Tinned Tomatoes

They were up to something.

Quinn had known it the second Sturges had tried to distract her while Danse talked with Piper and Preston. They had been in Sanctuary for a few days after their long journey back to the settlement. Quinn had woken up that morning to see Danse deep in conversation with the engineer.

At first she had thought nothing of it – the two of them could learn a lot from each other as far as technology and building went. But when Sturges had sidled over to her during breakfast, talking loudly about how Trashcan Carla's brahmin had ended up stuck on top of one of the houses – "and Carla suspects that Lemmy, but she has no proof" – while Danse stood talking to her friends in the distance, she knew something was up.

"Cut the crap, Sturges," Quinn interrupted, even though she was extremely curious as to how Deacon had managed to get an animal the size of a small car on the roof with no stairs. "What are you up to?"

"I – uh – nothing," Sturges stammered.

Quinn rolled her eyes and glanced over at Piper and Preston again. Hancock and Nick had joined the fray, and all of them were bickering with the paladin. Danse was shaking his head a lot while the others gestured at Hancock and Nick, and then at Quinn, before freezing as they realised she was watching them. Clearly, this was her cue to investigate. She got up and strolled over, giving them all a suspicious look. All of them looked decidedly shifty, with the exception of Hancock, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Alright," she said as she drew near. "Spill it."

"Spill what?" Nick asked innocently.

"Danse is as red as a tomato, and you're all not trying to kill each other," Quinn said. "So start talki-"

"What's a tomato?" Hancock cut in.

"Pre-war vegetable," Nick said before Quinn could answer. "And we're not-"

"You're comparing me to a vegetable?" Danse said, sounding almost offended. Hancock sniggered.

"Oh for the love of – guys!" Quinn snapped, losing her patience. "Stop jerking me around! What were you doing?"

"Well," Hancock said, a mischievous gleam appearing in his eye. "Tin can here was just apologising to Nick for trying to shoot him the other day."

"You know about that?" Quinn said, momentarily forgetting her annoyance. No one had said anything to her about it.

"Of course we do," Piper replied, rolling her eyes. "We do talk to each other, you know."

"And you're apologising for it?" Quinn turned to Danse, raising her eyebrows. "You're apologising to Nick?"

The flush returned to Danse's cheeks. He glared at Hancock in a way that suggested murder, and then through gritted teeth said, "...yes."

"You're a shit liar, Danse."

Danse's blush deepened.

"And he's apologised to me, too, for calling me a-"

"Don't push it, Hancock," Quinn said, giving him a withering look. She glanced from each evasive face to the next, and then sighed heavily. "Fine. If you don't want to talk about it, I can't make you. Finish up whatever you're all scheming over, and then meet me in Sturges' workshop. I need to...I have to tell you about..."

She left the sentence unfinished and wandered off, briefly catching them glancing at each other before she turned her back on them.

By the time she had finished her tale of the Institute, Quinn was drained. She stared at the floor, not wanting to see the judgement in their eyes at the truth. There was the sound of footsteps, and then a pair of arms slid around her. The soft scarf nuzzled into her cheek, and Quinn knew it was Piper.

"Oh, Blue..." she said, holding her tight. "I'm so sorry."

Quinn peeked up from Piper's shoulder, and saw the others staring at her in horror. Hancock had a jet inhaler halfway to his mouth, long forgotten. Preston was clenching his jaw, his eyes wide. Both Danse and Nick stood in separate corners, but even though they had both heard the story before, they still looked uncomfortable at its retelling.

"Jesus Christ," Hancock said, rubbing his forehead with the hand that held the jet and accidentally poking himself in the eye with it. "Ow." He glared at the jet for a moment, and then his face softened as he looked back at Quinn. "That's rough. No wonder you didn't want to..." Hancock shook his head and took a puff of the chem, clearly unsettled.

"I'm sorry, General," Preston said. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"No, but...you don't hate me?"

"Why would we hate you?" It was Danse who spoke this time, and the others turned to look at him. He looked surprised at himself, and then uneasy at all the eyes on him, but went on. "If you could have prevented this, you would have. I know you would have."

"For the only time in our lives, the tin can and I are in agreement," Hancock said, puffing on the jet like it was a pre-war pipe. He coughed and glanced up at Quinn. "It ain't your fault, and whatever happens, I've got your back in this."

There was a murmur of agreement from the others. Quinn felt like crying again. They really were there for her. As she snuggled back into Piper's arms, she spotted something by the curtains that made her frown, but she bit back her exclamation, deciding to deal with it later. Quinn straightened up and smiled at Piper, before extending it to the rest of her friends.

"I...I just need a moment alone. I'm..."

"We understand, kid." Nick stood up off the wall he had been leaning against and left the house without another word. The others watched him go, and then silently filed out after him. Danse was the last to leave, lingering for a moment.

"Soldier?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Go on. I'll be out in a minute."

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but then nodded and ducked out, leaving her alone.

Quinn waited for a minute and then walked over to the curtains, where the very tips of Deacon's shoes were poking out of the bottom. A figure was clearly stood behind it, their shape blatantly visible underneath the thin fabric.

"For god's sake, Deacon," she hissed, yanking back the curtain. "You don't need to spy on me to-"

Quinn blinked. Stood at the window was a female mannequin wearing a pink dress and Deacon's shoes.

"Gotcha."

Quinn whirled around to see Deacon lounging on the sagging sofa, wiggling his toes through the holes in his socks.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Quinn said.

"Would you have expected anything else?" He smirked at her and picked up an unopened bottle of Nuka-Cola that had been left from the little gathering the other day. He wrenched off the bottle cap with his teeth and pocketed it.

"You'll crack your molars doing that," she said, dropping down into the chair opposite the sofa. "And the point still stands. You could have just asked me what was going on rather than spying on me."

"Spying is more fun," Deacon replied, swigging from the bottle. "And...sorry to hear about the Institute, for what it's worth. I can't imagine what that feels like, but…" He pulled a face. "Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is you're tied to the synths, whether you like it or not."

Quinn glared at him as he lowered his bottle. "What do you mean?"

"Just…" Deacon sighed. "God, this sounds terrible no matter how it's worded. You sound...torn up about the Institute. About what Shaun-"

"Father."

"-about what Father's done. But the Railroad is working to fix that. I know this sounds like I'm just trying to win you over to the team…"

"Yeah, it does."

"Sorry." He played with the tattered label on the bottle. "But...it could be good for you, depending on how you look at it. I know it was good for..."

Quinn blinked. Had he just almost offered up something about himself? He stared at her, his face giving away nothing, his damn sunglasses hiding any indication of truth that could have been lurking in his eyes.

Deacon shook his head. "Alright, bad timing on my part - too soon. I'm sorry...forget I said anything, okay?" He grinned at her. "But in slightly cheerier news, I also heard that you were leaving the Brotherhood. Great choice."

"I changed my mind. I'm staying."

It was the first time she'd ever seen Deacon surprised. His head jerked up to look at her, and he slopped the cola down himself. "Aw, shit."

Quinn laughed, despite herself.

Deacon didn't laugh. He studied her, carefully. "You realise what you're getting yourself into, right?"

Quinn nodded. "I do. But...I've made my choice. Unless they do something bad, I'm staying with them."

"I'd argue they're already doing something bad. But by the time they do something you find bad, it might be too late to leave."

"I doubt it," Quinn said, shrugged. "What could they possibly take from me?"

"More than you could ever imagine."

"I don't particularly care if I die."

"Really?" Deacon paused, the bottle hovering at his mouth. When she nodded, he lowered it. Well shit. That bad, huh?"

Quinn shrugged. "It doesn't bother me."

"It should."

"Since when were you so serious?"

Deacon looked as if she had just likened his mother to a festering blowfly. Sitting up straight, he gasped, "Perish the thought!" Deacon drained the rest of his Nuka-Cola and leapt up off the sofa, tossing the bottle at a nearby bin. It missed and hit the wall, shattering.

"Shit," Deacon said, stepping away from the broken glass. He edged over to the mannequin and retrieved his shoes, pulling them back on as he talked to Quinn. "So is that your final decision, then? Bigots over the Railroad?"

"I said it might not be permanent," Quinn replied. "If they ask me to do something I disagree with, I'm gone."

"Nah," Deacon said with a smile that Quinn suspected didn't reach his eyes. "I've seen how you look at the paladin. And I've seen how he looks at you. Sure, you're hurting, but-"

"Don't-"

"Quinn, you're going to have to admit it to yourself sooner or later. Maybe then you'll be more honest about why you make the decisions you do."

"That's rich, coming from a liar by trade."

Deacon shrugged. "Hey, at least I'm honest about it."

Quinn massaged her temples. "That doesn't even make sense."

"I know, right?" He stood up and shot her a wicked grin. "But okay, maybe you're not lying - maybe you really believe the reasons you give. But you like Danse and he's an influence on you. Brotherhood influence is never good. How long until you're murdering ghouls and synths like the rest of them?"

"Never. Trust me."

Deacon's laugh filled the room. "I don't trust anyone, especially not you. I had hoped you'd shape up into something decent, but never mind. Then again, maybe you'll prove me wrong." He paused and the grin faded from his lips. "I hope you'll prove me wrong."

A comfortable silence followed, though Quinn wasn't sure why it was comfortable. In any other circumstances, it would have been awkward, but this was Deacon. Whether he liked her choice or not, he had an understanding of it, and at the moment, he didn't begrudge her for it either. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, genuinely this time.

A thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Deacon, what are the others planning?"

His face remained perfectly neutral as he folded his arms and tilted his head. "A liar never tells."

"Please," Quinn begged. "What is it? It's driving me insane not knowing."

"Mmm, pleading?" Deacon said, the wicked grin returning to his face. "I could get used to this. Beg harder and we'll see what happens." He raised his hands up at the look Quinn shot him and laughed. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Begging wouldn't work. I like to tease too much."

"Deacon!"

His shit-eating grin widened. "Alright, calm down. They're planning a barbeque for you, pre-war style. There's gonna be balloons and paper plates and everything."

Quinn opened her mouth to argue, and then stopped. "Honestly, that's biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard, and yet I still can't tell if you're lying."

"That's the idea. Pretty mean of you, though, to shoot down their nice idea like tha-"

"Lemmy! Why is my brahmin on the roof again?!"

Trashcan Carla's voice was like a gunshot, and Deacon jumped so hard his glasses nearly fell off his face.

"Oh shit," he said, starting to giggle. "Cover for me!"

Deacon sprinted across the room without another word, clambering clumsily out of the open window just as Carla entered the house.

"I warned you what I'd do if it happened again!" Carla bellowed; she whipped out her pistol and fired at him. Deacon gave a yell of laughter and tumbled backwards out of the frame and into a hedge, out of sight.

By the time Quinn and Carla had run to the window, he had gone, only an old shoe left behind.

Returning to the Prydwen had the odd sensation of slipping into a hot bath on a cold winter's day. Quinn couldn't explain it; she had only been aboard the airship for a short time compared to the rest of her travels around the Commonwealth, but it undeniably felt like home.

She said as much to Danse as they climbed into a vertibird at the old airport, glad her helmet masked her hot cheeks. Quinn wasn't sure why she was telling him, but it felt like she should.

The paladin smiled at her and laid his head back against the seat headrest as the vertibird took off. "I couldn't agree more."

Her stomach swooped as they shot up into the air like a cork out of a champagne bottle, and within moments they were docking onto the Prydwen itself. Danse's demeanour changed almost at once. He had warned her about this on their trek back east - their familiarity with each other had to be curbed back in front of other troops, to preserve rank and order, but Quinn still found it disorientating.

"Good work out there, soldier," he said, nodding to her.

At the back of her mind, Quinn vaguely remembered the salute that had been taught to her on her first day, and she quickly went through the motions. "Thank you, sir."

Danse beamed at her. Together, they walked inside and made their way to the power armour station. It was a relief to be somewhere safe, where she could leave the metal shell without compromising herself. Danse, however, did not remove his. Quinn opened her mouth to ask him why, when someone shouted her name from across the floor.

Both Quinn and Danse turned to see a young man waving frantically at them, ignoring the disgruntled stares of the scribes and of Proctor Ingram. The last time she had seen him, he had been lying unconscious in the sickbay, battered and bloodied, hanging onto life by the tips of his fingers. Quinn gawped at him, her heart soaring high.

"Carson!" she cried, and bolted across towards him, practically throwing herself into a tight hug that almost knocked him off his feet. They hit the railings with a bang, and Carson let out a noise like a winded brahmin, before Quinn remembered herself.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry!" she said, letting go of him as he doubled over, wheezing. "Your injury! Have I hurt you? Are you alright?"

"No, no, I'm fine." Carson straightened up, wearing a wide grin. "I'm just glad you're so pleased to see me. Looks like I made a good first impression, huh?"

"The best." Her happiness at seeing Carson on his feet was almost equal to her guilt that she hadn't thought about him once since she'd left the Prydwen. It didn't matter that he was a complete stranger to her - he had survived, and Quinn would cling to this small piece of good fortune no matter what. She hugged him again, gently this time, and Carson returned it, giving her a slight squeeze. Quinn pulled away and shook her head. "Honest to God, I wasn't sure if you'd make it."

"Cade said the same thing. But he also told me you and Paladin Danse came to visit." His expression flickered for a moment. "Thank you. You didn't have to."

"Glad to see you've recovered, Knight Carson," Danse said from behind Quinn. Both Quinn and Carson jumped at the sound of his voice, and once again she wondered how the hell he could keep so quiet in his damn armour.

"S-sir!" Carson spluttered, standing to attention and punching himself in the chest with the vigour of his salute. "Thank you for saving my life on the field, sir!"

"You're welcome" Danse looked at Quinn. "I need to file several reports. Once again, good work, soldier; I'm impressed. Your time is now your own."

He turned and left; it was only when Carson saluted again that Quinn realised she was supposed to be, too, and hastily copied him. When the sounds of Danse's stomps died away, Carson let out a long sigh of relief and leaned back on the railings.

"Scary guy," he muttered.

"Scary?" Quinn said before she could stop herself - obviously Carson had never seen Danse's face in an awkward social situation.

"He's one of the most renowned and dedicated paladins in the Brotherhood," Carson replied with a shrug. "Yeah, I find him just that little bit intimidating."

Quinn laughed, giving him a playful punch in the arm, and Carson grinned sheepishly at her.

"Come on." He tugged at the sleeve of her army fatigues as he moved away from the railings. "I figure you save me from a super mutant barbecue, the least I can do is help you settle in a bit better."

"Settle in?" Quinn asked as she followed him towards the canteen. "I'm already settled in fine."

"No, you're not. You barely spoke to anyone on the Prydwen when you were first here, and then you disappeared with Paladin Danse for God knows how long. You need to make some friends with the rest of us grunts." He shot her a winning smile. "Luckily, being speared with a car bumper has its perks - I've had plenty of time to chat, especially with the people who ended up in the sickbay."

Carson gestured towards a table with two women sitting at it, before dropping himself down into a nearby chair. Quinn followed suite, suddenly feeling shy and on the spot.

"This is Casey Shingler," Carson said, pointing to a pretty black girl in a scribe's uniform. "Already getting a reputation as the best damn scribe and hacker out of all the initiates. She came with me from my hometown."

"Hi," said Casey, giving Quinn a warm smile, which she returned.

"And this is Knight-Sergeant Marguerie," Carson continued, nodding to the other woman.

"Carson, just call me by my name, for god's sake." Knight-Sergeant Marguerie turned to Quinn and gave her a curt nod. "I don't do all that rank and file crap. I'm Rachel."

Quinn didn't reply. Her stomach had turned to ice as she stared at the knight-sergeant, fear and apprehension boiling away within her. The woman sat before her had milky skin, angular, heavy lidded eyes, and shiny, black hair scraped back into a tight bun. Quinn had never met the so-called 'Chinese Enemy' of the war, but by god she looked like everything the posters and government warnings had said.

The Knight-Sergeant - Rachel - frowned at her. "Is there a problem?"

"I...n-no," Quinn mumbled, feeling her face going red.

"What's your name?"

"...Quinn."

"Quinn. The one who's been on a tour of the Commonwealth with Danse?"

Quinn nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

"Ah. The infamous vault-dweller, a relic of the past." To Quinn's surprise, Rachel's lips broke into a sympathetic smile. She leaned forward, the harsh qualities of her face melting away into something almost motherly. "I'm guessing in your day, Chinese-Americans were made up to be the bogeymen of the world, right?"

Quinn paused, biting her lip.

"It's alright. I won't be offended. You can't help being a product of your time."

God, her cheeks were burning, but she couldn't look away. A Chinese person on the Prydwen. A real Chinese person, right in front of her.

Chinese-American, you ass, Quinn thought to herself. This was mortifying. She was being almost as bad as Danse over ghouls and synths. Wishing the floor would swallow her whole, Quinn gave the tiniest of nods.

Rachel grinned and leaned back in her chair, pulling out a cigar from her pocket and lighting it. Thick smoke drifted over her head in a blue-grey cloud, but despite the annoyed glances from some of the other soldiers, no one challenged her. She put the cigar between her teeth and crossed her legs, observing Quinn. "What did they say, then?"

"I...uh…" Quinn swallowed, still unable to look away. Her voice was barely a whisper. "That you were…"

She couldn't continue. Quinn had never fully bought into the propaganda of the 'Red Army', especially not after Nate had come home and shared stories of the war, but still...being told day after day the horrors of the Chinese army and government, bombarded with news reports of the Red atrocities committed, it had been difficult to keep back the uneasy paranoia that had eventually swept across the nation.

Nate had often berated her for it, saying that what he had seen in battle proved both sides were as bad as each other. He had been right, of course. Nate was sensible and level headed, through and through. Or maybe it had been the fact that he'd lived through daily discrimination at the hands of her father. Whatever the case, when he had returned home, he had shut down her fear with a good dose of common sense.

Or so Quinn had thought. She finally dropped her gaze away from Rachel, feeling ashamed.

"Hey," Rachel said, leaning over and putting her hand on Quinn's shoulder. "I'm just being mean. Don't worry about it - I already know. Almost every Chinese-American knows where they came from and what their ancestors suffered during and after the war. But I can see from your face you don't hold a grudge in your heart. You've just never had the chance to be properly acquainted with the other side, right?"

Quinn grasped at the olive branch like a woman dying of thirst would grab at a bottle of water. "Yes. I'm...I'm sorry," she said, meeting Rachel's eyes again. "You just took me by surprise - I…"

"Apology accepted." Rachel chewed on her cigar, puffing up smoke like a dragon. "And besides, the rest of us have all had about two hundred years to get over that bullshit. I'm sure now the initial shock has worn off, you'll be fine."

"Yes," Quinn said, gratitude washing over her. "Though I think the embarrassment might take a little longer."

Rachel threw her head back and laughed, and to Quinn's relief, Casey and Carson joined in as well. The awkward moment had passed.

"I would love to interview you at some point," Casey said when the laughter had died down. "There must be a trove of pre-war history and customs in your head that we can only imagine."

"Case, let the poor girl find her bearings first," Carson quipped, causing Casey to squirm in her seat.

"No, I don't mind," Quinn said, shooting Casey a reassuring smile. "I don't know when I'll next be free, but when I am, I think it would be a great idea to document everything." She paused. "Though I'm no expert. Pre-war, uh, customs had a lot of variety in them, right down to different towns and cities."

Casey's hand was already in her bag, half pulling out a weathered notebook, when Rachel gently took hold of her arm. "Not now, Shingler. Set a date aside for the two of you to have good talk about it."

Casey squirmed again, but let her book drop back into her bag.

"What I really want to know," Rachel went on, still puffing away on her cigar, "is how old Danse is doing. Still grumpy and quoting regulation verbatim?" She grinned at Quinn. "Don't worry. He won't mind me saying."

Rachel took the cigar out of her mouth and tapped it on the edge of her glass, spraying ash all over the table. "He knows I mean it with the utmost love and affection. I was on his team for the longest time, back when I was just a knight. I was assigned with him to the Prydwen, before that disastrous op in D.C. with Cutler. We…" Her voice trailed off as she caught the look on Quinn's face. A shrewd expression graced her weathered, striking features, and she quickly changed tack. "Anyway. We've been through thick and thin, Danse and I. A good man. Understands the dangers of the Commonwealth like no other; mutants, ghouls, synths, and everything else in-between."

Quinn winced, but thankfully the knight-sergeant didn't see it. So, Rachel was another one who held disdain for the non-humans. From the looks of Carson and Casey, however, they didn't necessarily agree with her. Before the silence became awkward, though, a tall, stocky man with white skin and a mop of red hair sat down next to Carson.

The change over Carson was instantaneous. His light brown complexion turned dark scarlet as he stammered out a greeting to the newcomer.

"Tom! Hi!" He waved in the direction Quinn, knocking over his empty cup with the process. "Ah shit...um. This is Quinn." He turned to Quinn. "Uh, this is Tom. Tom Kapraski. One of the lancers - you know what a lancer is, right, don't you? Yeah, of course you do. Vertibird pilots. Uh, but yeah. Tom's a really good one - uh, so I've heard that is. But, um, yeah. Tom, Quinn. Quinn, Tom."

Carson stopped talking so abruptly, it took Quinn a moment to realise he'd finished. He looked as if he wanted to run from the table; instead, he fidgeted with his hands while Casey stuffed her knuckles into her mouth, trying not to laugh. Rachel merely chewed on her cigar, her eyes drifting lazily from Carson to Tom, and then back again.

"Hi, Quinn," Tom said. His voice was surprisingly low and gentle; it reminded her of Preston a little, and yet somehow he was another level of soft-spoken that went far beyond even the most soothing of tones. Quinn could feel herself relax by his words alone.

Tom gave similar greetings to both Casey and Rachel, but when he turned to Carson, his pitch went higher, and a faint red flush crept across his cheeks and nose. The two conversed quietly and hesitantly, all smiles and shy looks, apparently now unaware of the three women at the table with them.

Rachel turned to Quinn and rolled her eyes, but she had smirk on her lips too.

"Kapraski!" yelled a voice from the exit down onto the main deck. Lancer Captain Kells was stood there, glaring. "Get on the deck, on the double! Drill started ten minutes ago!"

"Shit," Tom hissed. The word sounded odd coming from his mouth. He jumped from his seat and yelled over his shoulder as he ran, "See you all later!"

Carson watched him go, biting his bottom lip, and then turned back to see all three women grinning wickedly at him. He blinked. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Rachel stubbed out her cigar on the table and dropped it into her cup. "I better get back to my duties. See you later, kids." She stood up and strode away, ignoring the glares of the canteen officer as he noticed the ashy mess she'd left behind.

"I better scoot as well," Casey said, stretching as she got to her feet. "Proctor Quinlan wanted some help with some cataloguing after my break. He seems to have taken a shine to me." She gave her goodbyes and left.

Quinn stared at Carson, still grinning. He frowned at her.

"What is it?"

"You and Kapraski," Quinn said, her grin widening. "You like him."

"I - no, I - as a friend, maybe, but-" Carson spluttered, so red now he had gone maroon.

"And Kapraski likes you," she sang childishly, drumming her fingers on the table.

"You think so?" Carson said at once, dropping all pretence. His eyes widened as he realised what he'd said. "No, I don't mean-"

"Relax," Quinn said, reaching over and patting his hand. "What's the problem anyway? I think you'd make a cute couple."

Carson hung his head and didn't say anything, suddenly looking very small. Quinn frowned.

"Carson?" she said. When he didn't answer, she tried again. "Liam?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright." Quinn stretched in her seat. "Consider it dropped. But I've not seen a safe place to sleep for a while now, so I think I need to catch some rest. You coming?"

Carson shook his head, still staring at his lap. Quinn sighed and stood, moving over to him so she could give his shoulder a squeeze as she bent over to mutter in his ear.

"If you ever need to talk," she said quietly, "come see me. I won't judge you for anything, I promise."

He didn't respond, so she left him, walking down the corridor past the sickbay and towards the stairs that led to the bunks. As she started to climb the steps, she heard Danse's voice.

"A word, soldier."

She turned to see the paladin stood at the bottom of the staircase, gesturing to a room at the side. Frowning slightly, Quinn trotted back down, her feet making an uncomfortable clanging noise on the metal floor as she followed him into the room.

It turned out to be a bedroom. After a few beats, realisation hit her.

Danse's bedroom.

Curiosity exploded within her as her eyes roamed, drinking in every detail. The room was large, but strangely sparse, every piece of furniture tucked precisely against the walls, the tool boxes and stacks of documents set out in an orderly fashion alongside a pre-war pistol Danse had clearly been working on. On one side of the room, there was a Brotherhood flag, old and worn. Quinn wondered if it had belonged to someone else first, or if it was a permanent part of the decor.

Of course, the room was impeccably neat, which didn't surprise her; the bottles of alcohol on the desk and in the bin, however, did. She inspected them as Danse shut the door, stomped over to the corner, and stepped out of his power armour. The question about the bottles left her mind completely - Danse leaving his armour of his own accord was enough to catch her attention.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"This is a conversation I don't want to have while looming over you," he replied, standing awkwardly. "It's a sensitive topic, and…" He hesitated, shifting on his feet and glancing back at his armour, as if longing to be back inside its protective shell. "I am reporting you to Knight-Captain Cade for medical evaluation. The result of that will likely be your being removed from active duty for a short period of time."

"I'm sorry, what?" She stared at him.

"Your behaviour hasn't improved since the Boston Ruins."

"My behaviour? I'm not a damn child, Danse."

"I know. That wasn't the best phrasing." He gestured helplessly. "I have been evaluating you myself since then, and noticed a further increase in your erratic, risk-taking behaviour. And after Shaun-"

"Father," Quinn snapped.

"Father," Danse corrected. "After...him. You've gotten worse. I can't let you continue like this with good conscience."

"...when we eventually return to the Prydwen, you can be damn certain I won't let you endanger anyone else…"

She glared at him, an almost delirious anger burning within her as his words from the ruins echoed in her head. Her finger jabbed in his direction as she stepped forward, spitting at him, "You fucking hypocrite."

A flicker of shock crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced with a glare. "I am not a hypocrite."

"Yes you are! You're going to have me shafted for 'erratic behaviour,' when you had that goddamn episode in the church?"

Danse went rigid. "I thought we'd resolved this."

"No, all we did was ignore it. And you're still ignoring it, because I bet when you spill the dirt on me, you won't mention to Cade that you practically passed out in the middle of the Glowing Sea, huh?"

"This is not…" He began to pace up and down the room. "I'm not trying to punish you; I'm trying to save your life!"

Her throat tightened at these words, cutting off her ability to speak. Danse leapt at the chance to continue.

"The Glowing Sea was the final wakeup call I needed." He was pacing faster now, gesturing wildly with his hands. "It proved I shouldn't have even let you go there in the first place. You nearly got us both killed, and after what I saw there, I-"

His shaking hand clamped to his forehead, and he groaned, sweat beading on his skin as he stopped in the centre of the room. Quinn forgot her annoyance with him and walked over, taking hold of his arm and guiding him to his bed. Danse sat down on it, and for a moment didn't even seem to register her presence. Then he shook his head and gave her an irritated look. His expression softened as she crouched down in front of him, still holding onto his arm.

"What did you see?" she asked quietly.

"I...I don't know. I only remember parts of it. Just...what I normally dream about. Cutler. I go to help him, but he's not Cutler anymore, he's...and then…" He shook his head. "But this time it was different. It wasn't Cutler, it was…" Danse looked at Quinn for a moment and then dropped his gaze. "It doesn't matter. But it reminded me that I couldn't save Cutler. But I can save you."

"I don't need saving." Quinn felt as if he'd slapped her across the face. Did he think she was incapable of looking after herself? "I'm not a goddamn damsel in distress, and cutting me off from the Commonwealth won't help. You don't have any right to do this."

"I'm your senior officer; I have every right. If I think you aren't fit for the battlefield, it's my duty to pass on that assessment. But rank or not, keeping you alive is more important to me than your approval of my actions." He held her gaze. "You've been on a self-destructive path from the moment I met you. I've tried ignoring it. I've tried dissuading you. I've tried to help you in every way I know how; this is beyond my ability. However, it's not beyond Knight-Captain Cade's."

"But what about you?" Quinn pointed out. "What happens if you have another episode again?"

"I won't. That was purely…" he trailed off, glancing at her.

"It's okay," she sighed. "I know it was my fault. You can say it."

Danse nodded slowly. "That was a one-off incident. Stress and tiredness. It won't happen again."

Quinn wasn't sure if she bought it - her experience with Nate had taught her flashbacks were rarely an isolated event - but the determination on his face was so strong, it seemed fruitless to contradict him. "And the nightmares?"

"They don't affect my ability on the field."

"They affect your sleep."

"Only a little."

Quinn pulled a face at him and he dropped his gaze from her.

"I can't stop you from passing on what you know to Knight-Captain Cade," Danse said eventually. "I don't want you to, but whatever you decide to do with the information, I'll accept it. I only ask that you don't. If I Iose the privilege of command, if I let the others see this...weakness." He shook his head. "A paladin is supposed to set an example to others, not cower over bad dreams. Confinement to the Prydwen is the last thing I want...the last thing I need."

"And yet you're going to do it to me."

"Your behaviour is dangerous." He gave her a small smile. "Mine is not. It won't happen again - I won't allow it."

She wanted to believe him. She really did. Quinn bit her lip, staring into his deep, brown eyes for what felt like ages, the lighting of the room giving his skin a sickly hue. Rubbing her forehead, she sighed. "I don't agree with this, but…" Her hand dropped away, resting on her knee. "This is something you need to tell Cade yourself. I think you're risking too much by carrying on like this, but I also think you won't be able to deal with your problems until you're ready."

"I don't have any-"

"You do." She was not going to let this point escape him. "You have a problem, Danse, and it needs to be dealt with. I'll help you as much as I can, but there will come a time where you will have to go to Cade about it. I can't force you, and I sure as hell won't drop you in it, but people are going to start noticing sooner or later. If you go to Cade now, you can overcome this discreetly. No one else needs to know about it."

Danse didn't answer, so she stood up and made her way to the door, stopping as her fingers brushed against the handle. Sighing, she leaned against the metal, which was cool against her burning skin.

"You're right about me. I know you're right. I need help. So...tell Cade what you have to. Just...please. Don't tell anyone the truth about Shaun. Just say...say he's dead. We found him dead." Her voice broke at these last words, and Danse finally glanced up at her.

"Your secret is safe with me." He wasn't smiling, but she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"Thank you. And thank you for looking out for me, even if I don't always appreciate it. You're a good friend. Maybe the best I've ever had."

"The feeling is mutual." He paused, struggling with himself before blurting out, "I'm leaving the Prydwen again tomorrow."

"What?"

"I have another assignment elsewhere in the Commonwealth. I leave first thing in the morning."

Everything went cold. Quinn's heart hammered in her ears, and yet it sounded distant, fading as the weight of Danse's words clicked in her head. He couldn't even look at her, the goddamn-

"I see," Quinn said, her voice dangerously quiet. "Throw me to the wolves and then abandon me when I need-"

you

"-friends the most."

"That is not-" Danse began, rising to his feet and looking at her at last.

"Stop." Quinn held up a hand, breathing in deep through her nose, before exhaling from her mouth. She met his eye, unsmiling. "You have your duty. I understand. It would be wrong of me to berate you for something you can't change. Goodnight, sir."

A/N: Apologies for the lateness. Beta schedule difficulties. Thank you to dragonifyoudare (tumblr) and waiting4morning (ffnet) for their invaluable beta help.

Thank you to aelodrea , southernumbrella , simsismybae , and the other people on tumblr who sent me nice messages (I'm sorry I tried to find the rest of you in my IMs but couldn't) when I had my little 'I'm a crap writer I can't write Danse properly' moment the other day. It made me feel much better. :)

Also, oh my God, twenty chapters? I had originally planned for this fic to be less than ten chapters, but maybe ten at the most. I'm so glad I took the time to make this into the huge project it's become.

One extra thing. If you like my writing and want to keep up with updates on the progression of the chapter being written, as well as the occasional sneak peek at content (and my headcanons on various Fallout things in general, but especially Danse) then check out my 'BNC' tag on my tumblr. The link will be on my FFnet profile shortly.

Shout out to the glitch where Trashcan Carla's brahmin ends up on the roof of that house in Sanctuary. I am determined for it to be Deacon's fault.