Sacrifices

Chapter 14: Perched Within The Soul

"Hope" is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm

I've heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson-

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"Again, soldier." His voice cut the uncomfortable silence that had settled in the air.

Jackie stood beside Danse as he quietly observed. Seemingly unaware that he had spoken at all, she stared down at the cabinet top full of carefully sorted and organized piles of supplies. Her hands wrung together and she rubbed at her arms while the corner of her lip was caught between her teeth.

"Run through the list again," he prompted, but she merely continued her nervous fidgeting without response.

Danse scratched at the back of his neck as he attempted to discern what had Jackie on edge and how he could alleviate the growing tension she was experiencing. Something had been bothering his soldier for days now and whatever it was had been slowly eating away at her and fueling her anxiety.

Ever since Ingram had told them that they were to locate the Mark 28 nukes in the glowing sea, Jackie hadn't quite been herself. By now, Danse knew her well enough to pick up on the subtle changes in her behavior, the nuances, and outward perseverations of her inner conflicts that she kept hidden away. Witnessed by only a few and truly understood by even fewer.

Months had passed with only her by his side as they trudged onward through the wastes in their ever harrowing war against the Institute. The lapse of time stretched even further since the woman had burst into his compound, eyes wild and blasting ferals with a crude, sawed off shotgun and a snapping, snarling beast of a dog at her side. Now that he thought about it, so much had changed since that time, not only within Jackie, but within himself.

In the beginning, Jackie had hid her demons and insecurities behind sarcasm and insubordination. Danse had admittedly given her hell over her rebellious behavior, but in the public face of others, she was bold and fearless; a common wastelander, a vault-dweller, accomplishing uncommon feats. She inspired others with her courage, dedication, and successful advancement of the Brotherhood's cause. It didn't take him long, however, to figure out that behind it all, she was simply afraid. Fearful of the world she had awoken into, afraid to be called a hero, terrified of losing the few people she had grown close to, but above all else, afraid that she would fail.

They weren't so different in that regard and all too often in the waning hours of darkness, before the break of dawn, he found himself in her presence, sitting side by side in the stillness of the open wasteland. With the fading moonlight at their backs and the whispers of morning unfurling on a canvas of pink and orange upon the horizon before them, just two soldiers with the unspoken understanding that war held no bounds to grief and loneliness.

It was within these moments of silent solitude, cast in the shadow of the early morning and unable to chase the lull of sleep for fear of what they might witness behind closed lids, that they sewed the bonds of friendship. Little by little, Jackie had told him of her life before the war. Told him the tale of unbearable loss, the destruction of her world, and the tearing apart of her family. Danse in turn, confided in her about his own losses; how he still mourned the death of his friend, how he sometimes questioned the things he had been taught, and that maybe he was only seeing part of the picture and maybe he had been wrong.