Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 33: Aba Daba Honeymoon

Danse wouldn't have put it past Harper to start a rebellion out on the Flight Deck. Well, attempt to, anyway. Influential, Maxson may have deemed her, but Danse doubted she would have the capability to sway any in the Brotherhood from their loyalty to Maxson, even the less traditional members. Especially considering her rogue reputation within their ranks.

Nevertheless, she would probably still give it her best shot.

But, no. By the sight of her, such a feat was beyond even her right now.

She was out on the far side of the catwalks, leaning listlessly on the railings, gazing across the ruins of the once great city as the sunset bathed it in a warm ambiance. Danse stopped at the base of the steps for a moment just to watch her, her dark hair gilded by the sunlight, melding with the orange of her uniform to brighten an otherwise ailing complexion. Burdened, she was a lone figure limned by the fading light of day, a sad air etched into her silhouette.

His quiet approach didn't draw her eye; it seemed she had expected him to follow.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, back there," she opened, eyes still fixed out on the Wastes.

Danse came to settle against the railings at her side. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

She snuck a look up at him to identify his quip, then gave him a little smile and quickly returned her gaze outbound. "You'd think so..."

"...I was under the impression that you and Maxson were on the same page, or at least civil..."

"We are," Harper assured, though the catch of uncertainty in her voice said otherwise, "but we're still, as he so eloquently put it, ironing out the kinks." Her dark brows illustrated the quote in a dancing rhythm of satire. "This is just the honeymoon phase. The hot tango before settling into married life."

Danse gave a humored grunt at that. She smirked at the notion, too, but he caught a ghost of pain in her eyes that lingered as she cast them back to the sunset. Her own parody must have backfired with the reminder of her deceased husband.

He allowed a pause for respite. "Harper..." Her shoulders gave in a faint slump at the weight of his tone. "I think it's time we talked about some things. Particularly your health."

A swallow. A blink. "I know."

So far, so good. Now, how on earth did he broach this as a friend, and not a superior officer? This was where he always struggled. Touching on the topic of her health was a feat in itself, and one that he was surprised she accepted so docilely, but to actually follow through and open a discussion on it while being careful not to put his foot in his mouth and hurt her feelings, all the while avoiding coming across as an overbearing ogre, now that was the obstacle.

With his approach to Maxson the day before, there had been a mutual ground, a shared aspect of stress and the bonds of decorum to fall back on if he overstepped. But with Harper, he couldn't simply back off and hide behind his rank; they were too close for that, he would be failing her.

It dawned on him, as he shifted his weight and cleared his throat, that he didn't know how to be a friend. It had been so long since Cutler.

How do you be a friend?

The simplicity of his dilemma was ludicrous.