It was a grazing rad stag, of all things, that nearly killed her. Not a grievously broken heart, but a buck, glowing with a phosphorescence noticeable even in the slanting rays of the setting sun. Noticeable if she'd been paying attention, if her mind wasn't fragmented and spinning. It was her error. She was focusing too hard on the tiny green statue symbol on the screen of her Pip-Boy that would lead her home.
The instant she emerged from waist-high scrub brush into a rock-strewn clearing just north and east of Bedford Station, the spooked beast reared up and struck out with its muscular forelegs. Her training kicked in and Nora dove to the right and rolled, rising up on knees spread wide for balance. The webbing between thumb and forefinger snugged into the notched grip of her handgun, but when her fingers began to curl around the rest of the grip, she felt an excruciating wave of pain shoot up the nerves of her wrist from the already injured hand. The gun tumbled uselessly to the ground and slid away, just out of reach.
Her mind inserted a diagnosis - boxer's fracture - even as she cursed and threw herself sideways to recover the pistol with her good hand. The stag's razor sharp hooves flashed out again and stabbed into the earth next to her, narrowly missing her head and forcing her to roll again away from the gun. Once she returned to her stomach, Nora scrambled aside awkwardly on elbows and knees, hampered by the fractured hand. Dirt shot out from under the toes of her boots and loose shards of slaty rock lacerated her palms when she made another attempt to regain her feet. She fell again, this time knocking her shoulder against a smallish boulder and gaining a mouthful of dirt for her efforts.
Too tired. Too slow. Too late.
Rolling to one side, Nora threw her arm up in front of her face and whimpered as the buck pawed the ground and lowered its heads to run her through with the pointed spread of its antlers. Just as it gathered its forequarters to charge, she heard the unmistakable report of a laser rifle. A neat hole sizzled through the neck of the buck, vaporizing the bone, muscle, and tissue within. She grimaced with revulsion as she found she was able to look straight through it to the treeline beyond the clearing before it keeled over slowly, froth still bubbling at both mouths.
It had been a beautiful shot. Precise. Just in the nick of time. Could've only come from one particular rifle that she could think of. Nora turned her head in time to see Danse's orange-clad body step into view.
Yep. Fuck.
She hadn't known he was following her. If she had, she probably wouldn't have stopped a few miles back to have a nice hard cry against the trunk of a Corvega. She would've kept her shit together and kept marching. Better yet, she would've pointed her ass south and disappeared into the alleys of Goodneighbor for a nice long binge. A month sounded about right.
Nora pulled her still-shaky knees back underneath her and pushed off of the ground with her uninjured hand, spitting out specks of dirt as she rose. The acutely overwhelming scents of cooked flesh and burnt hair that rose from the stag made Nora's gorge rise as she bent over the still-smoking carcass to retrieve her gun. She straightened and turned her head into the wind, breathing deeply of the cool air. It was just as well she hadn't yet eaten that day or her Sugar Bombs would've likely ended up in a puddle at her feet.
Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Danse jump down from the grassy mound he'd been standing on and approach her slowly. He came to a halt a half dozen paces away, as if he was unwilling to come any closer. As if she were the wild creature instead of the poor dead thing at her feet. His unexpected appearance only highlighted the fact that she thought she had been, and still technically was, alone out here. They weren't travelling together, no matter what his presence and his intervention meant.
Nora leaned further into the wind, hoping the strengthening evening breeze that was ruffling her hair would also dry the welling tears.
"I suppose I should thank you," she said stiffly.
The answering rumble of his baritone was uncharacteristically short and clipped. "You were unprepared and sloppy." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod towards the hand she tucked against her chest. "And already injured. How?"
For someone so hot to the touch, Danse was capable of turning a remarkably frigid shoulder. Nora slanted her head away so she could no longer see him at all.
"Does it really matter?"
He scornfully replied, "Don't be ridiculous. An injury like that shouldn't have been left untreated. Look what nearly happened."
Nora sniffed and swiped at her eyes. The damned breeze wasn't working to dry her tears, nor was the leather of her sleeve effectively absorbing the proof now evident on her cheeks. Therefore, she pivoted on her heel to face him and tipped her chin up defiantly.
"Guess we're even then. I saved your ass, you saved mine."
The quick movements of Danse's hands on the buckles of the pack she'd left behind in the listening post faltered as their eyes met for the first time in hours. Seeing the guarded, almost distrustful way he was looking at her, she wished they hadn't. She should turn around and just walk away. But she couldn't. All she could do is stand there like an idiot, watching him pull a stimpak out.
FUCK.
Nora pinched the bridge of her nose and struggled to rein her temper in. "Why are you even following me?"
She thought it was a fair question, all things considered. Perhaps Danse thought otherwise. He dropped the rucksack and shifted on the balls of his feet, widening his stance and angling his body to fully face hers. Drawn to the motion, Nora's gaze flicked downwards to his lean hips and she considered what the tell might mean in Danse-speak. Was she an enemy now, either through association or disassociation? Or was he simply here to continue their fight?
She returned to his face. It was shuttered, as it hadn't been since those very early days of their relationship when neither was all that sure of the other. Boxers, each retreating to their separate corners for another round. Whatever he thought of her now, the set of his jaw made it clear he had his guard up, now that she'd delivered the first figurative punch.
"I made a vow to watch your back. I fully intend on honoring that vow." He nudged the dead radstag with the toe of his boot. "It seems my instincts were correct. You're in no condition to be out here alone."
Danse shifted again. She chose to interpret the small movement as … discomfort? No, that wasn't quite right. It was distaste, then, that he was feeling. The last vestige of duty towards a woman he chose to reject out of duty to an organization that had in return, rejected him.
She narrowed her eyes. "Be careful, Danse. You sound like you actually give a fuck."
In return, he glared at her from under lowered brows. "I certainly care about more than just myself. Did you ever stop to think how your resignation would affect everyone around you? Or were you only thinking about yourself, like some..." he shoved his hand through his hair, grasping for words.
"Prima donna? Prewar debutante?" she inserted, the words coated with saccharine sweetness.
It cut too close to the bone. The blade lodged there, right in her sternum, and god, did it hurt. Maybe she'd been like that once, but not anymore. Swiftly, Nora rounded the carcass and closed the gap he'd left between them.
"Is that all you think I am? Sheltered and selfish? Do you think I need a big, strong man to make my decisions for me?" She fluttered her eyelashes mockingly. "I don't. I'll be fine. But that doesn't change the fact that you gave up on me so easily. You weren't supposed to do that," she spat. "You weren't ever supposed to do that. I thought I meant more to you than that."
"I wasn't the one who gave up. My whole life I've fought for what I believed in, Sinclair. I gave you the chance at a new life and you walked away from it. You abandoned your responsibilities like a child would." Molten anger burned underneath the words.
"Only a child would follow orders blindly without regard for the consequences," she snapped back. "I'd do it again and again and again if it meant saving your stubborn ass, or Preston's, Nick's. Anybody, synth or not. The Railroad had it right all along."
His jaw and fists bunched and his shoulders heaved. "Listen to yourself. I don't even know who you are right now."
"That's an unfair accusation. I'm the person I've always been. You just didn't want to see it, did you?"
Danse curled his lip in disgust. "Stop it. Take off your jacket so I can stim you. We still have a long journey ahead of us."
She jerked in surprise. "You're following me. To Sanctuary."
"Yes."
Nora shook her head. "You're following me?" she repeated dumbly. Danse scowled at her in reply.
Her heart spun into a wild pirouette, undaunted by the fury in his face and voice and all of the bitter exchanges they'd had. A small hopeful voice inside her head echoed the two most important words he'd just said. We? Us?
As she suddenly saw it, she had two options. Two possible responses. The first would be to allow her pride and rage to get the better of her. No. I'm done with you and your precious Brotherhood trying to tell me what to do. Fuck off and leave me alone.
Nora chose the second option because she was weak. She was selfish. Too fucking stubborn. Miserable. Heartsick.
In love.
She leaned forward and looked up into his face. "I can't do this by myself. I need your help."
His hands had already impatiently arrived at the tab of her zipper when she saw him recognize the raw emotion in her voice and register the possibility that I need your help might mean something entirely different than helping her undo her jacket.
"Danse, I need you," she whispered into the pause. "There's never been a minute where I haven't."
His fingers shook, just a tiny bit, as each tooth separated and parted slowly over her black tank top. The two halves of the zipper released and his eyes lowered, but he didn't remove his hands. In fact, he gripped the edges of her jacket tightly until his knuckles turned white.
It was enough, just enough. It was what she needed, the sign she was silently praying for.
We. Us.
Nora wasn't sure if this was going to work, but she had to try. She had to. He was worth it.
She slowly reached up and curled her fingers around his wrists. Her breath hissed out at the sharp spike of pain, but it was vital that she touch him. She dropped her eyes and looked down, taking in the sight of their almost-joined hands. Other than the quick rise and fall of his chest, he held completely still, frozen in place.
"Danse?" She said his name softly, coaxingly. "Look at me."
His eyes flicked up and the black expanded until only a thin rim of beautiful whiskey brown was visible.
Safe, familiar. Mine.
Nora slid her palms up and rested them on the backs of his hands. How many times had those hands helped her? Steadied her? No. She wasn't about to give him up. Not if she could still fight for him.
"Look at what you have in front of you, Danse."
His fingers clenched spasmodically beneath hers and the lines around his eyes and mouth tightened. "Do you realize what you're asking of me?"
"I'm asking you to trust me. We can work on the rest together."
It was her turn to freeze. He was watching her so very closely, examining each feature so minutely, that she had to break away from the intensity. She concentrated on the buckle of his collar and held her breath, waiting for his answer.
When the answer came, spoken in that rich, dark voice of his, it almost killed her again.
"Nora. Let go of me."
She rocked back on her feet and let her arms fall limply to her sides. It hadn't worked. She'd lost him after all.
Too tired. Too slow. Too late.
Nora flinched when he reached out and slid his fingertips underneath the ball chain that rested on her collarbone.
Of course. He wanted his holotags back.
But instead of pulling the chain up over her head, he gently tugged the tags free from their resting place between her breasts and cupped them in his hand.
"You're wearing them." It was neither question nor statement, but caught somewhere in between. Danse passed his thumb over the barcode etched along the edge.
Nora answered with a bare whisper. "Always."
He was regarding her steadily now. No barriers, no evasion. Just him, as tired and beat up and maybe even as heartbroken as she was. It was his hurt that finally made the tears flow down her cheeks uninterrupted. His hurt, not hers, that caused her to wrap her fingers around his and guide the holotags up to her lips.
Abruptly, Danse released the tags, leaving her trembling like a leaf. He took a small step back and bent over to retrieve the stimpak that had fallen to the ground at some point. Jesus, she hadn't even noticed. He bit the needle cap in his teeth and twisted it off, muttering, "take your jacket off" around it.
Bewildered, breathless, and daring to hope, Nora rolled her shoulders to work the jacket down her upper arms. The silken lining finished what she'd started, sliding it the rest of the way down her bare arms easily. Danse caught it before it fell and slung it over his shoulder.
Her Paladin - because that's what he'd always be to her, no matter what - pressed his thumb firmly against her upper deltoid. "Loosen up your muscle. Let your arm dangle. That's better."
The sting of the needle and painful burn of reknitting bone was nothing compared to the pressure she felt in eyes and throat. When he was finished, Danse recapped the used syringe and tucked it into his thigh pocket. He took her jacket off his shoulder and shook it out, holding it open for her to slide her arms back in.
Once the jacket was back in place, he watched her slip the holotags back underneath her tank top. Back next to her heart, where they belonged.
Danse took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "I'll escort you to Sanctuary. Beyond that... " He shook his head.
Boxers, each retreating to their separate corners for another round.