The Edge

Shaun was crying again.

It was the kind of crying that spoke of fear - sharp, breathy wails, screaming for a parent to save him from the shouts in the darkness that he couldn't understand. His wails were an alarm, ringing on and on without pause, without a hint of relenting, until someone saved him from the monsters.

Nate ignored him.

The corridor was dark as he stepped out from his bedroom, disregarding the snuffled cries of his wife behind him. Their most recent argument had been a fierce one - Quinn had shouted herself hoarse, the fire that he had once admired in her feeling like needles in his chest. She had demanded to know what was wrong with him, why he ignored her, why he ignored his son - their son. He had let it go on for a little while, until finally his temper had gotten the better of him.

Not that he'd hit her. No, he'd never lay a finger on either of them. But he'd bellowed louder than anything she could have managed, and in his rage, thrown a lamp across the room. It had hit the nearby wall, knocking free a framed picture his father had painted for them as a wedding gift. That had shut her up. It had shut him up, too.

What the hell was wrong with him? Violence was not in his nature, soldier or not, and the idea that he could do something so clearly beyond his control scared him as much as it had obviously scared Quinn. He could turn left, to help his son. He could turn back and console his wife.

Nate turned right and walked down the hall and into the living room, switching on the lights with a shaking hand. The sudden flare from above sent shivers down his spine, but he fought back against the pressing memories, and they settled.

Above the sound of Shaun's wails, Nate heard Quinn move, going into his room and making soft, cooing noises. Try as she might, though, he could hear the tremble in her voice as she worked to calm down their son. Perhaps that was why Shaun only screamed harder; he could tell she was lying.

Nate walked over to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap, letting the cool water run over his hands before he splashed it onto his face. The shock helped, and the dull pressure in his head lessened somewhat. He turned the water off and leaned over the sink, breathing heavily through his nose. How long he stood there, he didn't know, but it wasn't until Quinn walked back into the room, carrying a still crying Shaun, that he looked up.

In an instant, his world fell apart.

His wife - his beautiful wife - was standing, fully dressed, with a holdall bag hanging off the crook of her arm, while Shaun squirmed and bawled as she cradled him. The bag was packed so tightly, it looked as if it was going to burst open.

"Quinn," Nate said, his voice breaking as panic flared up through his chest. It was an electric shock so intense he thought he would keel over with the pain.

"I can't do this anymore," Quinn said, and in that moment, he saw a glimmer of the woman he had fallen in love with, so many years ago. Parenthood had tried to smother her, but she burned through brighter than a star, so frighteningly and resolutely Quinn.

Fierce. Determined. Strong. Her red, puffy eyes gleamed with a hard coldness that filled the room, and Nate knew if he let her go now, he would never see her again.

"Quinn!" He stepped forward, and she pulled Shaun closer to her chest, edging towards the door. Nate stopped, not wanting her to run. "Quinn. Don't take him away from me. Please. Don't go."

Her mirthless laugh stung as her face screwed up in disgust. "Oh, now you take an interest in him? You pathetic excuse for a man."

She was right, but she was also wrong. Nate wanted to grab her, wanted to shake her, make her realise the truth. Couldn't she see that keeping away from Shaun was the only way to protect him? Couldn't she understand that the more time he spent with them, the more he would drag them down into his hell?

No, how could she? He barely understood it himself.

Quinn turned, the bag swinging around and knocking a vase on the shelf. It teetered on its edge for a moment, and as Quinn placed her fingers on the door handle, fell and hit the floor with a loud crash.

"Nate, duck!"

Hands grabbed him and dragged him into the dirt as something whizzed overhead. He coughed, the grit salty and dry in his mouth, and looked up to see himself face to face with a ghost.

"Watch your ass, Nate. You got a pretty gal to go home to."

"Nate!"

"Well, you had a pretty gal."

"Nate!"

Nate gasped, his hands gripping at the floor as Quinn leaned over him, her hands pressed on his shoulders. He lay there, rigid and panting, chest tight as he struggled to breathe. His head hurt, a hot, wet something trickling down the side of his face and dripping to the floor. Underneath him, he could feel hard objects digging into his body.

Still, he didn't try to get up as the world slowly morphed back into place, but raised his hands to Quinn's arms, hardly daring to believe she had stayed. She was here.

"I'm sorry," Nate mumbled. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm…"

Over and over again, he said it: two words that he had failed to utter for so long, they felt foreign on his tongue. If he said it enough, she would stay for good. If he said it enough, he could keep his son. If he said it enough-

Quinn pressed her mouth to his, her tears dripping down onto his cheeks. Nate could feel his own eyes stinging, but he held back. If she saw his weakness, she would run. He knew that as well as he knew his own name.

When they broke away, Quinn sat up and wiped her eyes. It was then that Nate realised there was someone else in the room.

"How are you doin', kid?" Mrs Bossanova rasped. Nate's eyes drifted to the thick, jagged scar that ran across the width of her throat, and shivered. But despite his discomfort, he trusted the tiny, elderly, black woman. She had always offered him solid advice when it had come to Quinn's overbearing father.

Shaun lay in her arms, watching Nate with wide, strangely alert eyes. His child. The distance he had created between himself and his son seemed to fall away, and he was filled with a sudden urge to hold Shaun, to kiss him and hug him and never let him go.

Nate tried to sit up and groaned as his head pounded, feeling like it was about to split in two. Quinn gently pushed him back down, biting her lip.

"Don't try to move," she mumbled, stroking his face. "You hit your head when you…"

"I'll take Shaun back to bed," Mrs Bossanova announced, a book tucked under her arm. "He can keep me company while I read a bit of Austen."

She shuffled away and out of sight. Nate closed his eyes, but opened them again instantly as a wave of nausea hit him. He looked at his wife, trying to ignore the spinning sensation, and said, "What happened? Why is she here?"

"You…" Quinn paused, her fingers digging into him slightly. "You had another flashback, I think. The vase…" She glanced away from him, towards the open front door. "One minute I'm trying to get out, the next I hear a bang and...it's the worst I've ever seen you."

Nate raised a hand to his aching scalp, his fingers coming away red. Well, that explained why he felt sick, at any rate.

"I didn't know what to do," Quinn babbled on, her grip now painful. "I had Shaun, but you were...and then Mrs Bossanova just walked in. Said she'd heard us from down the street and wanted to check we were okay. Took Shaun off me, and then…" She shrugged. "Here we are."

Nate winced and rested his hand on hers, smearing blood onto her pale skin. Thankfully, her fingers relaxed at his touch. They sat in silence for a moment, not looking at each other, before Quinn spoke.

"This can't go on, Nate. I was ready to leave tonight." She paused, and some of the conviction returned to her face. "I'm still ready to leave, if you don't offer me a damn good explanation for the way you've been acting lately."

Nate froze. Of course she wouldn't just forgive and forget; what kind of idiot did he take her for? This wasn't a product of one heated argument, but months and months of problems and battles rising together into a single, horrific climax. He closed his eyes, ignoring his dizziness, not wanting to look at the resentment on her beautiful face.

"Nate."

Her tone was different now. Desperate. Pleading. Quinn never pleaded.

"I can't stay if you don't. I can't keep Shaun in a house like this."

That did it. The idea of losing Shaun was too much. Nate opened his eyes, pushing through the fear that choked him, and began to talk. Quinn's expression dropped in alarm as his shameful secrets were given to her. Pathetic excuse for a man, she had said earlier. She was right.

As a man, he was unworthy of being a father, going through the motions of an endeavour doomed to fail. As a husband, he was frail and lacking. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one to care for her and his son, and yet in reality he was no better than a child.

But it all paled to the worst crime he had committed. He had nearly killed all of them in the throes of his first flashback, in the car. What if it happened again when Nate was holding Shaun? Or taking Shaun for a walk? Or in later life, at school plays or meetings, or when Shaun brought his friends home to play?

"I'm a danger and an embarrassment," Nate finished, looking away from Quinn, unable to meet her eye. "And it would be easier if Shaun didn't know me at all. But…" Nate swallowed, his throat tight. "But I'm so selfish...the one opportunity you have to escape, and the first thing I do is beg you to stay. I'm-"

He never finished his sentence. Quinn lay across his chest, hugging him tight, and...by God, was she sobbing?

"Quinn?" he said weakly.

"You...you…" Her voice muffled into him, before she pulled away, tears streaming down her face. "How could you think that? Any of it? I love you. And Shaun...he would never be ashamed of you. You're a goddamn hero in every sense of the word, and if you'd told me this sooner, I could have helped you."

His wife. Without warning, he pulled her close, hugging her so tight he thought she would complain. She didn't. And he realised, with a feeling of adoration so strong it ached, that she never would.

"Doctor's," she murmured into his ear, holding him just as hard. "Doctor's, first thing in the morning, okay?"

"Yes. Anything to make this right."

"Anything?"

Despite her distress, he could see the mischief in her eyes. Nate nodded, a small grin playing on his lips.

Quinn leaned forward and pulled out a splintered table leg out from underneath him. "You can start by buying me a new coffee table, then."

"Oh fuck me."

Everything hurt. Light hurt. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. But most of all, her motherfucking head-

"Christ, you're awake!"

Hands grabbed at her. Quinn gave a loud groan, trying to tug herself free as she squinted up at the owner of the voice. Fire ripped through her forehead, and she squeezed her eyes shut again, wishing someone would just shoot her and get it over with.

"Knight Carson," said another voice, and the hands released her.

"Sorry, Knight-Captain Cade."

"It's alright," replied Cade. He rattled around nearby, the noise splintering through Quinn like glass. "But I need to speak with this knight here in private, so why don't you take a break?"

"I...yes, sir."

"No need to call me 'sir.' Now off you go."

The sound of footsteps started, quickly growing fainter as Carson left. There was a scraping noise, followed by a creak, and then suddenly Cade's voice was right next to her ear.

"Hold still. This will hurt a little, but it'll help with the pain." There was a plastic click, a slight metallic tapping sound, and then a sharp something buried itself at the base of her neck, just above the collarbone.

Quinn's words became little more than a slow hiss as she froze in shock, and then shuddered as the sharp something was removed. A whiny gasp escaped her, followed by a low giggle as a sweet sensation flooded over her. She was floating away, swimming on clouds alongside the Prydwen, cradling a bottle of whiskey to her-

Reality returned with a bump, the lightness in her head being replaced with a dull throb, her limbs heavy and unresponsive.

"Try to open your eyes."

With some apprehension, Quinn obeyed. The light still felt offensively bright, but the stabbing pains had gone. She turned her head to see Cade sat next to her, an empty syringe of med-x in his hand. A screen surrounded her bed, cutting her off from the rest of the ship.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, as he disposed of the needle in a bucket labelled 'sharps.'

Quinn shrugged and then winced as something tugged and stung in her arms. "What the…?"

"Careful." Cade leaned forward and removed what looked like a drip needle from Quinn's forearm. The tube connected to it led to a bag half full of clear liquid.

"What the hell happened?"

"Alcohol poisoning," Cade said in a low voice. "But the official diagnosis is 'radiation sickness from unpurified water, due to a lack of natural resistance to the wasteland.'"

Quinn blinked. "...radiation sickness?"

Cade shrugged. "After Paladin Danse's report, I felt it was unnecessary to put you in a position for further stigmatisation. Your actions were far below the standards expected of our knights, but given your circumstances, I believe this incident can be left off the record."

He stood up, removing the drip bag from its stand and throwing it away in another, separate bin. The needle joined the med-x in the 'sharps' bucket. Cade began to putter around, clearing away equipment as Quinn slowly sat up and sniffed the air. Next to her bed was a bucket filled with what looked like vomit. A prickling heat began to slowly creep up her cheeks.

"Don't worry about it," Cade said, noticing where she was looking. "You won't be the first in here for your illness, and you won't be the last. At the very least, yours has nothing to do with addiction."

"You mean I'm not an alcoholic, at least."

"You're not an alcoholic yet. But make a habit of this and you certainly will be." To Quinn's horror, Cade picked up her sick bucket. He smiled at her. "Nothing I haven't seen before. Stay put. I'd rather not have a chat with you with this in the room, but if you aren't here when I get back, I'll be annoyed."

Part of her wanted to run, to avoid having the conversation she knew was coming, but...it was inevitable. As hard as she fought, it would happen eventually. If he was going to cover up her attempt at drowning herself in whiskey, the least she could do is hear him out. Sighing, Quinn glanced around at her surroundings, trying to ignore her headache. It seemed the med-x had only taken off the worst of the pain.

Cade's office was perhaps the cleanest place she had seen in the Commonwealth. Though it lacked the traditional white, immaculate walls of the pre-war hospitals, there wasn't a speck of dirt in sight, and all his equipment was gleaming, free from rust and blood. It wasn't the most organised space, an explosion of tools and medicine, but it was a sense of chaos that Cade clearly navigated with ease.

Her nerves mounted as she waited for the knight-captain to return, swinging her legs on the old gurney, before attempting to stand. She cried out as her legs buckled and she crashed down into a metal stand full of equipment. Bandage rolls and stimpaks rained down on her as she lay crumpled on the floor, her legs trembling.

Cade ran back into the room, carrying the now empty bucket, which was dripping with water. He dropped it and stooped down to help her, his hands brushing quickly over her, searching for any injuries. When he was satisfied with her state, he led her over to the chair in front of his desk and helped her sit down, before picking up the bucket and putting it in the corner of the room. Finally, he sat at his desk and gave her a warm, sympathetic smile.

"How did I get in here in the first place?" Quinn asked, before Cade could speak.

"Knight Carson and Scribe Shingler brought you in," he said, shuffling some papers. "Luckily for you, yesterday there was a...commotion. No one noticed you being brought in except for a squire, and he thought you were...ill."

Curiosity bubbled within her. Why the pauses? What commotion? So many questions, but she had to ask the biggest one first. "Yesterday?"

"Yes. You've been out for about…" Cade scanned his notes. "A good twelve hours at least. You were unconscious initially, which was worrying, but once you were rehydrated, you woke for a spell, and then fell asleep. It seems like you needed it."

Twelve hours? Quinn bit her lip. She must have really done a number on herself. Her sleep had been somewhat disturbed on the Prydwen, yes, but she hadn't expected it to be that bad. Then again, when she really thought about it, three hours of sleep a night wasn't a great number. Pushing the thought aside, Quinn moved onto her next question. "What commotion?"

Cade shook his head. "I'd rather discuss you instead."

"Knight-Captain Cade-" she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"Paladin Danse has given me a report of your time in the wasteland with him," Cade said, in a firm but compassionate voice. It was the voice of a man who would not bow down to her, but would care for her while he gave his judgement. "How are you feeling, Quinn? Can I call you Quinn?"

Quinn nodded, her mouth dry as her palms began to sweat. This was it. This was going to be The Talk. She shrugged. "I'm...I'm fine."

"Paladin Danse feels otherwise, and I'm inclined to agree with him." Cade pulled out a piece of paper from the stack and read from it aloud. "Unusual, risk-taking and reckless behaviour, heavy drinking - which you've already displayed quite well to me - and after you found out your son had died…"

Cade put down the paper and gave her a concerned look. "Paladin Danse said you had some sort of violent breakdown. He believes you are a danger to yourself, and would also be a danger to others if you were allowed back on the field. But you already know this."

She nodded again, her stomach twisting and turning, making the nausea return twofold. Quinn crossed her arms across her middle and leaned forward, trying to ignore it, to no avail. Their last talk played over in her head - she had been so rude to him, so unfair. Now, in the wake of yet another meltdown, Quinn couldn't help but think he had a point.

"It's not often I can pull a knight from active duty; I generally find I need medical evidence to show you aren't fit for field work. In this case, the testimony of Paladin Danse was more than enough evidence to take you off patrol for a short while. It's my medical opinion that you are suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, possible depression, and shock, as well as going through the stages of grief."

"Don't take this from me," Quinn said suddenly. A strange fire was rising within her, demanding she fight for her place on the outside. She didn't have to lie down and accept this. Her volume increased as she began to babble. "Don't take away my own only distraction from everything. Don't leave me locked up in this fucking-"

"Knight," Cade said sharply. Danse and Maxson had nothing on the authority that the doctor could wield with just his tone of voice. She shut up instantly, feeling shell shocked.

Cade studied her for a moment, and then continued. "I'm going to conduct a series of tests to evaluate your physical and mental health. Once that is concluded, we can decide what steps to take next. However, I'm not just a fixer of bullet wounds and broken bones - I offer counselling to anyone who needs to talk."

He paused, as if considering something, and then went on. "Alternatively, there are several members of the Brotherhood who have also lost spouses and children. If you would rather speak to them instead, I can arrange it."

Quinn couldn't answer. Cade's look of sympathy was making her too sick to speak. He waited for a moment for her response, and then smiled when she gave her muted nod of approval.

"Try not to see this as a punishment," he said gently. "Every soldier goes through some form of trauma in their lives. The amount of brothers and sisters I've had to take off duty due to PTSD is larger than you would expect; no one will think any differently of you for it. Your situation just happens to be more...personal than most. But this will give you a well earned break, and a chance to adjust to life in the wasteland. I'm sure you've barely stopped since you got here."

Quinn shook her head.

"Exactly. And just because you can't go on the field doesn't mean you can't distract yourself. The scribes and proctors are always willing to pass on their skills to those who want to learn. You could improve your knowledge on wasteland history with Proctor Quinlan, the creatures of the wasteland with Scribe Neriah, or you could learn first aid with me." Cade paused. "Or practice on the shooting range, if you want, though I hear from Paladin Danse you're already a crack shot."

He smiled at her - Quinn could feel the sincerity, the kindness radiating from him. She wanted nothing to do with it. Her body was pushed as far back into her chair as it would go, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground, unable to look at him any longer.

"Let's...let's just get this over with."

"So, how did it go?"

Carson's tone was light and cheerful, but the worry was etched deep into his features like a stone carving. His arms were folded tight across his chest as he watched her approach.

"As well as it could have, I guess," Quinn replied with a shrug. In truth, she felt light headed and shaky, aftershocks of a suffocating session with the knight-captain.

"How are you feeling?"

"You sound like Cade."

"Well, I did help him around the sickbay while we were waiting for you to wake up."

"You waited for me?"

"Of course I did," Carson replied, sounding affronted. "After the state I found you in, and the argument we'd had before…"

"I deserved it," Quinn said, grinning. "I was being a bitch."

"True." Carson gave a cheeky smile. It slipped away almost at once. "But...when I saw how far you'd gone…"

"How did you know what had happened?"

"Case saw you. Told me you'd gone to the bottom of the ship with a bottle of alcohol. She was surprised I wasn't with you." He pulled a face. "It just...I had a bad feeling about it. But it took me ages to get to you."

"I didn't want to be found."

"No shit. It was only when you dropped that bottle I realised you were under the damn floor."

Quinn screwed her eyes shut, wracking her brain. Eventually, she said, "I thought I saw Nate. Was that you?"

Carson nodded. "I went for help after you passed out. I would have gone sooner, but you started to panic and…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I found Rachel first and she created a distraction."

"A distraction?"

"Oh God…" Carson put a hand to his head and something clicked for Quinn.

"Is this the commotion that Cade wouldn't elaborate on?"

"Did he know it was us?" he asked, suddenly sounding alarmed.

"No, I don't think so." Quinn was confused. What the hell was going on? "He just said you and Casey brought me to him, but no one really noticed because there was a 'commotion.'"

Carson glanced around the area, biting his lip, his eyes scanning quickly. Quinn looked behind her, but there was no one there. When she turned back to him, he was rubbing his forehead.

"When I found Rachel," he said in a low voice, "she said that dragging you to Cade in front of everyone was the last thing you needed, because it would be obvious what you'd done. Then she said to me, deliberately in full earshot of a bunch of kids, that she had heard Scribe Neriah's molerats had escaped, and that we should do a thorough search of the ship for them."

"No."

"Oh yes. Well, of course, the squires overheard her, and they told everyone else, and suddenly everyone was running around looking for the damn 'rats, while the officers on duty went to Neriah herself to question her. While everyone else was busy, Casey and I went and got you and carried you up to Cade, pretending you were just ill. Everyone was too busy looking for the molerats to notice you stank of alcohol."

"Well...that's certainly a commotion."

"Oh no...that's not the worst of it." Carson hid his face in his hand. "As we carried you up, one of the squires noticed you were completely limp. He panicked and ran off yelling that the molerats had killed you, and suddenly we had a ship-wide panic amongst the squires and the younger initiates that there were killer molerats loose all over the Prydwen. Then that somehow got twisted, and the next thing I know, the entire Brotherhood is on high alert for a biological infiltration, while the officers tried to calm down all the screaming kids running around on the decks."

Quinn burst out laughing. She supposed she should feel bad, and by the look Carson was giving her, he was still traumatised by the fiasco. But it was just so…

She kept giggling and eventually Carson's face cracked into a smile.

"It'll be something I'll be able to laugh about later, I'm sure, but for now I'm just glad we got away with it."

"I'm sorry I put you in that position."

"I'll believe it if you promise not to do it again."

She looked at him, an understanding coming between them. Quinn smiled and nodded. "Alright. I promise I won't do it again."

"Then apology accepted." Carson returned the smile. "I won't lie - I will bring this up again next time I want to embarrass you."

They both knew he had no intention of making fun of something so serious, and yet Quinn appreciated the attempt at returning things to normal.

"You wouldn't dare."

"True. I value the shape of my face too much."

Quinn laughed and moved to her footlocker, deciding to peruse her books. She had come across the odd intact novel across the Commonwealth, and had taken to collecting them when she could carry them. There was a stash of them in Nick's office back in Diamond City, and since she had joined the Brotherhood, her footlocker was becoming her new personal library.

Might as well start reading them, she thought as she crouched down and opened the box. I've got plenty of time to kill now.

Quinn lifted the lid and felt her breath catch in her throat. Lying on top of the books was a folded mass of blue and yellow fabric, hundreds of years old and yet still practically new. She lifted it out, letting the material run over her trembling fingers.

"What's that? Carson asked, leaning forward to look. Quinn held it up to him, her vault suit unfolding in her hands.

The large hole in the side had been repaired, a faint discoloration indicating where her blood had once stained the cloth. She stared at it, stunned at its sudden relocation. Quinn had left the vault suit tucked away in a compartment on her armour, and in all honesty, had completely forgotten about it.

Danse, it seemed, had not.

A/N: Throwback to chapter nine!

Usual thanks to waiting4morning (ffnet) for amazing beta goodness.

A quick warning: because Easter is coming up, there may be a delay on the chapter release due to my beta. However, it may also be early (the benefits of being nearly three chapters ahead, writing-wise). But yeah. Heads up in that regard. This applies for the week afterwards, too, as I am visiting a friend and I have no intention of dragging work with me while I'm there.

Also, I released a lil' Quinn/Danse prompt drabble as a separate story called Spuds, which you can find on my account here. It is a one chapter affair and will not be expanded, and does not tie in with the main plot of this story. It was written purely for fun and because I was feeling really down earlier this week. As a side note, if you post a review as a guest or have your PMs turned off, I am unable to respond to your questions! Please keep that in mind if you leave questions in a review!

Thanks again for all your love! :)