Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 2: Long Days Of Steel

Danse stomped back aboard the Prydwen after another routine patrol, giving the vertibird pilot a thanking gesture of the hand. His power armor whirred and clanked as he moved aside to allow the Scribes he had escorted past his bulk. They had performed well during the research expedition, despite their lack of protective armor, and he made a mental note to commend them in his report.

Pulling off his helmet, he breathed in the cold air of the Flight Deck as it whipped through the catwalks. From up here, one had the perfect view of the Commonwealth below in all it's ruined glory. Even bared down to it's crumbling skeleton, Boston was still a site to behold and a marvel of pre-war human engineering. If only it counted for something back then other than the satisfaction of a greedy, materialistic society.

Danse was catching himself in these moments of rumination more and more often lately, and it was disconcerting. His mind was liable to wander even on duty, and he didn't have to remind himself of how tactically dangerous and irresponsible that was. Since when did he ever have problems staying focused in the field?

He thought it was ever since Kelly.

The moment she charged into the fight outside the police station, only a 10mm in hand but a crackshot in skill, he was intrigued. But back then, mission focus was his only intent, and he had been quick to seize the opportunity she represented and enlisted her support. The following retrieval from the ArcJet Systems complex had been proof enough of her potential; she was Brotherhood material. From then on, taking her under his wing had not only been a tactical advantage, but a... personal one. Something he was still trying to wrap his head around. He had never encountered such a dauntless yet endearing woman.

And now she was out of his reach, chasing her son's trail to the most dangerous ends of the Commonwealth, and he let her stand on that damn machine and be at the whim of unknown technology without even a word of protest, because it would have been unprofessional. Because it was against decorum. Because he must set an example. Because he was an idiot.

Two days had passed since Kelly disappeared in a spasm of blue, and all he could do to prevent himself wandering the Wastes in search of her was to assign himself to every possible research patrol and maintain his suit like there was no tomorrow.

Frowning, Danse rotated and began to march down the railing for the Prydwen's Command Deck, only to be stopped by a young Initiate.

"Paladin Danse, sir," she began in rigid practice, and Danse recognized that enthusiastic display of servitude and pride he had seen in so many young Initiates before her. The drive in the young ones was always outstanding to witness. "Elder Maxson wishes to speak with you in his quarters, immediately," the Initiate informed.

Thanking and dismissing her, the Paladin made his way up to the main deck, silently wondering what could be so urgent. Rapping his armored knuckles on the bulkhead as lightly as he could manage, he was given curt permission to enter, and was soon face-to-face with Elder Arthur Maxson, the twenty-year-old man who had been destined and conditioned to lead the Brotherhood of Steel since he was a young boy. The younger man gestured for Danse to seal the bulkhead behind him.

"Reporting as ordered, Elder," Danse stated, allowing a leak of curiosity through his voice.

"I see you've been keeping yourself busy, Paladin," Maxson began, strolling loosely across from his desk to greet one of his most trusted officers. "I've had numerous complaints that you've been harassing the younger Initiates over minor discrepancies."