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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Six

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

“General!”

The unfamiliar voice roused Danse from his staring match with the coffee pot and he lunged to his feet, Righteous Authority at the ready.

“At ease, Paladin. It's one of my friends.” Backhand soothed him, waving at the young man striding through the tatos towards them. “Preston! What brings you to this corner of the wilderness?”

Preston was on the taller side, well-built and wearing a strange combination of period clothing that Danse quickly identified as a higher-ranking Minuteman’s uniform. A scar hugged the brown skin on his left cheek, its path similar to Maxson's (though not as deep). His eyes, while kind, were haunted even in the bright light of morning.

“We got the radio set back up in The Castle, and then we tuned into a repeating distress signal from a weird short-range frequency. Figured it was worth checking out.” The Minuteman touched the large brim of his odd hat while speaking to Backhand, almost like he was deferring to her. "You might have sent a message warning us that a Brotherhood research contingent was on their way. I'm not sayin' we would have left the queen untouched , but...well, you know how much folks around here like their seafood."

Preston Garvey ( head lieutenant of the Commonwealth Minutemen ) didn't appear to have a malicious bone in his body, his handshake for Danse firm when Backhand introduced him. Danse found himself pinned by those intense brown eyes, the paladin squirming inwardly while the dark-skinned man studied him.

“You Brotherhood boys are bad news for the Commonwealth, but we can't exactly afford to be picky,” Preston stated bluntly with a disarming smile. “So, welcome aboard!”

Danse felt his face go hot at the insinuation, opening his mouth to say... something , he wasn't sure what, but Preston was already refocusing on Knight Vega. Or should he say General Vega? This was the second time someone had referred to her as ‘General’.

Danse wasn't used to being so simply dismissed. He was, after all, a paladin . An overgrown specimen of a man in or out of his armor, with a carefully-crafted demeanor of stern authority. Preston didn't seem particularly rude though, mostly just exhausted. He had propped himself up with his laser musket as Backhand explained their mission of the day. Mainly, reacquire Danse's armor and mop up any remaining threats in Weston.

Danse realized he had no control in this operation as he was sans-armor and he almost laughed aloud at the role reversal in the field. Playing the damsel was definitely a novel sensation for the hulking paladin and he said as much, prompting Backhand into a fit of giggles.

“Pretty sure I was the damsel at first, this guy has a hell of a throwing arm!” She informed Preston, thumbing the reinforced strapping of her combat armor. “Tossed me like I was a skipping rock!”

“You threw the General?!” Preston sputtered.

“It was a reflex .” Danse stressed the word, flustered.

“Yeah but you threw a whole human being? ” The Minuteman asked incredulously. “I mean, damn, what do they feed you guys?”

“To be fair, the power armor enhances-”

“Oh yeah, and he can move his armor even when the core's blown.” Backhand tacked on like she was a proud parent. Preston looked at Danse a little sideways, as though he suspected Knight Vega was talking him up.

But the Minuteman simply shrugged after a moment, adjusting his hat. “So what's the plan, General? I'm going to assume it's his armor that was pinging the distress signal.”

Danse's breath hitched as it dawned on him that yes , that was exactly what was happening. The severe damage would have activated the emergency beacon, just like with Brandis’ team. And if some haphazard, ramshackle radio at Fort Independence could pick it up…

If it's been going off since last night ...

Their beacons carried their call tags. The Prydwen would have known it was his armor specifically. They had vertibirds to spare, despite Maxon's posturing when they had departed. Surely there had to be some logical reason as to why no one from the Brotherhood had come to investigate the signal. Danse couldn't think of anything at the moment, but surely …

…

The armor was exactly where it had been yesterday, a protective shell resting on a leg and three-quarters. Seeing the damage up close was sobering for Backhand, and judging from Danse's stony expression he was in the same boat.

“At least it was super mutants. If it had been raiders or, God forbid, gunners …” Preston trailed off, touching the brim of his hat. His hand shook a little.

“I know, trust me. We would have been in for a really terrible time.” Backhand muttered.

Danse, who had been essentially silent, abruptly began speaking. “Back in the Capital Wasteland, I once took an Enclave bullet to the leg. Hit a rust patch just right. Penetrated my armor and shredded my calf. I learned then that our equipment is not infallible by any stretch of the imagination.” Danse's fists were tight at his sides. “It's... distressing when a soldier jettisons his gear in combat, but I'll be fine.”

"You think you can get it working again?"

Danse scoffed at Preston's query, a grin quirking his lips as he tugged a fresh core out of one of his utility pouches. "Give me an hour. I'm no proctor, but I know a thing or two about my own armor."

The paladin muscled his armor onto its back, looking for all the world like he was slowly grappling with the empty suit. Backhand fought the urge to snort, shifting her attention back to Preston instead. "So how's Independence coming, hot shot?" She jibed, making him give her a tentative, self-conscious smile.

"Really well, I'd say. Crops are planted, we have 'round the clock radio coverage and old Minutemen are showing up to get their transponders re-tuned for our new frequency!" Preston replied excitedly. "We gotta' get yours fixed up too, General."

"You're still accepting the deserters?" Backhand wasn't exactly surprised , but it was a little strange to see how enthused Preston was about welcoming old Minutemen back into the fold.

"W-Well, new recruits are coming in too! We needed more trainers and-" Preston hurried to justify himself and Backhand jostled his shoulder.

" Relax , tight lace, I'm only teasing. It's any port in a storm. No matter what you've done, you know I'm proud of you." She said softly. Preston's cheeks darkened further with a ruddy flush, the young man coughing and tugging bashfully at the brim of his hat.

"That's...real kind of you to say, General." He muttered after a second.

"I try to only speak the truth with my friends." Backhand gestured vaguely towards the paladin who was straightening out the plating on the torso of his armor. "Sometimes they're a little... hardheaded , but I know it'll get through to them eventually." Her statement was pointed enough that Preston raised an eyebrow. "He's a decent man. Something is fucked up between him and their leader, Maxson. I'm not quite sure what ." She continued in an undertone.

"Careful about how deep you're digging the hole, General." Preston warned. "Brotherhood's got a fanaticism that's borderline religious."

"Garvey, I was in the original . If there's one thing I'm familiar with, it's military maniacs."

"Fair enough I suppose." Preston fanned himself with his hat, idly watching Danse beat his armor back into shape. "He's good looking, I'll give him that. Penchant for a type, General Vega?" He teased with a smile.

"I can neither confirm nor deny!" Backhand laughed, "you're nosier than a pre-war tabloid journalist, Garvey. Planning on taking up with Piper?"

"If it helps spread the word about the Minutemen, absolutely!"

The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence for several minutes. Danse abruptly glanced up, the lack of conversation seeming to penetrate his single-minded focus. "Am I being too loud?" He asked awkwardly. "I can try to be quieter."

"Nah, keep doing what you were doing." Garvey gave him a wave that was almost lazy. "I'm just taking in the scenery."

…

The plan that Knight Vega proposed was ludicrously simple.

She had found a metal bucket in one of the trailers beside the water treatment plant. She would put her Pip Boy into it, turn on the radio and set the volume to max. Hopefully the racket would lure any remaining mutants out of the facility, wherein the all too eager trio would fall upon them with gusto.

Preston was game for it as well, already cranking up the power in his laser musket as Backhand settled the bucket on its side by the front doors.

The usual vein of music issued from the Pip Boy, echoing a little in the bucket. Blaring brass overpowered any of the more delicate parts of the tune and Backhand laughed, playfully extending a hand to Preston. "Dance with me, LT? I'm sure we've got a few minutes."

To Danse's utter dismay, the Minuteman did just that. Surely, this was some breach of protocol? The young man referred to her as his superior officer! Regardless of how lax their standards were, this couldn't possibly be proper. This…

This was the most precious thing he had ever seen.

Danse would be eternally grateful for the rigorous self control that enabled him to school his face into a neutral expression. Preston wasn't a half-bad dancer but Backhand was terrible , just downright uncoordinated.

The two of them were laughing like they had forgotten the issue at hand and for one blissful second, Danse found himself strangely at peace. Just watching both individuals fumble through some semblance of a dance he would never know, grinning and poking fun, entirely unconcerned about the world around them.

Danse was used to being watched. Scrutinized. Held to a higher standard than anyone else around him due to rank or simple expectation. Knight Vega...he should say something. Tell her to shape up. This behavior was unacceptable . Maxson could have her stripped of her probationary knight rank for this. Maxson could…

Maxson .

The paladin gritted his teeth.

Elder Maxson could do a lot of things. The intensity of the depression that followed the thought startled even Danse. It was like a wet blanket wrapping itself around his entire body. Maxson could do a lot of things. He could have ended this before it even started. He could have mounted the assault when Brandis' team vanished. He could have-

The doors to the complex swung wide open, four super mutants sprinting out. Danse's heart leaped into his throat.

Backhand and Preston-!

His body moved without thought, the armored paladin placing himself between the threat and the two who were now scrambling to prepare themselves. Danse cracked his knuckles in his gauntlets, bullets whipping through the air by his head. Three of the mutants were only armed with boards and sledgehammers, but the largest one carried a rifle of some kind.

A musket shot boomed from behind the paladin, pulping the head of one of the mutants. Danse surmised coldly that it must have been Preston's kill. Danse wasn't unarmed, but the enemy also wasn't inclined to give him the time to sling his laser rifle back around, and so it was with his armored fists that he rushed the trigger-happy mutant.

…

"Gotcha'!" Backhand's shotgun sounded off, the loud report muffled by the way she had rammed the barrel into the mutant's chest. Beside her, Preston kept winding up his musket to power his next shot. That first shot had been just what the doctor ordered, quickly putting the odds more in their favor.

There was a loud, angry grunt and Backhand looked up to see a super mutant go sailing past her and slam through the side of one of the trailers. Preston gaped at the sight, ceasing to crank his musket momentarily.

A roar of " abomination! " echoed through the courtyard, the sheer volume of it enough to give Backhand pause. The paladin had gotten too close to the mutant with the gun for the creature to continue to use it effectively and Danse pressed his advantage. Backhand watched slightly dumbfounded while the large man went toe to toe with the massive mutant.

The mutant yammered at Danse, nonsensical rambling about cracking him open and the paladin repaid those threats with his metal-plated fists. "Should we…?" Preston queried. Apparently neither of them needed to worry as Danse proceeded to shoulder check the mutant, forcing it backwards through the doors into the building.

"It's probably therapeutic for him. He really, really hates muties." Backhand couldn't help but still feel slightly concerned and she sighed. "C'mon, let's make sure he's not getting devoured."

…

Danse manhandled the beast through two walls until he found one sturdy enough for him to pin the mutant against. It squirmed and struggled against the iron grip he had on its throat, choking out more insane nonsense. "This is for Cutler, you freak ." Danse's voice cracked as he drew his fist back.

"You okay in here, Paladin?" Backhand's voice distracted him momentarily and the paladin paused. " Danse? "

His fist crushed the mutant's skull, sending bone and brain flying. Danse released the now-dead mutant, shaking his gauntlet and hissing at the pain. Inadvertently punching a wall was assuredly not his finest moment. "Yes, Knight Vega?" He called.

She carefully picked her way over the two piles of rubble that had previously been walls, her shotgun ready. Behind her came Preston, sweeping corners in a practiced manner. "Just making sure nothing happened. You know we're supposed to be sticking together." Her tone was playfully chiding, even though her eyes betrayed a startling level of concern.

"Figured I should grab the opportunity by the throat." Danse answered after a moment of silent contemplation.

To his credit, Preston did attempt to keep his laughter under control. Vega grinned at her snickering lieutenant, patting his shoulder and then squinting at Danse. "You better watch it, Paladin. I'll have you written up for bullheaded heroics or something."

"A fate worse than death." Danse replied dryly. "Though I'm afraid your report would fall on deaf ears."

"Too true. You would probably be promoted to...double paladin, or whatever the next rank is for you."

"Knight sergeant."

"What?! But paladin sounds way cooler!" Backhand protested indignantly while Preston started laughing all over again. "The whole point of moving up in the chain of command is to get a better name! Even I know that." She teased.

Danse felt like he was back on the Prydwen attempting to educate a mess hall full of squires. "Well, I could be promoted to star paladin. But that's very unlikely." He explained. "They are exceptionally rare, akin to sentinels."

" Star paladin?" Backhand looked like she was about to burst with curiosity.

"Yes. They are paladins who have been specially recognized for their dedication or ferocity in battle."

"Uh General, not to cut this short, but-" Preston began hurriedly, rechecking the levels on his undoubtedly finicky musket.

"Right, yeah, job to do."

Danse finally swung his rifle around, doing a quick run-through of all the switches before he turned on the tact-light, beautifully illuminating the dust his demolition-style entry had stirred up.

He proceeded deeper into the facility, purposely taking point despite his unarmored head. Preston flanked him on the left while Backhand walked drag, their footsteps all but silent in the wake of the larger man's sabatons. "Remain vigilant." Danse cautioned.

"D'you think there's anything else in here?" Preston whispered, "I feel like they would have come for us."

"I've actually been in here before, last time the basement was flooded and there were mirelurks," Backhand muttered. "I was doing a favor for those 'bots at Graygarden."

"No rest for the wicked when it comes to you, eh General?" Preston quipped.

"Listen, I feel like making friends with the agriculturally-inclined robots is definitely a good strategy." She reasoned. "After all, they can work around the clock and everything!"

Danse hushed the two of them, leading with the barrel of his rifle. The tact-light flickered as he continued their sweep, ears open for any signs of hostiles.

...

Backhand tapped at the compass of her Pip Boy, scrolling the compass display a full three hundred and sixty degrees. Her scroll jerked to a halt when two red ticks appeared, ahead and to the right.

"Bogey at two o'clock." She whispered. Danse nodded grimly and Preston flipped the crank over to prime his musket.

Now Backhand could actually hear sounds, an odd snuffling and scraping noise. A hound, maybe?

Danse clearly heard it as well, the man advancing into the next room and sweeping the corners with his rail-mounted flashlight.

Something skittered by just outside the light, vanishing into a gap in the crumbling wall. Danse wordlessly stormed forward and with one brutal motion he rammed his gauntlet through the plaster and heaved out--

A child?

The paladin froze, one large metal hand wrapped around the leg of the waif he had just forcibly extracted. The little boy screamed and flailed in Danse's hold, tiny fists beating a tattoo on the gauntlet that suspended him upside down in midair. He was filthy , clad in a dingy pair of overalls. He had a cut over his right eye, possibly from Danse's speedy removal.

For the barest, heartbreaking second, Backhand thought that it was Shaun. But no, no, she was imagining things.

"Whoa, easy there." She breathed, trying to get her heart to stop hammering. Danse still hadn't moved. "Hey, hey hey, look at me." She caught one of the child's arms, easily dodging the bite he aimed at her hand. " Easy big fella', we aren't going to hurt you." Backhand soothed, "you're okay. Were you hiding from the muties?"

"Big d-d-dog tried t-to eat m-m-me." The little boy hiccupped, changing his tune instantly and clinging to her arm as Danse carefully, carefully set him down. "H-Hid in the wall. M-My mama, she told me not t-to wander off, b-b-but it got dark and I g-got lost." he sobbed, rubbing his eyes.

Backhand reached into her satchel and pulled out Sergeant Cathan's 'lucky' bandanna. With gentle precision she wrapped it around the little boy's hand, knotting it at his wrist. "I need you to do me a favor, okay?" She asked seriously. "I need you to hold onto this bandanna for me. It's lucky, but only if you're holding it super tight. Can you make sure we stay lucky?"

The child frowned after a moment, sniffling and then gripping down on the bandanna. Backhand heaved a mental sigh of relief, thankful that the distraction tactic had worked. Sometimes she couldn't get her target to buy into the grift; it was always a gamble. Sergeant Cathan had taught her (long ago and far away now) the benefits of implication, suggestion and placebo effects on survivors. She had carried the 'lucky' bandanna since her honorable discharge, it being one of the few possessions she had refused to relinquish even while being sealed in cryogenic stasis. It made her feel a little warm inside to be able to use it's so-called powers for good once more.

" It doesn't have to be real. It doesn't have to be lucky, or important, or special in any way ." The sergeant had informed her when he explained the trick of distraction. " All it needs is belief, Backhand. That's it. If you can get them to believe in it, the hard part is already over ."

"Okay kiddo, how about we bring you back outside?" Preston cajoled gently with a smile. "You want something to eat?" The little boy nodded furiously, his eyes wide in the glow of Danse's rail-light. "Alright, take my hand. You're gonna' be just fine."

A loud howl echoed down the hallway and Danse jerked to attention, his rifle snapping upwards. "Go, get out!" He demanded Preston, "pick up the child and go! Knight Vega, on my six, now! " He barked.

Backhand thanked God that Preston was the type to help first and ask questions later, the young man easily scooping the little boy up in his arms and ducking out in the direction of the foyer. Danse shone his light back down the hallway, illuminating a hound so old its green skin had gone gunmetal gray. It sampled the air and bayed hoarsely, milky eyes staring ahead. It was ancient, obviously blind, possibly deaf-

Danse pulled his trigger once, and then a second time for good measure. Backhand noticed that his hands were shaking as he straightened up. He strode forward to the end of the hall, shoving the dog's body aside without so much as looking at it.

Backhand looked down at her compass, scrolling it this way and that. But it was empty, no signatures reading on it whatsoever. "Paladin, I think that's it." She said, holding her arm up so he could see her use the compass.

Danse nodded in an absent manner, still looking down the hall and running his light over the walls around him.

"We should get back outside. Make sure Preston and that kiddo are okay." Backhand suggested gently.

"I could have killed that child."

Ah . Backhand understood why his hands were trembling now. She let him carry on with his double-check, giving him the time he needed to decide whether he would say more.

"I...I could have…" Backhand heard him swallow, the noise loud in the silence. " Christ , Vega. I'm not setting a very good example for you, am I. We were almost killed by a behemoth due to my own inattention, I had to jettison my power armor, my helmet is unsalvageable , and I very nearly slaughtered a lost child."

"It's been a hell of a shakedown campaign." Backhand agreed, pushing the glasses up on her nose. "Imagine the trouble we could get into if we keep sticking together."

Danse's laughter was a grim bark of a noise, the paladin nodding his head ruefully. "Just imagine. If I keep up my trajectory, the Commonwealth will be in flames by tomorrow morning."

Backhand placed a wary hand on his gauntlet, fingers grazing the worn red-orange paint that denoted his rank. " Or it'll be a better place." She reasoned, patting his arm and turning on her heel. "Now, c'mon. We've got a little one to return to his parents." She urged, waving the paladin on.

Preston had made it safely outside, the man still cradling the child as Backhand emerged from the double doors onto the front steps of the establishment. He raised his brows in question.

"There was an old hound, probably too old to hunt anymore. Blind." Backhand explained, sliding her satchel around and digging through it until her fingers brushed the plastic-wrapped snack. "Ah, here we go. You must be hungry, right slugger?" She asked the little boy, extracting the snack cake from her bag and waving it to catch his attention. "How about you munch on this until we get back to Oberland, and then my friend Preston will see about finding your parents. That sound good to you?"

The boy nodded, still sniffling but eagerly accepting the pre-war confection.

"You still got that bandanna? I know you must have held onto it real tight, because that hound didn't even know we were there!" Backhand praised with a grin, thrilled when the child gave her a weak smile in return.

Danse emerged from the building, towering over the trio in his armor. "It seems that beast was the last holdout." He said finally, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Have you checked the child for injuries?"

The cut over the little boy's eye had already stopped bleeding, and aside from a few minor scrapes and bruises he appeared to be fine. Obviously his largest issues were being lost and hungry. Preston continued to hold the child while Backhand cleaned the dried blood off his forehead, well aware of the eyes trained on her. "There. You'll be just fine." She assured the boy, barely resisting the urge to kiss the bandage and instead kissing her fingertips to press against the bandage. After all, she wasn't this kid's mom.

"A-Are you the Minutemen?" The little boy asked after a moment of hesitation. "My papa said you guys help people."

"We are! Good guess." Preston praised, adjusting his hold on the kid so he could tip his hat. " There at a minute's notice , or that's the idea anyway."

"Let's move out. The sooner we get to Oberland, the sooner you can broadcast your APB on him." Vega adjusted her satchel and began carefully picking her way back through the flooded area, boots sloshing in the water. "What's your name, wall boy?"

"Matt." The child replied through a mouthful of cake. "Mat'ew Amadeus O'Brian."

Backhand blinked, a little stunned at the elaborate name that the kid had rattled off. "Well, Matthew Amadeus O'Brian , my name is Elizabeth Backhand Vega, and the nice man being your legs right now is Preston Garvey." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the silent paladin who was bringing up the rear of their little party. "The big one is Paladin Danse."

"He's big," Matt repeated, watching the paladin narrowly before tacking on, "An' scary ."

"He's not really scary, but it's easy to think that." Backhand could almost feel Danse growing more and more tense. "He's sorry for surprising you earlier, I promise!"

Matt's eyes stayed suspiciously squinted at the paladin, the little boy continuing to inhale the snack cake. "Are you sure? " He asked in a stage whisper. "'Cuz he looks angry. Like how my papa looks when he says I'm bein' too os'servant ."

Preston snickered at that. "You must be real observant then, if your folks are scolding you for it."

Matt puffed out his chest a bit, stating proudly that, "My mama says I've got good eyes and nothin' between them. Then, she laughs."

Danse made a choking noise, the large man obviously attempting to stifle his mirth. "Your mother sounds immensely charitable." He remarked, a faint smile playing across his mouth.

The little boy looked befuddled for a moment, pursing his lips. "I 'unno what that means, but I love my mama. So that better not be somethin' nasty." Clearly, the child had recovered some of his original pep, no doubt aided by the copious amounts of sugar in that snack cake. "Otherwise I'll kick your butt."

"Whoa now, language." Preston chided gently.

"He started it!" Matthew protested, "callin' my mama some...carrot, carrotible ."

" Charitable . It means good, kind. Even when you don't have to be." Backhand laughed as she explained, watching the realization dawn on the kid.

"Oh. Okay then. That's fine." The child allowed, "as long as it's nothin' bad."

...

Danse wiped the sweat from his brow, hammering the last nail into place. There . With the metal scrap and lumber they had salvaged from the area surrounding the station, Danse actually managed to cobble together a half perimeter fence that was a bit more fortified than the old chain link lining the once-uniform garden. It wasn't anything incredible , but it wouldn't fall over at the next stiff breeze.

Upon their arrival, Knight Vega had sat Matt down by the old pump out front of the station and carefully scrubbed the rest of the child's face clean. The boy somehow managed to keep up a constant stream of chatter even as he was being scoured to within an inch of his life. Danse knew he ought to find it irritating, as his entire military career he had been taught that squires should be seen and not heard, but instead he found it oddly endearing.

Preston had eventually managed to raise the Castle (or rather, Fort Independence), the Minuteman relaying the information that they had acquired a precocious young man by the name of Matthew Amadeus O'Brian.

Preston and Backhand had kept busy in the aforementioned garden for most of the day, tearing up weeds and tilling the soil. The two had an easy rapport, going back and forth on a variety of topics. Matt occasionally chimed in around a mouthful of almost gone-by tato, the child more than eager to assist in the stripping and demolishing of the plants.

Danse had half-listened to their chatter while he engaged wholeheartedly in building the defenses up as best as he could, wanting desperately to make himself useful even as he soaked up the conversation. Agriculture had never been his strong suit. Coming from the Capital Wasteland, he was incredibly leery of any produce borne of the radiation-rich soil. He certainly didn't eat any of it without properly preparing it. This led to less adventurous but also less dangerous meals, the vegetables usually gray and tasteless from their time in the pot of his mess kit.

Danse took a step back to admire his handiwork. It had been too long since he was able to actually devote the time to a task that it required, instead of just smashing resources together and hoping they held. He knew it was technically a fence made out of the refuse of the area, nothing to be proud of, but he relished the opportunity to craft something useful.

He heard a low whistle from behind him and realized that Preston was looking up at the fortifications, a massive grin on his face. "Damn, we could have used you at the Castle!" The Minuteman commented, clapping a hand on Danse's shoulder. "You got the place squared away in half the time, color me impressed."

"Being able to find or create a defensible position is a necessary skill for field ops. You never know when you may need to bivouac in less than hospitable territory." Danse knew he must sound unbearably stiff, and he grimaced inwardly at his casual usage of the word bivouac . That had been something from Cutler's verbiage. "This wall should function optimally, but it can always be improved upon."

"I appreciate it. The Minutemen thank you for your assistance." Preston said warmly, his hand squeezing Danse's shoulder gently before he turned back towards the garden. "General, we should probably break for dinner! I know you two will be leavin' early tomorrow, wouldn't want you to be overtired." He called to Backhand, who tossed him a thumbs-up.

Danse opened his mouth, hesitated, and then carefully stated, "if we stay another day, I may be able to erect something for the lower side of the hill. It won't be as tall as this, but as it's the lower hillside, inhabitants will have a better chance of spotting the enemy and preparing."

Preston's eyebrows shot up. "You'd do that for us? I'd be incredibly grateful, I'll be honest. We're spread so thin, I'm probably only going to have one armed individual to assign to this outpost. Whatever help you can give-"

"Only one?" Danse looked at the copious tilled soil, his brow furrowed in thought. "You may have too many resources here for you to defend them with just one gun and a wall of scrap, Lieutenant Garvey."

"At the moment, the only resource is the water pump. I'm hopin' by the time the crops pop, we'll be a little fatter in our ranks. If not, well, I'm always up for extra field duty." Preston drew a finger along the brim of his large hat, sighing. "Nobody said it would be easy, y'know?"

Danse nodded. He knew overwell the disproportionate work load that a commander must shoulder in exchange for the safety and stability of their regiment.

After a hearty supper of some of the remaining tatos (safely over-stewed to within an inch of their lives), canned beans and fresh-last-week bread that Preston had brought with him, Danse took up his post along the defenses he had built. His armor creaked a little louder than normal, but he supposed that was to be expected after the beating it had taken.

Backhand had been quiet during their dinner. He assumed she was simply tired. He could hardly blame her; it had been a very eventful few days.

Danse bit his lip. He knew he ought to be rushing back to the Prydwen, but he felt an odd sense of responsibility for this new development. After all , he reasoned, what better way to win hearts and minds for the Brotherhood? Showing that they were benevolent, willing to work with existing factions regardless of their differences…

Well, at least Danse was at any rate. And with a little luck, his obviously-high rank would convince the battered survivors of post-apocalyptic New England that the whole of the Brotherhood was here to help.

Possibly in spite of Maxson's lofty aspirations for wiping out the Institute. What good was it to remove the proverbial boogeyman of the Commonwealth if the Brotherhood's resources were stripped from the campaign? The more prudent option would be to gain the trust of the locals, and then press them for support should the need arise.

That was all he was doing. Gaining the trust of the locals.

He glanced up at the light that wavered in the window of the towering station. He could imagine Knight Vega tucking the little boy in, maybe pressing a kiss to his forehead…

Danse's heart ached. She had lost her son, he recalled, though she hadn't said how . He couldn't even begin to imagine the agony of losing a child. Losing Cutler was devastating enough.

When Vega came out to relieve him at two hundred hours, Danse noted that she still looked worn. Her eyes were puffy, like she had been crying. "Tell me about what happened to your son, Knight." He requested quietly.

"That's...it's kind of a long story, Paladin." She tried to brush him off, fiddling with her combat armor straps. "You should sleep."

"That's an order, Knight."

Vega hiccupped, her sob rattling Danse's composure. "The Institute. They...they ripped him right out of my arms in the Vault." She whispered. "The stasis was put on hold, somehow , and they just...they took him. The next thing I knew, I was waking up alone." She stared at the ground. "I know it was the Institute. I know there's a way in. But I don't know...God, Danse, what if he's dead? " She asked helplessly.

Even though he hadn’t known, Danse still felt like a bastard for making her relive that horror. She had been so sure before, so certain that her child was alive. But now for whatever reason, she was entertaining the alternative and Danse was lost . What the hell could he even say?

"You didn't let me give up on Paladin Brandis." He pointed out. "So I'm not letting you give up on your son."

"Is that an order, sir?"

"A promise , Knight, not an order." Danse saluted her sharply, his gauntlet clattering on his breastplate. "As a Brotherhood of Steel paladin, I swear to you that I will do all I can to help uncover the truth of what happened to your son. And for as long as feasibly possible, we will operate under the assumption that he is alive and well. If we give in to despair, then they've already won."

Backhand looked up at him, her expression distraught. Danse didn't expect her to wrap her arms around his armor, the woman barely able to reach past his sides due to the bulky frame. She tucked her face against the handles on his breastplate and Danse was terrified of making the wrong move. So he stayed still, one massive gauntlet eventually moving forward to cautiously rest on her back.

"We will find him." He assured her softly. "I promise."

Part Seven

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