"I always suspected there was something weird about Paladin Danse. Something, you know… off about him."

This came from the Star Paladin guarding the entrance of the airport compound as he moved aside to allow her to proceed within. His name was Carlson. She'd remember that name.

"I heard you hunted down Paladin Danse. Good… it needed to be done."

That came from one of the scribes busily applying a welding torch and rod to a seam on Liberty Prime's articulated ankle. It was an offhand remark tossed over the woman's shoulder as Nora passed by; she then flicked her welding mask back in place with a sharp jerk of her head and turned back to her task.

Nuisance spider in the corner. Had to be squished.

"Death to synth traitors. Job well done, soldier."

A Knight carrying a box of tools nodded and spoke this pleasantry as he passed by. The soldier didn't see Nora whirl and take two paces back in his direction, nor did he see the way her fingers curled into heavy metal fists.

Nora swallowed down the acid bile that threatened to turn into full blown vomit. All of them, every single fucking one of the soldiers and scribes she passed had something to say about Danse. They had respected him, admired him. Held him up as a standard to strive for, just like the great god Maxson.

Now… Now they hated him. Reviled him. They were glad he was supposedly dead. Dead at the hands of the soldier he'd taken under his wing. Maxson hadn't wasted any time in announcing the happy lie, had he? What, had he stood on a table in the mess room and given a fucking speech? Did his soldiers start cheering and carry him out of the room on their shoulders?

Let them just try to celebrate this fictitious death in her presence.

Son of a bitch.

Her hands were trembling inside her gauntlets with rage and horror and utter heartbreak. How fast they turned their backs on one of their own. Even now, exiled as he was, Danse would gladly give his life for any one of them, right down to the lowliest aspirant. The scribe with the welding torch - he'd bleed out for her. The Knight with the supplies? He'd take a bullet for him.

And for Maxson? Nora shuddered at the thought of what Danse would allow done to him if it meant Maxson might survive a real - or perceived - threat.

Brotherhood, indeed.

Son of a BITCH.

Keep it together, Sinclair. Breathe.

Nora inhaled deeply through her nose, drawing the crisp spring air in through the scrubbers of her suit. She could do this. She would do this. The Institute – and Shaun – had to be stopped. The Brotherhood was merely a means to an end, that was all. Liberty Prime was what mattered.

Her way her heart was cracking and flaking into tiny ashy pieces told her she was lying to herself. Danse was what mattered. His life mattered, what he had accomplished mattered, not this false, sensationalized tabloid death.

Only by imagining him in his customary position at her six was Nora able to advance through the airport with her head held high instead of lashing out like a wounded animal at the next person who dared say anything to her, rank be damned. If she concentrated hard enough, she might be able to feel the reassuring presence of his bulk behind her. Her memory had to supply the sorely missed metallic-hydraulic noises of his power armor. She could almost feel him...

Yeah. Right there.

He often surged ahead of her on his longer legs; Nora reached out a hand to tap an imaginary arm.

"Hold up, big guy. Wait for me, will ya?"

He would've ducked his head sheepishly and fallen in next to her, consciously shortening his stride to compensate for her much shorter legs. Depending on how tired, hungry, or beat up they both were, they would've either maintained a weary silence or made small talk on the way up the long, wide concourse stairwell that led to the vertibird pad. She might've even braced her shoulders against his armored back and leaned against him for support if the 'bird wasn't available yet. Nora closed her eyes and imagined his voice rumbling in her ear.

"It was a stroke of genius to park the Prydwen above the airport. I can't think of a better location."

"We should stock up on supplies before we begin our next mission."

"You lead the way, and I'll always be close behind"

"How could you have been so close to Paladin Danse and not known he was a synth?" asked a pretty, young scribe holding a clipboard with fueling data on it. The sneer on her face needed removing. Blunt force trauma ought to do the trick.

Nora swiveled her head away and bit the inside of her cheek, reopening the barely healed wound from the day before. The pain would help her focus. The pain would prevent her from uttering any one of the agonized, furious remarks that instantly sprang to the tip of her tongue. The pain would prevent her from turning the scribe's face into bloody pulp.

Danse - Christ, did that man know her or what? - had urged her to be circumspect, to rein in her temper and keep her cool. He'd known she'd run into this, hadn't he? All of these vultures. No, worse than that - jackals. She'd been so wrapped up in trying to contain the tempest inside her at the bunker, she must've overlooked what he was trying to warn her about.

The comforting, calming presence at her side wavered and disappeared. Nora missed him with all her heart.

When transport finally became available, Danse wasn't there to helpfully yank her up into the vertibird, so it took longer than usual for her to clamber aboard in her cumbersome suit. The Lancer on duty craned her neck around to see why the boarding process was taking so long. Nora knew the delay was due to the fact that her legs and feet were as heavy as the leaden weight on her chest. By all rights, she should be sinking into the ground right now, or maybe turning into a diamond from the immense pressure. She certainly felt as hard as one.

The woman shook her head; her voice crackled over the comm in… what, reassurance? It wasn't sympathy or empathy, despite the words used. "I understand how you must be feeling, sister. Danse betrayed us all."

Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about him.

Nora thumped her fist on the ceiling of the 'bird in the unmistakable order of "take us airborne", gaining herself a sour look from the pilot and a neck-snapping takeoff.

If she looked out towards the ocean, she could easily recall the way Danse braced his shoulders against the bulkhead for takeoff. He'd be turning his head to check on her - the single raised brow silently asking "You ok?" as she involuntarily gasped at the powerful thrust the massive rotors provided. She'd learned to brace herself as he did, but he'd have extended his arm to give her something additional to hold onto anyway. Nora groped at the air in front of her, but the arm wasn't there.

Despite being surrounded by dozens, maybe hundreds, of people, Nora felt so alone… Desolate. Half of her - the better half, at that - was missing, and she didn't know what to do about it. She was in a tailspin just as unrecoverable as the vertibird she'd seen knocked out of the sky over Lexington by a behemoth.

What was he doing right now? Was he okay? Would he eat and take care of himself without her? Would he go to Greentop if he needed anything, like she'd told him? Would he… do anything foolish?

As she was suiting up to leave the bunker that morning, she'd softly asked Danse, "How the hell am I supposed to go up there and pretend that none of this happened? How am I supposed to look that son of a bitch in the eye and not rip his heart out like he did to you?"

Danse had circled back around to her front after checking out her suit seals and almost tapped out fusion core. His back had regained its customary straightness with the light of a new day, but the depths of his eyes had still been shadowed with sadness.

"You're a Knight in the Brotherhood of Steel. He's your Elder and your loyalty belongs to him and him alone. My situation changes nothing, soldier," he'd replied quietly.

Danse had to literally pick her up around the waist and stuff her indignant, defiant self back into her suit after that. Well, try to. She'd wound her arms around his neck and clung to him as tightly as she could.

"Danse, no. Fuck this, I'm staying with you. Maxson can kiss my shiny metal ass 'cause I'm not going back. I won't abandon you like they did. Please, I need to stay with you. I can't do this -"

"Stop fighting and listen to me. You can do this. You're strong, Nora – stronger than you realize. Elder Maxson – fine, the Commonwealth then, you stubborn woman. They're depending on you. Go, now. Complete your mission. When you need me, I'll be right here. Don't… Nora, don't cry. Come here."

Forcing herself to walk away from him was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. Harder than leaving Codsworth behind in Sanctuary Hills for her first trip to the ruins of Concord.

God help her, even harder than leaving her husband's frozen corpse behind in the vault.

Forgive me, Nate. I still love you, too. Always will. Do you understand? He's been there for me. Just like you were after dad died.

Nora's head fell back against the interior of the vertibird with a heavy thunk so she wouldn't have to look at the empty space to her right, or too deeply into the other holes in her heart. The newest absence already filled her from abdomen to throat with a poisonous ache that ate at her insides. She couldn't prevent herself from probing that hurt, though – much like a tongue continuously prods a canker sore or a broken tooth. Danse wasn't there, and it was wrong on too many levels.

Stop. Focus.

Look – they were hovering in place in front of the Prydwen. How many times had she watched the small, proud smile curve the corners of mouth and soften the weather-beaten lines at the corners of his eyes as the silver hulk of the ship came into sight?

"I've served on this vessel for years. It's the only home I know."

Home is where the heart is. The majority of that home was currently located at Listening Post Bravo, but there were other pieces scattered about. One was located in a small grave on the bluff overlooking Sanctuary. Another in Arlington National Cemetery.

She refused to allow herself to think about Shaun again that morning. One mental breakdown per day was all she got.

Ration that shit, right?

Nora waited for the jarring bump that meant the vertibird had hooked onto the frame of the Prydwen, then the nauseating lurch and bob as the rotors cut out, allowing the reinforced superstructure of the ship to assume support of the now-inactive aircraft. Not for the first time, Nora thought it was no wonder Danse had such an affinity for the ship - it was an aircraft carrier of sorts, after all. Just like the beached, rusty hulk in the Capital wasteland he'd told her about.

She had to hop down on legs that still felt as if they were mired in quicksand and salute for the both of them, a formality that Danse had always insisted on observing no matter how rough the ride or how mouthy the pilot. Said pilot frostily turned her head away instead of acknowledging the gesture, something she wouldn't have dared if Danse had been present in his former capacity.

Bitch.

Nora flicked the Lancer off with both hands, something she too wouldn't have dared had an ever-watchful Danse been there. A smile briefly tugged the corner of her mouth - he would've been so pissed at her. Few and far between came the opportunities to break his composure and rile him up. She would've enjoyed every second. The box of Fancy Lads she had stashed in her power armor toolbox for just such an occasion would've served as an adequate peace offering afterwards. The man had a sweet tooth that –

Concentrate. You've got bigger fish to fry. Maxson, for one. Are you ready? Better be. Can't bribe him with some snack cakes, that's for damn sure.

She strode heavily over the catwalk that stretched between the vertibird docking stations and the entrance to the command deck. The bounce and sway had long ago ceased to bother her, along with the fact that a mere three inches of metal grating was all that kept her from plummeting to the ground far, far below. Idly, Nora wondered if her suit would survive such a drop. She'd heard scuttlebutt of reckless soldiers who held contests on how far they could fall from buildings and bridges. Usually, they ended up polishing the hull of the great airship. From the outside.

Nora climbed the set of stairs that led to the Prydwen proper and automatically paused to salute the Knight on duty outside the command deck. Instantly, she regretted doing so, for here was yet another brother in arms who felt obliged to offer their unwanted opinion. Whatever levity she'd managed to bolster herself with fled as soon as the soldier opened his mouth.

"I still can't believe Danse was a synth. Goddamn traitor!" The Knight hitched his minigun in the air as if mowing down the spirit of the man next to her.

Just keep moving. Don't let these assholes get to you.

Just inside the command deck entrance, Nora automatically split right to Danse's imagined left in order to navigate around the stairwells that lead down to the foredeck and beyond that, to the domain of Knight-Captain Kells. She paused for a beat to deferentially allow his ghost - no, ghost was the wrong word. He'd become the angel on her shoulder. Whatever he was, it was proper etiquette to allow her commanding officer to precede her into Maxson's presence.

Before she entered, however, she halted in front of the Knight standing guard in front of Maxson's aerie and tilted her head expectantly.

Well? Out with it.

Gravely, the armored soldier said, "Taking down Paladin Danse must have been a tough order to follow. We're in your debt."

Nora snarled, "The fuck you are," to the Knight and stalked past. It was either that or cry. Or start screaming. Raving, howling, weeping, laughing hysterically.

She allowed her armored feet to fall on the decking with deliberate heaviness as she passed through Danse's shadow into the middle of the command deck. Danse wasn't there. He'd never be there again, all because of the man in front of her.

Maxson was standing in his customary position in front of the large plate glass windows overlooking the ruins of the Boston waterfront. He was leaning forward with hands braced on the railing, looking for all the world like a king surveying his domain. As soon as he heard her booming footfalls come to a halt he slowly straightened; his massive shoulders drew back and he shifted on his feet to widen his stance.

Nora belatedly realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled forcefully; the voice modulator in her suit picked up and amplified the sound, turning it into a sharp mechanical hiss. Not what she had intended, but it certainly fit her mood nicely. The noise caused his spine to become straighter, if that were even possible. It certainly made hers stiffen with anticipation, along with a touch of dread, if she was being honest with herself.

Smaller prey attempted to make themselves larger to scare off a determined predator, only Maxson was the predator. The alpha male. The apex of the food chain. Nora instinctively knew this man did nothing without a driving purpose behind it - no gesture, no word, no expression was permitted without a reason.

Were these movements of his along the lines of an Indian cobra spreading its hood, then? She'd never paid much attention to Maxson before - her entire concentration had always been focused squarely on her Paladin. Perhaps she should've, though. She might have a better grasp of his attitude and mannerisms and how to react to them accordingly, instead of relying on the scant handful of times she'd bothered to pay attention to him.

Was this display meant to be threatening? Was he warning her?

Of course he was.

But weren't the copperhead snakes she'd encountered at Fort Benning just as deadly? They had no need of any kind of display other than the coloring used as camouflage, and neither did she. She wouldn't play this particular game with him. She was dull and drab, Maxson was commanding and intense. He would flare his spectacled hood and sway back and forth; she would simply coil in place and wait for him to step on her tail. She was fully capable of injecting deadly venom, just as he was.

You're strong, Nora – stronger than you realize.

"Reporting as ordered, Elder." Nora was proud that she was able to keep her voice so even. Calm and composed, even if she felt anything but.

She mentally coiled in on herself and waited until Maxson finally deigned to turn his head sideways and briefly glance over his left shoulder at her. The night vision lights behind them highlighted the slope of his cheekbone with a red glow. In sharp contrast, the matte darkness of his beard absorbed the light, causing Maxson to look like none other than Mephistopheles himself. He was dramatic, she had to give him that. As evidenced by the speech she had heard during her first week aboard the Prydwen, he certainly knew to work a crowd, albeit a current crowd of one.

He did not turn around to acknowledge her further, instead returning his attention to the ruins of the harbor, which caused her to indignantly narrow her eyes behind the tactical HUD of her helmet.

Of all the insufferable, egotistical… Did he expect her to kneel and beg forgiveness for her transgressions? Beg for mercy? For her life?

She could count on one hand the circumstances in which she would beg, and mercy wasn't one of them. Mentally, she clarified - she wouldn't beg for mercy for herself, only loved ones. Danse was at the tippy top of that particular column.

And forgiveness? Fuck that. If anything, Maxson should be begging her forgiveness for the last order he'd given her. What about her life? Didn't really matter all that much as long as she knew Danse was safe.

Ahh. Hold on.

This was more crowd control - nothing more, nothing less. He was the king. The big kahuna. She was the supplicant, the subordinate. Dare she even say he likely thought of her as some kind of serf? She was expected to approach him first, perhaps grovel and lick his boot a little. Well, that wasn't gonna fucking happen, not now, not ever.

And why, pray tell, is that? Because of sheer pigheadedness? Your inability to back down?

No. Because of Danse. Because of what this man had done to Danse. Because of what she now felt for Danse.

Nora was on fire. She was burning up like a phoenix. She had been ever since Danse gently bracketed her face in the parentheses of his large hands and and looked at her that morning, just as if he were seeing her for the very first time. Hot flames had been licking at her ever since he'd gently smoothed her hair away from her face with a large, rough palm and fanned it out around her head like a halo. Saint Nora.

Ah, but she was no saint. Saints were boring.

The same-but-different feel of his hard body hovering over her, the familiar scent of him filling her nostrils, the puzzled expression on his face – they all made her tremble, tiny little quivers that started in her stomach and spread outwards. Did he realize he was rubbing a thumb back and forth over her temple? There was certainly no doubt he couldn't feel the trembling of the slender fingers that were still cupping the angles and hollows of his cheeks.

No machine had ever been manufactured so beautifully. A machine who believed himself irredeemably flawed due to his very nature, yet was perfection to her eyes, flaws and all.

Nora just knew he had to have heard the galloping of her heart, just as she observed the way he suddenly froze and held his breath as hers quickened in response. His eyes had widened and slowly darkened as this strange, new tension spooled out and wrapped around them.

Three - no four, if she included his name - four little words had readied themselves at the tip of her tongue. All he had to do was say something – anything. Or nothing – she'd go first.

Danse, I lo...

She'd shifted restlessly underneath him, not even brushing against him with the tiny rocking motion of her hips, but it was enough to break the spell. He'd swiftly rolled off of her and sprang to his feet with a muttered apology and reddened face. Before she'd risen on her own watery-kneed, rubbery legs, she could tell he'd dropped the impenetrable shield of the Brotherhood between them by the set of his shoulders and the way he'd avoided meeting her eyes.

At least she hoped it had been the Brotherhood intruding and not something even less palatable.

You're like the sister I never had.

Nora had rejected that possibility with a full body shudder. No. Not that. Please not that.

Even so... well, it had been too late. She'd done it to herself, too. All she could blame him for was being so… so Danse it made her ache. It made her want to hum, to sing, to stand on his toes and lose herself in the security of his embrace, the warm depths of his eyes, and hot, slow sweep of his tongue against hers.

Oh lord, she burned for him. She was going up in flames right then and there, in the presence of Arthur Maxson, who had no fucking clue what she was thinking about, did he? He probably assumed she was properly chastened and willing to submit to his next orders, whatever they may be. He was just going to make her sweat it out a little first.

Instead, her heart was molten, pumping lava through arteries and veins and pooling lower, in places she had no business thinking about right now, lest she melt through the metal plating beneath her feet. Was there a deck below to catch her? If she shook her fingers, would globules of white hot titanium fly from them? She tested her theory by surreptitiously flicking her forefinger at the massive leather-covered back in front of her, but disappointingly enough nothing happened.

Still, Maxson had best tread very, very carefully or he was liable to get incinerated.

Nora took a deep breath and held it until stars appeared in her vision. She knew she couldn't allow herself to burn out of control like a wildfire. All she needed to do was get her next set of orders so she could get back to the listening post. Getting back to Danse was all that mattered, not whatever seek-and-destroy or find-and-retrieve mission she was about to be handed.

You can do this. You are strong.

Nora stood at attention with a military precision learned not from her Paladin, but from her father two centuries earlier as she grew up in the installations of first Belvoir, then Carson, Riley, Benning, and Hood. None of these schmucks here could pull it off quite as well, she'd guaran-damn-tee it. General William Kennedy Donovan, Jr. had seen to that. Even though she'd refused to enlist in his beloved Army, he'd still trained her up right, and from an early age at that.

Chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in. Eyes front. You got this, baby.

"Remove your helmet." Maxson's tone was cool and controlled; it was an effective retardant against the flames that licked her insides.

Nora jerked with surprise. Beg your fucking pardon?

She certainly hadn't been expecting an order like that. It seemed this man was just full of unwelcome surprises. She'd been anticipating fury and rage and the slashing gestures he'd made in front of the old listening post. She'd been waiting for another demonstration of the barely leashed, explosive momentum he'd previously exhibited as he prowled back and forth across the deck.

Despite what Danse had said, she'd been fully expecting instantaneous punishment of some degree or another. Not whatever the fuck this was.

"Sir?" She hated the vibration of uncertainty that shaded her voice.

Damn. Oh, well. Too late to recall it now. Brazen through it, if you can...

"Sir, this soldier does not understand the instruction she has just been given."

Thank you, daddy.

The powerful shoulders in front of her flexed as he clasped his hands at the small of his back. She couldn't help but think that dad would've wholeheartedly approved. Of Arthur Maxson, she added mentally. Not of the disobedience and insubordination his daughter had thus far shown. Dad would've nailed her ass to the wall. Then again, he would've taken an instant liking to Danse, and hadn't he often told her to stick to her guns?

"Carry out the order you were just given, Knight. Think of it as a simple test. A test to see if you are, in fact, capable of following orders. Your actions from the previous day leave me with serious doubts regarding said capability."

Ouch. OUCH.

She pulled a face behind the titanium mask she wore. No fury, then. Just cold commands and the wide, implacable expanse of his back. Nora eyed him cautiously - why on earth…? - but shrugged and carried out the order. It seemed an easy enough request, if a bit odd. Maybe she was naturally inclined towards disobedience to any of his orders now, especially after the bullshit that went down yesterday.

Nora twisted and unlocked the helmet, tucking it under her arm. Instantly, she regretted her action. Maxson pivoted on one heel - an about-face as meticulously executed as any she'd ever seen. His façade had slipped slightly yesterday, allowing her a glimpse of the man underneath the Elder. She knew for damn sure that he wasn't gonna allow that to happen again. Not unless he chose to, and he was true to form. His face could've just as well been one of the bronze Art Deco sculptures from a downtown office building, for all she was able to glean from it. Everything from dark, slanted brows to the severe set of heavily bearded mouth and jaw gave nothing away. Absolutely nothing.

Yes, his face was expressionless and posture perfect, with the exception of those damned eyes of his; they glowed like ionized gas. Like the St. Elmo's fire she'd seen once on the spire of Trinity Church during a wicked, tropical storm spawned thunderstorm. The intensity and heat they emitted threatened to slag the rest of her armor into pieces with the pinpoint blue flame of an acetylene torch. The helmet would've served her well as a buffer against them.

Her eyes. He wanted to see her eyes. Crap, crap, crap.

Her eyes and the various expressions they held had gotten her into deep kimchi more than once. She felt her palms slick with sudden cold sweat and a tendril of uneasiness slid down her spine, making her shudder convulsively. Shit. Had she managed to mask her reaction quickly enough? She'd never faced a judge like this, one who was also jury and executioner all in one gigantic, battle-honed body.

She suppressed a sudden, nervous giggle. The image of the gaunt, perpetually peevish Judge Aaron Robinson superimposed itself over the man standing squarely in front of her. Robinson had hated her, and she had once thought him intimidating, but he had nothing on Arthur Maxson.

No, he hadn't missed the ill-timed shiver. He wouldn't. His eyes flicked downwards quickly over her armor, then back up, pinning her in place once again. She wanted to glance down to see if his laser-sharp focus had scored her armor – and if it did, she'd be pissed - but she couldn't break eye contact. He was a damned basilisk, not a cobra. King Arthur. King of serpents.

Get a fucking grip, would you? He's not a monster. Right? He'd backed down, allowed Danse to…

King Arthur spoke: "Before we continue, I want to make one thing clear. This conversation will be the last time we speak about Danse. As far as the Brotherhood is concerned, he's dead. Do you understand?"

… he's dead...

Danse…

He'd sent her off with one final warning: "Just be careful out there. If anything happened to you... I honestly don't know what I'd do." Solemnly, he'd reached a hand out and skimmed his knuckles across her cheek so lightly she could barely feel the touch before handing her the helmet, stepping back a pace, and saluting proudly.

She'd returned the salute, holding it for far longer than necessary. Then, unlike now, the helmet had masked her response. Those tears had still been standing in her eyes miles down the road.

Danse.

Something cracked open in her chest, allowing the blazing heat to flare high. It burned away the fog of fear. The anger remained, banked for now, but the trepidation was gone. After all, what did she stand to lose?

Whatever Danse thought should be the case, her loyalty was still firmly with him. Not Maxson. Not the Brotherhood. Danse.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Maxson pinned her with a fierce, hawkish look, but nodded. "Granted."

Her voice cracked as she spoke, but hell, what did it matter? "I'll never understand. He's not dead to me, or to you, despite what you say. I can't- I won't believe that. You know who he is, even if you can't allow yourself to look past the what. He's a good man and you know it," she said slowly, uncharacteristically stumbling over her words.

If she could only make him understand… Just him. None of the opinions of the other soldiers mattered, only Maxson.

"I love him," she blurted. "Do you hear me? I love him."

But he did know that, didn't he? He'd seen it in her. And… she'd seen the same in him? Was that right? Had that been the unidentifiable emotion she'd seen on his face as he turned his back on them?

His eyes were bright and intense, but the rest of his face… wasn't. He looked tired. Defeated? Was that even possible? No, it wasn't defeat. It was grief. She'd seen the same look in her own eyes and face over and over and over again. He'd allowed his façade to slip once again. Perhaps he knew he didn't need to dissemble with her.

Nora took a step forward, leaned forward, and whispered, "You do know. And for what it's worth… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your loss."

She was able to return to Danse's side. Maxson wasn't.

Maxson looked at her quietly for a long minute. The fire in his face faded, leaving behind the mask of a man far older than his actual twenty years. Then… he inclined his head. Once.

"Acknowledged," he said gruffly.

Acknowledged. Which part?

Honestly, she wasn't sure which one held more importance in that moment – her love, or his absolution.

She knew she was tickling the serpent's tail, but for her own peace of mind, she had to press the issue. Cautiously, she asked, "You're not going to change your mind, are you? You're not going to try to have him killed behind my back? I say 'try' because I'll be in the way again. You know that."

Maxson's voice became as hard and uncompromising as his flinty eyes, and understandably so. She was questioning his integrity - and understandably so.

"I'm a man of my word, Knight. If he remains invisible to the Brotherhood of Steel, he has nothing to fear."

Nora's eyes slid closed with relief. "Thank you."

She wasn't quite sure if she was thanking him or some higher entity.

He hitched one broad shoulder in a not-so nonchalant shrug. "Of course, Danse's execution creates a missing link in our chain of command. That traitor held quite an important position with us."

Maxson paused for effect and flicked his cobra hood back out. "I'm certain that you'll make a fine replacement. His quarters and all his possessions are now yours, including his personal suit of power armor. Congratulations, Paladin."

He was too honorable to lie, but he wasn't above striking out unexpectedly and viciously. This hit rocked her back on her heels. It was worse, much worse than she had anticipated.

Danse was wrong. Maxson had decided to punish her.

Maxson was replacing Danse with her.

The anger flared high. Nora spat, "Body's not even cold, and you're already dividing the loot."

Maxson's face settled back into cold impassivity. "To the victor go the spoils. Being a part of the Brotherhood, you should learn to appreciate that sentiment."

Damn if he didn't just step on her tail after all. Nora coiled and struck.

"To the victor go the spoils? A man's life isn't a prize to be won, you fucking bigoted asshole. But rest assured, I'll take better care of Danse than you and this fucking organization ever did," she hissed.

She was once again speaking to his back by then, though. If the taunt struck home, she didn't see any kind of reaction. No, Elder Arthur Maxson leaned forward on the heavy railing and returned to his self-imposed vigil.

Well, fuck you and the Trojan horse you flew in on.

Finally, finally, she received her next marching orders. Too bad he hadn't just cut to the chase. She wouldn't have felt the acid bile rising in her throat again, burning away the sympathy she'd foolishly felt for him.

"In any event, we still have the Institute to contend with and a lot of work to do before we can begin our final assault. While the finishing touches are being put onto Liberty Prime, Captain Kells has identified a potential threat to our operations. Report to him immediately for your next assignment."

Nora was outside the door by the time the last syllable fell silent.