Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 45: Standoff

Danse drifted through the bunker like a phantom. The implosion of his sanity was raw, yet distant, as if he had only been a witness. It was like he had lost a piece of himself back there, a piece he never knew he had possessed. His brain was in bedlam, unravelled, exposed, and scrambling like a vile worm.

His evolved brain, Kelly had told him. A machine that was organically self-evolving was dangerous beyond measure.

"You are alive."

Her words both haunted and healed him. All outside stimuli was still numb but for his awareness of the guardian angel at his back as she followed his walk of shame for the elevator. After that meltdown, he was very, very conscious of her, as if his brain had imprinted on her in it's last hope for survival. His last reason for survival. She was his only hope and reason. His only purpose.

But he had to leave the Commonwealth. Leave her. Then what?

Danse was adept at compartmentalizing in stressful situations, operating with efficiency in combat and duty, but this wasn't combat or duty, this was personal introspection... something he was inept at.

He had some time before he would reach the border, and he was without a doubt that Kelly would escort him or die trying. There was time to decide his fate once she was gone. For now, it was imperative that he remain strong for her sake.

Entering the elevator, he turned and waited for Kelly. Sapphire eyes caught his, and Danse instantly knew that it would be a great effort to wear a mask of strength after the sharp gauge she just invaded him with. Just like with Arthur, there was little hope of escaping her psychoanalytic perception. The two were truly destined to be great leaders together...

She didn't utter a word or press anything during their ascent, for which Danse was grateful for. He did notice that she was standing nearer to him than usual, her shoulder subtly brushing against the soiled fabric over his arm, as if she felt that being in physical contact with him would keep him placated against pulling a gun and pressing it to his temple again. It was almost possessive paranoia, but he couldn't blame her after the atrocity he had just committed down there.

The elevator dinged and Dogmeat trotted out with a loud bark-wait, Dogmeat? Danse had only just noticed the canine. That was sloppy. His situational awareness was really slacking. Traversing for the border of the Commonwealth was going to be a suicide pilgrimage if he didn't shake off this absent mindedness. But when Kelly stepped out ahead of him, pistol drawn in a tense stance honed by years of experience, step calculated and silent, he knew that even if he was a mess, he was in good hands with her watching his back.

Then he finally heard what had the two on edge. Vertibird engines. His heart sank into his stomach and then shrivelled like a mass of dried leaves. They had found him.

Kelly flicked a panicked look at him over her shoulder, though her eyes were laced with a hardened mettle to keep the panic anchored; she was prepared to die for him, right here, right now. Danse wasn't prepared to let that happen.

As she moved up to breach the threshold as his vanguard, he held her back with an arm over her chest, proceeding before her into the hollow night. He had been ill prepared for who awaited him.

Elder Maxson strode forth, shaded by the dark, alone and vulnerable, but armored by the praeludium of his iconic wrath at the sight of the synth before him. No snap of surprise was visible in his teeming features, just cold, repulsed hatred. His stride came to a jarring halt in the staredown, fists coiled to ground the palpable rage riding his being. Danse met his blue stare and held it firm.