She was a mess. A watery, wobbly, panicking disaster on two legs. But when she saw that asshole standing in front of the bunker in his ridiculous fucking battlecoat, all of that seething, out of control emotion sucked right into her center and ejected back out in a coronal flare of superheated rage. The heightened senses and sudden mental clarity of an acute adrenaline rush seemed to slow time around her. She felt like she had just taken a hit of Jet.
It was, by far, the most critically dangerous situation she'd yet been in during all her time spent as the sole survivor of Vault 111. The stakes had surely never been higher. This moment was what Danse had trained her for - they just hadn't known it. How could they have guessed?
Arthur Maxson was every inch the vigorous, angry bull she'd initially pegged him for; his nostrils were flaring and eyes narrowed with bloodlust and rage. His head was lowered threateningly as if he was about to charge. He bellowed and she could almost imagine visible jets of superheated breath blowing out. A Brahma instead of Brahmin. Dangerous, not placid.
"How dare you betray the Brotherhood!" His lips peeled back over his even white teeth in a vicious snarl.
She'd dare this much and more for Danse. He was hers, not Maxson's anymore, and damn her soul to everlasting hell if she'd allow anything to happen to him. It was high time Maxson learned his lesson regarding the consequences of such a deplorable blind betrayal, the like of which she'd never personally seen, even among the Red communist invaders that had overtaken Anchorage that one horrible winter.
"It's not her fault. It's mine."
Danse sounded calm and unperturbed, as if it was the end of just another day in the wasteland. Only the tension radiating off his large body told her he was anything but. He'd have shifted his weight forward on the balls of his feet, ready to respond at the first hint of danger with the extraordinary reflexes that had saved her ass more than a few times. His lightness and agility astounded her - such a big man simply shouldn't be able to move so fast.
"Nora, heed my warning. Don't underestimate him. It could easily prove to be fatal."
Nora rudely shoved herself past Danse and stood squarely in front of him. Maxson would have to fucking go through her first and she wasn't planning on making it easy for him.
She'd seen Danse and Maxson spar, just once. Danse was the only soldier fully capable of taking Maxson on in practice; many wagers were surreptitiously placed with Proctor Teagan on both men. It had been an explosively brutal session that ended in a draw. Both men were evenly matched – Maxson's broader shoulders and deeper chest offset by Danse's height and longer reach.
Afterwards in his personal quarters, she had politely but firmly dismissed Cade's scribe and pointed sternly to the bunk until Danse raised his abraded hands in defeat and gingerly lay down. She snapped her Paladin's broken nose back into place herself, as well as tended to his bloody split lip and carefully probed his chest and sides for fractured ribs and internal injuries underneath the purpling hematomas.
The Elder had likewise withdrawn to Cade's domain to see to his similar lacerations and possible fractures. She had spitefully muttered under her breath and wished Maxson additional painful injuries that would be tended with rough, uncaring hands while she gently dabbed the blood off Danse's face with moistened gauze and administered a stimpak to his thigh. He had cracked a blackened eye open and responded with tolerant amusement at the wrath she displayed towards the Elder for nothing more than the inevitable results of what he had called "exercise."
Exercise.
She took a step forward. She had no hope of besting Maxson in hand-to-hand combat, even in power armor. She'd have to rely on other resources. Fortunately, she had those assets at hand.
All right. Let's do this.
Nora took stock of her situation: She had her power armor on again, minus the claustrophobic helmet. Maxson was foolish enough to have not worn his own personalized T-60f, although the protection his armored coat provided was nothing to dismiss lightly. The laser rifle Danse had gifted her with oh-so-long ago was slung on its strap, dangling behind her back - carelessly out of reach.
The powerful pistol she had taken from Kellogg's dying body, however, was not. It was strapped at hand level on her right thigh; just a twitch of her wrist would slide it out of its tactical holster. In her mind's eye, she felt the easy, practiced draw of a well-maintained weapon. She had practiced nightly, her commanding officer standing behind her with his body curved around hers, patiently correcting her stance and guiding hands and limbs to where they needed to be, draw after draw after draw until she mastered the skill.
The weight of the gun in her hand would be heavy, reassuring. Deadly. She imagined her finger tightening around the beautiful, silky resistance of the trigger pull, saw the tiny numerals stamped on the rim of the spinning round cleave through Maxson's face, fatally disintegrating tissue and bone and brain. His mortally wounded body would stagger back from the force of the impact, rotate, and drop. Another shot fired into his vulnerable collarbone would spread bone chips and casing fragments through him like a hot knife through butter, shredding his subclavian arteries.
Then - shift three paces to the left and aim high with feet braced wide for added stability. Even now, she could still feel the impression of Danse's booted foot between hers, nudging them apart.
"Shoulder width, soldier. That's it. Just like that. Now, exhale and engage your target."
The vertibird would be ascending and readying for attack. One carefully placed shot would punch through-
Stop. Focus. Stay sharp. He was speaking. Her enemy. Pay careful attention.
He was pointing directly at Danse - or would have been if she hadn't interposed herself bodily between the two soldiers. Maxson's gestures were angry and stabbing. Like those of the champion prizefighter he easily could have been two hundred years earlier, taunting his opponent.
He snarled, "Silence, synth traitor. I'll deal with you in a moment."
Maxson turned the full force of his gaze on her. "Knight! Why has this… this thing not been destroyed?"
Keep pushing. Make him angry. Draw his focus to you.
"You followed me, you son of a bitch? How dare you."
Nora took another half step forward and halted, narrowing her eyes. She didn't have to push - he was livid. His anger was fiery and palpable. It surrounded him and licked out at her, seeking vulnerabilities.
No. She would not underestimate him. And she would prevail. Danse's life depended on it.
"When I sent you to execute this machine, I suspected you'd have difficulty following my orders." Maxson spat on the ground at her feet. "Now that I've arrived, it appears that my instincts were correct. What did it say to you that made you betray the Brotherhood? Why is it still alive?"
Nora leaned forward with the intensity of her reciprocal fury and actually growled at the man. Every muscle in her body was tensed and primed for battle, surrounded and enhanced by the exoskeleton of her power armor. Her blood was boiling and adrenaline was freely pumping through her system. There would be no flight, only fight. She was ready to throw down.
"Have you no shame?" she hissed. She was coiled and ready to strike at the least provocation. A rattlesnake defending its mate. "Danse would have knelt in front of me and allowed me to execute him, all out of loyalty to you. I point-blank refused out of loyalty to him. He's still alive because you're wrong about him. You are unworthy of his devotion. He is very much worthy of mine."
Maxson mirrored her posture, leaning forward until she heard the leather of his coat creak. His hot, cinnamon scented breath blew across her face.
"Him!? Danse isn't a man, it's a machine… an automaton created by the Institute. It wasn't born from the womb of a loving mother, it was grown within the cold confines of a laboratory."
The sepia-toned, faded image of her mother came to mind, smoothing wrinkles from her slip and rising from bed as a man who wasn't her father rebuckled his belt and patted her on the top of her six-year old head as he left. She had wanted to show mommy something; instead, she had learned what mommy really was.
She remembered what Danse told her about Maxson's own mother. What excellent ammunition that knowledge made, and didn't she know it.
Go for the fucking throat.
"Tell me, Elder. Was your mother loving? I've heard otherwise." It was a low, vicious blow. The intention was to make him bleed from whatever wound she could inflict. She paused to allow time for the barb to sink in and set - his giant fists clenched at his sides but he gave no further reaction. Interesting.
She'd started out as a prosecutor before she made the transition to the easier hours and higher pay of a human rights attorney. It had been her true calling, but she never forgot the lessons she learned in the underbelly of the Boston judicial system. She would needle him and draw blood from a myriad of tiny nicks before going for the kill. He'd make a mistake eventually, and she'd slit him open from throat to groin. She would wipe his blood from the corners of her mouth and rise, victorious.
Vindictively, she slid a verbal stiletto between his ribs. "All mine cared about was how many other officers she could fuck while my father was deployed. Maybe yours was the same?"
The jab missed, though. Belatedly, she remembered his father had fallen in battle, leaving his mother a widow.
Try, try again.
"A little lonely, timid boy. Unworthy of the name Maxson. Maybe that was why she sent you all the way across the country to the Pentagon?"
Deliberately, she invoked the pre-war name of the installation. She, too, had been within its walls as a child.
Ahh. His name, his legacy, was the key. His head rocked back and he looked at her with dawning respect in his icy blue eyes, for the first time in their association. Respect for the viciousness of the blow, but not for the reason behind it.
Danse. Danse. Danse. Her heart beat with the power of the name in her breast.
Her voice became obsidian hard and just as wickedly sharp. "You and I by no means were born from loving wombs. Physically, he may have been created in the robotics division, but Danse is more human than either of us for all of that."
Maxson was breathing heavily, gathering himself for another charge.
Danger. Danger!
"Flesh is flesh. Machine is machine. The two were never meant to intertwine." His hands were angry slashes, leather-clad palms smacking into one another for emphasis. "By attempting to play God, the Institute has taken the sanctity of human life and corrupted it beyond measure. That thing isn't Danse. It's a replica of a dead man, created to infiltrate and destroy from within."
It was Danse's turn to parry and riposte. Riposte, he did - and rightfully so. His baritone voice rumbled out, laden with censure. "All that I've done for the Brotherhood… all the blood I've spilled in our name, how can you say that about me?"
Maxson coldly looked Danse from head to toe. "You're the physical embodiment of what we hate most. Technology that's gone too far. Look around you, Danse." He flung an arm backward. "Look at the scorched earth and the bones that litter the wasteland. Millions… perhaps even billions, died because science outpaced man's restraint."
Maxson threw his head back and disdainfully looked down his aquiline nose. "They called it a "new frontier" and "pushing the envelope," completely disregarding the repercussions. Can't you see that the same thing is happening again?! You're a single bomb in an arsenal of thousands preparing to lay waste to what's left of mankind."
Had he really just suggested…? He had. Use it.
Nora laughed, coolly and dismissively. With saccharine sweetness, she cooed, "Technology that's gone too far?"
She made no attempt to conceal her disgust towards his hypocrisy. "So says the man who flew a gunship bristling with pre-war technology, uninvited, into the Commonwealth. So says the man that just gained a pre-war stockpile of thermonuclear bombs to load into the arsenal of a pre-war weapon of mass destruction."
Nora lashed out at him with the full force of her rage. "You're accusing Danse of being a ticking time bomb, yet he stood in the middle of all of those fucking nukes and did nothing when he damn well knew they'd be used against the Institute. He talked me into allowing their use. He spoke to me of the righteousness of their purpose. All out of loyalty to YOU, you piece of shit."
With tremendous difficulty, Nora reined herself back in. She was too close to losing control, to becoming nothing more than an unstoppable nuclear chain reaction. Strontium and uranium and cobalt and cesium, expanding outwards in a blast with her at the epicenter.
No. Her moderating control rod was Danse. She was fighting for him.
Get your shit together. Maxson will take instant advantage if you don't.
She had to keep command of her senses, her brain, and her body. She would do all of this for Danse, for no other man was worthy of her ultimate burnout.
Not even her son. Shaun was lost to her. The memory of cloudy blue infant eyes gazing up at her had the power to cut into her deeply. Danse had always been there to hold her tightly together as she fell apart, even when they had been a fledgling team just testing the wings of their friendship. He surrounded her with his strength and allowed her to mourn her son. Once in Sanctuary Hills, in the nursery of her destroyed home. Another time in the Cambridge police station following a jarring molecular reassembly. A third time on the rooftop of C.I.T. after the battle of Bunker Hill. More to follow.
The blue eyes had aged. They were filled with bland, clinical disinterest at the sight of their mother. His father? Regrettable collateral damage, he had said – but those eyes held no true regret at the loss. They were flat and dead. The eyes of a snake. The memory of those blue eyes weakened her, sapped her of strength.
His beautiful light brown eyes gave her courage. They still held hints of boyish wonder that the wasteland hadn't managed to stamp out. The corners crinkled when she pushed him out of seriousness and into laughter. They filled her spine with titanium. For him, she could do anything.
Her voice became even, calm. Patient. Strong. Steady. Like his. His heart beat inside her. He had trained her. He had molded her. He was her everything.
"Step back, consider your options, and make your move, soldier."
"Danse dedicated his life to protecting mankind. I know the sacrifices he's had to make. I've helped him through the nightmares he has every night. Every single night. He's upheld the ideals of the Brotherhood no matter what's been thrown at him. He is more worthy of the title of Elder than you."
Maxson clasped his hands at the small of his back and stood tall with self-righteousness. "Is that what it told you? How can you trust the word of a machine that thinks it's alive? A machine that's had its mind erased, its thoughts programmed… its very soul manufactured. Those ethics that it's striving to champion aren't even its own. They were artificially inserted in an attempt to have it blend in to society."
Danse caught her off guard - he stepped around her and shook his dark head once at her when she sidestepped to keep the shield of her power armor in front of him. He held out a large hand in warning. She bristled at the unspoken command. Restrain yourself, soldier. She was defiant. Insubordinate to the last - she had to protect him.
But… she also knew she had to let him have his say. He needed his own closure with this man. His Elder. The person named Arthur who was just that morning still his friend.
Nora stood down. Waiting. Watching. Her hand hovered above the butt of the fallen Kellogg's pistol. It had never been used for a purpose other than revenge. For Kellogg's personal retribution, for the interests of the Institute – nothing more than revenge against the Commonwealth.
Then for Nate. For Shaun.
She had plucked the weapon from Conrad Kellogg's bloody, dying fingers. Turned it in her hand. Looked down the barrel. Pulled the trigger, allowing it to learn the touch of its new mistress. She had shivered in pained pleasure and blown the smoke from the barrel afterwards. Nick Valentine had watched silently, his glowing yellow eyes missing nothing.
She would do the same for him and gladly damn her soul in the process. The soul that was already missing two vital pieces. A third piece, if she allowed Maxson to win this battle. One-two-three… She was the fourth but she was already lost.
No. As long as Danse was alive, she was not lost.
Danse's voice was full of such regret that her eyes stung in response. "It's true. I was built within the confines of a laboratory, and some of my memories aren't my own."
His head bowed. But it rose back up again, proudly. The Paladin in him would not be silenced or defeated. His voice rang with sincerity.
"But when I saw my brothers dying at my feet, I felt sorrow. When I defeated an enemy of the Brotherhood, I felt pride. And when I heard your speech about saving the Commonwealth… I felt hope. Don't you understand? I thought I was human, Arthur. From the moment I was taken in by the Brotherhood, I've done absolutely nothing to betray your trust and I never will."
She interjected, her voice raw and hoarse from her earlier screams. "You need to listen to what he's saying. He's already decided to leave the Commonwealth. Let him go, Maxson. I'm begging you. He's leaving," she gasped.
Her heart lurched violently. The grief flowed through her once again, fiery and excruciating. Napalm. She was unable to control this reaction. He was leaving her. Leaving her alone.
But Maxson would not listen. He could not be reasoned with.
"It's too late for that now. The Institute has foolishly chosen to grant you life. You simply should not exist."
Maxson turned back to Nora with an air of finality. "I don't intend to debate this any longer. My orders stand."
Danse bowed his head and stepped backwards. He smiled at her sadly. He would fight no longer.
"It's all right. We did our best. You convinced me that I was wrong to be ashamed of my true identity and I thank you for it. Whatever you decide, know that I'm going to my grave with no anger and no regrets."
Coldly, Maxson intoned, "Touching. Either you execute Danse, or I will, Knight. The choice is yours."
Maxson was undaunted. Nora felt a thread of panic twine around her titanium backbone. Would she, could she win this battle?
Of course she would. Keep the faith. For him.
She would die for him. Make it good. Go out in a blaze of nuclear-fueled glory.
Nora inhaled deeply and blew it out. She had not yet begun to fight.
"Fine. My decision is made. Danse, I'm sorry."
Nora took a step backwards for space and drew her pistol. To give the man credit, he didn't so much as flinch when the barrel took careful aim.
Her fingers squeezed around the tactical grip, settling comfortably into the worn grooves. In her mind's eye she could see the flash of combustion from the vented barrel, feel the heavy kick as the bullet left the chamber. Her forefinger tightened on the trigger.
Danse jerked forward – close, too close - then came to a sudden halt when he saw the expression on her face.
"Nora, stop and think about what you're doing. Is this really what you want?" he asked slowly.
Nora had her eyes locked firmly on the Elder. A bead of sweat had emerged from his temple and was slowly rolling down his cheek. "It seems I have no choice. Step back, my friend."
She drew her lips back in an approximation of a smile. It was dreadful enough that Maxson twitched slightly. She'd seen the same visage before, in the broken mirror of the home she used to live in with a beloved husband and infant son. A smile so terrible it had even made a robotic butler bob backwards on uncertain thrusters.
"Mum? You look quite… ill. Perhaps a spot of tea?"
She was once again the insubordinate, disobedient Knight. She was once again a terrified woman at the end of her rope.
Never again would she watch a loved one die.
Nora tilted her to the side and observed Maxson through slitted eyes. Watching. Waiting. "Rescind your orders and we all walk out of here alive." The barrel was rock steady and aimed directly at the center of Maxson's face.
"All right, weapon down. Damn, would you look at this target? Well done, Sinclair. No misses. We'll make a marksman out of you and that hand cannon yet."
In her peripheral vision, she could see Danse slowly walk wide of her with arms extended out. Inexplicably, he was furious with her. She had to do this, didn't he understand that?
"Sinclair, stand down. That's an order!"
Her rejection was immediate and adamant. "No. He's here to kill you. I refuse to let that happen. I couldn't stop Kellogg from killing Nate, but I will prevent Maxson from killing you, even if he takes me down with him."
He hadn't bellowed at her like that since Fort Strong after she had rushed recklessly into the installation and almost gotten them both killed. It hadn't cowed her then, and it didn't now. The last two inches of metaphorical rope were slowly sliding from her grasp.
This was it. Never again.
Her thumb pulled the hammer back.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. If I die here, you run as fast and far as you can. Do you understand me, Danse? You run."
She intended on screaming the word at him, but her voice betrayed her. Her heart betrayed her. It slipped past her lips a piteous, heartbroken moan instead.
Maxson was looking at her strangely. Softly, he murmured, "Incredible. You would spill my blood - and yours - to keep this thing alive?"
"I'd die for him. So will you. Are you ready?"
For the first time he showed a glimmer of uncertainty. A nanosecond of a frown. Eyes that flicked over to Danse so quickly would have missed it if she hadn't been toe to toe with him.
"So, it appears we've arrived at an impasse." A declarative statement, rhetorical in nature.
Nora narrowed her eyes. There was just a hint of something else… Yes. There it was. She wasn't mistaken.
She had him. She fucking had him.
Quietly, calmly, she said, "There's just one thing about your orders I don't understand. You could have assigned this mission to someone far better qualified to carry out this particular order. Knight Rhys is a perfect example, if you were aiming to punish as well as execute. Instead, you selected the person closest to Danse both personally and professionally. A seemingly undisciplined pre-war civilian with a traumatic onset of PTSD, a drinking problem, and, to put it bluntly, questionable mental stability."
Nora swiveled her head to look at Danse. She wanted to make sure he was listening to what she was about to say. He was unnaturally still and watching Maxson's face intently. Danse deserved to hear this – her closing argument - for whatever peace of mind it might bring him.
In turn, Maxson's attention was riveted on her. "Your network security is shit. I've read my files. We all know Danse is the only thing keeping me from coming unhinged. You sent me after him because you knew I'd fail the mission. You knew I'd refuse. You didn't want him to die, did you?"
"That's what brought you here," she said softly. "To tie up the loose ends, but in a different sense."
She heard Danse inhale sharply.
She holstered her weapon.
Daringly, Nora reached out the very same hand that had been ready to end his life and touched Maxson lightly in the middle of the chest. His icy blue eyes bored into hers. She knew he'd neither acknowledge nor deny what she just told him because as Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, he couldn't.
Now. Now is the time. His jugular is exposed.
"Elder Maxson. After all the sacrifices I've made and all the battles I've fought for the Brotherhood, you need to listen to me. You owe me that much."
Their eyes were locked tightly together. Her vision faded on the periphery; all of her concentration was focused on him. "Very well, I'm listening."
"Whether he's human or not, Danse saved the lives of countless Brotherhood soldiers. Now it's time you saved his." Nora splayed her armor-encased fingers over his heart. "He was your friend. He is incapable of betrayal on any level. Do the right thing."
Nora looked at Maxson, really looked at him for the first time. She could see the lonely boy a younger Danse had befriended behind those striking, pale eyes. She could see the man he had evolved into - brutally handsome features that had become hard and unyielding because he was given no other choice. He was molded and tempered by a cruel life and the heavy yoke of responsibility.
She could see hints of the man he could be, if he chose to shift his path. He was young and dynamic. His strong back would never bend, nor would his formidable will waver. His wide shoulders would carry his children as well as the Brotherhood forward into a new age. The Atlas of the post-apocalyptic era. He could save them all.
She shivered with dark, forbidden pleasure at the alternate universe thought of lying underneath this powerful man and bearing his children. But he would attempt to own her. He would try to dominate and she would resist. She belonged to another who meant strong and steady comfort. He was her guiding light in the storm, her safe port. He was her everything.
She suddenly regretted touching Maxson; the invisible chains of brotherhood and friendship - and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on - that bound the two men together now queerly ensnared her. A three-pointed circle. Nora withdrew her hand.
"You're a stubborn woman. Allowing Danse to live undermines everything the Brotherhood stands for, yet you insist that he remains alive. You'd risk your life, your career - everything for a synth?" His voice was full of frank curiosity.
"I'd follow him into hell itself if I needed to. Let him go. Please." Nora felt the hot tears standing in her eyes spill over.
Maxson's gaze missed nothing; he tracked the path of the first tear down her cheek, then the second. "Yes. I see that," he murmured. The pale color had transformed from a subzero chill to the plasma blue of the hottest of flames.
"You leave me only a single alternative." Maxson's voice was hard and his face stony as he turned to deliver his edict to Danse.
"Danse. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead. You were pursued and slain by this Brotherhood Knight and your remains were incinerated. From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen, or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you choose to ignore me, know that you'll be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other?"
"I do. Thank you for believing in me, Arthur."
Maxson's response was brutal and swift. "Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance. The only reason you're still alive is because of her." The Elder in him wouldn't allow any lesser response.
The eyes that returned to her were still searching her face for answers to uncomfortable personal questions. Nora could hear what they were asking.
You would die for a synth? You would … love … a synth?
She inclined her head.
Yes.
The two of them had reached an understanding.
"I'm returning to the Prydwen, Knight. Take some time, say your goodbyes, and then I expect to see you there. We still have the Institute to deal with."
Maxson turned to leave, then paused and looked over his shoulder at them both. Was the indefinable emotion in his face regret? Maybe underneath all of the external armor of responsibility and leadership, there was simply a man - a lonely man like Danse had been before she came along - with all of the faults and advantages and human frailty being a man in this new world entailed.
His great coat swirled, kicking up eddies in the dust as he strode away and left them both behind.