Promises
"One room for two, please," Quinn said, pressing down the caps on the desk. "Twin beds, if possible."
Clair Hutchins raised an eyebrow as she looked from Quinn to Danse and back again. "Magnolia will be disappointed." She put down a set of keys and scooped up the caps into her bony hand.
"Christ, has everyone heard about that?" Quinn muttered, snatching up the keys and stomping away. Danse followed her, frowning.
"What does she mean, 'Magnolia will be disappointed'?" Danse asked. There was an edge to his tone that Quinn didn't like.
"Why do you want to know, paladin?" she said icily. Magnolia was not a topic she cared to discuss.
There was a pause. "Forget I said anything."
The rest of the trip was taken in silence, only broken by the noise of the key as Quinn unlocked the door and stepped inside, Danse at her heels. She moved to the corner of the room, climbed out of her power armour, and stretched, before leaning against it. "About Magnolia…"
"If you don't want to talk about it-" Danse said, standing near the window that overlooked Goodneighbor.
"I think I should," she interrupted, staring at the floor. "I'd rather my senior officer didn't get the wrong impression about me."
"What you do in your spare time is no concern of mine, Knight."
"So why did you ask?" Quinn folded her arms and waited for an answer, but none was given. She pulled a face and said, "Exactly. You want to know, and I don't want you making assumptions." Quinn took a deep breath, still not looking at him. "But like most of my embarrassing stories, I was horrendously drunk at the time…"
"Whitechapel! Another drink, my good man!" Quinn slumped forward on the bar, propping herself up with one elbow, her free hand spinning the dirty shot glass in front of her. It was packed in the Third Rail, but Quinn had a talent of getting herself a permanent position at the front of the bar. She hummed along with the singer in the corner, admiring the way her red dress clung to her curves.
Whitechapel Charlie, a Mr Handy robot with a bowler hat perched jauntily on his body, floated over, a bottle of whiskey at hand. "Aint'cha ever heard of the word please?" he said in his gravelly, cockney-accented voice, but he poured her another shot all the same. Quinn tossed him a few caps with a grin and knocked back the drink, shivering with delight at the burn.
"Who's the singer?" she asked as she slid her shot glass forward again.
"That is Magnolia," Whitechapel Charlie replied, refilling it. "The flower of the Third Rail. Anything you want to know about her other than that is her business."
"Magnolia, hmm?" Quinn turned to watch the singer fully now, still humming to the music. It was a slow number, smooth and sexy, Magnolia's voice dripping with honey and spice. The words seemed to flow, washing over her, whisking Quinn away from her problems. For the first time since she had stepped out of the vault, Nate and Shaun left her mind.
Nick sidled up to her, taking one look at her face and-
"Nick?" Danse said, his brow furrowing. "Who's Nick?"
"He's a friend of mine," Quinn said quickly, deciding to gloss over the minor detail that, as Nick was a synth, Danse would see him as the bringer of the apocalypse. "Real nice guy. Assisted me in tracking down the man who stole my son and murdered my husband, and helped me put a bullet in his head."
"He sounds…" Danse fumbled for the word, "...thorough."
"Damn straight he is," Quinn said proudly.
Nick sidled up to her, taking one look at her face and frowning. "Quinn, haven't you had enough to drink?"
"Probably," Quinn replied, a crooked grin on her face, "but I'm here to forget, Valentine, and nothing works better than whiskey."
"Look, kid," Nick said, pulling up a bar stool and sitting down next to her, "you've gone through a lot in a short space of time. With Nate and Shaun and...you've gone through a lot. I understand why you're drinking, I really do; I was - I mean, Nick, the real Nick - was the same after Jen. But if you're not careful, you might end up doing something you regret." He glanced up at Magnolia and muttered under his breath, "Or someone…"
Quinn rested her hands onto her lap, staring at the empty shot glass cupped between them. "I know," she mumbled. "I know. But I don't want to think right now. I just want to listen," she lifted the glass and tipped the last few drops of whiskey into her mouth, "to drink, and to admire." Quinn nodded at Magnolia.
Nick sighed and slipped off his stool, stepping back. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. Just...try not to get carried away."
"Oi, Valentine," Whitechapel Charlie said, pouring whiskey into the shot glass that Quinn was waving in front of him, "you not buyin', then?"
"Charlie, the day that swill of yours touches my lips is the day you stop watering it down." Nick tipped his hat to Quinn and left without another word.
"Prick," Whitechapel Charlie grumbled, refilling Quinn's glass. He bobbed on the spot as she drank it down like purified water, and then moved away when she held out her glass again. "Look, normally I don't refuse a payin' customer, but Valentine's right; you've had enough, mate."
"Why do you care?" Quinn snapped, sipping out the last few, precious drops of amber liquid from the bottom of the glass. "Caps are caps."
"Because pissheads like you get nasty, and the last thing I need is another bar fight this week, especially while Magnolia's here. When you sober up, you can have another one." The robot floated away to the other customers before Quinn could cuss him out.
"Fuckin' asshole." Quinn set her glass down and quietly sang along to the music, ignoring the glares and complaints of other patrons trying to reach past her to the bar. This was her spot; they'd have to shoot her and drag her away before she'd move an inch.
Magnolia's song ended, but Quinn continued to hum to herself, her head swimming. She felt composed, but also disconnected, as if she wasn't entirely in control of herself. The singer sauntered past, the crowd parting like she had just said 'open, sesame', and climbed into the bar stool Nick had recently vacated. Quinn glanced over to her and beamed.
"Excuse me, miss?" she said, surprised at the lack of slur in her voice. She'd drunk enough whiskey to poison a small elephant.
Magnolia looked at her, wearing an entertainer's smile: polite, but wary. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you didn't like the song."
Quinn shook her head. "I loved the song. It was perfect."
"Oh, thank you. A girl tries her best!" Magnolia chuckled, but Quinn could see she was still guarded, sizing her up. But then Magnolia tilted her head to one side, her expression deepening. Quinn waited.
Magnolia leaned forward, her voice low and husky. "Now there's something special about you, isn't there? Don't tell me. Let me guess." She paused. "Ahh, that's it, you have that 'I'm the smartest one here and I know it' posture. There's something so irresistible about intelligence. Don't you think?"
Quinn flashed her a mischievous grin. "You tell me."
"So what brings a woman like you to my part of town?"
"Music," Quinn said without hesitation, "I could never resist a good song. Plus the whiskey isn't half bad either."
"A woman after my own heart then." The response was simple, but there was true delight in Magnolia's tone. Perhaps she sensed the honesty in Quinn's answer. "So, it's my turn to answer questions, right? What can I do for you?"
Quinn stared at her, imagining lying in a bed with someone to hold. Someone warm and real and there. She took the plunge. "I was wondering if we could get to know each other better."
"Oh really?" Magnolia looked pleasantly surprised. "Go on…"
"You. Me. An evening walk under the street lights…"
"And then what?" purred Magnolia.
"And then what?" asked Danse, eyes wide. It might have been the fault of the lighting in the room, but Quinn could have sworn there was a dull flush creeping up his cheeks; she could certainly feel the heat radiating off her own.
"And then…" Quinn covered her face with her hand.
her helpless hands beat on the frosted glass, Nate's accusing eyes staring at her from his cryo pod. He lies crumpled in place, blood frozen around his wound, eyes staring staring staring...
Quinn stood up so quickly, the stool she had been sat on skidded across the floor. She staggered back into another customer, who pushed her forward hard; she nearly bowled Magnolia over. The ring at her neck was heavy with guilt, dragging her to the floor, but somehow Quinn found the strength to stay on her feet. She caught the singer's eye and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't. I just...I…"
Nearly gasping for breath now, she shoved the other drinkers out of the way and stumbled off towards the entrance, leaving Magnolia alone at the bar. The alcohol was finally hitting her, but the rising panic and shame was far worse than the world spinning beyond her grasp. What the hell was she trying to do? Nate was lying dead in some vault, his ring burning around her neck, and she had almost-
As Quinn reached the fresh air outside, her feet became tangled beneath her, and she went sprawling. She didn't care; she lay in the street and bawled into the filth that surrounded her. A pair of strong, firm hands grasped at her arms, pulling her up with fluid ease and guiding her along the road.
"Come on, kid," said the voice of Nick Valentine. "Let's get you to bed."
Quinn's cheeks were burning, her hand still covering her face. So long as she stayed away from the Third Rail, she could avoid Magnolia - but everyone else...they all knew. They all saw. It didn't matter how understanding Nick had tried to be about it, how much Hancock tried to brush it away, it had happened. Quinn would never live it down. Her hand reached for the string at her neck of its own accord, tugging out the ring and turning it over in her fingers.
"What's that?" Danse asked her.
Quinn looked down, realising what she'd done, and clamped her hand over the ring to conceal it, putting it back under her clothes. "Nothing," she said hurriedly. She quickly changed the subject back. Humiliation was better than discussing that. "But I hope you understand now that it's not...Magnolia wasn't…"
"I can see why you didn't want to talk about it," Danse said quietly, moving towards her and closing the distance. "And I know that some alcohol-fuelled memories are...best left forgotten. Let's talk about something else." He glanced around the room and raised an eyebrow. "Like why you booked a shared room, soldier?"
He was teasing her and she knew it, but her face took on a fresh blush. Quinn straightened up, hands on hips, attempting her best 'don't-question-me-I'm-200-years-your-senior' look, her stern gaze faltering as Danse grinned at her. She dropped her arms and shrugged. "You were apprehensive about being here, and as you took a fair beating earlier, I thought you might be on edge." Quinn folded her arms, leaning back on her power armour again. "You are going to get a decent night's sleep tonight, and I am going to stay on watch to keep you at ease."
The colour drained from Danse's face as his smiled faded. "That won't be necessary."
"Maybe, but it's gonna' happen anyway." She pointed to the bed. "You've barely had a few hours sleep since we left the Prydwen. It's not healthy for you, and I don't want to worr-" Quinn coughed. "I don't want to be constantly watching your ass, making sure you're not about to doze off in the middle of a fight."
Danse's eyes flicked to the bed and back to her, the discomfort growing in his expression as he remained rooted on the spot. It was time for a new tack.
"Look," Quinn said, righting herself again and walking towards him, "I know last time you went to sleep it was...disturbed. I don't know what's on your mind; that's your business. But I know Nate had something similar when he came home from the war, and it was difficult for him to sleep. So I won't ever judge you for your demons, Danse. Just tell me what you need from me to help. If I see you tossing and turning, do you want me to wake you up, or leave you be?"
Danse considered this. "Leave me be. I don't want to risk hitting you," he paused, "or nearly breaking my hand again."
Quinn laughed and then motioned to the bed. "Get some rest, paladin. You've earned it."
He gave a small nod, his features knotted together in a weary, worried expression as he stepped back and climbed out of his armour before making his way over the bed. Danse dropped heavily onto it, staring at the wall, and then spoke. "Would it be possible to speak...off the record for a moment?"
"Off the record?" What was this about? "That's not like you, Danse."
"Which is why this is going to be difficult to say, so I'd appreciate it if you bear with me." Danse stared blankly ahead for a moment longer, apparently composing himself. Then he turned to her, his face riddled with anxiety. "When you were first placed under my sponsorship, I had some serious reservations about it. Despite all that, this has turned out to be a rewarding experience...for both of us. At this point, honestly, I don't feel like there's anything else I could teach you about being a Brotherhood soldier that you don't already know. It's apparent from your attitude and your actions that you intend to keep those ideals close to your heart."
Quinn frowned. He had said this to her this before and with much less unease attached to it. There was something else to this. "You're beating around the bush. Is there something you're trying to tell me?"
"Is it that obvious?" Danse rubbed the back of his neck, eyes now firmly at the floor. "I've...never been very good at these things. Let me start at the beginning. I grew up alone in the Capital Wasteland. Spent most of my childhood picking through the ruins and selling scrap. When I was a bit older, and had a few caps to my name, I moved into Rivet City and opened a junk stand. While I was there, I met a guy named Cutler. We got along pretty well, watched each other's backs, and kept each other out of trouble. When the Brotherhood came through on a recruiting run, we felt like it was the best way out of our nowhere lives, so we joined up."
"Rivet City?" The way he had said it sounded odd, like it was common knowledge. Perhaps it was. "Hm. Must be post-war, because I've never heard of it."
Danse nodded. "You're right. It was a settlement built inside the remains of a beached aircraft carrier. One of the safest places to live in the Capital Wasteland until the Brotherhood arrived. It was the perfect location for me to try my hand at being a merchant."
"I'm glad you had greater ambitions than just selling junk," Quinn said with a smile. She couldn't help herself. The image of Danse stood behind a market stand in full Brotherhood armour had popped into her head, and she couldn't get rid of it. Thankfully, Danse hadn't noticed her smirk.
"Once I saw what the Brotherhood had to offer, there was no comparison." He looked up, and Quinn quickly wiped away her smile. He continued, "Anyway, about a year after we were posted to the Prydwen, Cutler vanished on a scouting op. It took some convincing, but I was able to persuade my CO to let me assemble a squad and search for him. It took almost three weeks, but we tracked his team down to a Super Mutant hive. Those wretched abominations had slaughtered everyone but Cutler. He should have been so lucky. The mutant bastards used their FEV to change him into one of their own kind. He wasn't Cutler anymore. I had to...it was my duty to...put him down."
The pain in his voice cut her deep, distress pouring out of him from the old wound. For the first time since she'd met him, Quinn didn't know what to say. She made an attempt, regardless. "You did the right thing," she said. Even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow and meaningless.
"It's what I was taught. I don't know if it was right." Danse's tone was sharp, a deep scowl flickering across his features. Quinn stared at him, comprehension dawning on her.
It's what I was taught. I don't know if it was right.
The Slog, the ghouls, and Danse's attitude crashed together at the front of her mind, screaming at her. Had Danse always thought this way, or was it something he had been conditioned to think?
Danse let out a long breath and shook his head. "Ever since Cutler died, I've seen other soldiers come and go. Some were brave, some were honest...hell, some were even downright heroic. But I'd never consider any of them to be a good friend, a friend like Cutler was...until now." Finally, he caught her eye, his pale face breaking into a cautious smile. "It's a good feeling, but it frightens me all the same. Having a bond with someone then losing them...it changes you. I don't want to go through that again."
You're wrong, Quinn thought. It doesn't just change you; it ruins you. It tears you apart at a level so deep you realise you never knew what hurt was. But one look at Danse told her everything she needed to know - he had lost someone he had loved, even if it was a different kind of love to what she felt for Nate. Or maybe it had been the same. She would probably never know.
"It would never be that way with me...I care about you too much to let that happen," Quinn said. She stopped. What had she just said? What had she just said?
Danse seemed to be thinking the same thing. He stared at her for a moment, eyes wide with surprise and mouth hanging open. He shut it, swallowed, and opened it again; an odd croak fell from his lips, but no coherent words. Danse cleared his throat, the old flush growing under his stubble, and tried again. "I...I didn't know you felt that strongly about our...well, about us. I'm sorry if I seem...confused. You've certainly given me something to think about."
Quinn nodded, her throat tight, and turned back to her armour, struggling into it. The sooner she could hide her red face, the better. The armour swallowed her whole, granting a blessed barrier between her and Danse. When she faced him again, she felt stronger, untouchable.
Danse was looking at her, frowning, his hands fidgeting in his lap as a muscle in his jaw twitched. Eventually he said, "I just thought you deserved to know how I felt. If you feel that I've overstepped my bounds, I completely understand. Whatever the case may be, I appreciate the fact that you took the time to listen."
"Not all, paladin. Hopefully I didn't overstep my bounds either." Her voice sounded much more confident than she felt. Danse didn't reply to her. Shit. Deciding to take the nonchalant approach, Quinn went on, "Get some rest. I'm going to head into town and grab some supplies. That way, we can leave first thing in the morning."
If Danse had an issue with her abandoning her watch before she'd even started it, he didn't show it. If anything, he looked somewhat relieved.
"Ahh, cheer up, Quinn!" Hancock said, slapping her on the back of her power armour with a dull thud. His eyes bulged and he let out the noise of a mouse being trodden on, shaking his hand vigorously. "Fuckin'..."
Quinn chuckled, despite herself. She stomped alongside the mayor, helmet tucked under her arm, noting how the people threw him either a wary look or one of idolisation. He really had a good thing going here. Hancock gave her a roguish grin.
"There we go. Knew I could get a smile out of you." He stuck his hand in his coat pocket and walked alongside her. "When we're done here, how about we drop into the Third Rail? It's been a while since I had a drink amongst the people."
"No. I made enough of an idiot of myself on my last visit."
"You're still really sore about that, aren't you? Honestly, no one cares; it happens about three times a week around here."
"People keep bringing it up."
"Do they?" he said, his eyes narrowing. "Say the word and I'll-"
"I appreciate it, but no," Quinn interrupted. "I'm not one for special treatment. Let them talk; it'll pass eventually."
"Not one for special treatment? I find that hard to believe when you literally have the mayor of Goodneighbor as your personal shopping escort," Hancock retorted, smirking as he lit a cigarette.
"Can't a girl spend time with her favourite trouble-making ghoul while she indulges in a few purchases?" she said sweetly, though it was hard work to stop herself from laughing.
"Yeah, yeah," Hancock said, blowing smoke out from his nose cavity. "I love you too, you crazy bastard."
It was a welcome break from reality, Quinn decided as she trailed around Goodneighbor with Hancock, piling ammunition and stimpaks into his arms. She bought him a few chems for good measure, slipping them into his already stuffed pockets - "Heh, I always welcome donations to my backup stash" - and together they staggered back to the hotel.
"Could I ask another favour of you, please?" she said, taking some of the burden off him.
"Another one? Hmm. You might have to buy me some more jet for that," Hancock said, cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke. "What is it?"
"I need scrap for a project I'm building in Sanctuary Hills. Anything you can get me for the rest of my caps, delivered to Sanctuary as soon as possible."
"How many caps we talkin' here?" Quinn gave him the figure and he whistled. "You been drinking your way through the Commonwealth since I last saw you?"
"Something like that. So will you do it?"
"For you? Of course. So long as I get to join in on whatever fun you're planning later…"
Quinn forced a laugh. "Would I ever deny you the chance to cause mayhem?"
"I'd be heartbroken if you did…"
It had been difficult carrying everything back into the room quietly, not least because her power armour clanked with every damn step. Hancock sniggered at the paladin curled up into a small ball on the bed, his arms covering his face again.
"Well, look at Sleepin' Beauty…"
"Shh," Quinn said, carefully putting her stash down next to the desk and then exiting out of the armour. Danse stirred on the bed, but didn't wake. The sheets were thrown aside as if he had been struggling under them earlier. Creeping over, she lifted them up and fixed them gently back over Danse's shoulders.
Hancock watched her with interest. "What is it with you two? If I were in your shoes, I'd have made a move a long time ago."
Quinn straightened up, scowling, and pulled the ring out from under her shirt, shaking it in his direction. "Because of this," she hissed quietly. "Because of Nate. Because he's lying in some fucking vault with a bullet in his body, cold and alone, and here I am, just…" she clutched at her hair, pulling on it, her eyes pricking with tears again.
"Hey…" Hancock moved over and before she could protest, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Quinn tried to push him away, but Hancock held on, until eventually she gave in and clutched at his jacket, crying silently into his shoulder. It only took a few minutes for her to calm down, but Hancock waited patiently for her to finish. When she pulled away, he held up the hem of his coat with one hand for her dry her eyes , the other hand offering a jet inhaler. Quinn laughed and declined, rubbing her tears away with her own sleeve.
"God, I feel so guilty, and I don't know why." Quinn walked over to the desk and sat on it, Hancock watching her with a beady eye. She shrugged. "I know you think I like him that way. I don't. I don't. I just...I don't want to lose anyone else in my life. I want to appreciate the people I have left. Look after them."
"Okay, so you have nothing but pure, wholesome thoughts for him," Hancock said with a small shrug, a little smile on his face. "Nothing to feel ashamed about. Who cares what it looks like to anyone else? You keep doing you; fuck what anyone else thinks."
Quinn sat down on the desk, picking up an old gun she had purchased that day, and smiled at Hancock. "Thanks…" she stared down at the gun and sighed.
"Want me to leave you alone for now?"
She gave a small nod.
"Alright." Hancock swept his hat off and gave a little bow. "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't leave without saying goodbye." He gave a wink as he left, and to his credit, shut the door as quietly as possible.
Cutler
Danse awoke with a start, heart racing as Cutler's fingers loosened from around his neck. His chest heaved as the vision faded, and he sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow with trembling hands. His head was throbbing with pain; in the back of his mind, Knight Captain Cade's advice echoed, telling him it would be wise to remove himself from active duty. Danse had ignored him. This was nothing he couldn't handle. And yet in the last few weeks, it hadn't just been Cutler who visited him in his dreams. There were new faces, all familiar to him, members of his team he had let down. His decisions, his burden, and by god the ghosts knew it.
Danse took several deep breaths - in through the nose, out through the mouth - and leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. A childish part of him was afraid to close his eyes, in case they came back. Stupid. He tried to think of something else, but the only other thing that came to mind was what Quinn had said earlier, and his idiotic response.
I didn't know you felt so strongly about us.
About us? What us? Quinn hadn't mentioned an 'us.' There was no 'us.' Why had he brought up that 'us'? All she had said was, "I care about you too much to let that happen." What did that even mean? Certainly not an 'us.' But at the same time...no. She had meant it as friends, obviously. Which was right of her. Anything else would be against regulation, entirely inappropriate. Anything else would be taking advantage of his position as her supervisor and - why was he even thinking about it like this?
Well, at least he'd made a shoddy attempt to recover the situation and his professionalism. "If I've overstepped my bounds..." But then again, that sounded like he had taken the conversation in a different direction than he intended.
Why did he mention 'us'?!
Danse shook his head, feeling stupider by the second. At least the shakes were now under control. He looked forward again, paused, and then blinked.
At the foot of the bed, propped up in an old chair, was Quinn. Her combat rifle lay in her slackened hands, pointing vaguely towards the door. Her head was slumped forward, which gave Danse a jolt of panic, until he noticed her chest rising and falling gently. She was asleep. He watched her for a few moments, smiling. So much for her keeping watch. In any other situation, he would scold his team members for making such a thoughtless error; she should have woken him up if she was getting too tired. But with dread still bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, he found he just didn't care. He became immersed in Quinn's state of peace, studying every line on her face, every mark on her clothes and skin. Her calm was infectious, soothing him like no drink ever had.
An idea came to mind. He stood up, picking up the greying bedsheets, and walked over to her. With a steady, careful hand, he inched her gun away from her and placed it on the bed, before draping the sheet over her and delicately tucking it around her body. Danse picked her gun back up and turned to put it on the desk, before spotting something that made his heart jump into his throat.
Surrounded by old parts and tools, lay a laser rifle. Although it was obviously second hand, the case had been buffed to a beautiful shine, and it had been upgraded several times over. Danse put down Quinn's gun and picked up the rifle, inspecting it. Not only had it been modified with parts better than the ones he had used, but the workmanship was outstanding. Was this for him? She had said she would fix him up a new gun, and yet this looked too good to be for him. Maybe she had made it for herself and she was going to give him her old gun. Yes, that was it…
Danse went to set the gun back down, but caught the combat rifle he had put down in the process. It slipped off the surface and hit the floor with a loud thud; Quinn woke up with a snort.
"What?" she said, moving so violently she nearly tipped backwards out of her chair. Danse lunged and grabbed the front of her fatigues, yanking her forward so hard she fell into him. Danse quickly crouched down to catch her.
"Christ!" she exclaimed, clutching onto his arms. Quinn blinked a few times, coming to her senses, and looked down at who she was holding. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry." A deep blush spread across her face as she stood up, dusting herself down. Then she spotted the laser rifle in his hand. The red in her cheeks intensified, but a smile played across her lips as well. "Oh, you found your rifle, did you?"
"My...my rifle?" Danse looked down at the gun in his hands and back to her.
I care about you too much
"Yes, your rifle." Her smile was shy now and she looked down at her feet. "I said I'd fix one up for you."
"I...I didn't think you'd actually…" Danse swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." She was beaming at him, but he saw a twinkle of mischief. "And guess what else I got while I was out."
"What?" He had the strange feeling it would either terrify him or confuse him. Maybe even both. Quinn began digging through a pile of ammunition and stimpaks with far more glee than any sane person would do. It was then he saw the pile of mini nukes pushed up against the desk. "Soldier, have you had me sleeping next to a nuclear arsenal all this time?"
"Yup," Quinn replied cheerfully, pulling out something large and heavy from her hoard of Goodneighbor spoils. With a grunt, she shifted the Fat Man onto her shoulder and grinned wickedly at the paladin.
All Danse could manage was, "...why?"
"Because," Quinn said, practically bouncing on the spot, "there have been too many delays. Too much time wasted. And it's about time I showed the Commonwealth not to fuck with me."
A/N: Thank you to synthbutts from tumblr for their beta help!
I'm back at work again, so fic updates are going to slow down a fair bit. Sorry! Anyways, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I hope it was as enjoyable for you to read! And thank you again for all your lovely feedback!