A/N: Thanks to my amazing beta, waiting4morning, for her wonderful work! Apologies for the lateness. As a Brit, I forgot that the 4th of July was a thing, and so my beta was away this weekend.

DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT MAJOR BROTHERHOOD/DANSE SPOILERS.

Blind Betrayal

"As the minutes tick by and I stare at the walls of this godforsaken place, I'm still trying to cope with the reality that I am a living lie."

Synth.

Danse stumbled through the desolate hills, his breathing ragged as he pushed aside the dead vegetation and scanned the horizon for moving shadows.

Synth.

The word—that goddamn dirty word—reverberated over and over in his head. It was false. Everything. Had any of it ever been real? Was he even the original Danse?

Synth.

His hand stuck to the metal of the laser pistol Haylen had given him as she had smuggled him off the Prydwen. Haylen, the stupid girl. She had risked her life to help him escape. Risked it all for something that wasn't even alive. In any other situation, he would have berated her for such thoughtless idiocy, but at the height of his panic, he had taken the selfish option instead.

Couldn't even die like a man. Had to flee like a machine.

Synth.

His life wasn't supposed to end like this; he had been destined to die in battle alongside his brothers and sisters, not chased to the ends of the earth like an animal.

Danse slowed, the fight leaving him. What was he doing? He stared down at his hands, images flashing before his eyes of the data pad Haylen had showed him. A data pad bearing undeniable proof of his disgrace. He was nothing but an Institute plant; every second he stayed alive was a betrayal of the Brotherhood, and of Maxson. By existing, he was degrading the very foundations on which all his principles stood.

He glanced back at the trail he had come from and swallowed, his throat tight. Danse needed to go back. He had to go back.

He continued forward, the disgust burning within him as he made his way down to the old bunker.

"My identity as Paladin Danse is nothing but a memory now. Everything I held dear, everything I've ever believed in is completely gone."

"Bullshit."

Maxson raised an eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"

"Bullshit," Quinn repeated. "You heard me. Bullshit! There's no way that Danse is a synth. He hates synths. How can you even—?"

"The evidence is conclusive, Knight."

"I don't give a shit!" Quinn snapped, her voice rising as her heart pounded so loudly it felt like it was going to drown out the conversation. "I don't give a shit whatever damn evidence Quinlan pulled from his ass! He is not a synth! He's not! It's...it's fucking bullshit!"

Maxson said nothing. He closed his eyes and deep a deep breath through his nose, and exhaled slowly, before opening them again. The anger was gone. Instead, he simply looked tired.

"He is a synth," Maxson said, his tone firm. "But at the very least, I believe now that you didn't know."

"Didn't know?" Quinn laughed—it was an ugly noise that sounded near hysterical. "Know what? He's not. A goddamn. Synth."

"Every soldier in the Brotherhood has their DNA on record. The data that you brought from the Institute also had DNA of their rogue synths, and one particular synth—listed as M7-97—was an exact match for Paladin Danse. You cannot refute the evidence."

"I'll refute as much as I damn well please," she replied, but she had lost some of her conviction. The more Maxson persisted, the more difficulty she was having denying it. Had Danse been lying to her all this time? Had he been spying for Shaun?

"Oh God," she whispered, grabbing at her hair. "He's...he's really a synth?"

Maxson nodded.

"Where is he?" Quinn asked, dreading the answer. "Let me talk to him, please."

"He's gone AWOL." The rage had returned to the Elder's face again, raw and consuming, with whispers of betrayal woven deep into its core. "Disappeared without a trace. His sudden absence simply reinforces our conclusion that "M7-97" and Paladin Danse are one in the same. However, that doesn't absolve you of your duty. Danse is a synth. He represents everything we hate...a monstrosity of technology. Our mission in the Commonwealth is clear. The Institute and its creations need to be destroyed in order to preserve our future."

He paused, and the mask cracked. How long had Maxson been sitting on this information, mulling it over in his head, trying to plan his next move?

Eventually, he forced his words out, quickly, as if they tainted his very tongue by uttering them. "Which leaves me facing the most difficult order I've ever given. I'm ordering you to hunt down Danse and execute him."

"No."

Had Maxson been expecting such an answer? Quinn didn't know. She didn't care, either. Like hell she would hurt Danse.

"You will do it," Maxson snapped, after a few moments of stunned quiet. "This is not up for judgement or debate. I'm giving you a direct order, Knight, and I expect you to follow it without question."

Another fleeting stretch of silence. Then Maxson gave a heavy sigh, his demeanour changing entirely. All the authority seemed to sap away from him, leaving only confusion and regret.

"Listen, I'm not blind to the fact Danse was your mentor, and this isn't an easy burden to bear. But if we're to remain strong, we can't afford to make exceptions…" He hesitated, seeming to struggle with himself, and Quinn caught a glimpse of something painful beneath the anger. His next words were tinged with bitterness and mingled with defeat. "Even when it means executing one of our own."

Quinn opened her mouth to tell Maxson to stuff it, when the memory of Rachel gunning down the synth floated to the surface of her mind. She felt her stomach turn. If she went under the guise of an execution, Danse had a chance to escape. But if Quinn refused, and Maxson sent someone in her place...there would be no mercy.

She could play Maxson's game. She could find Danse. Quinn had to find Danse. In the face of such accusations, she might be the only person left on his side. And she would be damned if she'd let anyone take him from her.

Quinn met the Elder's eye and nodded. "You're right, sir. It's...I'm sorry for what I said. It's just...so much. But you're right. Tell me what I have to do."

"Find Proctor Quinlan," Maxson replied, giving her an approving look. "He's been analysing the data and should be able to provide you with a starting point." He paused. "And Knight, there's a promotion for you riding on the results of these orders, so don't disappoint me."

He turned back towards the window and stared out into the darkening skyline.

"You're dismissed."

She saluted, glad he wasn't looking to see the loathing glare she was unable to keep from her face, and then strode from the room. Quinn didn't know what was worse: that they were doing this to Danse, or that Maxson thought the idea of a promotion was enough to tempt her into murder.

Fuck your promotion and fuck you, she thought, her blood boiling at the insult of it all. My loyalty is stronger than a title, and it sure as hell isn't loyalty to you.

Danse.

God, where are you?

"I've spent far too long wondering why this happened to me, but the truth is, it doesn't matter."

The conversation with Haylen was running on repeat in Quinn's head. She had been cornered by the scribe while going over records with Proctor Quinlan, and taken somewhere private. As it turned out, she had asked for Danse's life to be spared. One question in particular stood out to Quinn.

"Do you actually plan on killing Paladin Danse?"

No. God, no. The idea of even hurting him made her feel physically sick. She could no more kill him than she could have killed Nate. Even with the chance that Danse was an Institute spy, feeding everything she had told him back to Shaun, she still couldn't bear the thought of bringing him to harm. She would still let him go.

Maybe he's laughing at me now, Quinn thought bitterly. Maybe he saw how I felt and thought stringing me along while he spied on me would be such a great fucking joke.

And yet she knew this was false. Even without all the evidence against it, all his work helping her fight the Institute, protecting her at every turn, being there when she needed him the most...somehow, she knew it had been genuine. Quinn couldn't say how she was so certain of it, just that the person she had known, the person she cared about, still existed.

That made it all the more worse.

"I'm ordering you to hunt down Danse and execute him."

Her anger returned in full force. How could Maxson do this to him? After everything Danse had done for the Brotherhood, and they were going to put him down like some fucking feral dog?

Quinn stopped and blinked as she realised where she had walked to. Feeling slightly apprehensive, she opened the door and stepped into Danse's room.

Everything was still the same the last time she had been here, knocking in the early hours of the morning to ask him to go with her to the Glowing Sea. He'd replied "yes" before she'd even finished the question, his tired eyes becoming alert at once. When questioned as to whether he'd have issue travelling with her after what had happened in the hospital, and then later in the workshop, his answer had been short and to the point.

"Where you go, I go, soldier."

As far as he had been concerned, that had been the end of the matter. Though Quinn tried to press him for more information, he had refused, telling her to get some sleep before the journey the following day. She had felt his gaze on her as she had left, following her every move.

And then at the military base, she had finally learned what was wrong.

"God damn it."

Quinn aimed a kick at an ammunition box on the floor, hissing as pain shot up her foot. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Danse was going to get better. They were going to talk. And even though they hadn't directly said it, they had both known the talk could have only ended one way. Happiness had been right there, and now it was being ripped away from her.

Fury at the unfairness of it all rose up like fire on kindling, and for a split second, she had the urge to trash the place until all of her rage was spent. But then she stopped. This room had been...was Danse's. It had been left like this by him. Every detail, every careless component, was a final echo of what he was.

Paladin Danse.

Quinn sank to the floor at the foot of the bed and leaned against it, her face in her hands. She had no tears and yet she felt she was suffocating. Whatever happened when she found him—if she found him—nothing could go back to the way it was. And it was all her fault. She had handed over the data to Maxson. She had condemned him.

A grinding noise made her open her eyes, and she looked up to see Carson enter. Her body tensed at the sight of him. This was Danse's room. His privacy. Carson had no right being here.

Neither do you.

"Quinn?" Carson looked shell shocked, his skin an ashy grey as he twisted his hands together. "I saw you come in here. Are you…? Is it…? Fucking hell."

He strode across the room, dropped to his knees, and pulled her into a bone-crunching hug. Quinn didn't care. She clung to him the way a child would cling to a parent, scrunching up his uniform between her fingers as she pressed her face into his shoulder. It hurt so much.

Carson said nothing, rocking her on the spot as he held her in his arms. Quinn had no idea how long they stayed like that, but he didn't complain.

If only Danse was here. If only she could talk to him. All she wanted was the truth. Instead, she was left with confusion, her opinion on the matter shifting with every passing second. Only one constant remained: she would not hurt Danse.

Though Quinn wanted to do nothing except stay in Carson's embrace, she pulled away from him, breathing heavily through her nose. She had to stay calm.

"Did Maxson tell you everything?" Her voice came out as little more than a croak.

Carson nodded. "He said that...that Paladin Danse is a synth. And that he's on the run. He wanted to know if we knew anything about it."

"And did you?"

"For God's sake, Quinn. Of course I didn't. No one did." He paused, his brow furrowing. "Rachel...Rachel didn't take the news very well."

"Me neither."

"Yeah, I can see that." Sighing, Carson rubbed the back of his neck. "Rachel thinks he's a traitor. An Institute plant."

"And what do you think?"

"I…" Carson hesitated, looking uncomfortable.

"No one will know but me," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"I...I don't know what to think." He glanced around the room before continuing in a low voice. "I dunno, Quinn. The officers say synths are the enemy, but some of them escape the Institute, don't they? Your friend Nick did, and he seemed alright when I met him. It's...well, just because Danse is a synth, doesn't mean he knew what he was or was ever here to hurt us. It doesn't mean he has to die, does it?"

"I never thought I'd hear that from someone in the Brotherhood," Quinn replied softly. "It's damn refreshing."

Carson shrugged. "Look, I'm not pretending to know all the facts. I don't. He might still be the enemy. It's just at the moment, I'm not convinced he is either. But I know what Elder Maxson has told you to do, and...and regardless of what choice you make, I know it will be for the right reasons. You have my support, whatever happens."

Quinn stared at him, feeling nothing but love for her friend. He was a good man. A good man. Too good for the Brotherhood.

Clang.

Both of them looked up to see Rachel Marguerie standing at the door.

If Quinn had thought Carson had looked rough, it was nothing compared to the knight-sergeant. She was on an entirely different level. Her eyes were red and puffy, her body trembling while a muscle jumped in her jaw. But when she spoke, her voice was clear and hard. "Carson, I need to talk to Quinn. Give us a moment, please."

"But—"

"Please."

Carson and Quinn glanced at each other. The pleading note was unmistakable in her voice, and for the first time, Quinn could see that Rachel was on the brink of cracking.

The knight-sergeant didn't speak again until Carson had left. She settled herself on the floor opposite Quinn, gazing off into the distance as if walking through a dream. When Rachel finally held Quinn's gaze, she recognised the dead, unfocused quality of the knight-sergeant's eyes. It was the same look she had seen in the mirror only a few months previous.

"Maxson told us everything," Rachel said, and despite the flatness of her voice, she was unable to hide the obvious effort to keep it steady. "And once he was certain we knew nothing, he let us go. We're confined to the Prydwen, though, along with everyone else that was friendly with the synth."

The synth.

Was she so quick to condemn him? Quinn held her tongue. If she gave away her feelings on the matter, Maxson could stop her from finding Danse. And then there would be no hope for him.

"I asked him why he would send you," Rachel continued, staring blankly ahead again. "Told him I would put it down. That I had more of a stake in its death. That I should be the one to kill it for betraying us all. For...for betraying me." She swallowed and shook her head. "He said he knew I would do the job properly. And that's why I'm not going."

Quinn frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"He's testing you, Quinn." This time, the emotion broke through, and her face twisted into a frightening rage. "Maxson knew what was going on between you two. Everyone fucking knew. And he also thinks you're still a valuable asset to the Brotherhood. This is a test of your loyalty as much as it is a necessity. So for your own sake, put aside everything you ever felt about that thing, and kill it."

"The same way you killed George?" Quinn's scowl deepened. "Oh, that's right. You didn't do that, did you? So you're the exception now?"

"My husband and my daughter were victims of the Brotherhood's enemies. They never worked for either side. Never infiltrated the ranks and pretended to be something they weren't."

"You don't know that Danse did any of that. He might not even know he's a synth."

"Doesn't matter. The Institute likely had access to it. We'll be lucky if they haven't found out about Prime yet."

"Look at how you're talking! 'Likely' they had access to him? You don't know shit. You're just guessing. And after everything he's ever done for us, we're going to just execute him based entirely on 'maybes?'"

"Everything it did was a lie, Quinn." Rachel's face softened, and all at once Quinn felt the knight-sergeant's grief hit her. "Everything it did was just a way for us to trust it so it could infiltrate our ranks. Every kind word, every good deed or selfless decision...it was all an act. Or it replaced the real Paladin Danse a long time ago. But whatever that thing is, even if it didn't know what it was, synths are just machines. They're programmed to behave a certain way. They don't think on their own."

Quinn said nothing, instead staring at her feet. Rachel was full of shit. She had seen Nick and the way he had mourned Jenny, the way he had cared for her at her lowest, and the way he helped others for such little gain. And Danse himself. His nightmares and his guilt over the members of his team...and of Cutler.

Both of them were so goddamn human.

"Quinn."

Quinn met Rachel's eye again.

"If this had been the other way around, do you really think Danse would have spared you?"

She felt as if she had been slapped.

Would Danse have killed her for being a synth, after everything they'd been through together?

The most disturbing part of the question was that Quinn couldn't answer it. Only Danse would be able to tell her whether she was worth more than his principles, and she would probably never get the chance to find out.

Rachel leaned forward and put a hand on Quinn's shoulder.

"If there's anything in that synth that truly believed in the Brotherhood, it will want you to follow your orders. If it really didn't know what it was, it will want to die. You'd be doing it a favour more than anything else. And if it did know...then it deserves to be executed."

The knight-sergeant let go and stood up, wiping at her eyes. Her face hardened. "I only wish I could do it myself."

Rachel left, and Quinn sat in silence, trapped by her thoughts, the awful truth dawning on her. Deacon had warned her about this. Deacon had been right.

"Brotherhood influence is never good. How long until you're murdering ghouls and synths like the rest of them?"

Quinn put her head in her hands.

I am a synth...which means I am freak of nature, a perversion of science and an example of where mankind has gone wrong."

Time ceased to exist, the whirring of the bunker's activated defences his only companion in the heavy silence.

Synth.

The cruel irony of it all made his head hurt, and Danse bit his lip as his thoughts drifted back to Sanctuary.

"That thing is an it, not a man!"

Had that really been the first time he had ever met a synth? Quinn was lucky he hadn't just shoved her aside and blown the damn thing's head off. The synth—

Danse hesitated. He was 'the synth' now as well. If that detective ever heard about this, it would be laughing itself hoarse at the way everything had turned out. Would probably rub elbows with Quinn, mocking Danse for being the very thing he despised.

No, Quinn wouldn't do that.

Would she?

Danse didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. The fury that Quinn had held when he had threatened the syn—the detective in Sanctuary all that time ago was still clear in his mind. She had begged him not to hurt her friend. Called the machine a 'good man', despite it being anything but human...but the detective was obviously a synth. It had never tried to hide what it was from her.

He, on the other hand...he had led her to think he was a real person. His deception hadn't been deliberate—Danse had never been able to tolerate the thought of lying to her—but it didn't matter. The guilt was still there, tearing away at his insides. This was an entirely different situation, and Danse knew she would feel betrayed. Not that he blamed her. He probably would have as well.

It felt like years had passed since he had last seen her. Danse hoped Quinn had made it safely back to the Prydwen. Maybe he should have disobeyed Maxson's orders and gone with her. In the great scheme of things, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. The Brotherhood would have gotten its nukes regardless and Quinn would have reached the ship unharmed. He would have likely been apprehended or shot on sight by the time they had made it home, but it would have been a small price to pay to know she was safe.

And what of Maxson himself?

His most trusted officer turned traitor. Danse knew now that leaving had only made things worse. Instead of accepting what he was and his punishment for it, he had fled. One final insult to the man he had called his friend.

Did the Elder even want him alive anymore? Or perhaps their history together had granted him some form of reprieve, enough for him to be considered a lost cause, rather than tracked down and dealt with? That could possibly be the reason why no one had come for him yet.

A nauseating thought wormed its way into his mind.

When Cutler had been captured by the mutants, had he waited like this, knowing his fate, wondering if anyone would be sent to find him? Danse could picture it now: Cutler sat in some miserable prison while the mutants butchered his team, each passing moment adding to the mounting feeling of tension and resignation, until eventually he was dragged from his cell and turned into everything he had hated.

No one had come for Cutler.

No one was coming for him.

Danse shifted on his spot on the floor, his fingers tightening around his gun. The reality of his situation was finally hitting him. He was Cutler.

A monster—a mockery of everything he had believed, twisted beyond all recognition and made into an instrument of the enemy. But whereas Cutler had once been human, he had always been…

Splintering pain exploded through his head, and the laser pistol tumbled from his hand with a clatter. But Danse barely noticed, clutching at his hair, his face buried in his knees as he tried to fight the overwhelming rush of the past.

"...for the benefit of humanity, I need to die. Not because I'm cowardly or despondent…"

2286

"Because you are my most trusted officer, Danse."

He was in Rivet City again, the silent marketplace more familiar to him now than the halls of the Citadel. Danse edged down the stairs, rifle in hand, as he watched the lone figure standing in the centre of the room.

No, not alone. A crumpled figure lay next to them.

The stranger turned as Danse approached, and he felt himself relax at the sight of Elder Maxson. He looked more serious than Danse had ever seen him before, ignoring the body at his feet.

With as much delicacy as he could muster, Danse said, "Thank you, sir, but the Commonwealth? Is it wise to take the Prydwen straight to the enemy? We don't even know where the Institute resides."

Elder Maxson nodded as if he had been expecting this statement. He paced up and down, gesturing as if looking out of a window that wasn't there, stepping over the person on the floor without pause.

"That's why I am sending you ahead, Paladin. You've been at my side for as long as I can remember, and with the mission comes the lives of everyone aboard this ship. You are the only one I can entrust this to."

The idea of turning their sights on the Institute with such little information unsettled Danse, but Elder Maxson had not led them astray so far.

He nodded. "By your orders, sir."

Danse turned to leave, when the Elder spoke again.

"Danse?"

"Yes, si—"

He was cut off as a pair of thick, yellow-green hands fastened around his throat, the mutant slamming him into the ground. As soon as he had seen the tags cutting into its neck, he had known. All of his orders—all the commands he had given his team—had flown completely from his mind as he had tore after the mutant wearing Cutler's dog tags. Now he was alone with it and paying for his stupidity.

The hands pressed down, the pressure so hard Danse thought his neck would snap. Without thinking, he reached for the pistol at his leg, and drew it. The mutant, too focused on throttling him, did not notice.

Maybe there was a way to return Cutler to normal. Maybe Cutler still knew him. Maybe—

Elder Maxson stood over him, watching impassively as the paladin choked and struggled on the floor. A strange expression flickered across his face, but disappeared almost instantly. "There is a bright future ahead for the Brotherhood. For both of us. But the Commonwealth is a dangerous place. Please, be careful."

I will, Danse tried to respond, but the words were trapped in his throat by the fingers pinning them in place. Maxson watched for a moment, and then turned and walked away, leaving him alone.

The creature howled with laughter as it leaned forward, putting all its weight behind its grip. And Danse realised in that moment there was no going back.

He raised the gun to the mutant's head.

"...but because it's the human thing to do…"

Danse gasped, shuddering back to life to find himself face down on the floor. He dug his fingers into the concrete, the fabric of his gloves snagging on the rough surface. The joints in his hands ached as he wheezed, trying to banish the ghosts pressing their thumbs deep into his neck. While the physical marks were long gone, the ones in his memory had never truly left. Sweat poured off him as he shook and twitched, trying desperately to keep hold of reality.

Breathe, breathe. Breathe.

Finally, his throat began to loosen, and he took a deep breath, his chest heaving as he lay there, the pain in his head unbearable.

With trembling arms, Danse pushed himself up and spat out the dust that had made its way into his mouth, before dragging himself back over to wall and propping up against it. Something dug uncomfortably into his leg, and he reached down to find the laser pistol, cold and heavy.

Waiting for him.

Maybe it was for the best. No matter what happened now, he was condemned. Not only by the people he had served alongside and by the people he loved, but also by himself. He could feel the hatred crawling through his being, a sensation so repulsive Danse could barely stand it. And the nightmares...he would never be free of them. There was no one to help him. He had lost the Brotherhood. He had lost Cade. He had lost Quinn.

All it would take was one pull of the trigger, and it would be over.

It would be over.

Serenity swept over him. Danse didn't want to die, but living...each beat of his heart was an insult to everything he believed in. This was a chance to atone. A chance to make things right. And in the midst of this chaos that had turned his life upside down, there was a sudden clarity. Danse finally felt in control at last.

With a groan, he got to his feet and made his way back into the main area. He had spotted a blank holotape on the desk when he had activated the bunker defences. Almost as if it had been made for him. Made for this moment.

Haylen would mourn his passing. Possibly Quinn, too. But they would get over it. And they'd be better off without him regardless.

Synth.

Danse sat down at the terminal and picked the tape up, scratching the yellow, peeling label off the plastic casing. He inserted it into the machine. Maybe no one would ever come for him. Maybe they had decided he was not worth the effort, or that he was a blight best forgotten than pursued. But if they did catch up to him, their job would already be done.

He tapped through the command settings on the terminal, until he reached the appropriate function. Danse paused, leaning forward towards the microphone, his head in his hand. Then his resolve hardened. Whatever the truth might be, it was the right thing to do. He only hoped Quinn would forgive him for his shame.

Danse licked his lips and pressed the record button.

He talked and talked until there was nothing left to say. What else could he say? That he was sorry? That his death would prevent any further information going to the Institute? That he was glad that he had been discovered before he had been made to do something abhorrent?

And Quinn…

No. Better for her to forget all about him. If he left her a message, it would only muddy the issue. If she hated him, if she was repulsed by what he was, then her pain would not be so great. Soon he would be just another broken machine.

Danse ejected the holotape and picked it up before trailing towards the back room and laying it on the counter. But his nerves would not allow him to settle. He paced up and down, his heart jittering in his chest as his fingers flexed on the gun. If he waited, maybe he would be spared long enough to face Maxson's judgement. And then maybe he would able to see Quinn one last time.

The thought made him stop in his tracks. It wasn't enough that he had sullied the name of the Brotherhood with his very being, but now he was willing to rub salt in Quinn's wounds with his presence, and for what? To fulfil some kind of selfish desire?

Anger bubbling within him, Danse dropped back down to his space on the floor, steeling himself. It all came down to duty. It always had. And he had one last act to complete.

A sense of calm washed over him as he took a deep breath.

Danse put the gun to his temple.

"This is Danse, former Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, signing off."