Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 68: Heathens

Procrastination wasn't something Danse practised on the regular. Until the rollercoaster of his life over the past few weeks, he hadn't even understood how the concept of procrastinating could be so overruling to some people's lives. How hard was it to be productive? If something needed to be done, just get up and do it. It wasn't going to do itself.

But right now, Danse fully understood just how overruling it was. Kelly was here, in his arms, safe and sound asleep, and he didn't want to alter the perfect, pristine moment in time.

"Just stay a little longer..."

He indulged in the way she slept on his chest, the idyllic rhythm of her breathing, the fine flickers through her closed eyes as she dreamed, the gossamer black silk of her lashes with each of those flickers. Admiring her sleep reminded him of how it felt to admire a cat sleep, a feisty, regal creature in it's tender moment of vulnerability. He comforted in the idea of her tranquilly wading through her own dream world, free from her dizzying burdens and horrific experiences. He cradled her peace in his arms and he cherished the responsibility.

He was here now. He would watch over her, keep her safe, keep her sheltered. He would be her safe haven.

And he would burn down this entire desert if she was ever brought to harm again.

He hadn't wanted to invasively inspect her wounds while she was awake in fears he would unsettle her, after her ordeal out there. But now that she was resting, he took a closer look.

With a finger he stroked a splay of hair from her cheek, stewing at the sight of the thin cuts that swept up into her hairline-fingernails, sharpened. A substantial bruise was blossoming under her cheekbone, fresh off the battlefield. Blood still freckled and smeared her skin, and he wished he could spend the time cleaning it away without waking her.

But those tears in her suit, the torn neckline, and the unmistakable evidence of sexual assault were testing his composure. Who did this to you? He felt the budding of rage, but continued to stroke at her hair with soft composure. Who dared to touch you? He would kill them. No question of it. It called to him to be done with a primal sense of duty.

As for the day-old bruising around her throat, only refreshed raw by the beast raider's dead hand, Danse's mind went to only one conclusion.

Arthur.

It had to have been done before the Brotherhood deployed from the Commonwealth. But the very thought of Arthur being responsible sat off-kilter in Danse's gut. Like it just couldn't be. Arthur had never exhibited any views or behaviors throughout his upbringing to suggest he considered women beneath him or that he had violent tendencies toward them. He even made a conscious effort to have his sect of the Brotherhood practice gender equality wherever applicable-of course taking into account the use of common sense regarding certain physical performance differentiations between men and women. The Elder had gone out of his way to personally handle cases where female soldiers were treated with disrespect, from being singled out, verbally abused, and even subjected to physical harassment by sexist male soldiers. In fact, as a child, he often seemed intimidated by the other girls in training. He had been a bit of a timid boy.

Danse caught himself smiling at the memories and sharply pulled himself back in line.

His biased opinion aside, if he ever found out that Arthur had in fact laid a hand on Kelly, he would... what? Confront the Elder and get himself killed? Throw a suckerpunch and equally get himself killed?