
What's the point of these parties if Nora doesn't come? He's heartsick, so tired of pining for her but there isn't enough alcohol in the world to drown her. He's learned the hard way that even with a warm body under him, she's all too resilient. He'd done his level best not think of her in that moment, not to paint Camila's hair darker and imagine it was her nails at his scalp. It isn't fair to her and he's repulsed that he'd bit off half of Nora's name before he caught himself.
Detestable. And he decides that he's in too deep for anyone to know. He'll take his shortcomings to his grave because they're too shameful to disclose.
He walks back into the house to an eerie silence. Everyone stands in morbid fascination as black and white images of a late night press conference flit across the TV screen.
He has to squint to be sure he isn't hallucinating a prim and formal Nora, face grim as she speaks.
"...approximately 6:40 on Friday, December 21, 2075, police arrested five Vault-Tec executives from their homes in Boston and the surrounding areas. Over the past month, there have been a total of forty-two arrests nationwide in connection to a series of criminal activities including but not limited to unethical and irresponsible research, intentionally fraudulent claims made to U.S. government personnel, and the misleading of the American public. Until inspections have been conducted, we cannot verify that the vaults are secure in the event of nuclear war. The associates at Elmore and Dunn reccommend you review your family's emergency plans in light of this new information.
"To maintain the integrity of the ongoing investigation, we will not be releasing many details at this time. This concludes our prepared statement, thank you."