Through a Glass, Darkly
The minutes ticked by.
Quinn sat opposite Danse, her nerves mounting as silence reigned; all she could hear was his strained breathing and the howling of the wind outside.
What was he experiencing? He certainly wasn't here with her, right now, in the present.
Memories of Nate, vacant and twitching, surfaced to the front of her mind. A flashback, the doctor had called it, after Nate had crashed the car on a trip back from the Super Duper Mart, a screaming, pregnant Quinn in the passenger seat.
A flashback, where he saw his friends die, Crofts' blue eye, "piercing into me, telling me to join her." That confession, when it had finally come out, had chilled her to the bone. But even that had taken months. Shaun had been born by the time Nate had told her the truth of his nightmares.
Quinn shivered and turned her attention back to Danse. So what had caused this? For Nate, anything from loud noises to high levels of stress were enough of a trigger. The day of the first flashback, though, they'd been arguing about his irritable, distant behaviour. A car had cut him off, beeping its horn as it went and taking him by surprise. Nate had frozen, his eyes going blank as he'd started to shake, and Quinn had lunged for the wheel at the last second.
It could have been much worse. She could have lost Shaun.
A horrible feeling crept over her. The fight with the deathclaw had been her doing. Danse had been relatively fine before that. A little bit pissy, perhaps, but that was usual for him. Then suddenly, the battle...and now this. It had come from nowhere. One minute he had been shouting, and then nothing. Quinn took his limp hands in her own and squeezed them, tracing the rough calluses of his palms with her thumbs.
I did this to him.
It had never occurred to her that Danse could be vulnerable. He was such a strong person, stronger than she was. The idea that he could struggle with anything like this felt alien to her. And yet here he was.
The nightmares, Quinn thought, shaking her head. The way he doesn't like to sleep. The way he can't talk about things that bother him. I'm an idiot. I'm a fucking idiot. It was all there, right in front of me, but I was so wrapped up in my own bullshit, I didn't see it. I didn't think. I didn't care.
Selfish, selfish, selfish. She knew he suffered from bad dreams, had even gone so far as to make the connection back to Nate's nightmares. But other than forcing him to sleep, had she done anything about it? Had she tried to help him at all?
No. She hadn't.
Instead, she'd dragged him through hell and back, ignoring every warning and word of advice he'd given her. Well, now she was paying for her stupidity, just as he'd said she would. Looking at him now, so detached from everything around him, Quinn felt ashamed of her earlier thoughts at Sanctuary, that losing him would mean nothing to her. What bullshit. The terror that held Quinn in place was so raw, she could barely breathe. She was frightened for him - and for herself; Danse would be the final nail in the coffin.
Quinn gripped at his cold, twitching fingers, her breathing shallow and hard. She couldn't get enough air in her lungs, but it didn't matter. The Geiger counter on her Pip-Boy was ticking away menacingly. What if she couldn't get him out of this? What happened if they ran out of radiation medicine?
We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Focus on him. Help him. Bring him back. Quinn sat in front of him, rocking on the spot, talking gently to him. She repeated his name as often as she could, reminding him where he was, who he was - it was just memories that he was in, and it wasn't real. The worst had happened long ago, and all he had to do was remember where he was right now. Time stretched into oblivion, minutes feeling like hours as Quinn talked and talked until her mouth went dry.
Danse's hands suddenly clamped down on her own and he took a great, shuddering breath. As his eyes met hers, Quinn bit back a yell of relief and the urge to launch herself into his arms.
"Paladin." She gave him a weak smile.
Danse didn't say anything, but looked around, blinking, before wiping the sweat off his face with trembling hands. He took a few deep breaths and then said, "That's...never happened before. You shouldn't have had to see that."
"It's not your fault," Quinn replied, shaking her head. "I didn't listen to you, even though I promised I would. I-"
"It's fine," he said bluntly, and tried to stand up. Quinn placed her hands on his shoulders and forced him to sit back down, though they both knew he was strong enough to carry on if he really wanted to. It was like trying to convince a boulder to move.
"It's not fine." She was the one shaking now, but she paid it little attention. It would pass. "It's far from fine. You never told me things were this bad, Danse. You can't ignore something like this."
"I can, and I will." He did stand up this time, brushing her hands off him when she tried to stop him. "I'm just tired. A moment of...of sleep deprivation induced delusion. Nothing to worry about."
"That's bullshit and you know it. What did you see? Was it Cut-?"
"I'm fine!"
Quinn shrank away from Danse as his voice echoed around the ruined church. He paused, taking another deep breath, before speaking again. His tone sounded calm, but he couldn't hide the tremor in his voice. "I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, but it's nothing to worry about. We have a mission to complete. Now let's get out of here before something else comes along and tries to kill us. Though I recall you saying you wanted to collect something from here first?"
"I...yes." She didn't know what to do - he was shutting her out with such finality, Quinn felt momentarily stunned.
"You're bleeding," he said as walked back towards his power armour, throwing the comment almost casually at her. That wasn't like him. Where was the insistence of checking the wound and cleaning it? Now it sounded like he didn't give a damn.
Quinn put a hand to her stinging face, her fingers coming away drenched in red. She suspected the cuts would scar, but she could see out of her eye, so it was unimportant right now. Danse was her focus, her concern rising with every passing moment. He was acting like nothing had happened, pushing her away in the process.
Quinn watched him as he climbed unsteadily back into his armour, dread bubbling in the pit of her stomach. As the metal shell swallowed him whole with a solid clunk, he noticed her and cast his gaze away as he snapped, "Well? Get on with it, soldier. Or was I thrown down here for nothing?"
Biting back a retort, Quinn brushed past him to the back wall of the church, kicking up dirt as she walked. Bits of dust and sand from above rained down as she approached her target, and Quinn cast a wary glance up at the sagging ceiling. How long until this place was buried entirely? How long until it collapsed? Years? Months? Minutes?
She dismissed the thought. I'm here now. If I hurry, then the structural integrity won't matter, will it?
Her eyes scanned the cracked and shattered photograph frames hanging crookedly on the back wall. One or two had survived the centuries, clinging to their designated places, but the rest had fallen to the floor. Whether this was through time or her recent dance with the deathclaw, Quinn didn't know, but she couldn't see what she wanted. She turned her attention to the pile of splintered wood and shards of glass at her feet instead. Taking care not to slice her hands, Quinn rooted through until she unearthed something more precious than shelter in a radstorm.
Nate smiled up at her from the depths of the peeling, singed photograph; next to him was her own face, mirrored in the past, carefree and joyful. He wore a cheap, rented suit, just about fitting his lanky frame, while she was drowned by her borrowed dress. The bride and groom.
God, we look so young.
Young and happy, in love and ready to take the plunge into life's hardships, despite the protests of everyone they knew. Too soon! You barely know him! This will all end in tears, you'll see!
"Wrong," she muttered to herself. Eight years and a child. We survived all their doubts. "We could have survived anything..."
"What?" Danse called to her from across the church.
"Nothing," Quinn said quickly, beginning to tuck the photograph away. It snagged on her waistband, and she fumbled with it.
"What's that?"
She stopped and sighed, pulling it back out; the picture had been crumpled in her haste, a sharp crease now slashed across her smiling face. Good. It sickened her to see herself, so oblivious of the road that lay ahead. Twenty-one and caught in the euphoria of love, blissfully naive of the fate that awaited her new husband. The military would ruin him, reducing him to a shell of the vibrant young man she adored so much. He would recover eventually, and they would have a few months of peace, surrounded by sweet mediocrity.
Then he would die, cold and screaming for his son.
Quinn scowled and bent the crease across her face, lengthening it so it distorted her features. The smile in the photograph still shone through.
What a stupid girl.
Quinn traced her finger across the image of Nate, barely noticing Danse stomping over to look. There was a small silence as his eyes darted over the picture.
"Your wedding day." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah." Quinn sniffed, the blood trickling down from her cuts tickling her nose. "We married here, right in this church. Father Jessop took a picture of every couple that had their wedding with him, and put the pictures up for everyone to see. Said he liked the memories, so he didn't charge as much as the other churches. Like those assholes from Hopesmarch Pentecostal, with a nice stick up their asses about deposits and 'couple backgrounds.'"
Quinn scowled. "But Father Jessop only wanted to cover the bare minimum costs. That suited us fine. We were cheapskates all the way through." She chuckled. "Mom wasn't impressed. Tried to give us money for a better wedding, but we wanted to do it on our own."
"That's admirable." Danse seemed fixated on the picture, though Quinn couldn't tell what part had caught his attention. He cleared his throat and said, "You look...you seem happy."
"Second best day of my life."
"And the first?"
"Shaun's birth."
Danse glanced at her, his expression softening, before his eyes slid towards the gash on her face. "We best clean that wound before we move on. Deathclaws are not the most sanitary of creatures."
He cracked open the medkit on his armour and took out some medical supplies, which Quinn assumed he had replenished at Trashcan Carla's, and set about cleaning her cut. His touch was surprisingly deft and gentle, despite the armour, and he treated her with ease. It stung like hell, but Danse assured her it wasn't deep and wouldn't need stitches.
"You'll likely have a scar, though," he went on as he applied a gauze bandage to the cut above her eye, and another to the cut below it. The bandage puckered her skin and felt odd when she tried to move her mouth. Danse watched her pull a series of faces as she tested out the gauze, and with an air of barely concealed amusement said, "You were lucky you weren't blinded."
"I was lucky I had you with me. Thank you."
He grunted in response, but she saw the little tinge of pink appear on his cheeks. The breakdown seemed like a distant memory, and for a second, Quinn thought everything really was back to normal. But once the wound was cleaned and dressed, a strange cold seemed to sweep over Danse, and he withdrew from her again, stepping back and avoiding her eye.
"Let's get out of here. If we even can. I don't know if that tree can support the weight of my armour." Danse glanced up at the ceiling, frowning.
"It's worth a try," Quinn replied, suddenly feeling alone, despite his presence. Why was he distancing himself from her? Was he embarrassed? Angry? What?
"You better go first." He gestured towards the tree.
"Okay," Quinn said with a nod, "but wait until I'm suited up before you follow." She made her way up the stairs, skirting around the large hole created by the deathclaw, and scrambled up the tree trunk. It held her easily, and she quickly made her way back to the surface, the smooth wood no longer difficult to navigate. She pulled herself out of the church and immediately received a blast of radioactive dust into her face, the wind whipping up dirt across the landscape. Quinn choked and spluttered, tears in her eyes as she wiped away the grit, and then trotted back to her power armour, quickly climbing inside.
Readjusting her limbs to the new weight, she stomped back to the edge and called down to Danse, "Ready!"
His agility always surprised her; he vaulted over the hole with the fluidity of a pre-war athlete, and then carefully inched his way onto the tree. Quinn held her breath as it bent slightly with a low groan, but it didn't buckle. Danse stood still for a few seconds and then - clearly satisfied it would hold - began a slow balancing act up towards the exit.
He had just made his way past the halfway point when a loud crack sounded, and Danse dropped a few centimetres down. He froze, but the cracks continued.
"Move!" Quinn bellowed.
Danse didn't need telling twice. He launched himself forward just as the trunk collapsed, his top half hitting solid ground as his legs dangled over the drop below. Slowly, he began to slide back into the church. Quinn grabbed his hand and pulled, using the bulk of her power armour to counter the weight of Danse's as best she could, the strain making her muscles scream in protest. He used his free arm to push himself up, and managed to swing a leg onto the exterior of the church. With a final grunt of effort, both he and Quinn tumbled down the slope outside into the Glowing Sea, the world spinning around her as she fell with a loud thud.
After a brief bout of wheezing, Quinn caught her breath and sat up. Danse was already on his feet, checking over his gun. Ignoring the aches and pains, she slowly stood up and picked up her own rifle. It was starting to look a little worse for wear since she'd first cobbled it together, but it would do for now.
She watched as Danse squinted into the dust storm, before cracking open his medical case and taking out a dose of rad-x and radaway. The Geiger counter continued to tick, her endless companion in this deadly environment, and it occurred to Quinn that while she was now fully protected from the radiation, Danse was not. The choice she had to make was quickly becoming apparent: Virgil needed her, but if they continued, then Danse...
"Let's head back," she said, eyeing his pale face. "We can't carry on if you don't have a helmet. The radiation-"
"We have sufficient radaway and rad-x for the trip," Danse replied, putting away the medicine in question and returning to inspecting his rifle. "It's too much of a trek to head back now."
"That's not the only thing I'm concerned about." Quinn frowned at him as he continued to mess with the gun without actually doing anything to it. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he was deliberately avoiding looking at her. Quinn brushed the thought aside and went on, "Your head will be unprotected."
"So long as we stay low and out of trouble, it won't be a cause for concern."
His abrupt tone and interruptions were starting to annoy her. Quinn made a noise of irritation and tried again. "It's my fault you lost your helmet - both of them, in fact. If there's no need to worry, just take mine." She began to undo the clasps on her own.
"Put it back on, soldier," Danse snapped. "You've already done enough damage leaving your armour today."
"So you'll be okay if you don't wear headgear, but when I don't-"
"I don't make a habit of taking away protection from others to serve myself. I'll be fine."
"No, you won't," Quinn insisted, wondering whether she should go for the low blow. Her mind decided 'yes' in a matter of seconds. "I saw Haylen's terminal at the police station. She said a man called Dawes died of a head injury because he didn't wear his-"
"Enough." The look he was giving her would have sent a behemoth running. His face was twisted in anger, his pale skin flushing deep red as his eyebrows drew together in a dark scowl. "As a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, I don't need a lecture from a knight. I am well aware of the risks, and more than aware of the fate of my team members."
Danse pointed out to the mountains in the distance. "We are miles away from Sanctuary, but according to you, we are close to our goal. Turning back now could still result in a head injury if we stumble across the wrong people, or take a wrong turn. So I suggest we keep going and get this over with. Now let's move out."
He stomped off, and Quinn stared after him for a moment as she fixed her helmet clasps back in place, before frowning. No, he wasn't going to get away with this so easily.
"Danse!" she shouted, running to catch up with him.
"Will you stop making an argument out of every-" he began, but Quinn cut across him.
"We're going, I get it. You want to prove a point. Or you're being stubborn. Or you're just pissed off at me. Fine. I deserve it. And I know you don't want to talk about what happened in the church-"
"Quinn-"
"But can you tell me why you won't even look at me?" Quinn pressed on, speaking loudly over him. "You're acting like even being near me is painful. I appreciate you don't want to discuss it, but if we're going any further, I need to know that you've got my back." She sighed. "Let me help you, for god's sake. What's wrong?"
Danse didn't answer straight away. His shoulders slumped as he gazed past her, staring out at the yellow-green wasteland, choked with radiation and teeming with hidden horrors. Reluctantly, he met her eye.
"I don't know what happened in there," he said, clearly making an effort to maintain eye contact. "I saw…" He broke off and gave a slight shake of his head. "Do we have to talk about this now?"
"No," Quinn replied. "Not that, anyway. But this is different from the nightmares, isn't it? You normally let me help with the nightmares."
Danse shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "I'm not used to my teammates seeing me so weak. You told me you had confidence in me...but that…"
"That changes nothing," Quinn said firmly. "You're not weak, and I still believe in you. Besides, I'm not just your teammate. I'm your friend."
Danse nodded. "I know, but I just need time to process this…incident. Better to keep moving in the meantime."
The soldier's mask returned, blocking out the glimmer of emotions that had briefly flickered across his weathered features: fear, worry, shame. Quinn bit her lip as he walked off, but decided not to push him any further. She would be there for him when the moment came.
"Why do you want to save this...thing?"
The church had long since been left behind, and the cave in which Virgil resided was just at the top of the hill. She could see the entrance from here, a dark wound in the mountainside.
Quinn glanced at her companion, considering the question - it was a fair thing to ask after all. She only wondered why it had taken Danse so long. Still, she paused before answering, trying to catch her breath as sweat trickled down her cheeks, stinging the gash beneath the bandages. The climb up to Virgil was proving hard work, the weight of their armour causing them to sink and slip into the silty earth.
Calling Quinn's feelings on the matter 'conflicted' would have been a massive understatement; she could barely make sense of it herself. All she knew was that she felt responsible. This responsibility had hit her in full force in the Institute, when she had broken into Virgil's old lab and found a series of terminal entries and holotapes.
Torture. Murder. Atrocities.
The experiments on kidnapped wastelanders had stretched well over a century, each mutated ruin tagged and released back into the Commonwealth as a 'success', the failures likely disposed of in the most efficient way possible. While Father had not started the experiments, he had allowed them to continue once he had come to power. Every wastelander that had fallen prey to the hungry jaws of the super mutants since then was because of him. Father could have stopped it. He should have stopped it.
Virgil had been the one with the conscience in the end. But not at first. It had taken years of experiments with 'no results' before the good doctor had come to the conclusion that the trials were a waste.
No, that's not fair, Quinn thought to herself. Virgil's last words echoed in her head, distorted by the fuzz of the old, damaged tape.
"What we're doing... it's not right. It needs to stop. If anyone should find this after... after I'm gone... know that I never wanted to hurt anyone. Anyone!"
And stop it Virgil did. The lab had been a scorched mess by the time Quinn had found it. Whatever he had done, whatever he had helped to do, Virgil was sorry for it. She told Danse as much, from the experimentations to their end - she even played him the tape.
Danse looked less than impressed, his face darkening as the story unfolded.
"If this is true," he said, wearing an expression like thunder, "then those bastards are responsible for every super mutant in the Commonwealth. That thing in there is responsible for them!" He gestured at the cave entrance, which was now only a few feet away.
"You promised," Quinn said quickly, her stomach tightening with dismay. Had she brought Virgil's executioner right to his doorstep? "You promised you wouldn't hurt him."
"I did." He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. "And I will keep to it. But in any other circumstance, that abomination would be dead before it could so much as look at me."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
Danse scowled and didn't reply as they stepped inside the cave. Shadows choked every corner, the deep dark of the crevices and nooks capable of hiding every terrible nightmare. Quinn tapped on Danse's shoulder before they moved deeper inside, and pressed some radiation medicine into his hands. He hesitated and then nodded - his lack of a helmet had clearly slipped his mind. Once the doses were administered, they continued on. However, the moment the two turrets came into sight, Danse raised his weapon, much to Quinn's annoyance.
"You said you wouldn't-" she began, talking over the hum of the turrets, but he cut her off.
"You said he was slowly changing. I'm not walking into a potential ambush unprepared." Danse stepped in front of her, holding out a hand briefly to keep her behind him, and then edged through into the main chamber first.
Quinn followed, quickly taking her helmet off. With any luck, Virgil wouldn't be startled and attack them both on sight. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of the cave, and then quickly forced her face to go blank, hoping Virgil hadn't noticed her blatant distaste.
"Well," came a low, thick voice. "I'm glad to see the relay didn't completely vaporise you."
Virgil stood in the corner, adjusting the glasses perched on the edge of his meaty face, the dim, yellow lights turning his green skin a sickly, mustard colour. He glanced down at Danse, his small smile decaying into a frown. "What is this?"
"Nothing," Quinn said hastily. "Just my friend here taking some extra precautions. Lower your weapon, Danse. We're fine."
Danse didn't move. He had gone rigid, staring up at the mutated doctor, the hatred rolling off him. His hands were tight on his gun, which was pointed directly at Virgil's head.
"Danse," Quinn hissed, casting a nervous glance at Virgil, who was starting to look suspicious. The panic came back in full force - had it been a mistake to bring him? Maybe she'd been an idiot to think Danse could really get past his prejudices.
The paladin struggled with himself for a moment, his fingers flexing slightly, and then he lowered his rifle, stepping back and glaring up at the mutant as a muscle jumped in his jaw.
"Sorry," Quinn said to Virgil, relief washing over her, but he shook his head.
"So long as he stays his hand, we're fine." Virgil paused, his brow furrowing. "Were you able to find the serum?"
"Yeah." Quinn clicked open a compartment on her armour and pulled out the cure, holding it out to Virgil. He took it with a gentleness that did not match his size, and caressed the glass panel on the side with his thumb. He looked up at her, his eyes bright behind his dirty glasses.
"That's it! That's really it!" He began to pace up and down the room, messing with various pieces of equipment while letting out a stream of talk that Quinn could only describe as 'Science Things.' She listened to him patiently, noting that Danse was watching Virgil closely, an air of confusion hovering over him.
Quinn realised that Virgil had stopped talking, and was looking at her expectantly. She coughed. "Oh, uh, yeah. But how are you going to test it?"
"On myself, of course! That was the plan." Virgil stopped at an intricate, brass-coloured machine, rattling about with the dials. Steam appeared from a funnel at the end, and Virgil ran the metal cylinder under it quickly, before holding it up to the dim light above. Over the space of a few seconds, the cure changed from clear blue to a murky red, before all the colour disappeared from it completely. It looked exactly like water.
Virgil nodded with a grunt of approval, and pressed a button on the side of the canister with his wide thumb. A long, thick needle shot out with a loud click. "This serum will only counteract the specific strain of FEV that I infected myself with. There's no telling what it might do to anyone else."
Virgil turned back to her, the long needle at the base now exposed and gleaming. Quinn shivered at the sight of it - using that thing would not be a pleasant experience, she was sure. He paused, taking a deep breath. It was odd to see a super mutant hesitating over something like an injection.
Then again, she thought, it is a huge fucking needle.
"Alright...here we go…" Virgil jammed the serum into his arm and grunted, closing his eyes. The canister automatically injected its contents into him, and he shuddered, before hastily pulling it back out and setting it aside. "Now...we wait."
He then mumbled something about needing rest and slouched off towards a bed in the corner, flopping heavily into it without bothering to take his glasses off. Within seconds, he was snoring.
"Well, that was different," Quinn said, turning to face Danse again. "Do you think it will wor-?"
She looked around, squinting.
Danse was gone.
Quinn found him at the mouth of the cave, the dim, yellow light of the Glowing Sea highlighting every line and scar on his weary face. She approached slowly, cautious of his recent explosive temper. The clunk of her armour alerted him to her presence, and he turned, holding the expression of a man who had nothing left in the world. He looked how she felt: hollow.
They stood together, staring out into the vast, endless wasteland in silence, the howling wind their only other companion. Something was happening – a moment where the crossroad was drawing near. Whatever her future held, Quinn sensed this was the point where she staked her claim, for better or for worse.
"There is a part of me," Danse said suddenly, making her jump, "a shamefully large part of me that hopes the cure is nothing but a failure."
Quinn stared at him, lost for words. The paladin, passing up a chance to end the super mutants for good?
Danse continue to gaze out into the Glowing Sea. "I chose to kill him. What if..." Danse's eyes lowered to the ground, the agony in them indescribable. "What if I could have saved him instead?"
"Danse." Quinn knew instantly who he was referring to, and moved closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His hurt was so strong, it was piercing her in turn. She wished she could touch him properly, without the barriers of steel. "It wasn't your fault."
"But if I'd just-"
"It wasn't your fault." Quinn prayed he could feel the strength of her belief in him, of her support and her love for him, as her friend. "You did everything you could for Cutler. You pushed harder than anyone else would have, and you went after him as soon as you were able. And when you couldn't do anymore, you put him out of his misery." Her free hand gripped at his, squeezing it. "What were the alternatives? Let him run rampant across the wasteland as a mockery of everything he stood for?"
"The cure..."
"What cure?" Quinn said. "No one knew there was a chance of a cure. If you'd brought him back, either he'd have been shot on sight, or kept in isolation and experimented on for years. He might not have even been sane after all of that trauma. You're thinking with hindsight. You did the best thing for Cutler – the right thing – and what's right isn't always what's easy. He would have wanted it, rather than being left the way he was. It wasn't your fault."
Some of the light returned to Danse's eyes, but he shook his head and gently tugged his arm free. "I could have done more. I could have done better."
Helping Virgil had torn open an old, deep wound. Prodding it any further would make it worse. Quinn changed the subject. "I think we're done here. Let's go home."
He gave a defeated sigh. "I thought as much." Checking over his rifle, he reloaded it and stepped towards the cave entrance, becoming a silhouette in the light of wastes. "Back to Sanctuary it is."
"No. I mean, we'll go there because I promised the others I would, but when that's done..."
Danse's head snapped in her direction, and he moved back towards her until she could see his expression clearly again. It was a mixture of uncertainty and hope, as if he hardly dared to believe. He tried a few times to speak, his mouth opening and closing with a series of odd, croaking noises, before he cleared his throat and tentatively asked, "Do you mean...?"
Quinn smiled. "Yes. I'm staying."
Danse's whole face lit up with delight, a look so pure and unguarded he seemed to radiate happiness. Then he remembered himself and quickly frowned, nodding.
"Glad to hear it, soldier," he said, serious again. But as they walked back outside into the wasteland, Quinn saw the candid grin slip back into place.
She felt content.
A/N: Thank you to dragonifyoudare (tumblr) and waiting4morning (ffnet) for their invaluable beta help!
Thank you for the reviews! I apologise for not replying to them. I've been very busy with work this week...
My sources for PTSD and PTSD related flashbacks (effects, treatment, personal feelings, and reactions to flashbacks, etc.) have been taken from the NHS website and Mind (ffnet won't let me link it, sorry. Try googling Mind UK and PTSD - it might show then). The NHS was great from a medical standpoint, and Mind was great from an impact and personal perspective. I hope I have done PTSD justice, but if anyone takes issue with my portrayal of it, please feel free to contact me and we can have a chat about it.