Long after the noise of the departing vertibird carrying Arthur Maxson faded, Danse and Nora stood side by side together. It was just like any other evening they spent in the Commonwealth. Unlike any other evening, the silence between them stretched out oddly instead of comfortably. He was unsure of how to fill it. With actions? Words? He needed a starting point, only he wasn't skilled enough, wasn't practiced enough to rattle something off that didn't pertain to power armor or tactics or a lifetime of Brotherhood doctrine. What the hell could he even say to her that encompassed the entirety of what he wanted to convey?
The last words Maxson would ever speak to him ran through his head again: "The only reason you're still alive is because of her."
He'd start right there. The woman who had fought tooth and nail to save his life was standing next to him, only an arm's length away. There wouldn't ever be a better starting point than that.
His voice felt as rough and uneven in his throat as it sounded to his ears. "You stood up to Elder Maxson for me. I'll never forget that for as long as I live."
A minute went by, then another. Nora wasn't moving or speaking. The buzzing, flickering light wired to the side of the bunker cast a deep shadow across her profile where it was blocked by the heavy shoulder plates of her suit. Danse couldn't see her face well enough to judge her expression, or even see her eyes. Her lack of response to his overture was causing an uncharacteristic apprehension to bubble up from the base of his spine.
She had drawn her line in the sand between the two of them and Maxson and routed him. Danse was truly in awe of her; he'd never seen anything like it. Maybe she was unaware of what she had accomplished in that extraordinary feat. On the other hand, perhaps she was having second thoughts about…
Danse swallowed hard against a suddenly parched throat and clenched his hands into fists.
When she finally replied, Nora's voice was tight. There was a painful, bitter edge present that Danse only heard on the rare occasions when she talked of the person her son had become. "We still need to get you out of here. Before Maxson comes back. We're heading north and I'm coming with you. I need to know you're safe and I… I have to try to make peace with your-" she exhaled sharply and the heavy armor surrounding her sagged forward "-with your absence."
Understanding flooded him, chasing away the apprehension and leaving only knee-weakening relief in its place. She wasn't rejecting him - he should have known better than to let a half-formed, ridiculous worry like that bother him, not after all that he had just witnessed and heard. Not after the haunting, heart wrenching way she had keened his name and sobbed brokenly in his arms.
No, Nora still thought he was in danger. She still thought he needed to leave the Commonwealth, and along with it, her.
Not a chance in hell of that happening. Not now, not ever.
As emphatically as he could, Danse said, "I'm not going anywhere. Leaving the Commonwealth isn't necessary anymore. You just saw to that, and I couldn't be prouder of you."
Her breath caught again at his declaration, a softer, surprised inhalation that rushed back out shakily in a gasp that sounded suspiciously like his name. Like a bizarre titanium flower, the back of her suit unlocked and spread open with a hydraulic hiss. Armor origami, she frequently called it. She wasn't climbing out, though. She was simply standing in place with her head bowed.
Finally, she quietly asked, "Help me out of this suit, would you?"
As Danse immediately shifted to respond to her request, he saw that her hands were white-knuckled where she clung to the frame like a limpet. The orange of her uniform was darkened with sweat from shoulder blades to the small of her back. It suddenly occurred to him that she was just as mentally and physically exhausted as he was. More, perhaps. She had fought hard on his behalf during her magnificent, cutthroat showdown with Maxson. And if she had gone through two fusion cores to get to him, that meant she had to have practically sprinted the whole way from the airport to their present location.
Danse stepped directly behind her and slid his hands around the curve of her hips. Even with the significant boost to her height the suit provided, she was still only an inch or two taller than his six feet. "Step back with your left foot. Good. Now the right."
Despite his assistance, her booted foot caught anyway and she rather inelegantly flopped backwards into his ready arms. As soon as she landed, he felt that she was shivering, most likely from a combination of acute stress and rapidly cooling body temperature as the chill of evening descended on them. It was no wonder she'd been holding onto the suit so tightly - it had been keeping her upright. Gently he turned her around to face him; she instantly buried her face into his chest and tightly twined her arms around his waist. Yes, she could hold onto him instead. He... would decidedly prefer it, in fact.
Danse soothingly kneaded the tight muscles at the nape of her neck and shoulders. "You're okay. We're okay. Maxson's gone. You did it, Nora."
Nora sighed heavily in response and tilted her head diagonally to look up at him for a long, quiet moment. She looked so damned forlorn, even now, after he had tried to reassure her. Whatever it took to chase that look out of her eyes, he'd do.
"Are you sure? If he comes back..." Her shoulders hunched inwards under his hands and her sharp fingertips dug into the small of his back through the material of his uniform.
He was no longer her commanding officer. Fate had seen to that. He was still her friend, though. It was his duty to ease this quiet desperation; he owed her that and so much more. The loyalty Danse held for this woman was no less absolute and steadfast than the devotion she had expressed to Maxson of having for him.
"Nora, listen to me." Danse captured her pointed chin between his thumb and the first knuckle of his forefinger. "Maxson is a man of his word. He won't show his face here again, and as long as I stay out of the Brotherhood's way, he won't send anyone after me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, ever. Understand?"
He could only hope this reassurance would alleviate her distress.
The battleship blue of her eyes roamed over his features slowly, almost as if… she was memorizing his face? They traced over the nearly vertical scar across his eye socket, down to his mouth, along his jaw line and the curved scar that marked his other cheek, then back up. He could all but feel the ghost of her touch in the wake of her intense scrutiny.
Danse knew he was usually the last one to pick up on emotional undercurrents, even the obvious ones, and he was fine with that. It was less mess that way. Feelings - and even worse, dealing with them - just didn't fall into his wheelhouse. That philosophy had… changed, at least where she was concerned. The constant companionship of the last half year made her as simple for him to read as the pre-war children's primer that she kept carefully tucked away at the very bottom of her pack.
The emotions that now flowed over her face were easy to interpret and fascinating to watch. Sorrow changed into bewilderment, bewilderment to realization as she processed what he had just told her. The dawning joy he saw lighting up her tired, sad, beautiful eyes shook him deeply. The fact that she could feel so much happiness at the knowledge he'd still be at her side … humbled him.
She whispered, "Truly? You're staying?"
"Truly. I'm not going anywhere." Danse rubbed his palms up and down her upper arms encouragingly.
Endearingly, she sniffled and swiped the edge of her sleeve across her eyes. The seemingly insignificant little sound and motion were, to him, quite significant. They unearthed something unexpectedly rebellious deep within him. Nobody else had ever cared for him so deeply. Nothing else in his world was making any sense except her, so why on earth should he behave in a manner that had previously been expected of him?
Not to put too fine a point on it, but screw decorum.
Danse crushed her against his chest, ignoring the squeak of surprise she let out. It wasn't clear who was holding who the tightest after that. She, with her arms wrapped around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair, or he, literally lifting her off her feet with his embrace. She was murmuring a litany of repeated words into his ear: oh my god, thank you, oh my god, oh my god. She was trembling so badly he didn't dare let her go. Or maybe he was the one shaking like a leaf in a radstorm? It was a distinct possibility.
Too much had happened in the last handful of hours. Too much had been revealed to him, both horribly and wonderfully. More than he could even start to process right now, but there'd be time enough for that later, thanks to her. All Danse knew was that he needed Nora just as much as she needed him in that moment, and for once in his damned life, he'd act selfishly and allow himself to indulge.
A breathy laugh puffed across his ear and Nora squirmed against him. "You're squishing me."
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears - tears of happiness, not pain - as he instantly released her and backed away a step. "Sorry. I... ah… Sorry."
She swayed forward into the space he left between them to allow the cool fingers of her hand to follow him. They tenderly smoothed the hair at his temple back and tucked it behind his ear. The errant, superfluous notion that he'd soon have to ask her for a trim came to mind, and with it the remembered pleasure of feeling her strong fingers gliding over his head and neck as she carefully snipped.
Her mind had been following the same path and echoed the thought in a voice just as unsteady as her touch. "You need another haircut already. How human of you," she said softly and very pointedly.
Solemnly, he shook his head and settled his hands around the indentation of her waist as a precautionary step; she still looked on the verge of collapsing. "Negative. Your hands are shaking too much right now. I'll take a rain check."
"Good call. You'd look like a ghoul after I was done with you. No hair. No ears or nose, either." Her breath caught in her throat with an odd sound that could have been a laugh and she swiped a finger down the bridge of his nose. The happy glow still hadn't faded from her wet eyes.
Her hand curved to affectionately stroke his cheek, then she shivered mightily and plaintively asked, "Can we go inside or something? I'm not necessarily complaining, but you're about the only thing holding me up right now."
He immediately replied, "Of course. Easy now, I've got you. Just relax."
The adrenaline high she had been riding would be bottoming out hard and fast. She was crashing now and likely needed some intervention to check the after effects she'd soon have. If she couldn't even climb down from her power armor, it wasn't too far a stretch to conclude she sure as hell wouldn't be able to walk.
Danse swung her up into his arms and carried her the short distance into the upper level of the bunker. Once inside, he carefully set her onto the surface of the rusted metal desk within, standing directly in front of her in case she started to slither off the slippery surface. She braced her hands on the rounded edge of the desk and hung her head.
This was the sort of situation he had been trained to deal with, and it was damn comforting to know he could fall back on the familiarity of his training. Danse explained, "You're coming down from a massive adrenaline dump. Take it nice and slow. It's going to be rough for a while until the endorphins and chemicals are reabsorbed into your bloodstream. Dizzy? Headache?"
She nodded then winced at the injudicious movement. "Dizzy, no headache, but some nausea."
Danse sandwiched her ice-cold hands between his and briskly – or more to the point, futilely – tried to rub some warmth back into them, and not for the first time, either. Her slender fingers often felt like icicles; she delighted in creeping up behind him and wickedly sliding them inside his collar or underneath the hemline of his shirt while he was preoccupied with some task or another.
"Concentrate on my voice and count to ten with me. One… two…" It was a simple but effective technique, and one he'd used many times to draw her fragmented attention back to him, back to the present.
Nora obediently chanted the numbers with him until they reached ten.
"Again. One… two… three…" he prompted.
Nora pulled her hands out of his grasp and tucked them under her armpits. She narrowed her eyes and complained, "I know how to count, Danse. I'm not that far gone. Any water in here?"
Despite himself, he grinned at her irritable comment. The more things changed...
"Sit tight, I'll look." There had to be something lying around, especially in a well-fortified location such as this listening post.
Danse quickly started a search for some kind of liquid that she could sip that wasn't alcohol, although hitting the dusty bottle of whiskey on the adjacent shelf with her sounded pretty damn good right about then. He'd never allowed himself to become inebriated in her presence - his gut had told him it could prove to be a monumental lapse in judgment.
Now, though… Why the hell not?
Danse shook his head to clear it of the tempting distraction and circled back to approach the desk she was perched on. One of the drawers in the desk she was sitting on was jammed shut. A hearty yank and scream of protesting metal freed it, revealing two cans of water and a pistol. He grabbed a can and cracked the seal as he returned to her, listening for the quiet yet menacing hiss that indicated the integrity of the contents had been compromised. Carefully he took a sip and held it in his mouth, ready to spit it out, but it tasted metallic and flat instead of moldy or foul. No other flavor was present but for the familiar taste of stale, centuries old purified water.
Danse stood in front of her and guided the chilled fingers of one hand around the can. Sinclair did indeed look nauseated. She was ghostly pale and swallowing regularly every few seconds, as if trying to keep her gorge down. She took a careful sip and swished, spitting out a mouthful of liquid to the side, then took a longer, deeper swallow.
He frowned as the stream splattered on a piece of yellowed paper on the floor, turning it pink-tinged. "You're bleeding? How'd that happen?"
"Yeah. Bit my cheek." She probed her inner cheek with her tongue and grimaced. "Ow. It's a nasty one, too. Must've done it after I hunted you down."
"… after I hunted you down."
Danse dropped his head and sucked in a steadying breath. He'd had hours to try to come to terms with his identity, yet the slightest of reminders still had the power to blindside him and suck him right back into a whirlpool of torment. He was a synth. Maxson had sent her to execute him. The rank he had been so proud of was no longer his. He was nothing.
Nora fumbled for his hands and squeezed them tightly. "Danse, no. Talk to me. I'm here for you," she urged.
"Just… give me a minute." It was safer to stare at the floor, to watch the now forgotten can of water roll under the desk, spilling its contents onto the concrete. He could sympathize – he felt just as empty. Just as discarded and worthless.
"Danse? Look at me." Nora's voice sounded thin and frightened and somehow far away.
Nora...
Nora had defended him. Maxson was gone. He was still alive. She had saved him.
Danse took a deep steadying breath and focused his attention on her anxious face. The nearly painful pressure of her fingers clenched around his helped him concentrate, helped him think. If he could use her as his lifeline and get his head above the surface, he would be able to breathe again.
Focus on her. Recall what she told you.
"Synth or not, you're still yourself. You're still the Danse that I respect and trust."
"… you're still yourself…"
Slowly, slowly enough for her to evade his touch if she wished, Danse slid his hand around the back of her neck and tentatively stroked the prominent ridge of her cheekbone with his thumb. It somehow seemed like the right thing to do in that particular instant. This small gesture of gratitude was but a drop in the bucket against the very large debt he owed her. His eyes flicked over her features, looking for any hints of discomfort but found none. Was this… acceptable then? For him to touch her like this, so … intimately? Especially now, knowing what he was? Her eyes closed easily – trustingly – at the gentle touch and she covered his hand with her own.
When she had first arrived at the bunker and confirmed the truth of what she had learned, his true identity hadn't seemed to make a difference to her one bit. Her only thoughts were for his safety. For him, not Paladin or synth. Just Danse. She hadn't rejected his touch, either - she actively sought it as she habitually did.
Furthermore... and perhaps most confusingly, she had kissed him that day. Twice. Unexpectedly, amazingly, specifically kissed him. Once before life as he knew it had ended, and once after. The Paladin and the synth. The man and the machine.
Was he right? Did she truly not care that he wasn't… human?
There was only one way to confirm that very crucial, particular truth, and he was nervous as hell about it. Danse took a deep enough breath that he felt the seams of his uniform strain and blew it back out forcefully.
"Nora? Everything has changed now. I'm a synth." He wanted to gather himself and howl with all of the fury and pain that was roiling inside him, but what he saw in her eyes stopped him dead in his tracks. There, in the blue-gray of a stormy ocean, was the lifeline he was seeking.
Danse tipped her chin up and hunched down to look deeply into her face, much like she had done to him only minutes ago. There was no revulsion in her steady gaze, only acceptance. No hatred, only honesty. No fear or uneasiness, only hints of the bone-deep sadness he frequently saw lurking behind everything else. Then… warmth. Sympathy. Affection.
The truth he was seeking was right there in plain sight.
She had saved him again.
"So you're a synth." Nora's shoulders rolled in a nonchalant shrug. "I know who you are, Danse. The what doesn't matter to me," she said softly.
Perhaps he hadn't misjudged his instincts after all. He could believe her. He would believe her.
Those same instincts were telling him he had no choice but to start seeing the world through a different set of lenses. Or… perhaps with no lenses at all? Just his own perspective, without the constant filter of the Brotherhood? It was a disquieting thought. There were so many unknown variables, the unstable gravitational field of emotion being the largest he could identify. Everything he experienced from now on would all boil down to the unreliable formula of cause and effect. What consequences would now arise if he did this, or said that?
Danse carefully observed the familiar face of his partner, who was calmly watching him in return. She had become his closest friend, far closer to him than Cutler had even been. It was patently obvious he had new boundaries to test and there was no better time like the present to begin. There was also no better person to reach out to than the woman he trusted unconditionally. Nora had just proven to him in the most crucial of ways that his trust had not been misplaced.
She was right there in front of him. She had fought ferociously for him. She supported him, even now. She cared for him. She… had been willing to sacrifice herself for him. All of this for him. He would be able to rely on her - a constant, known factor - and work his way forward from there, with her help.
Danse slanted his head to the right and leaned forward incrementally. Perhaps it was time for another experiment? More cause and effect? He paused halfway to give her plenty of advance notice of his intention and plenty of time to avoid him. Her pupils were blown wide and she was frozen in place, which was either good or very, very bad. He was pinning all of his hopes on good. As he closed the gap between them and reverently brushed his lips across hers once, twice, her spiky, wet lashes fluttered shut. She raised both hands to cup his cheeks and sighed softly as he whispered "thank you" against her mouth and withdrew.
Danse bowed his head and braced his palms on the edge of the desk. He needed the support - the exquisite surge of relief that flooded his body was almost powerful enough to drop him to his knees. It would be an oddly appropriate gesture – after all, he had been ready to kneel in front of her for an altogether different reason only a half hour ago.
She had saved him.
"Danse?" The soft question of his name and the touch of her hand on his shoulder brought him out of his daze.
Gently, she tugged on his arm. "Sit next to me. Please. You're thinking too loudly and it's making both of our heads spin, I think."
The compassion in her face and voice was suddenly too much to bear; he had to avert his eyes. "I… yes. I suppose I am. I suddenly have quite a bit to think about."
"I know. I'll be right here to help you through it. I'm not going anywhere either."
I know.
Danse turned and sat heavily on the desk to the left of her, making it groan underneath them at the sudden additional weight. Nora scooted closer until she was pressed lightly against him from shoulder to hip to leg. Early on in their friendship, she had informed him that he had become her anchor; his presence helped to keep her centered and in control. She explained it was why she frequently sought him out. Doctor's orders, she had deadpanned, and not just out of obligation because he was her CO.
She had solemnly – and somewhat shyly – promised to observe the decorum appropriate for their respective ranks while in the presence of others if he'd allow her to lean on him when they were weren't. As it happened, they were quite often off on their own anyway; he'd been willing to make the exception and allow propriety to slide if it truly helped her keep her mental balance. Secretly, he had been immensely flattered that she thought that highly of him. Nora had grown close with Haylen and surprisingly enough, Proctor Teagan, but she never failed to turn to him first.
Ever since that day, Danse patiently allowed her to seek comfort in him however and whenever she needed. Sometimes it was nothing more than her hand lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary when she handed him a wrench, or her sitting on his bed with her eyes closed while he filed his evening reports. Other times, nothing would do but for him to wrap his arms securely around her and help her ride it out.
This time, Nora silently reached out to lace her fingers through his and tilted her head to rest it on his shoulder. He knew she was attempting to ground herself, attempting to will her heart back into a normal rhythm. She was breathing in and out through her nose evenly as Cade had taught her long ago; he found himself semi-consciously falling into the same measured rhythm along with her.
Danse permitted himself to rest his cheek lightly on the crown of her head. Allowing himself to reciprocate her gesture was, as it turned out, not a difficult decision to make. He now recognized that he, too, could tether himself to her - loosely for now until he became accustomed to the unfamiliar concept. It was a strange feeling, but accepting the undeniable fact that her comfort and support were necessary for his own well-being - and yes, happiness - felt like a homecoming of sorts. He hadn't lost everything. He still had her, and that was a hell of a leg up in the new, very uncertain world he'd been plunged into.
The thought occurred to him that perhaps all this time she had been wordlessly offering him comfort as well and he just hadn't realized it. Yes, it would be well within her generous nature for her to do so. Protocol would have prevented him from responding before, but now? After a kiss like the one they had just shared? There was no shame or weakness to be found in accepting what she was offering, only… humanity. Lazily, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of hers and allowed the easy, companionable rapport they shared to fill him and blunt the edge of his pain.
Nora sighed, a long and slow exhalation of contentment that seemed to originate in the tips of her toes. It was such a decadent sound it tugged the corner of his mouth upwards. "Feeling a little better?"
"I think so. Yeah. You?"
Danse's world was still tilted unrecognizably, but not unbearably so at the moment. "Affirmative."
Nora squeezed his hand affectionately. "Glad to hear it. Now, what's our next move, my friend?"
Danse reluctantly lifted his head and looked around the dimly lit, filthy room. It and the bunker below made up his new home. "I didn't plan on spending the rest of my days at this old listening post, but it'll have to do. It'll take some work - a hell of a lot of work - to make it habitable." He shrugged in resignation. "I've got nothing but time, I suppose."
At the very least, bringing order back to the abandoned facility would keep his thoughts and hands occupied for a little while. He'd worry about the what next when he bumped up against it. With his particular skill set, he knew he had a myriad of options available to him.
Danse nudged her with his knee and looked down at the top of her dark head. "Besides, you're still going to need my help. The areas around the airport and police station are off-limits to me now, but the rest of the Commonwealth isn't. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you wander around out there alone."
He wouldn't be able to assist her with any missions associated with the Brotherhood, but she kept busy enough in between with the ever constant flow of requests from the loose network of Minutemen affiliated settlements. Those entreaties seemed to come through via radio communication daily since her people had regained control of the ancient fortification named Fort Independence. To her immense credit, Nora was always amenable to helping anyone who asked, not just the Minutemen or Brotherhood. That ready willingness to assist others was one of the traits he admired most in her.
However, he realized she may have other plans in mind where he was involved. Thoughtfully, Danse tacked on the qualification of: "If you'll still have me, that is. I understand if you'd rather travel alone now, given my present situation."
She may choose not to have him accompany her, and he would completely accept her decision if that were the case. His newly discovered identity was a rather large liability, after all.
Nora straightened abruptly and gaped at him like a fish for a moment, then slumped forward precariously, pressing her face into her knees. Alarmed at the sudden collapse, Danse gripped her shoulders and drew her back upright against his side, only to see she was not distressed as he expected. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.
She choked out, "If you'll still have me, he says. Like you have a choice, bonehead."
Nora had a hand clapped across her mouth. She was laughing. Laughing. What on earth could she possibly find so humorous? The reasoning behind his added provision was not that difficult to comprehend. Simply put, he was now the enemy and she was not. His back might as well have a bright red bull's-eye painted on it, and he'd be damned if he'd allow himself to endanger her life, even if it meant rusting away – or whatever gen 3 synths did – in this listening post without her companionship.
"Are you… okay?" Danse asked stiffly. He was somewhat piqued - this was definitely not the response he was anticipating. Not after he'd considerately left her a gracious way to back out, and especially not after the rather special and extremely personal series of moments they had just shared.
The hand wasn't working very well for her; spurts of laughter leaked from behind it, causing her shoulders to shake. Her eyes were still dancing when she was able to swallow her amusement long enough to respond.
She eyed him apologetically and said, "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, not at all. Okay, maybe a little. Of course I want you with me, Danse. That was the point of the whole shitshow we just went through with Maxson. You're all mine now and I'm a greedy little thing."
Nora shook her head in disbelief and took in the disarray around them. "This is just all so surreal, though. You're… well, y'know. Please believe me, I'm totally okay with it. You're here and I'm here and we're together. But I -" she poked her thumb into her chest "- shit, I don't know what I am right now. Think I've gone off the deep end again. Pulling a gun on Maxson? I must be insane. Ten points from the Russian judge for sticking the fucking landing though."
She dissolved into helpless giggles once more and dropped her forehead heavily on his shoulder.
Danse snorted at her antics and slid his arm around her quaking shoulders. Her sense of the ridiculous was clearly still operating at peak efficiency, even if her self-control appeared to have fled completely. Well, laughter was an effective and safe way to release stress, at least. The way she matter-of-factly said "You're all mine now" definitely soothed his ruffled feathers and perhaps gave him some food for later thought. And the gun in question had been part of the desperate, final gambit that ended up saving him from execution.
Dryly, Danse replied, "I'm not sure I understand your Russian reference, but I'll tell you what you are: brave. Hell, you were terrifying. All five feet two inches and one hundred pounds of you."
She playfully growled at him, and then bumped against him companionably. "Aren't you glad I'm on your side? Besides, friends take care of each other no matter what." Her eyes flew wide open and she straightened as if electrocuted. "Friends. Oh, shit! Haylen! What about Haylen?"
Danse considered his answer and shook his head slowly when he arrived at a conclusion. If the network of scribes on board the Prydwen and in the field knew one thing, it was how to dissemble and cover their asses. Haylen - and anyone else who had possibly helped her inform him - would be fine. He suspected at least one other person had to have been involved.
"I don't think Maxson knew she was involved, so she'll be safe. I'll contact her and let her know what happened here. It's the least I can do. I owe her - I owe you both - my life."
"Are you sure Maxson won't come back? Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you'll put up a fight if he does. Not against him, and that terrifies me. I'm in no shape right now to defend you." Doubt and fear were creeping back into her face and voice.
Firmly, Danse said, "No. He won't be back, now or ever."
The thought pierced through him like a flechette round. The last two decades of his life were just… gone. Evaporated as if they never happened. As far as he knew, they hadn't. No, that couldn't be right. Cutler and Rivet City had been real. Krieg certainly had been. And Arthur Maxson had been a constant, deeply interwoven part of that life ever since he had arrived at the Citadel a scared, lonely young boy.
He blinked and looked back down at Nora when she slid her arm through his comfortingly. Strangely enough, remembering the boy Maxson had been helped settle him. Whether his memories were real or implanted, and whether he was exiled or not, he still belonged to the Brotherhood. As such, it was his duty to advise her as if he was still her commanding officer.
"Listen, Nora. You really ought to report back to the Prydwen. Maxson's expecting you. You're still a Knight in the Brotherhood of Steel," he soberly reminded her.
She shifted uncomfortably on the desktop. "Am I, though? He'd be well within his rights to have me executed for treason, Danse. You know him best. What will I be walking into?"
Danse shook his head sharply. "If I had the slightest premonition you'd be in any kind of danger, I wouldn't let you go, even if you wanted to. Period."
Despite the treasonous and shockingly vicious insubordination Nora had displayed, the Elder genuinely admired when someone stuck to their principles and stood their ground against him. Not many were brave enough to do so, and it quite possibly would be a mark in her favor that she had, if Danse knew the man as well as he thought he did.
Danse sighed. "He may very well decide to reassign you. It's a possibility you'll need to be prepared for."
"Reassign me? You mean like to Waypoint Echo or something?" Nora wrinkled her nose.
"Nothing that drastic. Remember, Maxson can't publicly acknowledge any outcome other than my death at your hands. If he even subtly punished you in any way, people would start to ask questions. No, you'll most likely be reassigned under Proctor Ingram. Getting Prime operational is still priority number one for the Brotherhood, especially since you and I secured his payload"
Nora smiled wanly and leaned against him. "Ingram, huh? Well, she's definitely not as good looking as you." She sighed heavily. "She probably won't put up with as much of my shit as you did either, will she?"
Good looking? She thought he was… ?
Danse felt his cheekbones redden; he looked down and fiddled with a frayed thread on his thigh. "Ah, roger that. Expect her to run you ragged. I allowed you altogether too much latitude, especially where the Minutemen were concerned."
She shot him an inscrutable sideways glance. "You made damn sure we saw to our Brotherhood obligations first. I wasn't about to argue with a man actually wearing a can of whoopass."
Danse closed his eyes to try to gather a bit of patience, then sternly said, "You're sidestepping the point I'm trying to make. I'll repeat myself: you need to report in. The earlier, the better."
Nora shook her head sharply and leaned away from him with an expression of incredulity plain on her face. "Are you serious? No. Hell no, Danse. There's no way I'm leaving you alone tonight. What kind of shitty friend would I be if I did?"
Of course. He should've known she'd refuse.
"A responsible one. One concerned about her career," he returned wryly. "It's advisable not to push your luck any farther with Maxson. Your concern for my well-being is very much appreciated, but this location is secure. I'll be safe enough, as long as I don't stray far away. If I can repair those turrets…"
Constantly scanning his immediate surroundings had become a well-honed, automatic reflex. Danse belatedly recalled the condition the outer turrets were in; it was quite obvious a repair job wasn't sufficient to resurrect puddles of slagged metal and melted wiring. Nora had taken them out with a vengeance.
"Ah. Well, never mind."
Nora made a singularly rude noise with tongue and pursed lips. "Maxson told me to say my goodbyes. That's what I'm doing, except I'm not saying goodbye. And I'm totally not sorry about those damn turrets. They were between me and you and kinda shooting at me."
He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration with her characteristic stubbornness. "Yes. Perhaps you hadn't noticed, but they tend to do that. Never mind, I'll think of something." Perhaps he could jury-rig the turrets in the bunker below.
Nora flicked a brow upwards and casually examined her fingernails. "Better not be thinking about the turrets down below or those Protectrons you set loose. Not sorry about them, either. Yao guai's your fault, though. You could've tamed him and ridden him into battle."
Danse groaned and raised his hands in defeat. Her ability to swing from mature woman to impish adolescent in a fraction of a second continually astounded him. The way she was grinning at him was positively diabolical.
Nora relented and patted him on the knee. "All right, don't get huffy. I'll stop picking on you. Look, we have plenty of spare parts back in Sanctuary from all that scrap you've been rather unwillingly helping me haul up there. Yes, I said unwillingly." She eyed him reproachfully when he opened his mouth to defend himself.
Damn. She did have a point.
"The Castle should have something I can send over in the meantime," she finished.
It was still inadvisable to involve the Minutemen in his current situation. There was no telling what might happen if any sort of link between and he and the other faction was discovered. Stubbornly, he shook his head. "I can't accept-"
Just as stubbornly she cut him off and retorted, "You don't have a choice, buddy. Let it be known for the record - this bunker and its lone occupant are now under the protection of the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. This general refuses to let you go unprotected. I don't care what you say - I don't trust Maxson any farther than I can throw him. How far d'you think I can throw him, Danse?"
Danse snorted. The mental image of this miniscule woman attempting to wrestle the burly Elder was ludicrous. "Given your distinct lack of stature, not far. Fine, your point is taken. If it'll keep you from getting a hernia by trying to lift Maxson's little finger, I'll accept your offer. I thought you said you'd quit picking on me."
She shoved him affectionately. "Crybaby."
Danse elbowed her right back. "Harpy."
Nora's grin grew even wider and his axis righted slightly. Some things would never change, her wickedly sharp tongue and obstinacy being two of them. The banter did much to lighten his mood.
She craned her neck around to look at the elevator behind them. "Seriously, though. How'd you find out about this place? Haylen told me she picked it as a fallback location. It's perfect, better than the police station even."
Danse was a little surprised at the unexpected question, but gratified. Haylen had certainly done exceedingly well when she brought the site to his attention. "I had no idea it was this secure, honestly. All we had to go off of were a few pre-war references in Proctor Quinlan's files before we left the Citadel for our mission."
"Quinlan's a fucking twat," she muttered. "Just see if I bring him any more issues of Grognak."
"Language," he said warningly. Exile or not, he wouldn't allow her to disparage a senior… ah, hell. Who was he kidding? Quinlan was a twat, as she so... eloquently put it. A pompous one. Not that he'd ever admit that to her.
Suddenly, she leaned away from him and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Just a second, you sneaky, sneaky man. How'd you override the elevator controls? There must be another terminal down below."
Danse nodded. "There is. How's that sneaky? I'm not following." She had him thoroughly confused with her accusation.
"Cracking that terminal was hard, even for me. You bypassed the security and reactivated the elevator lockdown from another terminal, all while running for your fucking life." She looked utterly astonished. "I didn't think you paid much attention to me when I was playing scribe. How close were you really watching?"
The more difficult the terminal, the farther the tip of her pink tongue peeked out in concentration. She'd crow with delight and shimmy her whole body in a pleased little wriggle when she finally got in. It was … adorable. It was a word he used grudgingly, but there was no other word that suited.
"I always pay close attention to you."
Danse felt his face flush hotly as he realized how forceful his rebuttal had been. Nora hummed and pressed her nose into his shoulder, but not before he caught sight of the tiny, delighted smile on her face. That smile heated him thoroughly.
He cleared his throat and doggedly continued before he put his other foot in his mouth as well. He only hoped the fiery sensation in his face would recede soon. "Once entry is gained into the terminal, luck seems to be an important factor in the initial selection. After that, it's only a matter of eliminating possibilities in a logical manner. More accurately, using the failed attempts to pinpoint the correct keyword before the system locks down. Certain data strings seem to reset the system or remove dummy choices. It… didn't seem hard."
Skeptically, Nora raised a brow. "It didn't seem hard? All right, showoff. I refuse to let myself be impressed until you tell me how you got past them." She folded her arms across her chest challengingly and jerked her chin outwards at the two destroyed turrets.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Easy. I approached from the rear and dropped down between the turrets. I was inside before they could fire. I'm surprised you didn't think of it. Think of all the ammo you wasted destroying them." he said mockingly. He was definitely not above needling her.
Nora tipped her head back and laughed, then slid to her feet and extended her hands to him. It was easy for him to engulf her small hands in his large ones and allow her to tug him to his feet. Well, try to. "Okay, I give. Let's go see what we have to work with down below, Grognak. You might not have noticed, but I'm kind of an expert at post-apocalyptic interior design."