The Calm Before

The vertibird had barely landed before Carson had thrown himself out onto the Prydwen's deck, dashing straight past Lancer-Captain Kells without so much as a backward glance. As Danse, Quinn, and Rachel approached, the officer rounded on Danse, glaring.

"What is the meaning of this, Paladin?" he snapped, pointing after Carson, who had wrenched open the door leading inside and disappeared from sight.

Paladin Danse explained what had happened to their vertibird, and the nature of Carson and Kapraski's relationship, and all at once, the harsh lines of Kells' face smoothed out into something close to sympathy.

"I see," he said after a pause. "I did wonder what had happened to Lancer Kapraski's crew when they brought him in. Good to see you're all in one piece."

"Sir, is he alright?" Quinn asked, her heart jumping into her throat.

"He's alive," Kells replied, and when Quinn breathed a sigh of relief, he shook his head. "Go and see him. Dismissed."

Quinn glanced at the others, and then set off after Carson, not caring that Danse and Rachel had opted for a dignified walk instead. She knew Danse had a certain level of conduct he needed to keep to, and Rachel was...well, Rachel.

Thankfully, Quinn had no such barriers in her way, and she sprinted through the ship, only stopping when she found Carson's armour left abandoned outside the sickbay.

They can bitch to me later about blocking up the corridor, she thought, leaving her own armour and heading inside Cade's domain with a feeling of dread.

"He's alive."

Nothing else. Was he even conscious?

The answer to that question was yes, in a fashion. Kapraski lay in the sickbay gurney mumbling to himself as his blank eyes stared up at the ceiling. Carson knelt next to him, clinging at his free hand.

At first, Quinn didn't even realise Kapraski's eyes were open, they were that swollen. Survival had done him no favours. While the blood had been cleaned away and the glass removed from his skin, Kapraski's face was a heavily bruised and scabbed mess. His arm was bound in a contraption that looked like a cross between a splint and a metal cast, and…

Quinn felt her blood run cold. Her eyes trailed across the shape of Kapraski's body under the blankets. Where his left leg should have been was flattened bed sheets.

"Oh shit," Quinn whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.

Carson said nothing, bending forward so that his forehead pressed against Kapraski's hand.

"He's lucky to be alive."

Quinn jumped. She hadn't noticed Knight-Captain Cade stood in the corner of the room. He looked uncharacteristically tired, his eyes puffy and shadowed, his face unshaven. A small smear of dried blood lurked along the length of his jaw line, and Quinn could see more traces of it down his neck.

"He's…" She licked her lips, fixing her gaze on Cade, not wanting to stare at the lancer. "There was no way...?"

Cade shook his head. "By the time he'd been brought onto the Prydwen, I thought I'd be unable to help him. Thankfully, the tourniquet did the trick, as well as the emergency procedures of the scribes on the flight back. But…" He sighed. "Leg was beyond saving. Too much damage; the wound could have gone septic. So I did what I could, with the help of Scribe Shingler. But he's not out of the water yet. The risk of infection is still there, and given how much blood he's lost…"

Carson's shoulders began to shake. Cade threw him a concerned look and then gestured with his head to Quinn, while saying out loud, "We'll just be outside, Liam."

Carson didn't respond.

Quinn trailed after Cade as he shuffled through the corridors, his usual energy gone. As they walked, she saw Danse and Rachel approaching, and she shook her head at them, mouthing, "Later."

The two of them glanced at each other and then the sickbay. There was a pause, and then they both nodded and went off in the opposite direction.

"Scribe Shingler helped?" Quinn asked as Cade trailed down towards a door she had never noticed before. He opened it, revealing a small, clean washroom, complete with extra medical supplies. Cade took one look in the mirror, grumbled, and turned the taps on. He picked up a grey cloth and wet it, scrubbing at the patches of blood on his skin. Then he splashed his face and leaned over the sink, letting it drip as he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he looked worse for wear.

"Yes, she did," he replied, drying off with a towel and tossing it back into the sink before opening the mirror and pulling out bottles of antiseptic and several syringes of med-x. "Refused to let me treat her for her broken ribs until we had done everything we could for Kapraski."

"You didn't have other people who could have assisted?"

"I did, but…" He frowned, his eyes looking distant for a moment. "There are not many who are willing to saw off a man's leg, even if they've been trained for it. Myself included."

There was a silence, and then suddenly Cade dropped everything in his arms into the sink with a clunk, leaning over again and breathing deeply through his nose.

Quinn stared at him, unsure what to do, but after a few seconds, he seemed to remember her presence. Cade straightened up with an awkward cough, and then forced a smile as he began picking up the items from the sink again. "Sorry about that."

"Are you…?" Quinn began.

"Fine," replied Cade in a manner that suggested the topic was closed. "Come on. It's best not to leave Knight Carson alone like this."

As they walked back to the sickbay together, Quinn plucked up the courage to ask the question.

"Knight-Captain Cade," she said in a low voice. "Will Kapraski live?"

Cade stopped in his tracks, feet from the door. He said nothing for a moment, and then sighed.

"I don't know."

Putting together the electromagnetic actuators was slow work.

Danse fiddled with the wiring in his hands, trying to ignore the muggy air of the small, sweltering workshop, glad there was no one else around. Quinn had left over an hour ago to collect materials from around the airport, and while he missed her presence, it meant he could alter his clothes in peace.

He wasn't one for wearing his uniform inappropriately, but with the heat so high, he had abandoned his gloves and pulled down his jumpsuit to his hips, revealing the white vest underneath.

As he worked, his thoughts drifted to Kapraski. He had gone to see the lancer once Cade had settled Carson down in the sickbay; the day to day checkups had been moved to Quinlan's office, to give Kapraski some privacy, much to the Proctor's grumbling. Cade had quickly put him in his place. Carson himself hadn't left his partner's side since they had landed on the Prydwen three days ago.

It was times like this that Danse wondered what would happen if several seriously wounded soldiers ended up under Cade's care all at once. There wouldn't be enough space for them.

An oversight in the Prydwen's design, perhaps? Maybe Elder Maxson would seek to fix this flaw now that it had been brought to attention. Or maybe both the Elder and Lancer-Captain Kells had always been aware of this, and deemed it an acceptable pitfall?

Danse paused and wiped his brow, and then jumped as a hand fell onto his shoulder.

"Sir," said Knight-Sergeant Marguerie brightly as he dropped the piece of tech in his hands, cursing. She smiled at him. "How are you?"

"What do you want, Marguerie?" Danse grumbled, stooping down to pick up the tech.

"What, I can't make a social visit to my dear friend and teammate?"

Danse glowered at her, and she grinned.

"Now you mention it, though," Marguerie said, picking up one of the tools off his workbench and inspecting it, "I did want to ask you about Quinn."

"What about Quinn?" He thought he knew exactly what. As if on cue, his cheeks started burning.

"Don't play dumb with me, sir," Marguerie said, putting the tool back on the bench and perking an eyebrow at him. "Stupidity doesn't suit you. Even if I don't take into consideration what happened at the hospital, I'm not blind. When are you going to talk to her about it?"

"There is nothing to talk about."

"I think there's plenty to talk about. You like her. She likes you. Make a move. Simple."

"It is not simple."

"Why not?"

Danse sighed. He was sick of having to explain the obvious. "I have no intention of indulging in fraternisation. I am her sponsor, and I am a paladin. I am in a position of authority above her, and any kind of intimacy could cloud my judgement and cause me to start making decisions based on personal bias alone."

"Since when has fraternisation been a problem in the Brotherhood?"

"It's in the codex, page one hundred and seventy four, paragraph three, section c."

"Sir." Marguerie massaged her temples. "Not are you the only person to ever read and memorise the goddamn rulebook cover to cover, but you're also the only one who actually follows that regulation. You know that rule was deemed impractical from almost the beginning."

"Unofficially."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, okay, unofficially, but so what? No one pays it any attention. Elder Maxson's parents clearly didn't. And neither did Elder Lyons when he had Sarah."

"Unlike the elders," Danse replied through gritted teeth, "I don't feel I have the...the restraint not to show favouritism."

"If we all followed that fraternisation rule, the Brotherhood would have died out years ago. Not just because of relationships, but friendships, too." She shook her head. "We live together. Fight together. Die together. Fraternisation is going to happen. And I'd rather be side by side with a friend than just a commanding officer, sir."

But Danse wasn't listening. He had dropped his bit of circuitry again, a horrible feeling rising in his stomach. His friendship caused a risk of bias, too. He'd never thought of it like that. Why had he never thought of it like that? Panic started to wash over him as he remembered all the times he had acted in Quinn's favour. Had he betrayed the Brotherhood without meaning to? Had he—?

"Sir," said Marguerie, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You're not thinking of cutting her off, are you?"

Danse didn't reply. He felt sick.

Rubbing her forehead with her knuckle, Marguerie made an irritated noise, and then said, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Finding his voice, Danse replied, "The day I let you speak freely is the day I—"

"You're being an idiot," Marguerie interrupted, folding her arms. Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Sir."

"I don't like your tone, Knight-Sergeant."

"Oh for the love of—" She slammed her hand onto the workbench and gave him a scowl worthy of Knight-Captain Cade. "Just forget the fact for a second that we're soldiers and you're above me and whatever. Listen to what I'm saying to you."

Danse listened.

"First of all, who gives a shit whether you have a relationship with Quinn, friendly or otherwise?" Marguerie poked him in the chest. "Everyone who knows you, including Elder Maxson, understands that you're a man of honesty and integrity with such levels of professionalism that sometimes it's goddamn frustrating. You wouldn't let yourself be biased."

"You dislike me being professional?" Danse asked, frowning.

"No, I dislike it when you refuse to look after yourself for the sake of your work. Personally, I don't think you've looked after yourself since Cutler died."

Danse flinched. It felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Marguerie nodded, still glaring at him.

"Secondly," she went on, "people have relationships in the Brotherhood all the time, and not just the elders. Take the Coopers, for example. Or Carson and Kapraski. And I don't know about you, but since Quinn got her shit together, I've seen nothing but dedication on her part. She told me her son works for the Institute—and I know you fucking know about it because you're a shit liar, so don't even act like you weren't aware. She has more than enough reason to leave us and never come back, and yet instead she's helping us take those bastards down. She's one of us."

Danse was staggered. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: that Quinn had told Marguerie the truth, or that Marguerie had kept it quiet. But regardless, she was right. Quinn's attitude had changed enormously since he had first met her. She was Brotherhood, through and through.

Just like me.

"And finally," Marguerie said, fixing him with a fierce stare, "she makes you happy."

Silence.

"What?" Danse thought there would be more, but Marguerie had seemed satisfied with her final point.

"She makes you happy," Marguerie repeated. "I can see it in you. Everyone can goddamn see it. The grunts love to gossip. She makes you happy. And believe me, that is worth its weight in gold. The time I had with George, and with…"

She swallowed. "It made me happy. And even now, in the aftermath, I don't regret one moment of it. They made me...so happy." Marguerie paused and wiped her eyes, looking embarrassed, and then snapped her gaze back to Danse. "Don't let that pass you by. Don't be an idiot."

"Are you alright?" he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Crying women were more frightening than a rampaging deathclaw.

"Fine." Her response was sharp, and Danse knew better than to push her. "Just...sort your shit out, sir. Or I'll carry you over to her myself."

Danse didn't doubt it. Rachel Marguerie was a tank with legs. But she just didn't understand. She had never adhered to the code of the Brotherhood fully. Not that Danse questioned her loyalty; there were few that were more dedicated than Knight-Sergeant Marguerie, despite her dislike of proper conduct between ranks. She had always been that way, right from when he had first met her in training.

But ever since her family had been taken from her, her attitude towards the Brotherhood had intensified, to the point where sometimes Marguerie seemed to be a different person from the one who had left the Citadel behind to raise a child.

She's been through a lot, Danse thought dully as Marguerie glared at him. So have I. We all have.

Elder Maxson crossed his mind. The boy. The friend. The man.

His friendship with Maxson had cooled off over the years, ever since he took charge. Neither of them had ever discussed it or even challenged it; it was something they had silently accepted, their familiarity turning into an appropriate distance. But that had not meant the trust or respect had gone, too. Instead, the bond between them had become like stone: cold, but also strong. Enough to weather the challenges the Brotherhood now faced.

Danse trusted Elder Maxson with his life, and he knew Elder Maxson trusted him with his.

But this professional aloofness that came so readily to him with others...he wasn't sure if he could bear the idea of doing it to Quinn. But what choice did he have?

"Danse."

Danse blinked. Marguerie rarely addressed him as anything other than 'sir.'

She gave him a motherly smile. Oddly enough, it suited her battle-worn face. "I still don't think anyone will have a problem with you and Quinn, but if it bothers you that much, request Quinn be moved from your team. That way, you don't have to work with her. Then you'll be safe to act how you see fit."

The thought had crossed his mind before, several months ago, but Danse had disregarded it, deciding not to entertain wishful thinking. No point in forcing an unwanted separation for such an unlikely prospect.

Now it seemed to make perfect sense, but Danse was surprised to find himself not overjoyed with the suggestion. Instead, it filled him with dread. He didn't want to stop working with Quinn. Who would she be put with instead? Some Knight-Sergeant who wouldn't keep an eye on her? And then...

Danse shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

And then of course, taking such an action would open up the next steps. He would have to talk to Quinn about it. Not in vague terms, both of them staying firmly in their comfort zones. No, they would have to talk about it.

The idea terrified Danse.

What if it went wrong? What if he'd been misreading Quinn all this time?

What if I lose her?

His mind had no answers. He knew that there was always the chance, always the risk of her being the next Cutler. What had happened in the stairwell in the ruins had shown that perfectly. If he kept his distance, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much. Or maybe if he kept his distance, she wouldn't be harmed at all.

It's too late for that.

With a groan, Danse rubbed his at his face, avoiding the Knight-Sergeant's eyes. In typical Marguerie fashion, though, she guessed his gripe right away.

"No one ever said this shit was easy, sir." She lit up a cigar and offered him one.

Danse took it.

They stood in silence together, puffing away as Danse mulled over the chaotic thoughts in his head. Marguerie must have sensed his mood, because she didn't laugh at his coughing this time.

Only when Quinn returned, clattering and cursing as she dropped a piece of scrap metal on her foot, did Marguerie take her leave.

"Have fun, kids," she said, staring at Danse as she said it. "Remember my advice, sir. Work isn't everything."

"Dismissed, Knight-Sergeant," Danse replied, glaring at her. She smirked and left.

"Rachel's giving you advice now?" Quinn asked, dumping the materials on a nearby cabinet with a loud bang. "On what? How to be obnoxious and terrifying?"

"No, I've been told I have an acceptable level of competency in both of those areas."

Quinn laughed and then picked up an old toaster, frowning at it. "How the hell is this supposed to help make a goddamn super magnet?"

"Mm," Danse replied, not listening as he started fiddling with the piece of tech on his workbench again, while she continued to rant about toasters and desk fans.

I could ask Elder Maxson to separate us. I could...I could…

"Are you even—?" Quinn began, but Danse cut across her.

"Quinn." He turned to face her, his tongue sticking to the roof of his dry mouth, sludging his words. Everything felt...unreal. His stomach churned so violently, he thought he was going to be sick, and his damn chest. If she couldn't hear his heart from over there, then he would be surprised. Swaying a little on the spot, Danse tried to force the words out, but his throat tightened so that all that came out was an odd choking noise.

"You okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she put the toaster down.

Danse made another attempt to speak.

Nothing.

God damn it, just tell her. Just tell her. Just—

A loud snapping noise cut through the lull of croaking from his throat, and both of them looked down to see the complicated piece of circuitry had broken in his clenched fist. With a wordless snarl, Danse turned and flung the tech onto the workbench, annoyance flooding through him. He had spent all morning on that. And for what?

A reason to escape that conversation.

The thought made him even angrier, a rage aggravated by the relief he felt towards this fact. He was so weak.

"Danse?"

Quinn approached him, looking worried, and put a hand on his shoulder; Danse fought the urge to shake her off, resenting her touch and craving it all the same. He hated that she could do this to him: make him doubt himself so much, but make him want it all anyway.

Concern etched into her face, Quinn stared at him. After a long, tense quiet, she said, "Did I go too far in the hospital?"

Danse leaned forward onto his workbench, closing his eyes. It would be so easy to lie and stop it now before it went any further. It would be so easy. She would respect his boundaries if he established them now, even if they were false. All he had to do was say yes.

"No," he answered, still keeping his eyes shut. It was easier to speak when he could pretend she was someone else.

"Then talk to me about it."

"I...I'm…" He could feel his face burning, but his words failed him again. In an instant, her hand drew away from him, and he heard footsteps. Danse opened his eyes and saw Quinn had moved back to her own workbench.

"There's no rush," she said, shooting him a smile as she tinkered with something small in her hands. "I'll be here if you ever want tell me what's troubling you. But in the meantime, I think the best thing to take your mind off it is to complete this project. Agreed?"

Despite the mayhem of conflicting thoughts now racing around his head, he found himself smiling. Professional. Clean. Safe. "Agreed, soldier."

A strange, comfortable warmth flooded through him. Yes, he had ignored everything Marguerie had just told him, delaying the inevitable decision he would have to make, but Quinn understood. She understood. She wouldn't push him. Not until she thought he was ready. His face softened as they stared at each other for a few seconds, before Danse remembered himself and returned to his work.

He glanced at the ruined circuit board and sighed.

Back to square one.

2283

The airship was an absolute marvel to behold. Paladin Danse walked through its gleaming new halls, running his fingers along the smooth, cool metal, a shiver racing up his spine. Brothers and sisters bustled up and down the corridors, bringing equipment onto the ship and carrying in supplies.

This was where he was going to be posted. This was where his new home would be.

Cutler nodded to Danse as he made his way down towards the mess hall, a large crate in his arms. Marguerie jabbed him in the ribs so hard he nearly dropped it, and they shuffled away. Danse thought Marguerie looked sad a lot these days, but he supposed she missed her child. How old would the girl be now? Four? Five?

Shrugging to himself, Danse strolled down the walkways, taking in every detail as he headed towards the front of the airship. The elder had requested his presence.

Elder…

Danse had to admit, he never thought Arthur Maxson would reach the rank of Elder, or at least not so young. But after his victory against Shephard the super mutant, a foul monster hell bent on uniting the filth of the wasteland against humanity, and the success in bringing the Outcasts back into the fold, the West Coast Elders had decided the time was right.

Danse agreed.

As he approached the newly constructed office, Danse sighted his friend—and, more importantly, his leader—stood at the window of the ship, staring down at the air base below. He turned, spotted Danse, and smiled.

"Six years in the making," Elder Maxson said, returning to gazing out at the horizon. "Six years...if only Elder Lyons had seen the fruits of his labour."

Danse walked across the room, studying the boy in front of him. He frowned. No, Elder Maxson was no longer a boy, but a man. The child who had once stood shy and alone in his dorm all those years ago was long gone. He felt nothing but pride.

"With your leadership, we can only go on from strength to strength, sir," Danse said, standing next to him. The old, hated address was required of him now, and he wondered how it would be taken.

"Sir?" said Elder Maxson, a bitter smile on his lips. He turned to Danse, looking weary and beyond his years as he sighed. "Yes, I suppose first names would be inappropriate, wouldn't they?"

"In front of the other soldiers, perhaps," Danse replied. "I didn't want to presume, sir. But...if you still wish..."

Elder Maxson nodded, relief flickering over his scarred features. "That would be my preference."

A short, comfortable silence followed as the two of them looked out to the wasteland below—it was as it had always been: the barrier of rank and blood separating them, the bond of steel and circumstance pulling them back together again. Their friendship was the kind held at a distance, but Danse knew he could trust Elder Maxson to make the right decisions—even the hard ones—for the good of the Brotherhood.

And with the airship completed, they could get back to what mattered most: the collection and preservation of technology. Danse voiced this, expecting an enthusiastic response, but was shocked when Elder Maxson shook his head.

"No. I want more for the Brotherhood than that." Elder Maxson frowned, his eyes full of fire. "I want us to be more than the scrap collectors of the wasteland."

"Sir?" said Danse, thoroughly confused. He sounded dismissive of the very foundations of the Brotherhood, a notion that made Danse deeply uncomfortable. He tried his best to broach the topic carefully. "I...I was under the impression that with the return of the Outcasts, we'd be embracing the old ways again."

"The old ways are important, but if Elder Lyons taught me anything, it is that people are important too." He looked momentarily uncertain, before his face hardened. "We need to take technology to protect the people from themselves...but that doesn't mean we can't help them, too. With our resources at hand, we can do a lot of good for the everyman."

"I see, sir." Danse was uncertain. On the one hand, he approved of the idea of helping people. A lack of compassion had been the failings of the string of ineffectual men and women that had tried to hold the mantle of 'Elder' between Sarah Lyons and Arthur Maxson. Steel had been their lifeblood, and with that edge, they had cut and hurt all they had touched.

Elder Maxson was different. Although his exterior was somewhat cold, Danse knew him well. He cared. But Danse also thought that the priority of technology should go to the Brotherhood, not the wasteland. Protect their own first, so that they may protect others in turn.

Still, he knew better than to voice his disapproval. The word of the elder was law, and Danse had no intention of undermining the authority of Elder Maxson. He had enough challenges on the subject of his age without one of his officers questioning his orders.

A scribe approached, clipboard in hand, and waited politely for the Elder's attention. Elder Maxson turned and fell into a deep discussion about supplies, rattling off orders as he paced about the room, his brow furrowed with concentration as the scribe trailed frantically after him.

Danse watched, grinning. He needn't worry. Despite being so new to the role and so young, Elder Maxson held the charisma and bravery of a seasoned warrior...and Danse supposed he was exactly that.

After ten minutes of conversation, the scribe departed, and Elder Maxson sighed, looking tired again. He turned to Danse and gave him a faint smile, warped by the scar that streaked down his face. "I know how you feel about the matter...thank you for not making an issue of it."

Danse nodded. "Never."

Elder Maxson paused, and Danse caught a glimpse of the boy he had once known. His eyes moved around the room before settling back on Danse.

"I've been trying to decide what to call the ship, and I think I've settled on a suitable name."

"Sir?"

Elder Maxson looked uncertain again, almost apprehensive. "I was thinking of calling her the Prydwen."

Danse blinked. "From Preiddeu Annwfn?"

"The very same."

He considered this for a moment, his mind mulling over the poem. Arthur had always liked Arthurian myth as a boy, and even though their last discussion on the topic had been years ago, it seemed the elder's passion for it had not dimmed with age.

"A fine name," Danse replied after some thought.

"I had a feeling you would agree." Elder Maxson smiled. "It has been some time since we sat and talked about it."

"Do you still feel the same about Lancelot and Guinevere?"

"Of course." He looked mischievous now, well aware of Danse's opinion on the subject.

"I'll convince you some day," Danse replied. Then he remembered himself and quickly added, "Sir."

Elder Maxson's smile faltered, and Danse sensed reality had returned to him with a bump. He coughed and then nodded, his somewhat crestfallen expression being replaced by a mask of duty.

"Thank you for your input, Paladin Danse," he said, turning to look back out of the window. "Please help oversee with the stocking of the Prydwen's stores."

Danse saluted. "Sir."

Danse awoke, blinking into the darkness, his mind fumbling with the dream as it slipped away from him. Normally he would be rising from a nightmare, but this time he lacked the shakes and cold sweat that went hand in hand with usual evening routine.

It was surprising, really. Danse had expected to see a new face in his sleep, the lancer with the butchered limb, but Kapraski had yet to make an appearance. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or apprehensive. It was only a matter of time, after all.

Grumbling, he turned over, staring at the wall as his eyes adjusted to the black.

He hoped Quinn was getting a better night's sleep than he was.

Something soft and scratchy hit her in the face.

"Wake up," hissed Casey Shingler, dropping the pillow and shaking Quinn as she blinked groggily. "Get up, now!"

"Wha'?" Quinn mumbled, pushing Casey's hands away as she propped herself up on her bed. "Wha' the fuck you…?"

"Tom's awake."

Quinn sat up so sharply she almost butted heads with the scribe. "He's awake? He's gonna be alright?"

Casey gave a small nod. "Well, physically alright. I don't know about..."

Not listening to another word Casey said, Quinn launched herself from the bunk and sprinted off towards the sickbay, not stopping until she reached the door, panting and squinting in the bright fluorescent lighting.

Kapraski looked almost as bad as the last time she had seen him; the only difference was the swelling had gone down enough that he could open his eyes fully. He was sitting up now, not paying the slightest bit of attention to Carson, who was trying to comfort him. The lancer seemed in a world of his own, staring down at his missing limb.

Carson glanced up at Quinn as she hovered by the door, and gave her a grateful, if somewhat strained, smile. He turned back to Kapraski and gave his shoulder a slight shake.

"Quinn's here," he said. "And I imagine Paladin Danse and Knight-Sergeant Marguerie will want to visit at some point, when Casey tells them."

"I…no," Kapraski said, making Cade and Carson start. He paused, his voice thick, and then wrenched his hand away from Carson, wiping at his eyes, "Not like this. I just need…"

Quinn glanced from Kapraski, to his stump, and then to the empty syringes of med-x on Cade's desk. Normally the haze of med-x cleared quickly, while the pain-numbing qualities clung on in the aftermath, but it seemed that the lancer had had a higher dose than normal. Wherever Kapraski was right now, it wasn't on Earth. He was as high as the stars.

"I'll go," she said quickly. "I shouldn't have intruded, I'm sorry."

"No." Kapraski looked at her, his eyes red and watery as he slurred through his words. "Don't be sorry. You saved my life." He glanced at Carson, who had leaned back in his chair, looking dejected, and took hold of his hand again, kissing the back of it. "All of you. I'm just...I don't know what to do. Look at me. Look at me. I'm fucking useless."

He started to sniffle, staring off into the distance, tears dripping down his cheeks, and Carson carefully held Kapraski to his chest; the lancer clung to him with his free hand, crying into Carson's shoulder.

Quinn looked away until Kapraski quieted. Cade, meanwhile, continued rattling amongst his equipment, obviously ignoring the lancer's distress for the sake of privacy. But when he turned to face his patient again, he smiled.

"Lancer Kapraski," he said kindly, a med-x syringe in his hand. "You are not useless. From what Lancer-Captain Kells tells me, the fact you survived at all means you must be one hell of a pilot. And judging from the fact your crew are still here to tell the tale…"

"Was," said Kapraski, leaning into Carson's arms, hiccupping, though he seemed to be sobering up. "Was a hell of a pilot. There's no way I'm going to be able to fly again. Not like this."

"Don't be so quick to assume," Cade replied, shaking his head. "You know full well that Proctor Ingram lost both her legs, and she has been able to walk again thanks to the technology we have."

"She can walk, but she can't work on the field. Elder Maxson won't let her."

"True," said Cade. "But that's because as a soldier, she needs to be mobile at all times, and...well, Elder Maxson is concerned that if her new legs were to malfunction, she would endanger herself and her team. You, however, do not need to be mobile at all times. If anything, sitting down is what you do best."

Kapraski sat up sharply and yelped in pain as he jolted his broken arm. Cade descended upon him in an instant, injecting the med-x and then helping him lie back onto his pillows.

"I'll be able to fly?" Kapraski slurred as the chem took hold of him again.

Cade waited for the effects to pass, and when the lancer's eyes showed signs of alertness, he answered. "Yes, I think you'll be able to fly. I have already spoken with Lancer-Captain Kells and Elder Maxson, and over the last few days we reached an agreement that your situation is different to that of Proctor Ingram's. Not only that, but Proctor Ingram has decided to test a prototype that she's been working on, if you're willing."

Kapraski frowned. "What do you mean, prototype?"

"Well, you've seen the power armour she walks around in. Good for battle, but not so much for everyday living. Up until Elder Maxson requested she work on a particular project, she had been developing a specially modified set of legs that don't require power armour, for her own personal use."

Silence fell, and Cade grinned at the stunned expression on Kapraski's face. He continued. "However, she found piecing it together a little difficult. I may have mentioned your situation to her at breakfast this morning, and she thinks that working on a single leg model first would help greatly with the logistics of the double model later down the line. Would you be interested in—?"

"Yes," Kapraski said at once, gripping at Carson's hand. "Yes, oh my God, yes."

"I thought as much," Cade replied, his smile widening. "But we can't start now. We need to wait for your leg to heal, and for Proctor Ingram to finish with the projects Elder Maxson has for her. After that, though…"

Kapraski looked lost for words, while Carson beamed at Cade.

"Uh, excuse me," came a voice from behind Quinn, a finger tapping on her shoulder.

Quinn turned around to see a very young, very nervous man stood in front of her, not quite meeting her eye. She recognised him as David Bantios, a scribe who she had helped treat for an infected bite when she had been helping Cade run the sickbay. After the lecture Bantios had received from Cade, he had never stuck his hand in Neriah's molerat cage for a dare again.

The scribe fidgeted a little, and then said, "Proctor Ingram wanted me to tell you that she has tested the actu…actor...actu…"

"Actuators," Quinn said kindly.

Bantios nodded, flushing. "Actuators. She says they work, and that she has another job for you in the Glowing Sea, and that you should pick a team out, and then go see her." He paused and then looked at her, alarmed. "B-but go see her alone! The mission is still top secret after all!"

"Noted. Thanks for the message." She smiled at him.

"Y-you're welcome," he stammered, and then hurried away.

Quinn stretched out her arms and sighed, mulling the message over in her head. The Glowing Sea? There must be something big there to risk the trip. Danse was an obvious choice to take with her, but whether he would want to…

"Rachel's a given," Quinn said, more to herself than anyone in the room.

"And Paladin Danse," Carson said, grinning.

Glaring at Carson, Quinn shot a quick look over her shoulder towards Cade, but he was suddenly rattling in his supply cupboard again and humming loudly to himself, and didn't comment. Pink in the cheeks, she turned back to her two friends, shaking her head at Carson. He gave an apologetic shrug.

"Yes, most likely Paladin Danse," Quinn replied. Thankfully, Carson didn't question why it was only 'likely.' She went on. "But not sure who will take your place. I mean, you're obviously gonna be here, so…"

"Liam, go with her," Kapraski said.

Both Quinn and Carson glanced at him, and he flushed.

"Not that I'm telling you how to build your team," he said quickly, his face bright red, "but if you want to take Liam with you, don't stop on my account."

"But," Quinn replied, blinking with surprise, looking from one man to the other. "Yeah, of course I'd want you along, Carson, but given everything that's happened, I would have thought…"

"Tom," Carson said, shooting Quinn an appreciative look before turning his attention back to Kapraski. "Why the hell would I go anywhere right now? You've just…"

"I know," Kapraski said, so forcefully Carson flinched. His eyes were sharp now, all traces of the med-x gone. He sighed and gave the knight's hand a little squeeze. "I know. And I know why you want to stay. But whatever is going on is...it's big. And I don't want you stuck here with me because I couldn't land a damn vertibird properly. You like working on the field and you like working with Quinn."

"But—"

"Please." Kapraski stared at him. "For me. I've already made a mess of myself. Don't make me feel like a burden too by keeping you here."

"I...God damn it." Carson placed a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. "You are so…difficult."

"I know," Kapraski replied, grinning. "That's why you love me."

"Yeah yeah," Carson muttered, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Kapraski's head. Then he turned to Quinn. "I'm gonna stay here until you're ready to go, okay?"

Quinn nodded. "See you soon, Kapraski."

"Look after him for me, alright?" Kapraski said, leaning against Carson.

She gazed at them both, smiling. Despite it all, they looked so damn happy together.

"I'll keep him safe, I promise."

"I am here, y'know," Carson grumbled.

"Oh, shut up, Liam," Quinn heard Kapraski murmur as she left.

A/N: Title is a reference to The Walking Dead. Usual thanks to my beta, waiting4morning.

Normally I have more to say here, but in the wake of the shooting in Florida, I just want to give my condolences. I hope all my American followers are safe and well right now.

I forgot to press the damn post button before I went to work.