WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR THE MAIN PLOT OF FALLOUT 4. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

The Father and the Son

"Everyone, keep a tight formation," Danse said in a low voice, crouched down as he reeled off his orders to his squad. "Marguerie, watch the rear. Cooper, you take point with me. The rest of you, follow and stay sharp. You've all fought them before; you know how fast they are. But they don't have our training. If you stay alert, you'll be fine...even if we find the worst in there."

He broke off. It would do no good to lose composure now. Not when they were so close. His team was counting on him. When Danse spoke again, his voice was blissfully steady.

"Look out for survivors, but don't compromise your own safety or the safety of the squad. We're not here for heroics. Shout out to the rest of us so we can secure them and keep them out of harm's way. If you find anyone who didn't make it, leave them and collect their tags after we have cleared the area. Understood?"

There was a sharp burst of confirmation, and Danse nodded. Then came a question he had been dreading.

"Paladin," Rachel Marguerie said, "what if they've been...turned?"

"Then we put them out of their misery."

If any of them were shocked by the coldness of his response, they didn't show it. Instead, they fell into their positions and moved in formation behind him as they entered the building.

There was a flash of white light, the slam of a heavy, metal door, and Danse found himself alone with nothing but a rifle and his uniform. Where was his armour? Where were the others? He tried the door behind him, but it was sealed shut. For some reason, this made perfect sense to him, and he knew he had to keep going forward. Raising his gun, Danse edged down the stairs.

Despite the darkness, he knew exactly where he was. The marketplace of Rivet City was unmistakable, the dim, flickering light above casting deep shadows in the empty stands and reflecting off the metal walls and ceiling. The usual tables and chairs were absent, and in their place was a lone, crumpled figure, dressed in fraying civilian clothes. He groaned and moved, turning his young face towards him.

"Cutler!"

Danse felt relief flood through him. Cutler was alive. Cutler was human. He could rescue him, locate his team, and retreat for the time being. There were others that needed to be found, but this was Rivet City, the safest settlement in the D.C. wasteland. Everything would be fine, so long as he removed Cutler now, before it was too late.

Too late for what?

As Danse stepped forward, a familiar voice whispered out to him.

"Kill him."

"What?" Danse looked around, but there was no one there. Shaking his head, Danse ran over to Cutler, putting down his gun as he knelt and shook his friend. "Cutler!"

Cutler looked older now, wearing a uniform like his, but still lying in the exact same position as before.

"Kill him."

The voice was back, closer and stronger than ever. Danse turned to see a formidable figure towering over him.

"You won't, will you?" said Paladin Krieg. "You won't do it. What an example to the others you are: sympathising with ghouls from the Slog, sparing a synth, and now this?"

Krieg gestured towards the body on the floor. "You always admired the security of my beliefs, but the moment yours come under scrutiny, you buckle? You're a disgrace."

"No!" The weight of his mentor's condemnation was too much to bear. "I'm loyal; I always have been. I stuck to the code even when I thought it could be wrong. I…" He glanced at Cutler, his insides freezing up.

I had to…

"You've abandoned your beliefs," Krieg pressed on. "The same way you've abandoned the Brotherhood."

New figures appeared around him, but he knew them all by name and face. Their final moments had been burned into his mind, the letters he had written to each of their families committed to memory.

Cassin. Blythe. Keane. Worwick. Brach. Dawes. Cutler.

"You let them die."

Danse bowed his head. "...I let them die."

"Your weakness cost them their lives. Your lack of faith in the Brotherhood will cost many more. You're unworthy to hold the rank of paladin."

Danse looked up at each of the men and women he had let down. They stared at him in silence, their faces blank and expressionless.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"And what of him?" Krieg continued, ignoring him as he pointed at Cutler. "If you'd pushed harder, you could have assembled a team earlier. If you'd been a competent leader, you could have found him sooner. If you'd been a better man, you could have saved him. It is your duty, soldier, to finish the job."

His stomach feeling like it was filled with lead, Danse moved to look at Cutler again, but something smashed into the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Before he could make sense of what was happening, a pair of big, yellow-green hands fastened around his neck, the thumbs pushing deep into his throat.

A wild, lipless face appeared in front of Danse's, the crazed eyes darting from side to side as its teeth gnashed at him. Danse pushed back, and the teeth narrowly missed his nose. He caught a glimpse of a tattered Brotherhood uniform hanging off its limbs, and the flash of a set of dog tags tight around the monster's meaty neck. Even in the height of his panic, Danse saw the word 'Cutler' stamped into the metal.

With a gasp that wracked his entire body, Danse woke. He panted, chest heaving as he struggled for air, feeling Cutler's presence slowly drift away to the recesses of his mind. Something stirred in his arms, and he glanced down to see Quinn lying on her front, staring up at him blankly. Danse blinked and realised he was hugging her tight, the way a child would hold a favourite toy.

"S-sorry," he stammered, releasing her, but she didn't move, and continued to look at him.

"The nightmares?" she asked after a few beats of silence.

Danse nodded, wiping the sweat away from his face, as he took deep, steadying breaths. The shaking would stop soon. His eyes met Quinn's, and a rush of affection washed over him, making him want to hold her again. Danse restrained himself. She'd been through enough already.

But still, Quinn did not move. She continued to watch him, her face hollow and desolate. He squirmed on the spot, a twinge of concern sparking inside of him. This was worse than the screaming rage she had been in earlier; at least then there had been a driving force, a sign that she lived and breathed. Now there was nothing.

"Quinn?"

Quinn placed a hand on his chest and pushed herself upright, still staring at him with empty eyes. They drifted over him, searching without seeing. Something flashed across them, so brief Danse barely caught it.

Need.

Her fingers played with the fabric of his uniform, snagging at it as she turned and faced him fully. Her other hand joined the fray, balancing her as she shifted her weight onto her knees, never breaking eye contact, never changing her expression.

Danse clenched his fists nervously, his heart thundering away so loudly it was a wonder it didn't wake up the entire settlement. Unease crept over him as Quinn's hands slid to his shoulders, sending shivers down his spine while his stomach twisted in a mixture of anticipation and dread.

What the hell is she doing?

Quinn leaned forward, her gaze boring into him, until he could feel her breath tickling his skin. She stopped mere inches from him, so close to his face the slightest movement would cause them to touch. Danse dug his fingers into the floor, unable to look away from her. He tried to think, but all that came up was static. Quinn stayed where she was; still, but uncomfortably close. And yet she didn't try to move away either. It seemed she had gone as far as she was able, teetering on the edge.

The next move was his.

An eternity stretched out between them as Danse fumbled inside his head. Was he really considering this? More importantly, why was she? The frantic thudding in his chest was distracting him almost as much his discomfort. And yet...what would her lips feel like pressed against his?

From the depths of his mind, Krieg's words surfaced, lashing out like a whip.

Your weakness cost them their lives. Your lack of faith in the Brotherhood will cost many more.

This was wrong. It was clear from the look on Quinn's vacant, unfocused eyes that she was here in body, but not in mind. Not only that, but there was the issue he had been ignoring for some time now.

Quinn was not the same as him. She didn't hold his beliefs, as much as he liked to pretend to himself that she did, and her dedication was questionable at best. Romance was not forbidden amongst the ranks - people working together so closely were bound to develop feelings for each other - but Danse could only see it ending in disaster. His life was the Brotherhood - everything he had, everything he was, everything he was ever going to be, was tied to its ideals and to the cause it championed. It was his home, his family...the things he had never had in his childhood.

Quinn worked for the good of the Brotherhood, but she had proven time and time again that when pressed, her loyalty would waver.

How often had she challenged him now? First ghouls, then synths...there was only so long it could be ignored, as much as he cared about her. She may have the Brotherhood's ideals at heart, but she was willing to bend them, sometimes even break them. As her friend, he was proud that she strived to do so much good, but as a paladin, he would not have allowed it from anyone else. He was making exceptions for her when he knew he should be putting her in her place. She was becoming his Achilles' heel, whether he liked it or not.

I am not weak. I am loyal.

Certainty flooded back into him as he took hold of her shoulders and gently - but firmly - pushed her away.

"No."

It was as if someone had turned a light on inside Quinn's head. All at once, she snapped back into being, finally aware of her surroundings. Confusion crossed her face, mingled with what Danse could only identify as relief.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, putting a hand to her forehead.

"There's no need to apologise," Danse replied, wishing he had something better to say. "You're not yourself, not since you returned from the-"

"I shouldn't have…this is Magnolia all over again," Quinn babbled over him, not listening. "I just...I need...it hurts."

The mask cracked, tears spilling down her cheeks, and suddenly she was in his arms again, sobs racking her body. This time, however, Danse felt slightly more prepared, and he let her cry it all out.

His mind was whirring. This is Magnolia all over again. Was that all it had been - a fleeting moment of insanity because she wasn't over Nate? He supposed he should be relieved, reassured that their friendship wasn't in jeopardy, but instead Danse simply felt stung. At least he knew where he stood with her. And yet the image of her face, inches away from his own, would not leave his head. Even as she bawled into his chest, his thoughts lingered on what could have happened.

A daydream began to play, in which he had taken the next step. The very thought of it made his stomach writhe - despite his insistence to himself that it was not right, that it would cause ruin, Danse had no idea if he had wanted it. But that was irrelevant; he wasn't convinced Quinn had wanted it either. Regardless of his personal feelings on the matter, if he had allowed himself that moment of weakness, he would have been taking advantage of her current vulnerable state. Whatever had happened at the Institute had struck a terrible blow on her.

It didn't take long for Quinn to calm down; the sudden change in her mood unnerved him a little. She kept switching from one extreme to another with no consistency in the pattern. Danse tried to sit up, letting his arms fall to his sides, but she clung to him. This had to stop now. He was not going to be her replacement for Nate, and he was not going to let personal feelings compromise his commitment to the Brotherhood.

"Quinn-"

"Just until morning. Please."

Danse considered this, glancing out of the hole in the wall. The sky was still dark outside, though he suspected it wouldn't be long until splashes of colour appeared on the horizon. What were a few hours more? He was just trying to support her after all, especially since that synth had gone back on his word and not reappeared after he'd left the house. It occurred to Danse that perhaps the synth had checked on them while they had been asleep, but he found it much easier to simply disregard the machine's efforts as non-existent.

But...

Krieg's words were still playing over in his head. They were only the echoes of a dream, but they still rang true. He was letting himself slip, allowing himself to fall away from everything he had been taught. However, the thought of facing his demons alone until daybreak sent a cold shiver through him. Quinn's presence was...comforting.

Danse made a disgruntled, muttering sound, but didn't try to force her away. They sat in silence, his arms trailing awkwardly on the floor. Where would they go from here? They had to head back to the Prydwen eventually, but whether Quinn was in any fit state to fight her way across the Commonwealth was another matter entirely. He supposed she would want to stay here for a while with her...friends. Danse pulled a face. He could not see the appeal of friendship with a machine and walking corpse. The sooner they returned to the Brotherhood, the sooner he could try to convince her that the synth and the ghoul would turn on her eventually.

Well, that would come with time. Unless Elder Maxson assigned him elsewhere, he had no intention of parting ways with Quinn. They made a good team, and when the abominations showed their true colours, he knew he'd be there to put them down for good. She wouldn't face them alone.

Without thinking, Danse put his hand on Quinn's waist.

She flinched beneath his palm, and Danse snapped back to his senses. He had just told her no. What was he doing? His hand jerked away as if he'd been burnt, mumbling a hurried apology, but Quinn seized his fingers, pulling his arm so that it lay across her body.

Danse tensed. Thoughts were whirling around his head, an edge of panic creeping in now. Where was the resolve that had served him so well over all these years? Where was his sense of duty and professionalism? Where did his loyalties lie?

But then he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

"Just until morning?" he asked quietly.

"Just until morning," Quinn repeated.

Danse didn't reply, but he tightened his arm around her, holding her close.

Neither of them slept again that night. Quinn could tell from the way he breathed, from the lack of nightmares. Was he afraid to sleep?

She knew she was.

Every time Quinn shut her eyes, the dark returned, scratching at the confines of her mind. The Institute lurked, waiting for a moment of weakness, before striking her down with her new memories. Every lapse of her concentration delivered the image of the little boy, his back pressed against his cell wall as he tried to get as far away from her as possible. The look of fear he had given her was burned into her brain. But of course, that child had been destined to see her as a stranger. Father, on the other hand…

Quinn pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the rise and fall of Danse's chest. Any other time, she would have been mortified at what had happened, but instead she felt nothing. Quinn supposed she should be worried about this, but again, all she felt was an expectation of an emotion, rather than the emotion itself. It had all been a blur since her talk with Father, her return to Sanctuary nothing but a frenzied, furious mess. Now a blanket of numb was draped over her, suffocating out any feeling that could cause her harm. But what else was there? She no longer had the goal of Shaun to strive towards.

There's nothing worth saving here, Quinn thought blandly. Nothing matters anymore.

Time stretched out before her as the minutes ticked by. Nate dominated her thoughts; her version of him hated her for what she had tried to do with Danse, and despised her even more for allowing what had happened to their son. Anger rolled off the Nate in her head as he pointed an accusing finger at her, before turning his back on her for good.

The world no longer felt real for Quinn, the crushing weight of despair held back only by the null that now consumed her. She had only felt this kind of desolation once before, when her father had walked out on them when she was thirteen. The comparison was almost enough to make her laugh, and yet Quinn could not deny that the feelings of helplessness were the same.

What was strange, though, was the fluctuation of her mental state. She had expected to stay detached, and yet instead it had been a rollercoaster of emotions, throwing her through highs of misery and lows of apathy. Despite her grief, her moments with Danse had provided an odd calm, different from the cool indifference that had been trying to choke her. It was as if his presence was piercing the veil and allowing the warmth back into her flesh, making everything real again. It hurt - God, it hurt so much - but it was a pain that told her she was alive. Surely Nate could forgive her for that?

"What happened in the Institute?"

Danse's question hung in the air, a guillotine blade on a fraying rope. Quinn had wondered when his curiosity would get the better of him, but he had lasted longer than she'd expected. She licked her lips; how the hell was she supposed to explain this? Danse would hate her. He would hate her.

"Sixty," she said. The rest of her words failed to appear, catching in her throat as her head clouded. Saying it aloud to someone was confirming it, setting it in stone. If she continued, it would become Truth. Could she accept it?

"What?" Danse said, his tone full of confusion. Quinn took a deep breath.

"Not ten years. Sixty."

The story came pouring out of her like the breaking of a dam. Once the barrier was gone, Quinn could do nothing to stop the torrent of the meeting in the heart of the Institute. Though her chest convulsed and her throat tightened, the words forced their way out into the open, laying bare the cause of her misery.

She had been unarmed, her gun tossed aside as she banged and screamed for her son on the glass cell wall, when a man had entered the room. His appearance had thrown her; he was a stranger, but oddly familiar in a way that made her uneasy. Father, he had called himself. He was calm with her, much calmer than she had been - threatening to kill him and everyone else in the Institute if he didn't give back Shaun. Father had smiled at her the way a parent would calm down a crying child, before dropping a bombshell.

I am your son.

Time had stood still. She had peered at the man - an old, old man - and saw that despite his age, despite his clean-cut appearance and clinical disposition, he was the absolute image of Nate.

The Institute, she realised, had turned him into a monster.

At first, she was simply confused, disbelieving - but as Father went on to explain his kidnapping, that sixty years had passed instead of ten, Quinn began to hear a cold, indifference that was more than just his tone of voice. It was his very being. Nate's death barely registered with him, and his lack of concern for the acts he had committed, the people he had hurt with his synths…

Quinn found the more time she spent with him, the more she grew to hate him. She would never have allowed Shaun to become something like this - neither would Nate. And yet once Shaun had laid in her arms, small and new, his entire life before him. The sorrow in her heart mingled with a love so intense she thought it might kill her.

After two days, it was time to go. She had seen everything she had needed to, and understood far more than she wanted to. Whatever had been holding her together was slowly fading, and Quinn had found that she was on the brink of snapping. With Father's blessing and talk of her returning soon, she had left the Institute, knowing deep inside that she would never see her son again.

There was a long silence as Quinn finished, her breath rattling through her throat as it worked its way past her trembling lips. Danse hadn't uttered a word since she had started ranting, recalling the dirty secrets of the Institute. She didn't blame him; the leader of the Brotherhood's enemy was her son. He probably thought even being near her was too much of a risk. Come morning, Danse would be gone from her life forever. Of that, she was certain.

It didn't matter.

The realisation staggered Quinn.

The idea of Danse not being a part of her world anymore had once been something monumental in her eyes. Now, it barely registered. A blip in her existence. It was like her fussing over a paper cut when she had just lost her arm.

Her son had grown and lived without her, an old man with more pages in the story of his life than she could ever have imagined. The face of the nurse floated to mind, the nurse that had calmed her down before she had held her son for the first time.

"...you've got the best years of your life ahead of you, filled with joy and love. Their first steps. The first time they call you 'mommy.' Their first day of school...you've got it all to come."

The pain was near unbearable. She had missed it all; her life and everything it could have been had been stolen by the Institute, reducing her to nothing but an unfamiliar face, easily forgotten in a crowd. And her baby boy was one of them.

"Quinn, I'm...I'm sorry."

"Why?" she snapped, no longer feeling any need to cry. No. It was too much. Better to just not feel at all than to endure the needles in her heart. The hurt was draining away from her, replaced by a blissful, blank calm. When she spoke again, her tone was dispassionate and flat.

"Why would you be sorry? You didn't know Shaun. You barely know me. I'm the mother of your greatest foe."

"Because I can see the distress it's causing you."

"I'll deal with it."

Liar.

Quinn sat up, shrugging him off. "I spent two days in that place, searching for something to prove he wasn't responsible for everything that is wrong with the Commonwealth. I found nothing. He was never a victim of the Institute's goals; he's the successor to them."

Quinn paused, trying to keep herself under control. "He said Nate's death was a…was an unfortunate bit of collateral damage." She laughed a wild, high-pitched giggle - it sounded like it belonged to someone else entirely. "Collateral damage! My god. They ruined him. They took him from me and they ruined him. He's a monster."

Her voice broke on the last word, but she bit down on her lip, refusing to let the tears come again. It was only when Danse took her hands in his, tugging them away from her face, that Quinn realised she had been digging her nails into her skin. With a grunt of annoyance, she wrenched herself away from him, throwing the blankets off and standing up.

"I can't go back," she croaked, unable to look at him. "I can't go back to the Brotherhood."

"What do you mean, you can't go back?" Danse was on his feet now too, wearing a troubled frown. "You need the Brotherhood more than ever. They're as good as family-"

"I had a family. I don't need a replacement."

"I didn't mean…" Danse gestured helplessly. "They can help you fight your son. I can help you put a stop to this."

"I can't."

And there was the source of her misery. It wasn't simply the theft of her child, or even the deeds he had committed throughout his long life; no, they paled in comparison to the true atrocity: instead of saving her son, she would be expected to bring judgement down upon him.

"Quinn-"

Quinn rubbed at her eyes with quivering fingers. "Don't ask me to do that, Danse. I don't care what he is. I won't hurt Shaun."

"You're just going to let him run amok?" The shock in Danse's voice was clear as he stared at her. "You're just going to let the kidnappings and infiltration of synths continue?"

"There would be only one way to stop it, and you know it!" Quinn hurled back. "The Commonwealth would want his blood. I will not. Hurt. My. Son!"

Danse took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly from his mouth. When he spoke again, his tone had calmed considerably, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his agitation. "You swore to protect the people of the wasteland. You swore to uphold the code of the Brotherhood. If you can't personally assist, Elder Maxson would understand. I would understand. But leaving and ignoring the problem entirely? It's your duty as a soldier to help put things right, in whatever way you can."

"No."

He put a hand to his forehead, gritting his teeth, forcing out his words through his clenched jaw. "You are the most...frustrating woman I've ever met!"

"Sorry to disappoint you then."

"I can't be disappointed by what I already expected," Danse snapped, before closing his eyes and taking another deep breath. When he opened them again, the demeanour of a paladin greeted her. "I promised I would support you, and I intend to stick by that promise. Leaving your side now would cause more harm than good, but…"

He shook his head. "I'm going to repair my armour. Let me know when you're ready to head out."

He stormed past her without another word, leaving her alone with the bones of the past.

A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful feedback you left me last chapter! It seriously made my day. Thank you. :)

(The End of Infinity, your review in particular made me blush! But I love seeing all my regulars too, and I take on board what you say)

To the guest reviewer who asked if Danse could start being nice to Nick sooner: As much as I would love for Danse not to be a colossal ass to my favourite toaster detective (seriously, it hurts me writing him being so mean), it wouldn't be in-character of him to cut Nick a break at this point in time. Danse is still basically married to the Brotherhood and totally on board with their ideals. However, that is not to say he couldn't eventually take that particular stick out of his ass. It would just take a very long time... ;)

Now, thank yous! Thank you to tasty-poptard and sillynuggetarts (tumblr), and waiting4morning (FFnet) for their invaluable beta help. This story would not see the light of day without them.