Overboard
The morning had started with cheer.
Danse stared out to the ruins of Boston below, running the plan through his head. Actuators, Proctor Ingram had said. Actuators.
Ingram had explained them thoroughly, and yet Danse still didn't have a clue what they were. Judging by Quinn's face during the conversation, neither did she. But what it boiled down to was this: they needed to go to a hospital and collect a high powered magnet.
Now that Danse could understand.
Picking the team had been easy enough. Though they hadn't so much as discussed it, both he and Quinn had known they would be travelling together. All it had taken was a simple look, and the matter had been decided. As for the rest, well...he trusted her judgement.
"Ooh, I got one," said Carson, flashing Quinn a smirk.
Maybe his trust had been slightly misplaced.
"Soldier, if I have to hear another of your godforsaken-" Danse began, shaking his head, feeling his frustration mount.
"Oh, don't worry, sir," Carson cut in quickly. "I won't joke about the vertibird. That would be fowl."
Both he and Marguerie groaned, while Quinn and Scribe Shingler sat next to each other, howling with laughter. Quinn had mentioned that she had gone through a phase of tormenting her husband with terrible jokes whenever he annoyed her too much. 'Puns,' she called them. Carson had leapt to the challenge, and within seconds the conversation in the vertibird had devolved to nothing but these 'puns.'
"Sir," Marguerie said loudly over the giggles, looking as if she doing her best to keep her temper under check, "where are we headed, and how long will it take to get there?"
"Milton General Hospital," Danse replied. He had made the decision to fly there to save on time, and right now he was thankful for it. "Should only be a few minutes."
"How about-" began Carson, but the knight-sergeant interrupted him.
"Carson," snapped Marguerie. "I am sick of your shit. Stop it."
"Uh oh," said Quinn, and they all turned to her, Marguerie's face suggesting that someone was about to get pushed overboard if there was just one more pun. Quinn paused, raising an eyebrow. "We better take care of that before we land back at the airport, or you'll get a terminal illness."
Shingler burst into a fresh fit of giggles as Marguerie jumped to her feet and said, "For the love of-!"
"Sir!"
Kapraski's voice from the cockpit cut through the mirth, but before anyone could react, the vertibird lurched violently to the side, a missile shooting past the passenger bay.
"Marguerie, Carson, miniguns, now!" Danse yelled as he threw himself forward towards the cockpit door. "Kapraski, what is it?"
"Muties! I'll try and retreat, but-shit!"
Danse cursed as the aircraft dipped again, rocking him back away from the door so that he almost lost his balance completely. The air filled with the sound of gunfire as Carson and Marguerie let loose, and screams from the ground added to the medley. Quinn pulled her helmet on and then clung onto the vertibird for dear life as Kapraski dodged every missile aimed at them. As the aircraft swerved to avoid another one, she yelled something that made Danse's blood run cold.
"Behemoth!" she shouted, turning to him. "Behemoth! Behemoth!"
"Where?" Danse bellowed back, but it was too late. The huge, ugly mutant stooped, picking up a large slab of shattered concrete, and flung it at them just as another rocket fired their direction.
Explode or be knocked out of the sky. That was the choice. Danse fixed his eyes on Quinn, knowing she couldn't see him beneath his helmet, wondering if she was looking at him under her's.
Kapraski chose the rubble. The vertibird veered directly into it, and there was a crunch of metal as the side collapsed inwards, while the missile shot harmlessly past them. At once, a red light began flashing on the console, accompanied by a loud alarm. The aircraft was spinning wildly now, and Kapraski's frantic voice rang out over the intercom.
"Those of you who can, abandon the 'bird! She's going down! Get off, now!"
"What?" Carson said, standing up at once. "If you think I'm leavin-"
Another rock hit the vertibird, smaller this time, but large enough to jolt them. Carson staggered forwards, tripped over the minigun stand, and toppled over the side.
"Carson!" Quinn yelled, reaching out to the space he had once occupied, the panic clear in her voice.
"He'll be fine!" Marguerie yelled, putting on her helmet and securing it. "Power armour takes the brunt of the impact. Just jump and try to land on your feet if you can! If you can't, you might still get a little bit hurt at this height!"
Marguerie. She could always be depended on for her cold practicability.
With that, she stepped off the aircraft and dropped from sight.
"Quinn, go, now!" Danse yelled, clinging onto the vertibird frame as they whirled wildly about, Kapraski still fighting to keep them in the air. He watched as Quinn peered over the side, and realised she had never been prepped for a full power armour drop. At once he knew her instinct would overshadow her sense. Not that he blamed her. They were rising up, trying to get out of range of the super mutants positioned on top of the nearby buildings and skyscrapers. It was a frightening leap of faith to take.
"I can't!" she shouted back. "It's too high! I ca-"
Danse stepped forward and rammed her with his shoulder, sending her flying out into the open air. He could sense the betrayal in her, and hoped she would forgive him. But he would rather her live and hate him than stay on the vertibird. They were notorious for their high casualty rate; once the pilot lost control, it was near impossible to land the aircraft safely. Only the best lancers had ever managed a safe emergency landing, and even then they had not walked away unscathed.
"Sir, you need to go!"
Scribe Shingler gave Danse a hard glare as she sat on the floor, clutching at the minigun stand, her face ashy grey, but determined.
Danse's mind went blank.
Marguerie, Quinn, and Carson were secure, for now. He would be relatively safe, too, once he left the ship. His armour would protect him. He could not say the same for Lancer Kapraski and Scribe Shingler.
It was happening again. His choice to fly directly over to the Milton General Hospital, his choice to allow a field scribe to come with them, his goddamn choices. Two people would be lost on his orders if he didn't think quickly, and another three might already be dead if they had landed in the wrong position. Images of Cutler and all the other deaths Danse had caused flashed through his head, accompanied by a sharp pain.
"Sir!"
Shingler's voice brought him back with a bump.
"I'm not in the habit of abandoning my team members!" he shouted over the siren and fading gunfire. "There must be a way to-"
"Casey and I are going to die, sir," said Kapraski's voice over the intercom, calm and yet somewhat strained. "We can't jump, and we won't survive the impact. Please leave."
"But-"
"Go now!" Shingler yelled at him. "Don't waste your life trying to be noble; just go!"
Danse opened his mouth to argue.
"Sorry, sir," came Kapraski's voice again, "but I don't want you on my conscience."
The vertibird gave its most violent lurch yet, a manoeuvre that Danse suspected was deliberate on Kapraski's part. Had he been prepared for it, he may have been able to hold on. Instead, Danse lost his grip and tumbled from the aircraft.
Quinn was falling.
Skyscrapers whipped past her in a brown and grey blur, the ground approaching like a vast, final statement that spelled the end of her life. She screamed and screamed as she plummeted to the earth, terror exploding within her, crackling all the way to her fingertips, her throat burning and her heart pounding so hard she thought it might stop.
Land on your feet.
"How?!" Quinn screeched to the open air, as if it was capable of giving a response.
Land on your feet, if you can.
Common sense grappled with her panic, and Quinn flailed her arms and legs, trying to right herself as the ground swiftly approached. She had no idea what she was doing, but the suit seemed to have some sort of mechanism within it that gave it balance, because her frantic movements, far from having no effect, shifted her body into a safer position.
There was a boom as her feet hit the floor, dust rushing up from the impact, the shock sending a low pain through her legs.
Quinn stood stock still, unable to breathe, unable to move. Her heart was trying to break out of her ribcage, each heavy pump a physical reminder that she was alive. She had survived.
Behind her, the vertibird hit the top of an apartment complex with a crash of screeching metal.
Her mind was whirling. What had just happened? What had just happened? It was all a blur, the events moving too fast for Quinn to focus on them. She had fallen, but she was still here. Had Carson landed safely, too? Rachel?
Danse?
He had pushed her from the aircraft. Pushed her. Probably saved her, too. But God, it was all too quick to see.
"Quinn!"
Quinn turned around to see a small crater in the old sidewalk. In its centre was Rachel Marguerie. At once, Quinn snapped back into her senses. She was alive, and so was Rachel. Help Rachel. Find the others.
Get a hold of yourself.
Quinn ran over to see Rachel struggling on her back, her helmet lying next to her.
"The drop fucked it up big style," Rachel said before Quinn could speak. "Legs are gone, helmet circuitry is fried, and the chest plate is toast, too. Turn me onto my front so I can get out. And make it quick. We could have company soon."
Quinn did as she was asked, grunting with effort as she moved the knight-sergeant over. There was a clunk and a hiss, and the armour opened up to reveal Rachel's burly body. She struggled out, swearing and muttering as she went, and then sat up, panting.
"Are you hurt?" Quinn asked, helping her stand.
"No," Rachel replied, picking up her rifle off the ground and inspecting it. "But even if I was, it doesn't matter. No time for crying over a bit of pain when you're on the battlefield." She made a noise of irritation and threw the bent rifle away, and instead leaned forward and pulled a combat knife and a pistol off her broken amour, putting them into a sheath on her boot and a holster on her leg, respectively. They looked as if she had fashioned them herself, and Quinn noticed there was another pistol on a separate holster on her other leg.
"Non-standard equipment?" Quinn said, indicating to Rachel's gear.
"You know it." Rachel grinned. "I hate power armour. Clunky. Annoying. Loud. I much prefer a Stealth Boy and a bit of good, traditional close quarters combat. For missions like these I'm required to wear my armour, but back when I was doing recon with Danse and the old crowd, you can be damn sure they sent me in first to slit a few throats while they distracted the enemy with obnoxiously loud gunfire."
With a shiver, Quinn thought that Rachel seemed a little too happy about the idea of cutting someone's neck open, but she let it slide. The knight-sergeant was an odd character, but not a bad person. Just perhaps too fond of her work.
"We need to find-" Quinn began, but her sentence was cut off as she saw a red flare leap up from the site of the vertibird crash. "Look! They're still alive!"
Rachel looked less than enthusiastic at this revelation.
"For how long?" she said, rechecking her weapons were secure and then turning to Quinn. "The skyscrapers are full of mutants. Even if they aren't being torn apart by them right now, we still have to fight to get there alive ourselves. And that's if they don't bleed out first."
"But Danse will head there, and so will Carson. If anything, isn't it worth investigating so we can regroup?"
The knight-sergeant gave a snort of laughter. "You clearly don't know Danse as well as I do. He's cold. Bit of a bleeding heart underneath it all, but when we're in the field, he puts logic before emotion, as he should."
Quinn was not as convinced by this proclamation as Rachel was. She shook her head. "He's not as harsh as you think. He wouldn't just leave people to die if they're obviously still alive." She pointed to the red flare smoke. "And at least one of them is obviously still alive! But whether you or Danse choose to go or not, I am. I don't leave friends to bleed out or be eaten by goddamn mutants."
Quinn marched off, feeling less confident than she sounded, but determined all the same. She had heard the horror stories of what the mutants did to people, heard the anguish in Danse's voice as he talked about Cutler. She couldn't leave Kapraski and Casey to such a fate.
To her greatest surprise, the knight-sergeant fell into step with her.
"You're right. Carson will go after Kapraski, and we need to regroup to continue our mission. As for Danse…" Rachel sighed. "Let's hope he's softer than I remember."
2280
"Good god, what happened to you?"
Danse rose from the table as Arthur Maxson approached, half of his face swaddled with blood stained bandages. Arthur shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but there was a small, self-satisfied smirk lurking underneath all the gauze.
"Haven't you heard yet?" said Cutler from behind the teenager. "Took on a deathclaw by himself."
Danse frowned. "Knight, that is the most reckless thing I've ever h-"
"And won."
His anger died in his mouth, instead letting it hang open as he gawked at Arthur. The boy's smirk turned into a wide grin, before he hissed with pain and jerked his hand up towards his face.
"Serves you right," Danse said curtly, but when Arthur flinched at his frown, he smiled. "I'll save the lecture this time. That is a feat worthy of the codex."
"You, save a lecture?" Cutler grinned down at the boy. "Make a habit of killing deathclaws, Knight, and maybe you can spare us all from Danse's grumbling wisdom."
They all laughed, Danse included, and seated themselves back at the table, Arthur and Cutler placing their trays down next to Danse's. He watched with some amusement as Arthur tried to eat, wincing and muttering to himself with every movement of his face.
Others joined them, some known to Danse, but most of them strangers. Recruitment had increased threefold since the war with the Enclave to fill the gaps left behind by the dead. The result was droves of young faces that Danse didn't know.
He stabbed at the food on his tray, wondering how Marguerie was doing. Last time he had seen her, she had been waddling the halls, heavily pregnant, leaving to start a new life on one of the secure settlements. In his own way, he missed her - not that he'd ever admit it. She took great delight in teasing him, much to Cutler's pleasure.
The talk quickly turned to the deathclaw, and the chunk it had taken out of Arthur's face. Arthur was clearly enjoying the attention, the praise being borne from his own merits rather than his name, and Danse smiled to himself at the boy's excitement.
One of the initiates leaned over, his eyes wide.
"Looks like an improvement," he said, grinning. Arthur grinned back before grumbling in pain.
A knight-sergeant moved forward, grabbing the initiate by the scruff of the neck, and yanked him back with such force his dinner tray skidded off the table and landed with a clatter on the floor.
"That is Arthur Maxson," snapped the knight-sergeant in a loud voice that drew the attention of the nearest tables. "You address him properly or not at all."
The initiate's face went white, his mouth falling open with horror as he stared at Arthur. He scrambled to his feet, picking up the tray and spilt food, stammering out a string of apologies, before scurrying away.
"Sir," said the knight-sergeant with a nod, before returning to his own meal.
Arthur, meanwhile, had gone bright red beneath his bandages and sunk so low in his seat his chin was nearly touching the table.
Danse sighed to himself. Every chance the boy had at a normal friendship was consistently spoiled in some shape or form. He opened his mouth to say something - what exactly, he didn't know - when the facility-wide intercom crackled to life.
Everyone froze.
The intercom was only ever activated in the most serious of situations. The last time it had been used was just under a year ago, to announce the passing of Elder Owyn Lyons. A sombre day, but not wholly unexpected. His daughter, Sarah Lyons had risen to take his place.
There was a pause as the intercom continued to crackle, and then suddenly the choked voice of Senior Scribe Rothchild rang out.
"It is my...my deepest regret to inform you that Elder Lyons has been killed in the course of duty. She…"
Danse heard no more, his head snapping towards Arthur. The boy sat up straight, rigid in his seat, looking like the small child that had approached him three years ago in the dorms.
"Arthur," Danse said softly.
Arthur shook his head, his fists tightening until his knuckles were white. Gone was the shocked look of a child, replaced by a cold, hard expression that Danse had never seen before.
"Arthur," he repeated, a little more urgently, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Arthur shrugged him off and stood so violently his chair tipped over with a loud bang.
Everyone was looking at him. He took a few deep breaths, determinedly avoiding their eyes, and then stormed away without so much as a word.
Danse and Cutler glanced at each other, Cutler biting his lip with concern.
"Should we…?" he asked, nodding in the direction of where the boy had gone.
"I'll go. Last thing he'll want is to be crowded." Danse set off, navigating around the bustle of the other soldiers, the talk of Sarah Lyons buzzing through his ears. He'd always had mixed opinions of the Lyons' leadership. While he felt that caring for wastelanders was a noble goal, it detracted from the purpose of the Brotherhood. Wastelanders could look after themselves. He should know. Coddling them was a distraction at best, and diverted precious resources away from the preservation of technology.
Arthur, though...he had always been fond of Sarah. And in her own way, Danse suspected she had been fond of him. She'd had less time for him after she had become Elder, but had always tried to check on him, when she could.
Now, like Krieg, she was gone.
Danse found Arthur exactly where he thought he would: in his room in a section of the Citadel isolated away from the rest of the soldiers. The boy was sitting on the floor in the corner, his knees drawn to his chest, face buried into his legs. Around him were scattered possessions, old toys and pieces of wasteland clutter, much of it now dented or broken.
Danse walked over and sat on the end of Arthur's bed, and waited in silence. This was not a topic that could be breached by him. The power lay with the young, grieving boy on the floor. They sat in silence together for an age, Danse staring at the wall, the quiet broken only by Arthur's laboured breathing and an occasional snuffling sound.
Eventually, he spoke.
"What do you want?" Arthur asked, sounding every little bit like the boy he was. He peered up at Danse, his eyes red and puffy.
Danse shrugged. "To check you were alright, sir."
He realised his mistake as soon as he had said it, but it was too late to take it back.
Arthur went off like a bomb. He jumped to his feet, gesturing wildly at Danse, eyes bulging in their sockets as he yelled, "Don't call me that! Don't call me that! My name is Arthur!"
On the last word, Arthur kicked an old toy car on the floor, and it shot past Danse's head, whizzing across the room and hitting the far side wall, taking a chunk out of the plaster.
"I just want to be normal!" he shrieked, kicking at everything in sight. "I just want friends!" He picked up a pile of papers from his desk and threw them on the floor. "I just want...I want…"
"Sarah," said Danse finished for him quietly.
Arthur stopped, swaying on the spot, and then fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he scratched his fingernails on the tiled floor. The boy wouldn't cry again, but Danse suspected he was extremely close. He moved off the bed and crouched down next to him, hesitating before placing a gentle hand on his back.
This time, Arthur didn't shake him off, and after a few moments, his tremors stopped. He drew in a long breath, exhaling heavily, and then said, "Why did she have to leave me? Why did she have to go, like mom and dad?"
Danse sighed. "I don't know."
"Are you alright?"
I don't know.
"Sir!"
A groan escaped Danse's lips as he fought the pain in his head. His landing had been a bad one, and while he hadn't been knocked unconscious, he was finding it difficult to focus. Everything felt fuzzy, his irritation mounting as the person at his side continually shook his shoulder, apparently oblivious to the responses trapped in his mind.
"I don't know," he managed, and then shook his head, regretting it instantly as the pain intensified. He forced open his eyes to see Knight Carson bent over him, wide-eyed and ashy skinned.
"Sir, the vertibird," Carson babbled, either not hearing or not caring what Danse's answer had been, "it crashed on top of a nearby building, but I saw a flare. They're still alive, sir! We need to go, now!"
They won't be alive for long, he thought, but decided not to voice it. Carson seemed on the border of hysterical already. Instead, he said, "Help me up."
Carson obeyed, and when Danse glanced around for his rifle, he picked it up and handed it to him. Then Danse blinked, realising he could feel the breeze on his skin. "Where's my helmet?"
Carson pointed to a badly dented piece of metal on the floor. "I took it off to check you had no head injuries, but I think it broke in the fall."
"You think?" Danse replied sarcastically, wincing as the pain stabbed in his forehead again. The thing was clearly beyond repair. "Proctor Teagan will block me if I try to request another one." He sighed. At least it hadn't been the rifle Quinn had made him. That was irreplaceable.
"Sir," Carson said, snapping him back to reality. "Please. We need to get to the tower. We need to save Tom and Casey."
Danse looked over at the crash site, the red smoke of the flare still clear in the sky. If another vertibird came in to investigate, it could be shot down as well. And knowing Quinn, she at least would head over to the site to try and help; whether Marguerie would follow was another matter. Danse didn't care. He'd let his team down again. Now he was being given a chance to make it right.
"Come on," Danse said. "We have to hurry."
"If we go in there, we'll die! You're thinking about this emotionally, Carson! Fighting through that building is fucking suicide. And even if we somehow make it, the likelihood is they're dead already. Going in there is risking far too much for such little chance of an actual payoff—"
"Payoff? You're talking about people's lives, you cold bitch!" Carson yelled back, almost nose to nose with Rachel. Even in his power armour, he was only just a head taller than her. Quinn glanced from one to the other, and decided to stay out of the argument for the moment.
"I'm talking about our lives," Rachel snapped, apparently less concerned with the insult and more angry at his refusal to back down. "I've been in super mutant hives. I've seen what happens in there. And I know that when someone ends up in one of those things, they won't be coming back out of it again. When we went to get Cutler—"
"Enough."
Danse, who had been surveying the complex and ignoring the shouting match, now suddenly turned to face them, fury etched into his face.
"But—" began Rachel.
"I said enough!"
Both Knight and Knight-Sergeant froze; Rachel stood to attention, while Carson simply looked on, his expression one of desperate hope.
"Marguerie, you should know better than to make such a racket right outside of an enemy stronghold."
Rachel flushed but said nothing.
"And Knight," Danse said, rounding on Carson. "This is no place to lose your head. You'll get yourself killed, and possibly the rest of your team, too. You might disagree with Knight-Sergeant Marguerie, but she's above your rank, and holds a lot more experience. While the ultimate decision is mine, I trust her judgement. So when she tells you something, you damn well listen to her."
Rachel shot Danse a grateful glance but still didn't speak. Carson, however, looked shattered.
"Sir," he croaked. "Please. Don't let him die. Please."
Quinn kept quiet, watching the entire scene from the sidelines. Her heart ached for Carson, and for the two trapped at the crash site, but she could see the weight in Rachel's words. And there were her own personal ghosts attached to the building; she didn't know if she was ready to face them. Yet one look at Carson's face was enough for her to know she didn't want to add to the dead already bound to this place.
"Paladin Danse," Quinn said, walking over. "If it helps with your decision, I know the layout of this apartment complex like the back of my hand."
Danse turned to her, his expression one of being offered an escape. "You do?"
"Yes. I'll explain later, but right now, I can tell you how to get up to the roof as quickly as possible, so long as the stairwells haven't collapsed over the last two centuries." She gave a quick outline on the route to the stairwell that ran the length of the structure, the other three soldiers all listening intently.
When she had finished, Danse frowned, glancing up at the top of the building again, and under his breath Quinn heard him mutter, "Not another one."
He turned to the others. "Marguerie, standard tactics. Scout ahead, stay out of sight, and when we engage, take out any vulnerable marks, or any who look like they give the orders."
Rachel nodded.
"You're quick to change your tune," Carson snapped, glaring at her.
"I don't think we should be doing this, period," Rachel shot back. "But we are, so I'm gonna give it my all. And if we're too late, you can be damn sure I'll put them down myself."
"Knight-Sergeant," Danse said as Carson opened his mouth to argue, "if I have to tell you to hold your tongue again, you won't be a knight-sergeant when we get back to the Prydwen. I expect this behaviour from initiates, not you."
Rachel looked as if she very much wanted to tell Danse she didn't think they'd make it back to the Prydwen at all, but she simply gave a sharp nod. "Understood, sir."
"And Carson," Danse said, turning so that he loomed over the knight, "step out of line again and I will cancel this operation. I can't trust this to go smoothly when you continually bicker before we've so much as stepped through the door."
Unlike Rachel, who had seemed simply irritated by Danse's orders, Carson shrank away from the paladin's authority, shamefaced.
"This is going against my common sense," Danse went on, "and if you push me, I won't hesitate to withdraw everyone. You follow my orders to the letter, even if that order is a retreat. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." Carson straightened up, his face hardening. Quinn highly doubted Danse would really abandon Kapraski and Casey, but if lying about it kept Carson from falling prey to his emotions, then it was worth it.
"Right." Danse checked over his rifle. "Quinn, cover the rear. Marguerie, you go on ahead. We'll follow shortly. Deactivate any traps you come across. Standard procedure."
"Yes, sir." Rachel pulled a bulky, rectangular device from her pocket and hit the button. A second later, she was gone.
Quinn's mouth fell open.
"Stealth Boy," said Rachel's voice, though Quinn couldn't see the source. "Old world tech. Pretty damn useful. Stay safe, kids. I'll see you soon."
Quinn heard the sound of footsteps, and she saw an odd ripple in the air, like heat rising from a scorching desert road. Then both sound and sight were gone, and the three remaining soldiers were left alone.
They stood in silence for around two minutes. No noise came from within.
"If we're lucky," Danse said in a low voice, "they may not know we're here. They haven't attacked us so far, so either they're distracted by the vertibird, or they didn't hear any of the arguing. But don't underestimate them. Stay alert and don't get sloppy. Remember, Marguerie and potentially two others of our own are in there. Shooting first and asking questions later could kill any one of them."
He looked from Quinn to Carson, and then nodded.
"Let's go."
The ascent was like fighting their way up from the depths of Hell.
Blood covered the walls and floor, bags of rotting meat dripping juices hung off thick metal chains as the yellow-green monsters screamed and thrashed, protecting their precious hive. The smell of decay and iron was thick in the air, worming its way through the filtration system of Quinn's helmet, until she was nearly gagging with the stench.
Danse, without his helmet, was not faring much better.
They made it to the stairwell, killing everything in their way with ease. The paladin's experience, coupled with the lethal swiftness of Rachel Marguerie, and Carson's sheer determination to make it to Kapraski, meant that they cut through the super mutant forces like a knife through rancid flesh. But the battle was clearly taking its toll.
At first, Danse had just been pale, yelling out his orders as the mutants had swarmed around them, always managing to be one step ahead of their advances. But when the first wave had been dealt with, and they'd forced their way into the stairwell, Quinn had heard the wheezing quality of his breathing, and saw the distant look in his eyes. If he wasn't already having a flashback, he was definitely on the verge.
"Carson, go ahead and check there's nothing waiting for us," Quinn ordered. "You too, Rachel!"
Rachel—whose Stealth Boy had long since worn off—raised an eyebrow and turned to Danse. "Sir?"
"Do what she says," he said, his voice tainted with a gasping quality.
Rachel's frown deepened, and she stepped towards him. "Danse, you alright?"
"Fine. Took a knock. No damn helmet. Go scout ahead. I'll be there in a minute."
The frown on her face didn't falter, and her eyes trailed briefly towards Quinn. But then she nodded and signalled to Carson to follow her. "Come on, kid. We got our orders."
The second they rounded the corner and out of sight, Danse leaned heavily against the wall, gasping for breath, while Quinn grabbed at his arm, trying to stop him toppling straight over.
"Hey." She pulled her own helmet off and let it drop to the floor with a clunk. "I got you. It's alright."
"That's valuable equipment, soldier. Try not to break it." He tried to force a smile but failed.
"My helmet consumption is better than yours, sir." It was a stupid joke, but it was all she could think of to try and keep the conversation flowing. When he didn't respond, she gave him a little shake. "Danse, you're here with me. Not in D.C. We're in the Commonwealth, and we're going to save some lives. But to do that, I need you to stay with me."
Danse took a few deep breaths, shutting his eyes and blindly reaching out for her hand. She knew he wouldn't be able to feel her grip in his armour, and yet he clung onto her all the same, slowing his breathing down until some of the colour returned to his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, he gave her a small smile and a nod.
"Danse," Quinn said quietly, uncertain if it was the time and place for such a conversation. "This didn't happen in Fort Strong, which means you're getting worse. When are you going to accept you need help?"
As she thought he would, Danse brushed her off. "Not now, Quinn."
"Yes now, Danse," she replied, holding onto him as he tried to move away. "Because this isn't the time for flashbacks and yet—"
"Sir!" came Carson's voice from the floor above, a note of panic in it.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Danse wrenched himself free of Quinn and sprinted up the stairwell, leaving her alone. She picked up her helmet, jammed it back on, and set off after him, anger bubbling within her. This was going past pride now and into something much more dangerous. Whether she could act on her concerns, though, or simply keep trying to persuade him to face his damn problems—
A pair of meaty hands shot out from a door on the stairwell, trying to drag her into the next room. Quinn gave a yell, struggling and pulling back, and the mutant followed her, clamping its fingers around her neck, just under her helmet, cutting off her cries for help. She fought harder, the pain mounting in her throat as the fingers dug in, and then suddenly both of them were toppling backwards down the stairs.
Each step jolted through her with a bang, the snarling face of the mutant pressed up against her own as it clung to her neck. Pinpricks of light were appearing in her eyes, the edges of her sight darkening as the life was slowly throttled from her.
"Quinn!"
The mutant jerked, releasing the pressure on her, and its blood rained down as a slice of metal slashed across its throat. It crumpled onto her without ceremony, and Quinn was blinded as its blood clouded her visor. A hand wiped at her helmet, revealing the glorious sight of Rachel Marguerie.
"You alright?" she said, but before Quinn could answer, Danse practically shoved Rachel out of the way, kneeling next to Quinn. He dragged the dead mutant off her and helped her sit up, removing her helmet with care. Then he moved down the flexible metal mesh layer of the armour to check the marks on Quinn's neck, while she rasped and choked for breath.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't think to...I didn't see…"
"S'fine," Quinn wheezed. Talking was agony, and she was surprised her oesophagus hadn't collapsed completely. "My fuck up. Didn't check either. Wasn't careful." She gestured up towards the ceiling. "S'not big deal. Focus on...others."
Danse nodded and helped her up, while Rachel passed Quinn her helmet and combat rifle.
"Close call," she said, rapping Quinn's armour with her knuckles, before crouching down and wiping her knife on the rags of the dead super mutant. "Still want to continue, sir?"
"Yes," Danse replied, eyeing the stairwell carefully. "I just need to stick to my own damn rules and focus."
"Sir," Carson piped up, looking nervous. "The others…"
Danse glanced at Quinn again, his eyes searching over her as if trying to find a hidden injury, and then reloaded his rifle. "Let's go."
A/N: Thank to my amazing beta for her wonderful work! Thank you to Fallendawn (tumblr) for his help with the damn puns.
This chapter is dedicated to aelodrea, who requested I write a scene with Quinn tormenting Danse with puns. I decided to give it a go.