Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 8: Clay-Crawler

Kelly listened absently as Danse addressed all those stationed at the rendezvous point in the Commonwealth, toying with her combat knife and marking the grass with a noughts and crosses game.

"...most of you know we had some setbacks during the mission. Knight Pascal was incapacitated by a specimen and is being monitored by the medical staff here, and our raider package happened to be of high profile, judging by the reaction of the enemy and comments they made while in pursuit..."

Kelly forced herself to listen more closely, then. So that was what happened out there. They snatched up someone important by accident and pissed off the entire horde.

"My scouts reconnoitered the area to utmost standards before we proceeded in. The lapse in judgement was entirely my own, and I take full responsibility for the consequences. So with that being said, be on your guard. We underestimated their capabilities, and I won't let it happen again."

Kelly followed every flicker of detail on Danse's face as he set the noose around his own neck for this. His face was, as usual, hard as steel, prepared for judgement. She didn't know what the Brotherhood of Steel's punishments entailed, but she imagined them to be nothing short of harsh.

After he had finished debriefing, the small crowd dispersed back to their duties, and Kelly headed for Danse before he could slip away. He was out of his power armor again, and had tossed his tactical hood due to the build-up of grime. She never could get over how thick his hair was when set free-she had first expected it to be closely shaved in a buzz cut-and she longed to run her hands through it and feel it slip through the cracks in her fingers. It made him look younger too, less rugged-not that she didn't appreciate the ruggedness. Eyes wandering, she took her time approaching him, admiring the display of well-formed muscles, and his hair wasn't the only thing she wanted to run her hands over.

Eventually, Kelly caught his eye, and she cradled her elbows almost sheepishly. "Hey," she offered softly, accompanying it with a warm smile.

"Harper," he sighed, and the tautness in his features fell slightly. She was glad he could let his guard down around her now, even when in a Brotherhood compound. "Have you gotten yourself something to eat since being back?"

A flash of surprise came over her that his first words were concerning her health, rather than the immediate matter of the raider. He must be keeping tabs on her weight loss, too. A pang of guilt hit her for it, so she nodded encouragingly to his query; she had been starving, and fixing the ache in her stomach had been the first thing she tended to after they settled into the rendezvous. "I got a few sideways looks for the massive portion of Fancy Lads I stuffed myself with." Wait, why the fuck did I just say that? "Uh! Not the... you know what I mean..." She fought off the reddening under her skin.

Danse only gazed at her curiously, a single brow rising, and she was sure he was suppressing a smile. "Well, it's good to hear you got your fill, either way." She pinned him with a wary look, not sure if that was supposed to be a dig, but he either seemed not to notice or blatantly ignored it. "And how's Dogmeat doing?"

"He's gonna be alright. Has some bruising and a sore throat, but the Scribe said he'll be fine." She was glad he asked after Dogmeat, whether it was due to actual concern over the animal, or just for her benefit, she didn't mind. It was a step out of his comfort zone to make the effort, and that was progress.

Danse nodded, then gestured for her to follow him toward the centre of camp. "No doubt you're still eager to know how I screwed things up out there."