Note: More practice. Danse is fun to write. Not so sure on MacCready. Working on backstory. Feeling sick still

someone asked for more :)

"This is where I met him."

Danse turned his head to look at Ruiz, raising an eyebrow. "Him?" he asked, frowning.

"Nate," she said.

Danse's hands tightened on his minigun. Ruiz had elected to take him into the wasteland, instead of her more regular scrap run partner. MacCready had been passed up, much to his dismay. He'd complained about being stuck weeding for another week, loudly, until Ruiz walked away.

She was standing in front of Cambridge Polymer Labs, as where she had paused to examine her Pip-Boy and then immediately stared at the building for five minutes straight. He'd been determining what to say to her, when she mentioned Nate.

Ruiz examined the building with a blank expression on her face, her 10mm pistol in one hand and the other shading her eyes. She was quiet for a long time, her lips slowly pressing together and her knuckles gradually turning white on the grip.

He couldn't think of the appropriate response. Should he... be interested? Ask her questions about the lab? Or should he try to divert her attention away from the subject of her husband? She was obviously upset by her thoughts. ...Should he ignore the topic altogether and discuss military maneuvers?

Ruiz would say what she wanted, regardless of what he might. Her willingness was something that he enjoyed; he didn't have to provide much for her to take control of their social interactions. It was entirely gratifying not to need to speak, especially when he never knew what to say.

She was destined for authority. Always had been, he expected. Under his own recommendation, Elder Maxson had immediately promoted her to Knight. Someday, she might outrank even the Paladins. He would be proud to serve under Ruiz.

If she could work through this depression with that same force of will, of which, he knew she was capable. Since her troubles in the Vault, that front had been quiet. The battle was over, but the war not yet won.

His own ineptitude at dealing with emotions, though... Danse felt the uncomfortable pressure in his gloves as his hands tightened more, power armor plating scraping against the rubber. He was not an emotional person, by nature. Shamefully, he wished for the local threat to become pressing, so that this conversation would be over more quickly. Physical violence was the only response he knew how to reliably handle.

He was not a coward. He told himself that. He was simply... ignorant of the sentiment a wife would feel for a lost husband. That was all. It confused him.

"My father worked here, before the War," she said.

Danse watched her head tilt up and saw her throat bobbing. Was it crass of him to want that they should have this conversation somewhere else? He wasn't sure. Being out in the open wasn't the issue, but if their attention was diverted from careful watch...

To allow themselves to lose face via inadequate combat readiness was not tolerable.

"Hmm," he said, trying to apply himself to the effort. Still felt wrong, though. He grimaced.

Ruiz smiled, and looked back at him. "I wasn't supposed to be here, that day," she said, moving across the rubble. "I was supposed to be sick at home, but mom wasn't around, so..." She shrugged. "I walked up to the lab here and waited outside for him to go on lunch."

"How old were you?" he asked. She seemed determined to speak with him, and though he was grateful that she was discussing the issue with him... he wasn't prepared for it. He'd told her he would listen. And... well, as much as she needed support, he needed the practice.

It was not pleasant to think he was weakened by this. They had discussed as much, before. His inability to speak as freely as others might.

"Sixteen," she said, moving and sitting onto a bench. "I came down here and I was watching people while I waited." She rubbed her eye and smiled with half of her mouth. "Nate was a private, then. He'd driven down to deliver some power armor parts for testing, from... I think it was Fort Hagen?" She frowned in concentration.

Danse kept his eyes on Ruiz, but couldn't think of what to say. "There was some kind of paperwork," she went on, "but he was only supposed to drive the truck, so he came over and talked with me until it was sorted."

She had a smile on her face that Danse considered pleasant. He moved to the side of the bench and glanced about for any threat, then stared down at her. Seeing her face lit up with that smile was a good deal more preferable to her red-eyed weeping in the past.

"Paperwork," he said, "is the bane of many a soldier."

"I guess it was fate," she said, her smile disappearing. "He just... felt right."

He had felt that way about Cutler; to find someone that one belonged with, was not easy. Danse turned slightly, looking up at the Lab. And to have it ripped from one's very hands, without one's control, made one feel utterly helpless.

Her smile disappearing made him wonder if his comment was not the right one to make. He did not enjoy that. She appeared to have ignored him entirely.

"Nate had the most handsome smile..." She sighed and leaned back on the bench. "My father hated him, of course, but he hated everyone." She waved a hand at the building. "I think he would have rather I went off to be a nun than a lawyer."

She'd lost him, at this point. His knowledge of Pre-War culture was not sufficient to give him understanding. "That is what fathers are best at," he said, instead. "Caring for their children, and wanting the best for them."

Ruiz laughed, slapping her knee. "Oh, man," she said, and rubbed her face with one hand, covering it. "I―" she started giggling. "I'm sorry, Danse, I am―"

He watched her dissolving into laughter, frowning. "I did not realize I was so entertaining," he said, a little too sternly. Glad that she was smiling and laughing, but not at his expense.

"N-no," she said, "it's not th-that!" Ruiz stopped laughing after a minute or two, slowly tapering off. "It's just, if I were a nun, I would be dead. Wouldn't have gotten married or even had Sh―" Her eyes closed, and she went still.

He wasn't a coward, he told himself. Her words made him uncomfortable, and he simply didn't know how to handle it.

"Everything will work out for the best, I'm sure," he said. She barely moved, sitting on the bench. He wasn't sure that she had heard him.

"Maybe things would have been better if I was a nun," she murmured, after a long minute or two.

"You will have to tell me about that, at a later point," Danse said, looking out into the surrounding buildings. "This is not an area conducive to private education."

Ruiz looked up, sharply, turning her head and scanning the area. Nothing was out there, of course. She turned back to him with a frown. One eye squinted against the glare of the sun setting over Cambridge, her hat tilted upward on a bed of golden curls. "Are you trying to get out of talking?" she asked, after a moment of scrutinizing him.

"I don't know much about Pre-War culture," he stated, staring at her. The setting sun cast a shadow over her face and made her green eyes look black. "I am sorry."

Ruiz's face flushed slightly, and she looked away. "No, it's―I'm the one who should be sorry, Danse. Wasn't trying to make you feel bad. I didn't think."

There was an awkward silence. Ruiz leaned forward and put her hands on her knees, looking past him at the building again. After a moment she stood, and checked her weapon. "Let's keep going," she said, turning away from the labs.

"It is well that we remove ourselves from the area," Danse said, watching her. "The ghoul threat is still present, even with Brotherhood soldiers at the police station. I do not understand their numbers, but..." He breathed out through his nose. "It is what it is, and we must be mindful."

"Yeah," she agreed, and started away from the building. "Thanks for listening to me, Danse."

"You are welcome, Knight Ruiz," he replied, following her carefully through the rubble.

"Oh, my God, and the smell―" MacCready covered his face with a bandana, squeezing his eyes shut and drawing his eyebrows together. He jerked his foot backward and tried not to look at what he'd almost stepped in.

"Quiet," Ruby said, frowning at him.

"How can you even breathe in here," he muttered, opening his eyes just a touch and staring at her. Ruby was sorting through a desk surrounded by a pile of... well, whatever it was it, was best left unsaid. The smell alone was enough to send his imagination into overdrive.

"It's not that bad," she murmured, and pulled a drawer open, balancing herself on the tilted floor. Various groans and alarming creaking noises came from beneath them, the Natick Banks some twenty feet below. MacCready's hands went out in a jerk, catching a corner of a wall.

"This is the worst smell I've ever smelled," he groaned, placing his feet and turning away from her.

Ruby turned her head and glanced at him, then closed the desk drawer and shoved various tools into her pack. Very little salvage was left in the falling building, mostly cigarettes and loose folders.

Man, he was just glad she'd actually taken him out this time. Felt like she'd been ignoring him, and he couldn't say why. After he'd talked to her inside the Vault―

He pushed the thought from his mind. Was enough to keep him up, thinking about her clinging to him like she had.

Dam―Dangit, he was lonely. Too lonely.

Piper and Hancock were homebodies, able to bum around the Hills or go back to their respective jobs if they wanted. Garvey was important to the Hills as her 2IC for the Minutemen. Even if he wasn't in town because of business at the Castle, he'd never gone out with Ruby. That left MacCready, the dog, the robot, and that mountain of metal and hot grease that had no business clanking about the place.

Danse didn't like him. Yeah, so what? He didn't see a reason to be all that fond of the Paladin, either. Merc versus Herc. He might not have much going for him, but his astounding talent for gunnery―he grinned a little. And his pretty face.

At least he wasn't as uptight as Danse. Like to see Danse without that shell of his, he thought. He snorted at that. Hiding behind all that armor like he was scared to let the wasteland take a crack at him. Upholding all that huff and puff the Brotherhood liked to call their creed.

MacCready held up his .44, toeing a lump on the floor. Natick Banks had some seriously nasty mold or something, growing around it. Almost made him wish he was back at Sanctuary Hills, dealing with toliet overflows and the mess that always happened after he ate too much Mutfruit.

The lump quivered as he nudged it with his foot, glowing slightly in the center. He shook his foot and whatever it was, stayed on his boot. Looked like it was moving! He kicked out and stomped onto the tile, eyes open in surprise.

"Da―" he started, spitting out the word. "Ugh!"

"Shh," Ruby cautioned. She'd gone still when he wasn't looking, her hands flat on the desk and her eyes on something in the distance, over the bank. He turned and held out his pistol, balancing himself and waiting.

"Do you hear?" she whispered, turning her head slightly to him.

He shook his head, and moved forward a few inches on the tilting floor. The tiles creaked under his boots. I oughta lay off the Mutfruit anyway, he thought. Getting heavy. Won't be able to keep my trim figure―

His mouth tugged up in a smile. Man, he wished Ruby was easier to judge, sometimes. She spoke so firmly and shut him down so often he wasn't even sure if she liked him, most of the time. If he knew where he sat with her, he'd feel better about complaining so much. Might actually joke like that, aloud.

If he didn't think it might cause her to stop hanging out with him, anyway. God, she was so hard to get a feel for. He really wished she would open up a little more, like she had that day at the Vault―

His fingers twitched on the .44, and he looked to the side, fighting the memory. It bothered him more than he liked to admit.

"It's gone," she muttered, picking her hands up and moving to the side.

"What was it, anyway?" he asked, spreading his feet and taking a wide step over the edge of the floor onto a desk.

Ruby shook her head, watching him move onto the lower floor, eyeing the distance. MacCready turned as she moved a leg off the broken tiles and put her heel into the brown sludge. He swore out loud and moved forward―she slid on the goop, landing on her back and skidded toward the lower floor―

She landed on his shoulder and cheek, smearing a glob of that crap onto his neck, knocking him down onto his ass and making the whole place shudder with the impact. MacCready grunted in pain, his cheek twinging from being assaulted. Ruby was in his lap, stunned but otherwise unhurt, blinking rapidly.

"Did you have to land butt-first?" he groaned. "Ow!"

"Why the hell did you catch me?" she groaned, putting a hand out and pushing herself upward. "You're lucky I didn't kick you in the head!"

"Excuse me!" he replied, moving his head as she bent over to stand up. "I was trying to help!"

"I can handle myself, thank you very much," she said, glaring at him.

"Ugh," he grunted, wiping his neck before he stood up. "Great, now I'll smell like as―" He threw the bandana down and gagged a little. "I don't even want to say what that smells like, it's so bad."

"Whatever." Ruby rubbed her hip and frowned. "Next time, just let me get hurt."

"What, and miss out?" His mouth twitched in a half-smile. "Ladies don't just fall into your lap, every day."

She scoffed, moving away from him. "Don't know where your attitude is coming from," she grumbled.

"I told you before." MacCready crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. "I won't let you down. I got you, Ruby."

She colored, turned away in a flounce, and moved across the floor. Muttered something under her breath as she damn near ran out of the building. MacCready suppressed a grin, jumping out of the building and catching up with her.

"What? What did I say?" he asked, pulling his hat down over his eyes and trying to look smooth.

"Nothing," she said, her cheeks still flushed with color.

"Nothing," he repeated, knowingly, tilting his head at her and grinning.

"MacCready," she groaned, "just drop it."

"I can't just ignore it!" he protested, keeping up with her short steps easily. "I'm on a roll, today. At least gimme something―tell me how I'm doing!"

"Do you want to go home?" she asked him, pointedly, turning and facing him with a hard look on her face. She put her hands on her hips and stared him down.

"What, back to the Hills where no one wants me around and I bi―complain too much for Garvey's comfort?" He snorted. "No, thank you."

"Then drop it," she said, stepping onto the asphalt. "And Garvey is right, you do complain too much."

"Fine, fine," he moaned, stretching his arms up behind his head and walking along behind her. "So, where we going now?"

"Northeast," she said, pointing across the Banks and off into the distance. "Lexington."