Fiction: Fallout 4

Summary: Freshly made a Knight, Danse trains Ashtyn. Takes place after Truth or Dare.

Category: One-Shot

Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to any of the following work. While the writings themselves are my own, my character is created fully by myself, the other characters and story elements I do not own. I also do not own any of the Fallout 4 elements that are in play. Full credit goes to where it is due. Thank you. Thanks to Bethesda.

-oOo-

I've never been a morning person.

Ever.

Every never ever.

Fuck mornings. Seriously. Worst. Ever.

They were just as bad as Mondays as far as I was concerned.

Alarm clocks screaming at me, rad roaches nibbling at my toes, Dogmeat jumping on my already sore muscles, the raw sting of radiation as it drenched my skin, the smoldering heat of the sun slicking my hair against my neck and shoulders… all made mornings that much worse in the post-shit-nuka-piss-hell-hole.

And ya wanna know what made it even more worse?

Danse.

At 4AM, sorry 0400, shaking my sorry ass out of bed.

I already was hesitant about the whole sharing a bunk room experience setup, but knowing that my commanding officer could literally shake me out of bed every goddamn morning to start drill practice was not the figurative cherry on top I was looking for. Fuck this.

I think I even told him that too.

But he droned on and on about his Code Book and how it was healthy to get up early in order to prevent jogging during the steamy eighty degree Fahrenheit morning temperature. And how I had a long day ahead of me regardless, and that if I wanted to play with Jeremy and Tim later, I was going to have to do what he said.

It took everything I had not to flip him off.

Now, here I was, lazily prodding behind him down a two fifty hundred year old runway that hadn't seen a plane in the past few centuries. His form was pristine: shoulders back, head forward, chest puffed, arms tight at his sides, breathing controlled. Perfect Solider Boy.

And me? Not so much. My lungs ached, my heart pounded, my thighs and calves burned hotter than the sun that would be scorching my flesh red in the next hour. I felt like I was dying. Literally dying. Without my usual dose of adrenaline to keep my body going, I felt weak and exhausted. I thought I was in shape but… It seems I was so incredibly wrong.

You're doing this for Shaun, you're doing this for Shaun.

"Better pick up the pace if you don't want to miss breakfast," Danse said with a rather curt tone ahead of me.

"You… serious?" I panted. Was breakfast really on the table for debate? My stomach was eating away at me, gnawing with hunger pains.

"You better believe it, Knight. Chin up, keep going."

This man was dead to me.

Needless to say, I missed breakfast that morning.

-oOo-

"Your fist is wrong."

Fuck. You.

"You have to curl your thumb like this around your knuckles," Danse raised his own hand to demonstrate, closing his fingers tightly into the palm of his hand and wrapping his thumb around his pointer and middle finger to protect them from snapping in half on impact against a foe.

I mimicked his move, wincing in the slightest as my stomach growled.

Danse, ignoring my obvious need for subsidence, instructed, "Now lunge forward and attack like this," he darted speedily towards the cloth dummy, jabbing his fists out in quick succession, slamming heavily against the bag and sending the fake enemy careening backwards before snapping back upright.

The gym on the lower deck of the Prydwen was empty except for us. Seems everyone else was sensible to stay tucked in bed at 0600 in the morning… that or they were eating decadent pancakes with honeyed syrup and crispy bacon… and oh, fuck, I was so hungry right now.

Even without the people, the room smelled of sweat and metal. It was void of windows, leaving the area shadowed in the murky florescent lighting the Prydwen offered. Lamps dangled above our heads, flickering once in a while as the generators switched. Cool air was filtered in through the vents but it did little to combat the heat from the furnaces that were stored this low in the ship.

"Why are we even doing this?" I grumbled, lowering my arms to my sides. "Rhys said I would make a horrible hand-to-hand fighter. I have no muscle, no anything. I can barely hold some of the guns you've showed me up for longer than two seconds. I don't see how this is going to help us at all."

Danse sighed, a slow exhale that hinted at his frustrations with me. "You've been gone for a month. You're just rusty. I want to make sure your muscles are built back up."

"You have no idea what I've been doing. For all you know, I could be super buff underneath this super sexy jumpsuit," I gestured at the hideously orange fatigues we were all forced to wear.

He scowled. "I highly doubt that."

I rolled my eyes. "I could probably take you on, if I wanted to, with how insanely ripped I am."

"Is that so?" he hedged, a small light beginning to shine in his chestnut irises.

"You bet your fancy shmancy Code book reading ass, I can."

His stance changed as he pivoted towards me, lowering into a defensive position. "Okay. How about this. If you best me, we will call it a day early and you can go eat."

Oh… Wait… I wasn't sure about this. "And if you win?" I managed to ask, feeling my gut twist uncomfortably. Why was I even playing along? Stop it. There was no way I could beat him. And he knew it. He fucking knew it.

Danse raised his gloved hands to his face, providing himself a makeshift shield of sorts. "If I win, you stay here till lunch. And it's going to get a lot harder."

I bit my bottom lip, my personal nervous habit, as my gaze flicked to the clock. Six more hours of this if I lost. Which, let's not kid ourselves here, I was going to lose. No grenades or elevator shaft in sight meant that my odds were severely decreased, no matter what half-baked shitty excuse of a strategy I muddled up for myself.

Likely sensing my trepidation, Danse said, "You can always back out now. No harm done."

And, for some reason, that was enough to piss me off. "You think you're so great. Alright, come on, Solider Boy, let's do this."

I launched forward, arms clumsy and tactics all but nonexistent. He parried my blows with ease, allowing my clenched fists to beat uselessly against his forearms. "Your form is poor," he chided.

"Shut up!" I snapped but taking his advice to heart as I steadied my stance. Be a rock, be unmovable. Just gotta lock your muscles and-

Danse snapped into the offensive, charging into me and sending us both to the ground. I tumbled, tucking my booted feet between us and shoving upwards against his chest. He toppled off of me, rolling gracefully onto his hands and feet, gaze narrowing. "Good."

I scrambled out of his reach as he moved to swipe at me, fingers grazing against my ankles. Using what little momentum I had, I bolted towards him. He side stepped, causing me to lose my footing as I crumbled to the metal flooring once more. I groaned, rubbing my hand against my forehead, flinching. I was going to bruise tomorrow. "Don't ever put your full force behind a single action."

With a grunt I stood once more. My turn to take the defensive.

Danse came at me full force, eyes narrowed and jaw tense. He wasn't messing around anymore. He jabbed twice at me, causing me to feint to the right… only for him to land a blow against my left flank. The side of his lips curled up into a devilish smirk. But he wasn't letting up. Even as I winced, he continued. I back pedaled a few feet but he mirrored my action, a dance of sorts playing out as I continually dodged and weaved around his attacks, trying not to yelp too loudly when one or two connected with my extremely non-protected torso.

I couldn't keep this up, not indefinitely. And, judging by the lack of sweat or labored breathing on Danse's end, he could. I had to change up my strategy if I wanted my coveted breakfast.

I ducked low and sped past Danse, arching my back just in time to narrowly avoid a punch aimed for my mid-spine region. I couldn't fight him on my own – he was bigger, stronger, faster, and properly trained. I couldn't compete. So, I had to think outside the box: use my environment to my advantage.

Along the edge of the training gym rested an assortment of gear and equipment. It varied from practice pistols, armor, soft mats for the floor, helmets, and… batons. Several of them.

I dashed for the wooden sticks, flinching as I heard Danse's footsteps closing in behind me.

Quick, go go gogogogo!

Snatching one of the batons I twisted and flung the weapon like a projectile towards my Commanding Officer. It landed with an audible thud, slamming against his chest and causing him to pause, blinking a few times in surprise. He hadn't expected that.

Without hesitating to breathe a sigh of relief, I repeated the motion, hurling two more rods in his general direction… but this time? This time, he was prepared for it. "You're going to have to change it up again if you want to win, Jones," he said. "But good thinking. I award you for your tactical abilities." Then he was moving again.

Tightening my grip around the baton I held, I lowered myself, made my body a smaller target as he came at me. Just as he came within range, I swung. If everything went according to plan, the wood would careen into his arm, effectively attacking and defending in one single maneuver.

Course, nothing I ever did went to plan.

Instead his own hand clamped around the end of the baton. Using his weight he yanked me forward and spun me around until my arm was pinned behind my back.

But if he thought I was going to lose that easily, he had another thing coming.

I wedged my foot between his, hooking my toes around his ankle and tugging with every ounce of muscle I had (albeit, it wasn't much).

But it was apparently just enough.

He inhaled sharply as we both were thrown off balance. His hold on my wrist loosened and I began to spin to free myself, desperately trying to formulate another strategy… but it was too late. We were going down.

Oh, fuck, this was going to hurt.

I didn't do the rational thing – I didn't outstretch my arms to catch myself, didn't place my hands over my face to protect it from having a rather intimate relationship with the floor, didn't even fuck around with ducking and rolling, nothing. I was full heartedly resigned to face planting the floor.

But, strange thing is? That didn't happen.

Danse pulled me to his chest, muscular arms curling defensively around me, left hand placed against the back of my head. I heard him curse under his breath and mutter something along the lines of a particular someone not thinking ahead before acting. I felt his feet struggle (and fail miserably) to find stable ground but the metal surface offered little refuge. We were going down but… at least my personal fall was going to be a cushioned one.

We landed with a heavy crash, my fingers splaying out across his chest, his gray t-shirt dampened in the slightest with sweat. He held himself off of me, elbows placed firmly on the ground on either side of my shoulders. "Are you okay?" he managed to grunt as he shifted his weight.

My eyes flicked open, gaze finding his – copper meeting sapphire. "I'm fine."

Sort of.

I was fine as far as injuries were concerned. But uh…

I was acutely aware of a few things.

We were only a few mere inches apart, I could feel his breath tickle my hair. He smelled of gun powder and metal, and I liked that. The heat oozing from his body seemed to meld into my very being, sink into my soul. And the way his eyes flicked from my eyes to my lips – was that just my imagination or reality?

Danse cleared his throat and pushed off, expanding the distance between us in a matter of seconds. Cold replaced the warmth and I was left feeling… strange. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "I didn't think you would attempt such a move since it, very obviously, resulted in failure."

Swallowing my inner ramblings I gave him a pointed look. "You're in no better position than I am."

He arched a thick brow at me, trademark scowl already working its way across his face. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that we are at an impasse, a draw, a tie. No matter what you want to label it… neither of us won." I sat up, rolling onto my feet but remaining in a squatting position.

His grimace deepened, lips pursed in thought. "I suppose… you're right."

"So, can I eat?"

When he looked at me once more, there was a hint of mischief coloring his chestnut eyes. "Seeing as we are at a draw, I say the reward and punishment are halved and put together."

"What does that mean?"

"Means we are here for three more hours. Still get to finish early, still get to eat… just, later."

It was sound logic, it was fair. But that didn't mean I had to like to it. "Fine," I groaned.

Danse stood, reaching down to gingerly help me to my feet. "And, since you liked your batons so much, how about we do a bit of weapon practice while we are at it?" He retrieved one of the wooden sticks from the floor and handed it to me.

"Whatever you say."

He gave me a stern glare.

"Sir."