#anyway obligatory catorizing tag time

[watchyourdigits]

Falloutober Day Two:

Neon

I'm slowly catching up on these lol

This isn't a re-write like day one was, but I'm keeping with the theme of it being Frankie-centric. It's one of those in-between moments. The inspiration is Danse's fascination with Frankie's Pip Boy, which was only briefly mentioned in the main fic. Enjoy~

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mild sexual language, canon typical violence

Ship: Paladin Danse x male Sole Survivor

Frankie wasn't oblivious to the way Danse would watch as he entered coordinates into his Pip Boy. He'd frequently catch him staring, even more so as time went on.

At first he didn't seem to trust the device on Frankie's wrist. It was understandable, a natural reaction to that which one didn't fully comprehend. Lately, Danse seemed more fascinated by it than anything. The shift in opinion only came after Frankie had shown him that it was a useful navigational tool.

Danse didn't realize Frankie was aware of his observations of him. The gas mask served him well in that sense. Frankie would make a point to subtly turn his arm so he could watch from afar whenever Danse would shoot curious looks his way.

He never got too close. This bothered Frankie more than he cared to admit. He was more than willing to show him how the Pip Boy worked, but Danse was never keen on asking, and Frankie was too proud to offer.

The more they worked together, the more Frankie became accustomed to who Danse was as a person, odd habits and all. In fact, he actually found himself growing fond of the Paladin. It certainly helped that he'd been laying off on the critical nitpicking.

Danse was meticulous in everything he did and Frankie would be lying if he, too, didn't give his fair share of stolen glances whenever he'd find him working on his power armor during the quieter moments that preceded sleep.

Frankie wanted to ask him more about it; he hadn't been in the division that had utilized power armor during the Great War. It had fascinated him, though only up until he'd nearly been killed in Concord his first day in the Commonwealth.

Frankie didn't think he'd ever forget the claustrophobia of the deathclaw's massive foot pressing down on his chest, nearly caving his ribs in as it ripped the helmet clean off. If he ever did, all he had to do was look in the mirror to be reminded of it.

Still, seeing Danse work sparked the flame of his curiosity again.

There was a particularly bad storm raging outside on the day Frankie finally approached him on a whim. They were hunkered down in a series of interconnected buildings they'd cleared of ferals. Danse boarded up the doors with scrap Frankie had collected, both in agreement to wait out the torrential downpour.

Frankie had cleansed himself of the battle and was about to fetch Danse for him to take his turn scrubbing off in the privacy of the upper levels. It wasn't quite a shower, but neither of them were strangers to having to make do.

The power armor stood under the high ceilings of what used to be a dining room. Danse's uniform was unzipped halfway, pulled down to his hips, where he'd tied it loosely to keep it from getting in the way. Beside that, he only wore a stained undershirt that left little to the imagination.

Talk about violating uniform code. Holy fuck. He's built like a goddamned Plummer bull. Bet he bucks real good, too…

Frankie leaned against the doorway for a minute or two, ogling Danse's broad back as he tinkered with the metal plating.

"Those things have a Geiger counter built in, right?" Frankie blurted.

His mouth was great at taking the reins whenever before his mind could think better of it. It was both a blessing and a curse, given that damn near half the shit he said left him wondering why the hell he'd even said it in the first place.

This was one of those times because, right up until he'd spoken, he probably had the chance to sneak back upstairs for some time to himself.

Danse turned slightly, looking up at him. He hadn't been startled or even at all surprised that he was there. Maybe it had been too late anyway, or so he told himself. Some solace was better than none.

Frankie peeled himself off the door frame and sauntered further into the room, pulling over a chair and straddling it as he continued to watch, closer now. Danse didn't continue his work. He instead focused on Frankie's movements.

"Affirmative," he finally replied, only once Frankie had settled.

Frankie watched as he pulled a rag from where he'd tucked it into the knotted arms of his uniform. Danse wiped his hands off, his expression unchanged at the decision to sit by him.

"If you ever need the current radiation levels, you can always inquire."

Frankie snorted, lifting his arm to show off the device strapped to his wrist.

"Naw, I've got a Geiger too."

Danse's jaw twitched, his eyes flickering to the Pip Boy, then back to Frankie's covered face.

"A navigational system and a Geiger counter? What else could that model possibly be capable of?"

It was almost a real question, but there was a hint of disapproval, too, with a little sarcasm to tie the sentiment together neatly.

If he understood the technology, maybe he wouldn't be so weird about it…

Frankie decided to take the risk. He wanted to know more about the power armor, but that could wait.

"Shoot, a hell of a lot actually… You want me to show ya?"

Danse's eyes lit up, enough that Frankie could tell he had him reeled in, his innate thirst for knowledge winning out over his concerns.

If there was one thing he appreciated about Danse, it was his inability to mask how he was truly feeling.

"I… do have a few questions about its functionality…" Danse said hesitantly, almost as if he didn't want to admit to his curiosity. "If you don't mind taking the time, of course."

"My-oh-my, aren't you a gentleman," Frankie crooned, causing Danse to flush a little around the part of his neck that was visible above his shirt.

Damn, if it's that easy to make him go redder'n a tomato… We might have some problems soon.

Danse's particular brand of bashfulness was causing his stomach to flip, twisting itself up in knots, yet Frankie was more focused on the release of another kind of tension he didn't even realize he'd been holding.

"Just kiddin' around," Frankie said, taking back his normal tone of voice. "It ain't no trouble to me… Hey, can I be truthful with ya for a sec?"

"Always, soldier."

"Well, if I'm bein' honest, I've been waitin' for you to ask. You stare a lot."

The redness at Danse's collar crept rapidly upward. He stood slowly as if he were processing how to handle that. He stretched out his back and rubbed his neck uncomfortably.

Frankie felt a little guilty for what he'd done to the poor bastard so he stood as well, dragging his chair back over to the table it called home. He gestured for Danse to sit and took a seat beside him.

He scooted the chair closer to the Paladin, placing his arm on the table between them for him to analyze.

"This is the main screen. It's got-"

"How does it display your health like that? Or is that for show?" Danse asked, frowning at the indicators on the screen as he cut Frankie off.

Frankie knew the Pip Boy system inside and out. He didn't have to look at it much at all to point to the various blips on the screen. This left him free to watch Danse's face, savoring the various expressions he donned as he leaned in to get a better look at the screen. The neon green glow cast reflected in his dark eyes in a way that was damn near hypnotic.

"When you first put it on each day, it takes a small blood sample. It feels like a pinprick. The rest of the time, it just records basic vitals. Blood pressure, heart rate, things like that…"

Danse narrowed his eyes at the screen. He brought his hand up to interact with it, almost as if on instinct. Frankie sucked in a quiet, anticipatory breath. Danse hesitated, hand now hovering over Frankie's arm.

Though Frankie knew he couldn't possibly see him through the mask, when Danse turned his gaze on him, he felt like he was being stared straight through.

Exposed, vulnerable, willing… Those were among what few words crossed the invisible barrier into Frankie's conscious thoughts.

"Do you mind if I…?" Danse asked gently.

He's asking for permission, you idiot. Answer him. Tell him he can do whatever he wants to you while he's at it. Maybe he'll even let you-

Frankie shook his head. He swallowed hard, saliva chasing salacious comments down the back of his throat.

If it were anyone else, he would've made a move by now. Why he was so preoccupied with not burning this bridge in particular was beyond him. Nothing mattered anymore, right?

"Naw. Go to town."

Smooth. Real smooth, Frankie.

Danse was none the wiser to the double-entendre. He pursed his lips in concentration as he turned his attention back to the Pip Boy. He tapped at a few things on the screen before frowning once more, his exquisitely large hands blocking Frankie's view of what he'd done.

"Interesting… It says you're of exceptional health, yet your heart rate is concerningly high for someone of your fitness level. Ninety-three, and steadily increasing… Are you feeling alright?"

Of course he'd check out the fuckin' vitals first instead of Atomic Command.

Frankie coughed, clearing his throat again. He nodded and looked away from Danse, feeling something resembling shame for the first time in his life.

"You're a quick learner, ain't ya?"

He didn't need Danse to make him aware of the rate at which his heart was hammering away at his ribcage.

Danse stared at him expectantly as he awaited a proper answer, his brow furrowed.

"Never been better," he lied hoarsely, his mouth suddenly dryer than a desert in mid-July.

His thoughts ran at a mile a minute, not unlike his heart. The Pip Boy gave a single beep as a warning popped up, letting them both know he'd stabilized somewhere around a hundred and two.

Do they still have deserts nowadays, or did the apocalypse screw up all the climates? Can't be, I'm sweatin' like hell itself… Christ alive, I need to get laid. Maybe MacCready would be down for-

"Your resting heart rate is about double what it should be. We need to get you to a doctor immediately," Danse insisted.

"The senor's messed up again. Damn this two-hundred-somethin'-year-old tech. Totally unreliable, just like you said."

Frankie jerked his arm away in a way that would've been obvious to most people. Not to Danse, though, who didn't appear to think anything of it.

"You should go wash up," Frankie suggested in the beat of silence that followed.

He glared down at his Pip Boy as if it could somehow save him from the situation it had gotten him into.

Talk about wearin' your heart on your sleeve.

"I don't think that's necessary. I was in my po-"

Frankie interrupted a bit more harshly than intended.

"Listen, the smell of ghoul guts ain't most folks' idea of sexy."

It took Danse approximately a century to leave the room, making sure to pack away his tools first. All the while, Frankie tried to figure out if the Pip Boy was capable of either turning him invisible or self destructing, maybe even both. He didn't exactly care about the particulars, just so long as he didn't have to feel Danse staring at his back.

Great, now he thinks you're physically unwell AND mentally unstable.

Fortunately, Danse didn't say anything as he trudged his way up the creaking stairs. It wasn't until his heavy footsteps faded away that Frankie took a deep, shaky inhale, finally able to breathe again.