Bottled Solace

Quinn left Danse's room before the argument could continue, closing the door with a click.

Anger burned within her, mixed with shame and frustration; Quinn knew she was being unfair. Danse owed her nothing - had promised her nothing - other than guidance when they worked together. The Brotherhood would always come first with Danse, and while his stubborn loyalty occasionally annoyed her, she really did admire him for it. Now that it was going to separate them, she had an issue with it?

Part of her wanted to go back in and apologise, but her pride hissed at the very idea.

Let him go. Let him do whatever the hell he wants. Maybe he'll be better off without - you won't put him in danger again.

He's doing this deliberately. He's going to Cade so he can leave you behind for good.

Just like you left Nate. Just like you've left Shau-

"Quinn?"

Quinn's head snapped up to see Carson stood in the corridor that led to the canteen. Had he been sat in there the whole time?

"What were you doing in Paladin Danse's quarters?" His expression was decidedly suspicious. Quinn didn't like it.

"Nothing." She moved away from Danse's door and headed towards the stairs. Carson followed her, grinning.

"Is there something-?"

"You didn't want to talk about Kapraski, so I sure as hell don't want to talk about Danse," she snapped, and then regretted it immediately. Quinn stopped, facing away from him with one foot on the steps, then hung her head and sat down. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Carson sat down next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Are you...are you okay?"

"No." Quinn rubbed her eyes and was startled to see her fingers come away wet. "Ah, fuck."

"Let's go somewhere more private." He stood, taking hold of her arm and tugging her to her feet. "Come on."

Eyes fixed to the floor, Quinn followed him to the very bottom of the Prydwen, the metal walls and floor tainted by the red of the emergency lighting. The underbelly of the ship was deep and dark, puddles of water and rust accompanying the seedy dealings of a small group of soldiers lurking around a stash of vodka bottles and a carton of cigarettes. They shot the two of them nervous glances, lowering their alcohol bottles and shuffling away their pre-war peep magazines as Quinn approached.

"She's got nice tits," Quinn said as she passed them by. There was a silence, and then the men roared with laughter, before calling after her. She shot them a sly grin over her shoulder that didn't quite reach her eyes, and continued with Carson through the recreation area to a quieter section of the lower deck, behind a stack of crates.

"Right," Carson said as Quinn sat on the floor, propping herself up against a nearby crate. "Tell me what's wrong."

He sat down with her as Quinn fidgeted, suddenly unable to find the words. Carson said nothing, simply staring ahead and observing the walls with a keen interest, as if the patterns of rust on the Prydwen's interior were as fascinating as an episode of the Silver Shroud. His acceptance, his patience, and his support for someone he barely knew filled Quinn with an odd love for him.

We're going to be great friends, she thought. God, what a comfort that was.

"They're taking me off active duty," Quinn said dully. "Cade is going to evaluate me tomorrow, realise I'm a mess, and ground me. Danse wanted to tell me in private before he gave his report."

"What the hell?" Carson's mouth dropped open in indignation. "Why?!"

His disdain at her situation filled Quinn with a new life, and she explained as much as she dared. About Nate, the search for Shaun, and…

"He's dead," Quinn whispered. This was true, in a sense; Shaun had ceased to exist. "The Institute killed him, and now I'm stuck on a path that's going to ruin me and everyone around me. Or at least that's what Danse thinks."

Carson's expression darkened as she recounted the tales of the Boston Ruins, her breakdown, and the Glowing Sea - conveniently leaving out Danse's own issues, of course. She had no idea why she was baring her soul to Carson, this man she had known for perhaps a collective day, but she couldn't deny it felt good to vent to someone who wasn't Danse. There were no conflicting feelings or guilt - no navigating of minefields to keep things friendly, oh so friendly. There was just her, her thoughts, and Carson.

He took her hands and gave them a squeeze.

"I'm so, so sorry," he whispered, his eyes saying more than his words ever could. "I really am. Jesus Christ. How are you still going?"

Quinn laughed bitterly. "I'm not, am I? That's why they're going to keep me here."

Carson gave her a sad smile. "It's for the best, though, isn't it? I mean, it sounds like you can hold your own out there, but...you're struggling, aren't you?"

Yes, I am. Danse saw it long before I did. Quinn nodded, and then glanced down at their hands.

Carson flushed and let go of her. "I'm not-"

"I know." She grinned. "It's pretty fucking obvious women aren't your type."

"It is?" He looked dismayed.

"Well, no," Quinn admitted. "It's not like you wear a badge on your uniform that says 'I like men.' But it's clear that you like Kapraski. Then again, you could like women, too, so I'm talking shi-"

"No," Carson said, shaking his head. "You're right. Just men." He let out a long sigh of relief. "I'm glad it's not outwardly obvious. I'll just have to be careful next time I talk to Tom that I don't-"

"Why?" Quinn interrupted. "Kapraski doesn't hide that he likes you. Why should you be any different?"

"Because…" Carson lowered his gaze, shifting on the spot. "I...I don't want people judging me for it."

Quinn blinked. Was homophobia still a thing in the Commonwealth? The way Hancock had paraded around Goodneighbor, a different mixture of men and women on each arm every night, had given her the impression people had better things to be judgemental about than who someone else was fucking. She said as much to Carson, and he stared at her in surprise, before bursting out laughing.

When he quieted down, he said, "Well, you're wrong. In some places, it matters. Like my hometown. Casey and I…" Carson paused, glancing around before saying in a low voice, "She was my fiancé, back home."

"Your...what?" Quinn gawked at him. "You two were...and you're...but…?"

"It was an arranged marriage. It was quite a big, traditional thing in my settlement and some of the neighbouring ones as well. Set up a nice marriage between two towns or villages; bring our communities and resources together, that kind of thing. So liking someone the, uh...the same as you was a massive family shame. Can't produce kids when you match."

He hung his head. "I stayed quiet for years, but one day, I just couldn't take it anymore. I told Casey, because I thought she deserved to know the truth before I abandoned everything. She was quite happy about the whole thing, really. She liked me as a person, but she didn't want to marry me. So…"

Carson rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes. "We left a note to each of our families, and we ran. Casey wanted to join the Brotherhood, because it was a way for her to learn more and do something important. I went along for the ride, because I didn't have anywhere else to go. And here I am."

Quinn nudged him, and he finally looked up at her, his expression one of a man waiting for the headsman's axe to fall.

"I don't see you any differently," Quinn said quietly. "And given that no one else clearly gives a shit that Kapraski likes you, I don't think anyone else will either. If you like him, go for it. It's about time you let yourself be happy."

"Thanks, Quinn." Carson smiled and then bit his lip. "Maybe I'll talk with Tom tomorrow, if Kells doesn't have him hanging over the side of the ship, scraping off external rust for being late for drill."

"Jesus Christ."

"I know!"

The next hour was spent in deep conversation about whose idea it was to make external rust scraping a punishment. Carson was convinced it was Kells, and Maxson had just run with it, while Quinn felt that Maxson had the creativity to think outside the box, and Kells had agreed dangling soldiers over a six hundred foot drop was an excellent way to stop them missing drill again. It was only when the severely disgruntled knight-sergeant with the peep magazine popped his head around the crates and told them to shut up because, "Proctor Ingram is the only one with enough mad genius for that bullshit," that they decided to call it a night.

Casey approached her as they drew near to the bunks, handing her a note.

"Knight-Captain Cade wanted me to give you this," she said. "He said he didn't have time to send out a search party for you...or words to that effect."

"Thanks," Quinn replied, and moved away from the others to read it. The note had been sealed with medical tape to prevent prying eyes from looking. Despite herself, she smiled, appreciating the gesture, and opened it.

Knight,

As I'm sure you are aware, Paladin Danse has given his report of your recent time on the field. Without wishing to put too much detail here, I agree thoroughly with his assessment and the actions he suggested.

Please come and see me first thing tomorrow.

Knight-Captain Cade

Quinn crumpled the note up in her fist and threw it over the railings and into the darkness below. It was official. She was going crazy. No, she was already crazy; she had said as much to Deacon.

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

Who thought like that? The crazy bitch with the frozen husband and the 'dead' son, obviously. And soon everyone on the Prydwen would know about it. She had nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide.

"Welcome home," Quinn muttered to herself.

Over the next few days, hiding from Knight-Captain Cade became something of a talent for Quinn. Danse had wanted her to be evaluated as soon as possible, but he had left her here alone.

Fuck Danse and fuck Cade, too.

She didn't need someone poking around in her head, telling her she was a wreck, analysing her. That much was blatant already. Why couldn't Cade just leave her be? They wanted her to recuperate, so she was recuperating. By herself. As far away from the others as possible.

Quinn sighed, wishing she could be back at Sanctuary again with the others. Hancock, with his stupid drug habit and his love of her stupid 'got your nose' joke. Nick, with his chain smoking and endless tales of cases. Piper, and her secret stash of candy that could probably feed all of Diamond City for a year. Not to mention her subtle wit. And Preston, good natured and gentle, an influence of good that kept her grounded in this insane new world. It brought her hope to know people like him still existed.

And then there was Sturges. Quinn wondered what he had done with the data she had given him from the Institute. She'd done it when Danse hadn't been looking, so as not to cause an argument about 'duty to the Brotherhood'; after all, she owed Sturges a lot. Still, her stomach gave a twinge of guilt when she thought about it. The data could have been shared with the Brotherhood. But then again, they could have used it to hurt Shaun.

"Hey."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Quinn muttered as Carson made his way along the walkway towards her. Day after day, various people had approached her with Cade's requests for her to see him. She had managed to avoid most of them, and play ignorant with the rest, but Carson...Carson would not leave her be, and she was running out of places on the Prydwen to stay out of sight.

"Yeah, it's that time of day again," Carson said, standing over her with his hands on his hips, an amused smile on his face. The grin quickly slipped away, however, and he crouched down next to her. "How long you going to keep this up? I can promise you, Cade won't drop it. He has the persistence of a deathclaw in heat."

"Dare I ask how you know what a deathclaw in heat looks like?"

"It's...probably best if you never find out." Carson pulled a face. "But anyway, don't change the topic. When are you going to see him?"

"When someone drags my cold, dead body there."

Quinn half expected him to tell her off, to nag her for not doing what she should. Instead, he offered her a hand.

"Let's go for a walk."

She stared at him for a moment, but his smile was so disarming, she grumbled and took hold of him, allowing him to pull her up. Dusting herself down, they set off on a slow ramble around the Prydwen, Quinn casting nervous glances around for Cade, while Carson chattered aimlessly away. It was only when he said, "I'm glad you're off active duty," that she took proper notice, rounding on him instantly.

"You're glad that I'm stuck here? That I'm-"

"Woah!" Carson exclaimed, throwing his arms up in mock surrender. "Calm down!"

Quinn bit back a retort, her fraying temper already close to snapping. Cursing out the one person on the ship who had been patient with her so far was not a winning option.

"I'm sorry," he went on, lowering his hands. "That sounded better in my head. What I meant was I'm just glad I have someone else with me here, circumstances not taken into consideration." He paused, his face dropping. "Christ, you're right. No matter how you word it, that sounds so shitty."

A giggle escaped before she could stop herself; it was hard to stay angry at someone so damn charming. She nudged him with her elbow to let him know all was forgiven, and then asked, "But why are you confined to the Prydwen?"

"Oh come on." He blinked at her. "No? You really don't know why?" Carson unzipped his uniform, revealing a horrendous, twisted mass of scar tissue across his stomach, pink and puckered against his dark skin. Carson stared at it for a moment, and then quickly zipped it back up again when someone down the corridor wolf whistled at him, followed by a series of jeering laughs.

Quinn led Carson away, trying not to laugh herself as his cheeks turned deep red.

"So," she said, "that thing hasn't healed yet?"

"Almost, but not fully. Stimpaks work wonders, but they don't perform miracles. Cade is making sure my muscles and all the other important bits are fully healed before he even considers letting me back out on the field again. To be honest, it's been hell watching everyone else do their part for the Brotherhood while I'm left here…"

"Since when have you cared about that? You said you were here 'because it seemed like a good idea at the time' when I first met you."

"Yeah, well…" Carson looked down at his feet, fidgeting a little. "Nearly dying and having your team care enough to visit your bedside can change that." His expression softened, though his blush deepened. "And...Tom, too, I guess. And everything else here." He glanced up at her. "I've been talking more with Tom, and you were right. There's a few teasing jokes, but no one really cares. It feels like home, y'know? Or what my home should have felt like."

"I get you," Quinn replied, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a little squeeze.

"I'm just glad you're here. It's not often I click with someone so quickly."

"I was thinking the same thing. Must be my grace and elegance that drew you in."

"Sure, let's go with that." He smirked as they walked on, climbing higher and higher up through the Prydwen, the hum of the engines buzzing through Quinn's ears as they made their way past the core.

Carson's turned to her, suddenly serious. "Honestly, though, you're going to have to go to Cade soon. He's picked up on the fact we get along, and he's pressuring me to pretty much drag you to him."

"Good luck with that."

"Yeah, I don't want to end up missing my teeth," Carson said with a shrug. "But why are you avoiding this? The sooner you see him, the sooner you can get off this ship again."

Quinn hadn't thought of it like that, but it would be a cold day in the Glowing Sea before she admitted it. But now she thought about it, Quinn wasn't entirely sure why she was going out of her way to rebuff Cade's help. Evading him felt like she was evading some great, universal truth: her condition wouldn't be real until Cade told her so. Clinging to this last scrap of normality was all she had left.

Carson frowned as she voiced this and folded his arms. "So you're running away?"

"That's rich, coming from you," Quinn snapped.

His face dropped immediately. They both knew what she was referring to, and in that moment, she wanted to take her cutting words and stuff them back in her mouth. But it was too late; Carson looked as if she had hit him.

"I get that you're going through a tough time," he said, stepping back from her and glaring, "but treating people like shit won't get you anywhere. Especially when you throw their biggest insecurities at them for a cheap shot."

"I'm sor-" Quinn began, but he cut her off.

"I'm sure you are. But right now, I don't think I'm in the mood to hear any half-assed apologies. I don't know who has been letting you get away with your attitude for so long, but it doesn't fly with me. Go see Cade and sort your head out, before he gets Rachel to drag you to his damn office." Carson turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving Quinn alone on the walkways.

She couldn't even bring herself to be angry. Her fiery temper was something that had always gotten her into trouble, even when she had been with Nate. But lately, she seemed to be erupting at the slightest provocation, hurting the people she cared about most. Carson's outright refusal to put up with it made her think of Danse - specifically, his near eternal patience at her appalling behaviour. A slow heat crept up her cheeks as she thought about all the times she had snapped at him for no reason. Her last conversation with him was enough to make her cringe.

No wonder he left. Probably sick to death of you by now.

This was the other reason why Quinn hadn't wanted to be removed from duty. Too much time to think, to reflect. With this would come change and growth, she supposed, but alongside everything else that was happening, it felt like too much to bear.

Her foot skidded on something, and Quinn hurled forward, crashing into the railings of the walkway so hard, she nearly toppled straight over them. Instead, she fell back with a loud, metallic thud, staring dazedly up at the rusting ceiling. When her head finally cleared, Quinn groaned and rolled onto her front, her heart jumping into her throat.

On the floor were a series of childish drawings, done in brightly coloured chalk, clearly drawn by the young Squires on the ship. A puppy. A rainbow. An alien and a rocket ship. She glanced up to see pieces of chalk left scattered everywhere, the likely culprit for her fall. Next to them was an alien spaceship toy and a model Nuka-Cola truck. The exact same kind of toys that had been in Shaun's toy box before the bombs - presents from her mother on Shaun's first birthday.

Biting back a choked sob, Quinn crawled away and rocked back on her knees, rubbing hard at the chalk dust that now covered her hands and clothes. The harder she scrubbed, the more it smeared. Panic was welling up inside of her now, and all at once, she knew what she needed.

Scrambling to her feet, Quinn patted her clothes, checking her small stash of caps was still present, and then shakily made her way down the stairs, taking deep breaths to try and keep in control. A few of the other soldiers threw glances at her, and someone - maybe Casey, but she wasn't sure - asked her if she was okay. Quinn mumbled an answer and hurried away, reaching Proctor Teagan as fast as she could without running.

"The whiskey, please." Quinn slammed down a pile of caps, sending them scattering all over the desk and onto the floor. She didn't know what the exchange rate was for the booze, but hopefully it would be enough.

Teagan raised an eyebrow, but grabbed the alcohol and put it down in front of her, naming his price.

"Yeah, more than enough there," Quinn mumbled, snatching up the bottle and rushing away.

"Wait, don't you want your change?" he called after her. Quinn ignored him, hurrying down the steps to the bottom of the Prydwen. There were people here, too, but she had a way to deal with that.

Quinn continued on down to the section that led under the lowest floor. Checking no one was watching, Quinn crouched down and clambered across the scaffolding and piping, wrestling her way through the low, metal obstacle course until she was under a stack of crates, hidden away from the rest of the world. It felt almost funny that a few days ago she had been sat at those very same crates with Carson, spilling nearly all her secrets to him.

No matter. She had an even better friend with her now.

This was what she lived for. The crack of the seal as she opened the lid. The strong, eye watering smell of spirit, rich and ready for her. The dark, amber colour tainted by shadow and the faint, red light filtering through the slats in the metal flooring. Quinn leaned up against one of the metal supports and pressed the cool, glass bottle to her mouth, drinking deeply from it.

God.

She spluttered, spilling a large amount down herself. This was good shit. She could tell by the taste, the texture. The label was gone, but there was no hiding this quality. Teagan had no idea what he had practically given away. A laugh bubbled up from her lips, causing more of the burning liquid to spill down her already damp shirt, and she tipped the bottle back, swigging from it with a hardened resolve.

Within minutes, Quinn was a third of the way through. Her throat stung with sweet fire, her stomach churning as bile gurgled up into her mouth, demanding she slow down. Quinn washed it back with another mouthful, and then gagged, struggling to hold back the urge to be sick.

No, I'm not there yet. I can still think. I can still feel. I still know who I am.

Please. Let me forget. Let me drink until I'm dead.

Please.

Another hit. The retching began as the world spun lazily around her, swinging her head from side to side within the confines of her own skull. She hit her teeth with the bottle as she dove into her escape again, barely noticing the dull throb of pain that spread across into her gums, the taste of blood lingering on her tongue. More whiskey to wash it back. It wouldn't matter after that.

Halfway mark.

Her laughter was quiet and devoid of emotion. It was just so funny. Her son. Sixty years old! And she was only twenty-eight...or was she twenty-nine? Quinn didn't know; her lips had gone numb and her vision was unfocused. She wished she was a teenager again, in the passenger seat of Mark's car, drinking alcohol and chipping her tooth before they were pulled over by the police. Before Nate. Before Shaun.

Why couldn't Kellogg have killed me? Why did I have to live?

Her sniggers turned to silent, breathy sobs as she choked down more of the alcohol. Some of it dribbled down her slack mouth, but her tongue worked to catch the wayward drops, lolling clumsily at the bottleneck.

Two thirds done.

There were no more tears. No more giggles. The perfect place had been reached at last: beautiful, terrible nothing. A delicious emptiness that smothered every emotion she had, throttling the life out of them without mercy or hope.

The hand that held the bottle hung loose at Quinn's side, her fingers clutching though they were too numb to feel. With a loud clunk, the whiskey slipped from her grasp, spilling the rest of its contents on the floor like a gutted animal. Quinn stirred, but ignored it, too far gone to really notice or care. Her eyelids drooped, her face blank as the alcohol spread, seeping into the fabric of her trousers.

In the distance, there were words - muffled words that echoed in her head, trying to pierce through the weight of her inebriation. Quinn stayed where she was, slouched against the scaffolding, her jaw hanging open as she stared ahead, dimly aware of the tear tracks drying on her cheeks. How odd that, in the height of her dulled stupor, that was the one thing that was truly real to her.

A figure appeared in front of her, their hands clamping down on Quinn's shoulders. She couldn't feel their grip, but the world rattled as they shook her. They leaned in close, and everything snapped into perspective, an almost frightening elation ripping through her.

"Nate!" she cried, lifting arms as heavy as lead, clutching at the front of his uniform. The man's face was blurred, but he was dark and tall and on the skinny side. It was Nate. It was Nate. He had forgiven her and come back. He was here with her, ready to take her away from it all.

"Nate," Quinn croaked, fighting her own body and forcing a hand up to touch his face. "I'm sorry I left you there. I'm so sorry. I thought you were...I love you. I love you. I love you. Nate…"

Could he hear her? Could he understand her? The words that tumbled from her mouth were not the ones that were going through her head - they were muddied and corrupted, and he didn't seem to understand.

"Oh, shit," said Nate. "Oh shit, Quinn. Oh shit, this is bad. This is bad. This is...fuck."

He tried to pull away and terror exploded out of her like a bomb. No, she couldn't lose him again. Quinn grabbed the front of his clothes, fisting the fabric between her hands as she begged him to stay, her voice getting louder as he fought to leave.

A rough palm clamped over her mouth, stifling her words. Quinn tried to scream, but Nate leaned in, smoothing back her hair with his free hand and talking in a soft, soothing voice.

"I'm not going anywhere, Quinn. Just...stay quiet. Okay? I won't go anywhere if you stay quiet."

Quinn gave a clumsy nod and Nate removed his hand, sitting down next to her in the puddle of whiskey. Without hesitation, she slumped against him, flinging her arms around his middle and clutching him tight, muttering a stream of apologies. He had to know how much she loved him, how much she had missed him. Nate said nothing, simply holding onto her as Quinn mumbled away.

The last thing she remembered was the feel of his body against hers, before she slipped into the black.

A/N: Thanks to waiting4morning for their invaluable beta help! And thank you to those who give all their love in reviews and favourites and so forth. It really makes my day!