Band of Steel

God, I remember this road.

Quinn stopped, memories of a red open topped car, a young man with sunglasses, and whiskey from the bottle were choked by dead grass and rubble. Stupid kids, high on youth and boredom, weaving in and out of cars, occasionally riding off the tarmac. A bump in the road delivering a glass bottle neck to her mouth with accidental force, the burning amber liquid spilling all down her new, white shirt. Quinn ran her tongue across her teeth, the chip in the incisor an old, familiar friend.

The hills opened out to her, a ruined tale of her teens, where the joys of drink and sex had been free to explore, an adventure Quinn had taken happily and often. Her first time hadn't been romantic, or even a pleasant experience. She had always told herself if she ever had a daughter, to warn her of the lure of fun in the bushes; sure, at the time it seems daring and exciting, but it always left you feeling a bit dirty and uncomfortable afterwards. Still...she wouldn't have traded it for the world. Quinn walked on, noting the corpses of trees, their bark and carvings (oh, there had been many carvings), long peeled away. Whether by fire or time, Quinn didn't know, but she mourned their loss all the same. It would be impossible to tell which tree had been theirs, but at least she knew somewhere out there, one of them had once held the slogan of 'Quinn + Mark'.

Quinn halted again. What happened to Mark? Their relationship hadn't ended well, but she had never wished him ill. Would he have died instantly, burnt and stripped away out of existence by nuclear fire, or did he linger before dying? Did he end up in a vault, to be experimented on like her, or had he managed to survive the bombs and experience the hell afterwards? Or maybe...maybe he was still alive. A ghoul. So many questions, with no way to find the answers; and not just with Mark, but everyone she had ever known. Her parents, her friends...everything. Quinn had managed to hold off this realisation of what she had left behind so far, focusing everything on Shaun, but now it threatened to drown her.

"If you have a moment, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Danse's voice snapped her back to earth with a bump. She blinked and looked around to see him standing just in front on her. From the look on his face, she hadn't been the only one doing some soul-searching. "Of course. What's up?"

"I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot when we first met and I feel like I owe you an apology." An apology? Well this was a surprise. Danse looked almost uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he talked. "Expecting you to embrace the standards of the Brotherhood without having a history with us was unfair. And given that you've adjusted so well to our beliefs, I don't think I needed to push so hard."

Despite herself, Quinn grinned. "So there is a human being under all that power armour after all."

He shot her back a rare smile, his face relaxing at her tone. "Sometimes I need a reminder, but yes...there is." He gave a small sigh. "When I was an initiate, my sponsor was Paladin Krieg. Toughest squad leader I ever served with. He was a model soldier, embodying the values every trainee was striving to achieve. Fiercely loyal, secure in his beliefs, and brave to a fault. From the moment I was assigned to his squad, I was singled out...it felt like he was pushing me harder than the rest of the team. I fought by his side for years, and we had some seriously close calls, but he never explained to me why I was treated that way."

"Did you ever ask him why?"

"I'd considered it, but unfortunately I never had the chance. After I was promoted to Paladin, and I had moved onto my own squad, I received word that Krieg was killed at Adams Airforce Base. The news was like being kicked in the stomach. I mean, I'd lost some of my brothers and sisters before, but his death...well, it really got to me. It's taken me a long time to realise it, but the reason Krieg was so tough on me is the same reason I'm tough on you. It's because I believe in you, and I don't want any of your potential to go to waste."

I believe in you. Quinn blinked, the odd, warm feeling in her chest returning. Although she liked Danse, he had never shown her this side before. A vulnerable part of him, that hurt and grieved like others did. The man seemed so unfazed by the wasteland, it was easy to assume he had simply cut himself off from everything around him. She realised that Danse was waiting for an answer, and hurriedly said, "I'm flattered that you have so much faith in me." She meant it, too.

"You've earned that faith by your own hand." There were slight patches of colour hidden under the stubble; Quinn bit her cheeks to stop herself from smirking as he went on. "Well, I've said what I had to say, and I hope it meant something to you. I...trust that you'll keep this in confidence of course. Some of that information was of a personal nature, and well, I'd like to keep it that way."

Quinn nodded. "Not a word from me. Shall we?"

The two of them walked on, the clanking steps of their power armour almost in perfect sync. Quinn hummed to herself as they went, trying to match a tune to the rhythm of her feet, ignoring Danse as he glanced at her, eyebrows raised. The corners of his mouth twitched, but he made no comment as he looked ahead again. A few seconds later, Quinn heard a funny tapping noise of metal on metal, and stopped humming to find the source of the noise, which seemed to be coming from Danse. He looked back at her, laser rifle in hand. "Is there a problem, soldier?"

"I thought..." Quinn stared at his gun, then back up to him. He was twisting his mouth slightly, the fingers from his right hand hovering over the rifle. Quinn tilted her head to side, raising an eyebrow, and Danse cracked, a grin spreading over his face. She returned it. "Never mind," she said, continuing on down the road, humming to the clunk of her boots. Danse's joined the mix a few seconds later, followed shortly by the tapping of his gun. Laughing to herself now, Quinn threw in her own attempt at percussion with her combat rifle. A little thought at the back of her mind wondered what Maxson and the rest of the stuffier members of the Brotherhood would think of their impromptu band; probably a reprimand for using equipment outside of their official designation. That was the reason they were walking to Sanctuary instead of flying – they hadn't exactly specified why they were leaving to head west, just that they were going on a vault hunt for tech. Although telling Maxson what she was planning would have granted his blessing, it would have also taken away the reason for going there. The Elder would want a mission to destroy, not to save; Shaun's life was worth a long walk west. To her great surprise, Danse hadn't pushed against her wishes to keep the destination need to know, but covered for her. He'd looked uncomfortable while he did it, but Maxson had seemed distracted and not noticed. Quinn didn't care; her gratitude for Danse was indescribable.

"Paladin Danse-" she began, just as the radio on her Pip-Boy crackled to life, cutting off the low music and blaring out a message instead.

"Any Minutemen in the area of The Slog, the settlement is under attack by Super Mutants. I repeat, any Minutemen in the area of The Slog, they need assistance to fight off Super Mutants. Assist if you can."

The radio went dead, and the music returned, fuzzy at first and then clearing out to a jaunty tune. Quinn paid it no attention, but brought up her map with a sinking feeling in her stomach. If it was close by...

"What is it?"

Quinn let out a small groan and put her head in her hands. She heard a crunch, and then a hand was on her shoulder, giving her a little shake. With a sigh, she looked up. "We're going to The Slog."

Half a dozen pair of eyes behind rotting faces fixed on them as they walked into what looked like an old holiday spot, a decaying club house next to a grimy swimming pool filled with murky water and black, frogspawn-like globules on the surface.

"Ghouls," Danse said, not bothering to lower his voice as he shook his head. "This isn't safe here. They could turn feral at any time."

Quinn was stunned. She was new to the Commonwealth to be sure, but even she had been quick to realise the stereotype was wrong. Daisy sprung to mind, painting a vivid picture of Boston from her childhood that Quinn could relate to, her simple goals in life including selling and buying junk, and asking a wanderer to return a book to her old library. The library had been full of super mutants that Daisy had wanted dead, too – an easily overlooked detail – but the woman wasn't out to hurt anyone. She had known the Brotherhood despised feral ghouls, but this... Quinn turned to face him. "How can you say that?" The silence that followed made Quinn shiver.

"...Quite easily."

Wet, slapping noises sounded as one of the ghouls approached, his hands held up in front of him. "We don't want no trouble," he said, viewing them with a nervous eye. "We've got enough of it with the muties right now, smoothskin. So how about we keep out of each other's way?"

"No trouble from us." Quinn hit the switch to open her armour and stepped out, moving around the metal shell with her hand extended. "I'm with the Minutemen and your situation was aired on the radio. I was close by, so I came to help." She shot Danse a scowl. "The paladin was simply accompanying me at the time. If he worries you, I'm sure we can work something out." Quinn could feel Danse's disapproval burning through the back of her head, but thankfully he kept his mouth shut.

The ghoul stared at her outstretched hand as he lowered his own, and then took it with a wide smile. Quinn had never touched a ghoul before. Despite his appearance, his grip felt dry and leathery. "Nah, it's fine. Some of the Brotherhood shoot us on sight – mistake us for ferals a lot – but if the big guy hasn't gone for us yet and he's with a Minuteman...I think we're good. Name's Wiseman, and this here is The Slog, only cultivator of tarberries in the Commonwealth."

"Quinn," she said, returning his smile. She pointed to the pool. "Tarberry cultivation? That's pretty smart." Danse made a noise behind her, and Quinn saw red. She shut her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, and then whirled around with such ferocity, she saw him flinch. "You're being fucking rude."

"I'm your senior officer. You don't-"

She held up a hand, and to her shock, he stopped. Well, I best run with this while I have the chance. "We're not here on Brotherhood orders. You knew that when we left the ship, knew that when you offered to come with me on my own personal business. You knew I would be running the show, and that you would be here to help. Any other time, I would gladly defer to your judgement and expertise, but in this moment, right now, I am taking the lead, and I'm telling you that you're being rude. Ignorant, in fact. What the hell is your problem?"

Danse seemed to bristle to life, standing up tall, and clutching his gun tight, though Quinn noticed he kept it to his chest. "You are new to the Commonwealth," he shot back, his voice filled with fire. "You think you know what ghouls are like, but I have seen far too many good people pulled down by feral ghouls to trust them."

"They're not feral, they're people!"

"For how long? Say we save them, then how long until they turn and run off to hurt someone else? Will it be next week, when we're supposed to be finding your son, we end up at another settlement being attacked by the same ghouls we just saved?"

"Don't bring my son into this!" Quinn yelled, losing all sense of calm. The entire settlement was deathly quiet, staring at them.

"Then why are we here?" Danse snapped, his own volume rising. "You seemed eager to leave the Prydwen in a rush, but we've barely started and already we're sidetracked. I thought it was a matter of urgency, that we needed to get away as soon as possible. Or were you just looking for an excuse to leave altogether?"

Quinn stomped across The Slog, spraying mud as she went, and jabbed her finger into Danse's steel-plated stomach. It hurt, but she didn't give a shit. He stared down at her, face hidden by his helmet, but his rage screamed through his rigid body language. Quinn glared back up, not caring she barely came up to his chest. "I want to find Shaun more than anything. I would die right here, right now if it meant he was safe. But when I hear that I am within walking distance of people who need my help, people I can save," she gestured wildly to the watching ghouls, "then I can't walk away from that! I can't live with the thought that I could have kept someone alive and I did nothing to help. And your ignorance over these people does nothing but cause prejudice and needless fear. Humans are just as susceptible to turning bad, and being a ghoul has nothing to do with it. Look at the raiders all over the Commonwealth! How many are ghouls? Not. Fucking. Many."

Quinn paused, catching her breath, and rubbed her eyes. Her hands came away wet. With a noise of impatience, she wiped the tears away. "I love my son, and I will find him. But I'm here now. If this isn't what you signed up for, go. Tell the Brotherhood what I'm up to if duty demands it. Or shoot me. I'm helping Wiseman and his people, and that's that." She turned on her heels and marched back over to Wiseman, who was staring at her with his mouth open.

"Look," he said weakly, "if you need to find your kid, don't worry about us. Someone else will bail us out eventually."

"Where are the super mutants?" Quinn interrupted. "Are they holed up nearby?"

"I...you...we don't know. They attack at night. We've managed to fend them off the last two times, but I don't think we can do it a third."

"Then we better set up some defences and get ready to kick their asses."

"Hey..." Wiseman caught her arm. "I think I speak for all of us...thank you. No one ever sticks up for a ghoul, especially not someone from the Brotherhood. Even if this goes bad, just so you know...it still mattered to us."

Quinn opened her mouth, but found no words. Instead she gave a small nod and a smile, and then turned to the rest of the waiting crowd. Danse had walked off, standing in the distance on a grassy verge, staring out into the wasteland. She ignored him. "We need wood, metal...any scrap you can find. We're going to have to build barricades quickly, and if there's any robots or turrets you have lying around as scrap, getting them running will be a big help. Do you have weapons?"

A woman stepped forward. "Deirdre. And yeah, we do. A few rifles, one pistol, and a couple of knives and bats."

"Right. Find out who has the best shot and give the guns to them. Everyone else, you get to take it up close and personal. No point having a gun if you can't use it; it'd more likely to kill you than the mutants. And don't try to be a hero. If it gets too heavy tonight, run. I have power armour – I'll deal with it."

"And your friend?" Deirdre said, her lip curling as she jerked her thumb in the direction of Danse.

"He won't be a problem," Quinn replied, glaring up at the paladin. "And if he is, I'll figure something out."

It was like preparing for war, and in the small world of The Slog, perhaps it was exactly that. Tree branches had been cut down and sharpened into stakes, set up in an outward fan around the settlement. Metal and wooden barricades littered the perimeter, and two old turrets had been dragged out from the building, though they had been beyond Quinn's ability to fix. Danse had kept out of the way, pacing up and down the borders of The Slog, laser rifle in hand. It had taken some time to realise he wasn't sulking, but in fact patrolling, and she felt her anger towards him soften somewhat. She still wanted to hit him with the butt of her gun, but...less. There had been no opportunity to talk to him, to smooth things over, and now the argument was all she could think of. She looked around and saw with dismay that he was no where to be seen. He had made up his mind and left. She didn't blame him.

"So what does that do?" a high pitched voice said behind one of the barricades.

"Combat chip," replied a familiar voice. "It allows the turret to pick out a target and bring it down without any friendly fire."

"What's friendly fire?"

"When...someone on your team shoots another person on your team."

"That sounds stupid."

"Yes...yes, it is."

Quinn crept closer, straining her ears to listen. She moved around the barricade at a distance to avoid detection and crouched down to watch with a feeling of bemusement. Danse was out of his armour, kneeling down in front of one of the turrets, tinkering while a young, female ghoul sat cross-legged next to him, pointing at various pieces and chattering away. Over on the next barricade, the other turret was active, twitching from side to side as it searched for a likely target. Some of the older ghouls were watching the girl and the paladin with a frown, but relaxed when they saw Quinn nearby. They waved to her and she nodded back, not wanting to disturb Danse.

The girl – who Quinn soon learned to be called Sarah – went on talking, from asking questions about the turret to commenting on the other ghouls and life in her home. Danse continued to work, but he responded when she spoke, asked her questions about her family, and at one point even laughed. There was a crushing guilt in Quinn's chest; it was starting to hurt to breathe. Danse turned to pick up a tool behind him and spotted Quinn. His expression cold, he stood up, glaring down at her. With a sigh, Quinn got to her feet.

"Danse..." she began, but he cut her off.

"I don't want to hear it." The words were blunt and hard; Quinn felt like she had been winded. Danse wiped oil off his hands onto an already dirty rag in sharp, jerky motions. "I understand you're under a lot of strain right now, but even if you disagree with me, I am your commanding officer. Don't you ever speak to me like that again."

Quinn had to fight to stop her tongue running away from her. A brief struggle later, in which she clenched her fists so hard her nails broke the skin, she gave a curt nod. "Understood, Paladin." Her tone was cutting, and it gave her some satisfaction to see a flicker of worry cross his features. But then they hardened and he returned to the turret.

"Stubborn ass," she muttered to herself as she stalked away. Her body felt numb – his anger was terrible to endure, but his rigid ideals and lack of self-awareness over his bigotry had sparked a burning fury within her that was drowning away her feelings for him.

Feelings for him? What feelings for him? Get a grip, Quinn

One of them would have to cave soon, and it sure as hell wouldn't be her.

A/N: Thanks to all those who gave me reviews or favourited/followed me! It's a real confidence booster to see people liking my work, and I love getting critique to help improve my writing. Also, thanks to the person who pointed out FFnet was eating my line breaks. In the middle of fixing that now.