Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 56: You And What Army?

It had been a long night. Just as Danse predicted.

Sleep had been a pending thing, placed mockingly out of his reach by some twisted higher power. His own mind, he knew. Far easier to hang it on his malfunctions.

He just couldn't stop thinking, worrying. About Kelly; about Arthur; about the alliance; about the wars. But foremost eroding his sense of sanity was Kelly's safety in the hands of the Brotherhood. Arthur was under immense pressure and danger by carrying the secret of Danse's fate around with him, and Danse would never forget his mercy at his own risk. But it was blatantly clear that Kelly spared no appreciation for Arthur's mercy. Her personal vendetta against the Elder for his attempt on Danse's life overpowered her.

While Danse was flattered that she was so protective of him-his guardian angel of fire-he was also frustrated with her narrow-minded aggression toward Arthur. She knew exactly how to push the young Elder's buttons, while also secretly enjoying it, and Danse feared the Elder's mounting pressure would get the better of him. The two of them were a time-bomb waiting to blow.

He feared for both their sakes.

The only silver lining was that with all these concerns clouding his thoughts, Danse was not, for once, thinking of his own life. Or the loss thereof.

But it all still prevented him from sleeping, in the end.

His half-hearted attempts at chasing sleep were conducted in the barracks the settlement had constructed for any passing Minutemen to take shelter in; more or less a safe house. It was sturdy and passably defensible; nothing in comparison to Brotherhood standards, but still passable. After several hours of torturous anxiety and counting the nicks in the wooden framing, Danse had thrown in the towel and ambled out into the shadowed street, marvelling at the quiet air that was always absent at the airport on night-watch duty. It had always been a hive of activity no matter the hour. In Sanctuary, the quiet was actually unsettling to him. It meant low awareness, and vulnerability.

Edgy, Danse had crossed the bridge and found himself holed up in the small red rocket workshop between Sanctuary and Concord. He remembered spending many a day and night here with Kelly, repairing their armor or modifying armaments between assignments. Those days seemed so innocent, looking back. The pair of them stealing glimpses at each other over shoulders, stumbling over their own tongues, nervous quivers whenever the other moved too close, rushes of heat under the slightest of 'accidental' touches, poor attempts at humor to loosen up their relationship, which then led to the waves of awkward flirting. Neither of them had managed anything smooth or even remotely subtle. Hence, awkward.

It had been borderline fraternizing, but Danse had grinned at the memories as he powered on the workshop's lights. Thinking back on it all now, he knew nothing would have ever happened between them if he hadn't been exiled from the Brotherhood. To think his exile was a blessing in disguise, so that he could have Kelly, Danse had mulled over that for a long while as he pottered around the workshop, gathering materials to service his laser rifle and layout blueprints for his new armor kit.

Before long, he was back to dwelling on his lack of Kelly, fretting for her safety and mental wellbeing. He was so drowned in a fog of stress that he hadn't noticed Dogmeat padding into the workshop and patiently sitting watching him from a corner. Not until Danse turned around, jerked in fright, and drew his laser sidearm on reflex.

Dogmeat had whimpered as if scolded, and remorse lowered Danse's arm. From then on, the canine had served as a loyal companion throughout the long, lonely hours of the night. It took him a while to admit it to himself, but Danse was glad for the company.