#Ghouls or synths would not have even occurred to her in that moment

[fallout-hoe]

Knight Captain Cade: “Third question… and please answer honestly. Have you ever had sexual relations with any species considered non-human?”

Jade: “Non-human? Like a mirelurk or deathclaw??? Man, the brotherhood must have some real freaks.”

Danse:

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Eleven

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of pregnancy (relating to bodily changes and a C-section) and a graphic depiction of an emotional/nervous breakdown. Stay safe!]

Two weeks and three days. 

  Danse wasn't exactly certain of what to do. It had taken his squadron nearly three weeks to track down Cutler, so three weeks had become his hard limit almost unconsciously. The paladin had never been overly good at resting on his laurels, but it wasn't like he could single-handedly lay siege to the damn Institute for a retrieval mission.

  Returning to the Prydwen without his charge might prove divisive , regardless of how many technical documents Codsworth had procured from the cul-de-sac's abodes. 

  Speaking of Codsworth…

  "Aw, cheer up man." Sturges comforted the robot, who (unless Danse was imagining it) was hovering a bit lower today. "I bet she'll be back any second now!"

  "Mister Sturges, as much as I appreciate your optimistic outlook," the robot sniffed dramatically. "I'm afraid that you cannot begin to understand the sadness I feel. I believed for two hundred years that I had lost Miss Vega, and to have lost her once again is...well, it is unbearable , Mister Sturges."

  Danse grimaced. Did he actually feel bad for a robot? He was, at the very least, sympathizing with it. What the hell was his world coming to?

  Knight Vega certainly kept some interesting company. Aside from the seemingly permanent presence of the elderly Mama Murphy, Sturges, Codsworth, and the married couple of Jun and Marcy Long, numerous colorful individuals had drifted through the settlement over the course of the weeks.

  First there was Cait, a woman with hair red enough to put Proctor Ingram's to shame. She blew into town, provisioner in tow, speaking with a thick, caustic brogue and toting a sawed-off shotgun. "I owe Backhand my life." She said shortly when Danse enquired as to what her business was with Vega. "She got me off the chems, so now I keep her goddamn caravans free from pests."

  She only stayed for a night, but she insisted that Danse join her for a sparring match. He wasn't afraid to admit that she put him through the ringer , his whole body sore the following morning.

  "Tell Handy Cait sends her love!" The woman had called before she departed, giving him a small smile. Danse had ruefully promised to do so, trying not to visibly wince as he waved farewell.

  One Robert MacCready followed shortly thereafter, who had acted like Danse being there would raze the town to the ground on nothing but principle. "I dealt with you ass--er, you jerks in the Capital Wasteland." The lithe man scowled up at Danse, pushing the bill of his hat back. He had a sniper rifle slung around his body with a barrel that was almost as long as he was tall, bearing an ornate, quick-slide scope.

  "I assume you are used to the charity of former Elder Lyons. The eastern chapter is no longer so benevolent, civilian." Danse growled, pricked by MacCready's blatant disdain for the Brotherhood.

  He could tell MacCready wasn't a bad sort, just overly suspicious and prickly. After serving with Knight Rhys for so long, Danse was almost tempted to tell the younger man that he would need to try harder to keep people away from him.

  "Backhand saved my kid." Robert admitted one night after he had been drinking by the fire with Sturges. "She...She helped me get the medicine I needed. Helped cure my little boy." 

  Danse knew he shouldn't be surprised that someone who seemed as young as MacCready had managed to procreate. But as he watched the other man toy idly with a tiny, battered tin soldier that he had pulled from his pocket, Danse felt that perhaps...perhaps Robert had the right to be a bit suspicious and prickly.

  The next visitor was a petite, dark-haired woman named Curie who had an incredibly strange accent. She was of the medical persuasion and curious about everything . Danse was a little taken aback by how blunt some of her inquiries were, but he did his best to humor her. 

  She seemed harmless enough, even if she was hellbent on learning the inner machinations of his entire existence. She asked everything in such a clinical manner, Danse didn't even have the presence of mind to be uncomfortable or embarrassed. 

  That is, until she asked whether he was sexually active and " when was zee last time you stimulated yourself, Monsieur Danse? " Then he clammed right up, loathing that he could feel his face going hot as he remembered exactly when the last time he had stimulated himself was.

  "I will not be answering any more of your questions about my personal matters, civilian." The paladin informed her curtly, caught off-guard by her plaintive cry of dismay at his refusal. 

  "But Monsieur Danse, I must learn zee secret of your overgrown size! You are so very tall and muscular compared to your contemporaries, my research could result in a breakthrough for your whole species! If you are a genetic throwback, zis could mean-" Sturges finally came to his rescue, ushering the wailing doctor away and shooting Danse a wink that made the paladin huff out an irritated grunt.

  Genetic throwback . Dogmeat was a genetic throwback. Danse just...maybe he had good genes. Both of his parents must have possessed more robust constitutions. That was the clear answer. 

  An elaborately-dressed ghoul had marched down the main road like he owned the joint a few days after Curie had come and gone, only stopping when he realized there was a fully-armored paladin aiming a laser rifle at him. "Whoa! Easy crewcut, you'll harsh my mellow." He exclaimed, taking off his tricorn hat and fanning himself with it. "The name's John Hancock," he continued with a showy little bow. "I'm lookin' for General Vega. She around?"

  "Knight Vega is indisposed at the moment, but you're welcome to leave a message, ghoul." Danse gritted out, oddly keen on attempting civility.

  Hancock whistled and Dogmeat came running over, immediately flopping onto his back for a belly rub. "Ah, there he is. My favorite of the general's mutts. Sorry, you say somethin'?" The ghoul asked lazily, the pitch-black void of his eyes boring pointedly into Danse's. 

  The paladin threw his hands up in the air after a moment and stormed off. God damn it, Vega, you could have warned me that you kept such diverse company! he ranted inwardly.

  The visitor that had nearly sent him into a conniption was an old synth, its skin ragged and tattered enough to show its inner workings. Sturges chatted away with the damn thing (and its traveling companion, a self-styled reporter apparently named Piper Wright) and Danse just floundered . Backhand made friends with synths?

  Ticking mentally over everyone else he had met during his stay at Sanctuary, Danse reluctantly admitted that yes, Backhand would absolutely make friends with synths. Perhaps he should have come to terms with that before everything that had occurred, but now here he was, fully kitted and watching this synth narrowly. 

  "Come on over and introduce yourself, big fella'. No need to glare from afar." The synth commented wryly. "From what I understand we're all on the same team."

  "If it's all the same to you, synth , I'll keep my distance." Danse could tolerate a lot of things. Ghouls, specifically. He had met numerous in his travels and while it was unsettling to converse with them, he knew they weren't all diseased, mindless shamblers despite what the Brotherhood had beaten into him. But synths …

  They were the embodiment of mankind's arrogance. Monstrous, uncanny, a mockery of bodily functions. They made Danse's skin crawl.

  Piper huffed indignantly, rolling her eyes and pointing a finger at Danse as she remarked loudly to Sturges, "I wasn't aware that Blue had rechristened this place Bigotry Hills."

  The synth inclined its head in the meantime, somehow giving off an air of mechanical resignation. "Alright, I'll go first I suppose, since you've forgotten your manners. Name's Nick Valentine. I'm a detective operating out of Diamond City."

  Nick Valentine . Danse's mouth became a desert. This , this was the detective Vega sang the praises of when it came to tracking down the man who had stolen her son? "Knight Vega failed to mention that you were a synth." He muttered.

  "She probably figured it wasn't relevant. After all, the Institute left me at the curb with another man's memories in my head. Miss Vega did me a good turn after I helped her out with that Kellogg fella'." The synth shrugged. "Let an old bot put a few more ghosts to rest." He dusted off the raggedy fedora he wore, those unnerving golden eyes focused on Danse. "I caught wind that something might have gone a little sour with her infiltration, so Piper and I thought we'd drop by and see if we could offer any sort of assistance."

  "And can you?" Danse asked, concern and suspicion making his tone even sharper as he glanced at the woman. Piper stuck her tongue out at him, to his chagrin.

  The synth looked regretful for a second and Danse pondered that its face could even convey such a complex emotion. "Probably not, but at least now I know I'm not the only one worrying about our doll Vega." It remarked shrewdly. 

  Danse blushed guiltily, dropping his gaze from that calculating stare. It felt like the synth could see every damn thing he had ever done wrong in his life and Danse loathed the idea of this machine being able to help where he couldn't. "I'll be watching you, synth ," he blustered. "If you step out of line-"

  The synth actually interrupted him, waving a spindly, metallic hand. "You'll what, melt me into slag? I'd be careful, I might do something nefarious like trap you in an intelligent conversation."

  …

  Danse's sleep schedule had never been anything even bordering on concrete, but now the worry kept him up more than the nightmares. A thousand scenarios ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. His fatalistic tendencies would be the death of him one of these days, and wouldn't that be a poetic end. Death by apoplexy, his heart just exploding under the stress of his own imagination.

  No one commented when he ended up abandoning that soft mattress in the front room of Vega's house in favor of planting his bedroll on the floor at the foot of her bed. He spent long hours there every night, disassembling his gun, cleaning it thoroughly and checking over his mods. 

  When he inevitably gave up on sleep, he would patrol the perimeter. Jun joined him fairly often, the soft spoken man having taken it upon himself to manage the security around the settlement.

  "At first, I think Backhand just wanted me to have something to do." Jun mentioned out of the blue one evening, his haggard expression illuminated in the faint light of the moon. "So she told me to uh, walk the property line. Marcy didn't know what to do with me. Hell, she didn't even know what to do with herself . Losing Kyle was…" the man swallowed hard. "Well, the general understood, on account of her own little one. She knew I needed to be kept busy, especially after that close call in Concord. I'm just glad Marcy didn't give up on me." He admitted.

  "Why would she have given up on you?" Danse asked, a bit confused that this conversation was even occurring. He didn't do this sort of thing. "Whatever transpired with your child wasn't your fault." He had never asked for the specifics and Jun hadn't volunteered them.

  Jun shrugged. "Being married is...full of ups and downs. And sometimes the downs are really, really hard. Too hard. It's terrible, seeing the person you love turn into some kind of...angry husk because of grief and you're grieving too, and you know you can't fix it because-" the man's eyes welled up, his voice hitching. "-b-because you're not strong enough."

  Danse's breath caught in his lungs because oh God , that had been him after Cutler. Frustrated, hollow, newly promoted and warming Arthur's bed out of duty as he tried to privately grieve the man he had lost.

  It had been Haylen and Rhys who pried him from his depressive, wrathful tendencies. Brandis had suggested that Danse consider sponsoring his own initiates, and recommended him two candidates. The young woman, barely into adulthood, so full of life and eager to learn, and Rhys had been angry like him. 

  More followed after those two, but they had been his first. He sponsored Dawes, Brach, Keane, Worwick...squire or initiate to aspirant, aspirant to scribe or knight. All the while keeping them at arm's length, reluctant to open himself up again to the suffering that had wreaked its havoc upon him after the loss of Cutler.

  Learning about Paladin Krieg's passing during the assault on Adams Air Force Base was a blade twisting in his back. Danse had felt like his entire body was on fire, raw with agony once more as everything he had tried so hard to keep under control collapsed beneath him. He emerged from that particular rubble stoic and grim, and it was shortly after that incident that Recon Squadron Artemis went dark in the Commonwealth. 

  Brandis was sent to die and you know it! That evening in the barracks had been one of the hardest in his entire military career. Danse had known he was lying, lying to every single man, woman and child in that room that he would pass along any information he learned about Paladin Brandis.

  But what else could he do?

  "You can't fix everything and every one, Mr. Long." The paladin murmured finally. "You'll only burn yourself out with the effort. All you can do is let time do its work."

  "Oh, I know." The other man said calmly, having clearly mastered himself while Danse mulled over his response. "Marcy and I had a long talk about...our son, and even though it still hurts to talk about him, I know someday it won't." He smiled at Danse. "Thanks for listening, Mr. Paladin. I can see why the general likes you."

  Danse may or may not have tucked that precious information away, deep down in his heart.

  ...

  Backhand had no idea how many days had passed since she had departed. The Commonwealth was relatively quiet all around the settlement as she took a few steadying breaths after relaying back, bent nearly double with her hands on her knees. Overhead in the night sky, the moon beamed weakly between the thick clouds.

  Staggering down the steps that were still attached to the bare foundation, a wave of exhaustion threatened to cripple her. Away from the artificial lighting and brilliant whiteness of the Institute, she abruptly felt like she hadn't slept in weeks. How long had she been awake for?

  Bed , Vega decided with a nod. Bed before anything else . With slow, trudging footsteps, the young woman made her way to the house where she had lived before the bombs fell. Whatever time it was, it was obviously late. There wasn't a light on across the whole settlement, and she was incredibly grateful that she would be afforded a few moments of reprieve before she was plied with questions.

  Backhand closed the front door behind her, doing her best to be quiet. Danse must be asleep. Either that or he had returned to the Prydwen. Vega was a little startled at how distraught that made her feel, like she had lost somehow. 

  She stifled a yawn as she jiggled the sticky doorknob to her room and, too impatient to ease the door open, she put her shoulder to it.

  The door flew open and she immediately found herself on the business end of a very familiar laser rifle. Vega couldn't help her shriek of surprise and in her haste to retreat, she toppled into the hall and landed hard on her back. "Wait, wait! " She pleaded, throwing up her hands in surrender. "Don't shoot, Danse!"

  The paladin just stared down at her for a moment, his brow slowly unfurrowing in recognition as he lowered his gun. "Elizabeth?" He asked, his voice rasping hoarsely.

  "Y-Yeah. Hi." Backhand replied, her voice shaky. "It's me." Danse extended his hand, easily pulling her upright off the ground. She half-fell against his body, the large man accepting the weight without a word. "Why are you sleeping in here?" Backhand blurted out the first question she could think of, noticing the disturbed bedroll on the floor at the foot of her bed. 

  "I assumed that should you return, you would most likely head to your room first." The paladin answered quickly, too quickly for it to be the truth.

  Backhand raised an eyebrow. "And the armed greeting?"

  "A reflex."

  Vega's hands curled into fists on his chest, taking handfuls of his shirt between her fingers. I missed you , she wanted to say, I missed you so much . "How long was I gone for?" She asked instead.

  "Seventeen days." Danse replied in a no-nonsense manner. "It appears your infiltration of the Institute was a success." He was watching her closely. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Knight."

  Vega wanted to kiss him, not missing the warmth of relief in his eyes despite his neutral tone. She hurriedly peeled herself off of his chest, awkwardly clearing her throat and casting her brain around for an excuse to leave. "I'm...I need to shower." She lied, grimacing. "I was going to go right to bed, but…"

  "Take your time. I'll remove my personal effects and return to my quarters." The paladin intoned stiffly.

  Backhand grabbed a random assortment of clothing from atop her rickety dresser and fled to the bathroom without another word. 

  She slid down the door once she had shut it firmly, closing her eyes and hanging her head. What the hell were you expecting, Vega? she chastised herself, starting to unlace her boots. Some kind of fairytale reunion where he sweeps you up into his arms and professes his undying love? And we ride into the sunset? Backhand scoffed, bringing her fist down on the side of the salvaged water heater to get it to function.

  Vega stared down at her body as she showered, feeling oddly like a spectator. The faint scar at the bottom of her stomach mocked her, taunting her with the memory of the hospital room, the swaddled Shaun being pressed into her arms…

  This was all so wrong. 

  She pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes hard enough to blind her for a moment, fending off the tears that threatened to close her throat. The scar was placed low enough on her body that the waistband of her underwear concealed it. She didn't have to think about it too often. Usually she avoided looking at it while she bathed, the surgical leftover making complex feelings of grief and resentment war inside her.

  Her fingers drew over the faded scar, then rose to brush the stretch marks that striped over her belly from where her body had changed to accommodate Shaun's growing form. And still her eyes were dry.

  Backhand emerged from the lukewarm shower and simply sat on the side of the tub, watching the water slowly swirl down the drain. She thought of the Institute, where clean water was just a faucet turn away. Free of parasites and radiation, bearing a faint reek of chlorine that had clung to her hair and skin after bathing.

  Her brow furrowed and she toweled herself off briskly, donning the clothing she had grabbed at random. The shirt was too big, unfamiliar, and she realized with a sharp pang of a strange emotion that it must be one of Danse's. Had he done her laundry while she was gone?

  The young woman hung her towel up to dry, scooped all her dirty clothes off the floor and padded back across the hall to her room. 

  Danse, true to his word, had removed his bedroll and pack from the room, leaving no trace of his previous occupancy. Vega dropped her ball of clothes in the corner and sank down on the edge of her mattress, putting her head into her hands. 

  I believe you will do great things for the Institute.

  Her fingers dug into her hair, raking through it in a nervous gesture. She didn't want to do great things. She had never wanted to do great things. All she had wanted was a family.

  A child, a husband, a modest house in a quiet neighborhood…

  The bombs had taken so much from everyone else, did she even have the right to mourn the life she wished she had? It seemed so selfish, so...petty.

  Shaun's crib sat empty by the door like always, but now its vacancy mocked her. Had she ever truly believed she would find her son? Or had she been lying to herself the whole time, trying to convince herself that she could have been a good mother and that it wasn't all her fault Shaun had been taken. Rage bathed her in a comforting blanket of numbness and Backhand clenched her fists, rising from the bed. 

  With a stilted, furious cry of, " fuck you! " she heaved the empty crib against the wall.

  It was a simple enough task to snap the rungs in it, blowing through them one after the other. Next the flimsy headboard, torn from the sides with a shriek of abused screws. Backhand broke it over her knee, pitching the pieces off to land somewhere as the crib teetered on two legs. She grabbed those last two legs, picked the remains of the crib up, and smashed it against the floor with all her might. 

  It exploded in a cloud of chipped blue pieces, effectively destroyed. Backhand screamed in frustrated anguish, sinking to her knees and wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn't even noticed she was crying, but the tears were hot enough to burn on her cheeks.

  She felt running footsteps vibrate through the floor, but she didn't so much as raise her head. 

  Danse, Danse , those brown eyes so warm and concerned, knelt in front of her. " Easy , Knight." He soothed. Backhand sobbed hysterically, her whole body shaking with each inhale. "Elizabeth." Danse said her name calmly, quietly, his arms falling open.

  The woman flung herself into his embrace, gripping his back tightly. Danse held her close, like she was small and fragile and needed to be protected, one hand on the back of her head stroking her still-damp hair. Vega just went limp, weeping pitifully into his shirt.

  "By Jove…" Codsworth breathed from the door. "Oh mum, I'm so sorry." She felt a metal pincer rest gingerly on her shoulder and Backhand knocked her forehead against Danse's clavicle when she turned her face to look at Codsworth. "You should have told us, mum. Whatever it is, it's all too much to carry alone." The robot scolded her kindly. "I helped you raise the little tyke, if you recall. We will always have those fond memories, you and I."

  "It hurts." Backhand said thickly. "It h-hurts so much. I just wanted him back."

  "I'm sorry, Elizabeth." Danse murmured, words laden with sorrow. And he didn't even know what had happened yet!

  "I don't want anyone else to be sorry. I-I want to take every one of that smug f- fuck's toys and break them. If he wasn't already on his way out, I would-" Backhand dissolved into seething, nonsensical muttering. "There's good people in the Institute." She said finally. "People who wanted to help. People who need to get out."

  "And the Brotherhood will do everything we can to save them." Danse promised solemnly, taking her hands in his own and making a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat as he examined the battered skin. "Christ Vega, you're full of splinters."

  "I just...I don't know, I shouldn't have done that." Backhand mumbled, feeling idiotic for letting herself get so out of control.

  "Not to worry, mum!" Codsworth cheerily clicked his pincers. "I'll have you squared away in a jiffy!"

  Danse didn't let her go as Codsworth painstakingly worked over her abused hands to remove every last sliver. The paladin even assisted when the robot asked, holding her skin taut or flattening her palm out on his own to keep her steady so Codsworth could get a better grip.

  Piper appeared in the doorway in the midst of the procedure, wearing a raggedy robe and carrying a steaming mug. "And there's our gal." The reporter said softly. "Heya' Blue."

  "H-Hey Piper." Backhand sniffled. 

  The other woman tipped her head. "Nicky's on his way. You want tea or coffee?" 

  "Coffee, please. Please." Backhand begged, feeling Danse's hold on her tighten slightly. She was sitting in his lap still, his arms around her while Codsworth worked. She hated herself for enjoying the comfort his proximity provided, hated herself for being too weak to deal with this on her own. 

  As if he could sense her thoughts, the paladin settled her back more firmly against his chest.

  …

  She was back. She had come back. Harried and haggard but alive . Danse could feel the tension radiating from her and he wanted to kick himself for greeting her with a weapon at the door. His brain hadn't even registered that it might be her , he had awoken from his uneasy half-doze to someone breaching the door and his body reacted.

  Danse wanted to question her. He wanted to grip her to his chest and never let her out of his sight again. He wanted to berate her for being gone for so long. He wanted to lay her down on her bed and--

  He shoved that thought away. She was obviously exhausted and worn from whatever it was that she had gone through. Now was absolutely not the time to voice the pesky, budding emotions that warred in his chest.

  He could sense the impending explosion hanging heavy in the air like the changing pressure of an approaching storm, but he hadn't expected the rupture to happen so soon. Vega was barely out of the shower when he heard the first crash , her yell of " fuck you! ". 

  Danse wrestled momentarily with himself, his hands clenching in the fabric of his sleeping bag. Expressing anger could be therapeutic in it's own right, and her getting everything out now might be miles healthier than bottling it all up until she imploded.

  But her sobbing cries effectively wiped his plan of inaction. She sounded like she was in agony and Danse didn't even remember tearing the door open. One second he was in his own room and then the next he was on his knees in front of her, " easy , Knight," his voice gone soft and tender in a manner wholly uncharacteristic of the usually stoic man.

  He couldn't help saying her name, her first name, even though he felt wrong for doing so. But she pitched forward into his embrace just like Haylen had, weeping as though her heart was fit to break. And all Danse could do, all anyone could have done, he assured himself, was hold her close.

  She had no care for the safety and wellbeing of her hands, he realized wryly as he checked them over for broken bones. This was the second time patching up her poor fingers, the first time feeling like a distant memory. Her shredding her knuckles to ribbons on the manual release of his suit, her complete disregard for her own comfort…

  Danse didn't move, even when the synth arrived on Piper's heels. Everyone crowded into the room and he knew he ought to feel self-conscious, but now Vega was the one refusing to release him . So there he sat on the floor with her secure in his arms, listening to the entire sordid tale as Codsworth quietly tidied up the mess that had been Shaun's crib. 

  The Institute was real , and it wound for miles underneath the Commonwealth. They had access to safe food and pure drinking water, all made possible by unimaginable technology. Her son wasn't dead or even a child, but instead old and frail. The years had stretched on longer than anyone could have anticipated between his removal from the Vault and Vega's own awakening. 

  The advances that made the generation three synths possible had been brought about by utilizing infant Shaun's pre-war DNA, and he was known as Father to all the synths. But he wasn't a father at all, at least not one that anybody would want to have.

  "Synths are like lower class citizens to these scientists. Expendable. Seen and not heard." Backhand explained, and Nick muttered something uncharitable under his breath. "They're not people, they're tools. Shit, Shaun even listed them off like that, he called the coursers hammers ." Vega spat. "But they think . They dream. Hell, they grieve even though they don't know that's what they're doing."

  She spoke of the courser mourning the loss of his friend, forced to grieve without understanding the feelings he suffered through and Danse was somehow full of sympathy for a damn killing machine. It must just be Vega's compassionate nature transferring to him. There was no way he could actually believe anything like that was even possible.

  Spinal recalibration .

  Danse wasn't sure why , but he felt a blunt stab of pain at the nape of his neck when she explained the procedure. It was probably psychosomatic, he reasoned. The process sounded gruesome.

  Nick flipped back and forth through his notepad, scratching at the side of his head with his pencil. "I'll need some time to look all of this over, sweetheart." He said to Backhand, glancing at Piper. "And you need time to recover," he continued in a gently-chiding tone. "You seem half-dead, doll."

  Danse realized with a barely-hidden start that he had begun to refer to the synth as Nick in his mind. What was happening to him? Had he been away from the Brotherhood for so long that he was going soft? Was his moral integrity being compromised?

  Or was he just coming to terms with something that he couldn't bring himself to label yet? 

  Backhand nodded, tugging the paladin out of his reverie. "I really want to sleep." She mumbled. She must have been truly exhausted, because in spite of downing the mug of coffee Piper had procured for her, she was slumped in Danse's arms. 

  Piper patted Vega's knee, giving Danse a stern glare. The paladin wanted to laugh at her attempt to intimidate him. "You get some rest, Blue. Nicky and I will do our best to compile what you've given us." She assured her.

  After the duo from Diamond City had left, Codsworth made a noise like he was clearing his throat. "I'm just so glad you're back, mum." He said, his words weirdly heartfelt for coming from a machine.

  Vega reached out and caught one of Codsworth's arms before the bot could leave, the young woman smiling wearily up at the Mister Handy. "I'm glad to be back, Codsworth." 

  Danse managed to usher her into her bed just as the sun was rising, but she grabbed his hand when he turned to depart. "Wait." Backhand whispered, her eyelids drooping. "Please...please stay? I don't want to be alone, Danse." A lone tear wound its way down her cheek. "Please don't leave me alone." 

  Danse planted himself in the chair beside the bed, laying his laser rifle across his knees. "I'm not going anywhere, Knight Vega." He promised her solemnly, taking a greedy, selfish moment to push the hair back from her face. "Sleep."

Part Twelve

[kiwisfics]

[Nova and Nick]

x

  "So…" Nova nervously popped her fingers, a habit she developed as a teenager after realizing she was double-jointed. How she'd gotten so close to the raiders, she'd never know, but they sat around her, listening to her story with intrigue. She had to thank God she'd always been so charismatic.

  She was glad she'd declined both Nick and Hancock's offers to travel with her, normally she kept one or both at her sides, but she figured she could make it to Sanctuary on her own, besides, they had things to do without her constantly running mouth distracting them. There was no way either of them would have sat in the midst of raiders calmly as she discussed her goal to find her son and assist the Commonwealth along the way. Oddly enough, they didn't seem to care that she was the so-called General of the Minutemen, responsible for the deaths of multiple raiders. Oh well, she doubted they cared much for people outside of their immediate group at all.

  She wasn't far from Diamond City, but the dank hovel they were in couldn't have been more different from the city. The basement had been virtually untouched by time and the door had only just been unlocked with her own skill, revealing a massive storage of alcohol, definitely aged at this point. There was something nostalgic about the basement, reminding her of her grandmother's basement—minus the alcohol—that they'd spent huddled in during a tornado—or was it a hurricane?

  One of the raiders cuffed her on the shoulder as she laughed at a pre-war joke Nova had provided.

  What was she doing here?

  She systematically glanced down at her Pip-Boy, certain it would vanish from her wrist at any moment, then around the table, certain someone would suddenly shout, "she doesn't belong here!" but nothing of the sort occurred, reminding her that—though they'd done horrible things—these were just people and they were having a good time.

  Jo—as one of the woman had introduced herself—seemed more left out of the conversation, offering quick glances to the door that Nova easily caught. She hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, nor hit the chems like most of the other occupants of the room—the smell was almost overpowering, if she hadn't gotten used to the chems because of Hancock, she might have had to excuse herself—and she didn't seem to plan on doing so anytime soon.

  When all of the rooms occupants were either passed out or too drunk to find their way to the door, let alone the trigger of a gun, she leaned over to Jo. "You wanna get out of here too?"

  With a nod, her and Jo exited the basement, the fresh air freeing their lungs from the smell of stale liquor was all too welcome.

-

  "What if you'd been hurt?"

  Nova rolled her eyes, regretting it after the fact-he had a right to worry, reckless as she was-but still, she wasn't a child. "Nick, you and I both know I can handle myself." She'd been doing so since she had stepped out of Vault 111, even saving Preston and his group only a few hours later-even if it had been with reckless abandon, she wouldn't admit that now.

  Jo stood on the sidelines, dressed in some undersized clothes of Nova's. Nova's short stature made the legs of the pants stop short of even the ex-raider's boots and her shirt, while noticeably baggy on her, fit Jo snugly. She shifted awkwardly on her feet. She'd been none too pleased with the clothes offered to her, but letting her walk into Diamond City in her raider get-up seemed like asking for trouble.

  Those guards had had it in for her since they caught her smuggling John into the city.

  Nick sighed, rolling his eyes. Yes, she knew she could handle herself and that's what scared him. "How did you know they weren't going to ambush you?"

  "They already had. Do you really think I'm dumb enough to go in a dark basement with a group of raiders?" She huffed, and muttered childishly under her breath afterward, "At least they laughed at my jokes." Nick rolled his eyes again and she sighed. "Look, it all worked out in the end, now, could my favorite synth detective possibly escort me and my new friend to Sanctuary?" She flashed the puppy-dog eyes, buttering him up as she made herself as cute as possible.

  He was falling for it and he knew it. She played him too easily. "Why not ask Hancock?"

  She opened her mouth to speak. Darn. She definitely shouldn't have let slip she was closer to Goodneighbor when this fiasco occurred. "Uh… right, could we not tell him about this?" She chuckled nervously, "You know I'm a human disaster, he's still under the assumption that I'm… not that." She turned away, rubbing the back of her neck as she muttered, "Plus, I promised no more bringing home strays-no offense-and I think she counts."

  "After the deathclaw incident?"

  Jo perked up at that. That was a story she definitely wanted to hear.

  "Everyone loves Lady-look that's not the point! Don't tell him!" Sure, she'd shown off for Nick, still did, but-even with those eyes-when she got hurt because of her stupidity, he was more coddling, which she pretended to hate but actually loved. Hancock on the other hand took the tough love approach, berating her and hovering until whatever wounds she had faded. She didn't like disappointing either of them, and walking into a den of raiders was definitely disappointment worthy.

"Fine, fine, when do you want to head out?"

"Up to you. Thanks, Nick, you're a lifesaver!" Nova kissed him on the cheek, close to his lips, before heading out the door, Jo following in stunned silence.

Once outside the door, waiting patiently, Jo spoke up, stuttering a bit as she did. "Are you two…?" She trailed off, confusion still clear on her face.

"Are we what?" She knew exactly what Jo was asking, and the look on her face portrayed that clearly. Truth by told, she'd resisted using pre-war terms for her and Nick, or her and Hancock for that matter, dating didn't seem the right term when your only dates were the nights huddling around a fire in the middle of the Commonwealth, most likely coated in blood-both your enemies and your own. Boyfriend seemed so immature a term, even for her less than mature attitude. Husband was definitely off the table.

"Are you… together?"

Nova hadn't expected Jo to press farther, but she humored her. "I love him." She gauged Jo's response waiting for some slander about synths-that definitely wouldn't fly in Sanctuary. She'd still take Jo to a settlement, but Sanctuary was a place many synths frequented when the Railroad's safe houses were full and she wasn't risking their safety over a very recent deserter of the raiders.

Everyone was welcome in any of the settlements-ghouls, synths, ex-raiders-in fact, she frequently checked in on each of them when scavenging, ensuring that any of the new settlers knew the morals the settlements operated on, often with either Nick, Hancock, or both in tow. The number of times guns had been raised at her companions made her bristle. Still, despite the morals being the same in all the settlements, Sanctuary needed to be secure.

"I mean…" she stuttered, "no offense, I just never imagined a human and a synth-"

Nova couldn't help but let a laugh slip past her lips. She'd never made someone so nervous so easily. "Sure, he's a bit beat up, but," she pointed to her scarred forehead and the jagged scars extending across most of the left side of her face, she'd stepped out of the vault with less, but she'd been swiped by a Deathclaw barely a week after making them far worse, "so am I."

Nick finally exited the agency, cigarette in his hand as he faced the two women. "Ready to hit the road?"

"Yep!" Nova beamed at him, conversation all but forgotten as she wrapped her arms around one of his. "We've gotta start bringing Lady so we can ride her everywhere."

"No."

"What was the deathclaw incident?"

Nova grinned and Nick let out a sigh. This was going to be a long trip.

[radreactions]

how do the companions react to sole have a cute quirk. (like sticking their tongue out a little when thinking hard, accidentally snorting when laughing hard, biting their lip, sneezing like a kitten, etc. take your pick.) bonus that dole is embarrassed about it as they often got teased about it and attempt to avoid it.

I loved this ask!

Ada – She finds their odd snort while they laugh quite amusing, although she does recommend after that they go see a clinician considering that it might be an indicator of a nasal issue. She’s like on old grandma if someone mentions it in a negative manner, telling the insulting person that it’s not very polite to make fun of someone because of something they could not help. Although she has the best of intentions, she probably ends up embarrassing Sole even more.

Cait – The brawler thought Sole biting their lower lip was a flirtatious tactic they used to try and get into her pants and although she never confronted them about it, she would always notice it regardless of whether they were in battle, sitting around a campfire or administering a stimpak in her arm. But when she sees them concentrating real hard while trying to correctly install a modification of their weapon without even knowing she was there, Cait realises it was unconscious and even though it worked at getting her attention, it was completely unintended. Of course, she was a little pissed at herself that she let something so harmless get her a little hot under the collar.

Codsworth – He loves Sole with all his little metallic heart – or rather his fusion core – so even when Sole snorts when they laugh or when they poke their tongue out just a little whenever they’re concentrating, when they sing in the shower rather ghastly or when they chew on their pencil, it doesn’t change how much he adores them. It is simply Sole, his master/mistress, and he thinks the absolute world of them.

Curie – She noticed Sole’s little quirk straight away when they rescued her from Vault 81, or rather, during the wait in the elevator taking them to the main vault. Sole started hummed quietly a nondescript tune but one that was clear enough for Curie to take note of who at the time thought it was just a nervous tick. But as it turned out after her silent observations of them, it was simply something they did when they weren’t speaking to someone, listening to the radio or locked in a gunfight. It was simply Sole keeping themselves occupied and she wasn’t sure she should confront them about it. So instead, she kept silent, listening to their soft little tunes and oddly enough, finding comfort in them.

Danse – To be honest, he didn’t even notice Sole’s quirk until Scribe Haylen pointed it out to him while they tinkered with their weapon modifications one night at the Cambridge police station. Now, Danse takes notice of their little habit of sticking out the tip of their tongue whenever they were concentrating and without fail, he always finds himself smirking at them. It’s a harmless quirk and quite frankly, it brightens his gloomy days just enough to make him even more grateful to have Sole by his side.

Deacon – When he first heard them humming softly to themselves, he wasn’t actually aware that it was Sole, but instead wondered if Tinker Tom was right when he alleged that the Institute had drones spying on them everywhere. Imagine his relief when he realised it was just Sole quietly humming while they concentrated on patching up their damaged baseball bat they had affectionately named Lucille. Now, he finds their humming to be quite soothing, finding that he actually misses it when they are apart on different missions. As far as quirks go, Sole’s was pretty damn adorable in comparison to someone else’s like Carrington’s which has him muttering incoherently under his breath at all hours of the day and night.

Dogmeat – He cock’s his head curiously when Sole makes these strange and loud sounds that are so sudden, they often startle him. What makes it even more curious for the pup, is it always seems to happen when he and his master/mistress need to be quiet because the bad guys are just in front of them. Although he loves them with all his heart unconditionally, he does often wonder – why is his human so impossibly loud!?

Gage – At first the little chortle they did whenever they laughed and their weird high pitched sneeze that could wake the damn dead from their graves got on his nerves like nothing else, but as he got to know Sole a little better he found that he was quickly warming up to them. Quirks and all. Instead of huffing and rolling his eyes like he used to, he found himself chuckling quietly because trust his damn luck to finally find a suitable Overboss only to have them be the type who sneezes louder than a Gatorclaw in the worst possible moments – like in the dead of night with a pack of ghouls just around the corner. He’s lost count of how many times that has happened.

Hancock – He had no idea someone could sneeze so loud as to startle him from three floors up and across the street from where he is. Seriously. He doesn’t have to worry about where Sole is in Goodneighbour anymore, when they sneeze it’s like a beacon. Oh, Sole’s in the Third Rail now. Wait, no, now they’ve gone to Daisy’s. Silence? Must’ve gone back to Diamond City or something. He finds it quite amusing when he’s not trying to huff some Jet, because the last time they sneezed and he was doping up next to them, he damn near inhaled the entire cartridge itself. Thankfully his loveable, quirky best friend was there to slap him on the back during his coughing fit.

MacCready – The mercenary has been guilty of quite a few little quirks of his own, whether it’s sticking his tongue out a little when he’s focused on lining up a shot or when he’s reading a good book and his toes start wiggling frantically like they too are enjoying it. So when he realises Sole is just as weird and quirky as he is – what with their sudden machinegun sneezes and that odd little noise they make just before drifting off into sleep – Mac suddenly feels much better about himself and can’t help it when his affections grows for his partner in crime.

Maxson – He always knew when Sole was in the audience of one of his formal addresses to his soldiers, mostly because it always occurred on the dirt covered flight deck which would trigger Sole who’d suddenly have a fit of sneezes that were so pathetically tiny that even the most seasoned Paladins and Sentinels would be fighting their own involuntary laughter. The Elder himself finds it hard to hold back a smirk when this happens, even during mid speech. If someone were stupid enough to insult Sole on this in his presence, he makes sure that both Sole and the asshole who insulted them know just how much he disapproves any negative comment to his soldier by reprimanding them harshly on the spot.

Nick Valentine – For obvious reasons, Nick has always found unconscious acts of others to be more telling of their character than the façade they put up for everyone else to see. So it’s not surprising when he finds it particularly charming when the tip of Sole’s tongue pokes out the side of their mouth while they focus or when they grunt a soft noise of delight when something works out just right. Sole has so many of these odd little quirks, each of them giving the synth a bit of insight into the soft soul of the person in his company and to say that he grows even more fond of them because of these quirks is a bit of an understatement.

Old Longfellow – The first day he met Sole he was subjected to the odd little tunes they whistled whenever things were quiet. They weren’t rhythms that he knew nor were they particularly catchy either, it was just noise Sole made to probably keep themselves occupied. He could relate to that himself, but was admittedly quite biased in his conclusion that his tunes are far better than the Captain’s. Not that he’d say anything of course, it made for a good distraction from the boredom of a quiet evening.

Piper Wright – She tries to hold in her laughter when Sole sneezes in the way they do, but she just can’t help it. It’s so cute! Especially if little Natalie is there too because it all it takes is for the Wright sisters to lock eyes with each other and then they’ve lost themselves laughing hysterically. When she finally gets a hold of herself, Piper apologises sincerely to Sole and promises that they weren’t making fun of them. Although, if someone ever did make fun of Sole’s little quirk, Piper would not hold back and would probably reduce the offending person to tears with her words alone in Blue’s defence.

Preston Garvey – Sole humming softly was something he at first thought was a conscious act to compliment his own whistles while they walked the open road together, but upon spending more time with Sole he realised it was just something they did to fill the empty air. Whenever they were setting up camp for the night, Sole would hum under their breath as they would while sitting on watch or while they stopped to take in a nice view of the landscape. He likes it actually, finding himself smiling softly to himself when they do it.

Strong – Sole sneezes impossibly loudly and gets on Strong’s nerves more than anything! When he’s carving up his kills for lunch or dinner, Sole sneezes and he damn near chops his own arm off. When he’s sleeping, Sole sneezes and he immediately jolts awake and slams his head. One time while walking together, Sole sneezed so loud that Strong yelled (although he maintains it was a war cry) and upon realising that it was them again, he picked them up and threw them into the nearby lake. Sole was fine after their long swim back to shore, but Strong hadn’t stopped pouting for a good few days after.

X6-88 – He finds their little quirk impossibly endearing, although he’ll be damned if they ever found out about it or catch him smirking when they sneeze in that weird little way they do. He sees it as an indisputable trait of humanity, because none of the synths the Institute created have the same level of individuality or quirk that Sole has and should anyone – man, woman, synth or super mutant – seek to belittle Sole or poke fun at them because of it, X6 won’t stand for it.

[falloutdovah]

August Prompts- Day 7 (Westbound)

The camera lenses in the crow’s eyes twirled and blinked. The image zoomed in closer on the Captain, who had a group of feral ghouls tearing after him across the grassy hills.

“Looks like he’s headed west…”

“According to the search teams at Vault 111, all signs of the subject have shown completely negative. He must have gotten out somehow- with someone’s help. There’s no way that somebody inside the cryo-chambers could override the lock and bypass the system. Someone had to have done it from the outside, manually.”

“We can worry about that later. Right now, the Director needs to be informed that we cannot locate the subject. I’ll be back.”

The black-coated scientist stepped through the automatic, white sliding doors and immediately made his way towards the stairwell leading to the second floor of the facility.

It was late, and rather than hearing the quiet shuffle of the residents of the Institutes, synths included, all the man could hear was a faint, low and peaceful humming noise. If only things could be as peaceful up on the surface as they were down here… that would be the day.

He meandered through a few clean hallways, the occasional synth greeting him with their standard ‘Good evening Doctor Ayo” as he passed by.

Eventually he stopped in front of one guard-synth, who remained quite still. “State your purpose. The Director is not taking visitors or appointments right now. Please see tomorrow’s schedule for a list of available times in which you may make said appoint-”

“J3-02 stand down immediately and let me through. This is important.”

Without any hesitation the guard let Doctor Ayo pass and knock on the door vigorously. Some moments passed before a light on the side glowed bright green, allowing entry.

“Director I apologize for coming so late in the evening- and without any notice,” He cleared his throat and stood with his hands at his sides as the white-haired Director appeared from around a corner in the apartment holding a mug.

“I take it it’s very important from what I heard outside. What is it Doctor Ayo?”

Ayo pursed his lips a little. “Yes uh… our search groups have encountered no sign of their target anywhere near Vault 111. They have however reported to us of abnormal activity that occurred inside the vault. Somebody opened the cryo-chambers, bypassed the system entirely. We’re looking into it now. Not many-”

“Not many people out on the surface know how to operate such technology nowadays, yes I’m aware…What else?”

The man shifted his weight slightly to the other leg. “Our Watchers have reported sightings of the subject in the… the dark coat and the hat. And the mailman’s bag.”

The Director scratched at his beard idly. “Who? Remind me again,”

“The ghoul sir,” Ayo answered. “The one who’s been destroying our coursers in Boston.”

“Ah yes,” He took a long sip and waved, “Continue,”

“He’s headed west towards the Vault for some reason. We could dispatch another team to-”

“Now, if he’s wiped out every group of synths and every courser we’ve sent to him, or that he’s run into by sheer accident or on purpose, then what’s the point of sending more to him just so he can destroy those as well?”

Ayo frowned. “Well sir it’s just that- what if-”

“Keep an eye on him, don’t do anything rash just yet. We don’t know where he’s going. He’s proven to be a bit of a wild card, that one.”

“Yes sir…”

“Was that all? Doctor?”

“Er- yes sir-”

“You may go.”

Doctor Ayo just barely held back a scowl, “Yes sir.” Once the Director was dead set on something, it was very hard to change his mind, even with higher logic and better reasoning. He was stubborn. How he came to be the Director of the Institute in the first place was beyond him. He didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do about it. So out he went.

The Director sighed a long and heavy sigh once he was alone again, putting his mug down onto his desk as he sat down slowly. He reached for one of the drawers and opened it, pulling out an old pre-war model car and setting it gently onto the desk in front of him.

Who could have possibly opened the cryo-chambers inside of the Vault? Someone had to have known how to work Vault-Tec’s systems. Maybe a pre-war scientist under their employment, or maybe someone used the barbaric approach of smashing in the computer, allowing it to open the pods.

It was far too late in the night for guesses.

He extended his arm and gently placed his hand onto the toy, bringing it closer to himself and turning it over, picking at the wobbly wheels and opening the small metal hood in the front. The red paint was starting to fade. He was surprised it had stayed this bright at all for so long.

If anything, worry started to overtake him. A thing he found quite surprising.

“…Mm…I do wonder where you’ve gone… Hopefully somewhere safe. Provided you’re not dead.” The car went back into the desk drawer and instead, he pulled out a smaller, grey device with a set of buttons on the side. He clicked one of them and a bright blue hologram shot out of it, revealing a photograph of some sort.

A tall woman with light hair pulled back in a bun, a stern looking set of eyes but a proud look about her. Strong features that only emphasized just how no-nonsense she was. Next to her, a young boy with scruffy light blonde hair, grinning and happy with the a red model car in his hands. And beside him on the other side was a rather short, scrawny looking man with a perpetually nervous and tired demeanor, the same brand of unkempt blonde hair, a pair of square glasses on his thin face.

The longer he looked, the longer his heart ached for something that was no more.

With another long and defeated sigh, Neil pressed the button again, shutting the hologram off. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Why couldn’t the synths find him? Why was the ghoul heading westbound?

Where was his father?

[quinzelade]

By No Constraint (chpt 62)

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, waiting4morning, for her wonderful work! Thanks to Musashi1596 for the title.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

Want update alerts? Follow this story on FFnet or Ao3.

--

Trouble on the Homefront

--

“Mom, I want to do it!”

“I’m not having that woman poke around your head!”

Danse sat at the desk in their Hotel Rexford room, trying to block out the argument between Quinn and Shaun. It seemed the kid could be a real firecracker when he wanted to, just like his mother.

The clash had arisen when Amari mentioned Shaun’s code could be passed onto other Gen 3 synths. Synths that were stuck in limbo while the world moved around them could be blessed with the gift of mortality. All it would require was a small surgery on Shaun to access some of the more complex functions. Danse didn’t fully understand the procedure, but Amari had called ‘minimally invasive surgery.’

Shaun said yes. Quinn instantly said no.

Now here they were, battling it out while Danse tried to keep out of the way. He didn’t really know how he felt about the proposition—true, it would help a lot of synths, and if he couldn’t age himself, he might have been tempted...but Shaun was still a child. What if something went wrong?

Danse opted for tinkering with his gun instead. It provided the best distraction to the raging inferno behind him so far. He could have stayed with Amari and let the two of them argue it out in his absence, but that would have meant letting Quinn and Shaun go back to the hotel alone. While Quinn was perfectly capable of looking after herself, Danse didn’t trust Goodneighbor one bit, and Shaun was the epitome of naive and vulnerable.

Well, at least he’s stopped cowering every time Quinn raises her voice, Danse thought dully as the row went on. Definitely his mother’s son, synth or not.

After half an hour, though, Danse reached the end of his tether. Neither side looked to be relenting, and the shouting was giving him a headache.

“I’m going back to see Amari,” Danse said loudly, checking over his weapon one last time before standing up. “I’ll be back soon.”

If either of them noticed he’d spoken, they didn’t show it.

Danse left the room and sighed, stretching in the corridor before spotting a ghoul glaring at him from one of the adjacent doors.

“Can’t you stop it?” she rasped.

“You want to prod an angry deathclaw, be my guest,” Danse snapped. She scowled as he stalked off towards the stairs, shutting her door with a bang.

His thoughts quickly turned to the discussion with Amari as he made his way to the ground floor of the hotel. He could age. The whole thing was a whirlwind, from Quinn suggesting he might be like Valentine, to finding out he was not only a few hours later. He’d barely had time to catch up with himself, that a fundamental part of life—old age—was now so sweet a prospect.

Amari looked unsurprised when he walked into her office.

“I thought you’d be back,” she said, not diverting her attention away from her terminal while she worked. “Has Quinn come to a decision yet?”

Danse shrugged. “She has, but Shaun...doesn’t agree with it.”

Amari laughed, finally catching his eye. “So what do you want to know? I’m guessing you have a lot of questions.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down on the other side of her desk, fidgeting. There was a question, one that had been troubling him ever since he’d rescued Billy from the fridge and met the Peabodys.

“Can...can I have children?” Danse stared fixedly at his hands.

Amari didn’t answer immediately, but the ringing silence as she stopped typing gave him his answer before she spoke. She watched him for a few seconds and then sighed. “I’m sorry but...no. All synths are infertile.”

“I see.” He didn’t know how he felt. He’d never really thought about children before—everything in his life had been consumed by Brotherhood. Things had changed. It seemed important now, and to have the concept snatched away before he could ever truly grasp it hurt in a strange way. Not a sting, but a dull, deep ache.

Still, since learning what he was, Danse had suspected this would be the case.

“I’m sorry,” Amari repeated, biting her lip.

“It’s fine,” he said flatly, continuing to look at his hands. After a moment, he said, “Who was I before…” Danse tailed off, recalling Quinn’s comment. If he remembered, would he become a different person? He shrugged. “Never mind.”

Amari straightened up in her chair and gave him a sympathetic smile. “You can ask whatever you want.”

Danse shook his head and explained as best he could. “I’m afraid of bringing that person back. My life isn’t perfect, but I’m happy with what I have, and...and I don’t want to lose what I feel for Quinn.”

“It’s a common misconception that a personality is added to a synth later,” Amari said, her smile shifting to something warmer. “But that isn’t the case. Synths all have their own unique personalities. I have been told on good authority that after a synth is created, they’re monitored very closely before being assigned their roles. Certain personalities benefit certain roles...take coursers for example. Their mannerisms aren’t taught.”

“But if I went through a mindwipe process…”

“There are ways to alter a synth’s personality, but it’s a drastic measure with permanent, damaging results. The same way great trauma can alter a non-synth’s brain activity.”

“Like...brain damage?”

“Something like that. It’s an extremely risky thing to do, and even if it’s successful, that synth can never go back. The mindwipe procedure only alters memory, nothing else. I promise. If you love Quinn now, you would have loved her back then. You’ve always been you.” Amari sat back in her chair. “You’re almost the same man I met nearly fifteen years ago. Nothing will change that.”

Danse leaned forward, his interest piqued. He’d never really been certain how old he was, even when he thought he was human.  The perception of an empty childhood, dragged up from the dirt into something more. When had he been born? Who had been his parents? Of course, now he had answers, and the result was only more questions. “Fifteen years?”

Amari nodded. “You looked a lot younger then. Had a lot more fire about you. Now you seem...calmer. Grounded.”

Danse frowned, trying to remember Rivet city and the early days of the Brotherhood. Definitely a drinker—he and Cutler used to be the bane of Rivet City with their prolonged sessions in the Muddy Rudder. Even as soldiers they’d been quick to the drink after shift, nursing Cutler’s grief over his mother. She’d passed away a while before they’d signed up, but the wound remained open for Cutler.

Had he been more intense back then? Danse had often been commended or criticised for his beliefs—accused of being zealous and loyal in equal measure. If his behaviour had toned down significantly since his younger years, how bad had he actually been?

Or maybe the loss of the Brotherhood and their dogmatic views had stripped away his fanaticism. It occurred to him that he was less concerned with upholding the rules of such-and-such these days and just focusing on living his life. He couldn’t have been that unbearable in the past, though. Cutler had liked him after all. As had Quinn.

Danse smiled at Amari, the pain bittersweet. “Tell me everything you can.”

--

The corridors were quiet by the time Danse returned to the hotel, and for a moment he feared something had happened. But when he wrenched open the door, chest tight with anticipation, he found both Quinn and Shaun asleep on the same bed, locked in each other’s arms. He smiled, feeling happy, if somewhat drained from his time with the doctor, and carefully shut the door. Quinn stirred and woke.

“You two finally stopped arguing?” he asked, setting his rifle down on the desk and leaning against it.

“Yeah.” She played with Shaun’s hair a little. “We came to an...agreement. That I would think about it. He seemed happy with that.”

“Are you really going to think on it, or did you just say that to stop the bickering?”

“I’m really going to think on it.” By the look on her face, Danse sensed she was telling the truth. Slowly, she slipped free of Shaun and sat up. “Get what you needed from Amari?”

“Yes. There wasn’t much. Just my reasons for leaving the Institute, and what I was like back then. She described me as fiery and impatient.”

Quinn snorted. “Impatient? Can’t imagine why she’d think that.”

Danse bristled with indignation. “I’ve shown plenty of patience towards you.”

She grinned. “Your patience is selective. You don’t suffer fools gladly or in silence.”

“Yes, well,” Danse replied airily, “some people are beyond help. I like to think I can identify that quickly.” Her grin widened and he rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Point taken, though you’ll have to forgive me for not recognising it standing next to a personified bomb.”

Quinn blinked and then burst out laughing, before pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle the noise. Shaun mumbled and turned over but didn’t wake. Danse grinned back, his heart skittering a little. He loved making her laugh, and it’d been some time since he had. The recent frostiness clinging to their relationship was finally thawing out, and how he longed to kiss her.

She seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she got to her feet and started to walk across the room, a hungry look in her eye. A knock at the door stopped her in her tracks, as well as waking Shaun. He jumped and sat up sharply, his fingers digging into the mattress.

Quinn frowned and marched over to the door, wrenching it open. A ghoul in a grubby suit stood at the threshold, lighting a cigarette. Danse recognised it as the same one who had greeted them upon entering Goodneighbor.

“The mayor’s been more than patient,” he rasped, puffing a cloud of smoke at her. “Hancock’s place now.”

Danse saw red, but before he could take a step forward, Quinn knocked the ghoul’s cigarette from his mouth and grabbed the front of his jacket.

“Hey—!”

“You blow that shit in my face again,” Quinn snarled, “and I’ll stick the next one you light down your dickhole. Got it?”

“What’s a dickhole?” Shaun piped up.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she said, not turning around. The ghoul tried to pull away and she gave him a firm shake.

“You little—” he said, reaching for something in his pocket, but stopped when he realised Danse had already drawn his own pistol and pointed it at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shaun flinch and felt a pang of guilt.

“Hancock’ll hear about this!” the ghoul gasped.

“Good! I imagine he could use a laugh!” Quinn shoved him away and turned to Danse. “I have to go. Can you…” She stopped, suddenly looking worried.

“I’ll keep an eye on Shaun,” Danse replied gently, though his gun was still aimed at the thug. He didn’t like the idea of Quinn going alone, but the less influence Hancock had on Shaun, the better. “Are you going to be alright with him?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, picking up her combat rifle and slinging it over her shoulder. “Hancock wants to talk, which means he has no interest in killing me. And if this idiot upsets that delicate balance, I imagine he’ll be seen to before the night is out.” She shot the ghoul a nasty look. “So save the whole reaching into your pocket shit. Whatever you got in there, you won’t use it unless you want to piss off your boss.”

“How the fuck do you know?” the ghoul spat, trying to jeer but looking nervous instead. “You don’t run this town.”

“And neither do you. But Hancock does, and I do know him. Well enough that he’d give me the courtesy of a conversation first. So tell him I’m on my way.”

Danse waited until the ghoul left before holstering his gun. He turned to Shaun, wondering if he should say anything, and saw Quinn crouched down at his side, holding him in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, honey,” she said, kissing him on his head.

“Were you going to kill him?” Shaun asked, and it took a moment for Danse to realise the question was aimed at him.

“Uh.” Danse cleared his throat, hesitating. How long were they going to hide the nature of the wasteland from Shaun? But then he saw Quinn give a slow nod, and he understood the meaning. No more secrets. “If I thought he was going to hurt you or your mother, then yes.”

“But...why would he…?”

“This isn’t the Institute, sweetie,” Quinn said. “Things are dangerous up here. You need to be careful who you trust.”

Shaun’s eyes dimmed a little at this. “Oh. Okay.”

Quinn looked worried, but time wasn’t on her side. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. I just need to speak to the pirate man. Captain, uh...thingy.”

“Captain Constitution,” Shaun replied quietly. Quinn’s frown increased, but she planted another kiss on his head and then left the room.

Danse stood over Shaun for a good ten seconds, the awkwardness mounting while the boy stared at his own knees. What was he supposed to do? Or say? Eventually Danse decided on his most trusted tactic: he retreated to the desk and continued working on his rifle.

The silence was soon filled with the metallic clinks and scrapes as Danse slowly took apart his gun and started cleaning each individual part. Earlier he had only been doing light, external modifications—attempting anything else while Quinn and Shaun were arguing would have been futile. He needed his concentration.

Danse was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t notice Shaun had moved until the boy was standing right next to him.

“Mr. Danse?”

Danse flinched, nearly dropping the component in his hand. He set it on the table and looked at Shaun, forcing a smile. “Yes?”

“Can I watch?”

Danse was thrown by the question. “Um...yes? Grab yourself a seat.”

Shaun obeyed, dragging a chair almost as big as he was towards the desk and settling down into it. At first he was quiet, his eyes fixed on everything Danse did. But after a few minutes, the boy’s willpower broke and the questions began to pour in.

Why was Danse cleaning the parts? How did guns get dirty? What happened if a gun jammed? Could it explode?

Danse answered as best he could, and Shaun’s questions multiplied. Danse began to show him the various modifications he had installed in the past, what they did, and why they were there. Then he showed Shaun the newest one—a replacement trigger, because his was starting to stick with age—and began to take the boy through the step by step process of switching the old one out for the new.

Shaun listened in silence for some time, before launching into his most difficult questions yet.

“You know mom said this place is dangerous?”

“Yes?” Danse replied, trying to get the worn out trigger free from the casing.

“Why did she destroy the Institute and bring me here then?”

Danse groaned inwardly. He wasn’t qualified to explain this kind of thing. This required someone like Stephen or Vivian Cooper—firm, but understanding of children’s needs. There was a pang in his chest as he remembered they were dead. He fiddled with the gun to buy himself some time.

“The world isn’t black and white,” Danse said after a few seconds, setting the gun down. “Not everything is good or evil. Sometimes things that seem good are actually bad, and sometimes it’s the opposite. The Institute was a safe place on the surface, but they did bad things.”

“They made us,” Shaun said, tapping his fingers on the desk as he swung his legs. “I don’t see how that’s bad.”

“They experimented on people,” Danse replied. He wasn’t sure if he should be telling Shaun this, but it felt right. “Hurt people. Took people away from their families. They stole the Director away from your mother when he was just a baby and killed her husband. And they made monsters out of the people they took and then sent them back to the wasteland. That’s partly why it’s so dangerous. There didn’t used to be such a bad mutant problem in the Commonwealth.”

Shaun frowned as he took this in. “So...like when the Mechanist kidnapped all the good citizens of Boston and started turning them into his robot minions?”

Danse blinked. “What?”

“It was in an issue of the Unstoppables. The Silver Shroud had to fight them with the Mistress of Mystery, and in the end…” Shaun paused. “You don’t mind spoilers?”

Oh. Comic books. Danse shook his head. “I don’t mind. Carry on.”

“Well, the Silver Shroud was kinda sad because he had to fight the robots and destroy them, but the Mistress of Mystery said it was the right thing to do because they were too far gone. And the Mechanist said that he changed them so they could live forever and that it was a good thing, but the Shroud said he’d interfered with people’s lives and had to be stopped. So the Mechanist thought he was being good, but he really wasn’t. Is it like that?”

Danse didn’t understand a single word that Shaun had just said, but it sounded along the lines of the point he was trying to get across. He took a gamble and nodded. “Yes, just like that.”

Shaun’s face crumpled. “So everything I knew was a lie. Everyone I trusted there was bad, and I didn’t see it.”

“I know the feeling,” Danse replied, leaning back in his seat. But then he thought of Haylen and smiled. He turned to Shaun. “Not everyone would have been bad. I bet lots of the people in the Institute thought they were doing good, just like you did. Quinn made sure people got out. So I think all the good people would have escaped.”

Shaun bit his lip and then after a beat of concentration, smiled. “Yeah, I think so too. They were all really smart there.” He glanced at Danse’s rifle. “So when you pointed your gun at that man…”

“As I said, just protecting you and your mother.” Danse threw caution to the wind. “Like the Silver Shroud. He doesn’t want to hurt people, but sometimes you have to, to help the ones you love. There’s a big world out there, and not everyone in it is nice. But your mother will teach you to know who is good and who is bad.”

“Will you teach me as well?” Shaun asked.

Danse hadn’t been expecting that. “I, uh, well...if you want. I mean, your mom is the one who calls the shots, but if she doesn’t mind…”

“Are you mom’s boyfriend?”

Like Quinn, Shaun had a natural talent for dragging Danse straight out of his comfort zone. He could feel his cheeks blazing already. “Uh, well—you see—I guess that—um—has your mother told you this?”

“No.” Shaun grinned, his voice taking on a sing-song quality. “You like my mom!”

“Anyway, we’re getting distracted from the task at hand,” Danse said loudly, his face positively molten as he picked up his rifle. “We need to finish this up as soon as possible. Leaving work unfinished is poor practice and—”

“When we get back to Sanctuary, can you teach me about power armour?” Shaun interrupted. “Mom said you liked power armour. That you’re really good at it. I like your set better than mom’s. It’s cooler.”

Danse blinked. “Your, uh, mother talks about me?”

“Yeah! All the time, when I ask her. She seems happier when she does. She said you were really nice, even if you’re grumpy sometimes. But she said you knew more about power armour than she did. How does it work? Can you show me how to fix it one day? Why is yours different to mom’s?”

Danse had never met a child so inquisitive in his life. The squires—although curious—knew to keep talk to a minimum when on duty, and had always held him with an air of awe that prevented any direction conversation. Ever Arthur in his younger days had been a quiet child, direct and to the point. Danse had liked that about him. After Cutler, he hadn’t been much of a talker either.

I’ve changed so much, Danse thought as he listened to Shaun’s excited chatter.

Shaun’s questions had their own charm, though. It reminded Danse that every synth’s personality was different. It also reminded him that Shaun was not the same as this ‘Father’ Quinn had mention—a well-spoken man who plainly didn’t comprehend the hurt he inflicted on others. A man of great knowledge, who understood everything about the world except human nature.

Danse answered everything Shaun asked, his own enthusiasm for power armour shining through. Shaun grinned at him.

“Hey!” he said suddenly, sitting up straight in his chair. “I wanted to ask you something, Mr. Danse. I don’t really want to ask mom yet. I think it might upset her. Plus I don’t think she’d understand. She’s a human.”

“Oh?”

“I was trying to think of a new name for myself, but I’m a bit stuck. You said you picked your name. How did you do it?”

Danse hesitated. He couldn’t remember the reasons for his own name, but if Amari was telling the truth and he was the same person, he would have picked it because it meant something to him. He voiced this to Shaun, paused again, and then decided to elaborate. “For example, Elder Maxson and I both had a liking for the mythology of King Arthur, and he chose the name of the Prydwen based on that.”

Shaun frowned with deep thought.

“There are many great names from that legend,” Danse went on. “The Knight of the Round Table, for one, who were King Arthur’s most trusted comrades. Sir Lancelot is the most well known, but there was also Sir Gareth, known for his chivalry, or Sir Galahad who—”

“I like Charlie,” said Shaun, his face brightening up.

“I—what?”

“Charlie,” Shaun repeated, his smile wide now.

Danse was confused. Hadn’t they been talking about knights?

No, you were talking about knights, he reminded himself, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He’d let himself get carried away instead of listening to what Shaun wanted. Thankfully, the boy hadn’t noticed.

“Who is Charlie?” Danse asked, trying to brush aside his returning awkwardness.

“Charles Allard, also known as Charlie Allard,” Shaun said. When Danse continued to blink blankly at him, Shaun rolled his eyes. “The alter ego of the Silver Shroud!”

“Oh.” He hadn’t realised the boy’s fondness for the comics went so far. Still, on second thought, it was definitely better than some of his suggestions. Danse smiled. “I think that sounds like a great name.”

Shaun beamed, but then his expression faltered. “Do you think I should ask mom first?”

Danse shook his head. “No. This is your life and your name. Only you can choose it...Charlie.”

--

“She threatened to shove a cigarette down my dick for trying to bring her here!”

“Because you blew smoke in my face, you ignorant fuck!”

Hancock spluttered with laughter. Both Quinn and the lackey turned to stare at him, and he shrugged apologetically. His chuckles died away, a frown creeping over his features as he turned his head towards the other ghoul. “I only asked you escort her to me for a conversation. She might settle for one cigarette, but be rude like that again and I’ll use the whole fucking pack.”

The ghoul paled. “Yes, Mayor Hancock.”

“Good. Thanks for bringing her here. Get back to your normal patrol.”

The ghoul mumbled something and quickly disappeared. Hancock waited until his guard had left, and then called over to the open door that led to the balcony. “Mac, ready when you are.”

To Quinn’s greatest surprise, MacCready walked through the door and into the room, a cigarette jammed between his teeth. He scowled at her and leaned against the wall without a word.

“What are you—?” Quinn began, but Hancock cut across her.

“Valentine said you had a hand in taking down the Railroad. And that you helped the Brotherhood build a war machine. Is it true?”

Quinn felt her stomach squirm. Nick must have told the two of them about their argument. “Nick’s in Goodneighbor?”

“Yeah, he is. Layin’ low here for a while since the Brotherhood’s crawling all over Diamond City. We all heard the rumours, but Nick went to speak to you, and when he came back, he said you admitted it. I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“It’s not as simple as that—”

“Answer the fucking question. Is it true?”

“Yes!”

Both Hancock and MacCready stared at her, equally stunned. MacCready was the first to speak, his voice taking on a slight tremor. “I know you were just following orders, but did you really have to kill all of those people because Maxson said so?”

“That’s rich, coming from a merc,” Quinn snapped, and MacCready blanched. “Since when did either of you give a shit about synths or the Railroad? Or are you just pissed off because the Brotherhood did it?”

“It’s because you did it,” Hancock snarled, wearing an ugly expression on his face. “Railroad never hurt anyone that didn’t have it coming to them...though I guess we can add a couple more names to that list now.” He stared pointedly at her.

That did it. Quinn slammed her fist down on the cupboard she was standing next to with a loud bang. Both MacCready and Hancock flinched, though only MacCready tried to conceal it.

“I’m fucking sick of people jumping to conclusions,” she hissed, before shooting MacCready a sharp look. “Do you really think I’d go on a murderous rampage because Maxson told me to?” Quinn directed her murderous glare towards Hancock. “Or without considering every other alternative first?”

MacCready looked taken aback, but Hancock rose to the challenge.

“Alright, Miss Brotherhood. Tell me what really happened and I’ll be the judge whether it justifies an army wiping out a tiny group hiding under a church.”

Quinn indulged him, not bothering to hide her ire. The recollection was to the point and unkind in its telling. She’d had enough of recounting the same thing, over and over, enduring scowls and sneers from people who hadn’t been there.

When Quinn finished, her whole body trembled. She was angry, yes, but she was also tired. If they didn’t accept this, then it was no longer her concern—she couldn’t keep chasing people, begging them to see her side of things. She had a son to take care of now.

Once again, MacCready was the first to speak. “I would have picked the kids.”

This startled her somewhat. She’d been expecting disownment, the way Nick had done, but MacCready looked equally worn out, fumbling into his pocket for another cigarette and lighting it with steady hands.

“I don’t…” Quinn licked her lips. He hadn’t elaborated. Was he still her friend?

MacCready breathed out a jet of smoke from his nose in a way that reminded her of Rachel. “Not much more to say really. Sometimes there isn’t a choice. I saved Duncan’s life over Lucy’s.” He suddenly looked very distant. “No choice in that.”

She took that to mean they were good, so Quinn glanced towards Hancock, who hadn’t said a word. He was staring ahead with a deep scowl on his face. Then it slipped away and he rubbed his forehead as he hissed, “Fuck.”

“What?” Quinn’s stomach tightened, waiting for his verdict. His hand dropped to his lap and he turned to her, still looking angry, though something deeper was mingled into his expression now.

“Here I was, thinking this was straightforward. Railroad good. Brotherhood assholes. The way it’s always been.” He sighed. “Why can’t anything be fucking simple?”

“I know what you mean.” Slowly, she sank into the chair opposite him, watching his reaction carefully. He didn’t stop her, and after a few seconds, reached into his jacket and produced three jet inhalers. He tossed one each to her and MacCready, and then cracked open the last, jamming it into his mouth and taking a long, dragging hit. MacCready glanced between his cigarette and the jet, and then stubbed the cigarette out on the wall.

Quinn smiled, but let the jet lie in her lap, waiting until her two friends had made their way through their chems. Hancock still hadn’t given his opinion, but things looked promising.

Eventually, he leaned back, his eyes unfocused. With what seemed like a great effort, he raised his head up again and squinted at her. “So...you explained the Railroad. And the news on the radio is the Institute is gone, with the help of a giant robot, or so Travis says. Now of course I’m all for this, because fuck the Institute, but do you realise what you’ve handed Maxson?”

Quinn nodded. “That’s why it’s going to be sabotaged.”

Hancock dropped his jet inhaler with a clunk. “Sabotaged? How the fuck you gonna do that?”

“Not me. Doctor Madison Li.” She quickly explained Li’s position with the Institute and the Brotherhood, and her equal displeasure towards both of them.

“You think she’ll really do it?” MacCready asked, who joined them in the seating area once the chems took hold.

“I know she will. She’s got a decade-old grudge with them, and she feels taken advantage of. Li’s smart enough to do it without getting caught, and thorough enough that even Ingram won’t be able to repair the damage.”

“The Brotherhood brought that thing back from smouldering scrap,” MacCready said. “What could Li do that’s worse than that?”

“They needed Li to get Prime back to working condition. If she wants that thing disabled permanently, she’ll find a way. And I know she wants it disabled.”

Hancock seemed satisfied by this and nodded. But then his expression shifted, his eyes widening as if he had just remembered something. Suddenly he looked deeply uncomfortable, almost ashamed. Dropping his gaze from Quinn, he carefully put out his next question. “About the Institute…did your kid…?”

“Went down with it,” Quinn replied without emotion.

“And the Brotherhood helped?”

She nodded.

“Well, at least they’re good for something.”

To her own great surprise, Quinn laughed. “Do you forgive me?”

Hancock sighed and took his hat off, rubbing the back of his head. “Look, I can’t say I’m happy for what happened to the Railroad, but...I get it.” He shrugged and put his hat back on. “I believe you. And I trust you. So long as the Brotherhood isn’t getting the upper hand on the rest of the Commonwealth, there ain’t nothing to forgive in my book.”

She felt stunned, but turned to MacCready. “Mac?”

“Heck, of course I ‘forgive’ you, if you wanna call it that,” MacCready replied, rolling his eyes.

“Thanks.” Quinn knew she should feel elated. They didn’t hate her. But the resolution just made her think of Nick.

Hancock frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Quinn didn’t reply immediately. “I spoke to Nick before I came to Goodneighbor. He asked me what had happened with the Railroad and I told him the truth. He...didn’t take it as well as you two. I get the feeling he’s not going to be speaking to me again.”

MacCready looked disinterested—he had always seemed slightly uncomfortable with Nick—but Hancock shook his head. “Old Valentine just needs some time. I’d probably be the same if it involves ghouls, y’know?” There was a short pause, and then he grinned. “Besides...I don’t think anyone could stay mad at you. No more Institute. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day. You did damn good.”

Quinn smiled. Despite what it had cost her, she couldn’t help but agree with him. “I did, didn’t I?”

There was a long, comfortable silence. She offered her unused jet to Hancock, and he took it with a smile. As he leaned forward, though, he paused, frowning. Something had obviously just occurred to him. “The boy you brought into town...that’s the synth copy?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw MacCready straighten up in his seat. Quinn sighed. This was going to be a long, difficult discussion.

--

A/N: Usual thanks to my wonderful beta! Not much to say this week other than whoops sorry the chapter was late. Work has been extremely stressful to the point where I pretty much had a meltdown last month. The boss took note, helped me out and switched my shifts around, and the result has been chaos as far as writing is concerned.

Either way, thanks for all the feedback! One day I will make time to reply...maybe.

Oh! Some trivia for you all. I did a bit of digging on The Silver Shroud, and it looks like he was based off a real old-timey radio hero, The Shadow. His alter-ego name was 'Kent Allard.' I didn't like the name 'Kent' but I thought it would be cool if The Silver Shroud had some sort of link to its real world counterpart. Hence, Charlie Allard. :D