A/N: I am so, so sorry for how long it took me to finish this. I've had two weeks of night shifts, combined with Christmas and work exhaustion, which just meant when I sat down to write I was just...way too tired to do it.

Despite the wait, I hope you enjoy!

Clever Girl

It had never occurred to Quinn how loud breathing could be. A great weight pushed on her chest, stopping the flow of precious oxygen, leaving her rasping and wheezing for more. Air collected slowly in her lungs, and her throat tightened in the anticipation of the release. Too loud...too loud... Her breath was coming fast now, a rapid, ragged nothingness that passed through her lips leaving her light-headed and wanting. She could feel her hands slick with sweat inside her power armour, and her stomach crawled as she pressed her back against the brick wall.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Quinn pulled her gun close, a jolt of fear coursing through her as metal ground on metal. So much noise. Inside her helmet, blood trickled down her face in tiny rivulets, hanging off her chin for a second before dropping down to the hard interior below. It was a steady drip, a pattering of rain, that sounded like gunshots to her ears. She held her breath, ignoring the other warm, damp sensation that was spreading at her side, sticky liquid saturating her clothes and oozing down towards her leg. If she moved...

Tap-tap.

Tap.

Tap-tap.

The was a low scratching sound, drawing closer to her, accompanied by a deep, terrible rattling, wet and hungry. Quinn's knees trembled as the pain in her side mounted, a cold feeling growing from within. She shivered, her head spinning.

I'm sorry, Shaun. I'm sorry. I couldn't do it. I couldn't get to you. I'm sorry.

Nate's image surfaced in her mind. He was holding Shaun, who was wrapped up snugly in a cartoon character blanket that had once belonged to her mother. Nate had always fussed about Shaun catching a cold, and had practically drowned their child in jumpers and blankets. Despite the hammering of her heart and the tears in her eyes, Quinn's mouth twitched into a faint, nostalgic smile. The Nate in her memory smiled back and held out his hand to her, keeping Shaun tucked under his other arm. Without thinking, Quinn reached out, her family so clear that she knew that if she tried hard enough, she would touch them.

Tap. Tap.

Pause.

With an agonising slowness, a long, yellowed claw curved around the wall, brick dust sprinkling down as the razor-sharp tip scraped along the rough surface. Quinn could hear the creature's breath rattling in the back of its throat, a deep, guttural sound that cleaved through the silence.

The start to the morning had been a good one. The glow of victory surged through her; Quinn felt so light she thought if she stepped out of her armour she would float away. Not only that, but she was back on the road once more, a friend at her side. She glanced at the paladin, considering him. It had only been a short time that she had known him, but yet there was something about him that drew her to him. Perhaps it was his habit of speaking like he was quoting directly from a military manual, or maybe the fact he was loyal and honest to a fault, but Danse felt like a man she could trust with her life.

"I'm sure we can find a place that will sell us an old laser rifle," Quinn said. "I'll fix it up for you, if you like." Danse turned to her, an eyebrow raised.

"Do you know how energy weapons work?" he asked, his tone light as he tilted his head slightly to the side. There was a look in his eyes she couldn't quite place, but it reminded her of when she had set up a tool rack for Nate in his man shed.

"No." She flashed him a grin. "But I'm sure I can learn."

"Then... I look forward to the result."

Quinn laughed, and after a moment, he joined in. They continued on, side by side, as dawn began to break over the Commonwealth. Light rolled down the hills and the sky brightened to a murky yellow, so different from the brilliant golds and pinks of Quinn's memory. She stopped to watch it anyway, letting Danse stomp on for a few seconds before he realised she had lagged behind.

"Is there a problem, soldier?" He was frowning at her, but there wasn't a trace of annoyance on his face. Instead, he walked towards her, features softening as he drew closer.

He cares, thought Quinn. He really cares about the people he serves with. He really cares about...me? She shook her head. "Just...admiring the sky. It looks different from what I remember, but...still beautiful, in its own rugged way."

Danse looked up, shielding his eyes. "I had never thought about it like that before."

They stood in silence together, and Quinn hummed to herself as the sun crept higher, streaking the landscape with muted colour. An old Glenn Miller tune came to mind, and she let herself flow with the song, bobbing to and fro on her heels as she hummed.

"You...like music, don't you?" Danse asked. The question hung awkwardly in the air, as if he had been trying to fill a space that didn't exist. Quinn nodded anyway, deciding to spare him from embarrassment..

"Doesn't everyone?" she replied, tapping her fingers on her gun in time to the rhythm in her head.

"It is...enjoyable. But I've never made time for it outside of my time in the workshop."

Quinn vaguely remember Danse humming along to the radio as he had worked on the Prydwen, and she smiled. He couldn't hold a tune to save his life, but the image of him lost in his craft, a shimmer of pure, unstrained happiness etched into his handsome features as he worked, was something that brought her joy by proxy. It was the same way Nate's passion towards tinkering and coin collecting had made her happy. "You should make time for it. Music always helps me when I'm stressed, especially if I've had a really shitty day. There was this one song that I used to always put on when I was feeling down...A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square...the Glenn Miller version was my favourite. I used to beg Nate to dance with me to it, but he always said he was waiting for the right moment before he would…" Quinn's face dropped as her voice trailed off, lost in her thoughts of Nate. He had promised that he would dance with her to it, and never did. Was that his fault? Had he ever intended to dance, or had the war cut his plans short? Quinn shook her head and stomped past Danse; he stepped into line with her and threw her several glances as they walked on.

"This Nightingale song," he said eventually, "what does it sound like?"

She didn't answer at first. Humming a tune was fine when the mood was right, but all Quinn felt was hurt and on the spot. The words were just out of her reach, dancing between her fingers as she grasped for them. "I may be right…" she half mumbled, half sang, her face scrunched up in concentration, "...but I'm perfectly willing to swear, that when you turned and smiled at me, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square…"

There was a long silence. Somehow, they had both stopped walking again, though Quinn didn't remember how. Danse was staring at her, wearing an odd expression on his face. All the seriousness had melted away, the lines of leadership smoothing out into something gentle, a hint of admiration nestled just beneath the surface. "That was-" he began, and then froze, staring over Quinn's shoulder with widening eyes as he pulled his gun up.

"Wha-?" Quinn began, but Danse hissed for her to be quiet as he crouched down low. Confused, she copied him and looked out to the hills on the horizon. A dark shape was stood towards the west, large and hulking, with long legs, even longer arms, and a great pair of horns on its head. It scratched at the ground with a set of monstrous claws, sniffing and moving their way.

"It's following our scent," Danse whispered, putting his helmet on with a clunk. "We need to go now."

"Do we?" Quinn watched it move with some interest. It reminded her of a dog a little; the way it licked its lips as put its snout to dirt, its tail twitching every time something caught its attention. Of course, this was only a temporary state - she had fought a deathclaw back at Concord, not long after she had staggered blindly out into the Wasteland, grief-stricken and disorientated from her cryo pod. Their might was not to be ignored...and yet she had managed that one single handedly in power armour whilst fighting raiders at the same time. Danse was here with her, and he was far more experienced than she was. She told him this as she put her own helmet on. Danse shook his head.

"That's no ordinary deathclaw," he said as the two of the crept away to the south, slinking past rusted old cars and cracked roads. It was surprising how quiet Danse could be in his armour when he really wanted to. The stomps had been muffled to dull thuds. "That's an older one. You can tell by the colour and size. I don't know what you fought on your own, but any deathclaw is a battle for your life, power armour or not. And a lone male...the males usually travel in packs. A mature male on its own means it was too nasty even for other deathclaws."

"How can you tell it's male?"

"The horns. They're facing forward."

Quinn followed him in silence, pondering exactly how he knew the ins and outs of deathclaw anatomy; she supposed he'd been chatting with Senior Scribe Neriah about the various critters the Wasteland had to offer. That seemed like something he would do: learning everything he could before going into a situation. Or maybe it was common Wastelander knowledge that she was not privy to; the feeling of being an outsider returned to her in full force as they shuffled on.

It was only when they reached an old crossroad, choked with weeds and cars, that Danse relaxed again. He paused, scanning the landscape above them for signs of life, and then stood up. "I think it's gone the other w-"

A thundering roar echoed across the empty hills, and their eyes snapped simultaneously to the same spot. At the top of the hill was the deathclaw. Its arms were extended out as if inviting them into a deadly embrace, its body tilted forward and its mouth wide open as it unleashing its harrowing scream at them. Quinn had barely raised her weapon when it was upon them. Its speed was incredible, rushing down the slope without so much as a stagger; this, coupled with the sheer size of it - oh fuck it's so much bigger up close - was enough to make her realise Danse was right. But Quinn had no time to dwell on this - it lunged forward in one giant leap and took a swipe at her.

Had not been for Danse dragging her to the side at the last second, her head would have been taken clean off her shoulders. Had it not been for her power armour, she would have been sliced in two. The blow pieced the metal and struck the soft body encased within as it lifted her off her feet, ripping her from Danse's grip and sending her hurtling into a nearby car. The landing knocked the wind out of her, and she hit her head on the interior of her helmet. Her side felt like fire, a wet, sticky feeling growing as she lay there on the crumpled roof, staring up at the sky. It was a steely blue now, heavy and grim, with a dash of colour. What a mediocre thing to see before I die.

"Quinn, get up!"

Danse's voice was a jolt of electricity coursing through her body. Her brain screamed for her to move, and she rolled off the car and fell with a heavy crash. She got to her feet with an unexpected quickness, surprised to see she had kept hold of her gun. The deathclaw was considering her, ignoring Danse despite his gunfire. Quinn was the smaller prey, the weaker prey. Danse was little more than an annoyance to be dealt with. She was the target. It circled towards her while she tried to put the car between them. Then, with an almost deliberate slowness, it extended its arms and prepared to leap again, but Danse was running towards it from its side, still firing frantically, yelling, anything to catch its attention, and it was working. Apparently deathclaws were not immune to irritation, and this one was getting ready to swat the source. Quinn's eyes flicked to a pile of cars directly behind the beast.

Quinn didn't know where the idea came from. Whether she had been inspired by a flash of genius, pure stupidity, or the simple pressures of a 10-foot lizard with scythe-like hands batting her around the Commonwealth like a pro tennis player, the result was the same: Quinn pulled a grenade from the pouch at her waist and threw it. It soared through the air, straight past Danse's head, and rolled under the nearby pile of cars. Danse made a noise that sounded suspiciously like "Oh da-" and dove out of the way as it went off. The bang made the deathclaw turn towards the noise, and the paladin took the opportunity to sprint over to Quinn, grabbing her arm. Her heart was hammering in her chest as the deathclaw looked back at them again, a low growl in its throat. Well that didn't have the effect I-

There was a blinding flash and force that sent them both flat on their backs. Quinn looked up in time to see a burning inferno engulfing the deathclaw, before a large pickup truck tumbled down from the heavens and landed on it with a satisfying crunch.

"Take that, you fucker!" Quinn yelled, shaking her fist at it. A pair of metal hands grabbed it and pulled, dragging her to her feet.

"Come on!" Danse yelled, pulling her with him. The two of them ran for their lives, Danse hauling Quinn along with all his might while she clutched at her side. A building began to take shape in the distance, while behind them the enraged roars of the deathclaw became fainter as smoke and flame blocked it from view. Quinn could feel herself lagging behind, the pain almost unbearable. She was holding Danse back, but he kept a firm grip on her as he led the way. "Good move, soldier," he said, slowing a little as they reached the open yard of the complex. Quinn gasped for breath. "Quick thinking, even if it was reckless. Not that I'm complaining. We can hide in here and-"

Two things interrupted him. The first was the distant sound of the deathclaw wrenching itself free of the twisted remains of the truck, the crash of metal and its furious howls cutting through the crackle of fire. The second was a turret locking onto their position and unleashing a flurry of bullets down on them. Quinn's legs felt like they would give out at any second as she crashed through a crumbling section of the building, barely aware of signs scattered about the site that read 'National Guard Training Ground.' The terrible calls of the deathclaw were gaining on her, mingling with the sound of gunfire; she didn't want it to be the last thing she heard.

The turret ceased fire, the clatter of shells almost musical in the eerie silence. Quinn pressed herself up against the wall, aware of how loud her breathing was. Where was Danse? Had it got him? The thought was so awful, she pushed it away with fierce determination. No, Danse would be fine. He had to be fine. She couldn't lose another.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The noise felt so deliberate, Quinn wondered if it was toying with her. Were deathclaws capable of playing with their food? The scratches were getting closer, each tap ramping up her heart rate by another degree. With an agonising slowness, a long, yellowed claw curved around the wall, brick dust sprinkling down as the razor-sharp tip scraped along the rough surface. Quinn could hear the creature's breath rattling in the back of its throat, a deep, guttural sound that cleaved through the silence.

A loud scream made Quinn jump; the claw withdrew with such force, it left deep gouges in the wall. More screams joined the chorus. The deathclaw stomped right past to meet the hoard of feral ghouls that swarmed toward it, its tail whipping from side to side and taking chunks out of the brickwork. Quinn looked at the ridges of its enormous back, praying it wouldn't turn around. Ghoul after ghoul lurched across the training yard with frenzied speed, throwing themselves at the towering, lizard-like creature. Although each powerful swipe delivered by the deathclaw was enough to cut any ghoul too close clean in two, the others seemed unfazed, clambering onto it as they gnashed their teeth and beat their fists on its scaly hide. The deathclaw lumbered forward as the ghouls latched onto it, and Quinn, feeling weak at the knees, slowly backed away. The vision of Shaun and Nate was gone, and a small, guilty part of her longed for it to return.

"Soldier!" a voice hissed at her, their hand clamping down on her arm. It took all her self control not to cry out; she turned to find Paladin Danse holding onto her, crouched down. Relief flooded through her, so strong she could have hugged him there and then. Instead, she let him pull her away, the clanking of their armour barely audible over the roar of the battle behind them. They moved around the building, Danse making sure they were out of sight of the nearby turrets, and Quinn keeping an eye on the ghouls, who were being obliterated with frightening efficiency.

"Danse," Quinn said in a low voice, "as soon as that thing is done with them, it'll be after us again. Do you have a plan?"

"I always have a strategy prepared."

That sounded more like code for, I'm going to utterly bullshit my way through this, but I don't want you to know that. Quinn didn't care. Whatever got them out alive was fine by her. The main entrance was open and they slipped inside without incident.

The smell of rot and damp was overwhelming; the years had not been kind to this place. Rubble littered the floor in high, uneven mounds, moldy recruitment posters and prewar junk strewn haphazardly across the little hills and valleys of plaster and brick. Dust hung heavy in the air, swirling in agitation at the intruders of the ruin. In one of the other rooms there was a rotting desk, with a skeleton slumped onto it. Quinn wondered what their last thoughts had been before the bombs had snuffed out their life. Fresh bodies also occupied the floor; ghouls, some with their limbs splayed out, others curled up in a fetal position. Danse held out a hand to keep her quiet.

"They're still alive," he whispered so low that Quinn almost didn't hear him. "Look." He pointed at the nearest one. Its chest was rising and falling ever so slightly, fingers caressing the debris beneath its palms with the smallest of movements. Danse carefully drew out a combat knife from the sheath on the leg of his armour and nodded towards a nearby maglock door with a terminal next to it. "If we can get through that and seal it behind us, we may be able to wait out the deathclaw. But we have to work fast. I saw you hack into a terminal at the police station when we first met. Give that one a try while I exterminate these...things."

Quinn nodded and edged around the ghoul, wincing as her armour made its usual creaks and clunks. The ghoul stirred, but didn't open its eyes, and moments later, Danse had crouched forward and ended its life with the quick slash of his blade. The efficiency he wielded it made Quinn slightly uncomfortable, but she pressed on, turning her attention to the terminal. She hadn't realised that Danse had seen her creeping about the old police station, all that time ago. It felt like an age now. It was a comfort to know that he had no intention of asking her exactly what she had been doing there, as that would have raised awkward questions about Nick. Valentine had been with her that day, lurking out of sight the second he saw the Brotherhood was present; helping them had really been the only option as far as Quinn was concerned. Nick needed information that was on a terminal in the station, and as he couldn't get it without revealing himself, it had fallen on Quinn to do the legwork. Now here she was, deeper in the Brotherhood than she ever thought she would be, and torn between their ideals and her own.

Christ, she thought as she bent over the terminal and began typing away, think about the task at hand. It's not the time for soul searching. Hacking was a lot more difficult in the power armour, but Danse would remove his damn uniform hood before she got out of her armour with a deathclaw on the prowl. She chuckled quietly to herself as she worked, trying to remember the tips and tricks Mark had taught her in college to negotiate her way through the system. Hacking the systems to try and find the exam questions beforehand had been a hobby of Quinn's - not that she ever used the answers herself. The black market for cheating helped her pay her way through her law degree, or at least the social life side of it. In the end, it had pissed Mark off pretty bad when she had surpassed his own skills and taken on a little enterprise of her own. We stayed together all that time...I think we surprised ourselves with that one, never mind anyone else. Still, he could have gotten her expelled if he'd really wanted to, but he never spoke out against her, even after their last fight. Good kid, really.

The terminal flashed and bright green characters filed across the black screen; she'd cracked it. She heard Danse murmur "outstanding" from somewhere behind her. Quinn bit back a laugh as she went on, bypassing the simple open command; it was better to open the door after she went through the complex fiddling to set the door on a timer so that it shut behind them. If deathclaw could follow them across the hills by scent alone, it would follow them into this building. She wasn't about to leave it an easy path to its next meal. To her right, there was a familiar rattling noise, and the handle to front double doors started to shudder down.

"Quinn, we're out of time," Danse hissed. "Quietly get the door open n-"

"Are you shitting me?" Quinn yelled, mashing at the keys of the terminal as panic shot through her. "That fucking thing can open doors?!" (1)

The maglock door sprung open as the deathclaw burst into foyer, its body filling up the room, spines and horns scraping against the edges of the hole in the ceiling. It lunged forward as Danse practically body slammed Quinn through the doorway, both of them crashing through the wooden door on the other side and sending fragments of wood and splinters everywhere. She shrieked with pain, clutching at her side. Danse rolled off Quinn and pointed his gun, but before the deathclaw could reach for them, the maglock door slammed shut. The deathclaw howled, throwing its weight against the reinforced mesh fencing around the maglock door, but to Quinn's relief, it held. She had no idea what the army had been using in their fences prior to the war, but it was saving their lives now.

Danse's arm hooked under hers, throwing it awkwardly over his shoulder, and they set off down the corridor in a loud and clunky fashion. If the deathclaw decided to go outside and look for another way in, it would find it here. The walls were filled with holes, the external turrets clearly visible through them, and the windows were simply decaying frames with dirty, broken panes. A ghoul was waiting for them at the other end, but was quickly dispatched by a single shot from Quinn's pistol. She stepped over its head, the back of it splattered all over the faded linoleum floor, and grimaced as they moved into the barracks.

A/N: Thanks to dragonifyoudare for their invaluable beta services. They're truly amazing and help me so much.

(1): Basically my reaction the first time a deathclaw opened a door and walked into a room I was hiding in while I was playing Fallout 3.