Lockpicks and Liquor

Danse watched as Quinn flitted back and forth across the inner wall of Piper's house, pressing her face against the gaps so she could see out into the street. He knew she was looking for the Brotherhood patrols, her face pale and her eyes wide with worry.

She turned away from the cracks, holding herself tight, and Danse the force of her upset hit him like a sledgehammer. He was on his feet and walking towards her, taking her in arms before he knew what was happening. Quinn buried her head in his chest, and after a few seconds he realised she was crying.

Feeling thoroughly educated on how to deal with this sort of situation now, Danse held her tight and waited for the tears to subside. And when they did, he drew her back ever so slightly and gave her a gentle kiss.

"I'm sorry I pushed you," she mumbled, pulling away from him a little. Danse clung on, and she looked at him, surprised.

"I understand why you did it," he said, but then it was his own turn to be surprised when she shook her head.

"No, you don't." Quinn pulled away again, and this time he let her go. She walked across the room, holding herself tight again. Danse waited, sensing he shouldn't interrupt. After a while, she spoke, still looking away from him.

"When Nate came home from the military, he was...different. He went through a lot of trauma, some of which I never learned about. He hid so much from me. I tried to help him as best I could on my own, but over time he got more and more distant from me and Shaun, until one night he just...lost it."

Quinn had spoken about Nate before, but nothing like this. Never in-depth with any of the problems they'd had. Only the good things. Danse wasn't sure what to feel. On the one hand, he was comforted that Nate had been just as flawed as him. The man had seemed too good for Danse to compete with. But the result of that meant Quinn's misery, and Danse knew his relief was a selfish one.

"But I let Nate get to that point. I let him have his way and fight on his own," Quinn went on, oblivious to Danse's internal struggle. "Only when I threatened to leave him did he try to get better. It should never have gotten that far. I know you're having a hard time too, and I know there's only so much I can help with. I wanted to sort things out now before it went the same way as it did with Nate. But I was so wrapped up in fixing everything myself, I didn't stop to think if I should include you in the decision."

Danse walked across the room and placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face him. When she continued to stare at the floor, he tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up so their eyes finally met.

"You did the right thing," he said firmly, holding her gaze.

Quinn stared back at him for a few seconds and then gave a small, reluctant nod.

He touched her cheek, caressing her with his thumb. "I mean it. It's not the way I would have preferred it to happen, and next time I'd like a warning first, but it did a lot of good. I'm…" Danse paused. Expressing himself was not his forte, but she needed to understand that she had helped. "I feel lighter."

The words sounded utterly stupid to him, but Quinn brightened up at this.

"You do?" she asked, biting her lip, looking hopeful.

Danse pounced on the idea. "Yes. I'm not saying I'm what I was from...before. But I do feel different, in a good sort of way. Like something's been lifted from me."

And it was the god honest truth.

Quinn beamed and flung her arms around his neck, almost pulling him over as she squeezed him tight, before kissing him. Danse responded with little persuasion, and in that moment he was glad Piper had decided to keep watch for the Brotherhood outside of her house.

Somehow, they ended up on the sofa again, wrapped in each other's embrace, and it was only when a closing door woke him up, did Danse realise they had fallen asleep together. He squinted over at the door to see Piper grinning guiltily at him.

"You two are adorable, you know that?" She crept quietly through the room, now smiling at Quinn, who was still out for the count, sprawled across Danse. "She was so worried today. Thought she had upset you real bad. And then when the Brotherhood showed up…"

"She's getting bothered over nothing," Danse said in a low voice, feeling uncomfortable at the mention of his reaction to Quinn's announcement of the meeting. "I'm not concerned about them."

Piper frowned. "You should be."

There was a long silence as Piper stared at him, while Danse turned his gaze to the floor. She sighed. "Try to get back to sleep, if you can. I imagine Quinn will want to leave as soon as possible tomorrow morning."

When Danse didn't respond, Piper went upstairs to bed.

Uncertainty prickled through him as he lay there, playing with Quinn's hair. Everyone he spoke wanted to convince him to think the worst of the Brotherhood. And there was a part of him that suspected they might be right. But it was like a barrier existed between his loyalty and his logic—he couldn't connect the two, and his dedication was the stronger side.

Danse pushed his doubts aside and shook his head. He had no proof, nothing solid to grasp at, and yet Danse did not feel threatened by his brothers and sisters. He couldn't say why, but his loyalty had never failed him yet.

He looked down at Quinn, still splayed out on top of him. If she was with him, everything would be fine. And she'd come round to his way of thinking eventually.

When has Quinn ever done that without an argument or a drawn out talk? a sensible voice in his head said.

Danse frowned. Well, then they'd just have to argue about it. Because he wasn't backing down from this.

"I don't think we're being followed," Quinn whispered, glancing over her shoulder as they trudged through the silent streets of Boston. Danse turned his head towards her, and she wished he wasn't wearing his helmet so she could see his expression.

"Why would anyone be following us?" Danse asked.

"The Brotherhood—"

"The Brotherhood have no reason to follow us."

"But if they've seen you…"

"And if they have?"

Quinn stared at him incredulously. Had he simply forgotten all the shit that had happened in the last two months?

Crack.

Her thoughts were cut short as a bullet grazed her arm. She yelled out in pain and whirled on the spot, causing her to lose her footing and tumble down a set of stone steps. The taste of metal filled her mouth as she bit her tongue, and she lay there, dazed, her fingers scrabbling for her gun.

Danse ran down to her, seizing her by the collar of her clothes and dragging her over to a nearby door, before standing in front of her and firing at the three mutants that had attacked. They went down quickly. Danse turned and crouched, and she could hear the worry in his voice as he said, "Did they hit you? Are you alright?"

"Just caught me," Quinn replied, holding up her arm, where the slight wound could be seen through the hole in her jumpsuit. "I'll be fine."

Danse started to respond, but stopped when more howls in the distance echoed through the street. He stood up and darted forward, picking up her rifle while Quinn staggered to her feet and wrenched the door open. She knew he would be thinking the same course of action. Anything was better than being exposed like this.

Darkness engulfed them as the metal door slammed behind them with a loud clang. Danse leaned against it, and they waited, the angry yells outside muffled by the heavy barrier. But for whatever reason, the mutants did not follow.

"Odd…" Danse muttered, raising his weapon and edging down the gloomy corridor. "They might not know we went in here, but it's unusual for them not to check. There may be something worse in this building. I'm going to scout ahead and make sure there's no immediate threat, and then I'm going to look at your arm. Be on your guard, and call me back if there's any trouble."

Quinn nodded and watched as he disappeared into the deep black, the only light cast by a flickering fire from somewhere down the end of the corridor. It didn't take him long to return, and when he did, he was shaking his head. He positioned his armour against the door, stepped out of it, and then set about cleaning Quinn's wound. The look on his face told her plainly that now was not the moment to ask questions.

Only when her arm was dressed and Danse had returned to his armour, did he speak.

"I think I know what happened here," he said in a low voice as he led the way past a shopping cart. It was filled to the brim with meat that oozed maggots. He pointed to a dead mutant on the floor. "Mutants don't fear us. They see us as prey or potential candidates to be infected with their filth. Even when we fight back, the temptation to take us is too great. But other mutants…"

Danse sighed. "We've stumbled into a territorial war."

Quinn blinked. "Super mutants are territorial?"

"Not all of them. But it happens. A group with more than one mutant intelligent enough to be an overlord will splinter, and over time the two new factions fight it out for the best food and the best hives. Unless I'm mistaken, the mutants outside are the remnants of the ones who used to live here. And now somewhere inside this building…"

His voice trailed away, but he didn't need to finish the sentence. Hidden in the shadows were the winners.

"We're treading on very dangerous ground." Danse stepped over the mutant and peered around the corner. "They attack even harder when they're in-fighting. At the moment, I can't see an option but to continue. They don't seem to know we're here right now, which gives us the element of surprise. We could clean them out before they realise what's going on."

Quinn fidgeted with her rifle. "I don't like this."

"Neither do I, but there's little else we can do. If we go outside, we'll be overwhelmed. If we stay put, they might surprise us instead."

She knew he was right, but that didn't make her feel any better about the plan. Or maybe it was just the atmosphere that surrounded her, the distinctive stench of decay heavy in the air. Quinn's stomach turned, and she leaned against Danse for a moment, trying not to breathe through her nose.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," Quinn mumbled, straightening up again. She still wasn't used to the smell of the dead, and if she had it her way, she never would be. The price of accustoming seemed far too great.

Although Quinn couldn't see his face, Danse wasn't faring well either. He was doing better than their last time in a mutant hive, and yet he held the demeanour of a man clinging on by the tips of his fingers. He twitched at every shadow, every noise, his rifle never dipping, even for a second. This was far past his usual caution of battle, and Quinn got the impression he was waiting for a disaster to happen. Or maybe he was afraid of seeing the ghosts again.

They walked past cages with people in them, long starved or butchered, some of them skeletons with only the meanest scraps of flesh left on their bloody bones. Meat bags hung in their usual macabre way, slowly dripping into ever-increasing puddles below. Danse kept his head down, looking straight ahead while Quinn's eyes roamed.

As they made it upstairs, they passed a big white sign with bright red letters that held the brand 'Wilson Atomatoys.'

Quinn paused. She had heard of that before. Nate had suggested ordering one of their pony toys for Shaun for when he was a bit older. A 'buttercup' something or other.

All thoughts of toy horses were driven from Quinn's mind, however, when they made it up to the ground level. The main entrance had long since collapsed, dashing their hopes of an escape route.

"Shit," Quinn hissed, now feeling thoroughly nervous.

Danse held up his hand to silence her, and she followed his lead as they crept up another set of stairs, toward a group of talking mutants. Quinn had never heard them converse before, only scream and shout while they tried to kill her.

"Place is ours," one grunted.

"Hurt them bad," said another.

"Not over yet," replied the biggest—a huge, hulking figure wearing a helmet that looked like it had been made from a set of traffic lights. "Could come back. We hunt. We kill. We win."

The others rumbled in agreement, and Danse carefully pulled a grenade out from a compartment on his armour. He nodded to Quinn, and when she nodded back, he pulled the pin and rolled it gently across the floor.

The mutants only had time to look down before it went off, sending the limbs of the closest one scattering in various directions.

A low scream filled the air and the biggest mutant suddenly rushed them. Its speed took both Quinn and Danse by surprise, and a second later, Danse was crashing down the stairs, wrestling with the oversized monster as it pummelled every inch of him. But as Quinn raised her gun to help, something grabbed her by the hair and flung her down the walkway. She crashed into the nearby wall, bouncing off it onto the floor, the wind knocked out of her.

Quinn lay there for a moment, mouth breathlessly moving as her body begged for air, and then glanced up to see a mutant advancing, a large board riddled with nails clutched in its hands. With a roar, it smashed it down, and Quinn twisted aside, a wayward nail puncturing her arm.

Her throat still denying her air, she could only open her lips in silent pain. Somehow, the combat knife from her boot—a trick given to her by Danse—appeared in her hand before the mutant could raise its weapon again, and she drove it deep into its foot. It howled, and staggered back, stumbling heavily into the old, rusted rails. There was a loud crack, and the metal gave way, the mutant toppling down headfirst.

Quinn heard a sickening thud, but had no time to wonder whether the thing was still alive. Another mutant from the next room had made an appearance, and she could see others behind it. She was unarmed again, and Danse was nowhere to be seen.

Fuck it.

Her breath returned in a strangled yell as she rolled across the floor and through the broken railings, catching hold of the edge at the last second so that she dangled over the side. The mutant that had landed below her was twitching, its head and neck at an odd angle to the rest of its body. Other than that, the drop looked safe. Lucky, too, as only a few metres to her right was an arrangement of rusted spikes—a mutant's idea of classy decor.

Just as she was about to let go, there were a series of loud, metallic footsteps, and her heart soared as she heard Danse bellow, "Ad victoriam!"

Laser fire filled the air and ash cascaded over the edge, coating her in a fine layer of dust.

A strangled roar, a grunt of pain, and a mutant flew off the platform above. It gave one surprised scream as it tumbled towards the metal teeth, and Quinn closed her eyes. But she couldn't drown out the horrible wet thud, nor the shrieks of agony that followed. When she opened them again, she saw it had been impaled like meat on a spit roast.

"Quinn?" Danse called out over the screams.

"Down here!" she yelled back, and he peered over before grabbing her and hauling her up. In an instant she had pulled his helmet off and dragged him down into a hug, pressing her cheek against his as she clutched at his hair. He held her back, much more carefully than Quinn, and she sensed his reluctance when she eventually pulled away.

"Are you alright?" they both asked at the same time.

There was a pause and then they grinned at each other.

"Fuck, that was scary," Quinn whispered, stepping away from him and glancing over to the stairs. The large mutant lay crumpled there, its head missing, the top of its neck coated in thick, grey ash.

When she directed her gaze back at Danse, she saw he had moved to the edge of the walkway, and was watching the mutant scream and writhe below, an odd look on his face. Quinn didn't like it.

Without comment, he turned to walk away.

Quinn glanced at him, then back down to the mutant. She raised her rifle.

"Leave it," said Danse, as he stooped down and picked up his helmet, putting it back on with a clunk.

"What?"

"Don't waste your bullets. Leave it."

"But…" Its howls of agony were making her shiver. "Danse...it's in pain."

"So?"

"So?" Quinn gaped at him. "So you want it to suffer?"

A long pause.

"Yes," he said quietly, and then strode away.

Quinn felt unnerved. No matter who or what they fought, Danse had always put a dying enemy out of their misery, especially if their pain was great. She knew the reason why he was doing this, of course, but that didn't make it right.

"So that's what we do now, huh?" Quinn snapped, though she could barely hear herself think over the screams below. "We act like them?"

Danse stopped in his tracks, and immediately she knew she'd gone too far. But instead of exploding, he stormed back down the walkway, leaned over the barrier, and fired his rifle. The room fell silent. When he turned to look at her again, she was glad she couldn't see his face behind his helmet.

"I will never be like them," Danse snarled.

Quinn brushed past him, stepping over the bodies, her heart pounding. She didn't want to upset him. Not after the last argument. This was supposed to be the honeymoon period, when things were their calmest. But if that was the kind of path he was going to take, then she wouldn't follow him down it. He needed to know that.

Together they picked through the rest of the building, finding the odd piece of useful scrap here and there, an icy distance between them. Only when they reached a locked door, Quinn forgot her unease as intrigue took over. Amongst her other unsavoury talents, lockpicking was a particular favourite. It was like a duel with the crafter of the lock, each taking a step to foil and block the other.

Or maybe she was just being dramatic. Either way, her ex Mark had been impressed with her knack for getting into places she wasn't supposed to. Probably because those places usually ended up being the confiscated liquor cabinet at school.

Grinning to herself, Quinn pulled out her screwdriver and a bobby pin she kept tucked in her pocket. The end was filed and bent into a slight hook shape. Not as good as a proper lockpick, but sufficient.

She crouched down, ignoring Danse as he loomed behind her, and set to work, sliding the bobby pin inside the keyhole and carefully testing each pin, stroking them and waiting for that first faint, satisfying click.

To her surprise, it came quickly, and Quinn trailed the pin up and down, searching for the next weak point. Then the next. And the next. She worked slowly, and was glad that Danse was a lot more patient than Mark had ever been. Quinn could sense his interest as she deftly navigated her way through the lock, until at last, all the pins were in place. Then with great care, she twisted the screwdriver, and the lock turned.

"Well," said Danse after a few beats of silence, "they don't teach that in boot camp."

Quinn laughed and the tension between them disappeared. As she stood up, Danse took off his helmet and caught her arm.

"Quinn," he said, looking sheepish. "I'm—"

Quinn pulled on the handles of his armour, tugging him down so she could press a kiss to his cheek. "Don't say it."

"But—"

"You don't need to say it," Quinn repeated firmly. The paleness of his face told her everything. He had enough on his mind without her disapproval adding to his worries. "Come on. Let's see what's in this room."

Danse gave her a half-grateful, half-exasperated look, but smiled before following her through.

Both of them stopped dead over the threshold.

The office was immaculate. Quinn glanced over at Danse and saw his eyes widen with wonder. She had no idea how this small room had managed to remain so preserved, but she didn't care. The delight written across Danse's face was the only thing she needed to see.

"Amazing," he whispered, edging close to a bookshelf filled with pristine toys. "This room appears to be totally untouched by the ravages of war. We might be the first people in here for over two-hundred years."

His hand reached out to touch one of the toys, but then he hesitated and reluctantly withdrew it, letting it drop back to his side. He turned to her, a wide grin on his face. "The things we could learn just from this room alone. Our scribes would have a field day here. Can you access the computers at all?"

Quinn winced. There was that 'our' again. Trying to ignore it, she smiled and sat down at the desk, clicking through the terminal. Then she frowned at the name on the screen. "Hang on…this is..."

She glanced over to a door on the other side of the room and stood up, hurrying over to it. This terminal was locked, but it didn't take long to break through, and when the door slid open, her suspicions were confirmed. The shelves were filled with toy parts and design sketches.

"Arlen Glass," Quinn mumbled, staring at the dusty shelves.

"Who?" Danse said, peering over her shoulder into the little room.

"Arlen Glass," Quinn repeated. "The man from the Slog."

"The toymaker ghoul?"

"The very same." She pointed to the computer behind her. "That's his terminal. This must have been his workspace, pre-war."

There was a terminal in this room as well. Quinn bent over it, working her way inside quickly, and saw to her great delight that there was another holotape nestled within the machine. She flicked down through the terminal options, throwing Danse an excited look, and he smiled gently at her.

"Another one for my collection." Quinn hit the play command.

"Go ahead," said a soft voice. A woman's voice. There was a pause, and then a little girl began to chatter away.

"Hi, Daddy! When are you coming home? You work too much. I want you to read to me again. Mommy says you're helping all the horsies find good homes. Take care of them, okay? I love you."

Another pause.

"Hmm? Oh, Buttercup says she loves you too. We miss you. Come home soon!"

The tape went dead and Quinn ejected it, feeling cold. She turned to Danse, who looked equally disturbed.

"Did...did Arlen Glass ever mention a family?"

Danse shifted on the spot. "He said he had a daughter, but he never explicitly stated what happened to her."

Quinn stared down at the tape in her hand.

"While this room likely has a lot of salvage we can take back to the Brotherhood," Danse said with the tone of someone quickly trying to change the subject, "I'll understand if you want to leave it untouched."

She couldn't let this go on any longer. Whatever was happening, he was clearly in denial. He wasn't moving on.

"Danse," Quinn said tentatively, feeling nervous. "You're...you're talking like you're still in the Brotherhood, y'know? I'm sure it's just me taking it the wrong way, but…"

She trailed off as he stared at her, and suddenly felt very small.

"I'm out here representing them," Danse said after some time, though his voice sounded odd. "The way it should be."

"Danse…"

"There's Brotherhood, and then there's everything else. Nothing in-between." He shifted on the spot, and Quinn sensed he was scowling. "And regardless of my status with them, I intend to help. I can't go back to the Prydwen yet, but I can still help further their mission in my own way. I am Brotherhood, in body and soul."

"But—"

"We should see if there's anything worth salvaging in the rest of the building," Danse interrupted. "Come on."

He stomped away before she could stop him, leaving her to follow, riddled with confusion and worry.

By the time they made it back out into the city again, the other mutants had moved on, and their progress into the open wasteland was quick and unhindered.

Danse felt elated as he strode across the landscape, the conversation in the toy manufacturers forcefully pushed to the back of his mind.

The silent worries of the previous night were forgotten. He had Quinn by his side, the rifle she had given him in his hand once again, and his armour had been returned to him. It was like he had never left the Brotherhood at all. He grinned behind his helmet, glad Quinn couldn't see. This was something private, something wonderful...something she might not approve of.

Since his confrontation with Maxson, he had slowly been coming to terms with his place in the Brotherhood. At first he had thought it was the end, that he would never be a part of them again. But then over time he began to realise an obvious truth: they may not accept him at the moment, but he was still part of the Brotherhood. He still represented them, even if they didn't know it. He was still Brotherhood, through and through. Maxson hadn't executed him. Why would they?

A small part of his brain pressed on the issue that Quinn's intervention was the only reason he was still alive, but the rest of him dismissed it. The very notion made him feel uncomfortable, uneasy...unwelcome. He had given everything and more for the Brotherhood. Killed for them. Nearly died for them. Lost his best friend for their cause.

They wouldn't have just dropped him so easily. The idea was too much to bear.

Danse felt his smile falter as the uncertainty returned, but then he shook his head. That was just Quinn and her doubting getting to him again. It would be fine. He would be fine. A temporary setback. That was it. That was it…

As they drew over a hill, he spied the Prydwen in the distance and stopped, smiling to himself again. "Doesn't it feel good to be a part of something as great as the Brotherhood?"

"You aren't part of the Brotherhood, Danse."

It felt as if he'd been thrown into ice-cold water. Had he said that out loud? He hadn't meant to. And yet Quinn had obviously heard it.

Swallowing, his throat tight but determined to gloss over his error, he quickly said, "I know that. I was referring to you."

"No, you weren't," Quinn replied, her voice hard. She turned to him and glared, and Danse felt the familiar prickles of doubt in his chest. Her glare deepened as she said, "You were referring to both of us."

"I think I would know what I was talking about," Danse snapped, feeling his face going hot. It was an odd sensation. She had caught him out, and yet part of him still felt like she was mistaken. Wasn't it obvious what he meant?

...What had he meant?

"Well if you know that," Quinn retorted, "then you'll know that you're still acting like you're part of their little club. Still talking like you're going to step straight back on that ship with scrap and tech and they'll just accept you as if nothing ever happened."

Danse bristled at this. How ridiculous that was. And yet a small part of him had hoped...no. She was wrong. She was wrong. How Quinn was wrong, he couldn't explain, but it was better than her being right. Trying to keep himself calm, he said, "Are you calling me delusional?"

"Damn right I am. After everything they put you through, and you're still clinging blindly to them, like a kicked dog trying to please a shitty master. Maxson won't take you back. He's a bigot and a—"

"Don't insult him in front of me." The danger was so clear in his voice, even he could hear it. Quinn hesitated, looking worried, but then an ugly look crossed her face and Danse knew she was about to give him hell.

"Watch me," she hissed. "Maxson. Is. A. Prick."

"He is your Elder!" Danse snapped, his volume rising, his anger making him lose his grip on his sense of reason.

"He's a fucking prick!" Quinn shot back, dropping all pretence of calm. "He didn't fight for you, didn't protect you! Didn't even give you a chance!"

"Enough!"

"No, like hell that's enough!" she yelled, starting to go red in the face. "I am trying my best to help you, Danse, putting my neck out for you in every possible way, and you don't even seem concerned by the danger! They want to kill you. And when they're through with you, they'll turn on me, and then on your precious fucking Maxson that you seem so fond of. Or am I just a consolation prize because he won't talk to you anymore?"

Danse didn't know what a consolation prize was, but he could guess what she was getting at. A mixture of disgust and rage surged through him, and he strode towards her, certain an argument of the century was about to happen.

How dare she suggest he cared about Maxson more than her?

He was about to tell her this—possibly in a louder voice than necessary considering that they were only feet apart—when a nasty rumbling sounded in the distance.

Both Quinn and Danse whirled around to see the surface of a body of water bulge upwards and explode as a mirelurk the size of a house erupted from the depths. A queen. Before they could react, she scuttled towards them at startling speed, surrounded by a horde of normal sized mirelurks.

"Oh shit!" Danse heard Quinn say, and then thick, green mucus hit him in the face. The visor on his helmet was immediately obscured, the goo clinging stubbornly to him, and he could smell burning. Quinn's screams sounded somewhere to his left, and panic filled him at once. He wrenched the helmet off and threw it aside, to see Quinn pinned down by a mirelurk that had moved ahead of the group, while the queen advanced.

Danse wasn't too sure what happened after that. He vaguely remembered running at the smaller mirelurk and barging it aside so that it rolled onto its back and slid down the hill, and then firing up at the queen. The next thing he knew, instead of the queen spitting her foul muck at them, the corrosive substance exploded down onto herself, the spouts on her face disintegrating.

"Shoot the head, shoot the head!" Danse bellowed, unsure if Quinn could even hear him. She must have done, though, because her bullets joined his laser fire. The queen gave a deep, earth-shaking shriek and staggered back, knocking the normal sized mirelurks out of the way.

"Keep going!"

The onslaught continued, blood and gunk cascading down like rotten rain, while the queen blindly tried to attack. Other mirelurks lunged for them, and Danse did his best to keep out of the way of their deadly claws, circling the queen while she tried to follow him, so that she became tangled on her own subjects.

Finally, the queen's body jerked, and she fell backwards, landing on the spawn that surrounded her, crushing them and sending innards splattering everywhere.

But there was no time to think. There were some of the creatures still left, the hatchlings swarming towards them while the remaining adults attempted to avenge their dead queen.

When the dust settled and the sea monsters lay still, Danse let out a slow sigh, feeling as though he had just run the initiates' endurance training at the Citadel.

"Quinn?" he called out, all anger at her forgotten. So long as she was unharmed, that was all that mattered.

"Fine," she replied staggering around the queen's body, looking exhausted. "You?"

"Affirmative," he said, slipping back into his old habits. Then he remembered. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

Danse ignored her, searching for his precious possession. He didn't have to look far. Half wedged into the dirt, his helmet was slightly corroded, and the metal was bent out of shape where the queen must have stood on it. The mucus had burned away, leaving only the damage behind. Danse cradled it in his arms like a child, and glanced across the landscape, to where the bunker was lying somewhere in the distance. Then he looked back down, panic welling up inside him.

His helmet. His last Brotherhood helmet.

A/N: Usual thanks to my amazing beta, waiting4morning!

It's my birthday! Have a chapter early on me. ;)